June slid one of the anchors into Mara’s palm and closed her fingers around it. “You did right,” she said. “The motel only asks that you keep your light on. Everything else follows.”
“Keep the light on,” she said, the sentence now a benediction. Mara had no idea what it meant exactly. She slid the motel key — the real key — into her pocket. It was patterned with a small anchor engraving. bangroadside