He hadn’t long to wonder. His partner looked up from the bottle of Dewar’s planted in the centre of the kitchen table. This time it was down considerably more than one drink.
“I brought Ralph back.”
Dan’s gaze shifted to a suitcase standing off to one side. “What’s going on, Nick?”
“I came to get a few things. I’m going to stay at the condo for a while. Till you sort yourself out.”
“What? You’re bailing on me? Can we talk about this?”
“I’m not bailing. This is only temporary.”
“Until what? Until the wedding? The wedding you want?”
Nick put a fist to his head. “I can’t do this right now. Things are very difficult. I’m under a lot of pressure. I had a talk with the chief. He advised me to maintain a distance from you for now.” He looked up and caught Dan’s angry expression. “I’m sorry.”
“Your boss advised you to split up your family in a time of crisis? Why? Because you’re gay and gay families don’t matter the way other families do?”
“That’s not why!” Nick’s face hardened. “Sometimes I have to act like a cop, Dan. I don’t always get to have feelings.”
“I’m glad you can just turn them off and on. Because I can’t.”
“That’s unfair.”
Dan felt a moment of remorse. “I can talk to the chief of police for you.”
“No!” Nick looked panicked. “I can’t go over my boss’s head. That’s not how it’s done.”
“Then how is it done? By running out on me?”
“I’m not —” He glared at Dan. “This is cop stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
They stared each other down for a moment. A horn blared outside.
“That’s my cab.”
“You can’t just leave.”
“I have to. Look, I’ll call you later. I was going to leave a note but …” He got unsteadily to his feet. “I have a job to protect and my being here is clearly jeopardizing it.”
“You’re gay and you’re a cop. Are you even happy with either of those things right now?”
Nick’s expression darkened. “I was very happy with both of those things until you walked in that door a minute ago. And I am telling you, for the sake of my job and this relationship, that I need to leave right now.”
“Right — your career versus our life together.” Dan glanced at the bottle. “And you’re turning back into a drunk.”
“I needed a drink.” Nick glared. “Do you think this is easy for me?”
Dan picked up the bottle and shook it. It was past the halfway mark. “Looks to me like it was pretty easy.”
Nick headed toward the door. Dan put up a hand to bar him.
“Don’t go like this. I’m begging you.”
“Please, Dan. I have to —”
“I’m asking you not to leave!”
Nick grabbed Dan’s arm. Dan tensed, pushing him backward. Caught off guard, Nick stumbled, hitting his head against the doorframe. Time stopped for a moment, then pitched recklessly forward.
“I’m so sorry …” Dan reached out to help, but Nick pushed his hand away.
“Don’t touch me!” Nick brushed a hand against his forehead and looked down at the blood. “Like father, like son.”
“Nick, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —”
“Shut up!” He stumbled to his feet, pushing his way past Dan and grabbing his suitcase. “We’re done here.”
The door slammed closed. For a second Dan was tempted to run after him, but he knew it would do no good. A fist fight on the front lawn to stop Nick from getting into a cab was not going to resolve anything.
He sat at the table as the walls contracted around him. The room was suddenly empty of Nick, empty of their life together. He picked up the bottle of Dewar’s. The rust-red liquor bewitched as it swirled and clouded. Looks to me like it was pretty easy.
He poured a glass and sat gazing into its depths. Without even tasting it, he could already feel the burn. If he followed his old routine of drinking till he couldn’t remember, it could take him anywhere. There was no telling where he might wake up or what he might have done in the meantime. It was a dark door behind which stood the unknown. Like an old friend, it had let him in many times before. It never refused his knock, never failed to open to him. His own heart of darkness, it was a river leading him wherever he wanted to go. He saw himself boarding the gangplank, going up on deck, watching as they lifted the rope and pushed off. The current growing more rapid, the river widening and …
He picked up the glass and pitched it at the cupboard. It dented the wood, splashing its contents around the room, then fell to the floor. Splinters of glass flew in every direction. Whose fault is this? he wanted to scream. Who is in control here? But there was no answer, no one to hear. There never was.
He’d had a lover once whose previous lover had died not long before he and Dan met. The man’s arms and chest had been covered with burn marks. He’d described how he placed the lit end of cigarettes against his skin to cauterize his despair. Asked if it helped resolve his feelings, he said no, but that it made him forget his other pain for a few moments. You could scream and scream and hit all the right notes, Dan knew, but it still wouldn’t work out.
He turned to the mirror over the sink, tracing the outline of the scar on the side of his face with a finger. A therapist once told him that until he could forgive his father he’d never learn to trust his emotions or have a functional relationship.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Dan had replied.
And now he’d done the unforgivable: inflicted harm on the man he loved most in all the world. He had no doubt who he had to thank for that.
