The Light You Cast - 10. Chapter 10

Blue numbers on the TV stand glowed against my sandy, tired eyes. 5:15 AM. I yawned and put my arm over my eyes, observing with my ears instead. The television made a thin high pitched sound just barely in my range of hearing, even though it was off. The refrigerator whirred softly. Michael inhaled through his nose with a tiny snore at the end of each breath.

Focusing on the sounds around me normally helped me drift off. Instead, they irritated me. Between the noise and the remnants of my disturbing nightmare, I couldn’t relax enough to drift off again. I resigned myself to being awake.

Careful not to disturb Michael, I pushed myself up and tiptoed over to the kitchen. Jonathan had shown me where the coffee supplies were last night. Maybe a cup would help me feel more human. I found a filter and a can of coffee grounds, adding them to the coffee machine in the dark. Soon it added a whir and drip to the electric symphony. A rich, earthy aroma filled the apartment.

The pot had about a centimeter of liquid in it when I heard Jonathan’s door open down the hall. I leaned against the counter and gripped the edge, anticipation rushing in. My heartbeat crowded out the other noises, but I distinctly heard his feet padding down the hallway. His shadow approached me before he did, lit from behind by his bedroom light casting into the hallway.

“Morning,” he whispered. He came up to the counter and mimicked my position. His lean torso reflected a faint line of yellow light from the hallway. His elbow brushed against mine, leading to a shiver of desire that prickled across my body.

“Good morning,” I whispered back. I wondered if my voice sounded as shaky as it felt.

“You’re up early. Did you make enough for me?”

“There should be plenty.”

Last night’s desire to grab him and hold onto him tightly reawakened in the moment of silence that followed. I wondered how long I could stand being so close to him without giving in. A ghostly shadow of the nightmare-wolf echoed in my mind. I needed to control myself. The coffee pot continued dripping, oblivious to the rush of emotions distorting my thoughts.

“I barely slept last night,” Jonathan said.

“Yeah, me too.”

“What about Michael?”

“Out like a light. As far as I know he didn’t wake up once.”

“Well, at least one of us will function today.” Jonathan sighed and pushed himself from the counter, reaching up to grab two coffee cups from the cupboard. My eyes remained glued to him, tracing the graceful lines of his body.

“What time do you have to leave for work?” I asked.

“Ten. The shop doesn’t open until one, but I put in a lot of work on alterations in the morning. I’ll be off at seven. She’ll have Michael work the same hours for now, I’m sure.”

The coffee pot sputtered, causing Michael to groan a little in the living room. I cringed at the sound and quickly flipped off the power switch on the machine. I didn’t want him to wake up just yet.

“Let’s take it into my room,” Jonathan whispered. “So we can talk without bothering him.”

I nodded. We filled our cups and I followed him into his room. The light made me squint, a halo forming around Jonathan as he sat on the end of the bed. I closed the door and turned to face him, eyes adjusting slowly.

He patted the empty space next to him. I sat down and we sat drinking our coffee in tired silence. I could feel the heat from his body next to mine, and the magic of it seemed to grow stronger the longer we sat there together. Normally I hated tension, but this type was distinctly different from what I was used to. Like sunlight, I felt I could bask in it for hours without complaint, even as it grew uncomfortably hot.

“I don’t want to go to work today,” Jonathan sighed after a while. “I’d rather spend the day with you and show you around the city.”

I smiled into my mug. “When are your days off?” I asked.

“Monday and Tuesday. Today’s only Friday.”

“Ah. That’s too bad.”

With my eyes, I traced the outline of his nose, then the curve of his jaw, finding it hard to look away. I nearly gave in and reached out to touch him, but I took another drink of coffee instead.

“Will you be lonely?” he asked.

“I’ll keep myself occupied,” I said. “I need to find work. And I have to help Michael find a place to stay. He’s scared to talk to his family here. So I thought I’d try and scout the place out for him. And then there’s Sophie.”

Jonathan nodded. He downed the last of his coffee and set his mug down on the floor at the foot of the bed. I did the same.

