Rainbow Diapers

Blackcurrant, blackcurrant and apple or elderflower. I drink more fluids in general if i have juice so its a good excuse to buy it.

10: Separate Theo The giant had been killed! Not that Max was really Goliath, and not that I was David. But my word, it felt good to know that he was no longer going to be on my case. I wondered if he was going to say anything to his “Pack” or if they were still going to be an issue. But at least one of the enemies had been eliminated. That day had already felt incredibly intense. I’d held my emotions in around Max, or at least, I’d tried to. But I knew that I was shaking, and I didn’t entirely know why. I stood up, which gave me a stark reminder of the pull-up that was making my legs stand slightly apart. I’d almost forgotten. I pulled my pants up, to make sure the waistband wasn’t peeking. No-one knows. Except Max, but he was going to stay out of my way. The rest of the day passed a lot more smoothly than the morning. I couldn’t focus as well as I normally would in class. Every moment, I was listening out to hear a whisper or comment, or wondering if I was being looked at with pity, and maybe disdain. It felt like I was a joke, and no-one wanted to get closer, or else they’d catch some of my “stink”. It hadn’t been that long since I’d wet my pants in front of everyone, and I didn’t expect that to die down any time soon. What was confusing was that other than Max’s bunch, no-one had really teased me or said anything about it. Which made it worse; how can I confront something if it’s being kept from me. These classes were hard. I didn’t normally need to think that deeply in order to do well. But now it felt like if I wasn’t giving a class my full attention, I was going to do badly. And this was the year when I needed to prove myself, when my entire future was at stake. Anything less than perfection isn’t good enough. The first time I did a “check” without Max felt wrong — we’d only been doing this for a day, but it already seemed like something was missing. But that was probably a good thing; Max didn’t need to be a part of this. I was dry, as expected, and logged that. There was no urgency to go, but when I started peeing, more than a few drops came out. Some pride filled me up. Three toileting checks, three times my pull-up was still dry, three times I was able to use the toilet. But why did it feel hollow? In Chemistry, Mr Johnson was upset with the results of the labs. He didn’t tell us our results, but said that we seriously needed to spend more time learning about aqueous solutions. Apparently, everyone had performed significantly worse than expected. I got the feeling he was looking directly at me as he said it. A few classes and checks later, my brain felt fried, but it was such a relief for the day to be done. Max meant it when he said he’d leave me alone. I hadn’t had a run-in with anyone. It felt peaceful. Like I didn’t need to fight as hard. I hadn’t seen Max or the Pack at all. For that matter, I hadn’t seen Nate or Rose either. I didn’t know if they were staying out of my way, or if we just hadn’t run into each other. Some days just tended to be like that. After the bell for the end of school and a final “check”, I took the disposable underwear off. I said I’d wear them for school time, and it was no longer school time. It was dry, so I didn’t know if I should put it back in my bag, to be re-worn, or throw it away. I chose to keep it, as proof that I’d remained dry. I volunteered a few hours at the daycare: it felt great to have somewhere where I could just ignore everything else, and just be of service. At pick-up time, I did sneak a glance to see if Max was maybe going to pick up Luke. But it turned out to be Mrs. Carter. I don’t know why I was disappointed. Max How can I forgive you when every single step is a reminder of my humiliation? When even seeing you is a reminder that my Mom doesn’t believe me? It wasn’t that bad, was it? I mean, I was wearing a pull-up right now. And it didn’t feel remotely like the torture that Theo was acting it was like. If anything, it felt… good? Even though it was slightly… um, damp. But if I was making it worse by just being around him, that’s at least something I could fix. I’ll stay out of your way. I was going to stick to that promise. No matter how hard it was going to be. If I was going to turn over a new leaf, I was going to do it properly. It took everything in me not to go stand outside Theo’s class before the next scheduled check. I’d already packed my bags quickly, getting an angry look from Madame Dubois, because she hadn’t finished teaching yet. I wasn’t particularly interested in French grammar. I was out of the class and already walking there eagerly. Until I remembered. I stopped short. Instead of waiting there, or letting him see me, I slotted into a side corridor. It felt a little like being a spy. Theo left the class after the other students, as normal. He always takes forever to pack up his things. He walked with confidence to the toilets. If I didn’t know better, it would seem that he wasn’t even wearing a pull-up, and that nothing was out of the ordinary. Yes, there were still some whispers whenever he was around. And I hated that. I tried to block them out. “Why are we sharing a classroom with someone who pees his pants? Can you smell that? Looks like the baby has peed himself again…” That did actually cause me to sniff. Yes, there was actually a very faint pee smell. But it wasn’t coming from Theo. It was coming from… me. I blushed hard at that. But it didn’t make me want to take the pull-up off. There’s a guy that often hangs around Theo. I’ve never really learned his name, but I think it starts with an ‘N’. Any way, he looked much worse for wear than normal. He almost walked into the wall when he saw me. His hair was wet, and he smelled like trash. The old me would have teased him about that. Would have tried to rub it in. I already had taunts available. But I chose to let them go. *** Football practice. I hadn’t changed out of the pull-up, and I was very reluctant to. It felt like the last thing that was linked to Theo. If I wasn’t going to be able to talk to him, at least I had this. I chose to keep it on. Instead of going straight to the locker room, I headed to a bathroom stall, and got my boxers out from my bag, putting them over the pull-up. Except for the bulge, it wouldn’t be obvious. Or at least I hoped. “What was up with you today, Carter?” Brad asked as I plopped my gym bag down to change. I didn’t know how I felt about being called by my last name. Like, I get it’s the way footballers normally talk to each other. But it feels weird when one of your closest friends does it. I shrugged. He was probably talking about how I’d defended Theo earlier. It was the right thing to do. But he wouldn’t understand. Wrong move. “Max and Teddy sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Brad taunted. I almost let my cheeks redden. Almost. Instead I let my anger consume me. I felt my fist start to form. And un-form. I didn’t let it get further. This tiny speck of a person was not going to have such control over my emotions. I took a deep breath. Play it cool. “Dude, he peed his pants. He’s trying super hard. It’s not fair to pick on someone with a disability.” I tried to get through to him. “Yeah, right. No way is Teddy actually disabled.” I almost rolled my eyes. Brad had never been particularly smart. I was going to have to lie, to save my own back. “Think about it. If I get Theo closer to me, it will be that much easier to break him later.” “Fine. I told the others to stay away from him today, cuz something was up with you. At least we got that Nate guy, instead. You should have seen how much he fought to not be thrown in the dumpster.” “Good one,” I responded, despite myself. Part of me did find it funny. Theo and his friends were always so prim and proper — Nate was worse than Theo that way. And at least Brad knew his name. But the guy that was so scared of messes being thrown in the dumpster made perfect sense. “Yeah. And then when he tried to go to the showers to clean up, we didn’t let him. Gave him a swirly in the toilets instead, and forced him to go to class.” A giggle escaped. That sounded perfect. I needed to tell him something better. “Talking about the toilets, can you believe that—” I stopped talking. I’d almost told them about Theo’s pull-ups. “—Luke had