Page 104 of All The Ways to Miss You

When I reach the sixth floor, I don’t knock on Cait’s door; I knock on the one across from her—Mr. Gusterson’s. When he doesn’t answer on the third try, I jiggle the doorknob and find it unlocked. Typical.

Inside, the smell of booze hits me first. The TV’s on and the volume’s cranked. He’s asleep in his recliner, wearing his brown furry bathrobe, which makes him look like skin-and-bones roadkill. His gray combover won’t stay combed over, so the sparse hairs claw at the air on one side of his head like a drawbridge that never closes.

Perhaps sensing my approach, one of his silvery-blue eyes pop open. “Still sleeping. Go away,” he grumbles and turns over.

“I need your tools.”

“I didn’t know you knew what those were.”

“Very funny. Heaters are on the fritz in 6A again.”

“I’ll get to it tomorrow. Busy today.”

Usually, his laziness pisses me off, but today, it works to my advantage. “That’s why I’m here. Fixing it myself.”

“Ha!” he barks.

“In fact, from now on, anytime 6A needs work, I’ll do it.” The words burst out before I consider if I can actually do what I’m suggesting.

I’ve never had a handy bone in my body. I tried to hang some wire shelves in the laundry closet once, and though it seemed like a successful endeavor, they’ve since slumped to a 45-degree angle, leaving them unusable.

He looks over his shoulder. “What’s so special about 6A?”

I open my wallet, knowing it will take more than twenty bucks to appease him. I throw three twenties in his direction. His wrinkled paw grabs the bills before they land and disappear like magic before my eyes.

“That’s a good start, but I was thinking a hundred.”

“To do your work?”

“Think of it as a tool rental fee.”

“I’ll buy my own, if that’s the case. Or kick you out?”

He pops his recliner into a sitting position, suddenly fully aware. “Or I can remind our pretty neighbor about your past. Your choice, hot stuff.”

Damn it.

“She’s got the ambrosia, right?” He slides his hands back and forth on the chair’s puffy arms.

“It’s amnesia. And how the hell do you remember that?”

Mr. Gusterson worked here when Cait and I lived together. He was here when everything went down, which means he knows everything, because he makes it his business to see and hear everything.

“Still sharp.” He points to his head and raises his open palm for an additional payoff. When I shift my weight, he waggles his fingers. He knows he has me by the balls.

I sigh and reach back into my pocket, then wave the remaining forty dollars in front of him. “You keep your trap shut. No gossiping about this. She can never know, and I handle 6A’s maintenance issues. Deal?”

“And you’ll me give me one hundred a month off my rent.”

“Fine.” I slap the money into his greedy, wrinkled hand.

He counts the bills close to his face. “If I recall, Mrs. Venti lived here too, so you might want to visit her next. Heard she could use a new flat-screen TV.”

My temperature rises, and I cross my arms. Apparently, the two have been discussing their blackmail plans.

“And a Wii with two VR headsets . . . and ten games of our choice.”

“Don’t push it, old man.”