Nora & Kettle by Lauren Nicolle Taylor Page B

them anymore. I’m not a prisoner. I am free.
    The sound of a window being jimmied above grabs my attention, and I shuffle closer to the dumpster, trying to hide. My eyes cast up the wall of the brownstone.
    The moonlight touches a thin, pale arm, outstretched in the air like it’s just sampling the weather. Fingers open like a star, and something drops at my feet. Dirty water splashes into my eyes, and I swallow a curse word. The arm withdraws and I hear the window close out the alley, the person returning to the warm safety of their home. I remain frozen, drips trailing down my face and onto my shirt, waiting for the person to come back, to retrieve what they have lost. I wait for at least an hour, rigid as the stones behind me. They never come back.
    I snatch the item to me. In the dull light, I can see it’s a comb and I can feel the bumps and ridges of the carvings as I run my finger over it. It’s probably expensive. It’s probably not something I should have.
    I put it in my shirt pocket and rest back, wondering who would drop a treasure from the sky and why?
    ***
    The dawn light crawls along the road and finally angles its way into the alley last. Kin’s eyes blink open as the light hits them. He yawns and stretches, cracking his neck several times. I grit my teeth at the noise, which sounds like beads breaking under someone’s foot on ceramic tiles.
    “How’d you sleep?” he asks, although I know he’s not overly interested.
    “Oh, wonderfully!” I snarl sarcastically.
    He slaps me on the back too hard, and I sprawl forward. I grab my shirt pocket, my hand over my heart to stop the comb from falling out. Whatever it is, wherever it came from, it feels like I shouldn’t share it. It feels personal.
    Kin throws back his head and laughs, his dark eyes glinting in the weak light. “Sometimes I forget how tiny you are!” he mocks. Then he holds out his hand. “Gimme some money for breakfast. I assume you’re going up there for your alone time.” He rolls his eyes and smirks like I’m doing something elicit up there.
    I frown and hand him a dollar bill. “Don’t be long,” I warn as I glance up at the fire escape clinging to the burned-out building.
    He flips me off as he walks away.
    I avoid the brownstone, wary of the person inside who might be looking for their comb and regretting their decision. Quickly, I clamber to the top of the building, the escape croaking quietly as I swing around each corner and scamper up. By the time I reach the top, my hands are blackened from the soot residue caused by the fire. I wipe my hands on my pants and sit cross-legged on the roof, the odd pigeon cooing behind me for company.
    Pulling out the comb, I take a good look. I was wrong. It’s not expensive. It’s costume jewelry. I think maybe they were just throwing out something old they didn’t want.
    Despite that, I keep it. And I keep it to myself.

 
    16. HIDE ME
    NORA
     
    A cool hand swipes the back of my neck. I quietly moan in pain when the hand lightly touches the skin between my shoulder blades and withdraws at my whimper.
    “Frankie, let me sleep,” I mumble into my pillow.
    A throat clears, and I stiffen. “Nora, let me look at your face,” he says with genuine concern, confusing but not unfamiliar.
    I gingerly flip over, holding my weight up with my arms so my back doesn’t touch the mattress. Bedraggled and exhausted, I look up at my father, the picture of regret and sympathy. He reaches out to touch my face, and I jerk away. “Don’t,” I whisper.
    “I’m sorry,” he says, tears made of poison slipping from his hazel eyes. “You understand, don’t you? I lost control and even though it was partly your fault for keeping the truth from me, I’m the grown up. I should have handled it better…” He leans in, and I lean away. “Nora, it won’t happen again.”
    I nod, my hair falling over the cheek that burns from the slap he gave me last night. “I understand,” I answer