* * *
Nathan stood behind Winston Churchill until the girl stormed away. He thought he'd like to give the kid some advice, but the truth was,
he didn't have a clue. He and Rebecca fought so much he kind of forgot what it was like not to fight. Half the time, he didn't even know what they were fighting about. Like now, for instance. He couldn't remember what their last fight had been about, but it must have been a doozy, because he hadn't even seen her in what felt like months. He was sure it wasn't though. He was sure she'd come by soon, ready to forgive him. And he was ready to be forgiven. He was sorry. He didn't care what he had to promise, he'd promise it, if she'd promise never to leave him alone for so long again. He leaned his head against Winston Churchill's hip, so cool, and longed for her. Rebecca. On Spring Garden Road, the kid in the parka shuffled away.
* * *
Henry burst out of the doors of The Pool House and stood on the steps, gulping deep breaths of cold air. Johnny clattered out after him, clapped him on the back and said, “Where to, old man?”
Henry coughed out a cloud of beer breath, “Dunno. Booze Barn?”
“That's my boy,” Johnny Parker said. “Booze Barn it is.”
Henry loped down the stairs onto Spring Garden Road. He turned his face up to the night and let his mouth hang open. The chill touched his teeth, and the pain of contact throbbed through his mouth.
Johnny slung one arm around Henry's shoulders. “Booze Barn it is,” he repeated. “Boys gonna get some ACTION,” he shouted to a passing bus, which roared back a cloud of exhaust. “Boys gonna get back in the SWING,” he yelled. Across the street giggled a gaggle of girls whose tank tops defied the brisk March temperature. “Back in the SWING,” he repeated to this new audience. “Anyone wanna get back in the swing with my boy?”
Henry rolled his eyes and plucked at Johnny's sleeve, but it didn't matter. The girls moved on, still giggling, rubbing their bare arms with their bare hands, their laughter carried back on the midnight air.
Johnny laughed too, and jumped up and down a time or two, clapping Henry on the back and shouting “whoo!” Henry could only smile. There was no changing Johnny Parker, that was certain. And, Henry had to admit, that was part of his charm. In fact, it was a large part of it. No matter how miserable Henry might feel, when he was
with Johnny Parker, he always ended up laughing, in spite of himself or otherwise.
They shambled down Spring Garden Road in this manner, punching each other and trading insults.
At the library, they turned to cut across the lawn. By now, Johnny Parker was singing “Brown Sugar” at maximum volume. In the floodlights of the library, his face was red with effort, cold and drink. Henry shivered in the dampness. Goddamn it, he thought, will it be cold forever? It's enough now. Uncle. Let me up. But it didn't seem the cold was fixing to let up. In fact, he thought, it had dropped about ten degrees in the last minute, and now there was a distinct wind blowing up from the harbour. “Fucking winter,” he said to Johnny Parker.
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “Come on.”
They trudged to the library's side door, a secluded little spot out of the wind and mostly out of sight of passersby. Turning their backs to the library lawn, Henry acted as a shield while Johnny sparked up a joint. They passed it back and forth between them, sucking meditatively and mostly keeping quiet, except to bitch about the cold. As they turned to go, a flash of colour caught Henry's eye. A line of small brightly hued animals gathered under the bushes near the side door.
“The fuck,” he said. “Check these out.”
He crouched down to get a better look. Cat, frog, fish, bird, all made of paper and neatly arranged beneath the lowest boughs of the evergreen shrubbery, sheltered there from the wind.
“Awww,” said Johnny Parker. “Ain't they cute. The fuck are they?”
“Dunno,” Henry said. “What's it called? They're made of paper. Ori...orig...origami or something,” he said.
“What're they doing under there?”
“Fucked if I know,” said Henry. He stood up, brushed his hands off on his jeans. “Weird.”
“Yeah. Let's go,” Johnny Parker said, already starting to walk away, toward Grafton Street.
“Yeah, okay.” He looked at the animals one more time, shivered again suddenly, violently, and shook his head. “Fucking weather,” Henry groaned. He caught up to Johnny Parker and slugged his upper arm. “Booze Barn,” he shouted, in a semblance of happy yelling.
