Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
The rest of Wren’s weekend didn’t go so great, either. She cleaned up the property photos and drone footage for Chase and uploaded it without a problem, and he replied with a glowing email, telling her to clear her calendar because he was definitely going to have more work for her. That should have been cause for celebration, and to be sure, she was proud of her work. But her victory rang a little hollow without sharing it with Elias, or even Ellie, April, and especially with Stephanie. She liked all the women she’d met over the weekend. She thought she’d started something special with Elias, but her life’s refrain went through her head— nothing good ever lasts .
Speaking of the women I met over the weekend . Wren finished composing an email to Sandra, detailing Tuesday’s photo shoot—one close to Wren’s heart. After talking to Sandra on the phone for an hour, Wren came away confident that she would take the shoot seriously and treat it with the respect that it deserved. Sandra had pointed Wren to some of her travel photos on her social media account. She’d snapped some gorgeous landscapes, but the photos that convinced Wren that Sandra was the woman for the job were much more intimate portraits of the people she’d met on her travels. She’d also told Sandra that the shoot might happen later in the week instead, or might not happen at all, but Sandra assured her she’d show up anytime, anyplace.
Wren hit ‘send’ and closed her laptop. She stood and stretched, then rubbed her gimpy shoulder. It’ll be nice having an assistant again, and this time, I can call the shots . When she’d worked for a fashion magazine, she’d had an assistant whose job it was to fetch and carry during shoots. She wanted to be a photographer and Wren was more than happy to give her pointers, but management was not so happy, and told Wren to stop wasting the company’s time and money because it wasn’t her job to train someone they’d never promote. Now, Wren was free to teach Sandra anything she wanted to know, in return for carrying her equipment.
The only drawback to using Sandra was of course, Elias. Wren fell asleep that night thinking of ways to dodge the topic. And pretending it didn’t hurt.
Tuesday morning, Wren checked her messages and saw the shoot was still on.
“Good,” she said to herself. She called Sandra to let her know.
“I was just about to call you,” Sandra said by way of hello. She sounded distraught, her voice a little muffled. “I know I said I’d be available no matter what, and I still am today, just not all day.”
“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m just an idiot. I was eating popcorn late last night and chewing on a kernel that didn’t quite pop, and managed to crack one of my fillings. Maybe the whole tooth.”
Wren flinched and covered her heart. “Oh, that sounds painful.”
“A couple of ibuprofens are keeping the pain at bay. But if I don’t do something about it right away I’m afraid it’s going to get infected. The earliest appointment I could get is this afternoon, and the next available one is three days from now.”
“I totally understand. The shoot’s still on today, and I’m planning on setting up at eleven. If you’re still up for it, you could come for the morning and then go to your appointment, but if you can’t make it at all, I’ll grab you for the next one.”
“The appointment’s at one, so I’ll be there at eleven, help you set up, and just duck out early. Thank you so much for understanding.”
“Of course! I’ll show you everything I can before you go.”
“Thanks again.” Sandra’s relief was palpable.
“Sure. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. Call me if anything changes.”
“Will do.”
Wren disconnected, still feeling residual anxiety over Sandra’s situation as if it were happening to her. Again, she was glad she’d made the decision to step away from the magazine and strike out on her own, where she could have more control over her life. Even if it wasn’t as glamorous as shooting supermodels and superstars, it felt both calmer and richer.
She met Sandra promptly at eleven. Sandra was already waiting in her car in the parking lot of the YMCA in Denver. As soon as Wren parked beside her, she jumped out of her car and made a beeline for Wren’s trunk.
“I’m so sorry,” Sandra apologized again.
“It’s all right,” Wren reassured her. “But are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yup!” Sandra opened the trunk, and before Wren could say anything else, Sandra was already pulling out her camera bags.
“Hang on, I just bought a collapsible dolly,” Wren said.
“I see it.” Sandra grabbed the folded-up dolly and soon she had a stack of cases and bags ready to go.
“Kit Larson is the reporter we’re working with today,” Wren told Sandra as they crossed the parking lot to the building. “She used to cover the fashion and celebrity beat for Mile High Marker .”
“Oh, yeah, the weekly out of Denver.”
