Trouble is a Friend of Mine

‘I’m not homeless. You said it yourself. I live in my garage,’ Digby said.

I pointed at a shelf with single-serve condiments neatly grouped and stacked. Packs of sugar separated into white and brown, piles of ketchups and soup crackers, a huge mound of fortune cookies. ‘This is your only food? Is that why you’re eating every time I see you?’ I said.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Princeton. Besides, I overcompensated. I think I gained weight.’

I had actually noticed that his suits were fitting better these days. And, come to think of it, I’d surprised myself the other day when I’d found myself thinking how much better Digby looked against the typical idiot man-child in droopy pants that trawled our hallways in school.

‘What about when it gets cold? When it snows?’ Henry said.

‘It’s cold now. I use the portable heater at night,’ Digby said. ‘Seriously, Daaaaad. I’m fine.’

I thought about him cold and hungry in the garage, sucking down packets of ketchup. I felt like crying. ‘But you’ll freeze …’

‘You should’ve said something, dude,’ Henry said.

‘And what? Sleep on your couch again? Every nine months, there’s a newborn baby in your house. Nah, this is good. I come and go when I like,’ Digby said. ‘I would’ve asked to stay with you, Princeton, but all the sighing and weeping …’

‘What are you talking about?’ I said.

‘You’re about to cry right now,’ Digby said.

‘Shut up.’ Something on the desk caught my eye. I waded through the clutter to check it out. ‘What’s this?’

It was the free map of River Heights the mall’s information center gave out. A clump of red-topped map pins were jammed into the tiny downtown part of the map. In fact, the entire middle of the map was just a mass of red pinheads.

‘I put a pin into every place my guys said they’d seen Marina.’ Digby picked up the map and the middle part that was weighed down with pins ripped out and fell onto the floor. ‘Should’ve probably gotten a bigger map with the streets more blown up.’

‘Your “guys”? Like Aldo, whom you paid in cookies? That’s the quality of informer you have working for you?’ I said. ‘I mean, whoa, that’s a lot of pins. Almost looks like Marina’s parading around town, keeping appointments. Do you think that’s likely or … maybe, maybe your “guys” are unreliable and insane?’

Under a stack of stickers of the RIVER HEIGHTS – WE’RE A FAMILY PLACE motto, I found more maps of downtown (this time ripped out of the Yellow Pages) with details penciled in. They were mounted on a corkboard under a tangle of red yarn strung between thumbtacks pushed into the maps.

‘What’s this mess?’ I said.

‘One of my guys followed someone he was pretty sure was Marina and I tried re-creating the path he described to me over the phone,’ Digby said.

‘So, she went from the soup kitchen to the library?’ Henry said.

‘Back and forth over and over … and then the 7-Eleven, of course,’ I said. ‘What’s this? “Methodist Church”?’

‘Actually that’s “methadone clinic” and the next stop was the Dumpster,’ Digby said. ‘Yeah … about that time I thought maybe it wasn’t Marina they were following. Which is also about the time I came to the same conclusion you did that my guys might be a little unreliable …’

‘I just thought of something,’ Henry said. ‘This garage doesn’t have a bathroom.’

Digby pointed at the utility sink.

‘Dude. That’s gross,’ Henry said.

‘Urine is sterile,’ Digby said.

‘Okay, but you know what isn’t sterile?’ Henry said.

‘Okay, but you know what topsoil’s made of?’ Digby said.

I noticed the shovel next to the sink.

‘Oh, no,’ I said.

‘Yeah. And in related news, the neighbor’s pumpkins are running big this year,’ Digby said.

‘Thanksgiving dinner will never be the same again,’ Henry said.

‘God. Dinner. Felix has this whole Red Lobster deal planned out,’ I said.

‘Oh, man, Sloane and I have a reservation at La Terrasse. Mom was going to drive us because Sloane’s driver just quit for no reason. I don’t know how we’re getting there now …’ Henry noticed Digby’s tie. ‘Dude, you’re coming?’

‘I even combed my hair.’

‘So, what, meet up at the dance after our dinners?’ Henry said.

‘I have a better idea,’ Digby said.

Sloane was posing for photos when our limo rolled up the long tree-lined gravel driveway leading to her huge castle-style house. The woman behind the camera was in a uniform with an apron and was obviously a member of the household staff. Weirdly, though, Sloane ended the photo shoot by hugging her. The smile on Sloane’s face when she did was joyful and totally different from the mocking sneer she usually wore.

‘Who’s that?’ Digby said.

‘That’s Marta,’ Henry said. When Sloane kissed Marta, he said, ‘She’s been taking care of Sloane since she was a baby.’