I spend the day alternating between watchingThe Walking Deadand sleeping, and as much as I know I should get up and do something—brush my teeth, even—I can’t.
I can’t see my way out of this, and every task, no matter how little, seems like climbing a mountain, so I stay in bed.
Until someone knocks on the door to be let in.
Nico has a game, so I know it’s not him, but I fear whoever is on the other side because no one else has a code to open the door downstairs. Whether it’s a burglar or a serial killer, they somehow wanted inside enough to spend the time figuring out the passcode.
Another knock.
But at least the criminal is polite.
“Jo? Are you there? It’s Alma.”
Not a burglar or a serial killer.
“Nico gave me the code to open the door downstairs. He wanted me to check in on you since he hasn’t heard from you all day. Honey, he’s worried, and so am I. Are you there?”
My eyes well for the hundredth time in twenty-four hours, but this time, it’s out of gratitude. For Nico’s thoughtfulness and for this woman who was a stranger mere weeks ago but is now at my door to check in because she’s worried.
I drag myself out of bed and open the door. Alma’s eyes are full of concern. “You’re here.”
I pluck at my day-old clothes. “I’m here.”
“I’m glad.”
I try to manage a smile, but it’s a tough fight, and Alma stretches her arms, offering me a hug that I nearly fall into. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I don’t know what Nico has told her, if anything, but that onesentence fills me with more warmth than anything my family has said to me…maybe ever.
After she releases me, she takes in more of my appearance and nods once, as if she completed some kind of assessment and came to a conclusion. “I brought dinner.” She holds up a plastic bag. “I hope you like Chinese.”
It occurs to me I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m suddenly ravenous. “Love it.”
“And if you’ll allow me, I’d like to sit with you a while. Maybe talk, if you want. Or not.”
“I’d really like that.”
She enters my apartment when I open the door and says nothing about the state of it, only sets the food on the counter. “How about you take a few minutes to wash up, and I’ll help myself to finding the plates?”
I take her suggestion and brush my teeth, wash my face, and put my hair up with a claw clip. I also change my clothes and feel better already. When I open the bathroom door again, Alma is seated at my kitchen table with a spread of orange chicken, fried rice, and spring rolls.
Once I’ve slipped onto my chair, she says, “It’s up to you. We can eat in silence or we can chat. I will not be offended either way, but Nico said you might need a friend, so here I am.”
“Thank you, Alma.”
She winks, a sweetly benign action that strikes me as so matronly that I take a deep breath and tell her everything.
CHAPTER 30
NICO
I’ve been playinglike shit. Racking up stupid penalties left and right like I’ve forgotten the rules of hockey. And while it can feel good to exercise some rage on the ice, taking a pop to the mouth for snowing the goalie doesn’t. I didn’t do it on purpose, but that makes no difference.
There’s a code. I broke it, and I deserved that bloody lip.
I should have been paying attention, but my head’s been out of it the last two games.
Ever since Granny’s funeral and the subsequent spectacle in the backyard that ended with Jo literally running away, I haven’t been able to concentrate.
