“Thanks!” said Jack, both surprised by this gesture of goodwill and afraid to question it.
A few minutes later, he forced himself to turn off the water. He’d already been in here a long time and now his fingers were pruny, the water going cold.
Outside the door, Boris left a pair of sweatpants that were entirely too big. Even with the drawstring pulled tight, they hung on Jack’s frame. The shirt was a little better. Extra fabric puddled at his shoulders, but it was more reasonably sized. Probably too small for Boris.
After gathering up his suit, Jack exited the bathroom.
A long, empty hallway awaited him.
The door must’ve creaked, because Boris called, “You good?” Florian yipped in response. “Notyou, dumbass.”
“Yeah.” Jack followed the sound of the yipping to the living room, where he found Boris sprawled on the couch, staring at the blank television screen. Florian sat at his feet, tongue lolling, milky eyes staring into oblivion. “I, uh… Thanks. For the ride and the shower and everything.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Boris stiffly. “Like seriously. Never again.”
Jack flashed a grimace. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone tomorrow.”
Boris scowled at him. “Are you fucking serious? All that bullshit and you’re just gonna fuck off?”
“That’s the idea,” said Jack.
“Thought you said you were fucking cursed.” Boris raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” said Jack, arms crossed. “I am.”
“Thought you couldn’t leave.”
“I can’t!”
“Then how are you leaving tomorrow?”
Jack shrugged. “I’m probably not.”
“Sounds like bullshit, man.”
“Well, it’s a curse, so…”
Boris rolled his eyes and stood, startling Florian, who began barking again. “Fuck it. Let’s go. I just needed to let this fucker outside.”
Florian wagged his tail, pleased to be acknowledged.
“How late are you working?”
“Until six a.m.,” said Boris around a yawn.
“What time is it now?” For all the clutter in the room, there wasn’t a single clock. Old vases and piles of magazines and even a partially disassembled typewriter, but no clock.
“Like two a.m.,” said Boris without consulting his watch. “Let’s go.”
“So isFlorian your dog or your dad’s?” Jack ventured afterseveral minutes of awkward silence, in which one of them would start to speak, then sigh or grunt instead.
“My dad’s,” said Boris. “Vet says he has cancer. Isn’t long for the world. I was gonna rehome him, but what’s the point? Little fucker’s already half-dead.”
“Shit,” said Jack, stricken at the thought of Rainy being abandoned in the event of his unexpected death. “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” Boris said, pulling onto the main street. The fog intensified. Only the faint outlines of streetlamps and shops were visible. The road itself was gobbled up by mist. “I decided he didn’t need to spend his last few months in the pound. Gives me time to make some money while I decide what to do with my life, anyway.”
“Oh,” said Jack. Disappointment flared in his gut. “You aren’t staying?”
