Noah was standing in the doorway of the office, clutching a beat up toy truck against his chest. Yeah, buddy. What's up? Why are we putting everything in boxes? Dean swallowed hard.
The lump in his throat felt like a swallowed stone. He knelt down so he was eye level with the boy. You can lie to a kid about Santa Claus, but you can't lie to them about the roof over their head. They feel the floorboard shaking long before the house collapses. We're going on an adventure, Dean said.
The lie tasted like ash. We're going to find a new place. A better place. Noah looked at the orange sticker on the window. Even at 6, he knew the color of trouble.
I like this place. I know, kiddo. Me, too. Dean pulled him into a hug, burying his face in the boy's shoulder. He closed his eyes.
The sheer crushing weight of failure pressed down on his chest. He had fought so hard he had bled for this shop. And it wasn't enough. Tomorrow morning, the sheriff would come to change the locks. They were moving into his buddy Rick's unfinished basement until he could scrape together first and last month's rent for an apartment.
A heavy authoritative knock echoed on the glass of the open bay door. Dean opened his eyes. He stood up, shielding Noah slightly behind his leg. It was Audrey. She wasn't wearing a severe suit this time.
She wore a heavywool peacacoat over dark jeans and practical boots. Her hair was down, falling softly around her shoulders. She looked less like a corporate executioner and more like a human being. She stood alone, no bodyguard, no driver. The Maybach was parked at the curb, its hazard lights blinking lazily in the gray afternoon.
She carried two large paper cups in a cardboard carrier and a flat rectangular box. Dean stiffened. Shops closed. Audrey stepped inside anyway. Her eyes scanned the stacks of cardboard boxes, the empty tool racks, the orange notice plastered to the front window.
She took it all in. Her expression didn't change, but her jaw tightened. I brought coffee, she said. Her voice was quieter than he remembered. I don't drink coffee from strangers.
We aren't strangers, Dean. She walked over to the workbench and set the carrier down. Then she held out the flat box toward Noah. I believe I owe you this for taking care of my mother. Noah looked up at Dean for permission.
Dean gave a tight, reluctant nod. Noah took the box and tore off the lid. Inside was an intricate, highly detailed model of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. It was painted a brilliant shimmering purple. Noah gasped.