Page 24 of You'll Love it Here

I step into the entryway and Jane turns to notice me, a twinge of curiosity in her expression. I wave, like I wasn’t eavesdropping. “Hey there. Everything okay?”

They both stare at their shoes in response. Carmen’s ears are red as he crosses his pale, freckled arms, jaw clenched. Even though these two people aren’t usually dripping with joie de vivre, nor is the bare light bulb on this landing (that will need to be replaced if I want to imply that this building isn’t a shithole), the situation still looks dire.

I take a quick breath and summon my best work smile—the kind I’ve had no problem pulling out for unsavory clients like Bob Wolch, until recently.

“You might have seen the email I just sent around? I’m helping Irene out, doing some building inventory.” I hold my phone up as if this validates something as I take a more purposeful stride into the room. “I’m happy to help if there’s anything you need.”

Jane angles her head in Carmen’s direction before staring at the packages that litter the hallway. “Carmen’s constant stream of deliveries and random boxes are getting out of hand. They’re blocking the doorway and it’s not safe,” she huffs.

“That doesn’t mean you should kick my package across the room.” Carmen’s voice is stern against his clenched jaw. “That’s my private property.” He points to a box that has a clear foot-size dent in it, which explains the initial thump I heard.

Jane leans close enough to me that the distinct scent of her Aussie shampoo filters into my nose. “Carmen has random people coming in and out of his place all the time, and then right after a break-in, his package is wedged in the doorframe. Isn’t that a little suspicious?”

“They’re not random.” Carmen’s leathery neck has instantly shaded to pink. “They’re my associates.”

Having “associates” when you’re the type of guy who carries a comb in your pocket can’t be anything good.

“And let’s not forget all the other weird stuff going on here,” Jane continues. “Like the fact that my underwear keeps disappearing from the laundry room. Couldn’t these things be connected?”

“What in the hell are you accusing me of here?” His face has now gone deep red and patchy. “What would I steal underwear for? I got my own intimates.”

This is not a thing I wanted to hear about at all.

Jane just shakes her head, arms crossed, cupping her elbows. Honestly, I can’t believe she’s so directly accusing this guy. Carmen seems like the kind of man who processes his emotions by smashing beer bottles against dumpsters. And podcast volume aside, she’s not usually one of the more vocal tenants. Already, she seems to be second-thinking her outburst. She shifts uneasily on her feet, watching me warily as she waits for my reaction. There’s a run in the back of her pantyhose I’m not sure she’s aware of.

I’m trying to craft a response that recognizes the situation without putting me on anyone’s bad side, when Carmen fires back, “You know, I’ve had a few packages go missing myself, matter of fact. Maybe I can lay a trap—borrow a turd from Hank’s litter box to package up for the thief.”

Shock slackens Jane’s features before they contort in disgust. “What the actual fuck?”

He lets out a disappointed sigh, like he’s lost faith in her as a person.

“Hey guys!” I cut in, hoping to head off another round of vandal speculation. But as both of their gazes snap to me, I immediately second-guess getting involved. I prefer my conflicts sanitized and corporate—not whateverthisis. “I was actually going to talk to youabout your packages, Carmen. There are quite a few, and they need to be moved to your unit in a timely manner.”

Carmen rolls his eyes, and I can tell my words won’t be changing a thing. “Irene’s always been okay with it.”

There it is. As suspected, Carmen is a little weenie. If I try to tell him to change his ways, I bet he’ll go running to Irene, which would be exactly what Lana doesn’t want happening.

I nod in fake understanding. “I appreciate that, but with Irene’s broken ankle, I think it’s best we try to reduce the hall clutter. We don’t want anyone tripping again.”

Sincere concern drips from me and lands on Carmen’s face. He wipes it off just as fast, turning on his heel and stomping back to his apartment.

Jane shoots me a wide-eyed look, like,Can you believe this guy?“It’s no use trying to be reasonable with him. You’re right, thisisa fire hazard. The marshal told us to contact him if we noticed any other issues.”

Shit. If she contacts the marshal, the alert will also go straight to Irene. How is it so hard to keep these two from pestering a semisweet old lady?

I hold out my palms in a placating gesture. “There’s a better solution.”

“Which is?” Jane raises an eyebrow.

Good question. “Look, if you contact the marshal, I’m sure the packages will miraculously disappear for a week and then start piling up again. I’ll come up with something more long term.”

Jane sighs, brushing back the strands of her bangs that cling flatly to her forehead. She looks like she’s on the edge of something—crying or something else. Obviously, these packages aren’t the real problem.

My gaze falls away from Jane and snags on the tufted carpet by the door with the metal mesh window. At once this entryway feelslike the most meaningless place to be. Like, if they were to cumulate every situation happening in the world at this given moment, this would be the most insignificant use of our life on earth.

The door to Carmen’s apartment down the hall flies open again. I catch a glimpse of mismatched furniture, cluttered with ornaments. I spot three lamps on one table before he notices me peeping and closes his door.

He’s holding a laundry basket. He comes into the lobby, starts picking up packages and throwing them in.