Page 48 of Who I Really Am
I mean, I tend to agree it’s past time, but the Walkers invited me, and as far as they’re concerned, nothing has changed. I have right—and reason—to be here.
My reason being that I have nowhere else to go.
Wow, I must have vibed lots of aggression, because missionary man flaps his palms up. “Just making conversation, dude.”
I loosen my shoulders. “Sorry.” Scruffing my palm across the top of my head, I remember that my hair must be poking up in a hundred different directions. Not only that, my hastily thrown on shirt is practically flapping in the wind, exposing much of my nastiest artwork, not to mention the downright evil scar that, in certain settings, earns me all kinds of cred. This is not one of those settings.
Stepping back, I thread a couple of midsection buttons through their respective holes. “Um, the Walkers get back next week, but I’ll probably head out tomorrow. Time to move on, you know.”
From behind sturdy dark frames, the presently in vogue type I see TV megachurch pastors sport, Brett squints at me. “Where will you go?”
Now see, that’s the thing about minister types. They push. They worm their way into places nobody wants them, and all this dude’s practiced concern will not get me out of the trouble I’m in, so what good is he?
I shrug, the best answer I’ve got.
“Maddie showed me an article about what happened in Dallas. I figure your apartment isn’t a viable option right now?”
He figures correctly. Yes, I am, for all intents and purposes, homeless. Media has been camped out on my doorstep for weeks. Worse, a small contingent of protestors against police brutality are taking shifts across the street in full view of my front door—still, after two-plus weeks.
I shake my head.
Annoying little twit. What makes him think I want to talk about this?
“Maddie and I were talking last night. And praying. You know, we’ll be leaving town in a few days for our training, and our apartment in Austin—”
“No.”
“We’ll be gone for a solid month, so if you need a place to hang…”
This gives me pause. My so-called friends, Tripp being the singular exception, have been running the other direction since the night of the shooting. “You don’t know me.”
“Annalise does.”
“Not really.”
Maybe he doesn’t know all the seamy details. Who do I thank for their discretion? I had figured the truth about Annalise and me would have come oozing out by now. I mean, women are that way.
He folds his arms. “Look, I’m going to be straight here. Annalise told Maddie how you two met, and while I’m not a fan of that kind of behavior—”
I feel my neck muscles stiffen.
“—I figure, Maddie and I both figure, you’re a decent enough guy, a guy who’s going through a hard time.”
“What’s your point?”
He sighs, sounding a little frustrated. I do have that effect on people. “No point. Just trying to meet a need where we can.”
Meet a need? I release his stare and look away. I don’t like being an object of charity. It was different when the Walkers extended the invitation. At least itfeltdifferent.
A sour taste coats my mouth. I do still have some pride left. But I force my shoulders down and my posture to ease. “I appreciate the offer, Ellis. I do. But I can take care of myself.”
He stares through those hipster glasses, and I see the moment he decides to take me at my word. “Alright, then. Hope you find what you need, Gonzalez.”
What I need?What the heck does that mean? Ineeda place to hang that doesn’t feel awkward, contrived, and charity-ridden. Ineedto be cleared of wrongdoing so I can go back to my home and my life, hollow and empty as they’re beginning to feel.
Ellis and I clumsily two-step around the awkwardness until the lovely Maddie reappears, gliding down the hoity-toity staircase with a black tote over her shoulder and Annalise’s purse in her hand. She smiles at me so undeservedly warmly that I feel it in my chest. These two lily-white do-gooders may not be my kind, but they are good people, and it just may be possible that their type is the very reason I’ll fight to continue doing the crap-bucket job I do.
“Do you know where Annalise’s phone is, Marco?”