his first dry night last night?” Brad groaned. It wasn’t the best deflection, but at least it made sense. I’d spoken about Luke before, but it wasn’t something that anyone in the Pack cared about. They didn’t have younger, toddler brothers. They didn’t know the pride of hearing your brother talk for the first time, or take his first steps. “Why’d you have to ruin it?” Kyle snapped. “I don’t care about your stupid brother. And the story was fun!” I acted oblivious. Theo My mom picked me up at the end of the daycare shift. I still felt awkward about that; I wanted to be able to drive myself places. Worse, because other parents picked up their kids, it was another way that I was more like the toddlers than I was the successful teenager I was aiming to be. She read over the logs with no comment. I felt a little insulted at that; I’d stayed dry, and proved I could — was it too much effort to tell me that she was proud. But I suppose that was expected for me. Why should someone comment on something that’s ordinary. Max said he was proud of me. The thought came out of nowhere. If it had been a physical object, I would have pushed it away with all my strength. But ignoring thoughts is a lot harder. There was also no comment about the missing pull-up — Max’s pull-up. We had a quiet evening. I didn’t have much homework, so I spent some time playing some games with Rose. Normally it would have been both Nate and Rose, but I’d left a message for Nate, and got no reply. I had received one other message. It was from the unknown number which I knew was Max. I didn’t know what the message had said. It had popped up, and then been deleted so quickly that I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been waiting for a reply from Nate. Around 10, my mom asked me if I was wearing protection. She seemed hesitant to be asking, and embarrassed. Which made me feel like I should be embarrassed. And part of me wants to just get over that shame. If I need the protection, then it needs to be something I wear with pride. I wasn’t wearing a pull-up at that moment. “Well, you should probably put something on before you go to bed, Theo. We don’t want to be dealing with a mess in the morning.” Gah! I was already planning to, but I wanted it to be my decision. Now she’d made it seem like I wasn’t responsible enough to think of doing that for myself, and like I was childish enough to need a reminder like that. “I’m not a little kid!” I snapped. “I didn’t say you were.” I grumbled a response, not really sure what I was saying. To be entirely honest, pull-ups didn’t feel that different from the briefs I was currently wearing. A little thicker, and a little more crinkly, but not unpleasant. I decided I might as well put it on then. It’s the first time I allowed myself to actually see how I looked with one on. I’d been too embarrassed  the day before, and there wasn’t really a way to look in the mirror at school. I looked… cute. Yes, they were just different underwear. But somehow, the me that was looking back at me in the mirror felt more right than I’d felt in years. It felt like it was a better reflection of who I actually was. But that scared me a little. Not enough that I was going to put any pajama pants on over the pull-up, though. *** My alarm jolted me awake. I felt a momentary sense of relief. My bed was dry. Of course it was. I’ve only wet the bed once. It’s not like I need—oh. Yeah, I was wearing a pull-up. A wet pull-up. When I stood up, it sagged down. It wasn’t the greatest sensation. But it sure beat the stickiness of wet pants and a wet bed. There was already a pressing need to pee, but I was going to do that in the toilet, thank you very much. I raced to the bathroom, and slid the pull-up down just in time. “No pants?” my mom asked with a raised eyebrow, as I entered the corridor. She didn’t mention the state of the pull-up, but she seemed disappointed. I blushed, but didn’t respond. Instead, I hot-footed it back to my room. I ripped the wet pull-up off. We didn’t have a diaper pail, and I didn’t want to get one. My bedroom trash can would work fine. Old one off, new one on. I glanced in my mirror again. Last night wasn’t a fluke. I did feel more at peace with the pull-up on. It looked like the kind of thing that fit me, rather than the kind of thing that I would wear to make myself fit in the world. I’m a good boy! If I didn’t think about it too much, it felt like there was a part of me that wanted to keep wearing these. But it’s something I’m supposed to be embarrassed and ashamed about. I wished I had more baggy clothes. As it was, I was going to have to wear some loose-fitting chino’s, with a belt to hold them in place. I could notice a bit of a bulge, but it wasn’t too bad. Nate and Rose weren’t at any of the meeting places I would have expected. Nate still hadn’t replied to my text, and I was getting a little worried. I called Rose, but she didn’t pick up. So I was just going to walk the halls a bit before school started. I wasn’t really in the mood for just sitting in a classroom. The rest of the day passed tediously. I was still incredibly aware of the pull-up around my waist, and making sure that I did all the potty checks. I found myself looking forward to those times, to maybe have a chance to see Max. Until I remembered that he was leaving me alone. It seemed that everyone was leaving me alone. I was seriously missing Nate and Rose. I just wanted everything to feel normal. But it wasn’t. Everything felt like a chore. The one bright moment of the day was when Max had accidentally walked into me. Neither of us were paying attention to where we were walking. And he knocked the books I was carrying onto the floor with his full force. He was so apologetic, and helped gather everything up. Until he realized it was me. And then he kind of froze, and looked away. “Hey,” I greeted him. “Um, here you go,” he responded, and rushed away. Friday passed much like Thursday. I woke up to a wet pull-up, which was a bit disconcerting. Why had I suddenly become a bedwetter? I tried to reach out to my friends, but still nothing happened. I felt so alone. It was a relief to sink into the covers that night. I tried to ignore the thoughts about the doctor’s visit that was going to be happening the next day.

Chapter three I take off her shirt, leaving her in nothing but the diaper in the crook of my arm, and set her in the crib for a moment. I turn on the baby monitor. "I'll be right back, little cat," I say, brushing a hand over her long black hair. The softness of the nickname I gave her makes me smile as I head to the kitchen to prepare a bottle of milk. I warm it in the microwave, then return to the nursery. She freezes when she sees me. Eyes fixed on the bottle. I sit in the chair beside the crib. I don't pick her up right away. I watch her. "Hungry?" The pacifier stops. Then resumes. No answer. I reach out. Take the pacifier from her mouth. She makes a small sound of protest, but doesn't pull away. "I'll give it back after. But first, you need to eat." I bring the bottle to her lips. She keeps them closed. "Open." Nothing. "Open your mouth, Anna. It's milk." Her gaze slides away. Her face turns. That stubbornness I already know. I sigh. "Fine." I don't raise my voice. "You'd rather stay awake and hungry? Your choice." I hold the bottle steady. I don't insist. I wait. One second. Two. I watch her fight herself. I see it in the way her lower lip trembles, the way her eyes fall on the bottle and then dart away. Then her mouth opens. A centimeter. Two. The nipple slides in. Her lips close around it. A timid, uncertain suck. The milk rises. She swallows. "Good girl," I say softly. "That's the way." I watch her drink. Her eyelids beginning to droop. Her cheek moving with the rhythm of the suckling. Her hands gripping the edge of the diaper like it's the only thing to hold on to. The bottle empties. She keeps suckling even when it's finished — a little air, making noise. I pull it away gently. A drop of milk stays on her lip. I wipe it with my thumb. I put the pacifier back. She accepts it without protest. Eyes already closed, breath deepening. "Good girl," I repeat. "Sleep now." I stay there. Watch her. The baby monitor on the shelf. The soft light. Her chest rising and falling. I stand. Turn off the light. Leave the door ajar — a thin blade of hallway light cutting through the dark. Bridget is waiting in the living room.

