Page 50 of Honeysuckle
“Fifteen,” he answered as we hit the fourth floor.
“Where are we going?” I asked, rounding the corner of five.
“Seven,” he answered, not sounding even a little out of breath.
“How many times have you done these stairs?” I asked as we reached six, my breath had started to get shallow and quick.
“All my life,” he replied, stopping at the first door off the seventh-floor landing and spinning on me so he was in my face. “If you tell a soul about what you see in here, I’ll fucking kill you, Tucker.”
I would have laughed, but something about the way Josh said it meant he was serious, so I nodded and waited as he popped the lock on the apartment door. The intense smell of vodka, smoke and rotten fruit washed into my nose, and it took everything in me not to gag.
“Mom,” Josh called out, stepping over a leaning pile of newspapers with his long legs. I stepped inside the apartment and shut the door behind us as my eyes scanned my surroundings.
The walls, which I could only assume were white at some point, had been stained yellow from smoke and were littered with holes. The windows were covered with film and newspapers to block the light from pouring in onto the dirty couch and the glass coffee table that was piled high with garbage.
The kitchen off to my right was barely that; dishes and rotten food piled in toppling towers of plastic and mold. The rotten stench of beer cans festering with fruit flies filled the air and seeped into my clothes and against my skin.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, seeing the discarded needles, and crossed my arms over my chest as I looked around for Josh.
He was in a room to my left, talking to someone that I couldn’t see, but could hear.
“You came.” Her voice was strained, and she sounded weak as Josh helped her off the floor and onto the dirty mattress piled with clothes and blankets. “That’s my boy.”
Josh’s body went rigid as her hand touched his cheek. Gently, he pulled her wrist away and reached for his wallet to dig through it.
“This is all I have,” he said. "I’ll stop by Mark’s office and get him to change the lock on the door.” He moved with the kind of fluidity that only came from having done this a hundred times before. As if caring for her this way was second nature.
I looked around as Josh lowered his voice, clearly not wanting me to hear what was next. I stepped back and scanned the hall, taking in the peeling paint in the corners and the piles of dust that lined the baseboards. The door at the end of the hall had three chain locks—all of them had been snapped off and reinstalled, again and again.
The pit in my stomach grew as I stepped toward it.
I put my hand out to open it; the cool metal pressing against my palm, begging to be turned.
“Don’t.” Josh’s voice was harsh and laced with impatience. "Let’s go.”
I didn’t turn the handle, but my heart ached from the strained way he demanded it, and I knew that the door led to his room. The frame was etched with scratch marks made by small hands.
“Tuck,” he said again, his tone more strangled the longer I stood staring. “Please.”
I let go of the door knob and turned to look at him. He suddenly seemed so much smaller than usual, but I nodded and followed him out of the apartment. I kept my eyes trained on the center of his back, right between his tense shoulder blades, as we walked down each flight of stairs.
“Give me a second,” he said, knocking on a door off the main lobby.
An older gentleman with an unruly beard and mean dark eyes answered, but his expression grew more gentle at the sight of Josh.
“Mr. Logan!” His voice softened as he opened the door wider. “I didn’t expect to see you— is your—?”
“She’s alright, Mark. How are you?” Josh’s tone was so different with this stranger. It was considerate and patient, just like he’d been with his mother, but his shoulders had relaxed and he even had a smile on his face that I’d never seen before.
“Surviving,” the old man coughed out into a rag. “What can I do for you, Josh?”
“Mom had another unwanted visitor while she wasn’t home. Do you think you could change out her lock again?” He asked. “Do you still have that box?”
“You saved me a lot of money with that idea,” Mark said. “I’ll change it out for one of the old ones. What about Darren’s?”
“Yeah, I haven't seen that guy since eighth grade. That’ll work.” Josh nodded. "Thanks, Mark.”
“Anything for you, kid,” he said, without hesitation. “When does the season start?”
