7
Eighteen Months Later…
Kate stares at me like I’ve got a piece of food in my teeth. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “Stop looking at me.”
“You’re not fine,” she replies, picking up two loaves of bread from the cage. “You’ve been like a b****y zombie all shift. What’s wrong with you?”
I want to tell her about the week I’ve had, but I just don’t have the energy. Eventually, she’ll get it out of me; she has a gift. But right now, all I want to do is get through this night shift and sleep off a pounding headache.
“Look, Sarah,” Kate continues, “I know you’re probably sick of talking about your problems—but without listening to you drone on about your horrible life, I’ve got nothing to entertain me. And you wouldn’t want to see me unentertained. I can get up to all sorts of mischief.”
I smile,
