My mattress upstairs is heavier than the other one. The springs are still coiled, the cover unstained, the wood frame nailed into place and unbroken. It’s the same size as the other but thicker, more awkward, and it doesn’t help that the stairwell is dark and the steps still slick as I maneuver it out of the attic and down the stairs. It rests on my back, the frame digging into the sensitive skin between my shoulder blades, and each time I take another step down, it thuds into me, reverberating through my bones.
Step, thud. Step, thud. Step, thud, and that’s as far as I get before Coby’s at the foot of the stairs, hands on his hips, his silver eyes like twin coins in his face as he looks up at me. “What are you doing?”
“We need a place to sleep.” Step, thud. I hope he realizes what thi
