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And then I’m off, running as fast as I can without attracting stares to get to my BMW. And then I thumb in Hope’s location and fight traffic to get there as fast as I can.
I can’t believe my eyes when I finally find Milo and Hope underneath the clocktower. Especially when I come upon them just as a cop is harassing them and telling them they need to move.
“We don’t allow loitering here.”
“We’re not loitering,” Hope argues back. “Can’t you see he can barely stand up!”
The cop is reaching for his radio. “Then I’ll have to have him picked up.”
“I told you he’s my brother-in-law! And my husband is coming, you can’t just—” Hope looks like she’s ready to attack the cop so I jog forward.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” I say, all but sprinting the last few feet. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
The cop eyes me up and down. “Do I know you?”
Shit. The last thing I need is this guy putting it out around the LAPD that Leander Mavros has an unhoused brother.
“I just have one of those faces,” I say hurriedly. Then I look down at Milo. Who’s barely recognizable. But when he looks up at me—shit. It is him. Why didn’t he reach out? Did he really think we wouldn’t—?
I crouch down and scoop him up in my arms. Fuck, he’s way too light underneath the scraps of clothing he’s wearing. “I’ve got it, officer. We apologize for taking up your time. Come on, honey,” I call to Hope. “The car’s this way.”
I hear Hope’s footsteps hurry after me.
We get Milo loaded in the back seat and Hope scurries in behind him. Milo just looks a little dazed and like he isn’t sure of what’s going on.
“Do we need to get him to the hospital?” I ask Hope, glancing at her in my rearview as I check my mirrors before pulling into traffic.
“No hospitals,” Milo says, his voice low and gruff. “Just… home. If you’ll have me.”
Hope makes a strangled little cry. “You were always welcome home, honey. I was just angry that day. I didn’t mean forever. I just needed a minute to think. I never meant— God, I never meant this.”
She starts to cry and Milo starts shaking his ragged head. “Don’t cry. My Hope should never cry.”
He reaches out to wipe away her tears, but his hands are so dirty, he just leaves a dark smear across her face. He yanks his hand back when he sees what he’s done.
“We’ll be home in no time and get you all cleaned up. You’ll be back to your old self in no time,” I say.
But then Milo’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, and there’s something in the vacantness of the glance that calls out my lie.
I turn my eyes back to the road and for once, LA traffic is kind and we make it home in record time. It helps that it’s a Saturday.
As soon as I park I jump out of the car and open Milo’s door. Hope is beside me almost in the same moment. Together, we help Milo to his feet. Each holding a shoulder, we help him into the house.
I grab the bag of groceries from the front step that I ordered earlier as we go.
And we head directly for the bathroom.
I set out a couple trash bags on the floor and then set a chair over them.
“Do you mind undressing?” I ask. “Then I want to cut and treat your hair, okay, buddy?”
Milo nods, his eyes dull. He feels like a lifeless puppet we’re leading around. He stands still while we undress him in the middle of our huge, opulent master bath.
I glance at Hope. “You should probably get rid of what you’re wearing too.”
She nods in unspoken understanding and undresses as well. She remains that way, I think hoping that her nakedness will help Milo felt less awkward about his. I pull off my shirt too and shuck it in an extra trash bag Hope opens up for all our clothes.
Then I put a one-inch guard on our shears and, not bothering to try to get a comb through the tangled locks, just start cutting it off. The filthy hair falls onto the plastic-covered floor below.
Hope hops up onto the counter so she’s within Milo’s line of sight. It seems to comfort him. Because when he doesn’t have his eyes closed to avoid the flying hair, his eyes are locked on her thighs.
I get his hair cut pretty quickly, then apply the noxious smelling shampoo that needs to set for about fifteen minutes. I shave him while it does its thing.
And there he is—my brother Milo slowly reappearing. Gaunt. Far skinnier than I’ve ever seen, but far more recognizable.
The timer sounds for the shampoo not long later. “Time to shower you clean.”
