Needy Little Things(40)

“Why? Because he was at the shop to see you? You’re forgetting he was there on my behalf, and I tell you what, I won’t be losing any sleep over it. Danny wouldn’t want me to, and he sure as hell wouldn’t want that for you.”

“It’s not just that—”

He hocks a loogie. “It’s that hoity-toity bitch who owns the ice cream shop that owes me an apology, that’s who.”

“Why?” I prod, hopeful to gauge his reaction to the truth without having to say it.

“What do you mean, why? That woman murdered my brother.”

The word “murder” travels through my ear canals and lodges itself in the middle of my brain. It shudders there, nauseating me like the worst migraine ever. Malcolm and I are back in the bathroom of Retro Diner. Say it with me.

“He had a heart attack.” I stutter the words out, needing Philly to agree. “He had a heart attack.”

“Yuh. Well. I would have had a heart attack, too, if someone stabbed me in the neck with a nail file.” He spits into his Coke can.

“He’d forgiven her.” I don’t say it for her benefit. I’m greedily searching for my own absolution here.

“Don’t mean I got to.” A firm, cold anger settles into the lines on his face.

Batteries, batteries, batteries.

The new intrusion into my mental space comes on strong enough to kick the word “murder” out, but it disappears as rapidly as it came on.

Philly’s eyes go wide. “I’ve seen that look before. You got something else for me? Where’s that goodie bag of yours?”

The need continues to come and go, dancing on the boundary of my range. “Philly, is there someone else here?” Because this need, most certainly, is not coming from him.

He opens his mouth but seems to rethink whatever he was going to say. “Bear’s here.”

“Bear, your dog?”

He points at the wall between us and the living room.

I scoot back in my chair, experiencing some déjà vu. There’s a tiny dog sleeping on the back of the couch. “That’s Bear?”

“Yeah.”

“But he’s a chihuahua.”

“What’s your point?”

“You said your dog could knock you over. I thought it’d be a big dog.”

“Nope. That ankle biter will get underfoot and trip you up real quick. Felt bad keeping him in the basement, but after you gave me the air horn, I figured it was safe to bring him up.”

Batteries, batteries, batteries.

“Right,” I say softly.

“Something wrong?”

Everything is wrong, and it’s probably stupid to answer him, but the words tumble from my mouth. “I don’t hear the needs of animals.”

“Well, it’s only you and me here, girl, so go on and hand over whatever it is.” His voice has a grating, desperate edge to it.

I stand. Put more space between us because I can’t tell if he’s trying to fool me. Distrust, maybe paranoia even, makes the hairs on my arms stand erect. There is definitely someone else here. It makes my heart race. Makes my mouth dry. Maybe I keep being drawn to this place for a reason.

Batteries. Batteries. Batteries.

Bear barks and I make several decisions all at once. I snatch the remote control from the table and shove my way past Philly. I dart out the back door, following the direction of the need. Whoever it’s coming from can’t be far away.

“What on God’s green Earth?” he calls after me. “Get back here!”

I’m only a few feet from the house, but the trees are thick. It’ll take Philly forever to work his way through the woods with that cane.

“Deja!” I call out. “Deja!” I shout her name over and over because finding her now, right here by home—it’d make all this make sense. Danny’s death, everything that led to it, all cogs in the machine, leading to a moment maybe only seconds away. A few more paces through the forest, I find a tree with small planks of wood nailed to it. A ladder. I look up and see a trapdoor to a tree house.

Batteries. Batteries. Batteries.

“Deja! Are you up there?” When there’s no answer, I climb. I’m three steps from the top when the trapdoor swings open. A pink-faced girl from my math class, Charlie McKinny, pokes her head out like an opossum.

“Sariyah?”

My foot slips, and I plummet to the ground.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” She starts to climb down, but I tell her to stop.

“I’m fine.” My tailbone throbs and I wince, calling out my lie. “I want to come up.”

Charlie moves out of the way so I can hoist myself into the small, dim space. There are a few gallon jugs of water, an obviously slept-in sleeping bag, and some grocery bags with snacks.

“Are you living up here?” I wonder for a moment if this is a choice she made of her own will. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She blushes. “My mom wouldn’t take me camping for spring break, so this is the next best thing.”

I take another look around, trying to understand how this setup could be desirable. I want to ask her if she knows she’s “camping” in Philly Irvine’s backyard, but she isn’t hurting anyone and it’s not my job to police trespassing.