| |
Lincoln was sweating by the time they made it to his building and up the three flights of stairs. “Days like this I wish I had an elevator.”
Kali offered a tight-lipped smile as Lincoln reached for his key. He held it to the doorknob, but his hand shook. Kali put out her hand. “Let me.”
Lincoln swallowed again. His body felt dry on the inside, like just being beside her sucked all the moisture out of it. His tongue felt like sandpaper. His clothes were soaked with the sweat of exertion and nervousness. If only he could do a pit check. At least he'd showered this morning. His deodorant boasted twenty-four-hour protection. If he stank, he should sue for false advertising.
Kali opened the door, turned to Lincoln, and offered her side to guide him into the apartment. Once inside, Lincoln dropped the laundry, hopped away from the door, and perched on the arm of the couch. Kali turned slowly then reached for Theo. Her eyes widened. Her body tensed. “This is where you live?”
Lincoln tried to see it from her eyes. Paint peeled on the walls. Exposed plaster and spackling where some ambitious tenant must have begun the process of fixing the place up, then abandoned the effort. The floor boards were old and whorled, the wood buckling in places. But what was Lincoln supposed to do about that?
The room they were standing in was large, made more so by its barrenness. A large work table sat in the middle of the room. Saws. Planers. Scraps of wood. Branches. Attempts, on it and around it, to create models of his dream. One wall was covered with pictures. Tree houses. Dozens of them. Beautiful. Creative. Hopeful tree houses.
A record player he'd picked up at a second-hand shop sat in the corner on a milk crate full of LPs. Everything in the apartment was new ... or new to him. Nothing in the apartment was from his old life. He’d left it all in Montreal with Lucy.
He'd scavenged most of the items in the apartment; even the couch, which he’d claimed from a curb where it sat with a paper reading 'FREE' taped to it. An old-fashioned affair, it had wooden curlicue legs and a sheet covering the stains—not that Kali could see that. Lincoln's gaze travelled to the Rorschach splatter from last night's calzone on the wall under the window. That embarrassed him. Sparsity was one thing; disorder, mess, another. He'd meant to clean it. Wanted to clean it. Would have cleaned it before he'd left this morning, but Romper had been so eager.
It didn't make a good impression.
She gestured toward the pizza sauce. “That's not a lure for the rats?”
“I don't have rats.”
“Mice.”
“Never seen one.”
Kali shook her head. “Lucky. I can't leave a crumb out.” She walked to the work table, scanned its items.
“Popsicle sticks? You have a kid?”
“I'm doing models. Small scale for a larger project.”
She glanced again at the tree house-covered wall. “I see.” Theo reached for a small saw. She yanked him away.
“It'll be amazing when it's done. Fully livable, winter and summer, with heat and electricity. I'm still working on plumbing.”
“Plumbing?”
She took another look around the room.
“And you've lived here long or—”
“It's just a stopping place, until I, well—” He gestured to the wall of tree houses. “It's not the prettiest apartment, but I get a real steal on it. Three hundred a month.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Three hundred?”
“Yeah.” Lincoln shifted again. His back was starting to ache. “Could use some fixing up, but it's economical.”
“I'd say.” Kali rubbed a hand along her neck. “You said you have a first aid kit?”
“With the work I do,” Lincoln gestured to the table, “it's important.”
Her brow raised and her mouth opened, as if she were going to ask another question. He attempted to stand but she put out a hand to stop him. “Where?”
Lincoln slid off the arm and onto the couch. “In the kitchen. Second cupboard from the left.” The kitchen. Clean. Tidy. But dingy, despite that. Repulsive to her eyes, most likely.
“You have an ice pack?”
“Ice cubes. And some baggies in the drawer to the right of the sink.”
No response.
A moment later she entered, the kit in one hand and a baggie filled with ice in the other. A drying cloth hung from her shoulder.
She crouched in front of him but didn't make eye contact. “Has the pain improved any?”
“Not really.”
She motioned for him to shift on the couch, so he could put his leg up with his ankle and foot dangling off the arm rest. Her hands were on his ankle again, assessing. Lincoln held back his winces.
“This is, uh, nice of you. I mean you didn't have to—”
“You saved my son.”
“Yeah, but my dog. I mean if I hadn't been there.”
“It's not your dog.” Her jaw clenched again. Not the repeated movement of earlier, but more of a twitch.
“Still, thank you.”
She looked up. Almost smiled. The closest he'd seen directed toward him. A muscle in his chest tightened. “You're welcome.”
She reached into the kit and started wrapping his ankle. Silence surrounded them, and he could feel new beads of sweat forming, trickling down the nape of his neck. “I always thought doctor.”
“What?”
“You, I always thought you were a—”
Kali's hands stopped, tensed. Her eyes scanned his. “Why ... what do you mean, always?”
“I've seen you. Around. A couple of times. Once in scrubs. I thought doctor.”
She leaned back into a squat. “You spying on me?”
“No.” Lincoln shook his head. He glanced at the boy—Theo—sitting in the corner with Romper. He'd never really noticed him. Just her. Always her. “I saw you. That's all.”