“To be honest,” I continued, “I have no idea where to start. I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

“Well, I can help with one thing,” Jonathan offered. “Don’t worry about work yet. My articles generate business for people, so I should be able to call in a favor or two. Give me a few days to call around, and I can probably find something for you.”

“Really? That would be incredible.”

“It’s nothing. I’d do a lot more for you, if I could.”

Our eyes met then, and I lost myself in a sea of green that drew me in like a moth to the light.

“You’ve already done more than I could ever hope, Jonathan,” I said quietly.

Another image of the wolf flashed in my mind, making me flinch slightly. Its shadowy claws fought against the a swelling heart that beat at my ribcage like a caged animal.

Then he reached out for me. Grazed the side of my face with the backs of his fingers, uncurled them against my neck. A wound-up string of want tightened and thrummed inside me, resonating through my entire body.

“Are you sure --” I started hoarsely.

“Yes,” he said, cutting me off.

I closed the space between us. Our lips grazed softly at first, the scent of coffee hot on our mingling breath. His fingers tightened on the back of my neck. Deeper, we pressed into a heated kiss that melted my mind into syrup. I touched his hair, his neck, his collarbone. Our tongues met. My fingers trembled against his skin.

Breathless, I drew back momentarily from the kiss. Our noses still touched, foreheads pressed together. “I don’t know how to handle this,” I said, eyes soaking in the pink hue of his lips. “I was resigned to being alone.”

He replied with a kiss so deep that it drew the pang of sorrow right out of my chest. My insides stirred and grew hot, embers glowing deep and restless. I gripped him harder as pangs of lust rippled through me. I couldn’t catch my breath, but I didn’t care.

His fingers played at the hem of my shirt and I let him draw it over my head.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, making another wave of want wash through me. He trailed his fingers down my chest. “I couldn’t help myself. I just want to --” He made a sound in his throat, a frown of need drawing in his brow. Then he pushed me down on the bed. Cool sheets met my skin and I shivered. He laid his head against my chest, his thigh pressed up against the hardness between my legs. I could feel him too, straining against my hip. But instead of taking it further, he wrapped his arms around me and held me so tight my entire body throbbed.

I held him back, laying my cheek on the top of his head.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said against my skin. “I won’t let you be.”

I nodded.

“Can we just lay here like this for a while?” he asked. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said softly. “This is perfect.”

He hummed his reply, and I could feel his smile against my chest. “You make me feel safe,” he said. “In a way I can’t explain.”

“Good,” I said. “Because if I didn’t, Rayna would probably kill me.”

Jonathan laughed, but his words made a worm of doubt wriggle in my chest. I swallowed it down. Maybe later he’d change his mind, but if he felt safe with me now, then I wanted nothing more than to let it be.

A few minutes later, we shifted up higher on the bed so we could lay against the pillows and draw the covers over us. Then we returned to the exact same position, wrapped up in each other so close it was hard to tell what belonged to who. I felt drunk, drowsy, my head filled with cotton. The cup of coffee held no power over us at all. He fell asleep first, and I followed soon after.

*****

We had a quick breakfast of eggs and toast. Michael had given us a suspicious glance when we came out of Jonathan’s room together -- he probably wondered why I lied to him about being just friends. But he shrugged it off while we ate. While not without reservation, he seemed to treat Jonathan with less coldness than he had the night before.

And then they were gone. Out the door. I found myself pacing through the apartment, my heart aching so hard that I didn’t quite know how to handle it. I didn’t realize how painful it would feel to be alone after so much closeness. If I could have stayed wrapped up with him in bed forever, I probably would have. But he had to leave.

Eventually I took a shower. Under its crystalline drops, I touched my lips and pressed my fingers to the places where he'd kissed me -- my neck, my jawline, behind my ear. Then I drew my hand down lower. I allowed thoughts of him to flood through me unhindered. The release came fast and hard, racking my body with a pleasure that shook me to my core. It took me a while to recover my breath, but when I was done, I felt much calmer.

