The Light You Cast - 8. Chapter 8

A whirlwind of uncertainty picked up pace in my mind. He was scared of me. I’d made a huge mistake. I’d practically attacked him with that kiss. It had been unwarranted, unwanted, and he only said it was okay to appease me. He was going to change his mind and I’d be stuck here in Toronto with a teenager to care for, no money, and no place to call home. Heat began to build in my lungs, heart thumping heavily in my chest.

When I heard Jonathan’s feet coming up the stairs, I sat up from my slumped position against the table in the closet-like room. I untangled my fingers from my hair and attempted to straighten it a bit just before he opened the door. He entered with an air of caution, shutting the door softly behind him and hovering near it, brow heavy as he looked me over.

Jonathan came to the table and sat across from me. He folded his hands and fidgeted with his fingers, gaze travelling from my eyes to my lips.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I made you uncomfortable. I--”

I stopped talking when he reached and placed his palm over my hands on the table. “No,” he said. “It’s not that. I’m just trying to think things through.”

I gave a small, uncertain nod and he gave my fingers a squeeze before withdrawing. The upheaval of emotion inside me calmed somewhat, but a million uncertainties still buzzed around in my head like fruit flies.

“You’re going to have to be patient, okay?" He asked. "I need about ten times as long to think when you’re sitting this close to me.”

I gave him a few silent moments before I decided this room was too small. I had a feeling that we’d both think better if we could get out into an open space. I wondered if this city had a park, or somewhere without a bunch of cars rushing by where we could walk. My legs needed to move desperately.

“Were you allowed some time off?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“Yeah. If Michael stays until closing, I can go, ” he said.

“If he stays? Why?” I asked.

“Rayna’s orders. Apparently, he already sold $325 worth of merchandise.”

“He did? But he only just entered the store,” I said, perplexed. “It’s been what, twenty minutes?”

“Just about,” Jonathan affirmed. “And in that time, he helped a pair of girls find authentic flapper dresses. He also upsold them on a string of black pearls and a peacock brooch. Rayna didn’t even have to lift a finger. It was kind of magical, actually.”

I sat back and considered his words, impressed. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Michael’s overconfident for his age and he’s pretty good with people.”

“No kidding. Do you think he’ll really want to stay, though?” Jonathan asked. “We’re open for another four hours and he’s had a long trip.”

“Is she going to pay him?” I asked.

“Sure. And she’ll give him a ride to my place after closing.”

“Then he’s staying,” I replied.

“Alright, then. So if I’m off work, I’d rather get out of here.”

“I was thinking the same thing," I said. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to find a place we can walk around a little. Maybe a park. Do you know anywhere like that?”

“I do,” Jonathan replied. “But I’m sure you don’t want to lug around that suitcase. Let’s ask Rayna to put it in her trunk when she drops Michael off.”

Our plans decided, we headed downstairs.

*****

With my shoulders back and my head held high, I pretended to be more confident than I felt as we stepped out the door to the costume shop. The bell tingled and a parrot flew within lunging distance of the door.

“Flamingo won’t try to escape,” Jonathan assured me when I glanced up at the coral colored bird. “She hates cars and she loves her boyfriend too much.”

“You named your parrot Flamingo?” I asked.

“Rayna has a weird sense of humor,” Jonathan explained.

We began walking down the street. I told myself to act normal, but I couldn’t help tensing up when we came to an intersection. It seemed a stretch to trust that the mass of cars would all come to a stop when the light turned red, but Jonathan plunged ahead anyway. I followed reluctantly, muttering under my breath.

“There’s a park about a mile from my apartment that has more of a naturey feel. I think you’ll like it. We’ll have to hop on the bus. Okay?”

“Sure.” He led me through a maze of streets and we picked up a bus. He seemed to know the system like the back of his hand. I couldn’t help thinking I’d never figure out how all of it worked. Between the streetlights, exhaust fumes, power lines and buildings that reached for the sky, my head began to spin. My false confidence shook and I stared out the bus window, feeling dazed and hopeless.

I didn’t want Jonathan to see me like this. I wanted him to see me as the brave, strong man he expected me to be. The unfairness of it struck me as I reached into my pocket to pull out his handkerchief and wipe the sweat from my face. How could I ever expect to function as a normal human being when just the sight of a crowd of people made me break out in a sweat? He’d never want to put up with me, once he figured out who I really was. I could feel his eyes on me now. He was probably thinking about how weak I was, compared to his expectation for the man who’d saved his life. I didn’t look back at him to confirm, instead adjusting my position and pretending to be fixated on the view out the window.

