23. Gerard
Gerard
A sign creaked in the breeze above the door of a nondescript white house. The word GIFTS etched across the swaying board on rusty chains caught Gerard’s attention on his mind-clearing walk through the misty morning streets of Iping.
A fence with posts painted every color of the rainbow contained a horde of rambunctious, mewling cats.
A sign staked to the right of the pen said IPING CAT RESCUE.
A gray cat with white paws and a smaller all-black cat tumbled over one another, performing playful somersaults.
Others pushed their way to the front of a pack around a food bowl.
He wondered how they kept their heads on straight with the smell of fish constantly in the air.
Nobody was around. He could’ve easily scooped up one of those adorable creatures and cuddled it until its soft fur and patient purrs made him feel better, but cuddling was how he found himself out and about early in the morning, power walking away from his apartment and his own escalating feelings.
In need of the distraction, he pushed inside the empty store.
Not even a clerk stood behind the counter.
Christian rock rumbled out of old-school speakers posted in the upper corners of the ceiling.
The place was stuffed to the brim with knickknacks, T-shirts, and spinning keychain stands.
An entire display had been set up with Halloween decorations and a rack of polyester kids’ costumes of characters from TV shows and movies Gerard was unfamiliar with.
Perfect—there were enough colorful shiny objects to keep him occupied and to distract him from the position he’d woken up in.
When the sun’s orange arm had finally weaseled through a crack in the curtains and poked him awake, his hands had been wrapped around Emory’s body.
Warmth had radiated off his unexpected little spoon.
Judging only by the rise and fall of his chest, Emory had seemed so peaceful in Gerard’s arms that, at first, he hadn’t dared move a muscle, even though he was aware that this was not how roommates behaved.
He hoped his empathetic actions from the previous night hadn’t crossed a line and threatened their arrangement. Any time he’d wanted to be intimate with someone in the previous six years, his father had their lawyers draw up complex documents that protected him from …
What exactly were they protecting him from?
Was it really so wrong to want the comfort of another human being every now and then?
On their first tour, loose from drink and high from the rush of newfound success, Gerard had attempted to bring a fan or two back to his hotel room after a show, but as soon as he took a beautiful woman by the hand and started leading her toward an elevator bay, his dad stepped into their path.
Legalese is already a mood killer, but having it hand delivered by your father? Hard pass.
After his third attempt, Gerard washed his hands of it.
He was only trying to maintain a chauvinist illusion anyway, the movie-crafted ideal of a rising musician.
Those women, while sparkling conversationalists and flashy dressers, were not his type, despite him forcing himself for a time to think they were.
The most they’d have ended up doing was having champagne on the balcony with the gorgeous city or ocean view, talking until the sun came up, and maybe kissing goodbye because he considered himself a gentleman.
Half the time he’d only invited them up because the bar or greenroom or club they ended up in after a big show was too loud and had too many strobing lights.
Sensory overload made it impossible to connect with anyone, let alone hear himself think without feeling his heartbeat behind his eyeballs.
With Toby, everything had been different, easier.
Toby was talent on the tour, so he had all the same credentials and access Gerard had.
Any paperwork had his John Hancock on it long before rehearsals began.
Late nights lazing on suspiciously unlocked hotel rooftops looking up at the stars and 1 AM calls to room service for two burgers to be sent up to Gerard’s suite were never given a second thought.
NDAs were supposed to protect him from defamation, and the Ten Commandments were supposed to protect him from damnation, yet he still felt vulnerable and sometimes unsafe. Why was that?
“Findin’ everythin’ all right?” an old white woman with several missing teeth in front asked, shuffling out from the back in scuffed-up sandals that practically fell off her feet as she moved.
“Yes, thank you.” Though he wasn’t looking for anything in particular. He had no use for used books about the bay, seashell wreaths, or floppy, oversize sun hats. Needing an excuse to stay, he picked up a quilted pillow with a bat stitched on it and pretended to inspect the price tag.
In his periphery, the woman seemed to scoot closer. She was squinting at him as if she needed glasses that she’d misplaced. Up on a nearby shelf she could barely reach, she rearranged a few potted plants. He couldn’t help imagining them toppling over and showering her in soil.