Book 2 – Chapter 7: The Warmest Moment   Mia had already brought her suitcases and backpack downstairs, leaving Sally with very little to do besides one last stop at the bathroom and retrieving her pink Gucci saddle bag from the bedside table. She had settled on an outfit that felt comfortably like herself: loose blue jeans, a fitted light grey T-shirt, and a lightweight cashmere sweater draped over her shoulders for the inevitable moment when even a perfectly climate-controlled cabin felt a touch too cool. She slipped into her well-worn Converse sneakers, checked that her stainless-steel Casio was fastened securely around her wrist, took one last glance around her apartment, and drew a quiet breath. Time to go. The elevator carried her downstairs, and as the doors slid open, she was greeted by the unmistakable deep, bass rumble of a large V8 idling outside the front entrance. Sally stopped. Then a grin spread almost involuntarily across her face. Parked at the foot of the steps, gleaming in its familiar Cirrus Silver paint, sat her father’s AMG GT Black Series. She hadn’t seen it in weeks. The massive rear wing was a statement in utself. Bridget was already waiting by the door. Sally crossed the hall and wrapped her in a hug, though her eyes kept drifting toward the low, muscular Mercedes and the unmistakable silhouette of Adrian behind the steering wheel. “Your dad thought this might cheer you up,” Bridget said with an amused chuckle as they embraced. Sally laughed softly. “He’s not entirely wrong.” “I didn’t think so.” Bridget held onto her for another moment before lowering her voice conspiratorially. “There’s one more little surprise.” Sally looked at her suspiciously. “Mom…” “He bought it yesterday.” Bridget smiled warmly. “It’s from both of us, although I supervised the choice.” She gave Sally’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “The last couple of months haven’t been easy. You’ve handled yourself with remarkable grace. We’d like you to enjoy this.” Sally blinked. “You two…” Bridget only winked. “You’ll see.” Then, with impeccable maternal timing, she gave Sally a playful pat on the bottom. “Off you go.” “Mom!” Sally giggled, rubbing the spot with exaggerated indignation before turning toward the kitchen. “Bye, Mia!” The housekeeper appeared around the corner, drying her hands on a towel. “Goodbye, Miss Sally. Have a wonderful trip.” “I’ll see you soon.” With that, Sally picked up her bag, cast one last glance toward the familiar warmth of home, and stepped outside toward the softly rumbling Mercedes, wondering what surprise her parents had managed to keep secret. -- Father and daughter enjoyed the drive to the airport in companionable silence. Sally had always loved this particular car. Sitting almost on the floor, tucked against the rear axle in its snug bucket seat, she felt connected to every vibration of the machine. The impossibly long bonnet stretched ahead of them, while the low seating position and taut suspension reminded her that, despite its polished appearance, the AMG GT Black Series had been bred with racing in its DNA. She barely glanced at the speedometer. There was no point. Her father was never going to exceed the speed limit in Switzerland. He reserved that sort of enthusiasm for Germany, and she still smiled whenever she remembered the trip to Stuttgart a few months earlier, when they had finally let the Mercedes stretch its legs on an unrestricted section of Autobahn. The memory of the car surging effortlessly toward its top speed was enough to make her grin. Although she already held a learner’s permit, it was only valid in the United States. In Switzerland she would have to wait until she turned eighteen before she could legally drive. “It’ll be worth the wait,” Adrian said, as though he had read her thoughts. “I know,” Sally replied, resting her elbow on the window. “It doesn’t stop me wishing Swiss birthdays came a little earlier.” They left the public terminal behind and turned toward the private hangars. The broad metal doors were already open, revealing the gleaming Gulfstream waiting outside with its stairs lowered. Adrian guided the silver Mercedes into the hangar, the deep rumble of its V8 echoing satisfyingly off the high steel walls before settling into a steady idle. Sally loved that sound. Roberto was already there. Having driven ahead with the luggage—there had been no chance of fitting two large suitcases into the AMG—he was helping load everything into the Gulfstream’s baggage compartment. The flight crew stood nearby, finishing their preparations. Adrian switched off the engine. For a moment neither of them moved. Then he reached behind his seat and retrieved an elegant shopping bag before placing it gently on Sally’s lap. “A small gift,” he said. “From your mother and me.” Sally looked from the bag to her father. “It’s not a birthday present.” “No?” He shook his head. “This is a thank-you present.” Her expression softened. “For staying beside your mother through months neither of you expected. For welcoming Oskar into the world when everything happened far sooner than anyone imagined. For being present.” He smiled quietly. “You were magnificent.” Sally felt something tighten in her chest. Her throat followed. “Dad…” She couldn’t find anything else to say. He simply nodded toward the bag. “Go on.” She slipped the tissue paper aside and lifted out a square presentation box. Her eyebrows rose. “A watch?” “Open it.” She blinked away the tears that had suddenly become inconveniently close and lifted the lid. For a second she simply stared. The watch seemed almost to glow inside the box. “It… Dad…” “H. Moser.” He smiled. “Sun Berry.” Carefully she unclasped the stainless-steel Casio from her wrist—the faithful watch that had accompanied her through so many ordinary days—and tucked it into her Gucci saddle bag before lifting the new watch into her hands. She turned it slowly, admiring the way it caught the afternoon light. The warm yellow rubber strap gave it an effortless, youthful character, while the deep purple dial shifted subtly with every movement, changing from rich violet to something almost wine-colored. It was elegant without being formal, sporty without looking casual, and just unusual enough to catch the eye without demanding attention.  It felt less like a piece of jewelry and more like something meant to accompany a life in motion—the sort of watch her father would choose—and her mother approve—because he knew she would actually wear it. She fastened it around her wrist and held it up. “It fits perfectly.” Her voice had become suspiciously small. Adrian was already holding out a folded paper tissue. “There.” Sally laughed through the tears gathering despite her best efforts. “Thanks.” She dabbed at her eyes before looking back down at the watch. “It’s beautiful.” She turned her wrist over. “I love that the movement is hidden away underneath. You only discover it if you turn the watch over. Like a little secret.” Then she looked back at the dial. “And from the front…” She smiled. “…it’s just color.” Adrian nodded thoughtfully. “Some things are better kept beneath the surface. The mechanics. The complexity.” He glanced at the watch before looking at his daughter. “Life is rather like that. Underneath, it’s wonderfully complicated. But what people should see first is something beautiful.” Sally nodded silently. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead she reached for the door handle. The moment she stepped out of the Mercedes she froze. Across the hangar, the crew had assembled beside the aircraft. And, to her horror, Captain Henderson and First Officer Gruber were unrolling a narrow red carpet from the foot of the stairs toward the place where the car had stopped. “Oh no…” She closed her eyes. “They are not doing that.” Adrian burst into laughter. “I told you they liked you.” She looked at him in disbelief. “I haven’t flown with them in…” She counted silently. “…a couple of months.” “Long enough for them to miss their favorite passenger.” “Time flies.” “It does.” He climbed out of the car and straightened his jacket before nodding toward the waiting aircraft. “Come on.” He smiled. “Let’s get you aboard. Your passengers are getting impatient.” Sally frowned. “My passengers?” “Adam asked them to be here by one o’clock. He wanted everyone settled and the aircraft ready to depart the moment you arrived.” Sally sighed theatrically. Adrian smiled as they started walking toward the Gulfstream. -- By the time Sally stepped away from the Mercedes, the crew had formed a small welcoming line beside the Gulfstream’s lowered stairs. Captain Henderson stood at the front, with First Officer Gruber beside him and Nitaya waiting near the cabin door, all three wearing the unmistakable expressions of people who had planned this little reception and were enjoying her embarrassment far more than they intended to admit. “Gute Reise, Sally.” Adrian placed a hand on her shoulder and drew her into a firm embrace. “Bye, Dad.” Sally held onto him a little more tightly than she had intended. “Take care of Mom… and Oskar.” “I will.” Adrian pressed her against him for another moment before easing back. “And I’ll see you later this week. Have a good time in New York.” Sally managed a small smile. “I’ll try.” “And don’t forget to shop for the yacht trip.” A knowing look appeared on his face. “Your mother has informed me that you’re apparently forbidden from wearing the same bathing suits you wore aboard Flying Fox last year.” That pulled a genuine laugh from her. “Yeah. She was pretty emphatic about me getting new gear.” Adrian nodded gravely, as though Bridget had issued an important executive directive. “Then do it.” Sally rolled her eyes affectionately. “Bye, Dad.” She turned toward the aircraft and immediately became conscious of the ridiculous red carpet beneath her feet. For all the ceremony, she hardly looked like a princess arriving for a state visit. She wore loose blue jeans and a fitted grey T-shirt, with her light cashmere sweater folded over one arm, the pink Gucci saddle bag hanging from her shoulder and her familiar Converse sneakers carrying her toward the aircraft.  