His father had been a violent man, with no sense of who or what he was other than the functionary of a mining company. The sum total of his life was to be a miner. What discipline he could be said to have had was simply waking on time for his designated shifts, and these always underground, whether he arrived in the early morning, in the bright mid-afternoon sunshine, or the appropriately named “graveyard” shift. It was only later, as an adult, that Dan wondered when it had all begun to wear thin for him, at what moment Stuart Sharp the man must have stopped to take stock, realizing he would always be a man journeying between house and hill, stepping inside an elevator chugging endlessly up and down, and knowing that one day the journey would end permanently underground. It wasn’t a life anyone would envy. Add to that a bored, philandering wife, a woman who could not be relied on to be at home when he returned from his long day’s labour, and then you might begin to understand why he’d turned to drinking to relieve some of the boredom, a bit of the anxiety, and all of the heartache.
At a distance, at least, it helped explain the terrible things he did, first to his wife, when he locked her out in the snow one night and woke to find her shivering on the doorstep, only to lose her within the month to pneumonia; and later to his son, slamming him into a door frame, angered by his late return from school. Explain, yes, but never excuse.
When Dan’s father died, Ked had gone with him to the cemetery. Dan hadn’t been sure whether to bring him, but his Aunt Marge had insisted. They stood looking over the rows of monuments, Dan, Ked, his Aunt Marge, and his cousin Leyla.
“You’re all we have left now,” Marge told him, making him promise to stay in touch with her and Leyla as she’d once made him promise not to lie, drink, or swear.
And now she was gone, too, though he kept his promise and still called Leyla from time to time.
With hindsight, Stuart Sharp’s only son stopped hating his father and began to pity him. With a little more hindsight, and a good deal of experience, Dan finally thought he understood his father. But he always knew forgiveness might not be within his grasp. He’d stood at the graveyard that day, watching the fir
st shovelfuls of earth tossed onto the coffin. You had a miserable life, you old bastard. I feel sorry for you. I wish I could say I loved you or missed you, but I don’t. The only reason I still think of you is because every day I look in the mirror and see the scar you gave me. You probably didn’t intend to scar me, but you did. Physically, at least. I don’t intend to let you have the last word emotionally. At least I’ve learned how to love. Maybe you did or maybe you didn’t, but I can’t let that hold me back. You gave me physical life, so thanks for that, I guess. But as for what I’ve done with that life, you had nothing to do with it except inasmuch as you taught me a lot of things I never intend to be. So, maybe thanks for that, too.
The relief he had felt leaving Sudbury at seventeen was different from the relief he felt after his father’s death. Back then there had been a sense of elation on facing the unknown, the prospect of escape. Later, wiping his hands at the grave, it was simply a sense of getting back to his everyday existence, and to his son, who stood waiting for him like a solitary lighthouse on the other side of the grave.
If Kedrick was the best of what he might be said to have given to the world, then Nick was the best of what he’d given to himself. Dan felt an ache thinking of Nick’s leaving: We’re done here. In his mind he heard the door slam again, like some terrible tide withdrawing and taking everything with it. And that was that. Love would never be a problem again. Not for him.
He pushed the bottle away and sat back. Something buzzed in the living room.
He ignored it, but the sound persisted. He followed it to the couch, reached beneath the cushions, and pulled out a small, cold object. At first he couldn’t think whose it was. There was a bloody stain on it. The fingerprints of a dying man.
Simon Bradley’s cellphone.
Twenty-Five
Eyes on the Ground
He woke to the taste of grit and metal. Maybe it was the indigestible memory of his fight with Nick or maybe it was the acrid dreams he’d endured all night long. When he was drinking, he might wake without remembering the events of the previous night, or even the company he’d kept, but that seemed a long time ago. Now when he woke it was often with the memory of something he’d prefer to forget. Like the blood-stained cellphone on his bedside table. Simon Bradley’s. He knew he’d have to hand it over to the police, but a voice inside him said not just yet.
Ralph looked at him questioningly as he entered the kitchen, as though hoping for news of Nick or just reassurance that all was well. He’d always watched over Ked and now he was watching out for Dan. He pushed his cold, wet nose against Dan’s arm. It was comforting, but even Ralph wouldn’t be around forever. Dan patted him on the head and put food in his bowl.
“We’ll be okay, Ralphie boy.”
Ralph gave a hesitant wag of the tail. It was the best either of them could manage at that moment. The house was going to feel oddly empty without Nick to greet him when he came home, to cook breakfast for him, to rub his back and commiserate with him over the malfeasances of his daily grind. It suddenly struck him just how many roles one person could fill. After Nick had left, he’d waited up for hours, but there was no word from him. No message of regret, no call expressing remorse and asking for time to think things over. And there might never be, he realized. In one instant a giant wave had swept over his life, washing away everything.
There was a message from Will on his phone, a burst of sunshine amid the gloom. “I’ve got good news for you, Daniel. I have your money. I can drop it off or you can pick it up here today, if you like.”
He returned Will’s call, grateful for the excuse to fill the house with the sound of his own voice. The exchange was brief, just letting him know he would pick the money up in person.
“I’ll be over for it this afternoon. And thanks.”
