Chapter 9
We didn't speak much as we got in the car and left the detention center. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer.
"You have feelings for him, don't you?"
Asher looked surprised. "What? Who?"
"The Pope. Who do you think? Caleb."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. Stop avoiding the question."
"Do you have feelings for Jake?"
"Where did that come from?"
"The same place your question came from. I can tell what's going on."
"Then please fill me in because I have no idea what's going on. All I asked was whether or not you have feelings for Caleb. I'm not even saying I have a problem with it. It was just obvious from the way you talk about him, your body language back there, everything."
"So you admit you have feelings for Jake?"
"I didn't say that! Jake and I had a good talk last night. We're going to just be friends. I don't need any kind of relationship right now. I told you that." We were quiet for a minute, then I said, "You still haven't answered my question."
"I thought you had answered it for me." He sighed. "The truth is I don't know how to answer it. You say you're confused, well so am I. I have some sort of feelings for Caleb but I haven't figured them out yet; if they're attraction, friendship, protectiveness, or what. Like you said earlier, we're both pretty inexperienced in this whole area."
"Well, if you do like someone else, whether it's Caleb or whoever, I want you to know that I'll be ok with it."
Asher looked over at me for a second before answering. "I'm not sure how that makes me feel," he said quietly. I didn't say anything.
After a few minutes Asher asked if I would mind if we stopped by to see Will on our way back. I told him it was fine with me, I had been intending to call him anyway since I hadn't seen Darin since the day we brought him home from the hospital.
"He's grown a lot," Asher said as he turned the car in the direction of Will's house. We were both visibly relieved at the introduction of a safe topic of conversation.
"How much could he have grown, he's only a month old?"
"Well to hear Will talk you'd think he was going off to college with us this fall."
I laughed. "How's Will doing?"
"Ok, I guess. I think the baby is really keeping him worn out. I know he still isn't painting."
"Who would have time? I meant more in an emotional sense though. Is he still in mourning over Aidan?"
"I don't know. He hasn't mentioned him lately and I'm not about to bring it up." Avoidance seemed to be something we were too good at.
We pulled into Will's driveway and Asher turned the car off. His mom's car was gone, which meant she was probably at work, but another car sat in its place.
"It looks like he has company," Asher said with his hand still on the key in the ignition. "Maybe we should just go and I'll come back another time."
Before we could make a decision Will opened the front door. His face broke into a wide smile when he saw us.
"I thought I heard a car pull up," he said. "I thought maybe it was Mom with the groceries."
"Hey, Will," Asher said as he climbed out of the car. "If you have company we can always come back later."
"No, it's ok. Come on in."
We followed him into the house and into his living room. A slightly familiar young man sat on the couch holding the baby. The guy was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with sandals. I had a feeling that I should know him but I couldn't place him in the present setting. There was a slight sense that he seemed out of place.
"You remember Bryan, right?" Will asked. It was clear by the way he said it that he fully expected us to know him. Asher must have been as blank as I was, though, since an awkward silence stretched out, making it obvious that we did not, in fact, remember Bryan.
"He performed my wedding?" Will prompted. I was surprised at how easily he mentioned the wedding, without any outward sign of grief.
"Oh!" I said, suddenly placing him, "You look different when you're not in a suit."
Bryan laughed. "I get that a lot."
"You're the pastor at the Metropolitan Community Church here on the Shore, right?" Asher added, proving he remembered now as well.
"Right," Bryan confirmed, "And if I remember correctly you're Killian and Asher. I've heard a lot about you guys. How's your dad, Killian?"
I blinked in surprise until I realized what he meant, "You mean Adam?"
"Yeah, did I mess that up?" He smiled in an appealing, self-depreciating manner. "Aren't you Killian Connelly, Adam's son?"
"Well my name is Killian Kendall, actually. I'm not really Adam's son, although he's been like a dad to me; closer than a dad, really. He's good. Him and Steve, that's his partner, are buying a house and turning it into a bed and breakfast."
"I've met Steve. Where's the house?"
"In Chicone."
"Not too far from here then."
