For one terrible second, I thought the sentence about water was an excuse.
An ordinary lie delivered calmly enough to make me unlock my bedroom.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, phone in one hand, staring at the strip of darkness beneath the door.
“How much water?”
“Not much yet.”
“Yet?”
“The pipe under your sink is leaking.”
Of course it was.
My apartment had apparently chosen this particular night to begin disassembling itself.
“Move away from the door.”
Silence.
Then footsteps retreated.
I unlocked the door.
Marcus was standing halfway down the hallway, barefoot, still wearing the gray hoodie. He had rolled the sleeves above his forearms.
The kitchen light was on.
Liam’s bedroom door remained closed.
I pointed.
“Stay quiet.”
“I was planning to.”
“You woke me.”
“Because I thought you might prefer that to waking up inside a swimming pool.”
I walked past him.
A thin ribbon of water ran from the cabinet beneath the sink.
“Oh, come on.”
I opened the doors.
A metal connection beneath the basin was dripping steadily.
Marcus crouched with difficulty.
“Do you have a bucket?”
“Bathroom.”
“Old towels?”
“Closet.”
I paused.
Then I glared.
“You are not in charge.”
“No.”
“You sound in charge.”
“I’m asking questions.”
“Like someone in charge.”
A smile touched his mouth.
“Bucket?”
I brought one.
Marcus positioned it under the leak, then wrapped an old towel around the fitting.
He leaned closer.
“Do you have pliers?”
“Why would I own pliers?”
He looked at me.
“People own pliers.”
“I own a potato peeler.”
“Less useful here.”
“I own scissors.”
“Worse.”
“I have a hammer.”
“That’s concerning.”
Despite the hour, I laughed.
Quietly.
It escaped before I could stop it.
Marcus glanced toward Liam’s room.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I was.”
“Then how did you hear the leak?”
He gestured toward the couch.
“It sounds like your refrigerator and radiator are arguing.”
“That’s normal.”
“That sentence is upsetting.”
I leaned against the counter.
He examined the pipe with surprising confidence.
“It’s the compression nut.”
“Is that bad?”
“No. Just loose.”
“Can you fix it without the mysterious pliers everyone apparently owns?”
“Probably enough for tonight.”
He tightened the fitting by hand and repositioned the towel.
The dripping slowed.
Then stopped.
He waited.
Nothing.
“There.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“You knew exactly what to do.”
“I told you. Buildings.”
I looked at him.
There was that wall again.
Every time conversation approached his past, he gave enough information to satisfy the immediate question and nothing more.
“You said you used to repair things.”
“Yes.”
“For a company?”
“Several.”
“What happened?”
Marcus stood too quickly.
His injured knee buckled.
I reached for his arm.
He caught the counter before falling.
The reaction on his face stopped my question.
Pain.
Then embarrassment.
Then something harder.
“Sorry.”
“You’re apologizing because your knee hurts?”
“I’m apologizing because I almost took your dishes down with me.”
“You didn’t.”
He tested the leg carefully.
“You should sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“There’s that tone.”
“What tone?”
“The one patients use when they’re about to ignore medical advice.”
“I have extensive experience ignoring medical advice.”
“I believe you.”
We returned to the living room.
Marcus lowered himself onto the couch.
I stood by the kitchen entrance.
It was two-seventeen in the morning.
I knew because the microwave clock had been seven minutes slow for three years and somehow I still automatically corrected it every time I looked.
“You have pain medication?”
He nodded toward his backpack.
“Ibuprofen.”
“Take some.”
“I already did.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“How much?”
He looked amused.
“You really do work in healthcare.”
“Answer.”
“Four hundred milligrams.”
“When?”
“About four hours ago.”
“Fine.”
I started back toward my room.
“Chloe.”
I turned.
“The leak may come back.”
“Then wake me.”
“I can check it.”
“You’re leaving in the morning.”
“I know.”
Something about the way he said it sounded too final.
I stood there longer than necessary.
Then I returned to my room.
This time I fell asleep quickly.
At six, my alarm went off.
For several seconds I forgot there was a stranger in my living room.
Then memory arrived all at once.
I sat up.
Silence.
Too much silence.
I unlocked the door.
The couch was empty.
My heart slammed once against my ribs.
The blankets had been folded.
Marcus’s backpack was gone.
I rushed toward Liam’s room.
He was asleep.
I checked the apartment.
Bathroom empty.
Kitchen empty.
Front door locked.
I looked through the window.
No Marcus.
For reasons I didn’t understand, disappointment came before relief.
He had left.
Exactly as promised.
That should have made things easier.
Instead I stood beside the couch staring at the perfectly folded blankets.
Then Liam shuffled into the room with his hair pointing in six directions.
“Where’s Marcus?”
“Gone.”