The afternoon sunlight poured through the open hangar doors and caught the white fuselage of the Gulfstream behind the waiting crew, making the whole scene look far grander than Sally thought her departure had any right to be. She shook Captain Henderson’s hand first. “Great to have you back, Miss Weiss,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you too, Captain.” Gruber stepped forward next, greeting her with his usual old-fashioned courtesy. “Miss Weiss, I’m very glad to see you again.” Sally smiled as they shook hands, but when she reached Nitaya, formality disappeared altogether. She simply opened her arms and hugged her. Nitaya laughed in surprise before returning the embrace. “Miss Sally! Welcome aboard.” Sally stepped back and looked at all three of them, unexpectedly touched. “I’ve missed you guys.” Her eyes dropped pointedly toward the carpet. “But this is a bit much.” Captain Henderson grinned without the slightest hint of remorse. “Only the best for our favorite passenger.” Sally shook her head. “You realize you’re encouraging me.” “We’ll take the risk.” Henderson gestured toward the stairs. “Shall we?” Sally gave her father one last glance before climbing aboard. Adam was waiting just inside the cabin, dressed in black jeans, a black T-shirt and a lightweight black blazer. He looked considerably less intimidating than he would have in a suit, though Sally suspected this was precisely the sort of clothing in which he preferred to disappear into the background. He offered his hand. “Welcome aboard.” Sally shook it. “Thank you.” “I’ve reserved your usual rear corner. The rear lavatory is yours for the flight, and the other passengers have been asked to use the forward one.” There was nothing unusual in his tone, and Sally appreciated that. The arrangement would become routine on longer flights, and after that morning she was especially grateful that Adam treated it as nothing more than another item of cabin logistics. “Perfect. Thanks.” Beyond him, two younger men seated in the forward section looked toward her with open curiosity. Sally recognized them as the new executives Adam had mentioned, and she suddenly became aware that they had probably spent the last hour wondering about the sixteen-year-old whose arrival apparently warranted a red carpet and delayed the departure of a Gulfstream. She suppressed a smile. “Let’s get this show on the road.” Adam stepped aside. “After you.” Sally entered the cabin properly, greeting the two executives and exchanging a few polite words with them before promising they would have time to talk later. Then she continued toward the rear, where her familiar corner had been prepared exactly as she liked it. It was her favorite place aboard: comfortable enough for eating or watching a film, practical enough for working, and private enough that she could retreat into her own thoughts whenever she wanted. She placed her Gucci bag on the table while Adam followed with her backpack and set it neatly beside the seat. “There you are.” “Thanks, Adam.” Nitaya appeared moments later carrying a chilled bottle of Vichy Catalan and a glass. Sally immediately noticed the familiar green can of Pringles waiting in the cup holder beside her seat. She smiled. “This feels like home, Nitaya. Thank you.” Nitaya poured the sparkling water. “We should be moving shortly.” Sally settled into the seat and looked through the window. Outside, her father was talking with Captain Henderson beside the aircraft. Adrian glanced toward the cabin, spotted her watching and lifted a hand. Sally waved back. For a moment the heaviness returned. Home. Mom. Oskar. She was leaving all of it behind. But only for a while. Soon Nitaya was securing the cabin door, and the familiar sequence of departure began around her. Locks engaged, cabin preparations were completed, and finally the Gulfstream’s engines came alive with their distant, muffled hum. Sally opened the Pringles and crunched thoughtfully on one while watching the hangar through the window. Eight hours to New York. And because they were flying west, she would still arrive in time for dinner. There were worse ways to spend a Sunday. By the time the aircraft was ready to taxi, she had finished the last few Pringles and drained her sparkling water. Nitaya appeared beside her and collected the empty glass. “We’re ready for taxi. Once we’re airborne and released from our seats, I’ll bring you some coffee.” Sally leaned back and fastened her seat belt, finally allowing the excitement of the trip to compete with everything else she was feeling. “Thanks. I’ll need it.” -- Arrival at Teterboro was expected around five in the afternoon, and somewhere over the Atlantic Sally found herself smiling at one of the great luxuries of flying private: time seemed to behave differently aboard the Gulfstream. There were no crowded aisles, no carts rattling past, no announcements interrupting whatever she happened to be doing. The cabin had settled into the quiet rhythm of a long flight, and when Nitaya appeared beside her with a fresh cup of coffee and a small tray of carefully selected Swiss chocolates, Sally accepted both with considerably more enthusiasm than she had shown toward the idea of sleeping. “This is the Brazilian coffee you chose,” Nitaya said, setting the cup down with an expectant smile. “And I thought you might like some chocolate with it.” Sally breathed in the coffee before taking a sip, then selected one of the chocolates and bit into it. She paused. “These are new.” Nitaya’s expression brightened immediately. “I thought you might like to try something different.” Sally took another bite and nodded her approval. “You were right. Thank you.” Coffee, she decided, would be her fuel for the crossing. She had no desire to sleep anyway. Her period was making its approach increasingly obvious, leaving her vaguely uncomfortable and restless, while the morning’s episode with the soaked sheets still lingered at the edge of her mind. She wasn’t frightened exactly, not anymore, but neither did she feel quite relaxed enough to curl up beneath a blanket and surrender herself to an afternoon nap at forty thousand feet. Remaining awake somehow felt safer, even if she knew that feeling wasn’t entirely rational. Her thoughts wandered instead toward Erika’s visit. She could still picture her arriving with those wide, eager eyes and that impossible hair, carrying into the house the particular kind of friendship Sally had gradually learned to accept from her without suspicion. Erika wanted very little from her except closeness. She was affectionate, loyal and seemingly determined that theirs should become one of those friendships measured in decades rather than seasons, and Sally had discovered that she was surprisingly open to receiving it. There were differences between them, important ones. Erika did not share Sally’s faith, and Sally never pretended that didn’t matter, but they shared curiosity, a capacity for quiet reflection beneath Erika’s exuberance, and an interest in the questions that made life more than a succession of pleasant experiences. There were also limits to what Erika liked discussing. When conversations became uncomfortable or philosophical enough to demand an argument, she often seemed happier taking them elsewhere, particularly to Patricia, whom she had befriended more recently. Sally was secretly grateful for that arrangement. Patricia could hold her own. Erika could be wonderfully affectionate and equally obstinate when convinced she was right, something Patricia had once reported with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Sally preferred having Erika as the friend who dragged her toward beauty, art, food and life rather than turning every disagreement into a debate that somebody had to win. Tuscany, though, she was genuinely looking forward to. After leaving