Page 43 of Definitely Not a Thing

calvin

She was in witness protection.

Had to be.

It was the only thing that might explain how Amelia had successfully avoided me in the building for damn near a whole week since the night the power went out.

Except I’ddefinitelyheard her moving around over there, so I knew she hadn’t been whisked away in the middle of the night to go be a cashier in the boonies in Indiana or something.

If I could figure out a good, ignore-proof reason, I’d simply knock on the door, but I knew that would only work once fooling around with Amelia. It was basically a last-ditch effort, so I’d have toreallymake it count.

On the surface, it might look like I cared about this way too much – obviously she didn’t want to be bothered, so I should respect that.

And Icouldrespect it.

Wouldrespect it.

As soon as I knew what I’d done wrong.

If she wouldn’t give me anything, cool – I’d at least tried.

But Ihadto try.

My musings were interrupted by a knock at the door – a demanding-ass knock, at that. So my face was already screwed up on the way to the peep hole, and was screwedeven furtherwhen I opened it for Arthur.

I couldn’t even get thewhat the hell you beating on my door like that forout before he was already walking off, calling, “You ain’t doing shit – come help me with this,” over his shoulder.

“How you know if I’m doing something or not?” I asked, still frowning.

“You doin’ something?”

“No.”

“That’s how I know – you just told me,” he cackled. “Brang your ass on now, I don’t have time for much conversation, got shit to do.”

“This isnothow you ask for a favor,” I said, but he’d already walked through the stairwell door. Shaking my head, I pulled on the shoes I’d left by the door, stuck my phone and keys in my pocket, and followed him down.

To hell, probably, knowing him.

A few minutes later, I realized it was actually just the bottom of the stairwell, where the bolts holding the railing down had rusted and broken.

“Hold that still while I try to get this bolt outta here,” he demanded, snatching off his “Arthur’s Tub & Tile” hat to toss aside. “Damn thing shaking all over the place.”

I came down the rest of the stairs, standing near to hold the railing like he needed. “There was no easier or better way than this?”

“Not when it’s this far gone.”

“So why let it get this far gone? Wouldn’t it have been better to take preventative measures instead of being reactionary?”

Arthur stopped struggling with the bolt to glare at me. “Who has the maintenance badge on their chest, me or you?”

“A nigga that ain’t beenmaintainingshit,” I countered, chuckling. “Clearly.”

“You young motherfuckers are so damn disrespectful,” he huffed, turning his attention back to the bolt – I realized now that the head had snapped off, and he was struggling to get it unthreaded. I offered to try it myself, and got lectured about the supposed blasphemy of a man touching another’s tools.

How my inexperienced arms were just too weak for this job.

How you had to not be a dummy to not to strip the threads, and he wasn’t sure I wasn’t a dummy.