The Next Best Thing

Chapter 4

Jackie went home and Emma got ready. She dragged her ottoman from the living room and placed it against the front door so Gabe could take turns with her being lookout through the peephole.

"He's the big guy with brown hair right?" Gabe asked.

"Yeah, is he there?" Emma whispered. She was making the quietest thing she could think of for dinner, sandwiches.

"No, it's just Glen," Gabe whispered back.

Emma whipped a shush-finger to her lips, her bugging eyes telling Gabe to freeze. A glob of mayonnaise fell from her butter knife onto the kitchen floor with a thick 'splat'. The noise was thankfully covered by a light scraping sound outside against the door; hardly the stuff of Mission Impossible, but an intense moment, nonetheless.

"He's leaving," Gabe whispered. "He put something on our door."

"Did he put something next door?"

"I think so," Gabe answered at regular volume.

"Good, that means we're not getting evicted yet. Come get your sandwich. You can eat on the couch but keep the TV low."

"Don't worry, I don't want to miss it when he comes home," he said excitedly, as if waiting for a parade float or fireworks.

"Hey, there's no enjoying this," she mock-scolded him. "You're not allowed."

"Do you think he's going to yell?"

"Yeah, at me, not at you, which hardly seems fair."

"He won't yell at a girl."

"I admire your certainty, but just in case, do you think you could pretend to cry if I needed you to?" Gabe squeezed dry eyes and whined a bit, but it was even less convincing than his remorse act. "Okay, so no showbiz career for you."

"I'm going to be history teacher. Or an archeologist," he said, peeling the crusts from his sandwich.

"Did you mom ever show you the Indiana Jones movies?"

"No."

Emma said nothing more so as not to reward his bad behaviour, but she could feel herself powering up a Best Aunt level already.

She decided to open the front door to quickly look into the hall. Glen had stuffed rolled up papers behind the long door handles of both apartments. It was a notice announcing the return of a collection box in the lobby for the local Food Bank. On the suggestion list of most needed items was a specific brand and variety of cat food, and also a request for highly perishable blocks of butter, preferably non-salted. It didn't really surprise her that Glen was hijacking a fall food drive, but it meant that if she wanted to stay on his good side, (and on his Christmas cookies list), she'd have make sure to add a personal note to her donation. Nothing tastes as good as integrity feels, except maybe super buttery shortbreads. Desperate times, etc.

As she stepped back inside, she heard the ding of the elevator and saw the fourth floor button light up. She shut the door quietly and gave Gabe the shush finger again as she ran to the bathroom. Gabe hurried to climb back up on the ottoman just in time to see the shadow of Mitch Garner in hallway.

*****

Mitch was tired and he was pissed. He was especially irritated that he'd spent so much time listening to Burt Summers wax ignorant on broad-strokes politics and drinking inferior whiskey when he should've been home at his computer with a glass of the good stuff, composing his resignation letter.

He kicked off his shoes and threw his keys on the table. He hung up his rust-coloured trench, threw off his blazer, and undid the cuffs of his shirt, eager to change into some loose house clothes and get to work. On the way to his bedroom, he popped into his office to boot up the laptop. He also needed a quick trip to the bathroom to unload some of that cheap hooch.