Part 3
Deacon stopped on the first landing to rest. Tessa waited beside him without looking at Grant, and Grant occupied himself with finding the key he already had in his hand.
The building smelled of damp coats and supper cooking behind closed doors. A wall-mounted camera overlooked the corridor outside the laundry room. Beneath it, someone had left a plastic hamper with a cracked lid.
When Deacon was ready, they climbed the remaining stairs.
Grant opened his apartment door and remembered the saucepan.
“Give me a second.”
He stepped inside, moved a stack of envelopes off the chair, then discovered he had nowhere sensible to put them. He set them on the counter, carried his mug to the sink, and swept a jacket from the chair onto his arm.
“Wasn’t expecting company.”
“I gathered.”
He looked back. Tessa stood just inside the doorway, one hand resting on Deacon’s collar. Her expression held no disgust. That somehow made Grant more conscious of the room.
He capped a prescription bottle, gathered two loose socks, and pushed a boot beneath the chair. The other boot remained near the door.
There was one main room, a kitchenette, and a shallow sleeping alcove. A folded cot leaned beside the window. Under the table sat a military storage bin, its lid secured with cord that had outlasted several moves.
“The bed’s yours,” Grant said.
Tessa looked toward the alcove, then at the cot.
“Could I use that instead?”
“Sure.”
He unfolded it along the wall near the heater and tested the legs before laying down a blanket. Deacon investigated the space beneath it, then turned twice with great deliberation and lowered himself nearby.
Grant took a spare key from a drawer and set it in the middle of the table.
“Bathroom’s through there. The back exit’s past the laundry room. Manager’s number is beside the phone, and you don’t need a key to unlock this door from inside.”
Tessa picked up the key, examined it, and put it in her jacket pocket.
Grant drew a sleeping mat from behind the storage bin.
“You don’t have to stay on the floor,” she said.
“Years of expensive government training. Be a shame to waste it.”
She glanced at him to see whether he was joking. He was already kneeling to unroll the mat beside the door.
In the kitchenette, he washed two plates and a pair of bowls. One bowl required a second attempt. Tessa took a towel from the counter, folded it to find a dry section, and held out her hand.
“I can dry.”
“All right.”
They worked around each other carefully. Grant started rice, warmed beans, and broke eggs into a pan. Tessa found a knife beneath a dish towel and cut the bread while he searched the refrigerator.
A small container at the back held cooked chicken he had intended to use the next day. He shredded it finely, added warm water, and set the bowl near Deacon.
The dog rose just far enough to reach it. His tags tapped the rim as he ate.
At the table, Grant gave Tessa the plate with more on it. She looked at his portion, and he turned away to get water before she could object.
His notebook lay open beside the salt. She saw the cramped columns and the number at the bottom, then moved her glass so she couldn’t read any more.
For several minutes, the only conversation came from the apartment around them: a heating pipe clicking, a cupboard door settling, the floor creaking beneath Deacon when he changed position.
Tessa ate slowly at first. Halfway through the meal, she began to look sleepy.
“My father died when I was twelve,” she said.
Grant lowered his fork.
“Mom worked at a dry cleaner. In summer, she cleaned motel rooms on weekends. My brother helped until he left for the army.” She ran a finger along a chip in her plate. “Luke. He was older.”
“Was?”
She nodded.
“Overseas. Mom would still put a place out for him at Thanksgiving. Then she’d tell us to stop looking at her and pass the potatoes.”
Grant reached for his water, but didn’t drink.
“When she got sick, I thought that was the hard part. Getting her to appointments. Keeping track of the medicines.” Tessa shook her head. “Then there were bills I hadn’t even known existed. Property taxes. Notices about the house.”
“You own a house?”
“Mom’s place. By the lake. It’s not much to look at.”
Grant waited while she drew her plate a little closer.
“Real estate people kept coming around. They said you could earn a fortune renting it to vacationers. They’d say that, then tell us how much was wrong with it.”
“What kind of things?”
“The porch. Steps out back. Peeling paint. Then code letters started arriving, and a property company said they could arrange repairs if Mom would consider selling.”
“Did she?”
“Not while she was well enough to tell them no.”
Tessa glanced toward Deacon. He had finished eating and was licking a spot of broth from the side of the bowl.
“While she was in the hospital, I signed some papers. They said they needed permission to inspect, to get estimates. Copies for the county. Temporary things.” She pressed her fingers flat against the table. “At least I thought they were temporary.”
“Did anyone look at them with you?”
“No.”
He let a few seconds pass before asking another question.
“What happened after she died?”
“More letters. More calls. Everybody had advice about how sensible it would be to sell before I lost everything.” She looked down at her plate. “After a while, I couldn’t tell which envelopes mattered. Then I couldn’t buy his food, and it got harder to tell anyone no.”
Grant heard a freight car couple somewhere behind the building. The impact traveled through the table legs.
“Do you have any of those papers?”
“In my bag. Some are copies. Some are just bills.”
“Keep all of them.”
“Mom did. I guess that’s why I still have them.”
“We can look tomorrow.”
He didn’t say what he might find. She finished her food and carried both plates to the sink.
Grant tried to wash while she dried, but she took the dishcloth away after watching him leave soap on a plate.
“You cook,” she said. “I’ll do this part.”
“That bad?”
She held up the plate.
“Fair enough.”
Deacon watched from beside the heater. When Grant passed him, the dog’s gaze followed his hand, then returned to Tessa.
Later, she put her bag beneath the cot and kept her jacket folded beside her pillow. The spare key remained in its pocket. Grant checked the door, turned off the light, and lay down on his mat with his boots within reach.
Tessa’s breathing deepened before the hallway went quiet. Deacon settled between her cot and the entry, leaving just enough room for Grant to get past him.
The building’s pipes knocked twice.
Grant’s hand tightened against the edge of his mat.
His eyes opened. He could see light around the window shade, but somewhere beyond it, men were calling in voices he knew. His shoulders locked. Air caught high in his chest.
He tried to move his hand and couldn’t.
Deacon raised his head, listened, then struggled carefully to his feet. He crossed the narrow room and went straight to Grant…
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