Читать книгу Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Jeffrey Round - Страница 17

The message light was flashing like a storm warning when Dan got back to his office. He didn’t recognize the number, but he knew the voice. Thom and his mother had heard from the Picton OPP regarding Daniella’s death. Remembering Dan’s connection with the officer who’d taken their statements, Bill had offered them Dan’s assistance. He was calling from the Killingworth’s residence in Forest Hill. He concluded with an address and a time for Dan to drop by that afternoon. “Thanks for doing this, buddy. I’ll see you there.”

Dan played it through twice. There was nothing personal in the communication, no inquiry into his well-being, though that wasn’t unusual for Bill. He wondered what Bill had in mind when he’d offered his help. As much as Dan disliked the presumption that he’d show up on — he glanced at the clock — two hours’ notice, he was already scrambling through his office organizer to free up his schedule.

He rebooked his first meeting then emailed Sally with the rest of his appointments, asking her to make sure they were followed up. As usual, there was no answer on Bill’s cell. Dan left a message to say he’d do whatever he could for the Killingworths then picked up the phone and dialled the number for the Picton OPP. Saylor took his call.

“Detective Constable Saylor here.”

“Hey, Pete — Dan Sharp.”

The surprise in Saylor’s voice was audible. “Don’t tell me. It just occurred to you how brilliant my theory was and you’ve called to tell me so.”

“Bang on,” Dan said.

“And other than that?”

“I was just wondering. How much have you told the Killingworths about the investigation?”

Saylor hesitated. “Only that the death was considered suspicious.”

“Any personal details?”

“You mean the pregnancy? No — I spared them that. Remember, she’s not their family.”

“Then do me a favour. Let me break it to them. I’m going over there this afternoon.”

There was a pause as Saylor calculated this request and its consequences. “All right, but you didn’t hear it from me. And mum’s the word on my private theory, mind.”

Poplar Plains Crescent was the city’s most desirable mid-town street. A long-time WASP enclave, with rows of high-banked old money estates, it had begrudgingly given way to the ranks of wealthy immigrant families only in the past decade. Or maybe not so begrudgingly — there were just so many old money families left in Toronto, and not all of them wanted to live on a hill in an enchanted forest. Especially not now, with the newcomers changing the tone of everything.

Dan drove south, noting the declining numbers. He was momentarily stunned when he saw the one he wanted. The Killingworths’ in-town residence made their country home look like a summer cottage. Someone in the family had a preference for imposing structures. One of the grande dames of a bygone age, this was Bayreuth and Klingsor’s magic castle rolled into one.

Dan parked curbside and climbed the stone walk past a rose garden and the trunks of a dozen century-old trees. A servant answered his ring, a bent and withered ancient whose presence seemed to have been wrested from the earth. He stood there, grim in a hair-shirt, guarding the ancestral realms.

The walk-in foyer was lined with oak panels and overhung by the polished links of an eight-tiered chandelier. Terra cotta angels danced on the perimeter above the entrance. It might have been the first sight glimpsed by the dead entering Valhalla. Dan’s coat was hung in a closet the size of most people’s living rooms. A staircase twisted up and out of view. Dan recognized the glowering features of Nathaniel Macaulay — another oil portrait. This one clearly predated the one in Adolphustown. Still, the family forebear looked no friendlier at thirty-something than his aged self had. “Malevolent” was the word that came to mind. Dan wondered if they made portrait subjects sit on tacks back then.

He was shown into a sitting room and left alone, half-expecting to be given an admonishment not to touch the valuables. A damask weave sofa and two armchairs commanded centre stage; a vase of blossoms, gigantic and pale-pink, languished on an oval table. A fireplace with a cavity large enough to stand upright in filled the north wall. In medieval times, it might have served to feed the king and his men as they passed through on their way to the crusades. In the front window, lid cocked, a full-size grand piano waited expectantly, keys glittering like freshly minted teeth beside a gold-framed harp and standing cello. Dan wouldn’t have been surprised to see a circus troupe waiting in readiness, with a couple of prancing ponies and a small corps de ballet to complete the set. Was it Thom or his world that Bill was in love with? Dan mused.