They got to the front door and Wren held it open while Sandra pushed the dolly through. “She does more longform features now and asked if I’d do the photography for this one. I met her when she interviewed Barbie Gillis last year.”
Sandra paused to look at Wren. “Barbie Gillis. How cool was that, photographing her? I bet she made you laugh.”
Wren blushed, feeling the usual awkwardness whenever Barbie came up. “She’s a friend of mine, ever since our first shoot together. She insists on me being the photog for any of her appearances. Or at least I get first shot at it.”
They stopped at the front desk and checked in. The receptionist pointed them toward a meeting room. Kit had texted earlier, saying she decided it was better to do the first interview away from the camera, but to go ahead and start setting up as soon as they got there. Wren wasn’t surprised. She just hoped everything would still go as planned.
The quiet room at the Y felt like a world away from the chic studios or multi-million-dollar celebrity houses Wren was used to using. The walls were a muted beige, adorned with motivational posters that had seen better days, their corners curling slightly. A row of fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh glow on a ring of folding chairs.
“Let’s get all but two of these chairs put away off to the side by that desk, and then we’ll set up the lighting.” She grabbed the back of a chair. “Sorry this isn’t very glamorous.”
Sandra waved her off then folded a chair. “It’s all part of it, right?”
They got the chairs moved—Sandra insisting on doing most of the work, then Wren decided how to set up the room.
“We’ll want to start with the lighting. The key light needs to be set up at a forty-five degree angle to the subjects’ faces and at eye level, which we can adjust later once they get here. Then let’s get the umbrella and strobe set up over here, and the fill light will go on the opposite side.” Wren explained the hows and whys as Sandra unpacked and set up lighting equipment, then the camera’s tripod. Wren tethered her camera to her laptop so she could check the shots right after she took them and adjust lighting or poses as needed. Sandra listened attentively and asked great questions.
Wren adjusted her camera lens, synching the shutter speed to the strobe lights. The familiar and precise motions usually energized her, but today her hands felt heavy, as if the weight of her thoughts had transferred to them. In her head, she couldn’t stop replaying Sunday with Elias. How she’d said goodbye before he’d had a chance to tell her it was fun, but over.
Her hands stilled as she reflected on her pattern. All her life, she’d been afraid to stay somewhere or with someone too long. She left before there was a chance for everything to go bad, or to be taken from her. The combination of pushing Elias away before he could hurt her first, and now the purpose of this photo shoot, brought everything into sharp focus.
“Wren, you okay?” Sandra’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.
“Hmm?”
“You have a serious look on your face. Did I set everything up correctly?”
“Yeah, you did a great job. I just got a little lost in my thoughts for a moment.” Wren forced a smile, pushing her sadness down where it couldn’t reach her voice. She couldn’t afford to let her personal life interfere with her work today. She was here to help Kit tell an important story, one that would help people, even save lives, and that required her full attention.
Sandra tilted her head, studying Wren with concern. “You sure you’re okay? Anything you want to talk about?”
Wren let out a soft laugh, the sound almost foreign to her ears. “I’m good. Just the subject matter today. It’s…a little personal to me.”
Sandra nodded, a touch of surprise in her gaze. Before her assistant could dig any deeper, Wren plunged into a lecture on shutter speed as she returned her focus to her camera, adjusting the settings, making sure everything was perfect. It was easier to concentrate on the technical details than to let her mind wander back to Elias. Or to her childhood.
The door to the room opened, and Kit Larson entered, followed by a man holding the hand of a little boy who looked like his Mini-Me. Kit smiled warmly at Wren and Sandra.
“Are you ready for us?” she asked softly, as if she were afraid to startle anyone. She turned her smile to the little boy who looked pensively around the room at the lights and the camera. Wren didn’t think he could be more than four years old. His father looked pensive too. He hunched his shoulders, head ducked, as if he were about to receive a blow between his shoulder blades.
The karate chop of life sucking Wren thought. She didn’t need to hear the details of Kit’s interview to know what the man and his son had just been through. Are still going through, or else they wouldn’t be here . They’d lost their home through sudden, unmanageable debt.
“We sure are ready,” Wren said, instinctively crouching down until she was at eye level with the little boy. In his other hand he clutched a tan-and-brown stuffed animal of some sort. “My name is Wren. What’s yours?”
