CHAPTER TWO #2
Ike trailed behind, glancing at the pictures hanging on the walls.
Photographs. Generic, boring landscape paintings.
There were a couple of local lighthouses and one big drawing of a massive ship.
Leonard smiled at him every time he glanced over his shoulder.
The old guy probably thought my brother had an interest in artwork, but knowing the devious little shit, he was looking for whatever he could swipe and make a quick buck.
Leonard brought us to a door and opened it to reveal another hallway. He glanced over his shoulder with a smile.
“This is where I live,” he said.
“You live here?” Ike asked, taken aback and astounded.
Leonard nodded as he ushered us toward an open doorway.
“Sure do. I’ve lived here since I was a boy, younger than the three of you.
My grandfather owned the place, but when he got too old to care for himself or the business, my dad moved us in.
There were more of us back then, of course.
It was me, my mother, my father, and my brothers and sister—plus, of course, my grandfather.
All of us, packed into this little apartment. ”
He laughed in spite of himself while I noted that the little apartment he spoke of was bigger than some of the houses we’d been stuffed into with far more kids.
“Why don’t you live upstairs?” I asked.
“Because the upstairs is the showroom for caskets and coffins and storage,” he explained with a smile. “Plus, I don’t think I’d like climbing all those stairs all the time with these old bones.”
I grumbled a contemplative sound as I nodded.
The room he brought us to was a small kitchen with white cabinets and countertops and appliances. So much fucking white. I froze in the doorway, and Ike and Shawn followed suit, all of us struck with the same thought.
We’re too dirty to be here.
Leonard was already at the refrigerator by the time he realized we hadn’t entered with him. He opened the door while glancing over his shoulder, a look of concern in his eyes.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you here,” he said, as if reading our minds. “And I promise, I mean none of you any harm. You’re safe.”
Safe. I nearly laughed out loud at the sound of that word.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced the true meaning of it in my sixteen years of life.
Even in the beginning, when Mom had still been alive, Isaac and I might’ve known love, but safety?
There had been nothing safe about bouncing from one shelter to another, one alley to the next.
Leonard gestured toward the little round table and chairs in the corner—also white—and said, “Please, take a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Isaac and Shawn both glanced at me, seeking my approval yet again.
Sometimes, I thought it was simply that I was the oldest, and sometimes, I chalked it up to me being bigger, but most of the time, I believed it was just that the two of them couldn’t think for themselves.
Fuck, it was a wonder they managed to fart without me saying it was okay.
They wouldn't survive without me.
I gave them a reassuring nod, and like good little soldiers, they sat down.
But I remained standing, watching as Leonard moved around his kitchen, gathering ingredients from the fridge and the countertop beside it.
He removed a pan from a cabinet, put it on the stove, and turned the burner on.
Then, as he brought a few pats of butter to a sizzle over the flame, he looked over his shoulder to find me observing him.
“Do you know how to cook, Abraham?”
“Never had a reason to learn.”
It wasn’t true. I’d had plenty of reasons to learn. Hunger and survival were a couple of good ones. But what I meant was, I’d never had anyone to teach me, nor had I had a kitchen to learn in.
He nudged his head, signaling for me to approach. “Want me to teach you a couple of things?”
I frowned. “Why would you do that?”
“Because a boy your age should know how to make himself some lunch,” he answered before gesturing again toward the stove. “Come.”
With short, tentative steps, I moved toward him.
Instinct told me he was trying to separate me from the others.
Instinct said someone else—Leonard's business partner maybe—was somewhere in this house, ready to pounce the moment my guard was lowered by a friendly, unsuspicious gesture, like teaching me how to cook.
I laid my hand on the knife in my pocket, ready to pull it out in a second's time.
Leonard watched me, noted my distrust, but he said nothing, made no attempt to disarm me, and intuition told me, once again, this man was to be trusted.
If only it were that easy.
I came to stand next to him at the stove, and he smiled, making the corners of his eyes wrinkle. What the hell was it about that smile that made me want to cry? I twisted my lips, sucked in a deep breath, and silently scolded myself for feeling any sort of way for this old dude we'd only just met.
