by Patrick Ness
—Jon—
—What’s your name, miss?
—Jill.
She tapped her nametag. It read ‘Jill'.
—So it is. Jill, I’d like you to meet Eugene.
She turned and smiled at Eugene, but all she could see was the back of his head as he stared down into his plate. He mumbled something to his dessert.
—What was that, Eugene?
—I said hello.
—He’s going to require the patience of a saint, my dear girl, but I assure you, he’s worth it.
—Is he your son?
—Yes, why not? Tell me, marvelous Jill, provocative Jill, where are you from?
—I was born here in Hennington.
—Ah, a native! So is Eugene.
—Really? Wherc’d you go to high school?
—Cascade.
—Me, too! When did you graduate?
—I dropped out.
—Only to follow his dream, dear Jill.
—What dream is that?
—Bass player in a band.
—Cool! I play drums in a band down at the Hive on Tuesdays.
—See, a match made in heaven. What are you doing tonight, percussive Jill? Because I know for a fact Eugene has the night off.
—I’m free tonight.
—Perfect. When does your shift end?
—Seven.
—Then he’ll pick you up here at seven. Sound good?
—Sounds good to me? What about him?
—Yes, Eugene, what about you?
Eugene’s response was a blush so crimson both Jon and Jill thought for a moment he might be choking. His response was a whisper.
—If it’s okay by you.
When he pulled up six hours later in the Bisector, he was still blushing. Before he could get out, she opened the passenger door herself and hopped in.
—Hi!
—Hey.
—This is okay with you, isn’t it? I mean, you can just give me a ride home if you want. Your father kind of forced the issue, and I mean, I think you’re totally cute and that shyness thing is really attractive, but you know, I’m only fine with it if you’re fine with it, okay?
—No. No, I want to.
—What’d you say?
—I said I want to.
—Then the first rule is you have to actually look at me once before we go anywhere, okay?
She had a short, black bob of hair that framed an open, smiling face. Her nose was small, perhaps a bit too small, throwing her enormous green eyes into even greater relief. The green was the color of dark moss and gave her a literate air that contradicted the way she smacked her chewing gum. She wasn’t outrageously beautiful. She was better. She was accessibly beautiful.
—Sorry.
—Nothing to be sorry about. You’re just shy. This car is incongruent with known reality, you know? I mean, I see it, here it is, I’m sitting in it, and I still don’t believe it exists. It’s like a carnival or something, all on its own.
—So that’s … good?
—Oh, yeah. Points already on the car alone, but trust me, I’m not that shallow. I mean, I am, but there’s depth below the shallows. Where are we going?
They went miniature golfing. By the seventh hole, Eugene had only produced forty-three words of conversation.
—I counted. Look, it’s only a certain amount of fun to do all the work, then it just becomes plain work. You’re cute and all, but I could have this much fun at home with my hand and a mirror, all right?
Eugene took his putt between the swinging arms of the giant wooden gorilla before he answered.
—I’m sorry.
—The eleventh time you’ve said that.
—I’m just … You’re just …
—Ye-esss?
—So much prettier than the girls I usually go out with.
—Oh, your first full sentence and you hit the bullseye.
She smiled at him, and for the first time, it was a pure smile, without bluster. It was even almost bashful. She looked away from him.
—I’m not that pretty.
—What are you talking about? Have you even seen yourself? I’m the one who’s a pain to look at.
—Are you high? You’re totally handsome. I didn’t think in a million years that you’d even show up tonight.
—You’re kidding. I didn’t think you’d be there.
—And yet here we both are.
—I know. So this was all—
—Bravado and girly stupidity. I thought I could brazen my way into a good-night kiss and then you’d never call again.
—I thought you were only coming on the date because Jon asked you to and you were too nice to say no.
—I wouldn’t waste a whole evening out of politeness. I’m not dumb. I thought your father would make you come because otherwise I’d be stranded. You call your father by his first name?
—He’s not my father.
—He said he was.
—He’s my boss. He does stuff like that.
—So we’re both here despite the fact that we each think the other is here only out of courtesy?
—Or that we’re giving each other a pity date.
—How desperate is that? Shit, what does that say about us?
—That we’re both kind of pathetic?
—Or that we’re made for each other.
—I don’t think it’s a pity date. I think I’m lucky that you were there when I pulled up.
—And I think I’m lucky you pulled up.
They stood staring at each other, holding the gaze long past where it should have been uncomfortable. The gorilla’s arms went slowly up and then slowly back down. Eugene held up his club.
—I don’t even like miniature golf.
—Neither do I.
—Want to go get something to eat?
—And talk for a bit, now that you’ve got your tongue back?
—Yeah.
They didn’t even take the equipment back to the clubhouse, leaving their clubs and balls at the seventh hole, joining hands as they stepped back on the path. The gorilla swung its arms in silent protest as they disappeared into the night.
67. Old(er) Man’s (and Woman’s) Fancy.
—Ooh.
—Oh, my heavens.
—With … ouch … with those—
—What was that?
