Page 40 of Landon (In Safe Hands)
“I’llcall the realtor and see when she’s available. I have class in the afternoon.”
“Soundsgood.” He gets to his feet and heads to his room. “Night, Zo.”
“Night,kid.”
Iwake early the next morning when Landon texts me the realtors name and number.There’s no good morning, see you later, or anything in his message. I’m temptedto call him, but we’ve been stitched at the hip for days. If he’s trying to getsome time to himself, I’m not going to be the clingy girl. I settle for textingthe word thanks, and leave it at that.
Therealtor gets back to me within a couple of hours and offers to show us a fewproperties in our price range this evening. Ethan is just as thrilled as I amto get out of this shitty apartment.
Betweenschool, house hunting, and dealing with my parents’ estate, the next week fliesby. I put in an offer on a beautiful four bedroom house in a safe neighborhood.The large screened porch complete with swing won me over, and Ethan is thrilledwith the large basement that he wants to make into a game room.
Myparents’ house is now cleaned out and up for sale. Ms. Hafley, the realtor,seems to think it’ll sell quickly. The commercial building, maybe not so much.It’s in good condition, but not in a great location. Until it sells, I’mallowing the church to keep using it, but they know their time is limited.
Allin all, it’s been a great week, except for Landon’s lack of communication.After not hearing from him for a few days, I texted him, but his only responsewas to say he’s busy. That was four days ago and I haven’t heard another word.I know he’s busy getting his house repaired, dealing with the insurancecompanies and everything, but it can’t be eating up all his time. I know whenI’m being blown off.
Ijust don’t know what I did wrong. Those days with him were wonderful and Ireally thought he had the same feelings for me that I do for him, but I guess Iwas fooling myself. I’m not going to call him. I’m not going to be thedesperate girl who can’t take a hint. Still, it hurts. I miss him and I feellike I’m dragging through my days, just waiting to hear from him.
Ethanapproaches me one morning with a suggestion. “Zo, the building you inherited,the one the church uses?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatwould you think about letting the homeless shelter use it instead? I mean, ifwe need the money, I understand you have to sell it, but if not, we could helpthem out.”
Seewhat a damn good kid he is? I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Theshelter is right down the road from the church. They picketed them a few timeswhen they found out they housed gay kids.
“That’sa fantastic idea. Why don’t we stop by and talk to the director today?”
MartinDay, the director of the Every Life Counts Homeless Shelter and Gay YouthCenter greets us both with a warm hug. “Ethan, good god boy, you’re taller thanme. What have you been eating?”
“Anythingthat appears near him,” I laugh, hugging him back. “It’s a wonder I have all myfingers.”
“Whatare you doing here? Not that I’m not always glad to see my two favorite successstories.” This place saved me when my parents threw me out. They gave me aplace to stay, helped me get into college, find a job, and get my first studioapartment. Ethan stayed here a few years later while I rushed to get a twobedroom apartment and find a way to support us both.
Hetook part in group counseling with other gay teens and it really helped himaccept and be proud of who he is. Years of being told homosexuals aredisgusting and should be put to death so they’ll go to hell tends to destroyones self-esteem. Meeting other boys who felt the same really brought him outof his shell.
“Irecently inherited the building down the street. The one the pentecostal churchuses? Turns out my parents owned it, and all their property was left to me.”
“Thatmust chap their ass,” he laughs.
“Notas much as Every Life Counts owning it will. I know you need more space. It maynot have the facilities you need for housing, but if you can use it for anypurpose, I’d like you to have it.”
Martin’sjaw drops and he stammers, “W-we always need more space. We’d love to host tutoring,GED classes, and employment training.”
Smiling,Ethan tells him, “I think this would be the perfect place.”
“Ican’t promise you won’t catch shit from the church…”
“Sowhat else is new? We can handle them.” He still looks stunned at our offer.
“Whydon’t we go now and show him?” Ethan asks, excited.
“Ifyou aren’t busy.” I shrug.
Theparking lot outside the building is littered with cars when we arrive, sothere’s some kind of function going on inside.
Wemake our way through the glass doors where an indoor yard sale is taking place.The church has set up rows of tables and they’re covered in clothing,housewares, and tools. Customers mill around, digging through the donateditems, but one face stands out. Especially since it’s glaring at me like Iwalked in holding a vibrator or something.
“Mrs.Frances, how are you?”