After I was dry and dressed for the day, I decided to read through his articles for a while. I took a stack of papers from the shelf and sat at the table. It didn’t take long to find his article. His picture showed in a little square, along with his name. Jonathan Elwood. Those two simple things alone made me feel relief, like I was somehow getting more oxygen in my lungs. I began to read. And once I started, I didn’t stop for two full hours.

He wrote in clear, smooth language that was easy to read. His stories covered a myriad of different people. Most overcame incredible odds, only to bring joy to the little worlds they had created. An elderly man, orphaned when he was only nine years old, started an arts collective for foster youth with his retirement savings. A young woman rose from poverty to start her own dog grooming business, serving shelter dogs for free alongside paying customers. A couple emigrated from Iran, opening a successful corner store and donating some of their profits to refugees.

The stories of hope and kindness filled me like the meal he had cooked last night. If people like this really existed in Toronto, maybe I could find it in myself to want a place here, after all.

The stories also gave me courage. I found that I actually wanted to go out into the city. I wanted to see it through a fresh new perspective - the way I imagined he saw things.

According to the address Michael left for me and the map on Jonathan’s laptop, Jim and Rachel Gordan, Michael’s relatives, lived in a house about six miles away. For a moment, I considered figuring out a bus route, but no amount of perspective made that tangled mess seem any more appealing.

I could handle the walk. But I needed to call them before I showed up at their door. Jonathan didn’t have a landline, so I hoped I would find a payphone on the way, although I didn’t have high hopes. Apparently there weren’t many of those left in the city. Everyone used cell phones out here, where reception was steady and strong. I was running low on funds, only a hundred twenty dollars left to my name. That would be enough to get a cheap no-contract mobile phone, if I had to resort to that.

I picked up the spare key Jonathan left for me on the counter, put on a brave face, and went out the door.

*****

The city hit me like a punch to the gut. Exhaust fumes crowded out my sense of smell. People walked in all directions. Massive buildings stretched out as far as the eye could see. And the noise. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk and waited as my senses adjusted to the onslaught. People parted around me on either side as if I were just a pole in their way.

After a few minutes of breathing, I found myself adjusting. My thoughts settled down, body relaxing. I wanted to look at these people the way Jonathan did. They couldn’t all be angry, bitter, or cruel the way I always expected them to be. They had stories and lives, hopes and dreams.

I began to walk again, feeling a twinge of hope that I could manage this. Twelve blocks rolled by easily under my feet. It wasn’t so bad, when I looked at things from this new angle. I even felt pleasant.

I didn’t see a hint of a payphone, so I stepped into a cell phone shop along the way. Accessories cluttered the shelves and displays. I proceeded carefully -- if I turned too quickly, I’d probably knock a pile of chargers to the floor with my arm. A quick glance around didn’t give me much hope of finding what I needed.

“Can I help you?” a skinny girl at the counter asked. She was probably only a few years older than Michael, looking bored and forlorn with red hair and cat-eye glasses with heavy black rims.

“Do you have anything cheap? No contract?” I asked.

“Price range?” she asked.

“The lowest cost possible?”

“Sure. I think the best we can do for you is this for $40,” she pulled out a box and handed it to me. A flip-phone. A relic. Perfect. The less modern, the better. “The battery life and reception are actually really good. It’s just hard to text, and you can’t use it for maps or anything like that. You can add on a 30-day plan for $30.”

“Sounds good. I’ll take it. Can you show me how to set it up?”

I paid for it in cash and she helped me get it working. Then she showed me how to text, by pressing the numbers multiple times. It seemed like a hassle, but I’d get used to it.

I might have only $40 to my name, but I was adapting to city life, I told myself. I thanked the shop attendant, took my prize around the corner, and proudly leaned against the wall. Things were looking up.

I texted Jonathan first. It took me about ten full minutes to type out my message. “Hi. This is Ethan. I got a phone. :)”

I needed to call the Gordans next, but I planned it out in my head first. I would listen carefully for any signs this could be a bad place for Michael. I’d make absolutely certain he’d be safe there.

