Page 173 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

W

Greta found Ash in the living room, staring down at the
crumpled form of Elgin on the sofa. Hard to tell his sallow
skin from the folds of the blanket. He usually ensconced
himself in his bedroom late morning. Today it looked like he
had walked by the sofa and collapsed. A drive-by sleep attack.
If Ash felt surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. “We

broke him,” he said, thrusting his chin toward Elgin.
“Shh.” Greta elbowed Ash’s arm. “He can still hear you.”
But she did lean closer to check for movement in his chest, the
flicker of rem sleep behind his eyelids. “He’s just sleeping.”
Ash turned to look at her, his eyes wide. “Are you sure
about that?” Greta steered him by the elbow to the kitchen.
Before she could speak again, Ash said, “It’s too much, all

this cooking for us,” he sputtered, “and dealing with our crap.
We’re killing the man.”
“I’ll call Alice,” Greta said, “just in case.” Elgin had written
her number in Sharpie on the side of the fridge. Not even on
a sticky note—actual Sharpie on the fridge surface. “And we’ll
do more. We’ll do all the cooking.” They already did most of
the cleaning, except for any plant-related stuff. Elgin practically
bodychecked them whenever they attempted to touch a plant.
Greta left a voice mail for Alice. They stood over Elgin for

another minute before withdrawing to their room, leaving
him to sleep. Greta flopped on the air mattress and Ash on
his bed. Midmorning sun shone through the gauzy curtains.
They lay on their backs, staring up at the popcorn ceiling.

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