The Spare They Came Begging For novel · Chapter 31 of 32

Chapter 31: The Kitchen

I looked at him for a long second.

Six gallons of Harbor Fog.

A kitchen faucet.

The SOLD sign that had gone up on the patch of lawn next to Moira's in March, which Moira had said was "some guy."

"Go," the advocate said from the next chair, without looking up from her notes. "I can finish the pair. Go on."

I went.

I took the Red Line to Savin Hill in my gray scrubs and ran up the hill from the station.

I hadn't run anywhere since January.

My side didn't hurt at all.

The house next door to Moira's had new storm windows.

The front door was propped open with a paint can.

From somewhere in the back, through the open door, came Springsteen, very loud.

And a man singing along with it, much louder and completely off-key.

I walked down the hall.

The pale squares on the wallpaper were gone.

The walls had been stripped and painted a soft blue-gray.

The kitchen door was open.

I stopped in it.

The cracked linoleum was gone, and there was a wood floor, new and pale.

The deep white sink had a shining new faucet.

The walls were Harbor Fog, the gray-blue of the water on a winter afternoon.

And under the window, where I'd said it should go, there was a table.

A big old farmhouse table, scarred and sanded, with mismatched chairs all around it.

Big enough for a kid with a shark book and a woman who swears and a man who burns garlic.

There was a shark book on it already.

Sir was lying underneath it in a patch of sun, on a dog bed, with his three legs in the air.

Conor was on a stepladder by the back door with a paint roller, singing "Thunder Road" to the ceiling.

He didn't hear me.

I reached over and turned the radio off.

He kept singing for two more words into the silence.

Then he turned around on the ladder and saw me, and nearly fell off it.

"Oh, no," he said. "No. It's Saturday. You're supposed to be at the dialysis unit until four."

"The firefighter's son sends his regards."

"I made him swear on his kidney."

"His last kidney. He takes that very seriously." I looked around the kitchen. "Conor. What did you do?"

He climbed down off the ladder.

He put the roller in the tray.

He wiped his hands on his jeans, which made them worse.

"I bought a house," he said.

"I can see that."

"The old lady's son wanted it gone. I made an offer in February, the week after you were cleared. It closed in March." He rubbed the back of his neck and left a gray streak. "I sold my grandmother's place in Southie. She'd have wanted me to. She'd have wanted me to stay away from the stove too, but you can't have everything."

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