“Ugh,” he complained, and signed the tablet the driver was holding out for him. “Let me put on some pants and I’ll help you bring them up.”
Twelve. Twelve boxes of Andy’s old crap that Eleanor hadn’t been able to wait to send him. Jesus. His room had stood untouched for seven years, it wasn’t like a few more weeks would make a difference. What even the hell, Mom?
At least he didn’t have to worry about his mother succumbing to Wes’s trickery and bullying; he’d seen her safely installed in the Spruce’s guest suite, and dropped a word of warning in Mrs. Spruce’s ear. Mrs. Spruce had no problem facing down her husband, so she certainly wasn’t about to let anyone bother Eleanor.