Alex knew there were grills and lounge chairs on the roof of their building but had never been up there. They started a slow walk around the block.
“Can we get chicken nuggets?” Calvin asked.
“What would your mom say?” He had a sneaky suspicion Cal was trying to pull something over on him. No sugar in the cookies probably meant she ate pretty healthy, and nuggets could hardly be called good for you.
“Never mind,” Cal said, giving up quickly.
“How ’bout a sandwich and a cookie from the bodega?”
Calvin’s head shot up to look at him. “Yes!”
Poor kid. It was almost eleven o’clock. He was probably starving. Dogs weren’t allowed in the store, but Alex came in enough that he knew all the clerks. No one said anything when he grabbed three turkey sandwiches, a pack of Nutter Butters, and a black coffee.
Charlie got so tired, Alex had to carry him back to the condo. Coffee in one hand, dog in the other, the grocery bags dangling off one arm, and Calvin latched onto his pant leg, they stumbled into the building. Rudy, the doorman, hustled to assist. “Mr. MacDonald, can I help you?”
Alex set the dog down. “I think we can manage. Calvin, gimmie a ten thirteen, will ya?”
“What’s a ten thirteen?” Cal asked.
“It means help me,” Alex said. It was actually a police code but not the proper use of it. Mitch and Alex had morphed it into a slang term for “help” that could be used as a noun or a verb. “Can you carry these sandwiches?”
“A course I can,” Cal said, taking the plastic bag.
The building’s super, Kenneth, ambled over from where he’d been chatting with Rudy. “Calvin’s a good helper,” he said. “Where’s your mom, buddy?”
“She’s sick,” Calvin said, hoisting the grocery sacks. “Mr. Alex got cookies.”
“I didn’t know you knew Julia,” Kenneth said to Alex. He had a hard, accusatory tone that struck Alex as strange. Did he think Alex had killed Julia and kidnapped Calvin?
“Yeah, well, we live on the same floor.”
“Of course,” he said, turning to Calvin. “Let me know if you need anything.”
When Calvin just shrugged, he didn’t say more. They made it to the fifteenth floor, and Alex quietly unlocked the door.
“Let’s check on your mom before we eat,” Alex said, and Calvin followed him down the hall.
The room was still dark and quiet. Julia didn’t budge when they pushed open the door. “Mom?” Calvin inched toward the bed. “Mr. Alex got cookies. Real cookies. Can I have one?”
Julia moaned, which Calvin took to mean yes, and tore out of the room. Alex heard the grocery bag rustle and then the flap of the cookie package being ripped open.
“Sorry about that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t eat too many.”
Another groan.
“I think I should take you to the emergency room,” he said, genuinely worried.
A hand slid out from under the covers. “Can’t afford that,” she said. “Be fine soon.”
He’d offer to pay, but she wasn’t in any shape to negotiate. Now that the dog crisis was over, he’d call Johnny.
“My brother Johnny is an ER doc. I’m going to call and see what he advises.”
She gave him a thumbs up. “New ice? And a bowl? Please.” Every word seemed to pain her.
“Bowl?”
“Gonna barf.”