The boy looked up at his father for reassurance as he brought the stuffed animal to his face and pressed it against his mouth. It looked like a hedgehog.
“This is Arthur,” the man said, mustering a smile for his son. “I’m Matthew.” He squeezed his son’s hand. “Wren is going to take our picture today, Art.”
“Do you want to help me take a picture of your daddy first?”
Arthur nodded, the hedgehog never leaving the vicinity of his mouth.
“Okay. I’m going to teach you and Miss Sandra here,” she nodded at Sandra who smiled and waved at Arthur, “how to take a good picture. Matthew, can I get you to sit in the folding chair right over there?”
Matthew nodded and leaned down. “Okay, buddy, this’ll be fun. Go ahead.” He let go of his son’s hand and crossed the room. Sandra meanwhile grabbed an extra chair for Arthur to stand on behind the camera. Wren stood and helped the little boy up onto the chair.
“Now, look at your daddy on this screen.” Wren tapped on the camera. Arthur hesitated. Then Matthew crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. His face went from sad to goofy, then straight to genuine joy as his son’s giggle bubbled into laughter.
Arthur dropped the hand holding the stuffed hedgehog. “Do it again, Daddy!”
Matthew obliged and Wren showed Arthur where to press the button to take the photo.
“Got it!” She smiled at Arthur and pointed to the laptop on the little table beside her. “Here comes the photo you took on the big screen. Can you see it?”
Matthew’s face popped up on the screen, eliciting another round of laughter from Arthur.
“Let’s take a couple more, and then will you let me take your picture too?”
Arthur nodded enthusiastically. They took a few more silly pictures of Matthew, then Wren told him to go sit with his dad. Arthur hopped down from the chair and darted across the room to his dad’s big smile and open arms. In the first couple of photos, both of them smiled for the camera. But as the camera kept snapping, Matthew’s self-consciousness faded and his expression settled into the same, somber look he had on his face when he walked in. The very one Wren wanted to capture. Sandra was off to the side, holding a reflector to soften the shadows, one eye on Wren, waiting for cues. Wren nodded for her to put the reflector down.
There. That’s the one . Same expressions, but with sharp shadows behind them now, menacing.
“And, I think we’re done.” Wren straightened up and smiled at Matthew and Arthur. “Thanks so much for being so patient.”
Matthew nodded as he stood, gently slipping his son off his lap. “Just so long as people know what’s happening. Maybe we can spare someone else.” He turned to his son, who had run over to Kit for a candy bar reward. “Ready to go, bud? Daddy’s got to get to work.”
Arthur scampered to his dad’s side.
“What do we say?”
“Thank you,” Arthur shouted as they left the room.
“Thank you,” Kit said. “Both of you.”
Arthur smiled and waved goodbye. All three women waved and smiled back. The moment he was out of view, their smiles faded.
“Can I ask what their story is?” Sandra said as she walked to the laptop where Kit had already joined Wren. “I mean, I know they lost their home, but what happened?”
Kit nodded. “It’s a sad one. They’re living in a room upstairs right now, and lucky to get it. Matt and Arthur used to live in a lovely home in Centennial with Matt’s wife, Lena. Right up until she got sick.”
“Oh no.” Wren’s stomach clenched.
“Congenital heart disease. She had a defect that went undetected until she was twenty-seven. By then, her heart valves were shot. She had great insurance through her job, went to the hospital, had surgery, and it looked like everything would be all right.” Kit dropped her gaze to the images on the laptop. “Unfortunately, after she went home, she had a stroke. She ended up back in the hospital, but she was in a vegetative state. Too much damage from a brain bleed. She lasted just over a month before she passed.”
Sandra covered her mouth. “That poor little boy. And Matthew, too.”
“Medical bills?” Wren asked.
Kit’s gaze snapped to hers, knowing what she was really asking. “Exactly. Matt thought he was keeping up with them, but somehow missed a payment, lost the low interest rate, and it snowballed from there. The hospital refused to work with him.”
“They lost their home,” Wren whispered, fighting back hot tears.
“They did.”
Wren felt nauseous and dizzy as old memories surfaced. She was about to excuse herself and find a bathroom when Sandra’s phone chimed.
