Page 123 of When a Soul Cries

The guest room was down the hall from mine. When I pushed the door open, Sol stayed at the threshold.

She looked at the bed.

Then the private bathroom.

Then back at me.

“You can use this room,” I explained. “Bathroom’s through there. Towels underneath the sink. Door locks from the inside.”

Her eyes immediately went to the lock.

I noticed.

That little movement told me more than any question could have.

“You and the baby will be the only ones coming in here,” I added. “I won’t come in unless you ask me to.”

Sol looked at me for a long moment.

“Okay.”

She stepped inside.

“I don’t have anything to change into.”

“I got shirts.”

Her eyes traveled from my shoulders down to my legs.

Then back up.

“You’re six-five.”

“So?”

“So I’m gonna look ridiculous.”

I shrugged. “You’ll be clean and ridiculous.”

A soft laugh escaped her.

I smiled.

“I’ll take it.”

---

By the time Sol came out of the shower, food was spread across my kitchen island.

I’d ordered chicken, vegetables, mashed potatoes, macaroni, rolls, fruit—damn near everything I could think of because I didn’t know what either of them liked.

When I heard footsteps behind me, I turned.

And froze.

My black T-shirt swallowed Sol almost to her knees. Her damp curls hung freely around her face, and without the dirt, tears, and chaos from earlier, I could see just how exhausted she really was.

Not tired.