One Favor Too Far

A grandmother and her grandson lived across the hall from me.

The old woman was notorious for taking anything she could get for free.

On the very first day after I moved in, several expensive delivery boxes I'd left outside my door disappeared.

I later spotted her at the recycling center downstairs.

She was happily counting the few dollars she'd earned by selling my boxes.

Whenever I ordered takeout and accidentally left an extra side dish hanging from the doorknob, it would end up in her stomach if I waited even one minute.

She even stole two air-freshener sachets from the cabinet by my front door.

I usually ignored it.

After all, she was raising her five-year-old grandson, Toby, alone.

Toby was painfully thin, and his clothes were always faded from too many washes.

Whenever he saw me, he timidly called me Ryan.

I couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

Sometimes, when I bought cherries or premium grapes at the grocery store, I'd bring a box to their apartment.

When I went downstairs with my own trash and saw their leaking garbage bags in the hall, I carried those down too.

Then, a few days ago, everything changed.

Mrs. Doyle had been rushing down the stairs to grab an empty plastic bottle when she slipped and fell.

She broke her right leg and came home with a thick cast.

That evening, someone pounded on my door hard enough to shake the frame.

When I opened the door, Mrs. Doyle was waiting in a wheelchair.

She looked at me through tears, crying as though her life had ended.

"Mr. Barrymore, you've got to help an old woman!"

She clutched my sleeve as if she thought I might run away.

"My leg's broken. I can't move.

"My poor Toby's still at Greystone Preschool, and there's no one to collect him.

"My daughter's away earning a fortune. I promise we'll repay you properly.

"If you refuse, Toby will be left at preschool with nothing to eat."

The louder she cried, the more her voice carried through the entire hallway.

Looking at her miserable condition, I eventually softened.

I wasn't working at Barrymore Development for the moment, and my days were completely flexible.

Picking up the child seemed like a harmless favor.

"All right, Mrs. Doyle. Please calm down. I'll get Toby."

I agreed and collected her grandson that one time.

The next day, I went downstairs in slippers to retrieve a package from the lobby lockers.

Several older women with tightly curled hair were sitting together, gossiping over cups of coffee.

At the center of the group, surrounded like a celebrity, sat Mrs. Doyle in her wheelchair.

Her cast leg stuck straight out in front of her.

She was also eating the imported cherries I'd brought her the day before.

I started to take another route because I had no interest in dealing with neighborhood gossips.

Then I heard my name.

"Oh, you mean that young man on the seventh floor?"

Mrs. Doyle spat out a cherry pit, her face glowing with pride.

"That boy's completely obsessed with my Candace."

I stopped, and my brows drew together.

I'd barely seen her daughter. Obsessed with her?