After a moment’s wait, Thom entered with his mother. He was dressed in jeans and a white shirt and seemed to have recovered from his ordeal. He took Dan’s hand, greeting him with an earnest sobriety, like old comrades who’d been fighting the same battle for years. Lucille, somewhat more subdued, wore a chaste beige sweater over a long black knitted dress, possibly her attempt at mourning. In the room’s autumnal light she appeared more severe than Dan recalled, her face pinked with syllables of exhaustion or worry. He could see the family resemblance now, the wide, intelligent brow, the long, full cheekbones, the gold under-toned hair.

She offered him a hand. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to come all this way to see us,” she began, her voice suggesting fragility. She gestured toward the sofa. “Please, sit.”

Dan sat on the end near the fireplace. Thom sank into one of the wide chairs across from him. Lucille remained standing. Nervousness, Dan thought. Or maybe she intended to keep things brief.

She clasped her hands and addressed him directly. “As you know, we’re anxious to learn as much as we can about this terrible situation,” she began, her voice quickly regaining its equipoise. “Naturally, we’re shaken by this poor girl’s death. I can only imagine how her family must feel.” She stopped and looked at Thom. “My son and I thought — in light of what’s occurred — that it would be best if we were prepared for whatever might happen next. Bill McFarland felt you might be able to help.…”

Dan saw this as his cue to jump in with words of reassurance, possibly wisdom, though he doubted that what he had to say would fall into either category. “I might have a bit of information that will help,” he said. “I’ve been in touch with a constable at the Picton OPP detachment. I believe you already know they’re treating Daniella’s death as suspicious.”

“Yes,” Lucille said with a shiver. “That’s what’s so worrisome. It seems ghastly to think anyone could suspect that one of our guests might have had something to do with this. Have they considered that it might simply have been an accident?”

“I’m sure they have. It’s routine to treat a death as suspicious unless it was clearly the result of an accident. Without any witnesses, they have to consider other possibilities.”

Lucille absently fingered one of the pink blossoms. Begonia, Dan thought. Or maybe peony. He thought of tissue-paper pompoms used to decorate wedding cars. Not funeral flowers.

Lucille continued. “But several people have said she was quite inebriated before she fell overboard. A number of people saw her drinking heavily that evening. Surely they must realize it was a case of a tragic, drunken fall?”

“The autopsy revealed there was no alcohol in her system,” Dan said. “In fact, she hadn’t been drinking at all.”

“Is that possible?” Lucille’s face resumed its pensive look. “Even so, what makes them think it could be anything but an accident?”

“There was a large bruise on her forehead just under the hairline above her right temple. Thom saw it.”

Lucille looked to her son, who nodded. “And … that’s why they think she may have been murdered?”

“I don’t think the police would use the word ‘murder’ at this point. The bruise is one reason they’re treating the death as suspicious,” Dan said.

“Will we need alibis?” Thom said suddenly.

“They’ll probably ask people to state where they were once they determine when Daniella fell overboard,” Dan said. “The window of time in which it could have occurred is small. Can either of you say with accuracy where you were right before you heard of her disappearance? Or rather, Sebastiano’s disappearance, since that’s who people seemed to think had fallen overboard. If it comes to that, we may all have to prove where we were at the time.”

“I was with Bill,” Thom said, running a hand through his hair. “We went off for a little drink and a private chat. He was … concerned about something.”

“And I was in the stateroom with my guests the entire time,” Lucille said. “But still, do you think it will come to that?”

“I hope not,” Dan said. “In fact, I rather doubt it. The only people who might have to worry about providing alibis will be anyone who was wandering alone on the upper decks at the time Daniella disappeared.”

Lucille wrapped her arms around herself and looked over at Thom. “I guess it’s time to call Larry,” she said softly.

“Our family attorney,” Thom said, to Dan’s inquisitive glance.

Dan wondered why they’d hesitated to call him before now. His thought was interrupted by Lucille.

“I was hoping to keep this out of the papers,” she said grimly. “But it’s already been all over the news. The ‘troubled Killingworth family.’ They’ve even dragged up my husband’s disappearance.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Dan said. “I hope things are resolved as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a resigned smile, the gracious hostess whose concern is first and foremost for the comfort of her guest.

“Where is Sebastiano? If I may ask?”

