Homing (21 page)

“Yeah,” the kid said. “I'll just wait.” And he sat on the steps where she'd been moments before.

She nodded at him and turned for home.

She thought the city would feel diff erent, but it didn't, it felt just the same. It smelled a bit like imminent spring, but that could just be the ocean playing tricks. She'd definitely been fooled before. The skin on her back felt warm and tingly under her coat. It was a friendly kind of tingle, a kind of prickling excitement, the kind you got when you were going to home, to see people you hadn't in too long. She kicked her feet through the slush on the sidewalks and thought about meatballs. She bet there'd be plenty of those tonight.

There were dogs out on the Common, but there were always dogs. Their people stood in clumps, their hands in their pockets clutching empty plastic bags at the ready. No, Leah was definitely more of a cat
person. Just one more thing Psychic Sue had gotten wrong. Well, it didn't matter. She knew what she needed to know, for now, and that was good enough for her.

* * *

Henry tipped his head back and sang for all he was worth, sang like he hadn't sung in more weeks than he could count. His wide mouth turned up in an everlasting smile as the music poured out. He felt full of it, suff used with it, with light, with the tune, he wished he could climb inside its individual notes, live inside there, understand it from within. As soon as he got to the end, he thought, he'd start again from the beginning.

* * *

She sauntered along through the Common not wanting the walk to end. She kept expecting the clouds to break and the blue sky to come through, and those rays of light that shone down through the clouds from time to time and to look like God. She expected all of that, but she wasn't particularly surprised when it didn't come. The sky stayed solid grey as it had for weeks, and as it would, no doubt, continue to. Till the day it stopped doing that and did something else instead. Things can be one way one minute, Leah thought, and then entirely another way the next. It wasn't the first time she'd thought that, mind you, but it was the first time she'd thought it without fear. She wrapped her arms around herself and gave a little squeeze.

She could hear the music before she even got to the street. It spilled out into the morning's grey light. She had cried all she was going to cry, for the day, at least. She stopped just short of her own front door and knocked.

* * *

The hip-hop kid sat on the library steps. It was getting warmer out, and he didn't mind waiting. He hadn't seen the birds for a while — since the day he'd written back, as a matter of fact — and he guessed that meant the end of that bit of income. That figured. But it was okay — One-Eyed Carl was back from Montréal, and he'd started a new venture. Some kind of bike courier company. He'd told the kid
he'd have work for him starting in a week or two. So it seemed like everything was going to be alright after all. The kid patted his parka pockets, looking for a cigarette. He found a slightly crumpled one and a lighter and he sat on the steps and smoked.

* * *

Henry heard the knock and was surprised. It wasn't like Parker to just drop by, and anyhow it was indecently early on a Sunday morning. No way the guy was even out of bed. He wondered who else it could be, realised there was no answer for that and thought, damn, I have got to get out more, see more people. Probably someone trying to sell him something. Or a Jehovah's Witness. Who would, he reasoned, also be trying to sell him something. Reluctantly, he put the guitar down and went to the door.

She had long black hair that curled over her shoulders and big grey eyes in a heart-shaped face. He'd never seen her before in his life.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling politely. “James and Emily are away.”

“I know,” she said. “I live next door.”

“Ah,” Henry said. Here came the downer to his day. What a shame. “Sorry. Was I making too much noise?”

She smiled. “You could use a lighter hand on the door slamming, that's for sure. But no, the music is — the music is fine.”

They stood and looked at each other. Finally, Henry gestured to the hallway. “Would you like to come in?”

She nodded. “I'd like that, yeah.”

He stepped back to let her in. She stood in the hallway and took off her coat, slid her feet out of their shoes. They looked at each other for an awkward beat.

“Um, can I take your coat?” Henry asked. He wished he knew just what was happening here. Who was this woman, and what did she want? “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure,” she said. “That would be great.” She held out her jacket. “I'm Leah,” she said.

“Leah,” Henry repeated. “Nice to meet you.” He hung her coat on the banister's newel post. “Henry.”

“Hi, Henry,” Leah said shyly.

“Hi,” he said. “Okay. Coffee. This way.”

He headed down the hallway to the kitchen; she followed.

“Have you eaten?” he asked over his shoulder. He didn't know why, but he wanted to take care of her. She was so open, somehow. It made him want to do things for her.

“Oh,” she said. “No, not yet. But don't worry about that. I don't want to take you away from whatever you're doing.” She spotted the guitar leaning against the wood stove. “Whoops,” she said, “don't want to leave that there for too long.” She moved it over, leaned it against the wall instead. “Nice guitar,” she said.

“Do you play?”

“No,” she said. “I just admire the ability in others.”

“Here,” he said, holding out a mug of coffee. “What do you take?”

“Nothing,” she said. She sat at the kitchen table.

Henry leaned against the counter and looked at her. She seemed so at home. As if they'd agreed to have coffee together. As if she were absolutely where she was meant to be.

She sipped her coffee, looked up at him over the rim of her cup. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Everything's okay. Everything's great.”

“Good,” she said.

“Good,” he repeated. He sipped his coffee.

* * *

Charlotte woke up, rolled toward Johnny Parker in the bed. She kissed his collarbone until he woke. “Good morning,” she murmured into his skin.

“Good morning,” he agreed.

“You know who'd like Henry,” she mumbled into his stubble.