His face fell.
“He didn’t say goodbye.”
“He probably didn’t want to wake us.”
“That’s rude.”
“He was trying to be polite.”
“That’s still rude.”
I opened the refrigerator.
“We have eggs.”
“Chocolate cereal.”
“Eggs.”
“Marcus said cereal is a valid breakfast.”
“Marcus has questionable judgment.”
“You invited him home.”
I closed my eyes.
“Eggs.”
Ten minutes later, I discovered Marcus had not actually gone.
He came through the front door carrying two paper cups of coffee.
I nearly threw a frying pan at him.
“What are you doing?”
He stopped.
The coffee tilted dangerously.
“Returning?”
“You left.”
“To the corner store.”
“With your bag.”
He glanced at the backpack.
“It has my wallet.”
“You scared me.”
That wiped the humor from his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“You can’t just disappear from someone’s apartment and then let yourself back in.”
“You said not to answer the door.”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“I locked it when I left.”
“You had no key.”
“The lock doesn’t catch properly unless you lift the handle.”
I stared.
Marcus slowly held out one coffee.
“Peace offering?”
I took it.
Because I was furious.
And because it smelled wonderful.
“How did you pay for this?”
“I have money.”
“How much?”
“That feels personal.”
“Last night you wrapped up half your chicken.”
“That was food management.”
“How much?”
Marcus sighed.
“Eleven dollars.”
I stared at the coffee.
“You spent part of eleven dollars buying me coffee?”
“Nine dollars and change now.”
“Marcus.”
“It was a dollar twenty-five.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“I thought caffeine might reduce the likelihood of being struck by cookware.”
“Stop joking.”
He did.
I lowered my voice.
“You need that money.”
“So do you.”
The words landed softly.
He glanced toward the grocery receipt covering the rent notice.
He had seen it.
Of course he had.
Heat climbed my face.
“You shouldn’t have read that.”
“I didn’t.”
“You know I’m behind.”
“I can see envelopes.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re right.”
No defense.
That made it difficult to remain angry.
Liam appeared.
“Marcus!”
He ran forward and stopped just short of hugging him, apparently remembering at the last second that Marcus was still technically a stranger.
“You didn’t leave.”
“I briefly left.”
“Mom thought you escaped.”
“I did not say escaped.”
“You looked worried.”
“Liam.”
Marcus hid a smile behind his coffee.
Breakfast became three scrambled eggs stretched with toast.
Marcus tried to refuse.
Again.
I placed a plate in front of him.
“Eat.”
He obeyed.
Liam talked constantly.
School.
Basketball.
A science assignment involving mold growing on bread.
When Liam mentioned mold, Marcus’s eyes moved briefly toward the kitchen.
I noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
He shook his head.
“Thought I smelled something last night.”
“What?”
“Dampness.”
“From the sink?”
“Maybe.”
“You say maybe like you mean no.”
He looked toward Liam.
“Old buildings smell like old buildings.”
I studied him.
He changed the subject.
“What time do you leave for work?”
“Seven-fifteen.”
“And him?”
“School bus at seven-forty.”
“I can leave before then.”
The practical reality of the morning settled over us.
Marcus had stayed one night.
That was the agreement.
Outside, snowplows had begun clearing the main road. The storm had weakened.
He had somewhere to go.
Or at least somewhere not here.
Liam stopped eating.
“You could stay until Mom comes home.”
I answered immediately.
“No.”
Marcus answered at the same moment.
“No.”
Liam frowned at both of us.
“Why?”
“Because I have work,” Marcus said.
“What work?”
A pause.
“Things to handle.”
“You don’t have a job.”
“Liam.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Your mother is right to have rules.”
That silenced him.
After breakfast, Marcus folded the blankets again.
Then he checked beneath the sink.
No leak.
I put on my work uniform.
He looked at it.
“Long shift?”
“Eight hours if nobody calls out.”
“Which means?”
“Twelve.”
He nodded like someone familiar with understaffed workplaces.
Liam gathered his backpack.
At the door, Marcus crouched slightly to speak to him.
“Thanks for sharing your cereal.”
“I didn’t.”
“You threatened me if I ate it.”
“That counts.”
Marcus offered his hand.
Liam shook it.
Then Marcus stood.
He looked at me.
“Thank you.”
I hated how inadequate my answer felt.
“You’re welcome.”
He pulled on his thin coat.
The fabric was still damp near one shoulder.
I looked at the thermometer on my phone.
Twenty-one degrees.
“Keep the hoodie.”
He glanced down.
“No.”
“It belonged to someone who doesn’t need it.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I already took food.”
“You didn’t take it. I gave it to you.”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Thank you.”
Again.
Those two words.
I drove Liam to school because the bus was delayed.
Marcus declined a ride.