Thom answered. “We’ve arranged for him to stay at a hotel downtown until the body is released. Then he’ll go home with Daniella. Under the circumstances, we thought it best that he was somewhere else.”

“Of course. It would be difficult to have him around. There is one other thing you might want to know,” Dan said, looking from mother to son. “Daniella was pregnant when she died.”

Thom’s face flushed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“How awful,” Lucille said quietly.

“My god,” Thom said, anger overtaking the shock. He turned to the fireplace. “These people were unbelievable!” His mother put a hand on his shoulder. Thom turned to face Dan again. “We had no idea. None!”

“It is quite incredible,” said Lucille. “To think that Thom was so thoroughly deceived by these people. Is there anything else we should know?”

“Not at the moment,” Dan said. “But I’ll let you know anything I find out — provided I have a legal right to do so.”

“I understand,” said Lucille. “We wouldn’t ask you to do anything that might compromise yourself.” She took his hand and squeezed it warmly. “You’ve done a great deal to ease our minds, Daniel. Thank you. Is there anything we can do for you?”

Dan’s eyes met hers. For a moment he wondered again why he was here. He couldn’t see that he’d done or said anything that might be of use. “Not at all. I’m happy you feel I’ve been helpful.”

“Then we won’t keep you,” Lucille said. “Thank you again. My son will see you to the door.” She swept out of the room with more assurance than when she’d entered, her conscience eased, her heels making small clicking sounds.

Thom sat shaking his head and looking down at the floor. “Fucking hell,” he said at last. “This is really awful.”

“I’m sorry things have turned out so badly,” Dan said.

“I can’t believe I trusted that guy. I mean, I’m not naïve. I knew I was helping him, but obviously he was just waiting to get his citizenship, then he would have dumped me and brought her in as his wife.”

“I doubt they would have got away with it,” Dan said.

“And the pregnancy! I guess I can tell you why I — why my mother and I — were shocked when you mentioned it. A good portion of my grandfather’s money is held in trust for the first great-grandchild.”

A clock chimed three. It had been less than half an hour since he arrived, but Dan felt he’d been there for ages. “Did Sebastiano know?”

“He knew.” Thom made a sound of disgust. “And I agreed to it. They duped me completely. The plan was for her to have a child with help from a fertility clinic after the wedding. But it was supposed to be my child! I might never have known!”

He looked tormented, as he had the morning they’d gone to identify Daniella’s body, as though truth had a demoralizing rather than an edifying effect on him. Thom was one of the ones who got no relief from the knowing, Dan saw.

Thom straightened suddenly and laid a hand on Dan’s knee. There was nothing lascivious in the gesture, his expression set beyond all that. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve really been great about everything. I’ll tell Bill how helpful you’ve been.”

“I was happy to help.”

Thom stood. In the hallway, Dan said, “I thought Bill was going to be here. His message gave me that impression.”

“No, I don’t think Bill intended to be here this afternoon. At least not that I was aware of.”

Something in Thom’s expression suggested otherwise. Dan ignored it. He busied himself with his leave-taking. The putting on of his jacket, followed by a patting of pockets and the double-checking — Ah, here they are! — for his keys. They both pretended to be taken in by this dumbshow. Thom’s self-assurance had returned. He shook his head sympathetically. “Maybe Bill changed his mind.”

“I must have misunderstood,” Dan said.

Thom opened the door and Dan stepped through into what was, all things considered, just another ordinary day. The world beyond seemed a little less dazzling than the one he was leaving. He hadn’t wanted to be there. Now that he was, he didn’t want to leave.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said.

The drive across St. Clair and down Bayview delivered him to his driveway in less than twenty minutes. He could have returned to the office, but he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. On the way home, he mulled over his visit to the Killingworths. He hadn’t helped them in any way he could see. Had they simply wanted hand-holding? He pulled out his cell and left a message for Bill saying how the meeting went.

Ralph did an anxious little dance at the back door, wanting to be let out. Then he came back in and settled on his bed in the corner. Ked wasn’t due for another two hours. There was nothing further demanding Dan’s attention. Me Time, he told himself. It had been weeks since he’d been jogging. His leg muscles ached with anticipation.