the station, Erika had apparently decided that Sally needed visual evidence of everything awaiting her and had bombarded her phone with photographs. Sally opened them again now, scrolling slowly while sipping her coffee. The family property wasn’t a mansion, nor one of those imposing Italian villas Sally had half expected from Erika’s descriptions. It was much more appealing than that. The main house was an old farmhouse, clearly restored and adapted over the years without having its age polished away. A broad wooden table stood beneath an awning in the garden, surrounded by chairs and greenery that looked as though it had been allowed to grow where it pleased. Nothing seemed manicured for photographs. It looked lived in. Another picture showed a few worn stone steps descending along the side of the house toward a swimming pool set into a lower terrace. The stone surrounding it had aged and softened with time, while the water itself was brilliantly clear beneath the Tuscan sun. Nearby stood an old outbuilding with two vehicles tucked beneath its shade: a battered Land Rover that looked capable of surviving another fifty years and a tiny Fiat Sally could already imagine riding into the nearest village for bread, groceries or some urgently required ingredient Nonna had discovered was missing halfway through dinner preparations. Inside, the house retained much of its original character. Old furniture, heavy wooden tables, uneven walls and pieces that looked as though they had belonged to the family longer than anyone could remember shared space with the quiet necessities of modern comfort. The bedrooms had been updated more noticeably without losing the character of the house, and Sally stopped when she reached the final photograph. La tua stanza. Your room. She smiled. It was small and simple, with a broad bed, pale walls, old wooden furniture and a window opening toward the countryside. A narrow door beside the wardrobe led into a private bathroom, something Erika had explained with considerable pride. Her father had sacrificed another bedroom during the renovation and divided the space into two compact en-suite bathrooms. “Clever,” Sally murmured to herself. She took another sip of coffee and lowered her phone, and it was then that the bright yellow strap around her wrist caught her attention. For a second she simply stared at it. Her father’s watch. She turned her wrist slowly, watching the purple dial change beneath the cabin light, and the emotion of the hangar returned unexpectedly: Adrian handing her the box, thanking her, telling her she had been magnificent. Sally smiled to herself and touched the edge of the strap with one finger. Then she checked the time. Two hours already. She looked toward the front of the cabin, where Adam and the two executives had settled into their own work and conversation, and realized she had spent most of the flight comfortably hidden away in her corner. Sally drained the last of her Brazilian coffee, selected one final chocolate and pushed herself out of the seat. Her legs needed stretching. And, she reminded herself with a small smile, she did technically have guests. -- Captain Henderson seemed genuinely pleased when Sally appeared at the cockpit door, stretching her legs after nearly two hours in the rear cabin. He glanced back from his instruments and gave her the easy smile of someone who had flown her often enough that a visit to the flight deck no longer required ceremony. “We’ve just crossed Ireland,” he told her. “We’re over the Atlantic now. FL420.” Sally nodded as though the shorthand had always belonged to her vocabulary. Charlie had taught her enough aviation language that she didn’t need the translation anymore: forty-two thousand feet. High above most commercial traffic, with the Gulfstream settled comfortably into the thin air and the Atlantic stretching invisibly beneath them. She glanced through the windscreen at the brilliant blue ahead, exchanged a few more words with Henderson and Gruber, then left them to their work. On her way back she squeezed past Nitaya in the galley and stopped, as promised, beside the four club chairs in the forward cabin. Adam was there with Bruno and Andreas, and one of the young men immediately gestured toward the empty seat. Sally accepted it, settling comfortably among them as laptops were closed and Nitaya appeared with drinks and a few light snacks. Bruno and Andreas proved pleasant enough once the initial formality wore off. Both were fresh out of university and beginning what they clearly hoped would be long careers with Weiss Enterprises, their double degrees in finance and economics still new enough that university life remained closer to them than corporate life. They were on their way to New York for training, and neither seemed unaware of the unusual privilege of being transported there aboard the chairman’s Gulfstream simply because the aircraft happened to be going their way. “It certainly beats Swiss in economy,” Bruno admitted with a grin. “Economy Plus,” Adam corrected from across the aisle, without looking up from his drink. Andreas laughed. “My apologies. We are given Economy Plus.” “Then you’ve been deprived of absolutely nothing,” Sally said, smiling. She had already been briefed on both men. Bright, ambitious, carefully selected and considered promising enough that somebody considerably higher up the corporate ladder was already watching their progress. Sally found herself curious about them for that reason alone. They were young enough that she could speak with them without feeling as though she were sitting among her father’s senior executives, yet old enough to be stepping into the world she herself was only beginning to understand. Nitaya eventually appeared to discuss dinner, and Sally’s eyebrows almost rose when she glanced at her new watch. Her body was still operating somewhere between Zurich and New York, and the idea of another proper meal seemed absurd until she remembered that long westbound flights had their own peculiar relationship with time. Meals weren’t always about hunger. They broke the crossing into manageable pieces and helped pull everyone gradually toward the clock waiting at the other end. “Right,” Sally said with a small laugh. “Second lunch.” She looked toward the rear of the cabin. “Why don’t we move back to the big table? It’s much more comfortable for four people.” Then she turned toward Nitaya. “Anything interesting hiding in there?” A spark appeared in Nitaya’s eyes. “Your father has an Assyrtiko from Santorini chilled. It would go beautifully with the sea bass.” Sally considered this for perhaps half a second. “Let’s steal it.” She looked toward Bruno and Andreas with raised eyebrows. “I’m sure my guests won’t object.” Adam seemed amused by the sudden promotion of two junior executives to Sally’s personal guests. “No objections from me, Miss Weiss.” Bruno and Andreas certainly weren’t going to object either. They moved to the rear dining area, where Nitaya transformed Sally’s usual workspace with practiced efficiency. The grilled Mediterranean sea bass arrived with olive oil, herbs and lemon, accompanied by roasted vegetables, and Sally was once again impressed by what Nitaya could produce from a galley that seemed impossibly small for anything more ambitious than reheating food. “This is ridiculous,” Sally said after tasting the fish. “How do you make this in there?” Nitaya laughed as she placed another plate on the table. “I don’t perform miracles, Miss Weiss. I grill it in the oven. The fish comes prepared from the caterer.” “A very high-end caterer,” Sally observed, cutting another piece. “The very best.” The chilled Assyrtiko was opened and poured, its pale color catching the cabin light as Adam sampled it first and nodded his approval. Bruno and Andreas followed, both evidently pleased with Sally’s decision to raid Adrian’s wine stock. Sally watched them for a moment, then looked pointedly at the bottle. “I wouldn’t mind trying some.” Nitaya glanced at her. Sally’s grin appeared. “International waters. European jet. Different rules.” -- The afternoon gradually settled into the slower rhythm of a long Atlantic crossing. After dinner, Bruno and Andreas eventually returned to the forward club seats with Adam, where conversation resumed at a quieter level, while Sally claimed the sofa for herself. She had intended to watch television and had even found something vaguely interesting, but within minutes the screen had become little more than moving scenery, its volume muted while she curled comfortably against one end of the sofa with her phone in her hands. One by one, her friends filled in the pieces of the Sunday she was missing. Clara had apparently spent much of the previous evening playing chess and had awakened with a headache, something Sally initially accepted without much thought until a detail caught her attention.   Sally: More than one game?   Clara: Three. Simultaneous.   Sally stared at the screen for a moment.   Sally: Are you serious?   