Shay
T
he next morning found us hastily shoving clothes and toiletries into our smallest suitcases for the road. I peered at my favorite black sneakers with dismay, unwilling to pack them when the silver buckles were coated in blood from my injury, the stale copper tang making my stomach churn.
Leigh walked by and plucked them out of my hands. “I’ll get someone to clean them for you while we’re gone. You know Grace can find someone who won’t mind lending a hand, given everything that went down. Just pack your blue ones.” She pointed to my second-favorite pair, tucked in a corner of the room and forgotten.
With a nod, I tossed them into the bag. Leigh always seemed to know when I was hung up on something. She was going to make an excellent mother one day. The thought gave me pause, and
