Page 10 of Don't Tell

She knows better than to believe that, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Well, this is me,” Carmen says as she rises to her feet. She thrusts a granola bar into my hands. “Eat this. You’re as white as a ghost…and get some rest. You’re of no use to anyone if you’re dead. I’ll see you tomorrow, Suze. Good night.”

I smile back at her. “Good night.”

I watch as she gets off the bus. Then I tear off the wrapper and devour the granola bar. It tastes like the best thing in the world. I try not to moan as I chew.

After three more stops, I’m on foot toward my building. It’s forever in some state of construction. I used to wait for the renovation to wrap up — not anymore. It’s just not happening. But the apartment is cheap, and that’s the only thing that counts.

The lobby is a square of stained carpet and a bulletin board with the same flyer for a missing cat since I moved in. My key sticks in the lock. I jiggle it. I lift the handle. The door gives.

The smell of fish hits me instantly.

“Hey,” Maeve says from the stove. She’s flipping a fish in a hot pan. Her short red hair is pinned back.

I like Maeve, even though I don’t know her last name or much about her at all. Well, I know she’s in nursing school. We say hello when we cross paths, and we replace the toilet paper without keeping score. We don’t get in each other’s business. And honestly? That simple trade is the closest thing to peace I can ever get.

Her thin lips curl into a wide smile. “Just making some dinner. You want some?”

I shake my head. I don’t like fish. There’s no need to tell her that. “I’m not hungry.” Another lie of the day. Now I’ll have to wait for Maeve to go to bed before I sneak out for some dinner.

“Well, I’ll leave some here if you change your mind.”

I nod even though I know I won’t.

My stomach grumbles as I make my way to my room. Maybe I should have sucked it up and accepted her dinner offer. I close the door of my room behind me. I lock it.

The room is a closet with a window that looks out onto the side of the next building. That wreath across the airshaft has hung there for two Christmases. I've drawn it twice. I pay more for this room than I should because nobody else wanted the small one, and the door has a lock.

She did not let you have one.

I feel my phone buzzing in my bag. My heart skips a beat. I’m apprehensive. It’s been a couple of hours since my mother’s last text demanding money. I pull it out anyway. Relief floods through me when I see Renée’s name flash on my screen. I answer without hesitation.

“Hey. Is this a good time?”

I nod even though she can’t see me. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I have something for you. I was going through the boxes Mom left in the attic.”

“You just got around to it? That was years ago. What made you do it?”

“Curiosity, I guess. Plus, the house has just been sitting there for a while. Chad and I finally decided to sell. That is…if it’s okay with you.”

I feel a stab in my chest. It’s absolutely not okay with me. There are years of memories in that house. But what can I do? I’m not her child. I have no right, no say.

“It’s fine.” I hear myself say. “It’s about time.”

“Uh-huh. But look, I found a couple of photographs of you and Mom. There are some photos of you painting that little terracotta pot — the one with the flowers we put on the porch.”

I don't say anything for a second. I just let myself soak in the memory. It calms the ringing in my ears. This is not so bad after all.

“Do you want me to mail it?”

“Yes, please. That’ll mean a lot. Thanks, Renée.”

“Of course. Now that that’s out of the way, how’s work?”

“It’s fine.”