Chapter Seven
“Regular Goldfish or pizza Goldfish?”
Huh. That was a stumper.
Josie and Amos crunched the edges of frozen waves of slush covering the sidewalk, two white pastry boxes with greasy stains on the outside tucked under Josie’s arm.
They’d stopped at Donuts Delite and their discussion with the girl at the counter about jelly versus cream-filled donuts had grown into a debate over which flavors in general were the best flavors.
A debate that continued even after they left.
Obviously, watermelon anything was the best.
“I like the taste of regular Goldfish,” Josie said, “but pizza Goldfish feel better in my mouth.”
“My dad liked grape pie best. We can make grape pie?”
Josie’s stomach plummeted, but she didn’t stumble.
The shock of Amos speaking about Dan’s likes and dislikes had slowly worn away. Gloria, of course, was the source of such information. “Your father liked to fish. Your father loved golf.” That last part was bullshit. Dan liked to drive around in a golf cart drinking spiked Arnold Palmers.
Who didn’t?
When Josie grew frustrated with her mother-in-law, she would look at Amos and try taking a mental step back.
She understood a parent’s love for their child.
How big and dangerous and cold the world is and how small you are in comparison with all the terrible things out there.
How aware you become of your shortcomings.
How crazy it makes you to think of them gone.
Amos’s aim when he asked questions like Did my dad hate broccoli, too? or Dad’s favorite superhero was ’Pider-Man, right? was to have a relationship with Dan, even though they would never meet.
It hurt, but pain didn’t always mean you’d been wounded. Sometimes, it just meant you were human.
“Sure, buddy,” Josie told Amos, keeping her voice level. “Pie is a great idea.”
“Jalyn’s dad likes gummi worms,” he said, oblivious to her reaction to the mention of Dan.
“Gummi worms are a waste of sugar,” Josie mumbled, her attention caught by the lights on the seventh floor where the cheerleaders lived.
Unlike the homey golden glow spilling out of the other apartment windows, the Smith residence emitted multicolored flashes, and someone was growing pot in a windowsill, the purple heating lamp turning the snow on the ledge a sickly indigo hue.
Mafia family on the DL? Secret reality show filming the hijinks of a blended family?
What was going on up there?
More important, had she bought enough donuts?
A flyer had been taped to the mailboxes advertising the tenants’ association meeting tonight. Someone had slipped a highlighted copy under her door the day before.
Discussion of Laundry Room Etiquette
Reminder of Elevator Use Etiquette
Welcoming of New Tenants
Reintroduction of Package Pickup Rules and Regulations
Mingling and Snacks
*NB The collection jar for snack money will be outside of the building’s office from Monday to Wednesday 12 p.m. Your choice of snacks depends on your generosity of donations.
Josie’s first instinct had been to ignore it. What would they think of her, these other tenants? How would they judge her? Should she bring Amos with her? Did any of them have something to do with the roses?
Josie couldn’t hide, though. When Gloria dropped Amos off Saturday night, she’d come inside the lobby and flipped out over the dingy floor, dim lights, and strange smell in the lobby.
“What sort of neighbors live here?” Gloria had asked, mouth thinned in displeasure. “You can’t let Amos leave the apartment on his own. A building like this could attract the worst sorts.”
“It’s an amazing location and a gorgeous apartment, considering how reasonable the rent is,” Josie had countered.
Gloria’s derisive sniff had set Josie’s teeth on edge. “If the cost of rent is an issue, Josephine, you can always tell me. We can work something out.”
As if Josie would ever let Gloria know the state of her finances.
Before the conversation with Gloria, she hadn’t doubted the safety of the building but now Josie thought it prudent to check out the other residents.
She’d dithered and forgotten to put money in the snack jar, so twenty minutes before the meeting was supposed to start, she and Amos ran to Donuts Delite, ate bear claws for dinner, and brought a ridiculous amount of half-price, day-old pastries home with them.
When she pushed open the lobby door with her back, arms around the precious donuts, Amos slipped past her.
“Don’t run in wet boots,” Josie called as she got the door open completely and nearly wiped out when the noise from the lobby hit her.
“Rule number 212—”
“Shut up, Maddy!”
“Donuts!”
“D-O-N-U-T-S! DONUTS! Dunkin’, Tim’s, or Krispy Kreme, anytime they’re good to eat!”
“Whoa!” Amos shouted, turning around in the center of the lobby like a Spider-Man-booted ballerina. “Is here a party?”
If it were a party, the guest list was eclectic.
