Page 5

Chapter Five

Kingston

I ’m an asshole.

No news here…just move along.

I’ve hurt his feelings.

That stuck in my craw.

I hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. The kid felt impenetrable. Like things would just bounce right off him. Apparently, I’d been wrong.

He washed his feet, dried them with a fresh towel, then bent.

“What are you doing?”

“Washing your feet.” He gazed up at me. “You said you don’t allow dirty feet in your house. I’m assuming you meant yours as well. Or did you mean—”

“No, you’re right.” I sighed. “I’m not asking you to wash my feet. That’s too much to ask. So’s the rest of it, but you seem hellbent on this—”

“I am.”

“—so I figure capitulating is easier than fighting.”

“It is.”

“But I draw the line at foot washing.”

“Uh, okay.” He rose. “Are you hungry? Because I think you ate a lot of food, but you’re a big guy, and—”

“I’m sated, thank you.” Better to head him off at the pass before he started one of his rambling monologues. They irritated. Well, I could find one distinct advantage.

They rarely required a response from me.

Something about just being able to sit without anything expected of me was appreciated.

He just needed to learn how to read a room.

You’re a tough nut to crack. You know that.

Yeah, I did.

With difficulty, I maneuvered to the powder room.

I closed the door with a gaping Ethan on the other side.

Jesus, did he think I needed him to hold my pecker while I peed?

I wouldn’t put it past him.

“I’m here in case, you know, you fall or something…”

Only then did I realize the precariousness of trying to piss without two solid legs to stand on.

I managed.

Barely.

Six fucking weeks of this? I’m up shit creek without a paddle.

Yet people managed. Perhaps I needed to research this on the internet. Because I’d never had to contemplate anything like this.

I balanced myself on one leg so I could wash my hands.

Forty years of being prodigiously careful. Well, perhaps before the age of two I might’ve been reckless—but from an early age I’d understood the concept of risk and had avoided it assiduously. I hadn’t wanted to worry my parents unnecessarily. Wanted them to live long stress-free lives.

Yet I’d lost them both when they’d been in their seventies.

That felt too young.

“Uh, Kingston…”

How long have I been standing here? Wait, has he been listening at the door? He would’ve been able to hear the toilet flush…so had he been calculating exactly how long everything should take.? Oh God, I had to get him off that track. I did things at my own pace. My own speed. Always had and always would. Meticulousness was critical in my vocation. Shortcuts and sloppy work were recipes for disasters.

After staring at the mirror for a long moment—and grimacing at the stubble, I exited the bathroom.

Ethan stood there.

“As you can see, I didn’t fall in.”

He grinned. “I know that. I didn’t hear a splash.”

I refrained from pointing out how weird that statement sounded. “I was thinking about watching the news. Would you like to join me?”

“Uh, sure.” He moved aside.

I managed to get myself onto the couch with relatively little trouble. And I let out a big sigh.

“Do your pits hurt? Mine always hurt—especially the very first day because my underarms weren’t used to…what?”

“Precisely how often have you required crutches in your life?” I snagged the remote off the side table, but waited for his response.

“We need to elevate your leg. And how are your feet not cold?”

I blinked. I seemed to be doing that a lot because he said the oddest things. “Why would my feet be cold?”

“Because, I don’t know, it’s nearly winter? You should’ve been wearing a jacket today, but I didn’t have time to suggest it, and I guess you don’t spend much time outside unless you’re working on a front-door lock. Oh, or a car lock. Do you do car locks? That would be super interesting. To hear all the ways people lose their keys. Can you tell me the most creative excuse you’ve had? Or is there something like locksmith/client privilege?”

I sighed. “There is nothing like locksmith/client privilege. There’s discretion. Something, as I’ve made clear, that I’m known for. The most creative is the gentleman who threw his keys into the dumpster when he was throwing out the trash. He offered me a considerable sum of money to climb into the dumpster to retrieve them.”

Ethan’s eyes widened comically. “And did you?”

“For that sum of money? Yes, yes I did. He was offering me ten times what I would have made re-keying his condo lock. Also, he had keys for his safe deposit box and his drawer at the office.” I considered. “Well, I would’ve done decently if he’d hired me to re-key everything but, frankly, the dumpster was easily dealt with. Fortunately, all the garbage was in sealed bags. I needed less than ten minutes to retrieve them.”

“I’m sorry…” He cleared his throat. “You crawled into a dumpster?”

“Well, the remote for his car was also there, so that would’ve meant more expense for him and—”

“You wash your feet when you come into your house, but you’ll scavenge dumpsters?” He scratched his scalp under the mop of red hair. “I don’t get it.”

“The two are completely unrelated.”

He opened his mouth. Then snapped it shut. Then opened it again…only to clearly stall out.

I glanced at the wall clock.

Two minutes to six.

Assuming the conversation had terminated, I pressed the power button on the remote control.

My home channel was the twenty-four-hour news station, so I didn’t even need to change the channel. I shifted, trying to find a comfortable position.

Ethan gently moved the coffee table so I could rest my foot on it.

Something I couldn’t have done for myself

Wouldn’t have done.