Feeling cautious, I dialed the number Michael had left me for the Gordans’ place. The phone rang a few times before someone picked up.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice sounded, slightly wavery with age.

“Hi, is this Mrs. Gordon?”

“That’s me,” she replied.

“My name’s Ethan. I’m a friend of Michael, Anette Jameson’s son?”

“Oh, dear. Yes, she told me everything that happened. That poor boy! How is he doing? Is he alright?”

I relaxed a little. So far, she sounded like a kind person. “He’s doing great, actually. He already found a job. But he needs to enroll in school.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news. Thank you so much for looking after him.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. There’s a problem, though. He’s sleeping on the floor in a small apartment. I don’t think it’s a good place for him. At least, not for long.”

“Yes, we suspected he’d need a place to stay. Why don’t you bring him by? He’ll be comfortable here. We have plenty of room. Joe and I are a little lonely these days. Our youngest moved out five years ago and we only see them on holidays.”

“I’d like that. But he’s a little nervous,” I told her. “Would it be alright with you if I come see it first? Just so I can reassure him it’s a safe place?”

She made a tsking sound and sighed into the phone. “Such a good friend. Yes, please come by. What time?”

“I can be there by three, if that works for you.”

“Yes, dear. Just knock on the door.”

“Will your husband be home?”

“He’s out running errands. But he should be home by then. I expect you’ll want to interview him a little. After what Michael’s been through I’d expect no less. But I can tell you, Joe is a sweet man. I should know, I’ve been married to him for thirty years.”

“I’m sure he is, Mrs. Gordon. Thank you. See you at three, then?”

“Yes. See you then. Goodbye for now.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and smiled to myself, feeling another rush of confidence swell inside me. And to add another layer of goodness to an already great day, my phone buzzed just before I started the long walk to the Gordans’. It was a text from Jonathan.

“You just made my day. I’ll call you right when I’m off work.”

I could practically hear his voice through the words he typed. I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel higher than I already did, but there could be a first time for anything, I supposed.

*****

The Gordons’ house seemed large for two people. They had a snow-sprinkled front yard lined with shrubs and sporting two hearty oak trees. A second story rested on two columns of multi-colored brick. Soft yellow paint gave the home an inviting appeal.

I wiped a layer of sweat from my face before I knocked on the Gordans’ heavy wooden door. It might have been freezing cold outside, but I’d taken the walk at a decent pace, and it felt muggy inside my coat.

A woman opened the door. Smile lines wrinkled the corners of her eyes behind a thick pair of glasses. Her grey-brown hair was pinned up in a loose bun, and she wore a matching set of purple sweatpants and a sweater. I felt an instant warmth radiate from her.

“Is that you, Ethan?” she asked, ushering me in with a wave of her hand.

“Hello, Mrs. Gordon. It’s me.”

“Come in, come in. Hand me your coat. And take off your shoes, if you would, please. Carpets.”

I passed my coat over to her as I stepped into the foyer. There was a bench under a row of hooks with several coats hanging, and shoes lined up on the brick floor beneath. I untied my boots and slid them off, more than a little ashamed to reveal my oldest wool socks with a hole in one heel and the toe of the other sticking through. I adjusted my socks so it wasn’t so noticeable while Mrs. Gordon busied herself with my coat and pretended not to notice.

“Is that him?” a man’s voice called from another room.

“Yes, dear,” she called back. I walked over her cushy carpet, following her into a kitchen that looked large, well-worn, and stuffed full of pots, pans, and cookbooks.

Mr. Gordon sat at the table, which was set for tea. The chairs were a hodgepodge of different styles, but each was adorned with a frilly red-checkered cushion. He sat at the far end peering up at me over a yellow manual of some kind. On his head rested a flat cap, which he took off when he saw me, revealing a head of thinning gray hair, disheveled from the cap. He stood up and reached out a weathered hand.

