Sophia’s door was open exactly as far as a door stands open when somebody has been listening.

She sat on the bed with her feet tucked under her, the rabbit against her chest, both hands on its left ear.

“We’re going to take a ride,” I said.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Her duffel was in the closet, already half packed, as though she had been ready for weeks.

Two shirts, folded jeans, a hairbrush.

I added her toothbrush and zipped it shut.