Everything had its place, and moving something was completely illogical. Except the pain eased instantly when I elevated the foot.

“I’ll get you cold packs for your pits. Eight.” Then he was gone.

Eight?

Oh, times he’s needed…holy hell.

I couldn’t fathom injuring lower limbs that frequently. And he was still just a kid.

Not a kid. Twenty-four is most definitely not a kid. Twenty-four is very legal.

The music for the national newscast began, and I straightened. As if somehow this was going to be the night something important happened in the world. Something to change the shitshow we were living through.

Dream on. Second verse, same as the first.

Real political sea change was required, and I couldn’t see that happening. We needed things to change. But that felt impossible.

In my little bubble, though, things were okay. People would always need locksmiths. The government in British Columbia tended to sway left, but even the occasional knock to the right was never too sharp. At the national level, things were far less stable. To our north was Russia. To our south was the States.

Sometimes I felt we were being squeezed on all sides.

The lead story was about some political infighting in Ottawa.

Great. Politics.

Second story mentioned something going on in the States.

Great. More politics.

The third story was on a freak snowstorm that shut down the TransCanada Highway in Saskatchewan after an eleven-vehicle pileup that killed two people.

Wonderful.

I nearly turned off the broadcast.

Except Ethan clomped down the stairs, clearly having taken his suitcase to the spare bedroom, and perhaps even settled in.

“Did I miss anything?” He tucked his feet under him as he plopped onto the couch.

“Nothing of any consequence. It’s all…depressing.”

“Well, yeah. All news is depressing. Oh, hey, fast-forward through the commercial.”

“Huh?”

He pointed to the television. “You don’t need to see a commercial about upset-stomach medication. I mean, unless you have an upset—”

“I do not.” But I might need headache medication if you keep this up. “I cannot fast-forward through the commercial. I’m watching a live broadcast.”

He gaped. “You watch live television? Oh God, I didn’t know people did that anymore. I watch everything on recording so I can fast-forward through the commercials. I mean, why watch those pesky things if you don’t have to?

I nearly responded with a knee-jerk reaction. I wanted to watch the news at six o’clock. That meant, generally, sitting at the television at this time. I had it set to record in case I was out on an emergency call, but most nights, I was right here.

But you could wait twenty or thirty minutes and then start recording. You wouldn’t be more than a few minutes behind the news, and you could skip the advertisements…

In forty years, this had never occurred to me. Unless I was away from the television, I watched the news at six. Then I did my dishes, tidied the house, swept and/or mopped the floor, and got changed into my pajamas between seven and seven-thirty. Then I watched Jeopardy followed by an hour of reading in my bedroom before bed.

Same routine for so long that I couldn’t fathom anything else. I might stay up late on the weekends to watch a movie…but almost never. “I’ll take your recommendation into consideration for another evening. But for tonight—”

The news broadcast recommenced.

So did Ethan. He chatted away even as I tried to focus on the television. News was of the utmost importance, and I wanted to tell him to stop, but I also didn’t want to hurt his feelings again.

“Hey, would you mind running to the store for some milk?”

He stopped. “Of course not. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you.” I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and, to my relief, he took the cash I offered.

“Back in a flash.” He snagged the keys and was gone.

The closest grocery store was a fair distance, so I’d bought myself some time. I settled back to enjoy the rest of the broadcast in peace, barely stirring up anger when the political panel argued about the latest stupid thing someone here in Canada had done and although, yeah, the politician was clearly a dumbass, this felt…so small. Like so many bigger things were happening in the world.

“And I’m back. Washing my feet!” Ethan’s voice carried from the mudroom.

Moments later, the sound of heavy grocery bags clunking on the counter reached me.

“I also bought bread, oranges, pineapples, an avocado, eggs, bell peppers, and peanuts.”

Of course he did .

“I just saw this stuff and thought you’d like it. Oh, and I didn’t forget the milk. I’ll just put it away and…hey!”

Shit.

“Did you know you already have a four-liter jug in here? And that it’s almost full?”

The final segment of the news was some feel-good story that felt almost too happy, so I shut the show off.

Ethan appeared in the doorway. “Did you send me to the store to get me out of your hair for twenty minutes?”

“You talk too much.” I placed the remote on the side table. “And it worked.”

I expected him to look crestfallen at my words, but he merely grinned. “That’s okay, I’m going to make you a salad for dinner. After those waffles, you don’t need anything heavy.”

“I don’t eat salad.” Blech. Just…blech.

His jaw dropped open. “No salad? Lettuce, tomatoes, chopped pepper, and cucumbers? With a touch of peanut dressing? How can you not love salad?”

“Did you buy any berries?” I wasn’t into fruits and vegetables but could gorge on blueberries. Too late in the season, but still…

“No berries. You should’ve said something.” He stomped off.

Moments later, the sound of groceries being put way made its way to me—the swish of produce bags and the crinkling paper of… Huh. I never bought vegetables and fruits—aside from berries—so I had no concept of what containers they might come in.

After a moment, the slamming of the microwave door ricocheted through the main floor of my house. Although it had the traditional multi-room layout, as opposed to the open concept favored by many homebuilders today, noise carried exceedingly well.