“A couple of times?” Her hands relaxed. She went back to wrapping his ankle, though her movements weren't as fluid. “I've never seen you.”
“You probably have. You just didn't look ... notice, you know? Most people don't.”
More silence.
“When you dress like I do, I guess ...” He ran a hand over his beard.
She kept her mouth closed, her eyes on her task.
Lincoln did too, until the sound of their breathing, the cars passing outside, seemed too heavy. “He talk?”
She glanced at the boy. “He's only three.”
“Only ...” Lincoln hesitated. “I'm not super familiar with kids. But he's big for his age, huh? I was thinking four. I have a nephew who's four and a niece who used to be. I don't see them a lot but—” Stop. “I seem to remember.” Just stop. “I guess kids can be all different heights, right? Like adults. I mean. Of course, I guess. But there's shyness too, right? I mean because most kids are talking by three, aren't they?” Shut up. “Jake—my nephew—he was never shy but he had this friend, what was his name? Uh—”
She pulled the bandage tight. A meteor of pain shot up Lincoln's leg. He stopped.
She clamped the end of the bandage, tucked the makeshift ice pack around his ankle and leaned back on her haunches again. She looked at Theo, who stared right back at them, his attention drawn from the dog. “He can talk. He just doesn't. He chooses not to.”
“Around strangers?”
Hands on her knees, she pushed herself up to standing. “You'll want to leave the ice on for ten to twenty minutes and reapply every couple of hours. Take the wrap off in about a day and a half.”
Lincoln shifted onto his forearms. “He seems like a sweet kid. Romper doesn't let anyone touch him that long. He wouldn't let me.”
Kali looked around the room, hands on hips. “Keep your foot elevated as much as you can. Especially for the rest of today and through the night. Prop some pillows up under it while you're sleeping.”
Lincoln stared at her, but she didn't look at him. Wouldn't, it seemed. “I didn't mean to offend you. Lots of kids are quiet.”
“Do you have crutches? Don't put any weight on your ankle for at least a few days. Three. Four, maybe.” She picked up the bag she'd set on the work table. “When you start to walk, don't limp. Walk normally, even if it doesn't feel normal. That way the muscles will heal the way they're meant to.”
“Is everything okay?” Lincoln glanced to Theo. “I mean—”
“You mean what?” She stepped toward him, looking ready to battle.
“Nothing.” Lincoln reached forward to prop his leg up on a pillow. “So crutches, huh? Where can I get a pair of those?”
Kali's shoulders relaxed. She looked tired, suddenly. Worn. “I have a pair. My ...” she looked to Theo. “I ... they should fit.” She motioned toward Theo to come. “After some errands, I could bring them over.”
“You live around here?”
She nodded.
“Theo could stay if you wanted. I like kids all right.”
Her shoulders tensed again. Her brows rose. “No.”
Lincoln looked to Theo, whose eyes darted between Lincoln and his mother. “Yeah. I guess that'd be weird. Sorry.”
“Two hours. Maybe three?”
“Sure.”
“And no weight on that ankle.” She leaned over and adjusted his ankle, propped the pillow against the arm of the chair, and had him scooch down so his foot was several inches higher than before.
Lincoln grinned. “Can I hop?”
Another smile, slightly bigger this time, there and gone so fast he barely saw it. “If you must, but carefully.”
She lingered for a moment, her head turned to the second bedroom. The door was open, but all she'd see, Lincoln knew, was bare floor and a wall. Maybe a few dumbbells. “You live alone, then?”
“I do.”
“You sleep on the couch?”
Lincoln tilted his head toward the hall. “I sleep down there. In a bed.”
Her brows rose again—in surprise, envy. Not anger. “A two bedroom for three hundred?”
“It's subsidized housing. And as you can see, not the nicest place. It's not actually my place. Not according to the lease. A friend of a friend who didn't want to lose this rate, so I'm staying here for a while. Kind of keeping it for him.”
Her head bobbed as she rotated in place. “You could make it nice. Nicer.”
“Definitely.”
She let out a noise, more of an inhale than a laugh, and stepped toward the door. “It's okay if it's unlocked?”
“Just fine.”
“I'll be back in a couple of hours. I'll pop the crutches in and—”
“Maybe you could stay for dinner.” What was he saying? Why was he— “I could order something. Pizza. Does Theo like pizza? Or Chinese?”
Her hand held the door. Theo was already over the threshold, but she straddled it. Her long, slender, naked fingers rapped on the wood three times. “I'll pop the crutches in and you can drop them off at Mrs. Martin's when you're done with them. I'll get them from her.”
Lincoln propped himself up farther. “Sure. No problem. A day or two and—”
“You'll need them for weeks. Two at least. Don't walk without them for at least two weeks. I told you it was bad.”
He stared at her.
“Do you hear me?”
He nodded.
“Okay, then.” She was gone.
The apartment felt larger. Emptier. Lincoln settled back onto the couch, feeling as if his world had shifted.