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RAVEN

“ F en, can you wash your hands please?”

I don’t have to shout. My voice carries easily across the small apartment that contains a bathroom and a bedroom and an open-plan space for everything else.

Exposed wood beams and a rough wooden floor make for what some would call rustic charm . The stairwell is a little treacherous for a five-year-old, and it permanently smells like sawdust.

But on a night like tonight, when the rain is coming down so hard it looks like it’s moving sideways, I’m just relieved it’s warm, dry, and most importantly, safe.

Oh, and cheap.

We’re making do with a large mattress left by the previous tenants. Fen and I share the bed for now. He’s too young to freak out over sharing with his mom. By the time he cares, I hope we’ll be in a better situation.

Our clothes remain in the two suitcases I tightly packed, but there’s a growing laundry pile I’m going to have to take to the launderette soon.

But in the six nights since we arrived in this peacefully Podunk town, I finally found enough peace to sleep like a baby, secured a job, and got Fen into kindergarten. I got the breakfast shift, which suits me perfectly. The kindergarten has a little before-school program, so I can drop Fen there and rush to the diner.

That’s more progress than I expected or planned for when I left Seattle eleven days ago.

And I’m grateful for the small round wooden table and two mismatched chairs, and the single nasty-looking recliner that I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed but can’t seem to get the grease stains out of.

Because it all means we made it.

That alone makes me want to dance around like I live in a palace.

Once, I was swayed by what other people think is a perfect life. A well-respected husband, a big house, a healthy income, and flowers throughout my home, replaced weekly.

Now I know fancy husbands can’t be trusted, big houses in Seattle are expensive, and healthy incomes that come from conning others can be a death sentence.

Now I’m grateful for a calm home with no raised voices. One where I won’t jump when the front door slams. One where I don’t have to deal with a man who likes to throw things. One where I won’t wake up to strangers in my house ready to kill me.

And in summer, I’ll pick my own flowers.

Fen’s footsteps pad to the bathroom, and I hear the steady stream of water. There’s barely room to turn around because of the way the toilet, bath, and sink are crammed in there, but the plumbing works, and Fen loves what he refers to as the baby bathtub.

We’re broke. Sort of. I sold some of my jewelry at our first major stop in Sacramento. We didn’t come to northern Colorado directly because I was worried about being followed.

Fen thought it was an adventure. I didn’t tell him any different.

But the cash I made has to last a long while. Emergency money if we have to leave quickly or fly. I dare not touch our accounts again, although when I checked them before I left, they were empty.

My husband must have drained them before he fled without us.

Mrs. Dobson adopted us immediately; she brought us some sheets for the bed, some pillows, and a couple of spare pots when she realized the suitcases held all the belongings I had. And she’s offered to take Fen if I get stuck at the diner while I find my feet. Margie let me have some cutlery and crockery and spare utensils from work.

None of this feels real. Every night I pray for the strength to get through tomorrow.

But life here is smoother. I find I don’t miss my husband’s energy. He proved long ago that he didn’t love me anymore, too obsessed with making money. But I knew his fragile ego meant he’d never grant me a divorce without holding Fen’s custody over my head.

But I’m here. Less than a week in town and surviving on my own.

I hadn’t stopped and looked at my life in a while. My friends were really the wives of Marco’s friends. None of them have messaged me to find out if I’m okay, given Marco is now a persona non grata who stole their money. I’m not sure why I let my own friends fall by the wayside, except at some point, I was dazzled by the life he could give me.

By the time I noticed, I was trapped.

When I told my dad we had to run, he insisted on helping as best he could. He drove us to Portland and dropped us at the bus station.

Before he left us, he put an envelope in my hand. In it was five hundred dollars cash and two prepaid cards, each with a hundred bucks on it.

“Hope it helps,” he’d said. “Should be enough to get you started.”

On the bus, I gave Fen the simplest explanation I could think of. That his daddy realized he’d been naughty, and that Fen and I were going somewhere safe and happy. He’d accepted it with the innocence of a child who trusts his momma completely.

I hadn’t had anywhere in mind. Except I wanted to be somewhere vast. Expansive. Where you could see the mountains and breathe fresh air but hide in plain sight.

One night, we were in a motel, and while Fen slept, I watched a TV show about a cattle ranch in northern Colorado. We made our way here the very next day.

I expected to stay in a motel or something when we arrived, but everything fell into place in a way I couldn’t believe was real. The bus had dropped us off opposite the diner just as Margie had been hanging a help wanted sign. I went inside, said I’d work a whole shift for free, and if she liked what I did, she could hire me.

Instead, she offered to give Fen some pasta and meatballs while I showed her what I could do. She even hid our cases in a store cupboard for me.

