Cha-Ching! by Ali Liebegott Page B

number from her desk phone. No one answered. Theo began to type up the faxes, waiting for her favorite vendor to come by with donuts. When she looked down again she realized she’d drained her cup of coffee and finished her cigarette. She crushed it out, disgusted by the smell of its burning filter.
    At noon, when Joseph still hadn’t arrived, Mimi came and stood in the doorway to Theo’s office.
    â€œYou’re off the hook,” she said. “He’s sick.”
    â€œWell, how should I tell him I’m quitting? Should I leave him a note?”
    â€œI told him over the phone.”
    â€œYou did? Was he mad?”
    â€œNot at all, actually. He told me to wish you luck with your family situation and to make sure to use us as a reference.”
    â€œReally?” Theo asked. She felt guilty. Maybe her luck was changing.
    â€œDeep down he’s a softie. Well, I’m going to miss you guys,” Mimi said. She was staring at Cary Grant, who was lying next to Theo’s desk, dreaming of running. Her paws flipped back and forth on the blanket, making Mimi smile. “If you want to work a half day, I won’t tell. I can write you your last check now,” she said.
    â€œThat would be really helpful,” Theo said, alluding to her fake family emergency. Sometimes it scared Theo how easily she could lie.
    When Mimi left, she dialed Sammy, “I’m leaving work early.”
    â€œPerfect, because Abraham said to meet us at the apartment in an hour for keys and a walk-through.”
    Theo gathered Cary Grant’s things, retrieved her last check and gave Mimi an awkward hug good-bye. Outside it was cold, the sky a light gray, as if the sun was a faraway frozen marble. She sat in the truck with the engine idling while she waited for the heater to stop blowing cold air and draped a sweatshirt over Cary Grant, who was already wearing the sweater.
    Sammy was inside with Abraham when Theo arrived. In the few days since they’d first seen the apartment Theo had improved it in her mind. Now that she saw it was still a piece of shit, her heart sank a little. She stared at the brown linoleum rolling across the living room floor in waves.
    â€œAren’t you going to tack this down?” Sammy asked Abraham, who pretended nothing was wrong with the floor.
    â€œDo you see how it’s wavy? And bumpy?”
    Sammy grabbed a corner of the linoleum and peeled back half the living room floor. Underneath were piles of crayons and coffee-stained napkins. Sammy refused to move until Abraham made eye contact with one of the piles of broken crayons. When he did, they filed into the large kitchen whose baseboards were lined with roach strips and mousetraps. Sammy put her foot into the space between the oven and the wall and sent skidding across the floor an old trap complete with dead mouse. Theo looked away, afraid to see Abraham’s expression, and found herself looking straight at the filthy range hood, dust bunnies trapped in the grease; it looked like some kind of avant-garde taxidermy.
    Abraham hadn’t said a word, fiddling with his beeper. Theo didn’t want to live in a shit hole but was scared Abraham would take the apartment back if Sammy kept asserting herself.
    In the bedroom, Sammy tried to flip on the light switch to no avail.
    â€œSo we have the linoleum, the bedroom light switch, the dead mouse,” Sammy said, keeping the list for Abraham, who’d stuffed his hands inside his pockets and wasn’t writing anything down. Then they all walked to the backyard through the bathroom with the sullen posture of a family holding onto a terrible secret.
    When Theo had first seen the backyard, it had struck her as the kind of place that ends up on the news. She imagined being interviewed by the police: “I was just raking some of the leaves when I saw what looked like a femur. I guess I always thought the yard was a little creepy.”
    â€œI thought this