Page 42 of The Deals We Make

Calista steps between her and the window. “We found some copies of an old National Geographic. I can try and sell them for you to see if you could make a few dollars from them.”

Mrs. Moray is distracted as easily as a four-year-old when someone offers them a candy. “We can sell them and make money?”

“Yeah,” Calista says. “I can help you.”

She looks at Switch. “You piled them nicely.”

“Yes, ma’am. Wouldn’t want to break any of your nice things.”

Mrs. Moray leans a little to look around at the skip. “But those things…”

“Wait,” I say, and then I tug on my boots, jog to the skip, and find the nastiest, moldiest piece of crap I can find. Then, I take it back to the house. “This is the kind of thing we’re throwing out, Mrs. Moray. Nothing you’d be proud of owning. Nothing that will make your house nice. Nothing that would make any money if you tried to sell it.”

There is a long pause, and then, Mrs. Moray sniffs and tugs her long cardigan around her middle. “Okay.”

I see Calista’s shoulders drop in relief at the word. She puts her arm over her mom’s shoulder. “We’re doing the stairs first, and then we would like to do the spare bedroom. Do you think that would be okay?”

She looks at the pile of things we saved. “And you’d keep the good things. Because I’ve had some things a really long time.”

Calista leads her to the kitchen. “We would. Why don’t you help me make some coffee?”

Switch rubs his hands over his face and blows out a breath.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“Just thinking of Mom. She’s being a trooper through her chemo, but the idea of her one day getting…” He points in the direction of the kitchen, where I can hear cupboards being opened and closed.

“Yeah. Same. Can’t imagine what it will be like without either of my folks.”

Calista comes back into the living area. “Thank you,” she says. “For helping her settle. For doing this.”

“It’s what friends do,” I say, and the look I give her dares her to tell me we’re not friends.

But she doesn’t.

She simply nods and goes back to the pile in the hallway.

“Let’s go,” I say as I follow her.

Through the doorway, I see Niro toss his cigarette butt into the skip, and King hit him over the back of the head.

He rubs the back of his skull. “What was that for?”

King shakes his head. “You just tossed a lit cigarette into the skip.”

“So?” Niro says.

“Basic chemistry one-oh-one,” Clutch says. “Fuel is one of the basic requirements for a fire.”

Niro pops his head over the skip. “Oh, fuck.” He jumps into the skip, stamps around a few times, then jumps out. “I mean, it would make more room for garbage if we burned it.”

Halo chuckles. “Let’s get this done.”

And so, we do.

13

CALISTA