“DUDE,” Johnny Parker hooted, giving Henry a short shove. In this way, they made their way off to the bar.
* * *
Nathan hid behind the bushes till the loud guys moved on. It was awful when they spotted his animals, though he'd hoped one of the guys might at least know what they were for, that in such an accidental way Nathan might find out what he was supposed to use them for, or make of them, or do with them. But no luck. They were origami; sure, Nathan already knew that. The question was why were they being sent to the library? Even better, who was doing the sending? He was just going to have to be patient, he thought, and wait for it to become clear. He hated to think of them being stolen by someone while he paced the path. Because what if it turned out you needed to have all of them all together to get it, whatever it was you were supposed to get? He shuffled over to the clearing under the shrub where the animals sat. He liked being able to see them any time he wanted, but obviously, that just wasn't going to do any longer. He had trouble these days actually using his fingers, maybe from the cold. But if he concentrated really hard, he found he could move small items just by thinking about it. He focused on the origami for a while and managed to nudge them further under the bushes, to a more protected spot. Then he curled up in the bushes himself. It was cold and damp but he didn't mind. He closed his eyes and tried to think of Rebecca, but he could only see Leah. Seeing her made him feel bad, but he didn't know why. So he kept his eyes open instead.
* * *
Leah lay in the dark in her room; eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Wasn't much to look at up there, and she'd already counted the ceiling tiles. And here she was, still awake. She let out a lungful of breath. This middle of the night wakefulness was what she got, she supposed, for sleeping all day and doing nothing to earn a night of rest. Lying on the couch reading home decorating magazines wasn't exactly the kind of thing that could wear a girl out. It was plenty depressing, sure, and that brought with it its own kind of exhaustion, but it wasn't the kind that tended to lead to the satisfied, deep sleep
she was craving. She wasn't going to find that kind tonight. She rolled over and looked at the clock. Coming up on two in the morning. God. Way too early to actually get up. Too late to get dressed again and pretend she'd just been napping. Way too late to call anyone, even Charlotte. Well, she thought, I can always get up and do the dishes.
“Yes,” she said aloud. “I'll get up.”
She sat up, gingerly put her feet on the cold wooden floor. The birds shifted in their cages. Neil sat up, too, and said “Biiirrrrit?”
“I'm getting up, Neil. Can't sleep. Downstairs?”
Neil stretched and leapt nimbly off the bed. On the floor, he stretched again, one leg and then the other, and looked at her intently while he did so.
“Don't get any big ideas, though,” she cautioned him. “It's the middle of the night, which is no known feline feeding time. So that's not what this is about, as long as were both crystal clear, okay?”
Neil butted his head against her calf.
“I'm not kidding,” she told him. She pulled her bathrobe from the chair beside her bed, and drew it on, knotting it at the waist. “Shall we?” she asked. Neil trotted out ahead of her and four-legged it down the stairs. Watching his furry butt descend, she was filled with nameless, wordless, inexplicable affection. How could such an annoying creature fill her with so much love, she wondered. It was such pure emotion, what she felt for him. And he was just a cat. His fur smelled like corn, his nails were sharp, he had a pesky way of standing on her lungs when she was trying to sleep, and he could not be convinced to stay off the goddamn kitchen counters. More than once she'd found his teeth marks in the butter. She wasn't even sure she really liked cats all that much, but Neil? Neil she loved. And these days, she was gladder than ever to have him around. This self-imposed exile needed company of some kind, and Neil's was perfect. She could talk or not talk and it was all the same to him. She never had to explain herself or apologise for her mood. As long as she kept the crunchies and fresh water coming, Neil was satisfied. And he made a comforting lump in the bed at night.
She moved through the house in the dark, the rooms barely illuminated by light from the street. Everything was different at night. The possessions she knew and loved so well were shadowy, their use
inscrutable, their shapes even a bit sinister. She felt a tingle of fear as she passed by the basement door, enough to make her hurry her pace to the kitchen, where she fumbled to turn the light on quickly, to banish that prickle, keep it in its place in the dark. That was the deal. No scariness allowed once the lights were on. She wasn't sure who exactly she had this deal with, but she'd relied on it since childhood. The fluorescent lights of the kitchen were soothing to her now, and she brought her breathing back to normal. She surveyed the situation.
