He felt like he was on the longest shift of his life.
It was the man who’d scolded him in the basement the other day, short and surprisingly fast-moving for his age as he descended the final steps carrying a cardboard box that looked a little unsteady in his wiry arms.
“Can I help you with that?” Will said, stepping forward, already frustrated with himself. Damn his instincts. What good did it do him to make their sabotage plans easier? To let them stay, to indulge all their chatter, to walk each of them to the door like they’d been invited?
The man squinted at him over the top of his box. “I don’t need your help,” he said, overloud, his voice echoing off the hallway walls, probably scaring the decorative cherubs. “I could bench-press you, Beanpole.”
Jeez, all right. No one had ever called Will a beanpole. But also no one had ever accused him of killing someone for a rental permit, or given him three houseplants, so. It was a day for firsts. He sighed as the man moved past him, walking into Donny’s place like he owned it.
The box went onto the seat of the recliner, and the old man stuck out his hand for Will to shake. “I’m Jonah Hajduk. I’m eighty years old, and I’ve lived here longer than anyone, which means I like you and what you’re doing the least, I suspect.”
“Okay,” Will said, returning Jonah’s strong grip. At this point, the honesty was refreshing. At least he wouldn’t have to feed this guy cheesy potatoes and make conversation.
When they dropped hands, Jonah gestured toward the box. “These are a few of your uncle’s things, mostly tools he lent me, but also a couple of books I never got around to reading.”
“Sure. Thanks for bringing them by.”Now please go, he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to match Jonah’s frankness.
“You don’t look anything like him.”
Will shrugged. “I wouldn’t really know.” He hadn’t gotten a good look, that day.
“And he never mentioned you. Not once.”
Will ignored the pang he felt at that. He moved toward the recliner, pretending to look at the contents of the box. But really, he saw nothing.
“That’s not a surprise to me, if that’s what you’re aiming for. He fell out with my mother a long time ago.”
As near as he could tell from the few bits of information he’d been able to pry out of his mom in the weeks after their ill-fated trip here, the feud between her and Donny had mostly been about the trouble she’d caused when she’d gotten involved with Will’s father—sneaking out, lying, big fights with her mom. Maybe that all would have been regular teenage stuff, but eventually, she’d also run away, and taken a good deal of Donny’s and her mother’s money with her. She’d told it all simply, and without shame. Maybe even with a bit of pride.
He reached into the box, shuffled some of its contents around, trying to look busy.
“All’s I’m saying is, none ofusknew you exis—”
“Jonah,” came a voice from the doorway, and like everything else having to do with Nora Clarke, he couldn’t really explain it, the relief he felt. Out of all his visitors today, she was the enemy he should be dreading the most; she was the most dangerous to him. Frankly, she was probably here to finish him off.
But he didn’t think any of that, at first. He looked up and saw her there and all he could think was:Finally.
Finally, she came.
Her hair was up again, that sleek, straight ponytail he had an absolutely deranged urge to tug on, and she was dressed casually, like she’d been the other day—a loose, long-sleeved gray shirt, dark leggings that stopped above her ankles, and a pair of sneakers that looked like they’d never been worn outside.
She was so pretty.
It doesn’t matter, you knob, he told himself.She’s the enemy. “Your ride’s here,” she said to Jonah.
“Already!” He reached up to smooth his tufts of white hair, then patted his pockets. “She’s early.” He looked over at Will. “I’m watching you, pal,” he said gruffly, before heading toward the door.
“No wine,” Nora said to Jonah when he got close, a warning note in her voice.
“Sure, sure.” He looked over at Will and proclaimed that he was “on the dating apps!” and then waved as he passed by Nora, saying something to her Will didn’t catch.
Will felt a tide of annoyance sweep through him. He didn’t want any more of thisWe’re a familyperformance-art shit these people had been doing all day, distracting him and slowing him down. He finally looked away from Nora, his eyes sweeping over the room. It’d started a mess, and now it was more of a mess, and he figured he knew who’d given the marching orders.
“I see you came empty-handed,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “That’s new.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her, still in the doorway, a more tentative approach than any of her neighbors had taken, and for some reason, that annoyed him even more. He wanted her to come in; that was the hell of it.
“Can I offer you something?” he added. “A casserole, or a small appliance? Maybe a potted fern?”
