Tourists of the Apocalypse by C. F. WALLER Read Free Book Online Page B

“Earth to Dylan.”
    “Sure.”
    “What would you charge me for that sort of arrangement?”
    Stumped for a reply, I put a finger to my chin and pretend to think it over. It’s unlikely any sum he offers would be too small. Beggars can’t be choosers.
    “What where you paying the other guys?”
    “Too much,” he groans, “and they did a crap job.”
    He waits but I don’t answer. I feel tired all at once, like the energy has drained out of my body. This really doesn’t matter. I’m going to do it either way. I shrug and hold out my hands.
    “What’s the mortgage on your place?” he blurts out, shocking me.
    “Excuse me?” I bristle as that felt like a very personal question.
    “What’s the mortgage on your house,” he repeats seemingly unaware of my reaction. “Izzy says you’re paying all the bills. Just tell me what you pay for Casa-del-Dylan?”
    Izzy did come to see my mother once when I was sifting through late payment notices on the kitchen table. When I tried to cover them up she looked away.
    “More than you pay a lawn guy.”
    “You might be surprised. Tell me?”
    “Eight and a half.”
    “Lights and water plus eight and a half,” he mumbles, looking off to one side as if he’s solving a puzzle.
    “You don’t have to—.”
    “Let’s say four a week. That’s sixteen hundred a month tax-free,” he proposes. “Should keep a roof over your head till the Fall.”
    “That’s really nice, but it’s too much,” I reply, wanting to take the words back immediately.
    “Clearly I have not explained the job to you then,” he grins. “All three houses mowed and trimmed like a golf course. I’m going need flower boxes added under the front windows of all three. Not to mention the guys who built the houses were supposed to plant bushes down the sides and along the back”
    I nod, for some reason thinking I don’t want the job now. It’s not that I am lazy, just not particularly industrious. This feeling goes away quickly when the cloud of eviction darkens my thoughts.
    “Are you sure?” I shrug, still feeling like it’s charity, but not wanting to pack up my stuff and move away.
    “You want it or not? Paperboy Jerry already asked me if I needed anything.”
    “I’ll take it.”
    “Good,” he nods sharply. “Let me get something to eat. Come back in an hour and we can sort out the details.”
    I nod and for some reason the only thing that floats across my mind is Violet. I guess it’s not that surprising. I spend a lot of free time thinking about her.
    “So what happened to Violet?” I call out as he puts a hand on the screen door.
    “You might have noticed I have a roommate now,” he reveals, looking over his shoulder.
    This is true. A week after his friends showed up, a short chubby man came in a taxi. There are four guys living in the first house and Graham and the new guy in the middle place. Izzy occupies the third with what I can only assume is her boyfriend, Lance. She’s not wearing a ring, leading me to assume they aren’t married. Lance is a tall, dark haired man of few words. Everyone seems to take direction from him, except Graham. When I have had occasion to observe Graham and Lance together there is tenseness in their body language. I wonder what Lance will think about me being his new lawn guy.
    “Is he relative of yours?”
    “Nope, but babysitting him leaves little time for Violet.”
    “That’s a shame.”
    “You have no idea,” he sighs.
    I watch as he disappears inside. Not seeing Violet is sad news for a young man with no practical experience with women. Her visit was the highlight of every week . I decide to share the good news with my mother. It seems we are spared the hangman’s noose until the Fall at least. By then, her jaw will have healed and who knows. I pause on the porch and try to think of a time when my mother worked? As far back as I can recall she stayed at home with me. Dad passed when I was eight, leading to a string of