I gave him a firm handshake, looking him in the eye. I would have liked to think that I could read a man by now, but I’d misjudged so many times that I no longer trusted myself. Still, his eyes looked friendly to me -- crinkled with a hint of a smile, hazy with age, and sparkling with curiosity.

“You must be Ethan,” he said, letting my hand go. “Take a seat. Have some tea. How do you like Toronto so far?”

I sat down, feeling a touch of rigidity and edginess grip me. “I’m not much of a city-dweller,” I said. “But I’m warming up to it. There seem to be a lot of good people living here.”

He touched his cheek beneath his eye then pointed at me. “A good observation. People here take their time to warm up, but they’re good as gold once you get to know them. You coming to join us, Rachel?”

“Almost,” she said from the kitchen. “Just wanted to plate this little snack I made for us.”

I observed her keenly. Mrs. Jameson had always seemed uncomfortable in her own home, and when her husband spoke to her, she’d responded quickly with a forced pleasantry that never seemed to fit her demeanor. I didn’t see signs of anything like that in Mrs. Gordon. She appeared to be completely at ease. So far.

She brought over a plate full of cookies. They appeared to be filled with raspberry jam and coated in powdered sugar. “I made thumbprint cookies,” she said proudly. She set them on the table and joined us, pouring herself a cup of tea before passing the pot on to her husband, who poured mine first before pouring his own.

“They look delicious,” I said, and I meant it.

“Go on and take one,” she said. She watched me for my reaction as I took one from the plate. I humored her by taking a bite. It was delicious. Buttery and crumbly. I gave her a hum and she smiled brightly.

“Everyone loves her baking,” Mr. Gordon said, leaning towards me with a conspiratorial twinkle to his eye. “But she only bakes for guests. If I want any, I have to invite the neighbors over.”

“Now that’s not true, Jim. I made you scones for breakfast just last week. Remember?”

“Of course, of course,” he said and winked at me. “They were lovely.”

I found myself relaxing as we continued with the tea, my anxiety melting away. These two seemed so at ease with each other that I couldn’t help feeling warm and safe, too.

After tea, Mr. Gordon showed me around the house. There were two guest rooms, a sewing room, and a family room with a large brick fireplace. Their television was moderate in size and set off to the side. It was trumped by a set of huge bookcases overloaded with books. A big soft couch sat before the fireplace, but it didn’t seem worn. Not like the two lounge chairs that were obviously where they spent a lot of time. Each one had a table next to it, a book or two stacked on top, and a lamp to read by.

The garage held a workbench and woodworking tools, where Mr. Gordon was working on a step-stool. And the backyard, while covered in snow for now, seemed like a perfect place for summer games and barbecues. I could picture Michael being very happy here. But I had a few questions left to ask before the decision was final.

“Michael tends to make friends easily. How do you think you’d feel if he invited them over now and then?” I asked.

Mrs. Gordon laughed at the question, as if it was silly. “We have people visit all the time. We’d be much too lonely if we didn’t. As long as they’re respectful he can have them over every day if he wants. But I know it’s hard to just jump in and trust people. Especially with the trouble he’s had with his father. Tell him to come and visit. He can stay for a night just to try it out, and if he isn’t comfortable here, then we’ll understand. We don’t want to pressure him. But we do miss having a full house.”

I couldn’t think of anything more to say. It was too good to be true, to be honest. After I thanked them for everything and went on my way, I felt a bit of sadness creep in that I couldn’t place at first.

A two hour walk was enough time to help me sort it out, however. They were at peace. Their home was a place of kindness and comfort. I almost wished it was me going to stay with them, instead of Michael. Or at least, that I could somehow go back in time and take my younger self to them. It would have saved me a lot of suffering.

By the time I reached Jonathan’s apartments, I was worn out from walking. I felt thirsty and tired. But it had been a good day’s work, and I felt more content, perhaps, than I ever had before.

I unlocked the apartment door and settled into the couch with a glass of water and another of Jonathan’s articles, determined to read every last one.