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“Enough that you should care.”
“Kev.”
“I don’t have a number yet. But yes, it’s worth a damn.”
I look toward the cam corner and the sheet hanging lopsided off a pipe.
“Worth a damn would be nice.”
“For the record,” Kev says, “you could use the money.”
“No shit.”
“Especially now that I’m charging.”
I sit up. “Family’s free.”
“And you broke my cousin’s heart, so now it’s family-disappointment pricing.”
“Becca dumped me, remember? For a guy who scoops ice cream at Dairy Delight.”
“Well,” Kev says. “It is summer.”
I rub my eyes.
“Can we go back to Mexico?”
“Yeah. Right. Mexico.”
I wait.
The washer kicks harder, the first uneven wobble of its cycle thudding through the utility area. My bed frame trembles faintly against the wall. Mom’s basement trying to shake me off.
“What do we do?” I ask.
“Officially?”
“Sure.”
“Sit tight and let me do my thing.”
Kev’s thing has gotten me so much already.
“What’s unofficial?”
“Unofficially, I do not advise clients to do unofficial things.”
“I’m not a regular client.”
“You are since Dairy Delight.”
“Kev. I’m asking as a guy currently living next to a washer.”
He goes quiet for a beat. Then says, “Short of moving in and claiming the place? Sit tight.”
Move to Mexico. Stake my claim.
Escape.
