Page 27 of Naked Coffee Guy

I’m irritated that this is the first I’m hearing of this. But I also didn’t hire these nurses as babysitters or to monitor anything other than Benji’s health.

“Did he say anything else? Did you?” I ask. I’m trying not to look too eager, fixing my face into an expression of boredom, but inside I’m seething. Benji has no idea about the article. I’ve worked too hard to make the last moments of his time here on earth stress free. And yet, here he is, his beady eyes narrowed as he studies me.

“Nothing else,” he says, “I figured you’d know. You seem to know everything, don’t you?”

Ah, there it is. Just the tone in his voice tells me where his mind is—the day I quit the apartments to start working real estate full time. Back then, it was a betrayal. I’d grown up believing Benji was raising me to walk in his footsteps, to gain the kind of wealth he’d amassed for himself. But all he really wanted was cheap labor in just one of the ways he cut corners. I thought he’d understand when I strove for bigger and better things. Instead, he decided I was abandoning the family business in favor of a flashy hobby.

Well, that flashy hobby turned into the very thing that is keeping both of us afloat.

“I got ice cream!” Anna sings, juggling three bowls as she comes into the room.

I look toward Benji, who seems to have forgotten our whole discussion, his eyes glued to the bowl. I didn’t even get a chance to defend my character. But would it have mattered? He didn’t listen before, and he won’t remember now.

I take my bowl, and Anna takes turns spooning ice cream into Benji’s mouth before enjoying a bite from her own bowl. She turns on The Bachelor, and I try not to roll my eyes out of my head as Benji leans over, accepting spoonfuls of ice cream as he waits to see which girls will get a rose.

When I’m at Benji’s house, I try to help the nurses as much as possible. They don’t really need my help, since Benji is no longer able to leave the bed. But I want to help. I feel it’s my duty, since I’m the closest he has to a son. Well, except for my foster brother, but I’d rather leave him out of it. For me, this is my way of saying thank you for all the years he gave me a safe place to stay. So when Benji needs a bath, I’m there with the tub of water and a sponge. When he needs to be turned, I help roll him to his side and scoot him to the middle of the bed. He’s probably a hundred pounds by now, just skin and bones in his hospital bed that sits in the middle of the living room—just a fraction of the larger-than-life man he once was, and not nearly as terrifying. And yet, I still jump at his command. I’m three times his size with all my faculties, and his word continues to be the last.

Tonight, I help Anna change his gown, adding it to the pile of laundry I’ll do before bed. I try not to stare at the knobs of his spine protruding along the seam of his back, or how his hips jut out at the edges. At this stage, there’s no longer a need to fatten him up. Instead of caloric protein shakes and supplements, he now eats what he wants, when he wants, which isn’t often. But ice cream? There’s always a pint in the freezer.

Benji is lights out almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. The old man can barely stay awake for more than an hour at a time. I wish Anna a goodnight as she makes up a bed on the couch, then I throw the laundry in the washer before retiring to my bedroom in the back of the house.

Here’s the thing about this room: it was supposed to be a staff room, along with the room my foster brother stayed in. Both were simple with nothing more than a bed and a dresser. Never once did I think to make it something more, no posters or other art on the walls, no colorful bedspread, no books or games, or anything that might give people a clue to who I was.

Maybe it was because I wasn’t even sure who I was. I’d spent so many years shuffled from house to house, constantly on the defense that I didn’t have any energy left for trivial things, like interests.

Even now at thirty-five, I struggle with an answer on what I do for fun.

Cover my benefactor’s ass. Sell off his belongings to pay his debt. Be the fall guy for all the mistakes he’s made. Make sure he dies with honor.

So fun.

Well, there’s one thing I do, something I’ve kept up since I was fifteen years old; I wake up early every day, go for a run, then end it with a barefoot walk so I can feel close to everything.

It started when Benji took a trip to Tunisia while I stayed behind with the security guards as my babysitters. When he came back, it was with all these mystical ideas he’d learned from the people he was staying with. The irony was that his teachings were all about love, an idea Benji was apparently drawn to, but unable to actually show. Not to me, and not to anyone I’d ever seen him around.

But one of the things he taught me was that when an emotion runs deep, the best thing you can do is take off your shoes to be closer to the energy of the world, allowing the true holiness of the moment to flow free.

So every morning, I have held on to this ritual. It’s the one thing that ensures there’s a portion of the day when the Universe and I are one.

And tomorrow, I’ll need it.

I kneel down on the floor and retrieve the metal box hidden under my bed. I trust everyone who comes in and out of this house, but I also know the pull of temptation.

It’s a combination lock, and I quickly spin the numbers until it unlocks. Inside is a small jewelry box. My hands have a slight tremor as I open it. I take in the diamonds and blue sapphires, it’s such a small thing to be this precious.

I close the case, then return it to the metal box before scrambling the combination and hiding it back under my bed. Pulling out my phone, I quickly book a table at Breakers, a cocktail lounge, with a note to seat us in the back. Then I scroll to my text messages.

Mac: I made reservations at Breakers tomorrow night. Meet me there at 7 p.m.

The read receipt indicates she’s read the message, then the moving dots as she types.

Amanda: I’ll be there in red.

Chapter Eleven

Maren

As soon as my eyes open in my darkened room, I’m up. I slide my feet into slippers, wrap a robe around my shoulders, and rush to the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on, my eyes scanning the street outside the entire time.