and grab my phone.
Now. Where the hell were my keys?
I found them on the other side of the counter. Next to three phones. Two of them were mine. One was Max’s.
Fern. Fern had done that. She had taken the bullet out of Max’s leg, covered me with a blanket, and went out to the car to grab my garbage bags and my phone.
I pulled open the fridge, and just as I suspected, there was juice and apples. A Tupperware container. I knew before popping the lid on the thing that it was tuna salad.
Tuna salad with grapes in it. And walnuts. Just like she made for us seven years ago. Jennifer had loved it. Ate it with a spoon right out of the fridge.
“Fruit and fish?” I would say to her. “Gross.”
“More for me!” She’d give me her wide-eyed happy look and dig in.
The Tupperware lid snapped back on and I shut the fridge.
My debt to Aunt Fern was growing past the point I knew how to pay it.
I shelved the emotions that couldn’t help me right now. Guilt. Regret. They’d be fuel for the hamster wheel at night. Today though, I needed to get back to the business of saving Jennifer. And that meant saving Max.
I brushed my thumb over my phone which was plugged into the charger and sat on the counter. No messages. No texts. No nothing.
I hit the icon for Fern’s phone.
The phone rang once and then was answered.
“Olivia?”
“Yeah—”
“I’ll be right there.”
And then she hung up.
Right. I hung up and looked down at the other two phones on the counter.
One was my detonator phone. I need to smash that and throw it in the ocean, fast.
The other one must have been Max’s. A cheap burner flip phone from a gas station. I flipped it open and the screen lit up.
Oh God. My heart leapt into my throat. Maybe I didn’t need Max after all. Maybe I could get the number for Lagan off his phone and take it to the cops. Or have it traced. Or maybe I could…
It was passcode protected. Of course.
I tried the basics. 1234. Nothing. 1111. Nothing.
I closed the phone and set it back down. I guess I had to keep Max around a little bit longer.
There was a knock at the door, and I crossed the room in my bare feet to unlock it and let Fern in, as well as a gust of hot hallway air. She was in full nurse mode—stern-faced and carrying her old army medical bag.
Totally terrifying, if she wasn’t also wearing a green and purple tennis outfit, with a little skirt and everything and a visor tucked into her red curls.
Rosie the Riveter does Wimbledon or some shit.
Affection swamped me. A wildflower in my chest. Uncomfortable and unfamiliar.
“Hey,” I said, “I can’t thank you enough—”
“Is he all right?” She talked right over my thanks. Put her hand right through my gratitude.
I blinked. Unsure of why I was thrown. This was exactly the Fern I was used to.
Suddenly chilled, I put my arms over my chest. “I think he’s getting a fever. He woke up not too long ago a little delusional.”
“I’m not surprised.” She put her bag down on the counter and began to pull out sealed big pharma bags. My crazy, black market first aid supply was always generic Chinese shit.
She had contacts high up somewhere.
“Where do you get all this stuff…?”
“I know a Canadian guy who goes to Cuba a few times a year. He brings it back.”
“Wow.” That was the power of my brain at this moment. Wow.
“You get the food in the fridge?”
“I did. Thank you.”
“I remember you don’t like that tuna, but it was all I had on short notice. You can go across the street and get those frozen burritos you used to live on when you were here.”
“I forgot about those burritos.”
“You ate so many, I thought you were going to turn into one.”
I did. I did eat so many. Gross gas station food instead of the weird healthy stuff she made with her own two hands.
“The tuna will be great,” I said.
“Your sister always liked it.”
“Dylan!” The shout came from the bedroom, and after one startled look at each
Now. Where the hell were my keys?
I found them on the other side of the counter. Next to three phones. Two of them were mine. One was Max’s.
Fern. Fern had done that. She had taken the bullet out of Max’s leg, covered me with a blanket, and went out to the car to grab my garbage bags and my phone.
I pulled open the fridge, and just as I suspected, there was juice and apples. A Tupperware container. I knew before popping the lid on the thing that it was tuna salad.
Tuna salad with grapes in it. And walnuts. Just like she made for us seven years ago. Jennifer had loved it. Ate it with a spoon right out of the fridge.
“Fruit and fish?” I would say to her. “Gross.”
“More for me!” She’d give me her wide-eyed happy look and dig in.
The Tupperware lid snapped back on and I shut the fridge.
My debt to Aunt Fern was growing past the point I knew how to pay it.
I shelved the emotions that couldn’t help me right now. Guilt. Regret. They’d be fuel for the hamster wheel at night. Today though, I needed to get back to the business of saving Jennifer. And that meant saving Max.
I brushed my thumb over my phone which was plugged into the charger and sat on the counter. No messages. No texts. No nothing.
I hit the icon for Fern’s phone.
The phone rang once and then was answered.
“Olivia?”
“Yeah—”
“I’ll be right there.”
And then she hung up.
Right. I hung up and looked down at the other two phones on the counter.
One was my detonator phone. I need to smash that and throw it in the ocean, fast.
The other one must have been Max’s. A cheap burner flip phone from a gas station. I flipped it open and the screen lit up.
Oh God. My heart leapt into my throat. Maybe I didn’t need Max after all. Maybe I could get the number for Lagan off his phone and take it to the cops. Or have it traced. Or maybe I could…
It was passcode protected. Of course.
I tried the basics. 1234. Nothing. 1111. Nothing.
I closed the phone and set it back down. I guess I had to keep Max around a little bit longer.
There was a knock at the door, and I crossed the room in my bare feet to unlock it and let Fern in, as well as a gust of hot hallway air. She was in full nurse mode—stern-faced and carrying her old army medical bag.
Totally terrifying, if she wasn’t also wearing a green and purple tennis outfit, with a little skirt and everything and a visor tucked into her red curls.
Rosie the Riveter does Wimbledon or some shit.
Affection swamped me. A wildflower in my chest. Uncomfortable and unfamiliar.
“Hey,” I said, “I can’t thank you enough—”
“Is he all right?” She talked right over my thanks. Put her hand right through my gratitude.
I blinked. Unsure of why I was thrown. This was exactly the Fern I was used to.
Suddenly chilled, I put my arms over my chest. “I think he’s getting a fever. He woke up not too long ago a little delusional.”
“I’m not surprised.” She put her bag down on the counter and began to pull out sealed big pharma bags. My crazy, black market first aid supply was always generic Chinese shit.
She had contacts high up somewhere.
“Where do you get all this stuff…?”
“I know a Canadian guy who goes to Cuba a few times a year. He brings it back.”
“Wow.” That was the power of my brain at this moment. Wow.
“You get the food in the fridge?”
“I did. Thank you.”
“I remember you don’t like that tuna, but it was all I had on short notice. You can go across the street and get those frozen burritos you used to live on when you were here.”
“I forgot about those burritos.”
“You ate so many, I thought you were going to turn into one.”
I did. I did eat so many. Gross gas station food instead of the weird healthy stuff she made with her own two hands.
“The tuna will be great,” I said.
“Your sister always liked it.”
“Dylan!” The shout came from the bedroom, and after one startled look at each
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