Read Online Three Years with the Rat by Jay Hosking - Free Book Online
Authors: Jay Hosking
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last band. Brian asked if they could store the gear at John’s apartment for the night, since their jam space locked up at midnight. John didn’t immediately say yes, which surprised me. Once he’d agreed, though, he hoisted a blocky amplifier cabinet and walked straight to his front door, two streets away, without complaint. I have no idea how he got it up the stairs by himself.
I was last into the apartment and it was strangely quiet. The gear was stacked in the living room and John could be heard in the kitchen, getting drinks.
Lee came out of the washroom and said, “Was somebody arguing?”
“I tried to put the gear in the second bedroom,” Steve whispered. “There’s a lock on the door.”
“What? Why?” Lee didn’t try to speak quietly.
“Who cares?” Brian said. “It’s probably nothing.”
Lee looked to me. “What’s going on in there, Scruffy?”
Before I could answer she got up from the arm of the sofa chair and went to the second bedroom door. She put her hand out and cranked the knob, which turned but didn’t open the door. She fingered the keyhole for the deadbolt with her other hand.
“Lee?” John now stood at the edge of the living room, drinks in each hand. His face was unreadable, a mask.
“What is this?” Lee said.
John slowly put down the glasses. “It’s a locked door, Lee. I would ask that you respect it.”
Lee flinched. Steve, Brian, and I didn’t move.
“You would ask that we be fine with it,” Lee said.
“Yes,” John told her.
“With a locked door.”
“Yes.”
“A locked door in the home where our friend was last seen before she disappeared. After you just got out of the mental hospital.”
“A month ago,” John said.
He took a step toward Lee. His back was to me, then, and he was obscuring my view of all but Lee’s elbows that jutted out as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“John. A locked door. You were the last to see her,” she said.
Only his head moved, a shallow little wobble of thoughts. I was breathing through my mouth and the air was dry and hot. Then his posture relaxed a little.
“Maybe you’re right,” John said to Lee. “Maybe it’s unreasonable to ask that you be fine with it. But I would ask you to trust me.”
He faced all of us, carefully inspecting our eyes one at a time.
“Or I would ask you to leave,” John said.
He and Lee took a good look at each other, both of them sad but in different ways. Lee leaned over and picked up her jean jacket, folded it into her arms.
“We’re worried about you,” she said. “We all are.”
The three friends filed out together. Brian said nothing but ran his hands through Grace’s coats piled on the rack. Steve held Lee’s hand and mumbled a goodbye to me and a thank you to John. Soon I was the last visitor in the apartment and John still stood proud, staring into his empty living room.
Without looking at me, he asked, “Drink?”
I put on my shoes and told him I would see him soon. He closed the door behind me with the tiniest click, then the heavy crank of a deadbolt.
—
I was twenty-five minutes late for work the next day but there were prospective clients in the office all morning and my boss was in such a good mood that she didn’t give me her usual grief.
Only once did she leave her glass-encased cubicle and it was to say, “Thank you. That’s enough.”
At first I had no idea what she was talking about, but then she pointed to my foot. I hadn’t realized I’d been humming and tapping one of Steve and Brian’s songs.
Nicole made me lunch at her restaurant before her own shift started, couscous, steamed spinach and other vegetables, a rich sauce with garlic, Parmesan on top. She had been dead asleep when I left for work, with her fists curled in and her face slack but pretty. At lunch she worked her hand across the table until I was running my fingertips from her knuckles to her wrist. We didn’t say much, only put our pieces together for another day.
I was last into the apartment and it was strangely quiet. The gear was stacked in the living room and John could be heard in the kitchen, getting drinks.
Lee came out of the washroom and said, “Was somebody arguing?”
“I tried to put the gear in the second bedroom,” Steve whispered. “There’s a lock on the door.”
“What? Why?” Lee didn’t try to speak quietly.
“Who cares?” Brian said. “It’s probably nothing.”
Lee looked to me. “What’s going on in there, Scruffy?”
Before I could answer she got up from the arm of the sofa chair and went to the second bedroom door. She put her hand out and cranked the knob, which turned but didn’t open the door. She fingered the keyhole for the deadbolt with her other hand.
“Lee?” John now stood at the edge of the living room, drinks in each hand. His face was unreadable, a mask.
“What is this?” Lee said.
John slowly put down the glasses. “It’s a locked door, Lee. I would ask that you respect it.”
Lee flinched. Steve, Brian, and I didn’t move.
“You would ask that we be fine with it,” Lee said.
“Yes,” John told her.
“With a locked door.”
“Yes.”
“A locked door in the home where our friend was last seen before she disappeared. After you just got out of the mental hospital.”
“A month ago,” John said.
He took a step toward Lee. His back was to me, then, and he was obscuring my view of all but Lee’s elbows that jutted out as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“John. A locked door. You were the last to see her,” she said.
Only his head moved, a shallow little wobble of thoughts. I was breathing through my mouth and the air was dry and hot. Then his posture relaxed a little.
“Maybe you’re right,” John said to Lee. “Maybe it’s unreasonable to ask that you be fine with it. But I would ask you to trust me.”
He faced all of us, carefully inspecting our eyes one at a time.
“Or I would ask you to leave,” John said.
He and Lee took a good look at each other, both of them sad but in different ways. Lee leaned over and picked up her jean jacket, folded it into her arms.
“We’re worried about you,” she said. “We all are.”
The three friends filed out together. Brian said nothing but ran his hands through Grace’s coats piled on the rack. Steve held Lee’s hand and mumbled a goodbye to me and a thank you to John. Soon I was the last visitor in the apartment and John still stood proud, staring into his empty living room.
Without looking at me, he asked, “Drink?”
I put on my shoes and told him I would see him soon. He closed the door behind me with the tiniest click, then the heavy crank of a deadbolt.
—
I was twenty-five minutes late for work the next day but there were prospective clients in the office all morning and my boss was in such a good mood that she didn’t give me her usual grief.
Only once did she leave her glass-encased cubicle and it was to say, “Thank you. That’s enough.”
At first I had no idea what she was talking about, but then she pointed to my foot. I hadn’t realized I’d been humming and tapping one of Steve and Brian’s songs.
Nicole made me lunch at her restaurant before her own shift started, couscous, steamed spinach and other vegetables, a rich sauce with garlic, Parmesan on top. She had been dead asleep when I left for work, with her fists curled in and her face slack but pretty. At lunch she worked her hand across the table until I was running my fingertips from her knuckles to her wrist. We didn’t say much, only put our pieces together for another day.
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