Clara: I never joke about chess.   That made Sally shake her head. Of course she didn’t. Clara went on to explain that simultaneous games were perfectly manageable once you learned to separate them mentally. Each board became its own problem, and while one opponent was thinking, she moved her attention to another, maintaining several developing strategies in parallel. It worked particularly well, Clara explained, when the other players were slower or hesitant about committing to their moves. Sally understood the explanation well enough, but the idea of maintaining three independent chess games inside her head still sounded exhausting. Katrina was unusually silent. Clara mentioned that she was out somewhere with her parents, and Sally decided not to bother her. There would be plenty of time to catch up once she reached New York. Patricia answered next, though only briefly. Something about Charlie being late made Sally realize they were getting ready for church, and she smiled at the thought of the familiar Sunday routine continuing thousands of miles away while she crossed the Atlantic. Trish was also heading to church in Texas as well and contributed little more than a paw emoji and the important information that Mambo missed her. Sally smiled. She missed Mambo too. Maddie’s messages were less cheerful at first. Her arm had been hurting again, another lingering reminder of the car wreck and the slower recovery she had endured from extensive fractures to her arms and ribs. Physiotherapy continued, but somewhere along the way Maddie had discovered an unexpectedly enjoyable addition to it: drumming. What had begun as another way of strengthening and coordinating her arms and legs was rapidly developing into something she genuinely loved.   Maddie: Metallica, here I come.   Sally frowned at her phone.   Sally: Metallica?   Maddie: Enter Sandman. Pay attention to the drums.   Sally: Will do.   Sally checked Theresa and Jana next, but neither appeared to be particularly interested in social media that afternoon. She imagined them enjoying their Sunday somewhere in Zürich and resisted the temptation to send another message simply to provoke a response. For the first time in several minutes, she lowered her phone and looked around the cabin. Bruno and Andreas were talking quietly at the front. Adam had returned to his laptop. Nitaya moved occasionally between the cabin and galley, while beyond the windows there was nothing but the brilliant, endless daylight of the upper atmosphere. Somewhere far below them lay the Atlantic, and somewhere ahead waited New York. Sally reached for the noise-cancelling headphones she kept primarily for flights and slipped them over her ears. The muted television disappeared completely from her awareness as she scrolled through her music library, found Maddie’s recommendation and tapped the screen. The opening guitar filled her ears. Sally settled deeper into the sofa, stretched her legs out comfortably and listened. When the drums came in, she paid attention. She closed her eyes and tried to picture Maddie behind a drum kit, recovering arms raised, sticks in her hands, learning to turn something that still hurt into something loud enough to shake the room. -- Somewhere over Canada, Sally finally returned to her usual seat and table at the rear of the cabin, opened her laptop and forced her attention toward Wednesday’s Foundation presentation. The Delaney project had been taking shape for weeks, but this would be the first time she presented it in enough detail for her team to begin pulling it apart constructively, testing assumptions, refining the proposal and identifying the practical constraints she had inevitably overlooked. Elena had already warned her there would be several and, with characteristic efficiency, had informally pointed out a few before Sally ever reached New York. Bridget, with years of experience in foundation work, had gone further, suggesting ways some of those constraints might be managed without compromising the purpose of the project. Sally kept her mother’s suggestions in a separate document, adding notes of her own as she worked through the presentation slide by slide, occasionally stopping to rewrite a sentence or flag something she wanted the team to challenge rather than simply accept. By the time Nitaya appeared to clear away the remains of Sally’s latest snack and gently suggested she begin getting ready for landing, the coffee that had carried her through most of the crossing had finally surrendered. Sally saved her work, stretched and glanced at the time, immediately regretting the calculation. It was approaching midnight in Zürich, and her body knew it. The long Sunday had begun with Erika, wet sheets and an emotional crash before breakfast, then packing, Oskar, the airport, eight hours across the Atlantic and not so much as twenty minutes of sleep between them. She freshened up in the rear bathroom, exchanged the fitted T-shirt for her light cashmere sweater and emerged feeling marginally more human before settling into her seat for the descent. The Gulfstream G700 touched down so gently that Sally registered the landing mostly through the sudden roar of reverse thrust and the pressure pulling her forward against the seat belt. She watched the airport slide past her window as they slowed and turned from the runway, stretching her shoulders while calculating the remaining distance to home. Perhaps another hour. Less, if everything worked smoothly. Her penthouse in SoHo suddenly seemed like the most desirable place in New York. A black vehicle was already approaching by the time the Gulfstream came to a stop. Sally collected her Gucci saddle bag and said goodbye to Bruno and Andreas, who were continuing into Manhattan by road to their hotel. Their Monday would begin with training; hers would begin with Olivia and whatever else Elena had already arranged for her. She hugged Nitaya before leaving, thanked her again for keeping everyone fed across the Atlantic, then poked her head into the cockpit, where Henderson and Gruber were completing the final shutdown procedures. “Safe travels, Miss Weiss,” Gruber said, turning briefly from the panel. “We’ll catch you on the return flight.” “Thanks, guys. Have a good one.” Outside, Adam was waiting beside a black Escalade. “Shall we?” Sally nodded and climbed in. The vehicle moved slowly across the airport toward the helicopter transfer area, where a black helicopter was already waiting with its rotors turning. She had done this often enough now that the procedure no longer intimidated her. She ducked instinctively as she approached, climbed aboard and settled into her seat while Adam followed, checked her belt and gave the pilot a thumbs-up. Moments later they lifted away. Helicopters still delighted her. The Gulfstream was faster, quieter and incomparably more comfortable, but it deliberately concealed the physical act of flying. A helicopter did no such thing. Sally could feel the machine beneath her, the vertical lift through her body and the little corrections and movements that a fixed-wing aircraft smoothed away. The ground seemed to fall directly beneath them before the helicopter tipped forward and accelerated toward Manhattan. It was over far too quickly. They descended toward the West 30th Street heliport beside the Hudson, and Sally almost regretted landing when the skids settled onto the pad. Adam helped her down and guided her away from the aircraft while the rotors continued turning behind them. “It almost feels like a waste,” Sally said once they were clear. Adam glanced toward the helicopter. “Only the best for a Weiss. Bruno and Andreas will be discovering Sunday return traffic about now.” Sally smiled. “Poor guys.” “Sheba will take you to Revell. I’ll get you settled and then head to my hotel.” Sally was quite happy to surrender the remaining logistics to him. Sheba was waiting beside another black Escalade and greeted Sally with immediate warmth. “Miss Weiss. Long time no see!” Sally brightened despite her exhaustion. “Hi, Sheba. It’s great to see you.” She glanced toward the street with mock suspicion. “Any protesters today?” Sheba laughed, remembering their previous encounter perfectly well. “Even protesters enjoy a day off. Clear sailing to SoHo.” “Good.” Sally climbed into the rear seat and buckled herself in while Adam settled in front. Soon they were moving south along Manhattan’s west side, and only then, with the travel arrangements finally out of her hands, did the exhaustion truly catch up with her. At a light on 12th Street, Sally rested her head against the seat and gazed through the window. The Hudson stretched away to her right, reflecting the late-afternoon light, while Manhattan rose densely to her left. The Sunday crowds along the park were beginning to thin, though cyclists still moved along the path and people lingered near the river, reluctant to surrender the last hours of the weekend. She tried to picture the penthouse waiting for her in SoHo. Housekeeping