Page 19 of Belonging to Them
If nothing else, the geranium is a signal that Tommy doesn’t live here anymore.But I have to try.Taking a deep breath, I knock.
No answer.
“Tommy?”I call through the door.
When nobody responds, I try calling him.There’s no sound of a phone ringing inside.His phone clicks over to voicemail, but I don’t bother leaving him a message.I’ve left him probably sixty messages over the past few days.
I turn around to face Cora and Squid.“I don’t know what to do.I feel so helpless.Do you guys mind if we talk to the apartment manager?”
“Not at all, this is our job,” Squid says.
Following me around is their job, yes, but I hope they’d stop and tell me if I was acting like an idiot.
We tromp back downstairs again.This complex is big enough that the manager has their own office, although it’s tiny.The door has a window on the top half, and I can see the manager through it.
“I’ll wait out here,” Cora says.
Squid and I go in.A slender woman with the shade of red hair that can only come from a box and wrinkled, leathery skin that speaks of too many hours lying in the sun or tanning salon waves us toward a couple of chairs in front of her desk.Squid and I sit down, perching on the very edges.We don’t plan on staying, obviously.
“Sit, sit,” she says, leaning back in her own chair.“Are you two looking for a place to rent?”
“No, I’m looking for my brother, actually,” I say.“Does Thomas Marchand still live in the complex?”
“He does,” she says, giving me a side-eye.
“Have you seen him around lately?”I ask.
Shaking her head, she says, “No, I haven’t.But most residents, if they don’t come to my office or cause other trouble, I don’t see them at all.I mind my own business, I do.Everyone’s happier that way.”
“Do you think I could get into his apartment?”I ask.“I know it’s probably not good for you to leave me there, but just let me peek?—”
“Sorry, I have to stop you there,” she says.“No can do.”
“I want to make sure he’s all right.I promise not to touch anything, and you can stand right there at the door.”
“It’s not allowed,” the manager says.“I’m sorry, but that’s just policy.His rent is up to date.If you need a wellness check, you have to get that through the police station.”
I slump back into the chair, feeling defeated to my core.
Then the manager grins and points through the window on her office door.“Maybe your brother can let you in.”
I whip around so fast, I feel dizzy.Because there he is—messy curly hair, and bright blue eyes wide in shock at the sight of me.
Frozen in surprise, all I can say is, “Tommy?”
* * *
Sebastian
It’s been a long fucking time since I ran through sets with a band, and I’m surprised at how much fun it is.Ella and I have fun jamming, too, but this is a different experience, with extra people around.There’s an extra vibe of urgency here in Pat Chrome’s basement-turned-studio, and a need to prove oneself.
With Ella, I’m comfortable and at peace, and inspired by the synergy of our music.With Church of Fortune, it’s like being in a pool filled with barracuda.I better never stop swimming or I’ll get eaten alive.
Song after song, I practice with them—even on the songs I won’t be performing.It’s just fucking fun, that’s all, and Pat and Bret have great voices.
We’ve been at it all morning and stop to get lunch delivered from a nearby deli.Bret, who is apparently allergic to everything under the sun—no dairy, no gluten, no eggs—finishes his joyless-looking salad before the rest of us are done with our sandwiches.He strums his guitar absently, and after a few minutes, I recognize one of Ella’s songs.
“Been watching Cinderella’s videos?”I ask him.
