“Okay,” Patrick said. But he didn’t move from his spot. He replayed the sound he heard just a moment ago. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I just dropped my cereal bowl.”
“It’s one in the afternoon.” Patrick clapped a hand over his mouth. Now was so not the time to be judging his life choices.
“I had Raisin Bran for lunch.”
Spencer’s fuck-off vibes had no trouble getting through the door.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Okay. I’m right across the hall just in case.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He thought about the strong, easygoing guy who lugged two boxes up three flights of stairs in the heat of summer like it was nothing. A week later, eating cereal was a challenge.
“I’m going to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“I think I saw Raisin Bran was on sale. I’m stocking up, so I can get you a box if you need.”
An all-new pair of uncomfortable seconds passed.
“Sure.”
Patrick went back to his apartment to grab his reusable shopping bags, a habit picked up in California. He quickly scribbled Raisin Bran on his list and guessed at two percent milk.
Spencer was still a jerk, he told himself. But even jerks needed to eat.
* * *
On Monday morning,Patrick left his apartment at his usual time to head to the El. He found Spencer struggling one flight down. He gripped the banister with one hand while wobbily balancing both crutches on his free arm. He kept his heavy-looking cast elevated as he attempted to hop onto the next step with his healthy foot. It reminded Patrick of the performers at Venice Beach who juggled machetes for money, but without any of the grace.
Patrick straightened his tie and did a once-over of his tucked-in dressed shirt and slacks. (Why the hell did I just do that?He wondered to himself)
“Morning,” Patrick said.
“Hey,” Spencer said, straining to sound nonchalant through gritted teeth, desperate to keep up this charade. Patrick tried to play along.
“Off to work?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Patrick had started leaving earlier to avoid him, but he figured Spencer most likely gave himself an early start this morning because of his condition.
“Cool.” Patrick walked around him and descended to the base of the flight of stairs. A window overlooked the street.
Behind him, Spencer muttered an expletive as a crutch fell to his feet. Or foot. Spencer stared at it for a second, as if he was calculating the physics behind picking it up without losing his balance. Patrick’s head hurt watching him.
He picked up the crutch and handed it to Spencer.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
“No problem.”
Only it was a problem. There was no way Spencer was making it to the Loop before noon like this. Patrick couldn’t risk coming home tonight and finding a corpse on the stairs.