“This is our stop,” Jonathan said a few moments later. When he touched my elbow, I flinched. Then I grazed my elbow against him when I stood, just to prove I wasn’t as skittish as I must have seemed. I wiped my forehead again as we stepped off the bus and shoved the little square of cloth into my pants pocket, feeling silly for needing it.

“This way,” he said. “Just around the corner.” When he glanced back at me, I could see concern in his eyes. God, but it was embarrassing to have him look at me that way. I stepped up next to him and straightened myself up. We approached a white patch in the cement jungle. A block covered by a thin layer of snow and punctuated by leafless trees and bushy spruce revealed itself. Walking paths curved through the trees, with benches lined up along them here and there. A number of people strolled or jogged along the paths, but the park was decidedly less crowded than the city center we’d come from.

“It’s not exactly wilderness, but it’s about as good as it gets, unless you travel out farther away from the city. What do you think?”

“It’s better,” I said, scanning people’s faces who passed us by. “No cars. That’s good.”

Jonathan looked at me again. I felt like I wanted to shrivel under his gaze. “Are you okay, Ethan?”

“I’m just not used to the city,” I told him.

“Sure. I understand. But…” he hesitated, took a deep breath. Then he reached down and took my hand. He held it firmly. His hand felt cool and strong. So certain. How could one person contain so much calmness and certainty? I didn’t understand it, but it spread into me somehow. Just the grip of his hand sent a wave of relaxation up my arm. My heartbeat slowed down a pace, and a sensation swept over me like warm water. I shuddered, leaning into him slightly.

“Jonathan,” I said.

“Hmm?” he leaned back into me, and we walked slowly down the path. A few people looked at us curiously as they walked by.

“How did you find me?” I asked. “How did you know where I was?”

“Ah, that. It wasn't easy. But you left a few things behind when you ran away,” he said. “One of them was a photograph of you and your family.”

I glanced around to see if anyone was listening. Even if they were, I supposed, they wouldn’t make much sense out of the conversation. Still, I tried to keep my voice down. “My mom and sister,” I said. “I found it in your coat pocket. It was wrapped up in that newspaper article you had.”

“That’s the one. Your last name was written on the back. The Songetay family, it said. And there was a watermark of the photography studio. It took me a lot of research, but I got in touch with your sister. Sophie.”

My knees went loose. I nearly missed a step. “You found Sophie?” I whispered.

Jonathan squeezed my hand tighter, then slid his arm up to hook elbows with me. I stopped worrying about appearing strong. He’d spoken to my sister. The most she’d ever heard from me in many years came from the letters I wrote to her. I hadn’t heard her voice since she was eight years old.

“She told me she kept all the letters you wrote, even though they were going to an old neighbor's address. She told me she’d visit the old house a few times a year to check for them. When I asked her to look at the postmark, I found the city your letters were coming from. A tiny place by the mountains, almost 300 klicks west of Edmonton. So I went.”

“Did she tell you anything else?” I asked, hardly trusting my own voice.

“No,” he replied. “She’s very protective of you, Ethan. The only reason she told me that much was because I promised I’d put you in touch with her when I found you.”

“But you didn’t dig any further? You didn’t find out what -- what I --”

“I tried. I’ll admit it, I owe you that much. But I couldn’t find archives online from local newspapers that far back. I would have had to visit. And I wanted to find you, not dig out info on why you ran away from your childhood home. So I left it alone. I don’t know anything. Satisfied?”

I nodded slowly. We meandered along the pathway for a while in silence, digesting the conversation and mulling over all the new information that had poured out. Jonathan kept his arm intertwined with mine. I found myself thinking about the way it felt against my body. I felt his strength. He had enough to hold me steady, and I was not a small man. He managed it without being muscular. Perhaps it was a deeper strength he used to hold me with.

“What are you thinking right now?” he asked as we rounded a corner. We neared the other end of the park. I could see a stoplight and buildings through the trees.

“You,” I replied. I caught him smile softly through my peripheral vision. It was catching.

“Let’s go home,” he said. “We still have a mile to walk to get to my place.”

