Page 36 of Callan

“Why wouldn’t they want the job?” she says while I take a sip. “You said the pay was good,” she goes on.

“She said that.”

“Then why do you have to fret about it? You’ll handle it. There’s nothing you can’t handle, Kenzie Girl.”

“Sure,” I toss at her, smiling before moving to the living room, sliding onto the couch, and sipping more wine with my phone in hand.

Leaning back, I sigh.

“Things are good,” I say, the angst that has taken up residence in my body these past few weeks finally gone. “This is my much awaited vacation,” I add before taking another drink. “I’ll take it easy until January 4th.”

“You do that, girl. You deserve it. I’ll be doing the same thing,” Kayla says, and we chat a little more before the topic of my neighbor comes up.

“Any news about your upstairs neighbor?”

“Nope. Oh… Yeah. There is something. The woman is married. And that guy? The one boinking her? He’s never showed up again. Truthfully, her husband is a jerk. She threw him out, and then they got back together. And then…” I sigh again. “Whatever they’re doing is not as loud and passionate as it was with the other man.”

Honestly, thinking about this twisted story, I start to believe I won’t be getting much else from Callan.

I haven’t heard from him since that night.

Overall, the bedroom activities upstairs have been sparse, which is why I haven’t mentioned anything to Kayla.

Right now, she’s in New Jersey, spending the holidays with her family, and up until now, my neighbor’s situation has never come up in our conversations.

A couple of days ago, I overheard the superintendent talking about the apartment above me.

I think he called the woman Carmen, which is the exact same name I spotted on Callan’s fake phone.

Carmen.

I still wonder if his name is truly Callan.

Who cares, anyway?

I put the cash he gave me to good use, buying food and paying my bills.

Honestly, I wish something meaningful happened upstairs so I could give him the information and earn more money.

What can I say? That’s life.When one door closes, another one opens.

And here I am, with food and a second job interview.

We chat a little more when I push out of my seat and casually move to the patio door.

The evening swirls around the block with gleaming lights and frozen snow over the old trees.

Once in a while, a car glides by. Most are not slowing down since all the parking spots are taken.

A car does slow down before coming to a full stop in front of the building, piquing my interest.

My pulse races, and tension lodges in my throat.

Could that be him? Callan?

Or is it whoever drops him off?

They might await him in the parking lot around the corner, where a few spots are available this time of night since the employees of a beauty salon leave work and head home early.

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