had arrived at our door with two suitcases, $287 in her checking account, and mascara dried beneath both eyes.
Her boyfriend of six years had told her to leave their apartment.
I hadn’t asked whether she could afford a hotel.
Kayla had arrived at our door.
I hadn’t told her to call friends first.
I’d taken one suitcase while Andrew took the other.
“Stay here until you get back on your feet,” I’d told her.
Andrew had agreed before I’d even finished the sentence.
I hadn’t told her to call friends first.
For the first week, Kayla was an easy houseguest.
Then came the towel.
The first morning, I assumed she’d forgotten Andrew was downstairs.
The second time, I pulled her aside.
“Could you put on a robe before coming down? Andrew’s usually in the kitchen.”
I assumed she’d forgotten Andrew was downstairs.
Kayla blinked at me.