"How do you know Adam and Steve, just from the wedding?"
"No, I knew Adam before the wedding. That's why he called on me. The gay community is small enough here on the Shore that if you are out and at all social you pretty much know everyone. Hey, I don't mean to be dominating the conversation. You didn't come here to see me. I'll get going and let you guys talk." He stood up and handed Darin over to Will. We made a token protest but he waved them away and let himself out.
I waited until I heard his car door slam before I spun around to face Will. "So, does the Reverend Bryan come around often?" I said with a teasing grin. Asher carefully took Darin from Will's arms and settled in the middle of the sofa.
"A few times," Will said blushing, "It doesn't mean anything. He's just making visits, you know, like for the church."
I cocked an eyebrow, a trick I'd learned from Adam. "How often do you attend his church?"
"Well, I've never been..."
"And does he make all his visits dressed like that?"
"It's a relaxed church," Will said defensively.
I burst out laughing. "I'm just teasing you, Will. Don't get your boxers in a bunch. Although, you never know, maybe he is interested in you."
"I'm not ready for that yet, Killian. Don't rush things."
"Ok, ok. So how are you feeling?" I sat down on one side of Asher and took Darin's tiny hand in mine. Will plopped down on the other end of the sofa with a sigh.
"Tired! He's such a good baby, but if only he would sleep through the night, just one night. Mom tries to help out as much as possible but she works all kinds of shifts so she needs her sleep more."
"Are you painting?" I said even though I thought I knew the answer.
"Are you kidding? I don't have enough energy to walk to the mailbox some days."
"Maybe you should get some help," Asher suggested.
"Like what, a nanny? I can't afford that."
"Well if you had, like, a daycare person you could get a job, maybe start painting again. Nikki would still sell your stuff, right?"
He shrugged, "Maybe, I don't know. I don't know if I want to paint anymore and I don't know what else I would do. You guys want something to drink?" It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. While he was doing better I didn't think he was completely healed yet by a long shot.
"Sure," Asher said, accepting the dodge.
"Killian, would you give me a hand?"
"Ok," I said, caught a little off guard. I followed Will into his kitchen. "Are you and Asher back together?" he asked me as he pulled three glasses out of the kitchen cabinet.
"No," I said quickly.
"I didn't know with the two of you arriving together and all."
"My car is out of commission and Asher wanted me to meet someone so we drove over together. I could have driven Adam's car but since we were going to the same place it seemed silly."
"Well, at least you're getting along. You're going to try the whole friend thing?"
"I guess. It's awkward. Sometimes I feel myself slipping back into habits. I have to keep reminding myself not to kiss him or put my arm around him, little things. I think it's over between us, though. We've both started moving on."
"Well, I know I'm probably a little biased, seeing as how Asher is my cousin and all, but I think you guys were great together. I hope you work things out."
"I'm not sure there's anything to work out," I said as he handed me a full glass of iced tea. "What about you?"
"What about me?" he pulled a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge and poured it into the glasses.
"Are you moving on?"
"I don't follow."
"From Aidan, are you ready to move on? Bryan seems like a great guy."
"Don't start that again, Killian. I told you, he's just being nice. It's part of his job. You know, visit the less fortunate and all that."
"What if it's more than that? You can't hold onto this forever. Aidan gone, he would have wanted you to keep living your life."
"Can we drop this please?" he said. He handed me two of the glasses and gave me a gentle shove towards the living room. He followed with the third glass.
I talked Asher into letting me have a turn holding the baby as Will caught us up to date on his progress. It seems he was starting to smile when he heard Will's or his mom's voice and he loved Veggie Tales. I'd never been around babies so this didn't sound like much of an achievement to me, but Will seemed convinced he was raising the next Einstein so I tried to look suitably impressed. He was certainly a beautiful baby. He had inherited his parents' fair hair and blue eyes. I couldn't help but think as I looked into his tiny face that I hoped that was all he inherited from his biological parents.
