Page 102 of Rules to Love By

“Thanks. Appreciate that. Your opinion is what I live for. Although you’re not the first person to tell me that today.”

“You sure I can’t make you something?” his dad asked.

“I’m fine. I need sleep. Been up all night, so I’m going up to catch some z’s.” He patted Ezra’s shoulder. “See you around, Uncle Ezzy.”

“Take it easy, kid.”

Before anyone could say anything more, Eli escaped up the stairs and into his room, closing and locking the door behind him. For once he didn’t care his pillow was old and too flat or his blankets a little thin for the poor insulation and rattling window panes. He closed his eyes and was asleep before he had time to wonder if he’d be able to nod off.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Hours after he’d locked himself in his room, Marcus lay, head on his pillow, wide-awake while exhaustion muddled his brain but sleep remained an unattainable dream. He listened to the house settle around him, the kitchen sounds from down the hall, even the thumping of the washer and dryer doors as Lucky switched loads. All familiar sounds, but none of it soothed him to sleep.

When he closed his eyes, the sad state of the diner with her boarded-up windows and graffiti came into sharper focus. He’d abandoned her as thoroughly as his own parents had him as a child. His diner was as helpless now as he’d been then. Who knows what might have happened to him had Aunt Iris not come along?

He owed her. He owed the building something too.

The fresh, pale robin’s-egg-blue ceiling stared serenely down at him.

“Don’t suppose I have to ask your opinion?” he said.

Above him, the weight of footfalls made the rafters creak softly.

“Good thing I actually know the rooms are full or that might be creepy.” But then he remembered his room was situated in the later addition at the back of the original house. The addition that didn’t have an upper floor.

“Okay.” He sat up, barely suppressing a shiver. “That is uber creepy, as it turns out. Sadly for you, I don’t know what it means.”

Outside his door, Kreed’s and Lucky’s voices echoed down the hallway as they passed. Not loud enough he could hear what they said, but it reminded him they were there, and that Mondays were supposed to be their day off. As they passed by his door, he realized they’d left the kitchen to Tris and retreated to their private space.

This building was not just the place where they worked, as it was for Tris, Jake and Lucy. It was their livelihood. Their home. This was the safe haven Lucky had found after decades of having no permanent place of his own. Kreed had built this place to protect the soft inner workings of his soul against outside influences that hadn’t been so kind to him, and he’d shared it with everyone who needed the same protection.

The overhead footsteps came again, and if Marcus wanted to, he could chalk it up to a weird echo of Lucky’s and Kreed’s passage, but he knew better. Those weren’t the uneven, stolid footfalls of an ex-football player with a bum knee or the quick, light steps of his mercurial partner. He knew that tired, determined shuffle for exactly whose it was. He’d been hearing it his whole life, under the noise of the busy diner, under the constant clatter of dishes, under the endlessly talking heads of CBC Radio One.

“Why are you like this?” he asked the room.

The house gave a discernible shudder, as if a heavy truck had passed on the street outside, though none had. His new-to-him phone teetered on the edge of the nightstand, then thudded to the floor. For a moment, it was as though everyone in the place held their breath. The kitchen noises ceased. General human sounds of talking, eating, breathing, stilled. The house itself paused.

Marcus froze in place, half lifting himself off the bed. He glanced down at the phone lying face-up on the floor. A text alert lit up the screen, though he knew the text had been sent hours ago, when he’d first lain down.

“You had to work awfully hard to make me look at that,” he said.

All the noises of the living, breathing, pulsating energy of a busy house flowed back around him. He half expected someone to come knocking on his door to see if he was okay, but no one did.

He glanced again at the text notification. Tris had sent him a series of texts when he’d first locked himself in for his nap, but the first in the string had been “for after you get up, you might want this,” and he’d been so tired, he’d ignored the rest.

The phone blinked and went dark again.

There was an ominous creak, like the house was getting ready to shake itself again, and he held up both hands.

“Fine. Fine. Don’t give yourself loose floorboards.” He reached over the side of the bed for the phone. Guessing the password Tris had used that would unlock it was easy, and he scrolled through the messages.

TRIS: for after you get up, you might want this

TRIS: pretty sure he won’t mind

TRIS: if he does, you can tell him to yell at me.

TRIS: hope it’s okay

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