Chris’s cursor hovered over the Print icon. It had been there a while. He watched Abby take pages from the printer one after another and wondered whether it would be the ink or the paper that would run out first. He was only mildly exasperated, though, because he adored her. He loved having her curiosity and laughter around his home. His ex-wife hadn’t wanted kids. She’d convinced him they would be happy just enjoying the lifestyle Chris’s corporate success allowed them. Believing her was his biggest regret. Abby left him in no doubt of that. This was fortuitous, as affection had become an alien concept for Spencer since Marielle’s death.

It was way too hot to be in the living room that doubled as his office, but if he went out on the fire escape, Spencer would expect him to start drinking.

Chris loved a drink and knew he was much more fun after several, so he’d gotten on well with Spencer in the past. They’d been the black sheep at family gatherings, and it had seemed natural he should be the one to keep an eye on him when the hurricane hit, especially seeing as he himself was now a self-employed divorcé. But Chris was getting too old to party. The look on his physician’s face when his last body mass indices pinged up had confirmed that. He was entering a new stage in life. He felt it was time for Spencer to take his next steps too. They needed to make the best of things, especially for Abby. But Spencer grieved like a soldier still on tour.

Chris peeked out the window to see if Spencer had noticed the envelope left strategically on the couch. He hadn’t.

In the past, and for sure on a super-hot evening like this, a neighbor would have appeared. Everyone loved the fire escape couch and cooler setup. But neighbor relations weren’t so great these days. There hadn’t been a falling out as such, but no one dropped by like they used to.

Most of the other residents had jobs or were retired and worrying whether the good old city of Detroit was about to plunder their pensions. At the most, they’d be drinking three nights of the week. Initially, a few had dropped by to say hello and share a few beers with the British guy and his little girl. But Spencer wasn’t an overly happy drinker and smoking dope almost every night was another level yet. Word gets around.

“Leave me some ink, Abby. I’ve got to print a ton of invoices tomorrow.”

“Why don’t all your customers just go to the gym if they don’t want to be fat?” she asked.

“I sell them an easier way. And don’t go asking crazy questions like that. Their fat pays the bills.”

Amen to that. Silent selling, way to go, thought Spencer.