I felt a little calmer than before as we walked down the business lined streets. Jonathan pointed out his favorite shops and restaurants, promising I’d get to visit them soon. Not much of it stuck with me. I thought about how it felt to walk with someone else, being so close. I never imagined it would feel this good. I thought two men walking arm-in-arm would draw more of a reaction. But most people didn’t even look at us twice. Small towns were different from big cities in more ways than one, I supposed.

I was also distracted by thoughts of Sophie. I’d be talking to her soon, there would be no avoiding it. If Jonathan had spoken to her, I had no excuse not to contact her. She would be eighteen years old. An adult. I wondered what kind of person she’d become. What her life had been like. If she still regarded me with the fondness she’d shown me when we were children, or if she resented me for leaving her behind all those years ago.

Soon we reached a four-story red-brick complex. He led me into a worn but clean lobby and up a flight of stairs to the second floor. A row of doors greeted us when we exited the stairwell and we found apartment 223. The brass numbers were set diagonally on the door, the three a little crooked.

“It’s not much, but it’s all mine,” he said. He jangled his keys into the door handle and pushed it open.

His apartment was airy and filled with sunlight. By the door stood an overfull coat rack, followed by two solid bookcases, one filled to the brim with books and the other with newspapers, both topped with ivy vines. A set of three abstract paintings hung on the wall behind a glass kitchen table. Black marks scattered across a white canvas brought to mind birds against a cloudy sky.

In one corner, a big desk was piled with manilla folders and additional stacks of newspapers. And in the small living room, his television was huge. I had trouble not staring at the gaping black screen and its slick black boxes that dominated the room. A wooden floor shone beneath my feet, covered by a patterned area rug that matched the furniture.

“Tea? Coffee?” Jonathan asked.

“Tea sounds good,” I said.

I sat down on the plush beige couch. My dirt-stained jeans and worn flannel shirt didn't fit into a place like this, with everything so clean, modern and bright. I began to wonder how I’d fit into his life here. Maybe I’d find some work that paid under-the-table, but I’d never be able to afford a place like this. In fact, I wondered how he afforded it. His income from the costume shop couldn’t be all that much, could it? It seemed impolite to ask, so I held my tongue.

Jonathan returned with two steaming cups and set them on the coffee table, sitting down in a chair next to the couch.

“Your place is really nice,” I said.

“Thanks. It’s only got one bedroom, so between you and Michael it’s going to get tight. But we’ll work it out.”

I cringed inwardly. “I'm really sorry for imposing on you,” I said.

“You’re not imposing, Ethan," he assured me. "I want you to be here. Now drink. Relax.”

I picked up the tea. Earl Gray filled my senses and I took a sip. He’d added a little something else, I noticed. “You put whiskey in it?”

“Yup. It’s called a hot toddy. Like it?”

I let out a small laugh. “Sure. You could have warned me, though.”

“You need it. I really thought you were going to have a panic attack on the bus back there.” He must have anticipated what I was about to say, because he continued before the words even left my mouth. “Don’t apologize, its okay. You’ve been through a lot. And I really want you to feel at home.”

I nodded and took another drink. Its warmth spread into my stomach, branching out into my limbs.

“Well, you should probably know that I don’t really have a plan,” I admitted. “I wanted to save more money before I came, so I could arrange my own place to stay. But everything happened so fast, and Michael needed help. I feel like I’m flying by the seat of my pants.”

“What happened to Michael, anyway?” Jonathan asked. He reached up and touched his own eye in sympathy. “I noticed the bruise he had here.”

“It was his dad,” I explained. Just saying it made a flash of anger sear through me. “Michael can’t hold his tongue and Mr. Jameson can’t hold his liquor or his temper. It’s a bad combination. But the night we left, it was the worst I’d seen them get. I had to pull Mr. Jameson off of him. Then I lost control and -- well, it was another nightmare to add to a long list of nightmares.”

“It’s not so different from what happened with me,” Jonathan said softly. “Why do you keep moving in with people’s families? Why not live on your own for a while?”

“I’d have to use my real name and social security number,” I explained. “Same reason I can’t get a real job. I always work for cash.”

Jonathan took a long drink from his mug, watching me through the steam. “Why?” he asked.

I wanted to tell him. I did. But the second I even considered it, brick and mortar walls slapped themselves together around my throat. They built up so high they reached deep into my brain, affecting my entire nervous system. I could feel myself stiffen. My vision changed, growing dark around the edges. My heart palpitated. My cup of tea began to shake and I brought it to my lips, taking a gulp to keep it from spilling.

