Lyre's hand twitches as whoever it is knocks again, right before her fingers touch the door handle.
Her head jerks back as she scowls, before dropping her arm and stepping back. Leaning against the opposite wall, she crosses her arms and counts silently, her lips moving with each number.
Her confidence is enough to instill awe. I can't imagine a time I've ever felt as if I could just stand in front of a door as someone impatiently knocks, without answering.
And yet it makes all the sense in the world. This is her home. Her sanctuary. Who dares come knocking like this?
I want to be more like her.
"I'm grabbing a soda. Want one?" I whisper, slipping past her to the tiny kitchen nook.
Lyre shakes her head, still counting. I watch her lips move as she mouths, "Forty-two... forty-three..."
The knocking grows more insistent. Harder. Louder. The RV shakes with each impact, swaying gently underfoot. The first night, I'd been mildly seasick over the feeling. Now, I'm used to it.
