His jeans were dirty and torn, revealing his boxer shorts, which she hadn’t noticed before, and he was still shirtless. On his feet was a pair of once-white sneakers that were now a soggy gray, and audibly sloshed with each step. Charly still had the pink shirt wrapped around her head, and not neatly, she noticed, seeing her reflection in the glass. It was tilted to the side in a haphazard mess, and clashed with Mkel’s T-shirt that hung on her like a blood-red mini dress. “Awful,” she said, looking at his shirt that was atop her sand-covered yellow halter dress, which now bordered on a nude-ish tan due to her complexion showing through. She looked at her feet, and didn’t even want to think about the brown sneakers she wore. “Stairs,” he ordered, walking quickly. “This way.” Charly followed suit, trying to keep the shopping bag still and noting that Mkel knew the way without direction from a hospital employee. He’d been through this before, she realized, and she wondered how many times.
