Page 24 of The Last Guy On Earth
“I’m not wearing your coat,” he sniffs. “Hey—do you know which building the indoor pool is in? I could maybe find my way back from there.”
I pick up my grocery bags. “Sure. Toby, right? What grade are you in?”
“Fourth,” he says, following me down the path.
“So you’re…nine?”
“Ten. I got held back in kindergarten.” He looks up and scowls, as if daring me to judge him for it.
“Cool. You like playing hockey?” I ask, straining for a safe topic of conversation.
“Not really.”
Lord. I’m out of friendly chit chat already. Luckily, the app makes a ringing sound, and I grab for it like a lifeline. “This is Powers.”
“Clay?” Jethro says in a strained voice. “Is Toby with you? What the hell?”
“Yeah. He’s just having a little trouble remembering which unit you’re in. They all look alike.”
“He’s outside? Christ. We’re in 1202.”
“All right. No big deal. We’re on our way.” I ring off and stick the phone in my pocket. “Come on, Toby. That way.” I point towards building twelve, which is the one next to mine.
He sighs. “He’s gonna be so pissed.”
“Nah, he won’t be,” I say lightly. “Sometimes he just looks pissed when he can’t figure out how else to feel.”
Toby thinks this over. “Then he should stop doing that.”
I can’t really disagree.
As we approach building number twelve—a unit of six side-by-side townhomes identical to mine—one of the doors flies open. There’s Jethro in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing a henley shirt that shows off his physique.
Predictably, he looks pissed. “Did you sneak out?” he asks Toby as soon as we’re close enough to hear him.
“I was bored,” Toby complains. “It’s Christmas break.”
As we get closer, Jethro steps back from the entrance, and I follow the kid into a completely empty condo. Jethro frowns at me, like he doesn’t know what I’m doing here.
And, yeah, I’m not exactly sure myself.
“How’d you get past me?” Jethro asks Toby, who’s slinking away.
“Climbed out the window,” Toby mutters.
“Jesus.” Jethro’s shoulders drop. “Get your stuff. We can go back to the hotel.”
“Whoopee,” Toby says flatly. Then he disappears into a bedroom.
“Sorry about all this,” Jethro mutters.
“Don’t be sorry.” I drop my voice. “He seems stressed. Told me I ruined his life.”
Jethro looks even more exhausted than he did a moment before. “He’s going through some stuff.”
“I, uh, heard about some of it. Sorry about your sister. How long is she, um…?”
“It’s hard to say. Parole is weird. She’s in for a DUI with injury, plus drug possession. She got high with a friend and drove her car the wrong way in traffic,” he says flatly. “Hit a barrier, flipped the car, and her drunk friend almost died.”