Soon it was time to go so I handed Darin back to Will and we left. We didn't talk much on the way home, I drifted in and out of that semi-hypnotic state that it's so easy to fall into in a warm day in the car; not quite sleep but close to it. I arrived home to find an empty house. I called everyone's name a few times and, getting no answer, went up to my room with a shrug.
I decided to write down as many details as I could remember from my interview with Caleb while it was still relatively fresh on my mind. I took out the notes I'd scribbled while there and used them when my memory stuck. I tried to accurately record his answers to my fumbled questions, including his expressions and tone (or lack thereof). I also included my impressions, whatever they were worth.
I had just finished writing when I heard the front door open. "Hello?" Steve called out, "Anyone home?"
"I'm up here," I yelled. "I'll be right down."
"Hey, Kill," he said as I trotted down the stairs, "Feel up to driving to Chicone with me?"
"What for?" I asked.
"I just came from seeing Victoria. Since we have so much work that needs to be done to convert the house to a bed and breakfast she's given me the go ahead to start seeing what needs to be done. To do that I need to get in there with someone who knows what they're doing. I'm supposed to meet a contractor there this afternoon. Since Adam won't be back from taking Kane to his mother's until late and I didn't know if you'd want to come along; assuming you don't already have plans."
I didn't. I'd forgotten that Adam was driving Kane up to his mother's today. Adam was driving right back but Kane would be staying for a few weeks. That meant my options were staying home alone or going with Steve to the haunted house - tough choice. Sometimes it really sucked to be single.
"I guess I'll go with you."
"Don't sound so excited, sport. Let's get going then."
The drive up to Chicone was filled with a constant stream of chatter about color swaths, fabric samples, paint combinations, security concerns, licenses, promotional plans, and landscaping. Needless to say, Steve did most of the talking.
By the time we arrived in Chicone the morning mugginess had become oppressive as heavy dark clouds descended in a gathering darkness. The wind picked up, and as we climbed out of the car I thought I heard a distant rumble of thunder.
"It was a dark and stormy night," I mumbled under my breath.
"What did you say?" Steve asked.
"Nothing," I said as I followed him to the front door. Steve pulled a red plastic key ring out of his pocket and unlocked the heavy, wood-paneled door. We stepped into the foyer and I made sure I carefully closed the door. Might as well spare Amalie the trouble I thought darkly.
"It's incredible, isn't it?" Steve said sounding like a kid on Christmas morning.
The entrance was quite spectacular, all paneled walls and hardwood floors, dusty now, but it was easy to picture what it would look like polished and sparkling with the multicolored light cast through the stained-glass transom above the door. This room alone was almost as big as our entire living room where we lived now. I leaned back against the door and allowed my mind's eye to take me back to what it must have looked like when Amalie first stepped through this very door. What did she think when she saw the splendor and elegance? Was she used to such extravagance or was she as impressed as I felt?
My ruminations were interrupted by a sudden rapping on the door that sent vibrations through my whole body. I leaped away with a yelp, thoughts of Amalie filling my fertile imagination. Steve gave me a funny look. "That's probably the contractor," he said. I got the impression that he was trying to suppress a smile.
He opened the door to reveal a very ordinary, very alive middle-aged man wearing paint stained jeans and a denim work shirt. A tape-measure was clipped to his belt and he wore heavy work boots. He held out a rough hand with a friendly smile.
"I'm Reid Schubel, you must be Mr. Redden."
"Please, call me Steve. It's nice to meet you, Reid. This is Killian Kendall."
Introductions out of the way, Steve took Reid on a quick tour of the house. The whole time they kept up a steady stream of technical talk that wafted somewhere slightly above my head, or at least above my interest level. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't dredge up any concern over lead-paint tests, wiring checks, plumbing checks and structural integrity. I was beginning to think that staying home alone would have been a better choice. When they went off to inspect the roof I decided to poke around Amalie's old room, the one that had been used for storage.
The electricity hadn't been turned on for the old house, and Reid had recommended rewiring anyway, so the room was dark and musty. The only light I had was what managed to filter in through the streaked windows; which wasn't much considering their state and the premature darkness outside.