“Shoot, sorry.” Sandra pulled it out of her pocket and silenced it. “That’s my alarm telling me I need to get going.” She smiled apologetically at Wren and Kit.
“No worries,” Wren said. “I hope your tooth isn’t cracked.”
“Me too.” Sandra rubbed her cheek. “If you’re still here when I get done, I can help you pack up.” She looked around the room. “It’s a lot of stuff.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. I’ll walk you out.” She hoped the fresh air would clear her head and settle her stomach.
Sandra picked up her purse. “It was nice meeting you, Kit.”
“You too.”
When they got to the hall, Sandra laid her hand on Wren’s upper arm. “You looked really upset in there and now you’re white as a ghost. You sure you’re okay? I could cancel?—”
“Don’t you dare.” Wren gave her the brightest smile she could muster. “The room was stuffy and I should have had a little more to eat for breakfast. I’ll be fine with some fresh air and a snack.”
Sandra held the front door open for Wren. “Promise?” The caring tone in her voice went straight to Wren’s heart, calming her.
“I feel better already.” She stepped outside and took a deep breath. The air was sweet thanks to a large planter full of red and pink petunias beside the door. “Now, go get your tooth taken care of. And thank you.”
“Thank you , Wren. I’ll text.”
“Sounds good.”
Wren watched her until she got into her car. Then she closed her eyes as she leaned against the rough wall of the building. The cool concrete felt good against the back of her sweaty neck.
I can handle this. I need to handle this. On the count of three, we’re going back in. One, two, three.
Wren opened her eyes, turned, and grabbed the door handle before her thoughts could stop her. She smiled and nodded at the receptionist as she marched back to the room.
Move, don’t think. Just keep moving forward .
When Wren walked back into the meeting room, Kit was still standing next to the laptop but she was frowning down at her phone.
“Everything all right?” Wren asked.
Kit looked up from her phone. “Yes. Our second guy is running a little behind. He lives here too, and slept through his alarm. He says he’ll be down in a few minutes. I was afraid he was getting cold feet. He’s very shy, very self-effacing. That’s why I told you today might not happen, but we’re two for two.” She looked at the door. “If he shows up.”
“Let’s take a look at the photos in the meantime.” Wren woke her laptop back up and started scrolling through photos of Matthew and Arthur.
“This one,” Wren said, tapping the screen. “This one tells the story.” She studied the way Matthew’s world-weary smile contrasted to his laughing son on his lap. Such sweet, guileless innocence . “A little boy who lost his world when he lost his mother, then lost everything else to medical bills afterward, but his father shields him as best he can. And sometimes, he succeeds.”
Kit nodded beside her. “It makes you want to protect them both.”
“Exactly.”
A slow grin spread across Kit’s lips. “You have a gift.”
Wren tsked. “I get lucky sometimes, that’s all.”
“No, you really do. That’s why I tagged you for this assignment. I always thought your celebrity photos really brought out the parts of their personalities we never see. Their vulnerabilities.” She ran her hand through her short, spiky black hair. “Watching you with Arthur, I can see how you make people feel at ease. I couldn’t get him to smile upstairs, but getting him to take a photo of his dad first was inspired.”
Wren shook her head. “It was all Matthew making faces. That’s usually my fallback—make ’em laugh.”
Two voices outside the door caught their attention—one sounded like the receptionist and the other a man’s voice.
“That must be him,” Kit said.
A moment later, the receptionist appeared in the doorway, guiding an older man in with her. Evan moved with a slow, deliberate pace, his shoulders hunched slightly, as if the weight of the world rested on them. His clothes, though clean, were worn, and his sunken eyes carried a weary expression that Wren immediately recognized—the look of sleepless nights spent worrying.
“Wren, this is Evan Roy.” Kit kept her tone gentle but professional. “Evan, this is Wren. She’s the photographer I was telling you about.”
Evan nodded, offering Wren a small, polite smile along with his hand. “Lovely to meet you.” His soft voice was laced with a beautiful Scottish accent.
“Likewise,” Wren replied, her photographer’s eye already noticing the deep crow’s feet etched into his face on either side of his pale blue eyes, and the way his hand trembled slightly as he extended it to shake hers. She could see the story he carried in his face and in every gesture. Kit could capture it with her words, and Wren would do her best to capture it in his face while he spoke.