And since I never had company—had never had a partner or even a roommate—none of that mattered.

Until now.

Six weeks. It’s just six weeks.

My phone rang, offering me a reprieve. I didn’t even check the number. “Hello?”

“Kingston? It’s Peter Erickson.”

Like I know many other Peters… “Hello. How are you?”

“I was about to ask you the same question. How’s the ankle?”

“Getting better.” I eyed the damn thing—a bit less swollen since I’d propped it up.

“I’m not certain whether to believe that, but we’ll put that aside for the moment.”

Despite myself, I smiled at his dry tone. He was right, of course. Very few sprained ankles resolved in a day.

“How is Ethan working out? He’s a great guy, and I hope he’s making himself useful.”

Said guy flounced into the room, and his eyes widened as he realized I was on the phone. He plopped a bowl of something onto the side table and almost scurried out of the room. Truly…I had no other word for it.

I glanced into the bowl.

Vanilla ice cream with heated blueberries.

I blinked. Several times.

“Kingston? Are you there?”

“Sorry, Peter.” I cleared my throat. “He’s a great guy. You’re right. I probably could’ve coped on my own. People do.”

“But not people with your job. I mean, I would’ve given you income commensurate with your lost—”

“I have to keep working.”

“Hence my sending Ethan. And this is good for him as well.”

“How so?” That sounded casual…right? Yeah, tell yourself that.

“Well…” Peter’s wince came through the phone. “His gran says he needs stability. That he hasn’t really had that, even with his business diploma.”

“He was able to sit still long enough to get a business diploma?”

This time, Peter chuckled. “I know, right? But he’s whip-smart. Just…unfocused.”

After a moment, Peter’s previous comment struck me. “You spoke to Ethan’s grandmother?” I didn’t bother to keep the surprise from my voice.

He laughed yet again. “She made baklava for Thomas and me as well as a sweater for Skylar and a scarf for Samuel.”

Peter and Thomas’s children.

“How long was Ethan working for you?” Disbelief laced my voice.

“Oh, on and off for a little while. I think he was embarrassed by the gifts, but didn’t want to disappoint his grandmother by not giving them. Now, did she have them lying around or did she make them especially for my kids? Does that matter? They’re exceptionally well made and incredibly generous gifts. She even made Skylar’s sweater in a hunter green so Samuel will be able to wear it when she grows out of it and he’s big enough. And I have to say—she’s always been petite, and he’s going to be a big, strapping boy. We’re taking bets on how old they’ll be when he outgrows her. Which will displease her to no end.”

“She likes being an older sister?” I was still digesting the fact Ethan’s grandmother made a sweater and scarf for two children she’d never met. Children whose parents were amongst the wealthiest in the city. Well, nearer the top than I ever would be. Vancouver had a lot of very wealthy people.

Peter sighed. “She loves it. She dotes on him. He’s had health issues, so she knows she has to be gentle with him. Her soul’s in the right place. That tricycle maneuver—”

“Already forgotten. Ethan’s great.” Because without Skylar, I wouldn’t have a redheaded whirling dervish in my life and somehow, despite everything, I would’ve been poorer for that. Although…longest nine hours of my life.

“Well, that’s great. I’m suspect he’s told you I’m paying his salary…”

“He’s very bad at keeping secrets.” I rolled my eyes.

“Well, he’ll keep the secrets of your clients.”

“So he says.”

“He will. He might come across as…”

“Flaky?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite so bluntly, but…sure. But he takes things seriously when he has to. He apologized for telling his grandmother about us, and I’m quite certain he hasn’t told anyone else that he works for us from time to time.”

“Thank you for paying him, but it’s unnecessary.”

“No, it’s really necessary. I’ve added him to my payroll, so the various premiums—including unemployment insurance, pension, worker’s compensation, and healthcare are taken care of as well.”

The first three were mandatory government programs, and although Canada had free healthcare, secondary services like prescriptions, and most paramedical professionals, weren’t covered either. “You’re too generous, Peter.”

“Do I need to share how much the studio’s going to pay me for the action film I’m making with Cole Hamilton next year? Or point out I saved my earnings for nearly twenty years before I met Thomas, and he’s frugal as heck, so even now I don’t spend all that much?”

“I didn’t realize you and Cole were reuniting on the big screen.” Right, because that’s the most important part of this conversation .

“What can I say? He and I make a little movie about two gay men falling in love, and then we each come out as gay and bisexual, and the internet explodes. Now, so many fans want to see us do another movie. The studio’s keen. Especially given I’m not getting any younger. You have no idea the workouts I’m having to endure just so I can survive.”

I smiled as I envisioned Peter all sweaty. For a guy in his mid-forties, he looked damn good. Sexy. With a sweet personality to boot. “Well, I’ll buy a ticket for that.”

“I’ll get you a ticket to the première . You and Ethan.”

What?

“Oh, Thomas is waving. Samuel’s bedtime. And Skylar soon after that. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Still stunned by his earlier comment, I managed a meek, “Yeah, sure.”

“Great.” He disconnected.

I put the phone on the side table, grabbed my melting ice cream and contemplated the clusterfuck of my life.