With my limited knowledge of antiques, mostly gleaned from watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS, I didn't see any great treasures right away. It seemed most of the items were detritus of the various generations spanning the century and a half the house had stood here. I guessed that each occupant had left their own contribution. The was a broken phonograph from the early 20th Century, a couple mismatched chairs, an old wicker basinet that had begun to deteriorate, several ugly lamps from the 60's, and that was just what was in the front. As I pushed farther back things got older and looked to me to be much better antiques. There was a beautiful wooden bed with a carved headboard and next to it a dusty armchair whose seat some rodent had used to make a nest. I wondered who had left them there and why.
Then I noticed an ornate gilt picture frame sticking up above the mattress on the far side of the bed. I pulled and tugged on an old dresser that was missing handles on the top two drawers and slid past it. I had to crawl across the bed to reach the frame and a moldy, unpleasant odor rose up with a cloud of dust. I pulled the frame out and retreated in a fit of coughing. It was surprisingly heavy. I realized why when I looked down at my find. It held a portrait of a young woman.
It was dark with age, but beneath the grime was a beautiful oil painting. The woman on the canvas had dark hair which had been pulled back and hung in curls at the back of her neck. She wore a scoop necked dark blue dress with white lace collar and a beautiful and intricate gold pin on her bosom. She had been posed carefully in front of a beautiful fireplace that I thought might one of the ones in the ballroom downstairs, her hand rested lightly on the mantle. The woman herself looked barely more than a girl, her eyes large and framed by dark lashes. She wore a somber expression but there was a sparkle of humor about her eyes, as if at any second her lips would twitch up into a smile. She looked like someone it would have been nice to have known. I thought the artist must have caught her very accurately. I wondered who she was, if she could be the mysterious Amalie or some other former resident of the big house.
While I was examining the painting I heard what I thought sounded like soft footsteps from behind me. I set the portrait down and turned around expecting to find Steve or Reid, but no one was there. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise and a strange chill crept down my spine.
"Hello?" I said; it came out in a hoarse croak. I cleared my throat and tried again, "Is someone there?" There was, of course, no answer, just an eerie echo of silence. I wanted to leave the room and go find Steve but I was afraid to step out into the hallway, afraid of what I might find. Hearing noises that may or may not be footsteps was bad enough; I didn't want to come face to face with a ghost.
"I see dead people," I whispered, quoting one of my favorite movies, and then I had to giggle. I was being silly. I would be turning 18 in one week and here I was acting like a little kid scared of the boogieman. I took a deep breath and stepped into the hall. I exhaled in whoosh of relief when I saw it was empty.
I hadn't taken two steps before I heard another strange noise. I froze in mid-step to listen. If I had been a dog my ears would have perked, I was concentrating so hard. Somewhere in the distance I heard what sounded like the faint cries of a distressed infant. The crying continued for what must have been a full minute before my fear released me enough to move. I took the stairs two at a time on my way down and bowled into Steve at the bottom.
"Whoa, slow down! Where's the fire?" Then he grew serious, "There isn't a fire is there?"
"Did you hear that?" I gasped.
"Hear what?"
"That sound, did you hear it?"
Reid walked into the foyer from the ballroom. "Only thing I heard was the sound of a herd of water buffalo stampeding down the stairs," he said with a grin.
Steve's face had taken on an intense expression, "What did you hear, Killian? What did it sound like?"
"It sounded like a baby crying somewhere."
"In the house?"
"I couldn't tell."
"It was probably just a cat," Reid offered, "Or a mockingbird; those things can make some strange noises."
I tried to make myself accept his explanation. It was infinitely more acceptable than what I had been thinking, but somehow I couldn't convince myself that what I had heard had such a simple rationalization.
"You didn't hear it?" I asked again, just to be sure. Maybe the creepy old house was getting to me, playing tricks on me.
Steve shrugged. "I didn't hear anything," he said. He looked somewhat disappointed.
"I didn't hear anything either," Reid repeated.
I nodded my head and looked over my shoulder back up the stairs. Just my imagination, I decided. I would accept the easiest explanation for now, but I didn't think I would be wondering around the halls by myself anytime soon.