“Here now, I’ve brought you a little something.” In his other hand, Evan carried a resealable plastic bag. “They let me use the kitchen, so I made you fudge. Can’t eat it myself. I’m a diabetic, but I love it so.”
Kit’s face broke into a smile as she took the bag. “Yes, you were telling me on the phone how much you love candy and making sweets. Thank you so much.”
“It looks delicious,” Wren added.
“I used to make it for my nurses.” Evan smiled fondly. “They work public clinics and I used to go every month.”
“But not now?” Kit asked as she led him to one of the folding chairs while Wren got behind her camera.
“Oh, no. No. I don’t want them burdened with my troubles.” Evan patted down his sparse grey hair.
Kit sat down in the chair next to his. She took out both a small recorder and a notepad with a pen. “We’ll get to your troubles in a minute, but I’d like to ask you how they would be burdened.”
Evan looked down at his hands. “That’s where it all started, at that public clinic. And I’m afraid they’ll blame themselves. I’m…” He raised a trembling hand and brushed at his eyes. “I’m not as grateful as I should be now. And no fault of theirs.”
“Tell me about it then,” Kit said softly. “Whose fault is it?”
Wren tried to be as unobtrusive as she could while still capturing the emotions flickering across Evan’s face as he spoke. She zoomed in on his hands as they clenched and unclenched while he told his story in a measured tone, every word carefully chosen.
“I was feeling poorly that morning, but I didn’t want to miss the clinic.” He smiled sweetly. “The batch of fudge I’d made the night before was especially good.”
Wren captured his smile, along with the pain in his eyes.
“When I got there and sat down for my exam, the nurses knew something was amiss. I told them I thought it might be a spot of indigestion. Sue, she was the nurse taking care of me, took my blood pressure, and the last thing I remember was her saying, ‘This isn’t right.’ Then a terrible pain tore through me, like someone had wrenched my left arm out of its socket. I don’t remember, but they say I clenched my fists, like this.”
Fists clenched, Evan bent his elbows and brought his hands to his chest while he threw his head back. Wren captured the fearful grimace on his face and his rigid body. Evan relaxed and brushed away another tear. Kit reached into her purse by her feet, then handed Evan a travel packet of tissues. He smiled self-consciously and thanked her.
“They thought I was having a seizure, but it was a massive heart attack. They got me down onto the floor and did CPR until the medics showed up. They saved my life. But Sue told me later they thought that was the last they’d see of me alive. They took me to the nearest hospital first, then I was flown to Milestone Hospital, closer in to Denver. They specialize in hearts.”
Evan’s mild expression changed, filling with anger. “But they have no heart themselves, I can tell you that.” His voice dropped an octave, and became shaky with emotion.
“Tell me what happened once you got to Milestone.”
“They put me on ice, dropped my temperature down to stop any further damage, put me in a coma. Then came the surgeries and the long hospital stay as I recovered. It all added up, as I discovered. Much more than I can ever pay.”
Kit nodded in sympathy. “What about Medicare? Aren’t they supposed to cover you?”
“You might hear it in my accent, but I’m from Scotland. I’m a U.S. citizen now, but I haven’t been in the country long enough to have paid into the system for ten years, so I don’t get full benefits. I was not married to an American so I don’t have spousal pay-in, and I have no children. Medicare pays up to ninety days in the hospital, but I went past my ninety-day mark, and was charged over eight-hundred dollars per day after that.”
Wren suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t imagine how much debt Evan was in.
“That does add up,” Kit said.
“It does.”
Kit crossed her leg and shifted in her seat. “What about a payment plan? Hospitals offer those all the time.”
“If you ladies and God above will pardon my language, that is where Milestone Hospital is screwing me. They call it Milestone Hospital, but for me, it has been a millstone tied to my neck instead.”
Kit glanced at Wren. She didn’t have to say a word for Wren to understand.
I’d bet every last dollar Lena was a patient at Milestone, too .
“What happened?” Kit asked as her pen flew across the page of her notebook.
“I was pointed to their website by their billing department. I followed a link and signed up for an interest-free loan offered through the hospital. I kept up with my payments just fine, thankful to be alive. And then came a letter saying I was behind on payments and my zero-percent interest rate was gone. I went to see them, statements in hand, to show them there’d been a mistake.”