And while I was working, the Dobsons came in for lunch. Margie told them I was in need of a place to stay.

Thank God the Dobsons took one look at me and agreed five hundred bucks would cover a month’s stay.

We’re secure for twenty-five more days, at least.

“Can we color a castle over dinner?” Fen asks, looking longingly at the coloring book and crayons on the floor by the recliner.

“Let’s eat first. Then you can jump in the tub while I clean up, and we can color together before bed.”

“Okay. Can I get some milk?”

I rub my hand over his hair, naturally dark like mine, although he’s got his father’s darker complexion. His eyes are so dark, they remind me of obsidian. And his skin holds that healthy all year-round tan. “Can I get some milk, please ?”

“Sorry, Mom. Can I get some milk, please?” He emphasizes the last word to make a point.

I can’t help but grin at the funny, secure boy who is starting to emerge even after only a few days.

Margie gave me some leftovers from the diner. She called them leftovers , but there was still four hours left before it closed. I’m grateful to Margie for thinking of us. As I serve up the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and vegetables, I think of the biker who arrived in the diner this afternoon.

Looks-wise, I’ve never seen anyone quite like him. His long hair fell in spirals of curls the palest gold. And his icy-blue eyes bordered on colorless, although perhaps I’m just romanticizing now.

But his demeanor?

I know too many men like him. Wearing power like a second skin. Intimidating without trying. I should avoid him, but Margie said he was important to her. She didn’t explain why, but then he called her Ma .

So, I put on my game face. Smiled. And hoped he’d just think I was a nice enough human being to not get mad at.

“Eli is mean,” Fen says as he walks carefully from the fridge with a glass of milk.

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“Mrs. Kelly told us a story about some crayons and then asked us to draw something from the story. And I wanted to do purple, but Eli went to every table and took all the purple crayons so I couldn’t.”

My heart aches for my little boy. “You’re right, that is a mean thing for Eli to do. I’m sorry he hurt your feelings.”

“I wanted to punch him.” His angry face is so like his father’s that I feel like I might need therapy. “But I was too scared.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for not hitting him. Violence is not the answer.”

He looks at me with eyes that have already seen too much. He’s confused, because explosive acts were always the answer with his father. Fen has seen enough smashed glasses and punched walls to last a lifetime.

I place the spatula I was using to serve the food down and crouch in front of him. “You don’t need to hit him or yell at him. Ask for the crayons. And if he doesn’t give them back to you, you can ask Mrs. Kelly to get one for you.”

“Alyssa, who sits at the front table, walked right up to him and took them straight out of Eli’s hand.”

I’m grateful for little girls like Alyssa who are brave enough to stand up for my gentle and curious boy. I wish I’d been a little more like her. But my spine started to grow the moment we boarded that first bus.

“Well, I’m glad you got to color in purple. Now, take a seat and?—”

A loud hammering at the door makes both of us jump and look in the direction of the staircase that leads down to the entrance.

There’s a tightening in my chest, but for Fen’s sake, I smile. “Let me just find out who that is.”

I glance down from the kitchen window, but whoever it is must be tucked into the doorway out of the rain. I need one of those cameras that show who’s knocking.

The stairs creak painfully as I descend them, and I cling to the railing.

I open the door with the pathetically loose chain on and see Wraith, his curls and face wet. I’d almost forgotten how attractive the man is. Oh, and terrifying. Or terrifyingly attractive.

Can a man be both?

His cheekbones, sharply cut and casting shadows in the streetlight, would suggest so.

“Open the door, Blue,” he says, and I jump.

My brain utterly revolts at the idea, but I don’t want to offend my boss’s son. The two of them seemed close. When I left the diner, he was looking at the ignition for the gas ring that wasn’t working properly. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. To get out of this fucking rain. So, can you open the door and take the pie you forgot so I can get on with it?”

“Oh,” I say, remembering that Margie had, indeed, put a second container with pie in it on the counter for us, and I’d left without it.

He offers a takeout container toward me. The tattoos all over his hands look ominous, but there’s something attractive about them. And while I’m sure the biker has done lots of bad things, bringing me pie I’d forgotten from his mom’s diner isn’t one of them

Everything in me relaxes.

I quickly remove the chain, which I’m sure he could have kicked through in half a heartbeat. “Thank you. I was in a hurry to get Fen. It was so good of you to bring it over.”

I debate whether I should invite him in but conclude that’s not what either of us need.

He tips his chin. “Night, Raven.”

By the time I close the door and reapply the chain, I hear the roar of a motorbike engine.

This is what I wanted. Some peace. A small town. Where people look out for one another.

Instead of ruining their lives.