—Shh, just let it happen.
—There, yes, there, that.
—What?
—Slowly now.
—Who … No … right there … there. Who am I touching?
—Me?
—Then who is this right here?
—Me again.
—Good Lord, the flexibility—
—I’ve got it—
—Hold on, I want to—
—Up, up, up, up, up, up.
—My God, that feels … so—
—Here, take hold here.
—Okay.
—And you grab onto here—
—All right, now let’s all of us—
—Moving—
—Slowly, don’t lose it.
—With the … Oh!
—Nice, isn’t it?
—Good God.
—Albert?
—I’m dumbfounded.
—I told you.
—Wow, in fact … in fact—
—Go ahead, it’s what we’re here for.
—Cora?
—Please, Albert, yes, please, I’m ready whenever you—
—Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!
—Yes! Very nice.
—Very nice indeed.
—I’m … wait … I’m going … Unnnnnnhhh!
—Hold her head. There we go—
—Oh, goodness.
—Just—
—With—
—Here—
—Come on—
—Excellent!
—And Kevin makes three.
—Man, oh, man.
—That was—
—I know.
&n
bsp; —With the—
—I know.
—Hold on, my arm—
—Where?
—Darling, could you—
—Yes, here.
—Thank you. They lay breathing.
—I think I’m going to have a cold glass of water.
—What, now?
—Yes, anyone want anything?
—Just a moment’s rest is all.
—I’m with her.
—You two. You’re going to wear me out, and that’s saying something. I’ll be right back.
Kevin smiled that warm smile of his. As he walked away from the bed, they both watched his naked backside, so smooth and compact, with the delightful pattern of hair creeping up his thighs. He turned to them as he went out of the bedroom, smiled again, and closed the door.
—Quite something.
—Isn’t he, though?
—For kind of a little guy, he’s got real oomph. I mean, what was that? Where does someone even learn to do something like that?
—Who cares as long as he does it again?
—Do you think we’re giving him any pleasure?
—I think it’s obvious, isn’t it? Why would he keep coming back?
—You would just think he’d have other, you know, people to meet.
—What does that mean? ‘Other people to meet'. He’s not a public service, Cora.
—Don’t laugh at me. You know. People his own age. People who could give him more than we can. More quality time. More of the things of a proper relationship.
—Oh.
—Surely you concede he deserves it.
—I see what’s going on.
—What?
—I see where you’re headed with this.
—What are you talking about?
—You’ve got a little crush on our dear Kevin.
—What? Well, of course, I do. Don’t you? He’s different from the ones we’ve had before. He’s kind. He’s generous. He has a brain and a decent job.
—Which he’s really good at, by the way. He’ll be the auction house’s senior art appraiser by year’s end, you just watch.
—And he’s good-looking, too, in just the right way, without being boring about it. I can’t figure out why he’s not setting hearts afire citywide.
—You’re afraid he’s going to dump us.
—Aren’t you?
—No.
—You’d be willing to see him go?
—Of course not. I’m not afraid because I don’t think he’s going to.
—It has to end eventually.
—Why?
—What do you mean ‘why'? You know good and well why.
—Tell me.
—We’re twice his age. Our attractiveness is only going to stick around for a little while even to the most generous of eyes. Plus, we’re a couple. Two’s company and three’s a crowd. Jealous alliances always happen with trois. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.
—Those are all nonsense reasons.
—Not all.
—Just conventional wisdom, nothing more. And if we had ever believed conventional wisdom at any point in our lives, then you and I wouldn’t be together either.
—You’re not suggesting—
—I’m not suggesting anything. I’m only telling you that, yes, I’m terribly fond of him as well and I don’t want this to end, but that I also don’t see why it has to any time soon.
—But—
—No ‘buts', my darling bud. We’ve come all these years and years without sticking to rules and we’ve thrived. Why should we adhere to them now? Why not live in each pleasurable moment instead of forecasting the end? You’ll have more fun that way.
—Life is just getting too strange lately.
—All the more reason to take what pleasure you can.
—I suppose, but it does tend to wear me out.
—I repeat, all the more reason—
—I heard you the first time. He does help one to forget, doesn’t he?
—Rather thoroughly.
—I wonder what we’re helping him forget.
—Oh, really, Cora, do we have to help him forget anything? Why can’t you take this at face value? Maybe, and here’s a radical idea, maybe he fancies us. Maybe he so enjoys our times together that he actually looks forward to the next one.
—But all we do is … you know.
—Do you really think that’s all we do?
—Meaning what?
—We talk together, and we sleep together. I mean, actual sleep, not the sex. We eat meals together. We share each other intimately, in more ways than just the obvious physical one.
—But it’s not sharing a life together.
—Is that what you want?
—Is that what you want?
—I told you. I’m very fond of Kevin. I very much like having him as a part of our lives. Our lives, not my life. And yes, I want what we have to continue with him. I want him to keep coming back to us as long as possible. But that’s future. Right now, I’m enjoying him being here when he’s here. I enjoy the pleasure he gives me. I enjoy the pleasure he gives you. I enjoy the pleasure we give him. He’s a bit of fun that’s turned into a gift, my love. We should cherish it for what it is, not what it might or might not be at some unspecified future date, especially with how strange the world seems to be getting.
