charitable offer. It’s not like I could’ve fixed it last night.”
“Charitable,” she repeated, giving him a look. But he heard the laughter in her voice and saw the tilt of her lips that she tried so hard to suppress.
“Yeah. Listen, I have to go,” he said, searching for his wallet.
“Are you walking?”
“At this rate, I’d better drive.”
“Great,” she said. “You can take me home later.”
Evan paused in his search, turning to stare at her. “Home as in…?”
“Home,” she repeated. “From town. I’m going in this afternoon to do some things.”
He blinked. “You are?”
“Yes.” After a moment, when he continued staring, Ruth rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you running late?”
Right. He spotted his wallet on the dresser and snatched it up. “Just… be careful.” Don’t get into fights with Amazonian women.
“In case I get chased with pitchforks, you mean?”
“Something like that.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Text me when you… well, text me on a regular basis.”
“Yes, Mother.”
He snorted. Said goodbye. Tried not to worry and failed.
Ruth took her time getting ready that morning. Which is to say, she dozed for an hour or three after Evan left, helped herself to Earl Grey and English muffins, and, just for the hell of it, used a shit-ton of his lemongrass body wash.
Because she could, because he wouldn’t mind, because he’d given her his key.
He loved her. Funny how that knowledge left her both sober and elated all at once.
It was around midday when she finally dragged herself over to her own flat, locking Evan’s door carefully. She hung his key up on a coat peg beside her own before heading to her bedroom.
There was a tense moment when she forgot that her bed was a rickety heap, tried to sit down on it, stopped herself halfway, and thought she might go toppling into a stack of comics as she twisted. Luckily, she just landed on her arse instead.
It was, she decided, as good a place as any for this phone call.
Hannah answered the phone with a bright and chirpy, “He-llo?” Which told Ruth that she had company.
“Where are you?” Ruth asked.
“You’ve just caught me on my break,” Hannah said. Her voice was still unreasonably perky. She was probably sitting by a manager or something.
Hannah liked to put her best foot forward. Continuously. Even at a minimum-wage waitressing job she desperately wanted to leave.
“Right. You working tomorrow?”
“I am available tomorrow afternoon, from around five o’clock,” Hannah said smoothly. “Can I help you with something?” What do you need?
Ruth smiled slightly. “I just thought we could go somewhere. Out.”
There was a pause. Then Hannah said carefully, “I am only available in the evening.”
Because Ruth didn’t really go out in the evenings. She occasionally went out during the day, when most people were at work. In the evenings, Ravenswood was really busy, and things like—well, things like that nightmare with Hayley occurred.
Ruth forced herself to shrug, even though Hannah couldn’t see. She was method acting, or something along those lines. She was doing a Hannah; behaving as if she was already who she wanted to be. “That’s okay.”
“It is?” Hannah sounded dubious.
“Yeah. I go where I want now. It’s this new thing I’m trying.”
“Okay,” Hannah said finally. “Well, that would be lovely. I approve, actually.”
“Cool. I’ll call you later.”
Because right now, she had plans to attend to.
After fixing her hair, Ruth rifled through her wardrobe for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Usually, her choice in clothes revolved around the way a fabric felt against her skin, whether the cut would make her feel like she was suffocating in strangeness. On the rare occasions when she left the house, she had to take all of that into account, and also try to look…
“What?” she mused out loud. “Try to look what? Respectable?” A slight smile curving her lips, she shook her head. That wouldn’t do at all.
And just like that, her choice was obvious. She pulled out an old, worn, Captain America tee and a soft pair of leggings. She’d go about her business, as she had a right to, and she’d look like herself while she did it.
The library fell silent as Ruth entered.
Actually, no; she was probably imagining that. Definitely imagining that. It was a bloody library. It had been silent in the first place.
She kept her spine straight and her footsteps steady as she approached the front desk. Penny Clarke was there, tapping away at the computer, her gaze occasionally flicking to a handwritten list on the desk beside her.