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I was so tempted to blurt his name out when I saw the fury that flooded Kristian’s eyes. My mind blazed with what my man would do to that asshole, but ultimately it’s for the best that I kept his name to myself.
Who knows how far Kris would go?
Jackie turns on the radio and together we sing along to one of our favorite pop songs, getting silly and dancing around. Our eyes meet at the red light, giggling as we sing. Tinkerbell hops from Jackie’s lap to mine, leaping up to my chest as though she wants to get involved. I laugh and lift her, helping her to dance as the light turns green and we continue on our journey.
When we pull up outside our apartment building, our landlord is just leaving.
Mr. Jenkins is an elderly man with a sharp face and an even sharper tongue. We always do our best to avoid him, especially when we have Tinkerbell in tow.
“Hide her under your shirt,” Jackie says out of the corner of her mouth. “Ah, fuck. Quick, Kimmy. He’s coming over here.”
I see that she’s right. Mr. Jenkins is walking down the street, lifting his hand in what would be a friendly wave if it was coming from anybody else.
We’ve never had a positive interaction with him.
We had to badger him for a week once when we weren’t getting any hot water.
“Sorry, Tinks,” I murmur, lifting my shirt a little and making to move her under.
But this little warrior princess is having none of it. She yaps and squirms away, glaring up at me with her angry quintessential Chihuahua expression.
Then it’s too late.
Mr. Jenkins is standing over my window. I see his neat shirt, tucked into his khaki pants, not a crease out of place.
“Shit,” Jackie murmurs.
Shit is right.
He knocks on the window, leaning down to peer inside.
Tinkerbell yaps at this new face.
This isn’t going to be good.
“Might as well roll it down,” I sigh. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
Jackie rolls down the window, letting in the surprisingly warm winter air. It really is a perfect day to go out on a yacht, even if that sentence makes me question if I’m asleep or awake.
All of this is so much like a dream.
“Hello, ladies,” Mr. Jenkins says in the most cheerful voice I’ve ever heard him use.
Usually, his voice is harsh, one-hundred percent that of the grumpiest folks in this city. Now he beams.
“And who’s this little lady? Hi there.”
Tinkerbell growls as though asking a question.
I glance at Jackie, but she looks as lost as I am.
“Well, I won’t take up much of your time,” Mr. Jenkins says, seeming awkward in the silence. “I just wanted to say that it’s very appreciated. And if you ever need any help, just let me know, okay? You two are my most valued tenants, but don’t tell the others.”
He chuckles at this, and I find myself laughing because really I don’t know what else to do.
“Sorry, Mr. Jenkins,” Jackie says. “But what’s very appreciated?”
He narrows his eyes as though Jackie has just asked if the sky is blue.
“The advance payments, of course,” he says. “Four months’ rent, out of the blue. It’s very generous. But I suppose some people just like to get everything in order, don’t they?” He grins down at Tinkerbell. “What a sweet looking dog. Anyway, like I said, won’t take up too much of your time.”
With that, he stands and trots away.
“Is he whistling?” Jackie murmurs.
I lean closer to the window, listening.
Yes, he is.
Mr. Jenkins is whistling.
“Kris,” I murmur. “He said we wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. He did this. Oh my God, Jackie, this must be proof that this is real. Don’t you think?”
“I think it’s proof you’re smitten,” she teases.
I giggle, moving as if I’m going to smack her. She laughs and raises her hands in a gesture of defense.
I can see how relieved she is, though, in the way her eyes shimmer.
Growing up with my big sister functioning as my parent, I became acutely attuned to her different moods and facial expressions. When I was very young – still in the orphanage – I used to keep a journal called All The Faces of Jacks. She laughed like crazy when she found it, but then hugged me closely when I thought she was mocking me.
“I love it,” she whispered, smoothing her hand through my hair. “And I love you.”
We get out of the car and head for the apartment building, walking through the lobby and then into the elevator. Tinkerbell squirms and whines from Jackie’s arms as we ride the elevator, making cute-as-heck yipping noises.
“I know, girl,” Jackie murmurs, stroking her hand over her ears.
“Is something wrong?” I ask. “She’s usually fine with the elevator.”
“Things are changing,” Jackie says. “I think she can sense it.”