“It’s ugly. An ugly story,” I croaked.

“You keep saving these boys from their fathers,” Jonathan continued. Though his voice remained so gentle, the words were insistent, demanding something of me I wasn’t sure I could give. “But what about you? Who was there to save you?”

I finished the tea and set the cup on the table. I tried to do it softly but my hands wouldn’t allow it, so it clamoured and nearly tipped over. What did Jonathan want from me? Did he want me to break down right here in front of him? No, I demanded. I needed to be strong, not weak. Tough, not soft. I was the one who did the saving, not the other way around.

But it wasn’t good enough. The one person who needed saving the most, the one person I should have stood up for, was dead. She had been the kindest person on Earth, someone who deserved protection far more than anyone I’d ever met. I should have been able to save her. I would have traded Jonathan and Michael for her in a heartbeat, if I could just go back in time. I pushed my hands into my hair and squeezed, tugging at the roots.

Then her image came to me, unbidden. It worked its way through the bricks. First her soft round face appeared, distorted and purple. Warm brown eyes came next, bloodshot, one bulging from her head. Her blood made a dark shining pool against the pale yellow linoleum floor of our kitchen.

“I didn’t save her,” I heard myself say. “I let him kill her.”

Jonathan said something,but I couldn't quite make it out.

“They’re both dead," I continued. Finally given room to push through the walls that had stood for so long, my words came out like a torrent. "And it’s my fault. No one can find out who I am. They’ll know what I did.”

“You were just a kid, Ethan. How could it be your fault?”

“Because I killed him. I lost control and I stabbed him in the face. But it was too late.”

“No one could blame you for losing control,” he said “No one.”

“They’ll put me in jail," I argued. "I won’t survive there. I’ll turn into someone I’m not.”

“So you put yourself in jail instead? You’ve been alone for ten years. That’s a harsh sentence, Ethan. You deserve a chance," he said. Then his arms were around me. I took in his smell, the warmth and strength of his embrace surrounding me.

"Come on now. Hug me back. Show me you’re here. I’m worried about you.”

I hugged him back.

“See? I’ve got you. I won’t give up on you.”

“You should. You’re not safe around me,” I muttered. “I’m a killer.”

“I don’t believe that for a second," he said against my ear. "I know who you are. You’re the kindest, gentlest person I’ve ever met. You love nature and you write poems. You’d never go hunting because you hate hurting animals. You’d probably be a goddamn vegan if you could, right? Well now that you’re in Toronto, you can if you want.”

I let out a laugh. Then I held him a little tighter and squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t want to let go,” I said softly.

“Then don’t.”

“Jonathan...” I whispered. Lips grazed the side of my neck. Warm, strong hands embraced me, engulfing me. He kissed the back of my ear, and I trembled inside. It felt so good. I wanted him so much, enough that it overwhelmed me and little beads of tears pressed through my tightly closed eyes. I relaxed into him, wondering if it was possible to melt into him like heat into candle wax, to breathe his breath, to feel him from the inside.

I kissed Jonathan’s forehead and the soft spot beneath his ear, then next to his mouth. Jonathan closed his eyes and his lips landed fully against mine, parted by a soft tongue until I moved my tongue back lightly, tasting his delicate flesh.

"Ethan," he said against my breath. "I want you to be happy."

I kissed him again. Our noses touched with a light brush. The feeling of skin, I thought, so exquisite. So amazing. Especially as his hand trailed over my chest, over my stomach, around my hips. I shivered with the sensation. A tiny sound trickled from my throat.

“C'mere," he said, and pulled my frame in even closer. Blood stirred my groin and my jaw trembled, frowning with need. Our tongues twisted, mine hot and Jonathan's cool, refreshing, sweet, like every other goddamn thing about him. I gasped when Jonathan pulled back, our mouths suddenly empty again.

"Go take a shower," he said with a sad smile. "And come in my room when you’re done, you can wear something of mine."

I nodded dumbly. He took my hand and led me to the bathroom, where he deposited me and left me feeling like a complete stranger to myself. I stood there with a swirling mind for a full minute before I was able to go in and turn on the shower.

This time, I didn’t want cold water. I wanted it hot. So hot it would turn my skin red and cover me with steam. I let it pour over me until my head began to clear, and I took the time to slowly scrub away what felt like years of soil from my skin.