Pots and pans from the day's cooking were stacked haphazardly beside the sink, along with the side-plates and chevre-encrusted knives that were the detritus of Leah's usual spartan cheese-and-cracker meals these days.
She plugged the sink and ran hot water into it. A squirt of dish-washing liquid resulted in almost instant bubbles, and she began loading in the dirty glasses, plates and cutlery.
Leah loved to wash dishes. It satisfied the part of her that longed to take people and things that were fucked up, and make them whole and right. Doing the dishes was a particularly instantaneous way to gratify that desire. She loved to let her hands swim through hot soapy water. She loved the way the glass went all squeaky when it was clean, the way plates once dull could be made to gleam. She loved to return cutlery to its formerly sparkling self. She didn't like drying quite as much, but on a night like this, even the lesser of the two tasks could scratch her itch. She gloried in the clean stack of cups and dishes, the points of the knives seeming to glow in the bright kitchen. When she was done washing, she let out the water and decided to scrub the sink. The cleanser smelled bleachy and good as she sprinkled it onto the stainless steel. She scrubbed at the metal and felt a kind of pride in how clean she was making it. Even though it hadn't looked dirty, as she swirled clean water into the sink, washing the cleanser down the drain, the basin was noticeably brighter. Leah saw what she'd done and decided it was good. She leaned back against the stove and felt calm.
She wished she had a cigarette. Smoking used to punctuate her days, signalling an end to every task, the beginning of another. But she'd had to give up when Nathan got sick. It seemed too willfully stupid to keep smoking when he had cancer, even though the kind he had had nothing to do with smoking. Nothing to do with anything,
as far as they'd been able to work out. It was just cruel and unusual punishment for â for what? For nothing. What had Nathan ever done to anybody? Sure, he was a pain in the ass older brother, but what older brother wasn't? And she was sure he'd crossed a few people in his time, but come on. In terms of big sins? There just weren't any; that she knew of. She'd seen him fight with Rebecca, but what could you expect? They were both totally stubborn. Of course they fought. Didn't mean they didn't love each other, weren't perfect for each other. The whole thing just beggared belief, but if she started down that road, Leah thought, she'd never get off it. She'd never, ever again get to sleep. Better simply to lose herself in whatever she could. In this case, on this night, that'd be scotch and housework. She moved to the hoosier, took down the bottle of scotch and a clean glass. Poured the drink, not worrying this time about adding ice. She took the first warming sip, then pulled a tea towel from the drawer, put the drink aside, and began to wipe the dishes dry, one at a time.
* * *
Henry leaned over the bar and shouted, “Two tequila and orange juice” to the bartender, but he might as well have been whispering. She looked at him and shrugged, her beautiful naked shoulders rising and falling like a wave he could drown in. He wanted to put his lips right against her ear, talk right into her, and given the chance, he wouldn't waste his breath ordering drinks, oh no. But there was no way he'd be making time with this girl. She was way too beautiful, and besides, she was already irritated with him. He gave up on the mixed drinks, held up two fingers and yelled, “Two Keith's.” She understood that one alright, turned away from him in a flounce of hair and breast and perfume â he swore he could smell it rising above the sweaty, smoky crowd â and bent to the beer fridge. He admired her perfect ass in its perfect low-rise jeans, each cheek lovingly outlined by the clinging denim. He felt the blood pounding in his head and in his pants and forced himself to imagine the machinations that would be involved in getting a girl like that to go home with him. Hell, in getting a girl like that to talk to him beyond telling him how much he owed for the two beers. That straightened him out pretty fast. It was an impossible situation, and he was already in one of those. No need to further
complicate his deal. By the time she whirled around again, two cold and sweating bottles in her hand, he was over her. Or, more properly, he was over the moment of weakness that had let him think he would ever be in a position, ever be a lucky enough bastard that he would get the chance to get over someone like her. Hell, he couldn't even get over Tina, and it had already been almost a month since she'd kicked his sorry ass to the curb.