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Something warm moves through my hands again.

“And you’ve been alive for an hour and already made fun of me once.”

“Lawn furniture.”

“Okay, that’s twice.”

I smile, and Laura does too.

She turns toward the sink, and I follow. A dark mark is still in the bottom. Yarn, knitting needles and other things I do not know are on the counter.

“Those were inside the basket,” Laura says.

“Basket?”

“The wicker basket. That’s what you came from.”

I touch my chest.

“Was before.”

“Yes.”

“Not me.”

Laura goes quiet. “No,” she says softly. “Not you.”

I press my palm more firmly against myself. “Me.”

“Yes. You.”

“Kell.”

“Yes.”

The basket changed, and now I am here. The basket was a thing.

I am not.

The knot at my hip loosens again. Laura catches the scarf, and we both look down.

She sighs. “And we still haven’t figured out how to make a decent knot.”

I touch the knitted fabric. One row is tighter than the next.

“Different.”

Laura looks at my hand. “You can tell?”

“Yes.” I do not know why I understand the difference, only that some part of me does.

“You know how this works.”

“Some.”

“You’ve been alive less than an hour.”

“Still some.”