The temporary apartment smelled like fresh paint, industrial cleaner, and someone else’s cooking.
Management had given us a third-floor unit six blocks from home while contractors removed the damaged wall and flooring from our apartment. It had two bedrooms, a narrow galley kitchen, and furniture that looked as though it had been chosen specifically because nobody could develop feelings about it.
Liam loved it immediately.
“There’s a balcony.”
“It’s thirty degrees outside.”
“We still have a balcony.”
“We have a metal platform where hypothermia can happen privately.”
He slid open the glass door anyway.
Cold air rushed inside.
“Close that.”
Marcus stood behind us holding two grocery bags management had allowed me to retrieve from our kitchen before the remediation crew sealed it.
He smiled.
“You two always communicate like this?”
“Yes,” Liam said.
“No,” I said simultaneously.
Marcus nodded. “Understood.”
I pointed toward the couch.
“You can put those there.”
His smile disappeared.
The temporary apartment technically belonged to Liam and me. Mr. Perkins had made that abundantly clear. Marcus was still merely my guest, and I had already decided not to mention precisely how many nights he might remain one.
That decision made me uncomfortable.
Not because I thought Marcus would hurt us.
I no longer believed that.
What bothered me was how quickly the boundaries of my life were changing around him.
Forty-eight hours earlier, he had been a stranger outside a grocery store.
Now his backpack sat beside our temporary couch.
His toothbrush was in a paper cup beside my bathroom sink.
And tomorrow morning he had a job interview because he had noticed moisture behind my refrigerator.
Life occasionally rearranged itself without asking permission.
“Mom.”
Liam waved a hand in front of me.
“What?”
“The shirt.”
I knew exactly which shirt he meant.
The storage box was still at our apartment.
I had promised Marcus something professional to wear.
Unfortunately, that meant returning to the bedroom closet and opening a box I had not touched in almost two years.
“I’ll get it.”
Marcus immediately shook his head.
“Forget it.”
“You need something better than that hoodie.”
“I can buy something eventually.”
“With what?”
He looked offended.
“You’re getting increasingly comfortable discussing my finances.”
“You told me you had nine dollars.”
“Eight forty-seven.”
“That improves your position enormously.”
Liam laughed.
Marcus pointed at him. “You’re encouraging her.”
“She doesn’t need encouragement.”
I put on my coat.
“I’ll be twenty minutes.”
Marcus stood.
“I’ll come.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the remediation crew is working.”
“That seems like a reason I should come.”
“It’s my bedroom.”
He understood.
“All right.”
I drove back alone.
Plastic sheeting divided my kitchen from the living room. The refrigerator had been moved into the dining area and hummed beside the table like an enormous white intruder.
The contractor waved from behind a respirator.
“Bedroom’s fine. Just don’t cross the barrier.”
I nodded and went down the hall.
The room looked exactly as I had left it.
That bothered me somehow.
Everything else had changed.
My bedroom hadn’t received the news.
The storage box sat beneath the bed.
I pulled it out.
Dust lined the lid.
For several seconds I simply stared.
My ex-husband’s name was Daniel.
I had deliberately avoided mentioning it to Marcus because explanations about divorce always seemed to turn into either confessions or defenses.
Daniel was not a monster.
Sometimes I wished he had been.
Monsters make endings simple.
Daniel was charming, restless, funny, unreliable, affectionate when life was easy, and absent whenever it wasn’t. He loved Liam. He also loved the freedom of behaving as though fatherhood could be scheduled around convenience.
When a job opportunity took him to Ohio, he promised distance would make him more responsible.
It did not.
Child support came irregularly.
Calls came enthusiastically for three weeks, then disappeared for two.
Visits depended on money, weather, work, and whichever explanation happened to be available.
Liam still adored him.
That meant I had learned to criticize Daniel only inside my own head.
I opened the box.
A faded college sweatshirt.
Two pairs of jeans.
A winter scarf.
Several shirts.
At the bottom lay the blue button-down I remembered.
I lifted it.
The fabric still held the faintest trace of cedar from the closet blocks I had packed with everything.
I sat on the floor.