He briefly considered telling Will that he had Simon Bradley’s cellphone. As Dan’s lawyer, Will should know, but the last time he confided in Will, he’d had CSIS dropped on top of him like a ton of bricks. It could wait till a more convenient time. More convenient for Dan Sharp.
He had just erased Will’s message when he remembered he still hadn’t called Ked. There was no point in putting it off any further. His son needed to know he wasn’t going to be there to see him graduate. On top of everything else … He stopped dead. Yes, there might be a way. Why not? It would be risky, but it was worth a try. He picked up the phone and called.
“Hey, Ked. Slight change of plans.”
His son’s voice was hesitant. “You’re still coming, aren’t you?”
“I’m still coming,” he said. “Just a different flight. I need to make alternate arrangements.”
“Phew! I was afraid for a moment you might be cancelling because of some case or something.”
“Not a chance. I’ll let you know the new flight info when I have a moment to figure it out.”
He sat and shovelled some food down, barely tasting it, then got in his car and headed to Queen’s Park.
Dan knocked on Will’s door. A cheerful voice called him in. Will was at his desk finishing up a phone call. His voice was serious and soothing, while his eyes rolled to the ceiling. The conversation ended.
“Where are the great men of today? Or the great women, for that matter?”
“Sorry,” Dan said. “I can’t help you there.”
Will smiled and tossed an envelope across the desk. “How’s that for fast work? I had my secretary get onto it right after I dropped you off.”
“Very impressive, thanks.”
“That’s a lot of money, as the good sergeant kept reminding us. I hope you do something worthwhile with it.”
Dan hefted the envelope. It would nicely cover his expenses when he attended his son’s graduation. But he was keeping that to himself for now.
“Part of it will go toward paying your fee, of course.”
“Keep your money. It was good practice. Let’s just hope I don’t end up having to defend you in court. I had a chat with the boys at the precinct this morning. I think this will all be sorted out quickly. As I said before, just stay out of trouble in the meantime.”
Dan gave him an ironic look. “What does ‘stay out of trouble’ mean again?”
“I’m not falling for that one, Daniel. You know as well as I do what it means. Besides, you live with a cop. He’ll keep you on the straight and narrow.” Will gave him a shrewd look. “How is this sitting with him, by the way? It must have come as a bit of a shock.”
Dan shrugged. “Sure. Nick’s good. Nothing fazes him.”
“Good to hear.”
“In any case, let’s say I owe you one. Maybe supper one day soon?”
Will gave him a non-committal smile. “I’ll ask Susan about an evening off. She’s pretty busy. And then there’s always the kids. I never quite manage to see enough of them.”
“No worries,” Dan told him. “If not supper, then just a coffee when you can spare a moment. We really need to catch up on old times.”
“I’d like that very much.”
Dan had one more task to fulfill, perhaps the thorniest and most contentious of his day. He called ahead to be sure he was welcome. The door was unlocked when he arrived. He let himself in and followed the sounds of laughter and gaiety. Donny and Prabin were eating lunch on the balcony. Prabin stood and wiped his mouth on a napkin, pulling out a chair for Dan.
“I’ll get you a bowl of soup. It’s sweet potato–coconut.”
“Sounds great, thanks.”
Traffic noises burbled up from the street. The question mark was visible in Donny’s eyes, but he let Dan taste the broth without rushing him. Then Dan set his spoon aside, made appreciative sounds, and launched into it. They were rapt as he described Simon’s murder and the ordeal of the police search. By the time he reached the events leading to Nick’s departure, they both looked grim.
There was much shakin
g of heads and concern as Dan finished, but none more so than when he explained that he intended to proceed with plans to travel to Ked’s graduation.
“I’m not asking you to understand,” he said, his eyes mostly on Donny, though he glanced over at Prabin from time to time.
“You’re just asking us to accept what you’re saying,” Donny suggested.
“Pretty much, yes.”
“Blind faith, as it were,” Donny added.
“Is there any other kind?”
“Not a time for semantics.”
“No, I guess not.”
“So, then, as your friends,” and here Donny looked to Prabin, “we accept what you’re saying. But I want you to know that accepting is different from approving.”
“I know what this looks —”
Donny held up his hand. “Let me finish. I said I accept. However, I am not at all comfortable with the fact that you hit Nick. And now you’re running out on him.”
“I’m not running out on him. Nick ran out on me. He already had his suitcase packed when I got home. And I didn’t hit him. I panicked when he tried to leave and I pushed him to make him stop and listen to me. He fell and hit his head on the doorframe.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Of course! Nick wasn’t really in the frame of mind to consider an apology at that point. I think we were both a little shocked at how it just seemed to come out of nowhere.”
“Rage doesn’t come out of nowhere, Dan.”
“Yes, okay. You’re right. I was angry that he was leaving me. Fear does that, too, but let’s not go into my violence-tinged childhood and sexually damaged adolescence. A therapy session isn’t going to help at this point.”
Donny looked out over the city as he lit a cigarette. He took a drag and turned to Dan. “So, are we to assume the wedding is off?”
The God Game Page 20