—Well, I’ll agree with you there. If Kevin can make me forget ‘Mayor Banyon', then I’m all for that.
—But that’s not going to happen.
—It might.
—It might, but Max’ll run.
—He told me no.
—He’ll come around. Luther Pickett’s disappeared. Things have gotten serious. He’ll run.
—I wish I could be as certain.
—Then you’ll just have to trust me, on this matter as well as on Kevin.
—I wish I could speak with Jon again.
—And accomplish what?
—If I’m his aim, then I’m the one who can get through to him.
—Then go see him.
—I thought you were opposed.
—Only on the grounds that it was what he wanted, but if you think you can resolve this by seeing him, I’m all for any means of getting him out of our lives for good. I for one am sick of discussing petty little Jon Noth.
—I love you, Albert.
—Oh! Well, I love you, too, beautiful one, but where did that come from?
—Just … nowhere. ‘Petty’ is a good word that suddenly makes it all feel a little better.
—I’m glad. A little bit in love with Kevin, too? It’s okay if you are.
—A little bit in love with Kevin, too.
—Good. Me, too.
—I’ll make it unanimous.
Kevin walked back towards the bed from the hallway.
—How long have you been listening?
—Long enough to assuage any fears. I’m happy as the proverbial clam when I’m with the two of you. I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.
—Glad to hear it.
—I’ll second that.
—Good. Are you rested up? We can sleep if you want, but if you’re up for it, I’ve got something else I’ve been wanting to show you. Yes? Terrific. First, cross your arms like this, then using both feet …
68. The Prodigal.
He fell asleep and didn’t dream. When he awoke, he was somewhere else.
Maggerty was first aware of wetness under his back. He opened his eyes. The ceiling had turned blue, a light, faraway blue with white –
Clouds.
He was able to sit up, free of restraints. The heavy bandage was off his arm. He felt strange. The sun hung low in the sky, and the air carried the clarity of morning, early morning. It was quiet, extremely so. His mind, he noticed with curiosity, felt as sharp as the waking breeze across his face and outstretched hands. The distant panic was gone. The awful suffocating colours that had swooped in on him so much lately weren’t
even in sight. He felt as good as he had in years. Still. Yes, he felt that way still.
He reached into his shirt and ran his fingers along his wound. It wasn’t the mess it usually was, but there was still an ache there. He let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead, then. What did this all mean? Had the room with the angel been a dream? It hadn’t felt like one, and now for the first time in a long while, Maggerty felt sure that he could tell the difference. He had a full stomach. His clothes were clean. His wound had been washed. Yet not a dream. Where had that been, then? And where was this now?
He looked around slowly. He recognized the high lea on the upper end of the Arboretum, a flat, green rink of grass surrounded by trees, perched on a hilltop away from the main paths of the park. The sound of twigs breaking leapt suddenly from the dreamworld of his father’s gravesite into this real one. A low rumbling came from the downhill edge of the lea. If this was all real, which it must be, then that meant the herd was either coming into or moving away from this place.
He pulled himself to his feet. His legs were stiff, and he cramped after only a few steps. The snapping, rustling sounds continued but seemed to be getting quieter. The normal panic of losing the herd filled him (or was it a bit less?). He forced himself forward through the pain, hopping on one foot to try to shake out a charley horse. He made it to the edge of the lea and plunged downward into the trees. A rack of ferns tripped him up, covering the knees of his pants in dirt. He stood and took a moment to brush it off before the oddity of the action stopped him. He pushed his way out of the ferns and headed back down the hill. Rounding two large trees, he hopped over a fallen log, and entered a small clearing. And there they were.
They were indeed making their way down through a thickly wooded part of the Arboretum, towards a small reservoir hidden away near the back, an arduous trek for animals so big, through densely packed trees and formidable underbrush. He could remember following them there only a handful of times. Yet here they were heading for it again. Maggerty remembered the briny river, remembered the mud at the edge of the lake, remembered the disappearance of the eagles. He couldn’t quite put it together in his head, but it all must be related somehow.
He caught up with the herd easily. Some of the older animals were having to roam far to the left and right to find easier openings to pass through and soon he was walking among them, slipping through small passages, keeping out of the paths of the animals. He reached the front of the herd, somehow passing the lead animal without seeing her through the greenery. The sound of rustling and breaking twigs was behind him. He had grown thirsty from the exertion and wanted to get to the reservoir before the animals muddied it with their feet. This was also a new thought, maybe even a new sensibility, and the distraction nearly caused him to stumble into the water as he came through a thick wall of ivy. He walked around the water’s edge to get to the other side before the animals started wading in. He lowered his face and began taking a long, deep drink. He heard a snapping of wood. He looked up briefly as the lead animal broke through the edge of the woods and took her first steps into the cool water.