"All right," he said, satisfied. "Now, you see that butter sizzling away in the pan?"
I nodded once, though I kept my eyes on him.
He could easily swing that pan, catching my face with that hot, hot, hot butter. He could burn my eyes, hit me upside the head …
"We have to be quick—don't want the butter to burn." He grabbed four slices of bread from the bag. "There's not enough room in the pan to make them all, so we'll have to split it up. How many sandwiches can you eat?"
I didn't reply. I only stared. What the hell kind of question was that anyway? How the hell was I supposed to know how many sandwiches I could eat when I'd never been given a chance to find out?
He swung his eyes to mine after laying the four slices of bread in the pan of spitting, spattering butter.
"Abraham," he said, his voice lowered, quiet, hushed … but never unkind, "when was the last time you ate?"
"I had some chips this morning," I answered honestly, remembering the little bag of Doritos I'd swiped from the mom-and-pop shop.
"And before that?"
I clamped my lips shut again, twisted them angrily to the side, because I couldn't remember.
Might've been a day ago, maybe two. Could've been more than that even, but when you were just trying to get by, you stopped thinking about the things you had little control over. You took what you could get when you could get it and stopped focusing on what you didn’t have in between.
Leonard seemed to understand the things I wasn’t saying and nodded. "How about we just make as many as we can, huh?"
I tore my eyes from him to glance over my shoulder.
It was a risk to look away. Leonard could take me out then, if he wanted to, but I had to remind myself of why we were here.
Shawn and Isaac were at the table, watching my back, their spines stick straight and rigid, their hands tense on the tabletop.
They were ready to jump, ready to come to my defense if needed.
I gave them an encouraging nod, telling them we were okay—at least for the time being.
And then I told Leonard, "Sounds good."
***
My stomach ached from my eating too many grilled cheese sandwiches, and I thought I was going to be sick.
It was a stupid move on my part—irresponsible even—but Leonard and I had made sixteen sandwiches, using up all the bread and cheese the old guy had.
I didn’t eat a damn thing until I was sure Ike and Shawn had gotten their fill.
They ate four each, along with some pretzels Leonard had in a bag on top of his fridge, and Leonard ate two before asking if I planned on eating anything.
So, I had eaten six.
It was gluttonous and shameful.
The last time I'd eaten more than my share, the man of the house had forced his fingers down my throat until my stomach was emptied and hurting.
My gut clenched as I thought about that now, scared to let go and scared to hold on, and I groaned, laying my arms over my middle, wishing I could wipe my memory and the food from my belly without leaving me wanting.
From beside me and across the table, Shawn and Ike watched me expectantly. I had said we would leave after we ate, and that time should be now. I knew we needed to go, I knew we needed to move. Truthfully, I had no idea what time it was, and we would have to find shelter before it got dark … again.
But if I moved now, I would purge my lunch. No, I needed a moment to breathe, to digest, and then … then we'd leave.
What if I don’t want to go though?
What if I want to stay here?
"Where are you boys headed?" Leonard asked, sitting to my right.
I answered with a shake of my head. There was no destination in mind, and even if there were, he wasn't privy to that knowledge.
"Do you have any money?"
Wordlessly, I slid my gaze to his, as if to say, What do you think, old man?
"Do you need money?"
Against my stomach, my hands itched. Yes, we needed money. We needed any penny we could get. What we would do with it, I had no clue. Where we would go with it and what we would do when we got there, I had no clue. But we needed money.
But I didn't want it from him.
I didn't want to owe him more than I already did.
Leonard's white brows pinched as he dropped his gaze. His fingertips tapped slowly against the table once, twice, three times. His lips tipped downward into a deep frown.
Then he looked up, met my eyes again, and asked, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Why?"
"Because …" His voice trailed off, and he sighed. "Because I'd like to discuss something with you. Alone … if that's all right."
My defenses rose, and a different type of queasiness barreled through my gut.
"I already told you, I'm not sucking your dick—"
"No, no," Leonard quickly interrupted harshly, raising a hand to stop me. "I don't … no, God, I would never …” He sighed and rubbed a hand against his cheek. “I only want to talk to you, I swear on my mother's grave. You have my word."