“Many people would,” he allowed, yawning a little. “Henry is a very likeable fellow.”

“Leah would like him,” Charlotte said. “That's who.”

“That so,” said Johnny. “I never figured you for a matchmaker.”

“I'm not,” Charlotte said. “I just think they'd really like each other.”

“You're just a big sook,” Johnny said. “And you want everyone else to be as big a sook as you.” He yawned again. “I could sleep for ten
years,” he said and closed his eyes.

* * *

Henry couldn't stop himself. He told Leah all about the songs he'd been writing, and about Dave O'Dell, and his plans for the future. “This guy really likes my songs,” he said. “I think he's going to help me out.”

“That's great,” Leah said. She was on her second cup of coffee. “Well, they sound good through the wall.”

Henry swallowed and felt the redness rise in his face. “You can hear me through the wall?”

Leah grinned. “Yeah.”

Henry squeezed his eyes shut. Leah laughed.

“It's okay,” she said. “You sound good. And you always warm up with my favourite song. Though for a while I thought I was going mad because I kept hearing it.”

“Oh yeah?” Henry said, glad to have the focus off himself for a minute.

“Yeah,” Leah said. She looked at him, considering. “Yeah. This psychic I know told me that when I heard that song, it was my brother playing it for me.” She squinted one eye, took a deep breath and sized up the situation. “He used to play it for me all the time.” She blew on her coffee. “When he was alive.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “Really,” he said. “Huh.”

“Wow,” Leah said. “I sound crazy. But I'm not, actually.”

“Okay,” Henry said. “It's okay.”

She passed a hand over her eyes and grimaced like she was in pain. “Gah. So embarrassing.”

“No,” said Henry. “Not at all. I mean, listen, a bird changed my life. Talk about embarrassing.”

She opened her eyes. “A bird, you say.”

“Homing pigeon type bird,” Henry confirmed. “It just flew in here one day and wouldn't leave. It had a message on its leg for me and everything.” He saw the look on her face and thought she disbelieved him. “Well,” he amended, “I don't know for sure it was for me, but then, the bird wouldn't leave, so what was I to think? It just hung out right here,” he tapped the counter, “for two or three days. Flew
around the house whenever I played the guitar, but otherwise, just sat here and ate mashed up crackers. Cute little guy,” he said, “once I got used to him.”

“And then what?” Leah asked urgently.

“Then one day he was gone,” Henry said. “But I kept the note.”

“Let me see it,” she said. “Where is it?”

“Right here on my guitar.” He pulled it onto his knee, turned its side toward Leah. “See? It says
I am here, where are you.”

Leah sat back in her chair, the wind knocked out of her.

Henry kept talking, the sentences coming in a rush. “I still have no idea who it's from or what it means. But it woke me up. And everything changed after that.”

“I know who sent it,” she said, a funny look in her eye. Henry raised his eyebrows again. “I know exactly who it's from.” She looked at him. He shrugged as if to lure the story out of her.

“It's a long story,” she said.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said.

Leah opened the fridge. “Is all this yours? Can I use anything I like? I suddenly feel super hungry.”

* * *

Johnny Parker awoke to the smell of coffee. “Darlin,” he called from the bedroom, “you're just about the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“Well, duh,” Charlotte called back.

* * *

Leah cooked and talked and sipped her coffee. It felt good to tell the whole story to someone who didn't know her at all. She whisked eggs and steamed spinach and chopped an onion. She rooted around in the fridge and found a jar of artichokes hiding at the back. She chopped them and threw them in the pie plate along with the rest of the ingredients. “Do you have a pepper-grinder?” she asked, interrupting herself. Henry pointed her towards a giant wooden grinder. She cranked it over the pie plate and popped the whole thing in the oven.

She sat down again at the table and said “it'll be ready in about fifteen minutes.” She swallowed some coffee.

“So?” Henry asked impatiently.

“So,” Leah said. “I realised what was holding Nathan here. It wasn't that he didn't know he was a ghost. It was me. And all those notes I sent by pigeon-post, who knows what happened to them. I don't think it matters. Obviously, someone received them.” She gestured toward the note taped to his guitar. “Soon as I figured out that the problem was with me, that was all it took. I ran down to the library and spilled my guts.”

“Did it work?” Henry asked.

“I don't know,” Leah said slowly. “I saw him, for a minute, and then he faded away.”

“And how do you feel?”

“You know,” she said, “I feel the way I did when he was with me. I feel safe. But it's more than that. I feel like I'm going to be okay. It might take a while, but in the end, I'll be alright.” She nodded. “Yeah.”

Henry nodded too. He picked up his guitar again, tuned it and started to play. Leah smiled at the familiar chords. They always made her cry, but this time, she didn't think she would. She felt a hand on the top of her head, warm and comforting. And then she felt it lift, and leave, and that was okay too. She watched Henry as he bent over his instrument, his fingers deftly moving over the strings. He lifted his head and was about to sing. Leah smiled at him broadly. He smiled back, hugely, a giant smile the likes of which she'd never seen, closed his eyes and started to sing.

* * *

Nathan held up his plate and called across the room, “Is there any more?”

“There's plenty more,” Noni said. She smiled at him and ran her hand through his thick curly hair. “What else do you want?” she asked.

“Whatever you think,” he said, handing her his plate.

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