Page 71 - My FlipBook
P. 71
SIX
Thursday, no news about jobs or their dad. They took
a bus to their aunt Lori’s house and peered in her dark
windows, then wedged a note under her door, asking
her to call them the second she got back. Friday, Greta’s
and Ash’s last exams, and a message on their answering
machine from one of the fast-food places, requesting an
interview with Ash. Ash actually smiled. Greta even saw
a few teeth.
Saturday—the first day of February.
“Rent is due today,” Ash said, pulling a bowl of instant
oatmeal out of the microwave, “but I don’t even have that
interview until tomorrow afternoon.”
“So we lay low, don’t answer the door. Come and go when
it’s dark.”
“Have you ever seen this guy?” Ash asked.
“No. Patty said he’s old. Never goes out. Maybe he’ll
forget about rent.”
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