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for her to step into the hallway. He realized he was enjoying talking with her. Other than lunches in town with Carlos, he didn’t have many lighthearted social contacts, so this was…pleasant. And she smelled like spring.

    S TEPPING INTO THE COOL hallway of the owners’ quarters, Christine’s smile felt easy for the first time since she’d arrived. Joking around with Marcus had been fun. He’d been taken aback at first. She came on strong, she knew, loud and chatty and nosy, while Marcus was quiet and self-contained, a still pool happy to remain ripple free. He’d joked back, though.
    The wooden floor creaked in a familiar way as they walked past the tiny kitchen, Aurora’s bedroom—its door closed—the bathroom, the spare room, then Christine’s old room.
    “This is it,” she said, turning the cracked ceramic knob, her heart doing a peculiar hip-hop. The room would be different, of course, after eighteen years. Countless residents had stayed here, she’d bet. But when she stepped inside, she saw it was exactly the same as when she’d left it.
    “Oh, my God. Nothing’s changed.”
    “It’s very…pink,” Marcus said, pulling the cart inside.
    “Bogie painted it for me. It was my princess room, like what I figured Susan Parsons would have. She was the most popular girl at school.”
    “Susan from Parsons Foods? She’s married to the mayor, I believe.”
    “She was queen back then, so of course she’d marry the mayor.” She ruled the girls who mocked Christine and the other commune kids.
    Christine ran her hand over the pink polyester bedspread with the ruffles she’d sewn herself. “I made this, you know.” She touched the sagging canopy netting attached to four broom handles. It looked ridiculous, as did the papier-mâché French Provençal frame around the bureau mirror and the pink fur-padded stool she’d made. “This was my haven. Aurora called me Rapunzel and made fun of me for expecting a prince to save me.”
    “Is that what you wanted?”
    “Not really, but that didn’t matter to Aurora. Fairy tales were sexist—the girls passive chattel to be bought or rescued.”
    “Pretty heavy rhetoric for a seven-year-old to absorb.”
    “All I wanted was our cute apartment, my little Catholic school with the neat plaid uniforms and the strict nuns.” Everything squared-off, peaceful, predictable.
    “What brought you here?”
    “Bogie talked Aurora into it. They’d been friends years before and ran into each other and he got her all fired up.”
    “But you not so much?”
    “God, no. There were power-outs constantly. No TV. No privacy. People moving in and out.”
    “Not to mention no water pressure.”
    “You’re getting it, yeah.” She’d been babbling, but it helped ease how strange she felt being here again. She liked how Marcus honed in on her while she talked, really listened, as if the details were vital to him.
    “Everything okay?” Bogie stood in the doorway.
    “My room’s the same,” she said, still amazed.
    “That’s Aurora. She sits in here and thinks about you.”
    “You’re kidding. She always laughed at my princess stuff.”
    “We’re sure glad to have you home again, Crystal,” Bogie said. The affection in his gray eyes tugged at her. He sounded as though she was here to stay. That made her stomach jump.
    Just for the summer, she wanted to remind him, but couldn’t, not with that happy look on his face.
    “Well, I’ll let you get settled.” He ducked his gaze, then retreated. That was Bogie’s way, to slip off, disappear, as if he wasn’t worthy of people’s time or attention. How sad. She would spend as much time with him as she could, she decided.
    Marcus helped her off-load the bags and equipment.
    “The office stuff looks ridiculous in here, huh?” she said, looking around at the desk, computer and printer. “Actually, the only phone is in the kitchen. I’ll have to set up in that alcove if I want to be online at all.”
    “The drugstore