I argued.
He won.
That bothered me all the way to work.
The nursing home was chaotic before I finished signing in.
Mrs. Cohen had fallen trying to reach the bathroom.
Mr. Alvarez refused breakfast because someone had misplaced his reading glasses.
A new resident was crying because she couldn’t remember why her daughter hadn’t visited.
By nine-thirty, I had no time to think about Marcus.
By eleven, I thought about him constantly.
Had the shelter opened?
Had he eaten the chicken he saved?
Was his knee swollen?
Why did I care?
That question irritated me most.
I had known him less than a day.
At lunch, my coworker Denise sat across from me in the break room.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“No, like you didn’t sleep.”
“I didn’t.”
“Liam sick?”
“No.”
I opened my yogurt.
Denise waited.
She had known me long enough to recognize incomplete answers.
“What happened?”
I should not have told her.
I knew this before the words left my mouth.
“I let someone sleep on my couch.”
She blinked.
“Someone?”
“A man.”
Another blink.
“A man you know?”
“No.”
Her spoon stopped halfway to her mouth.
“Chloe.”
“I know.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Outside the grocery store.”
“Chloe.”
“I know.”
“You brought a strange man from a grocery store into the apartment where your child sleeps?”
“He was injured.”
“That does not make him safe.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that, but I’m not convinced you know.”
My stomach tightened.
The fear I had managed all morning returned.
“He left.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“You saw him leave?”
“Yes.”
That wasn’t completely true.
I had left for work before he had physically gone.
Denise saw hesitation.
“Chloe.”
“He was leaving.”
“That is not what I asked.”
I looked down.
She leaned closer.
“You left him alone in your apartment?”
“Only briefly.”
“With your stuff?”
“Yes.”
“With your landlord notices? Your checkbook? Liam’s school information?”
“Yes.”
Denise sat back.
“Oh, honey.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“You are absolutely judging me.”
“I am judging the decision.”
“That is the polite version.”
She sighed.
“Call home.”
“I don’t have a landline.”
“Then take lunch early and go check.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I have eight residents assigned to me and two aides called out.”
My phone rang.
School.
My stomach dropped.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Bennett? This is Greenfield Elementary.”
Every terrible possibility arrived at once.
“Is Liam okay?”
“He’s fine. His bus route has been canceled this afternoon because of road conditions. We need someone to pick him up.”
I closed my eyes.
Relief first.
Then logistics.
“I’ll be there.”
After several conversations with my supervisor, I managed to leave forty minutes early.
The entire drive to Liam’s school, Denise’s words replayed in my head.
You left him alone in your apartment.
I pictured my television gone.
My grandmother’s small jewelry box.
My emergency cash envelope containing exactly forty-three dollars.
The grocery money.
The rent notice.
Then I imagined something worse.
A copied key.
Personal information.
Photographs.
I hated myself for thinking those things.
I hated myself more for not having considered them enough before.
Liam climbed into the car carrying a papier-mâché volcano.
“Don’t tilt it.”
“What is that?”
“Mount Vesuvius.”
“Why are you bringing ancient Italy into my car?”
“It erupts tomorrow.”
“It better not erupt today.”
He buckled his seat belt.
“Did Marcus leave?”
“I assume so.”
“You assume?”
I started the engine.
“Seat belt.”
“It’s already on.”
“Then sit.”
The roads were improving.
My anxiety was not.
When we reached the apartment building, I noticed something immediately.
The curtain in our living room had been moved.
I always left it partly open.
Now it was completely drawn.
I stopped on the sidewalk.
Liam nearly bumped into me.
“What?”
“Stay behind me.”
“Why?”
I took my phone from my pocket.
The front door downstairs opened normally.
We climbed to the second floor.
Apartment 2B was silent.
My key went into the lock.
Before turning it, I listened.
Nothing.
I unlocked the door.
It opened smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Usually I had to shoulder it.
I stared at it.
Then pushed it wider.
The kitchen table was not where I had left it.
Neither was the couch.
A chair stood near the wall.
The refrigerator had been pulled several inches forward.
My heart began hammering.
“Liam.”
“What?”
“Stay behind me.”
I stepped inside.
The apartment smelled different.
Warm bread.
Wood dust.
And something metallic.
Then movement came from the kitchen.
Marcus stood up behind the counter wearing the gray hoodie.
For half a second, neither of us spoke.
My hand tightened around my phone.
His expression changed the instant he saw my face.
“Chloe.”
I looked around the room.
“What did you do?”
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: I Came Home Expecting to Find My Apartment Robbed, but the Stranger on My Couch Had Left Something Far More Unsettling Behind
I Had Barely Enough Food for My Son, Yet I Couldn’t Walk Past the Man Freezing Outside the Grocery Store
Part 2 of 28
