"I know what I'm doing."
Connor watches as she rummages around in drawers until finding a clean spoon. Then she takes the baby from him. Sitting down, she cradles the baby a bit more skillfully than Connor, then she dips the spoon into the milk and spills the spoonful into the baby's mouth. The baby begins to gag on the milk, coughing and sputtering, but then Risa puts her index finger into its mouth. It sucks on her finger and closes its eyes, satisfied. In a few moments, she crooks her finger enough to leave a little space for her to spill in another spoonful of milk, then lets the baby suck on her finger again.
"Wow, that's impressive," says Connor.
"Sometimes I got to take care of babies at StaHo. You learn a few tricks. Let's just hope it's not lactose intolerant."
With the baby quieted, it's as if all the day's tension has been suddenly released. Connor's eyelids grow heavy, but he won't allow himself to fall asleep. They're not safe yet. They may never be, and he can't let his guard down now. Still, his mind begins to drift off. He wonders if his parents are still looking for him, or if it's just the police now. He thinks about Ariana. What would have happened to them if she had come along with him, as she had promised? They would have been caught on that first night—-that's what would have happened.Ariana wasn't street-smart like Risa. She wasn't resourceful. Thoughts of Ariana bring a wave of sadness and longing, but it's not as powerful a feeling as Connor thought it would be. How soon until she forgets him? How soon until everyone forgets him? Not long. That's what happens with Unwinds. Connor had known other kids at school who disappeared over the past couple of years. One day they just didn't turn up. Teachers would say that they were "gone" or "no longer enrolled." Those were just code words, though. Everyone knew what they meant. The kids who knew them would talk about how terrible it was, and gripe about it for a day or two, and then it became old news. Unwinds didn't go out with a bang—they didn't even go out with a whimper. They went out with the silence of a candle flame pinched between two fingers.
The customer finally leaves, and Sonia joins them in the back room. "So, you're Unwinds and you want my help, is that it?"
"Maybe just some food," says Connor, "a place to rest for a few hours. Then we'll be on our way."
"We don't want to be any trouble," says Risa.
The old woman laughs at that. "Yes, you do! You want to be trouble to everyone you meet." She points her cane at Risa. "That's what you are now. TROUBLE in caps-lock." Then she puts her cane down, and softens a bit. "That's not your fault, though. You didn't ask to be born, and you didn't ask to be unwound, either." She looks back and forth between the two of them, then says to Risa just as bald-faced as can be: "If you really want to stay alive, honey, have him get you pregnant again. They won't unwind an expectant mother, so that will buy you nine whole months."
Risa drops her jaw, speechless, and Connor feels a flush come to his face. "She . . . she wasn't pregnant the first time. It's not her baby. Or mine."
Sonia considers this and takes a closer look at the baby. "Not yours, hmm? Well, that explains why you're not breastfeeding." She laughs suddenly and sharply. It makes Connor and the baby jump.
Risa isn't startled, just annoyed. She gets the baby's attention again with another spoonful of milk and her index finger. "Are you going to help us or not?"
Sonia lifts her cane and raps it against Connor's arm, then points to a huge trunk covered with travel stickers. "Think you're boeuf enough to bring that over here?"
Connor gets up, wondering what could possibly be of use to them in the trunk. He grabs on to it and struggles to push it across the faded Persian rug.
"Not much of a boeuf, are ya?"
"I never said I was."
He inches the trunk across the floor until it's right in front of her. Instead of opening it, she sits on top of it and begins to massage her ankles.
"So what's in it?" Connor asks.
"Correspondence," she says. "But it's not what's in it that matters. It's what's underneath." Then with her cane she pushes away the rug where the trunk had been to reveal a trapdoor with a brass pull-ring.
"Go on," says Sonia, pointing again with her cane. Connor sighs and grabs the ring, pulling open the trapdoor to reveal steep stone steps leading down into darkness. Risa puts down her bowl and, holding the baby over her shoulder in burping position, approaches the trapdoor, kneeling beside Connor.
"This is an old building," Sonia tells them. "Way back in the early twentieth century, during the first Prohibition, they hid hooch down there."
"Hooch?" asks Connor.
"Alcohol! I swear, this whole generation's the same. Caps-lock IGNORANT!"
The steps down are steep and uneven. At first Connor thinks Sonia will send them down alone, but she insists on leading the way. She takes her time, and seems more surefooted on the steps than she does on level ground. Connor tries to hold her arm to give her support, but she shakes him off, and throws him a nasty gaze. "If I want your help, I'll ask. Do I look feeble to you?"
"Actually, yes."
"Looks are deceiving," she says. "After all, when I saw you, I thought you looked reasonably intelligent."
"Very funny."
At the bottom, Sonia reaches toward the wall and throws a light switch.
Risa gasps, and Connor follows her gaze until he sees them. Three figures. A girl and two boys.
"Your little family has just grown," Sonia tells them.