He stood on the rise over Riverdale Park with its view of the downtown skyline. The city spread out like a medical cadaver, the skin peeled back to reveal the working organs, muscles, and nervous system. It seemed incredible to think he’d lived here for twenty years. He padded across the metal footbridge, down the stairs, and turned north. His run took him through a drainage tunnel echoing with the chirps of mechanical frogs — some civil servant’s idea of an ecological joke — under the arches of the Bloor Viaduct. Above, subway trains and rush hour traffic raced along as the 905-ers abandoned the city for another day.

His feet pounded the trail as his mind melded with the green space whizzing past. He climbed a gradient running headlong with the Don Valley Parkway — more cars escaping the city. Here the path headed toward Pottery Road and the supposed haven of leafy suburbs or, if you turned right instead of left, on to Scarborough, where it was said that bad Torontonians went when they died. (The good ones, presumably, going to Vancouver.)

A helicopter hovered overhead, stuck in the loop of rush-hour traffic reports. A posse of bikers passed in the other direction, heading for the lakeshore trail, always crowded with roller-bladers and dog walkers these days. Dan preferred the quiet of the valley where passersby were less frequently encountered.

Now and again, the Don River appeared through the trees in patches of brown flecked with yellow foam. Toronto was probably the only major city in the world to relinquish the chance to commercialize a river running through its centre. While that might have seemed an ecologically sound choice, in reality the river had been slowly poisoned by surreptitious chemical dumps and garbage spills, and left to fill instead with abandoned shopping carts, stolen bicycles, and cast-off tires. Merchants would have shown more concern for its appearance and welfare. Dan thought of Ked’s enthusiasm for the decrepit world of Blade Runner. Perhaps some enterprising young dreamer would one day populate the Don’s turgid depths with robotic fish to accompany the chirping of the mechanical frogs.

He came to the top of the rise. He’d meant to take this time to think about Bill, but instead he was worrying about water pollution. A chorus of images from the weekend jarred his thinking. He remembered the rush of betrayal he’d felt hearing Bill confess his love for Thom. It went a long way toward explaining why Bill found intimacy so hard. Dan, on the other hand, had no such difficulties. It had been easy to devote himself to Bill, though common sense told him his lover wasn’t as dedicated in return. Did it ultimately matter? Was the cool affection Bill showed him enough? Maybe the other would grow with time. Or maybe he just needed to recognize when he’d been kicked in the balls.

With a sudden swoop, the helicopter turned away from the valley, disappearing in the clouds. He’d just topped the hill, his breathing nicely measured, when he saw the biker in full riding gear racing toward him. The guy braked a few feet off — the near-collision hadn’t really been that near, all things considered.

The biker flipped up his sun visor and smiled. Two travellers meeting on a lonely road. He leaned down to unstrap a water bottle from the bike frame. “Is this the way to Pottery Road?” he asked, taking several long gulps.

“No,” Dan said, breaking his pace. “This way heads down to the lake. You probably just passed Pottery Road. Didn’t you cross a roadway a few minutes back?”

The biker laughed softly and admitted he had.

“That was Pottery Road. If you head back and turn right under the bridge, you’ll hit Broadview. A left would take you to the Bayview Extension.”

The man nodded. He seemed to be checking Dan out. “Are you Dan Sharp?”

“Yes,” Dan said, perplexed. He usually had great recall for faces. Maybe it was the helmet. “Have we met?”

“Oh, you don’t know me,” the man said. “But I’ve heard of you. You date Bill McFarland, don’t you?”

Dan cocked his head curiously. “Yes.”

The man gave him a thorough once-over. “I saw you in a video. You’re pretty sizeable.”

Dan shook his head. “Who showed you a video of me?”

The man laughed like it was a private joke. “Bill did.”

The path extended in both directions, giving a good vantage to oncoming traffic. They were alone on a windy hill.

“Would you like a blow job?” the cyclist asked. “There’s no one around.”

Dan clenched his teeth. “No, I don’t want a blow job.”

The cyclist persisted. “I’d love to get my lips on it.”

Dan’s hands went out palms-first, pushing him up against the wire fence. If he could, he would have pushed him and his bicycle down the hill and into the bramble. Fucking Bill, he thought. How fucking dare he? Dan held a fist in the man’s terrified face. “How would you like your lips on this?”

