Page 16 of You'll Love it Here

“Irene, I’m so glad to see you.” I force the words out through mydry throat. I’d dressed in a clean button-down shirt and jeans, hair in a tidy bun, new tang under my pits. But I feel like she can see the shame clinging to me like dirt.

Mystery Woman looks up from her phone and stares down her button nose at me. Now that I have a better view of the sharp angles of her face and signature auburn hair, she’s not a mystery. This is Lana Winston, a well-known commercial realtor. I’ve seen her face plastered on bus benches and in the front windows of closed-down storefronts. But I especially recognize her because she came into the Westmore Communications offices four years ago as a potential client. Carolyne was desperate to woo her—I’d even been sent to buy special cookies for the meeting because Lana had posted about liking them on social media. But ultimately, she ended up signing with one of our competitors. I’d been an associate at the time, sitting in the back of the meeting room; I doubt Lana would remember my face.

I nod toward her in greeting. “I’m Mona, Irene’s tenant in 4C.”

She half smiles. “Lana. Irene’s niece.”

I turn back at Irene, who’s grimacing as she tries to adjust her butt on the mattress. “It’s so great to see you! How’s your ankle?”

“Well, it’s about to be more metal than bone, but I get to do narcotics for a couple of months.”

I don’t know if I should smile at this, so I do this weird half-open mouth thing that I understand is typically off-putting.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt as their eyes dart to me. “I mean, it’s really awful this happened.” I hold my breath steady, but can they hear my heart racing?

Irene lets her head drop. “Every day I’d notice the carpet was coming up right on top of the stairwell and I’d think to myself: Somebody is going to trip over that if I don’t get it fixed. Goes to show, you should always trust your gut.”

Irene’s blaming herself. The guilt I’d been carrying like a change purse rattles inside me. I have to fess up. I have to make it right—

“Don’t beat yourself up too hard,” Lana chimes in. “There were plenty more factors than a tiny bit of carpet. It looks like the wiring should’ve been inspected a long time ago.”

There’s an angle behind Lana’s words, her demeanor.

“Anyway.” Irene narrows her brows. “Aren’t you usually at work this time of day, Mona?”

As if I could forgetthatpart of my life’s mess. “I’m just taking a staycation. Sort of a mental health thing.”

Her eyebrows raise slightly. “That’s good they have that now.”

“Yeah, and since I’m around, I’ve been helping with Ernest.”

Instantly her eyes widen, her whole face going soft. “I heard! Oh, how is my sweet baby?”

“He issucha good dog.” My smile is real, but my mind draws to all the dog privates I witnessed Ernest huff during our walks—it was like he was trying to figure out all their deepest secrets via their anuses.

Irene smiles. “I’m surprised at you, Mona.”

I try not to let my smile crack.

“I assumed Sami would take my little Ernesto.” Irene’s grin stretches into every corner of her face. “But I’m glad that sweet boy didn’t take on too much with all his work at the diner, so I appreciate you helping us.”

“It’s really my pleasure,” I practically croak as newly developed sweat cools my chest. “I’m free if you need any more help. Checking your mail, watering plants—anything really.”

“You mean that?” Irene’s eyes raise.

I nod. “Of course, anything you need.”

Lana’s hands clap together so fast that Irene and I both jump. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She bobs her head toward her aunt. “Aunt Irene is going to stay with me while she recovers, but I’msoallergic to dogs. I’d be sneezing all day and night.”

Irene scowls, but I hastily nod. “Ernest can stay as long as he needs.” He’s been decent company so far. I don’t even mind feedinghim the poop-pellet-shaped food that Sami left for me, even if the smell triggers my gag reflex.

“And,” Lana continues, “we really would appreciate some help around the building. Things have been tough for my aunt lately.”

Irene’s hands ball into little sharp fists against the bed’s arms. “I don’t need help. I’ll be back running the place soon enough.” Even though she’s been sitting in a hospital bed, this is the first time she’s looked vulnerable.

Lana turns her phone on again and clicks her manicured fingers against the screen. “That’s not a long-term solution. You can’t do this forever. And if you want to avoid bringing in a management company...”

Irene’s expression plummets. “Fine, but only if you stop threatening me with that.”