Evan squeezed his eyes shut and cleared his throat. Wren captured every ounce of pain rolling off him.
“They wouldn’t talk to me beyond saying I owed them tens of thousands of dollars. They said my loan had nothing to do with them anymore. That’s when I discovered the truth. My loan went to a lender that might as well be a shark. While I thought all my medical bills had been consolidated, they’d not paid for my hospital stay. When I tried to explain what had happened, Millstone threatened to destroy my credit score.”
“Which is a lie, and illegal in the state of Colorado,” Kit said.
Evan nodded. “Didn’t know that then. The interest on the loan skyrocketed to thirty-two percent.”
Wren gasped, then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
Kit checked her notes. “The maximum allowable interest rate in Colorado is forty-five percent.”
“That’s criminal,” Wren practically growled.
“They said if they could put a lien against my house, the interest would be forgiven, so I consented. I still couldn’t keep up, so I lost my house to them. And almost everything I own is gone now too.”
A wave of nausea rolled over Wren. She swallowed down bile as her forehead broke out in tiny beads of sweat.
Evan covered his face with both hands as his shoulders shook. Kit immediately leaned over and patted his shoulder. “Take as much time as you need.”
He uncovered his face and pulled another tissue. “It’s not just my house and my things I’ve lost, mind you. I haven’t been back to the clinic since. I can’t face those nurses who saved my life and tell them I wish they’d let me die.”
The rest of the interview became unintelligible for Wren as she blocked out their voices. She hyper-focused on photographing Evan instead, determined that anyone who saw the anguish on this sweet man’s face would be devastated by it, that her photos would move people to take action against this injustice.
“I think that about covers it,” Kit said as she put her notebook and recorder in her purse. She looked up at Wren. “Do you need any more shots?”
Wren looked at Evan. “I got some good candids but are you up for me taking a few more that are a little more posed?”
“Anything you need.” Evan looked around. “I’d meant to bring my stack of statements down thinking I could hold them up in a picture, but I must have left them in my room upstairs. My memory’s not what it was before the heart attack.” He looked suddenly drained.
“I can run up and get them for you,” Kit offered. “If you trust me.”
“Lass, there isn’t anything in my room worth stealing. Here.” He pulled out his key. “Number twelve, left side of the hall toward the end. They’ll be on my bed most likely.”
Kit wrapped her hands around his hand and held it before she took the key. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.” She stood up and left the room.
Wren did something she almost never did. She came out from behind the camera and sat in Kit’s empty chair beside Evan.
“I just want to say that I… I really feel what you’re going through. And it’s okay to ask friends for help. I bet those nurses would be thrilled to hear from you.”
Evan shook his head. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”
Wren sighed. “What if they read the article and see you in it?”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take if it’ll help out anyone else. Maybe I’ll have moved on from here before it’s published.”
Wren reached out and took Evan’s hand. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Evan gave her another of his sweet smiles. “Try the fudge and tell me if I’ve still got the knack.”
Wren smiled and looked away quickly in case a tear decided to leak from the corner of her eye. She stood up and walked back to the table holding the laptop where the bag of fudge lay next to it. She took out a piece and popped it into her mouth. Rich, chocolate sweetness spread over her tongue.
“It’s delicious, Evan. Absolutely perfect.”
“Thanks, lass.”
“Here they are,” Kit said as she walked in. She handed the bills to Evan, and Wren took the last pictures of him holding them up, his face somber.
Kit had escorted Evan upstairs and Wren was disassembling her gear when her phone alerted her to a message in voicemail. She’d silenced any incoming calls during her shoot. It was probably Barbie calling to check on her, or maybe Chase. She was so preoccupied with Evan’s and Matthew and Arthur’s stories that by the time she had everything on the dolly, she’d forgotten about the message.
Later that night, just before bed as she was putting her phone on the charger, she noticed the missed call.
Elias.
Her heart sped up and her mouth went dry as she connected to her voicemail. She listened to the message. Then she listened to it again, feeling her smile grow and her insides warm. She laughed on the third and fourth listens.
Wren changed out of her sheep shirt and into Elias’ borrowed t-shirt. And then she texted one word back:
Yes.