“The smart thing for you to do right now, Auggie, is get your shit together and tell us exactly what happened. We can’t help you if you don’t tell us the truth.”
“Get the fuck out of my room. Unless you’re going to arrest me, just get the fuck out.”
“He’s a little tiger, isn’t he?” Upchurch said, laughing as he picked a path over the wreckage. “Goodbye, Auggie. We’ll be in touch soon. You might want to find that lawyer you were talking about, just in case.”
At the door, Somerset lingered. He spoke in a quiet voice. “You don’t have to say anything, but just so you know, we do want to help you. If this isn’t what it looks like, then I need you to figure out a way to tell me what it is. Tell me who we should be talking to, tell me what really did happen, tell me how you’re all tangled up in this. Whatever it is, we can help you.”
Another moment dragged by, and then Somerset sighed and stepped out of the room. Auggie wiped his hands on his joggers and, after another dazed look, began taking the broken drawers out into the hallway, trying to figure out what he was going to do.
2
This time, the destruction had been worse. Theo kicked aside broken plaster, wincing as his hip throbbed. Someone had taken a sledgehammer to most of the walls. They’d ripped up floorboards. They’d tipped over the refrigerator, and Theo wasn’t sure if the damn thing was broken because he needed to let it stand upright for twenty-four hours before plugging it in again. They’d used the sledgehammer to smash Lana’s crib to pieces.
He’d been on campus most of the day, prepping for classes that started Monday. It had been dark when he’d biked home, and the cold had left his face stinging and puffy. The door had been hanging from one hinge, and he’d gone inside to discover the wreckage of his home.
He’d called the police. Uniformed officers had come and taken a report. And now Theo stood next to the couch, which had been flipped over and had its wooden frame broken in several places. He could still smell the assholes who had done this: body odor and a stale, hot-oil smell he associated with dollar French fries. Knee protesting, Theo managed to set the couch upright, but the broken frame made it sag in the middle, and when he prodded it, it wobbled.
“Holy shit,” Cart said. He stood in the doorway, a rigger bag in each hand. He set them down now and stared at the broken boards, the split laths, the plaster dust, the splintered furniture. He was wearing a Blues sweatshirt, a Carhartt coat, and a knit cap. When he met Theo’s eyes, he said, “Hey.”
“Go the fuck home, Cart.”
“I know you’re mad at me.”
Theo grabbed the twenty-four-inch TV, a Black Friday purchase that was now broken into two pieces connected by a few wires. He carried it out the back door and tossed it in the trash. When he came back, Cart had a drill in one hand and was rummaging through the rigger bags.
“I said go home. Right fucking now. Get out of my fucking house.”
“No.”
“You son of a bitch.”
Cart held up a bit, eyeballing it, and then fitted it into the drill.
“Hey,” Theo said, grabbing his shoulder and hauling him upright. “Get out of my house right fucking now.”
Face smooth, Cart stared back at him. “I’m sorry for what happened on your birthday.”
“Fuck off.”
“I wanted to apologize, and you wouldn’t answer my calls, wouldn’t come to the door when I knocked. Then I tried giving you space.”
“So get a fucking clue, Cart. I don’t want to see you. Not now. Not ever. Get lost.”
“No. I’m not leaving, not until we make sure you can lock the door and sleep here tonight.” Cart shifted his weight. “Was there something else?”
“I’ll call the police.”
“If you want.”
“I’ll tell them you kissed your dead partner’s husband.”
Cart flinched and paled, but all he said was, “If you want.”
“What the fuck, Cart? I trusted you.” Theo didn’t know what he was saying, didn’t even know what he was doing, part of him shaking Cart by the coat, part of him trying to shove him away. “I trusted you, you stupid piece of shit.”
Gently, Cart reached up and prized his hand loose. Then he turned back to the door, and the drill whined.
Theo went into the kitchen and leaned on the counter, his face in his hands until the prickling flush died down and he didn’t feel like he was coming to pieces. Then he started picking up the debris. Some of the furniture could be salvaged, but not much. He wasn’t worried about the furniture right then. He was worried about an old house with the plaster and insulation ripped out, with the floor torn up, the whole place barely livable. There was nothing he could do about it for the moment, though. He focused on one thing, and then the next, and then the next: putting to rights the furniture that could be repaired, dragging the completely destroyed pieces down to the side of the road. After half an hour, his hip and knee had twisted themselves into fiery knots, and he could hear the uneven pitch of his breath verging on a whine.
He was on his way back from dragging another broken chair to the road when the front door opened and Cart said, “You want to take a look at this?”
As Theo limped up onto the porch, Cart worked the door open and shut. “I got a reinforced strike plate this time. It’ll make it harder for these assholes if they decide to come back.”
“Thank you,” Theo said.
“They make pretty good stuff for home security now,” Cart said. “Floor-mounted door blocks, full barricade systems. I thought about picking up some of it when they called and told me what had happened, but you’ve got all these
