He rolled down his window and gazed up at the structure. So far, things had gone according to schedule.
The roof had been replaced and the interior gutted. Last week, the builders had installed new window casements on the upper floor. They gleamed in the dark. Once painted, however, they would blend in nicely. Trevor had worked hard to reassure the anxious community reps that no drastic changes would be made to the building’s exterior. He promised to maintain the historic façade, matching it with those on either side. Dan liked being the townhouse in the middle, though he hoped for nicer neighbours than the current ones in newly trendified Leslieville, where the money had been flocking of late.
Grabbing his bag of fries and half-eaten hamburger, he stepped out of the car. He approached the house as though it were a nervous horse, touching the brick with his fingertips and feeling the city’s restless pulse beneath his hands. Home. In his mind, he envisioned living here with Trevor and Ked, meeting the neighbours, learning the ins-and-outs of the community: which market had the best vegetables and fruits, which butcher to go to for the freshest cuts of meat, who the neighbourhood characters were.
Domesticity was growing on him daily. He couldn’t wait to move in officially with Trevor. It would dispel the unease he felt waiting for their relationship to settle. At present, Trevor travelled back and forth from Toronto to the west coast, where he carried out occasional renovation projects. When the new house was finished, he’d move here for good. A new neighbourhood meant a new beginning, a new corner turned in life. It felt right.
Dan’s mind went to the dark cloud on his horizon. Coaxing Trevor from his rustic British Columbia villa had been a protracted exercise. A self-proclaimed sociophobe, he’d lived in semi-retirement for the past half-dozen years on Mayne Island, a lesser-known cousin of Salt Springs in the Southern Gulf chains. One of the things Dan had enticed him with was the prospect of running the renovation project. Trevor had accepted, but on a no-promises, no-payment basis. If he stayed, the payment would be to live with Dan. He was unsure if he could fulfil that promise, however. Architectural design had been his occupation at one time, but he’d largely left it behind when he retreated to Mayne Island after the death of his lover. While living the life of a hermit had helped him regain his equilibrium, he wasn’t sure that returning to urban life was on the agenda for him.
Dan monitored the progress anxiously. From the start, Trevor found Toronto challenging. Too much concrete. Too many buildings swaying overhead and blotting out the sky. Too many people. It was very different from his west coast Pleasantville existence, with its sweeping vistas of snow-capped mountains on one side and the endless ocean on the other. Dan had promised him Toronto wouldn’t be all that different, but who was he fooling?
Meeting Trevor had transformed Dan’s life. He now woke with a sense of excitement and purpose, a fervour he hadn’t felt in years. Even Ked noticed it. “This guy does something for you, Dad. I hope he stays.”
“So do I, Ked.”
And so love came calling. Warm, funny, comfortable, just short of bearing tea and crumpets. A shimmering of light on the edge of the horizon. After all these years, it was looking like the real thing and standing in the shadow of the possible. Dan wasn’t reluctant to accept the feelings, just slow to trust whether he could manage to love and be loved without losing his sense of self.
Purchasing the new home had taken a leap of faith. After leaving his former employer to work on his own, his reserves had dwindled. The housing market was sluggish; otherwise he’d simply have sold his current house and moved. Instinct told him to wait. While the country’s neighbour to the south was mired in an economic recession, Canada had held its own for the most part, but he couldn’t afford to sell just yet.
For the past decade, Dan had wanted to leave the city nearly every day. Toronto rubbed him raw in every possible way, but suddenly, ironically, just as he met someone who lived elsewhere he found he wanted to stay. For one thing, Ked needed him here. Ked’s mother also lived in the city. Though she and Dan had never been a couple in the domestic sense — he joked that Ked was the result of his one slip into heterosexuality — their relationship was strong and central to Ked’s life and well-being. In addition, Dan’s best friend, Donny, lived here too. Until Dan met Trevor, that friendship had been the single most important relationship in his life, apart from Kedrick.
All this went through his mind as he sat on the stoop and finished his burger combo. He tucked the wrappers inside one another and stood, looking up. This was his future. Somehow, he’d intertwined the house’s progress with the success of his new relationship. It was irrational, but the joy he felt on seeing the change was palpable.
If one went smoothly, then it followed that the other would too.
A ragged light showed in the east as he parked his car. The streetlamps appeared as pools of blue against the thinning darkness overhead. He entered a silent house. Ralph wagged a tentative greeting from his bed in the kitchen, as if unsure whether to welcome Dan’s late return. Surely there were rules about such things, even for humans?
Dan emptied his pockets, tossing keys and wallet onto the kitchen table, before running a glass of water. He took the glass into the living room and looked around. It was a welcoming home, one with signs of good taste, even in the dark. The floorboards were worn and the rugs faded, but the overall design said “solid.” It wasn’t exceptional as houses went, but it was a home and a well-loved one. Now he was about to leave it behind. Until this moment he hadn’t thought how that would feel. Funny, he’d wanted to move for years, and now that he was about to do so he felt a sense of regret. It wouldn’t stop him, though.
Light showed against the floor outside the bedroom. He pushed open the door and peered in. Trevor was sitting up reading by a bedside lamp. His features looked almost translucent, the skin pale with fatigue. His hair was matted from being pressed against the pillow. Dan guessed he’d simply given up fighting to get to sleep.
“Hi there.”
Trevor put his book aside. “Welcome back.”
Dan glanced over at the clock: 4:33 a.m. “Wow, it’s late,” he said, as though it had just occurred to him.
“Or very early, depending on your point of view,” Trevor replied with a tired smile.
“I’ve just been to the new house,” Dan said apologetically.
“How is it? Still there?”
“Pretty much. Looks good.”
Trevor waited.
“I didn’t want to call and chance waking you.”
“I was up. I was a little worried.”
“Sorry. It was inconsiderate.” Dan held out his Frosty, melted down to a gelatinous sludge at the bottom.
Trevor accepted the cup. “A very bad habit, but thanks.”
He sipped and returned it. Dan emptied it in a single gulp before dropping it into the garbage. He nestled in beside Trevor without taking off his clothes, as though another call might send him running
off again.
Trevor ran a finger over his forearm. “Anything to report?”
Dan hesitated. He didn’t want Trevor worrying he was risking his health or his life. Having already lost one partner, a second who purposely took risks might prove too difficult to bear.
Dan tried to make light of it. “I broke Rule Number One of surviving in a horror film: Don’t go into a room with the lights off.”
He gave a brief account of his find, without mentioning the state he’d found the body in. It might or might not make the newspapers over the next few days, but there was no need to force-feed Trevor the gruesome details.
“Is there more?”
Dan nodded slightly. “Whoever it was took a swing at me with a pipe, but he missed.”
Trevor stiffened.
“I