“You’re a fucking madman!” the cyclist choked out.

Dan relaxed his grip and the man slid down the fence to the pavement. “Pottery Road is that way,” Dan said, pointing. He took off at a trot.

Dan heard a match being struck on the other end of the phone as he tossed a shoe into a corner. Sweat ran down his chest under his nylon trainer where he lay sprawled in the living room chair. The dampness in his crotch was making his balls cling to his shorts. He’d started by recounting the incident on the trail, followed with a review of the events of the weekend, and ended with a full confession about his bare-backing tryst with Sebastiano. He tossed the other shoe into the corner and waited.

“Tell me you didn’t just say that,” Donny said.

He’d sympathized with the story about the lustful biker and listened respectfully as Dan detailed the events leading to Daniella’s death, but now he was angry. Quietly angry. “Okay, I really don’t want to know any of this, but it’s too late because you’ve already told me.” All this in a calm, cool voice. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.” He took a drag on the cigarette. “Do I have to list all the men we know who are no longer alive because they did something like that — just once — and paid for it with their lives?”

“I know. I know how stupid it was.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. But what I’m wondering, what I’m dying to know, is what you’re going to do about it. And by ‘it’ I mean that piece of shit you’ve been dating for the past year.”

“Let’s not get — okay, okay — I suggested counselling a couple times, but he’s not interested.”

Donny made a strangled sound. His tone was pure exasperation. “Of course he’s not interested! It’s a perfect arrangement — for him. He gets all the sex he wants and keeps you hanging on hoping for more. But the man is not capable of more. Meanwhile, he makes videotapes of the two of you having sex without your knowledge to show to his locker room buddies and god knows who else. And just so you know, those counselling things never work. Jamie and I tried it just before we broke up.…”

“I didn’t know that. What happened?”

“We ended up sleeping with our counsellor. Then we broke up.”

Dan pressed a forearm across his eyes, shutting out the light. His post-jog endorphin high was fading and the fatigue setting in. “So what are you suggesting?”

He heard another drag followed by a quick exhalation — important things needed to be said. “I’ve given you my opinion on that one a dozen times already. Get rid of him. Bill treats you like a rent boy because you let him. Ask yourself this: with all his wonderful bedroom acrobatics and his classy townhouse and rich friends and artfully dyed but rapidly thinning hair — does he feel anything for you?”

“Even if he doesn’t, how does that make me a rent boy? I always pay my own way.”

Donny harrumphed. “It makes you a rent boy because he’s interested only in one piece of your anatomy … and it isn’t your heart.”

“How do I know what he feels for me? Maybe Bill doesn’t even know what he really feels.”

“Does he know your middle name? Has he memorized lines from your favourite movie? Does he make camp references to your mother’s side of the family in public or whisper your secret nickname in stirring undertones during sex?”

“Well, the latter, at least.”

Donny paused. “Really?”

“I’ll never tell you what it is, so don’t ask.”

Donny snorted. “As if I need to ask.”

“You might be surprised.”

“If it’s not ‘Beercan,’ I will be.” The cigarette noises started in earnest again. “Remind me — how long have you two been dating?”

“A little over a year.”

Donny whistled. “A little over a year! And how many times has he slept over at your place in that time?”

“You know Bill doesn’t sleep over.…”

“So therefore none.” The tone said it would brook no opposition. “And in that time you’ve slept over at his place, what … twenty-five, maybe thirty times?”

“Something like that. Maybe less. It’s only on the weekends when Ked stays at Kendra’s place....”

“There are fifty-two weekends in a year … you see what I’m saying?”

“No, I don’t actually.”

“I’m saying that out of consideration for you he could have split the difference and stayed at your place some of those nights.”

“It’s not important to me.”

“Apparently not. Out of curiosity, how long was your last relationship?”

“With David Bonner?”

“You tell me. I don’t keep track of your boyfriends.”

“Three … maybe four months.”

“Right. I seem to recall he was CEO of some import firm. Very successful, too. What happened to him?”

Dan lifted his arm from his face and looked out. Rain clouds had gathered. “David was insecure. Apparently my size bothered him, because he felt I was out of his league. I told him size didn’t matter but ...”

