very lovely, still trusting and delicate. That was enough. He followedher into the cluttered kitchen.“I can do lots of things,” Lucy said, almost defensively, “I’m nothelpless.”He gave her a sardonic smile, but said nothing. He liked the wayher face scrunched up in childish fury, her cheeks reddening. Nomatter what they did, they could never be menacing. He liked thatabout children.Like his house from childhood, the kitchen fed out from theliving room, which was lit by a few dim tealights. Lucy left the doorseparating them ajar and began bustling in the cabinets, a skip inher step. She was humming something under her breath. It soundedterribly familiar, like something he might have heard as a lullaby, orsomething at church.“How old are you?” he asked, scanning the living room as well ashe could in the dim light.“Five.”And then he saw it. The ceiling.“Five,” he chewed on the word thoughtfully, his eyes trained abovehim, trying to see it again. “You’re five and your mom left you here?All alone?”He felt Lucy stiffen, even all the way across the room. She stoppedsifting through the cupboards. His eyes fell from the ceiling andwandered towards her face.30“Are you alright?”
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