She called Mercy before the taxi reached the street. Mercy answered on loud music and breathless laughter. Isabel pressed the phone to her ear and tried to steady her voice.
“Where are you,” Isabel asked. “Can I come over.”
“I am not home,” Mercy said. “I am out. Are you okay. You sound off.”
“I will text,” Isabel said. “It is fine.”
She ended the call and stared out the window. Her throat felt raw. She told the driver to keep going and asked for a hotel near the center. She wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand and kept her breath even.
The lobby lights were sharp. She kept her eyes down and signed the form. In the lift she leaned her head to the wall and swallowed hard. The room door clicked behind her and the nausea hit without warning. She ran to the bathroom, fell to her kne