“The second gay lie!”

“What’s the first?”

“Take your pick: I’ll love you forever or I won’t put this on the Internet. Ba-dump. What happened to him?”

“I got tired of telling him it was all right. It was such a drama just to get him into the bedroom. I eventually stopped returning his calls.”

Donny made a flushing sound. “What about before that? Who came before David?”

“Perry Donaldson. That only lasted a month.”

“I remember him — the accountant. Also very successful. Nice guy, but a terrible pianist. What happened there?”

“Perry had a huge hang-up about his mother. He could never see me on Fridays because that was their night to speak on the phone. She hated that her only son was gay and he was tormented by guilt over it. I told him if he wanted to see me then either he had to set his mother straight or stop complaining about her to me.”

“And he didn’t?”

“No and no.”

“So he got the big flush too?””

“Yeah … I guess so.”

“And what about Gordon, that nice banker in Rosedale?”

“I never dated him.”

“No, but you were friends. Good friends, in fact. Why haven’t I heard you talk about him in a dog’s age?”

Dan hesitated. “We don’t really … talk anymore.”

Donny jumped on this. “Why?”

“It got too difficult. He was always too busy to do anything.”

“I think you said you saw him flirting with Bill.”

“That too. It pissed me off. I don’t think that’s acceptable behaviour from a friend, no matter what anybody says about the gay moral code.”

“And I say you’re right. No one should flirt with your man in front of you. Behind your back’s another story, but I’m not telling that one right now. Are you seeing a pattern here, Danny Boy?”

“No — should I?”

Donny sighed. “I’ll say. You date these highly successful guys or become friends with them till they piss you off, then they all get the royal flush and you withdraw your affection. It’s how you punish people who get close to you.”

“I don’t think that’s — am I really that complex?”

“No, you’re that simple.”

Dan felt the sting. “Well, what would you suggest?”

“Get some loyal friends and a lover without hang-ups? I don’t know.” Donny exhaled impatiently. “Did you ever get close to any of them? Close enough that you thought you might have been in love?”

“Not really. But I was fond of them.”

“Ah! The big revelation — you were fond of them. How sweet.” Donny was silent for a moment. The cigarette started up again. “Just out of curiosity, will you tell your therapist about your Brazilian weekend adventure?”

“No! Are you crazy? I tell him I dream of cuddly bunnies, not urges to kill myself. I want out of those fucking sessions.”

“Can I assume that if you lie to your therapist, then you probably don’t trust him?”

Dan tried for a confessional tone. “You’re the only one I trust,” he said, but Donny resisted the efforts to pacify him. “I hope you realize that’s a compliment.”

“Oh, I do! And I’m sure you’re fond of me, too.”

“I resent that ...” Dan began, but Donny cut him off.

“And now for the question du jour, Mr. Sharp. Apart from that little mishap on the boat between Bill and his dear friend Thom, do you still cling to the pathetic fiction that you have an exclusive relationship with Miss Doctor?”

Donny had never pushed him this far before. He seemed to be going for broke. Dan’s voice hardened. “I don’t hold proprietary claims to his body, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It is what I’m asking and, no, you don’t, because if I told you the places I’ve seen him in, and the positions I’ve seen him in, and the men I’ve seen in him....”

“Okay, okay!” Dan interrupted. “Just tell me you haven’t had him.”

“I’m not that low that I’d steal a friend’s lover. Or that desperate that I’d fuck someone I despise.”

There was another pause followed by a long, slow inhalation. Dan could almost hear the nicotine seeping through Donny’s lungs and into his bloodstream. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“You want to know what I’m thinking?” Donny said at last.

“No, actually I don’t, so I should probably hang up….”

“No — you’re right. You don’t want to know.” The voice remained cool, smoke trapped in ice — there was no stopping this boy. “But I’m going to tell you anyway. What I’m thinking is that maybe you like it this way.”

“Like what?”

“Your relationships. You date high-class losers to make yourself feel better. It’s why all your relationships are at arms-length. You don’t trust anyone and you don’t let anyone get close to you. And sooner or later, either they leave you or you dump them.”