For a moment, I saw Daniel wearing it at Liam’s second-grade school concert.
He had arrived seventeen minutes late.
Liam had spent the entire first song searching the audience.
When Daniel finally slipped into the seat beside me, Liam’s whole face had changed.
That was the cruelty of inconsistent people.
They taught you to celebrate their arrival instead of questioning their absence.
I folded the shirt carefully.
Then I noticed something beneath it.
A necktie.
Dark gray.
Simple.
Professional.
I took that too.
When I returned to the temporary apartment, Liam and Marcus were at the kitchen table.
A sheet of paper lay between them.
“What’s this?”
“Interview preparation,” Liam said.
Marcus looked exhausted.
“Your son has apparently become a human-resources consultant.”
“I asked normal questions.”
“You asked where I see myself in five years.”
“That’s an interview question.”
“You’re ten.”
“That doesn’t make it not a question.”
I put the shirt on the table.
Marcus stopped joking.
He touched the sleeve.
“This is nice.”
“It should fit.”
He looked at me.
“Your ex?”
“Yes.”
“Is he going to want it back?”
“He hasn’t wanted anything from that box in two years.”
Marcus nodded.
He didn’t ask more.
I appreciated that.
Then I put the tie beside it.
His eyebrows rose.
“That seems ambitious.”
“Do you know how to tie one?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Liam leaned forward.
“Try it on.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Marcus looked toward me for rescue.
I shrugged.
“You heard your consultant.”
Ten minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom.
The shirt fit better than I expected.
A little loose around the waist, slightly tight across the shoulders.
The tie was neatly knotted.
He had combed his hair back using water.
His beard remained rough.
But for the first time, I could see the man who had once supervised maintenance crews and dealt with tenants, contractors, inspectors, and emergencies.
Liam stared.
“You look like a boss.”
Marcus laughed awkwardly.
“I am applying for maintenance.”
“Maintenance can have bosses.”
“He’s right,” I said.
Marcus looked at himself in the hallway mirror.
His expression changed.
He touched the collar.
Then the tie.
“I look ridiculous.”
“No.”
“I feel ridiculous.”
“That’s different.”
He stared at his reflection.
“I haven’t worn clothes like this since before the accident.”
There it was again.
Before.
Marcus seemed to divide his life around that staircase.
Before the fall.
After the fall.
I stepped beside him.
“The man before the accident didn’t disappear.”
His eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Some days I’m not sure.”
“Then tomorrow you can find out.”
He looked away first.
Dinner was soup, sandwiches, and the remaining bread Marcus had baked.
After Liam went to bed, I found Marcus sitting on the balcony despite the cold.
I opened the door.
“You planning to freeze before the interview?”
“Considering it.”
I stepped outside.
The city sounded different under snow.
Muted traffic.
A distant siren.
Someone scraping a shovel along concrete.
Marcus rested his forearms on the railing.
“What if they ask why I haven’t worked?”
“Tell them.”
“What if they hear homeless and stop listening?”
“Then Elena’s brother isn’t the person she thinks he is.”
“That’s easy to say.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
The words came sharper than he intended.
He immediately straightened.
“Sorry.”
I stayed beside him.
“You’re right.”
He looked surprised.
“I’ve never walked into an interview wondering whether the person across the desk will decide my address means I’m irresponsible.”
Marcus stared at the street.
“I don’t have an address.”
“You can use mine.”
His head turned sharply.
“No.”
“It’s an address.”
“It’s your address.”
“So?”
“So I’m not pretending I live with you.”
“I didn’t say pretend.”
“Then what are you saying?”
I realized I hadn’t thought that far.
“You’re receiving mail there temporarily.”
“Am I?”
“You can.”
He shook his head.
“You keep opening doors.”
“And you keep trying to close them.”
“Because doors create obligations.”
“Sometimes they create rooms.”
He laughed softly.
“That sounded suspiciously inspirational.”
“I regret it already.”
We stood quietly.
Then he said, “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
My stomach tightened.
Those words rarely introduced good news either.
“What?”
“The accident wasn’t the only reason I lost everything.”
I waited.
