“It’s impressive,” Will said, focusing on the photo, imagining the truly outrageous elbow grease this must’ve taken. He didn’t even know what a slipcover was. Well, he didn’t mind hard work. And not minding it meant he was basically a workaholic, so he had a lot of personal leave stacked up. He could probably swing two full weeks. Maybe not before Sally’s vacation was over, but still. He could get the job done.
He reached out a finger, swiped back, and then forward again. He liked it, seeing this transformation. He absolutely didn’t relish spending two weeks in Donny’s apartment, going through all his things, but something about this—the stripping of it, the sanitizing of it, the starting-over feel of it—appealed to him. Two weeks to everything in that apartment boxed up and out of sight, out of mind. Two weeks to money in his pocket and a countdown started to this ridiculous condition’s end date. Two weeks to Donny being nearly nothing to him.
Two weeks was so much more manageable than twelve months.
“What about the registration?” he asked, intent now. He’d done a little reading when he had lulls in the action today. The site Sally used was locally owned, Chicago-specific, and for that reason it had a better reputation around here than the huge, international short-term rental sites that had run afoul of pretty much every building code in this city. But Will had skimmed a fewTribarticles that’d suggested there’d been no shortage of attempts to block their licensing process, too.
“I’ve got an in on that, too,” she said, shrugging. “And if the association hasn’t already put itself on the prohibited-buildings list, they can’t do it once you’ve put in for the registration.”
She tapped her chin, her brow furrowing. “You said your place needs a lot of work, but what about the rest of the building? Has it been fixed up?”
Will snorted, thinking of the wallpaper. “God, no.”
But as soon as he said it, he felt oddly guilty. Not unlike the feeling of being watched by sentient, cherubic wall sconces.
Or by a woman on a third-floor balcony.
He shifted in his seat, frustrated. He’d been doing so well the past few hours, putting her out of his head, focusing on the right thing about this whole disaster. He did not have the time or inclination to be distracted. He did not have the time to be who he’d been this morning. He had to be responsible. To focus.
“That’s good, in terms of bylaws,” Sally said. “If the building’s neglected, their documents probably are, too.”
“I wouldn’t say neglected, exactly,” he said, for no good reason. He had no idea about the bylaws; they were in the same pile as all the other documents he’d taken with him from the attorney’s office. But still, he had that guilty feeling again.
Sally ignored him, picking up the tablet again.
“What’s the address?”
He rattled it off without thinking, then furrowed his brow as she tapped away. “What are you looking up there?”
“I’m seeing if any LLCs are already listed as unit owners. If so, it’s almost certain you won’t be the first to do a short-term rental.”
“You can see that?”
“Cook County website,” she said,tap tap tapping. She frowned. “Hmm.”
That didn’t sound great.
“Privately owned, all of them. That’s a bummer, but it’s not the worst thing. My place on Western was like that when I bought in. You’ll probably have to do some campaigning.”
Campaigning. He had a vision of himself in the now-treeless backyard, staring up at that third-floor balcony. His heart hiccupping, his hands full of half-eaten tomatoes.
But that was ridiculous, because he wasn’t that kid anymore.
And anyway:It. Wasn’t. Her.
“Have you had any contact with anyone in the building?” Sally asked.
He coughed. “Uh. Briefly. I spoke to a woman on the third floor this morning.”During the golden hour, his brain supplied, unhelpfully.
“Hey, no,” Will said, once he realized Sally had gone back to typing. Looking for an LLC, that was one thing. It didn’t feel right to get details about individual people who lived in the building this way, let alone about the woman on the balcony. “You don’t have to—”
“Eleanora DeAngelo Clarke,” Sally said, before Will could finish.
His heart hiccupped; his hands twitched. He would not do the chest-rubbing thing.
That was a beautiful name, though.Eleanora.
Sally barreled right on, which was for the best. What did her name matter, after all?