Dan felt the lump in his throat. He felt flattened, as though his heart had been run over by a garbage truck. “Is that what you really think?”

“It is.”

Dan affected a lighter tone, but the strain came through. “What are friends for,” his voice cracked, “if not to beat up on you and tell you how screwed up you really are?”

“Well, then I hope you’re listening, Daniel, because I am your last friend.”

It was true. Dan thought of all the people he’d pushed away, ignored, or abandoned in the past few years alone. He thought of his father and how he’d cut off contact between them for the final decade of his life. He wouldn’t be surprised if the line stretched back through his entire existence. He felt annihilated.

Dan wanted the conversation to end, for the combatants to remove their gloves and shake hands, to prove themselves simply worthy opponents, neither with a desire to destroy the other. But Donny’s voice had taken on an edge.

“By your own admission, you seem to have run everybody else off. How do you like your island, Mr. Crusoe?” Just as suddenly, his tone softened. “You know, I keep waiting for you to snap on me and shut me out. I thought this little talk might do it, but I guess I haven’t crossed the line yet. Or dare I hope I’m exempt from your anger?”

Dan shut his eyes and leaned his head against the chair. He wasn’t willing to admit how close to home Donny had hit. “You’re too amusing for me to get rid of,” he said.

“I think it’s very clever how you avoid answering the real questions. Still — I think you like it when I challenge you, because everyone else is too scared to tell you off. Am I right?”

“Everyone but you and Ked,” Dan said, his voice too far gone for a joking tone. He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, making the darkness sparkle under the lids.

“The kid’s got balls the size of grenades. He’d have to, with a father like you.”

“Okay, enough!” Any farther and he’d say things he might never be able to take back. “I have to go,” Dan said, but kept the phone to his ear.

“Will I hear from you again?” Donny asked quietly. “Or is this the big flush?”

Dan felt the ice running in his veins, a dead cold that made him want to strike back. He wanted to put distance between them. There were things even friends shouldn’t say.

“Do you hate me now?” Donny asked.

“Why would I hate you?”

“Just answer the question.”

Dan opened his eyes, the sparkles slipping into a lacy-edged nothingness. “Maybe.” He waited. “And maybe I’d be justified if I did.”

“Justified.” Donny sighed. “I think you do hate me right now, even though you won’t admit it. You hate me for telling you the truth about yourself. I can hear that detached tone you WASP-y folk get in your voices when you talk about the people you don’t talk about any more.”

“I’m pretty angry about some of the things you said just now.”

“Good — anger’s fine. It’s okay. You can toss it right back at me. You’ve pissed me off plenty too. But I don’t want to lose your friendship, Dan. I respect you and, yes, I love you too. I really love you. And that’s the bottom line for me.” Donny took a drag and exhaled. Dan heard the sound of a cigarette being stabbed out with finality. “I just hope you know that.”

Silence stretched between them. Donny was right. How could you not hate someone who exposed your lies and contradictions, and left you defenceless against your carefully constructed fictions? “Thanks,” Dan said, politeness being the makeshift best he could do.

“For what? For pissing you off?”

“For challenging me. Maybe I needed someone to say those things.”

The haughty tone came back into Donny’s voice. “I guarantee you needed it. But if I have to,” the tone shifted again, “I’ll take back everything and we can just pretend I never said a word of it. So we can still be friends.”

“No. Don’t do that. Just give me time to think it over.”

“Okay.” Donny waited. “Talk to you soon?”

“Sure.”

“You call me or I’ll call you?”

“I’ll call you.”

Dan put the receiver down and stared at the wall. The room had shrunk over the last few minutes. He tried to ignore the nameless sorrow under his skin, the gnawing doubts that mocked his hope that life could be a fine thing or that happiness was possible. An acid loneliness came pouring in — the same loneliness that enticed him to drink and told him he had no friends except the one on the table in front of him.

He wished he knew someone he could talk to about the ache that never went away. Not just for the things Donny had said, but for all the times he’d given his best and life had short-changed him. All the times he’d wished for things to be different. And while he was wishing, why not wish for a partner who cared about him the way he, Dan, cared about others? He wished he could phone Bill and pour his heart out and make things right between them, but Bill was only interested in repairing hearts, not soothing or reassuring them.