would have been through already. The kitchen would be stocked for the couple of nights she planned to stay there, probably with snacks, breakfast things and something easy in the freezer. Pizza. The thought suddenly sounded wonderful. Frozen pizza, television, bare feet on the sofa, and perhaps falling asleep halfway through whatever movie she chose. Then the memory returned. Wet sheets. Sally frowned faintly at her reflection in the window. It seemed astonishing that it had happened that morning. Zürich felt days away now, and Erika stripping the bed while Sally stood wrapped in a towel belonged almost to another week. But it had been today. Her thoughts moved inevitably toward bedtime, and with them came that small tightening in her stomach again. Tonight would be different. No Erika sleeping nearby. No Bridget downstairs. No Mia in the house. For the first time since the accident, Sally would be spending the night in the penthouse entirely on her own. Then she remembered something. The bathroom cupboard. She still had a package of the diapers she’d used during months after the crash. She hadn’t thrown them away after her previous stay because there had been no reason to. Back then she had still needed them. Sally stared through the window for several seconds. And just like that, the knot inside her loosened. She didn’t have to prove anything tonight. There was nobody to impress. Nobody would know. She could shower, put on something comfortable, protect herself, climb into bed and sleep without waking every few hours wondering whether she was still dry. The realization was almost embarrassingly reassuring. She settled deeper into the leather seat as the Escalade moved farther into SoHo, watching familiar buildings pass outside. Tomorrow could look after itself. Tonight she wanted comfort and security, and she knew exactly where to find both. For once, Sally wasn’t going to argue with her body or demand that it prove anything to her. She would simply take the night as it came, sleep safely, wake up in the morning and decide what came next. One day at a time. Padded, if necessary. -- “Welcome, Miss Weiss,” Rafa called as Sally crossed the lobby, already moving to help Adam with the suitcases. “Your elevator is open.” “Thanks, Rafa.” Adam rolled both cases into the private elevator and straightened, apparently prepared to accompany her upstairs and complete the delivery personally. Sally caught the look and smiled. “Thanks, Adam. I can take it from here. The suitcases have wheels.” For once, he seemed almost relieved to be dismissed. It had been a long day for him as well, and unlike Sally, he still had to reach his hotel. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Sheba will pick you up at nine sharp tomorrow morning.” “I’ll be ready. Thanks for everything.” Adam nodded, gave her a final goodnight and turned back toward the lobby while Sally pressed the button for the penthouse. The doors closed, sealing her into the familiar quiet of the private elevator, and for the first time since leaving Zürich she was completely alone. Only for about thirty seconds. The elevator rose directly to the highest floor and opened into the expansive living room of her penthouse. Sally immediately noticed that something was different. The lights were already on, casting a warm glow through the room, while the air-conditioning had been running long enough to strip away every trace of the muggy New York afternoon outside. She stepped out slowly, pulling her suitcases behind her, vaguely wondering whether housekeeping had simply been unusually thorough. Someone cleared her throat. “Welcome home, Sally.” Sally spun around. “Katrina!” “Sorpresa.” Katrina’s composure lasted only long enough to deliver the word. Then her face broke into a broad grin and she opened her arms, catching a bewildered Sally in a warm hug. “What are you doing here?” Sally pulled back to look properly at her friend. Katrina wore tight jeans and a loose blouse, her dark curls falling naturally around her shoulders, and looked entirely too comfortable standing in Sally’s Manhattan living room for someone who was supposed to be miles away from her expectations. “I’m in the city with my parents,” Katrina explained. “Shopping, a musical, dinner—the usual family invasion of Manhattan. Erika told me you were coming, so I coordinated with your parents. I hope you don’t mind.” “Mind?” Sally was still processing the surprise. “How did you even get in?” “Your father told me you were coming by helicopter, so I knew approximately when you’d arrive, and he asked your doorman let me up.” Katrina glanced toward the elevator. “I can’t stay very long. My parents are picking me up.” Sally narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Have you checked the kitchen?” Katrina looked almost offended. “Of course I checked the kitchen.” Sally laughed. “Any food?” “There’s a pizza ready for the oven.” Katrina was already heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll put it in. You go deal with your suitcases, wash your face, whatever you need to do.” Then she pointed after Sally. “Y no te duermas.” “I’m not going to fall asleep.” Sally yawned almost immediately. Katrina gave her a look. “I’m tired,” Sally admitted. “It’s almost midnight for me.” “Sleep can wait twenty minutes. My parents won’t.” That was sufficient motivation. Sally rolled the suitcases into her bedroom and stopped for a moment beside the windows. Manhattan spread beyond the glass, the skyline catching the last warm light of the setting sun, and the sight brought with it the strange realization that she was actually here. Zürich that morning, the Atlantic all afternoon, and now New York. Her shoulders sagged. She wanted a bed. Instead she made a quick trip to the bathroom, took care of what she needed to, splashed cold water over her face and stared at herself in the mirror until she looked marginally more awake. At the last moment she abandoned any intention of remaining properly dressed and changed out of her travel clothes into soft lounge pants and an old T-shirt. Her new watch stayed on, the bright yellow strap looking almost absurdly cheerful against her tired appearance. Barefoot, she padded back through the apartment toward the open kitchen, where the smell of warming pizza was already beginning to fill the room. Sally dropped onto one of the counter stools. “Hungry,” she sighed. Katrina glanced at her knowingly. “You ate on the plane.” “I did.” Sally rested her elbows on the counter and smiled. “But this is pizza.” She considered that distinction perfectly sufficient. “I’m pizza-hungry.” -- “New watch?” Katrina asked, noticing the flash of yellow as Sally reached for another slice of pizza. “A gift from my parents. For being a sport about Oskar and everything that happened.” Sally unfastened it and handed it across the counter. Katrina took the watch carefully and turned it in her hands, first studying the purple face and then flipping it over to examine the back. “Beautiful,” she said after a moment, without exaggeration. “And you deserve it.” Sally smiled faintly. “I’m still getting used to it. It feels heavy compared to my Casio.” She watched Katrina turn it once more before adding, “Dad gave it to me right before I got on the plane.” “A send-off gift.” “Sort of.” Sally took the watch back, fastened it around her wrist and returned her attention to the pizza. She was hungrier than she had realized. Between bites, she drank from her Pellegrino and leaned more heavily against the counter. “A lot is changing. I’m doing more things on my own now. I even have a bodyguard… sort of.” “That Adam guy?” “Yeah.” Sally nodded. “He’s cool. Doesn’t hover too much, which helps.” Katrina watched her for a moment before the conversation shifted naturally into something more serious. “He’d better be. How are you, though? Erika said you had a rough morning.” Sally stopped chewing and looked up. Katrina immediately recognized the expression. “She’s our friend now, remember? She cares about you, and she trusts me.” “What did she tell you?” “Not much. She wouldn’t say what happened.” Katrina rested her forearms against the counter. “I wondered if it was your period.” That allowed Sally to relax a little. She gave a crooked half-smile and shrugged. “Yeah. I suppose that has something to do with it. That and everything else.” She looked down at the pizza for a moment, gathering the different pieces of her life into some sort of order. “I left Oskar behind today, which was harder than I expected. Mom is still getting her bearings, so I have the Foundation to keep moving. Then there’s New York, meetings, presentations…” She sighed and took another sip of water. “And after that there’s an orange beast sitting in Coral Gables that everybody apparently expects me to tame.” Katrina’s face immediately brightened. “The Lambo.” Sally rolled her eyes. “The Lambo.” Katrina couldn’t hide her enthusiasm. “It suits you.” “You haven’t even seen me drive it.” “I don’t need to.” Sally gave her a