He didn’t come back that night. He didn’t come back the next day. Ed and Fred held their grumbling tummies and chewed at the insides of their plump cheeks and sat on the unsold Danish Modern sofa in the shop and freaked out the few customers that drifted in and then drifted out.
“This is worse than last time,” Ed said, licking his lips and staring at the donut that Albert refused to feel guilty about eating in front of them.
“Last time?” he said, not missing Felix’s quick warning glare at Ed, even though Ed appeared to.
“He went away for a whole day, just disappeared into town. When he came back, he said that he’d needed some away time. That he’d had an amazing day on his own. That he wanted to come and see you and that he’d do it whether we wanted to come or not.”
“Ah,” Alvin said, understanding then how the three had come to be staying with him. He wondered how long they’d last without the middle, without the ability to eat. He remembered holding the infant Eddie in his arms, the boy light and hollowed out. He remembered holding the three boys at once, heavy as a bowling ball. “Ah,” he said. “I’ll have to have a word with him.”
When Greg came home, Alan was waiting for him, sitting on the sofa, holding his head up with one hand. Eli and Fred snored uneasily in his bed, breathing heavily through their noses.
“Hey,” he said as he came through the door, scuffing at the lock with his key for a minute or two first. He was rumpled and dirty, streaked with grime on his jawline and hair hanging limp and greasy over his forehead.
“Greg,” Alan said, nodding, straightening out his spine and listening to it pop.
“I’m back,” George said, looking down at his sneakers, which squished with grey water that oozed over his carpet. Art didn’t say anything, just sat pat and waited, the way he did sometimes when con artists came into the shop with some kind of scam that they wanted him to play along with.