The cheerleaders were back, in matching outfits this time, pink-and-green hot pants and crop tops plastered with rhinestones everywhere, even places rhinestones shouldn’t be plastered.
Maddy was there, wearing a white pantsuit, white turban, and clear-framed cat’s-eye glasses, arguing with a short man who must not realize how much he looked like a garden gnome with his white beard and red dunce cap.
To the left of the elevator, double doors Josie had never noticed before stood open. Beyond them was what looked like the waiting room of a 1970s dentist office. Inside, rows of rusted folding chairs were set in front of a plywood lectern with a projector screen open behind it.
Josie did a double take and, helpless, a third take at a dark-haired man with the face of a European model and the body of Batman who leaned against the double doors.
The man’s hair grazed his shoulders and his eyes smoldered—finally Josie understood the metaphor—with what she decided was pent-up desire.
Whew. Was it hot in here?
Behind him stood three elderly people dressed in pastel-colored velour track suits, one pink, one blue, and one purple, their silver hair cut into perfectly angled bobs. All wore dark sunglasses and held the type of canes used by folks with visual impairments.
One of the gargoyles was still missing; someone had dressed the other in a Kansas City Chiefs jersey.
Josie immediately took offense.
This was Bills country.
“I’m glad you came. We were about to begin, and everyone has wanted to meet you.
” The quiet cheerleader from the other day held out her hands toward the donuts, and Josie let her take the top box.
The teen wore pink and green and rhinestones as well, but instead of hot pants she sported a short, pleated skirt, and her long hair was down.
“Hi,” Josie said. “This is quite a turnout. I’m Josie, by the way.”
Like her…sisters?…cousins?…the cheerleader had slightly feline features: tilted eyes, broad cheekbones, and a narrow chin. If asked, Josie wouldn’t be able to name a single characteristic that stood out, but the combination up close gave the girl an otherworldly look.
“It is a tremendous pleasure to meet you, Josie Bytheway. I am Pri—” the cheerleader stuttered. “I am Naliti,” she finished.
“Hi, Naliti. Actually, it’s LaChiusa.” Josie’s explanation went unheard as another cheer went up from the crowd.
Holy God.
In the blink of an eye, Amos had somehow ingratiated himself with the teenagers and now stood on a cheerleader’s shoulders. Thankfully, his boots were off, but the cheerleader was tall, and Amos still had a tenuous grasp on gravity.
“A-M-O-S! Like ’Pider-Man he is the best! He’s so cute and very small, but we sure hope he’ll save us all!”
The dark-haired Model Guy pushed away from the door and stalked toward the cheerleaders at the same time Maddy advanced on them, her finger jabbing the air in their direction.
With a twisted grin the cheerleader holding Amos’s ankles hoisted him from her shoulders and held him over her head.
The lobby floor was wet from melted snow. Josie wasn’t wearing boots and her sneakers slid, slowing her down as she ran toward the cheerleader.
He wasn’t far off the floor. The cheerleader was six feet or so, and after lifting Amos above her head, she’d only added two feet at most. Still, the sight of Amos’s tiny knees buckling, the fug of too many bodies in the overcrowded lobby, and the anxiety simmering in Josie’s gut combined to unbalance her.
Josie’s feet splayed in opposite directions, and she slid toward an unattractive windmill-like collision with the floor.
Except it didn’t happen.
“Steady.”
Pax grabbed the falling donut box in one hand, took hold of Josie’s elbow with the other, and pulled an honest-to-God save the day.
Before Josie could open her mouth to ask where he’d even come from, he’d handed the donuts off to the man in the cap, kept her upright, and caught a toppling Amos literally in the palm of his hand.
More like assisted Amos in a paper plane–like landing. Pax was an island of calm in the chaos of the lobby.
Ninety-nine percent of Josie’s brain gave him a standing ovation and even the one percent had to shrug and nod through a cloud of smoke.
Competence is a universal turn-on.
“It’s six fifty-eight,” Maddy announced to the crowd as her three-inch stilettos clacked across the floor. A look passed from her to Pax to the quiet cheerleader to the ridiculously handsome Model Guy. “Meeting commences at seven.”
“Get inside, now.” Model Guy didn’t raise his voice—didn’t even look around—he just made the announcement, and by the time Amos was on his feet and running toward her, the entire crowd had funneled through the double doors into the meeting area.
“Sheep,” Model Guy muttered, closing the double doors behind him without looking back.
Amos in one hand, a slightly squished box of donuts in her other, Josie had to wait for her breathing to return to normal in the now empty lobby.
Empty except for Pax.