A Friend in the Glass (An Auden & O’Callaghan Mystery #3)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Eventually, they were allowed to go home. After being awake for over twenty-four hours, and with nothing but bad coffee in him for the last twelve, Sam was barely conscious for the taxi ride. He was vaguely aware of the last staggering steps toward Rufus’s bed, yanking off his boots, and collapsing—fully clothed—onto the mattress. The last thought that ballooned up to him out of the darkness was that he hadn’t thought of it as Rufus’s apartment. He had thought, Home .

He woke to the sounds—and light—of the city in late morning. Horns, engines, the grinding restlessness of machines and people that never stopped moving. His head was pounding, his hip was killing him, and he was aware of every sticky, grimy inch of himself in a way that was already working itself up into a need. To shower, at the minimum. Rufus snored next to him; the redhead was bare chested, still in his jeans and Chucks. The elastic band of his underwear had ridden up the small of his back.

After stripping off his clothes, Sam found clean ones in the ruck. He got his soap. The studio was too small for a dresser, he thought, but he’d seen plastic things you could slide under the bed. He drank water from the sink as he waited for the shower to warm up. Palpated his hip. A tote, he thought. That’s what they were called.

The water never really got hot, but when it was bearable, he got under the spray. He washed slowly—as much because of all the aches and bruises as because he enjoyed the feeling of the water sluicing away the sweat and dirt. A real Christmas tree wouldn’t fit, but they could find one of the tiny ones, the kind that could sit on a desk. Like Went’s. And then he remembered it was after Christmas. And Went was still dead. He had thought, somehow, it would feel different. Maybe it would, eventually. He turned his face into the spray until the need to breathe was big enough to drive out everything else in his head.

When he left the bathroom, Rufus was sitting up in bed.

“Morning,” Sam said as he dried himself.

“Morning,” Rufus managed around a yawn. “Why’re you up already?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Why’re you up?”

“Because you are.”

“That’s a pretty good reason. I was going to get us something to eat. Do you want anything in particular?”

Rufus looked out the window before saying, “BlueMoon?”

So, after Rufus had showered and dressed, they took a cab to BlueMoon. They managed to hit it at the sweet spot between breakfast and lunch, which meant Maddie shooed them toward a booth and brought them coffee before they’d finished sitting down.

“You look like a train ran over you.”

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“You’re just saying that,” Rufus said, mock-batting his eyelashes.

Maddie’s look came straight out of the mom handbook—from the disappointed section, Sam thought—but she took their orders without further commentary and moved on to the next table.

“So,” Sam said and picked up one of the packets of creamer. He toyed with the little tab on the top. “I was thinking.”

“Uh-oh. I’m the one who does too much of that.” Rufus shook a sugar packet into his hand.

“Yeah, well.” Sam tried for a laugh, but it didn’t quite land. “Guess it’s catching.” The silence after that was almost enough to make him stumble, and he stumbled to add, “I’ve been thinking about us, I mean. About what we’re going to do.”

Rufus stared at Sam for a long moment. He dumped the sugar onto the tabletop, wiped his hands, and leaned forward. “If you’re leaving or dumping me or—rip the Band-Aid fast, won’t you?”

The little plastic tab tore, and creamer spilled over Sam’s hands. Swearing, he grabbed napkins. “What? Rufus, what—we literally just talked about this. I love you. I’m not breaking up with you.” And then it happened—he blurted, “I think I’m going to go to college.”

Rufus’s eyebrows rose. The sharp edge of his shoulders softened. “Oh. Ok. I mean, I think that’s really cool, actually.”

“Yeah?” That broken-off laugh slipped out of him again. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m not exactly going to blend in. I’m way too old, and—” He stopped and managed to say again, “I don’t know. I guess we’ll see. I need to figure out what I want to do first. And, you know, where. I’ve got the GI bill, so there’s that. And I’ve still got some money put away.”

Rufus was smiling now. “I’ve heard the community and city colleges are actually pretty good. I bet you can find classes for anything you’re interested in.”

“Yeah.” Sam snapped the paper band on the bundle of flatware. “I guess I was thinking, you know, maybe we could both do it. Try some classes, I mean. If you want to. I know you don’t need to go to school. You’re so smart, and you already learn whatever you want—”

Rufus’s complexion was taking on color. Not embarrassment, Sam realized, but upset. It made his freckles pop out. Rufus said, “I don’t think high school dropouts are allowed to go to college.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t know. But you could take the test, right? Get your GED?”

“I—I mean… maybe. I never really thought about it before.” Rufus wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. He seemed to be seriously considering the suggestion.

“You wouldn’t even need to study for it, I bet. And I know college is expensive, but there are grants, scholarships. We could look at loans. We can’t live on what I’ve got saved forever, but we could figure out something. We could make it work.” Sam reached across the table and took Rufus’s hand. He looked him in the eye. He smiled, surprised, after everything that happened, that he could still feel so nervous. And, also, kind of loving it. “We can do this,” he said. “Let’s do this.”