Page 10 of Little Etheldreda Riding Hood

It’s still dark when I wake up. Somehow my cell phone still has battery life and when I swipe up on the screen, it tells me it’s close to five a.m.

There’s a chill in the air and Zach is passed out on his belly, the blanket pushed down to his waist. Carefully, I cover him up.

I don’t know the protocol for this. I should probably wake him up and tell him goodbye, but that seems like it would prolong things. I take my clothes with me to the living room and pull them on there so I don’t make a noise that would wake him. Dolly Purrton appears from wherever she sleeps and purrs at me softly, twining around my legs. I find her food and fill her bowl again, getting her fresh water and some scratches before I pass by a notepad stuck to Zach’s fridge.

He’s got beer and cat food listed on it and, remembering what he said last night about being a man living alone with his cat, it makes me smile. After a second of self doubt, I take the pen and write:

Thank you for last night. It was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.

I sign it simply “Red” but don’t leave my phone number.

The Zach of last night was perfect boyfriend material–considerate, funny, giving in bed–but I know all too well how that goes. Morgan was the perfect boyfriend material too, once, until he wasn’t. Best to leave on a high note than a life-utterly-destroyed note. I stop and consider my words, then add:

P.S. I’m stealing Dolly’s name when I get my first cat.

I give Dolly one last squeeze, lock the bottom lock on the door and head out into the freezing dark to begin this new part of my life.

Chapter Four

In Which Our Protagonist Meets Her New Roommates

The Black Raven County Trailer Park has hardly changed in the fourteen years since I last saw it. The grounds are being kept up, but the sign marking the entrance is a bit more weathered and faded than I remember. The trailers have not changed a bit, only they seem so much smaller to adult me than they did when I was a kid.

The map app on my phone alerts me when I’ve arrived at Darla’s, but even in the dark of predawn, it’s obvious this is her place. Several cats lay in a heap on the porch. The yard is filled with various planters that have been turned over and filled with mulch for the winter.

I leave everything in the car except my backpack and purse and climb up the stairs of her porch. An outdoor heater I couldn’t see from the driveway rests in the middle of the space and the pile of cats I saw from my car are actually a circle of cats warming themselves by it, tails flicking in contentment.

I knock, and a deadbolt scrapes open, then another lock clicks. The main door finally opens into a neat living room and a feeling of de ja vu rushes over me–the same old couch, same old chair, and same old coffee table sit in the exact spots they sat fourteen years ago. Light spills out into the darkness, onto the porch, and through the storm door. A tall woman with long black hair like a perfect silk curtain stands, staring at me.

It’s Darla.

I’ve forgotten how beautiful she is. Her skin is light brown and flawless. She’s wearing a long-sleeve nightdress that fits her snuggly on the top and flares out at the waist, dragging on the ground. There’s no way I could tell you how old she is. I remember thinking she was ancient when I was a little girl–she’d have to be at least in her late thirties, early forties by now, but you wouldn’t know it looking at her. Her brown eyes study me for a long moment before she greets me, “Red?”

I nod. She unlocks the storm door and pulls me into a hug.

“It’s insane how much you look like your mama. It’s like seeing a ghost from the past on my porch.” She pulls back and looks at me. “You know, she was probably your age when y’all moved here?”

I smile, grateful that these kinds of things no longer hurt to hear. “It’s good to see you, Darla.”

“It’s good to see you, too. Come in, come in.” She leans past me and looks out onto the porch. “Anybody want in?” she calls out to the cats. A few look her way but none of them move. She shrugs. “You’ll wish you had later.”

The familiar smell of her house is overwhelming. It’s like being picked up and dropped back in time. She shuts the door and turns to me. “Is that all you brought?”

I shake my head. “No, the car is stuffed. Is it safe to leave it in there or do I need to–”

“No, the cats will warn us if anyone tries to mess with anything. Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast. I was just getting up to get ready and go to work when I saw your text.”

“You don’t have to make anything for me, Darla. You’re already doing so much.”

Her face changes for a moment. There’s a strangeness between us…the unfamiliarity of a familiar person who knew you once and knows you no longer. I was much easier to make happy back when she knew me well. A sandwich and a glass of milk was all I needed to cure anything that ailed me.

“Okay, well, if you change your mind, anything in the fridge is fair game.” She turns away. “Let me show you to your room. You’re probably exhausted.” I follow her down the narrow hall to the room at the end and she turns on the light.

My new room is sparse. A full-sized bed without a headboard is pushed up against the corner. Several thick mismatched blankets are spread over top. Next to it is an old oak nightstand made of heavy dark wood straight out of the ’80s. The matching tall dresser with six drawers stands next to the closet. It reminds me of the set my grandmother had before she died.

“You’ll have this bathroom to yourself,” she tells me, pointing to a pocket door. I slide it open and step into a tiny bathroom with gray linoleum and white walls. It looks like no one ever sets foot inside.

“I’ll let you get settled. I’ve got to get ready for work. We can catch up when I get home. Text me if you need anything today.”

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