She stops by the back of the Combi and sets the bags down. The fabric slouches and I see granola bars, cereal, pasta and sauce. A stack of cans falls over in another, the top one rolling across the grass.
“Where’s my brother?”
Shawn snorts, kicks the runaway can back towards the bag, then bends down to pick it up. “He’s not here. Hasn’t been since Tuesday.”
“The fuck?” I mutter under my breath. “Wait. Why are you taking all this stuffoutof the apartment?”
She looks at me as she knocks on the back of the van.
“Wait? Did you guys break up?”
Her eyes roll again and the guy gets out of the van to collect the bags by her feet.
“Is this one of those petty breakups where you drag all his stuff out just to get back together a week later?”
“This wasn’t my choice, Carey,” she snaps at me as the van door slides closed.
“Well, do you know where he is?”
“It’s not my job to babysit your ass.”
“I haven’t done shit to you, Shawn. So there’s no need to talk to me like that.”
“He broke up with me, okay?” She backs away towards the Combi’s passenger door. “Then he ran away to that damn cabin of his. So if you can’t get a hold of him either, then I suggest you take a trip up Interstate Five.” She pulls the door open, climbs in, then slams it shut.
“How am I meant to get inside? Shawn?”
The window cranks down. “Hey loser. You’ve got two seconds.” I jog towards the open window and she hurls the key and fob at my chest, but I’m not quick enough to catch it before it hits the road. I pick it up and stare at her. She looks back, no apology, just a mean little smile.
“Drive Reeze,” she says, and the van peels out of the parking lot.
The hell?
Thatwas Reeze?
Does Shawn not have friends of her own?
I take a few steps backwards and run my hand part-way through my hair before absentmindedly scratching my head as I make my way back to the stoop. I put my backpack on and wheel my luggage to the glass door. Using the fob, I open it and stop it from closing with my suitcase before going back to grab my surfboard.
The lobby smells like new carpet and fresh paint. The walls are crisp white and the floors charcoal. The elevator doors are shiny and metallic, and I catch a glimpse of how tired I look in their reflection before they open.
The hallway of level five doesn’t smell fresh like the lobby, though it still looks new.
I rest my board by the door of apartment 5F and let myself in.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I curse and jerk my suitcase in front of me before kicking it over in anger because Shawn didn’t just move out, she raised the place to the fucking ground.
There’s no sofa. No TV. No art on the walls. The only thing that’s left is a dead roach, legs up, in the corner where the fridge should be.
I trudge back to the hallway to collect my board, and with it inside, I drop my backpack to the ground. The sound of my skateboard hitting the floor echoes off the empty walls.
The kitchen is a crime scene. Every drawer and cupboard is open and cleared out.
I hit the main bedroom next, hoping there’s at least a pillow, but it’s the same deal. She took the bed frame and chest of drawers—any clothes of Eden’s that had been inside are in a pile on the floor. And in the wardrobe only his clothes remain, though they look rifled through.
There are no spare sheets, or towels.
No toilet paper, or soap.