Marcus looked at his hands.
“After I got hurt, I started taking prescription pain medication.”
I said nothing.
“At first exactly as prescribed.”
His fingers tightened around the railing.
“Then more often.”
The cold suddenly felt sharper.
“How much?”
“Enough that I knew it was becoming a problem.”
“Did you become addicted?”
He considered the word.
“I was heading there.”
“What happened?”
“My doctor refused an early refill.”
His mouth tightened.
“I got angry.”
“With the doctor?”
“With everyone.”
He stared at the snow.
“I hated needing help. Hated being unable to work. Hated people asking whether I was okay when obviously I wasn’t.”
“What did you do?”
“Stopped.”
“Just stopped?”
“Eventually.”
I heard the missing pieces.
“That sounds too simple.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Did you get treatment?”
“A support group through the hospital. Physical therapy. Counseling for a while.”
“Are you using anything now?”
“Ibuprofen.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
I believed him.
But trust required questions.
“When was the last time?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“Why tell me tonight?”
“Because if you’re going to keep helping me, you should know things that might make you stop.”
There was no self-pity in his voice.
That made it harder.
“Do you want me to stop?”
He looked at me.
“I want you to have the option.”
I nodded slowly.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want? A speech?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I opened the balcony door.
“Come inside before your interview outfit becomes funeral clothing.”
Marcus smiled.
We slept badly.
All three of us.
At seven the next morning, Liam stood in the hallway inspecting Marcus.
“Turn around.”
Marcus turned.
“Again.”
He turned again.
“Shoes.”
Marcus looked down at his work boots.
They were clean but badly worn.
“They’re all I have.”
Liam considered.
“They’re okay.”
“Thank you, fashion authority.”
I handed Marcus my car keys.
He stared.
“No.”
“You’ll be late taking the bus.”
“I can manage.”
“Interview is at eight-thirty.”
“I know.”
“Take the car.”
“How do you get Liam to school?”
“We walk.”
“It’s freezing.”
“It’s six blocks.”
“Chloe.”
“Marcus.”
He looked at the keys.
Then at me.
“What if something happens?”
“To the car?”
“Yes.”
“Then it will join the long list of things currently happening.”
He laughed nervously.
I pressed the keys into his palm.
“Go.”
Liam opened the apartment door.
“Remember the five-year question.”
“I’m ignoring the five-year question.”
“It might come up.”
Marcus stepped into the hallway.
Then stopped.
For a second, I thought he had forgotten something.
Instead he turned toward us.
His face had gone pale.
“I can’t do this.”
Liam’s expression changed.
Marcus stared at the keys.
“I’m not ready.”
I moved closer.
“Probably not.”
He looked at me.
“You’re supposed to say I am.”
“I’m not going to lie to you.”
His jaw tightened.
“You haven’t worked in months. Your knee still hurts. Your housing situation is unstable. You’re scared.”
He swallowed.
“All true.”
“But the interview exists today.”
He said nothing.
“You don’t need to be ready for the job.”
I pointed toward the stairs.
“You only need to be ready to walk downstairs.”
He looked at Liam.
My son nodded solemnly.
“One thing at a time.”
Marcus inhaled.
Then descended one stair.
Another.
Another.
At the landing, he looked back.
Liam whispered, “He’s going.”
“Yes.”
Marcus disappeared around the corner.
We listened until the building door closed.
Two hours later, my phone rang.
Marcus.
I answered immediately.
“How bad?”
Silence.
“Marcus?”
His voice sounded strange.
“Chloe.”
“What happened?”
“I need you to come outside.”
I walked to the temporary apartment window.
My car was parked at the curb.
Marcus stood beside it.
And next to him was a man I had never seen before.
The stranger wore a heavy wool coat and held a folder.
Marcus looked up toward my window.
Then he said something that made my pulse jump.
“He wants to talk to you too.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Marcus Returned From His Interview With a Property Manager Who Knew More About His Accident Than Marcus Had Ever Been Told
I Had Barely Enough Food for My Son, Yet I Couldn’t Walk Past the Man Freezing Outside the Grocery Store
Part 5 of 28
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