tired look, but Katrina was already smiling. “Amanda has been begging me to get pictures.” “Of course she has. Which she will immediately unload onto Instagram.” “Probably.” Sally shook her head, though she was smiling now. She finished the crust in her hand before continuing, her voice slowing as the sheer quantity of what lay ahead began to sound ridiculous even to her. “So I tame the Lamborghini, finish everything I need to do in Miami, come back home for a little while, and then I’m flying to Croatia for a week aboard a yacht with a collection of people I’ve barely met.” Katrina smiled knowingly. “Flying Fox, season two.” “Hopefully with fewer complications.” Katrina let that pass. “And then after Croatia…” Sally began. “Tuscany.” Katrina’s eyes widened. “Erika told me.” Sally nodded. For several seconds she said nothing. She simply sat there barefoot in her lounge pants, one hand loosely around the cold bottle of Pellegrino, the bright new watch on her wrist and the remains of her pizza on the plate in front of her. She had spent the entire day moving westward while her life seemed to be accelerating in every other direction at once. Katrina studied her friend more carefully now. Beneath the excitement, the new responsibilities, the travel and all the things Sally genuinely wanted to do, she looked exhausted. -- “What’s new with you?” Sally asked, looking considerably more awake now that pizza and company had begun to counteract the long flight. “Are you seeing much of Clara?” The change in Katrina’s expression answered before she did. A warm smile spread across her face and she nodded. “Really? You’re actually allowed to be together?” “Not exactly.” Katrina gave her a crooked grin. “After we came back from Zürich—after your birthday—I campaigned for visits. Her house, the mall, public places, whatever our parents would accept. I wasn’t asking for much.” She shrugged. “It got me nowhere.” Sally frowned. “So how are you seeing her?” “Patricia found the formula.” Katrina’s smile returned. “She invited me to church, and she invited Clara too. Whenever I can make it up from Greenwich, anyways. So now we see each other there, and we behave.” She paused before adding, with the resigned expression of someone who had accepted an arrangement she would once have considered impossible, “Which isn’t particularly difficult because Clara has gone completely nun on me.” “Katrina!” “What?” Katrina laughed softly. “I’ve made peace with it. Mostly.” Her amusement faded into something more thoughtful. “She’s loyal as hell, though. After everything, she still sticks with me. Sometimes I don’t think I deserve her friendship.” Sally watched her across the counter. “Those can be the best friendships. The ones you didn’t earn and don’t really deserve.” Katrina considered that without answering immediately. “And how are you enjoying church?” Sally asked. “I don’t mind it as much as I expected.” Katrina picked absently at the edge of her napkin. “The youth group is okay. It’s mostly young people being normal together, which helps. And Clara’s parents are much more comfortable with us being around each other there.” Sally hesitated before asking the obvious question. “Do they know about you two?” Katrina nodded and folded her arms across her chest. “Patricia told them. She said she wasn’t going to build anything on dishonesty, especially with Clara’s parents.” Her mouth tightened slightly. “So they know. I suppose what Clara and I have now is a friendship on trial.” “How is she taking that?” “She’s Clara.” Katrina’s expression softened. “Quiet. Shy. Doesn’t complain much. But she stays close to me whenever we’re together. We’re both still outsiders in the group, so I suppose we naturally end up together anyway.” Sally smiled, glad to see some of the tension leaving her friend. “Give her enough time and she’ll teach the entire church to play chess.” That finally made Katrina laugh. “Maybe, but she’d have to pretend she’s worse than she is or nobody will play with her twice.” “She told me she played three people simultaneously last night.” “Three?” Katrina waved dismissively. “The other day she played six.” Sally stared. “Six?” “Six.” “What is going to become of Clara?” Katrina’s face slowly took on a mischievous expression. “I’m going to distract her.” Sally narrowed her eyes. “How?” “I’ve caught her drawing dresses.” Katrina leaned forward now, warming to the subject. “Not just doodling clothes. She actually thinks about them—the cut, the fabric, how things fit together. I think she’s an amateur designer and hasn’t realized it yet.” Sally’s interest sharpened immediately. “I’ve seen her doodling before, but I never thought of it as designing.” “Neither did I at first. So I’m going to make her design things for me.” Katrina gestured toward herself. “Then we’ll try to reproduce some of them. Nothing serious at first. Just see what happens. Give her something creative to work on that doesn’t involve calculating six chessboards inside her head.” Sally’s eyes widened with genuine delight. “Katrina, that’s a really good idea.” Katrina put her hands on her hips and tilted her head with exaggerated dignity. “See? I’m not just Katrina la loca. There’s a heart buried somewhere down there too.” Sally’s grin softened as she looked down at the counter. “I know.” -- “My parents are here.” Katrina glanced at her buzzing phone, then looked across the sofa at Sally. They had spent the last half hour with the television muted in front of them, talking about everything and nothing until Sally had gradually sunk deeper into the cushions. “Are you going to be okay?” Sally lifted her head and managed a rueful smile. “I’m sixteen. I can take care of myself.” “I know you can.” Katrina stood and looked down at her. “But go to bed, Sally. You look completely wiped out. Pareces un koala en el zoo.” Sally laughed sleepily. “Koalas are fuzzy.” “And sleepy. That’s the important part.” “Say hi to your parents for me.” “I will.” Katrina leaned down and hugged her. “Don’t be a stranger.” Sally returned the hug and held on for a moment. “Give Clara a hug.” “I will.” Then Katrina was gone, the private elevator carrying her away, and for the first time since Zürich that morning Sally was truly alone. The silence that settled over the penthouse felt enormous after a day filled with people. Sally switched off the main lights as she crossed the living room, leaving only the small motion-activated spots to illuminate her path, and shuffled barefoot toward the bedroom. She wasn’t frightened of being alone; she was simply exhausted enough that the apartment seemed to have doubled in size around her. Then came the warmest moment of the evening. Sally opened her suitcase and retrieved her toiletries bag before remembering what she had thought about in the car. She crossed to the closet and found the package exactly where she had left it during her previous stay. It belonged to a period of her recovery that already seemed farther away than it really was, when nighttime protection had stopped feeling medical and had simply become part of the comfortable ritual that allowed her to sleep without worrying about what her body might do before morning. She took one of the pink NorthShore diapers from the package, opened it and gently fluffed it before laying it on the bed. Comfort and security. That was all she wanted tonight. First, though, she needed a shower. A long one, hot and soapy, enough to wash away the trip, Manhattan humidity and the sheer accumulated length of the day. She undressed and stepped beneath the water. The bathroom wasn’t particularly large—New York imposed its limits even on expensive apartments—but what space it had was beautifully finished, with real marble lining the walls and a ceiling-mounted rainfall shower pouring a broad, steady stream of hot water over her. Sally stood beneath it until her shoulders relaxed. For several minutes she did absolutely nothing except let the water fall over her, washing her hair and skin almost lazily as the heat pulled the remaining tension from her muscles. At one point her eyes stayed closed for so long that her head dipped forward, and she startled herself awake. “Okay,” she murmured. “Bed.” She turned off the water and wrapped herself in one of the thick terry towels, drying slowly before padding back into the bedroom. Her preparations for sleep were wonderfully uncomplicated. A diaper and a soft T-shirt. Nothing fashionable, nothing sophisticated, and nobody there to see her anyway. Just the familiar protection that meant she could close her eyes without wondering whether the morning would begin with another disaster. She could sleep deeply, safely and without negotiating with her own body every time she felt herself drifting off. Sally looked toward the bed and felt something almost embarrassingly close to happiness. Whatever happened overnight could wait until morning. Wet or dry, she would deal with it then. Tonight she was comfortable. Tonight she was safe. And, right now, that felt like bliss. --