The bonnet shifted again. I ignored it this time.
I carried her to the stairs.
It required a specific economy of movement, the staircase was narrow, not built for two, and I took each step deliberately, keeping her head protected from the wall with my forearm, adjusting the angle of her body as the spiral turned. She stirred once, halfway up, a small sound at the back of her throat and a slight tightening of… I realized, looking down, her fingers. Her hand had found the fabric of my shirt somewhere in the transfer and her fingers had curled into it loosely, the grip of someone holding on in sleep, and when she stirred she held a little tighter for a moment and then went slack again.
I stood still on the staircase for a moment trying to maintain my composure. If she made any more sounds,