The wood-paneled walls to his left showcased paintings by local artists, drapey jewelry featuring large gemstones, and tiny backpacks that had LI’L ISLANDER stitched on them.
An entire corner was dedicated to cat merchandise—everything from treats to toys to T-shirts with the words BEST CAT MOM EVER printed on them.
Past the homemade soaps and candles was a kids’ corner with a small selection of toys.
Most of the inventory was beach items—red plastic shovels and neon-blue buckets—but behind those were a pair of sunshine-yellow, waterproof walkie-talkies encased in plastic.
They reminded him of a set his older brothers had when they were young, and they never let him touch them because he was “too much of a baby to play spies.”
Despite only being three and a half years younger than Garret, Gerard could admit, especially now with a diagnosis tucked firmly in his pocket, that he caught on less quickly than his brothers.
When they detailed a mission in a game of spies, he often couldn’t keep up.
He’d kick when he was supposed to somersault or run when he was supposed to hide.
Garret would inevitably yell at Gerard for being “stupid,” Gavin would yell at Garret for being a bully, and Gerard would become a sprinkler of tears, even into his early teens.
Picking up the walkie-talkies off the shelf, he knew he had to have them. These were a way for him and Emory to contact one another without phones.
“I’m Jeanie,” the woman finally said in a voice too loud for the small, cluttered space. “You new here?”
“Few weeks. I’m staying at Regina’s,” he said, hoping this conversation concluded quickly. Small talk still made his skin itchy. His neurodivergent brain craved depth or silence.
Dropping any pretense of organizing stock, she squared herself off to him. “Hope you’re not like Regina’s last tenant.”
“Did you know him?” Gerard asked, newly intrigued.
“A bit. He came up in here often enough askin’ after orders.”
Gerard glanced around at the shop again. He couldn’t imagine Emory buying any of these trinkets. “What was he ordering?”
“This ’n’ that. I’m the woman who keeps the big corporations off the island.
” Her toothy yet toothless smile took on a prideful glow.
“Anythin’ you need I know a guy who knows a guy who gets it to me in a week on the postal boat.
Sneakers, cooking knives, sewing kits, funny mugs for your aunt’s birthday.
I sell it cheaper and better. Guaranteed. ”
“Regina’s tenant, what did he order?” Gerard asked again.
With a few pointed clicks on a computer up front, she opened a sheet, clearly unscrupulous about sharing this kind of personal information. Small islands ran on different rules. “Measuring tools, goggles, gloves? When I heard he’d stolen from the medical center, made me mighty mad.”
“Because it was wrong?” he asked, wishing he could tell her what Emory told him. That Anderson Cuss had given those things to Emory, and Gerard believed that version of the story. Emory wouldn’t lie to him about something that serious.
“’Cause it lost me business!” She slapped the counter with a wide, calloused hand, which made Gerard jump. “Also, ’cause it was wrong. If I ever see him again, I’m gon’ tell him so. I even drew a picture of him to help the police in case he’s hidin’ out here on the island.”
“You drew a picture of him? Are you a sketch artist?” he asked.
“Yeah, I fancy myself somethin’ of an artist.”
Excitement built inside Gerard. Was this the moment he got to see the face of his roommate? “Can you show me?”
“You gon’ buy that first?” She pointed a dirty fingernail down at the walkie-talkie set still in his hands.
“Oh,” he said, conjuring what Emory’s delighted voice might sound like upon receiving these as a gift. “Yeah. I am.”
“Got youngins?” Jeanie asked.
“No,” Gerard said, surprised and confused by the question.
“Silly me assumin’. Just figured since you are gettin’ kids’ stuff. I got youngins who got youngins. Most on the island do.” She tapped at the register. “My granddaughter’s been eyein’ those ever since I got them in.”
“If that’s the case, I won’t—”
Jeanie stopped him with a loud clearing of her throat. “I can always get more. ’Sides, she needs to learn to save her allowance better.” Every s the woman spoke sounded like a train whistle. “She’s always throwin’ away her money on music.”
A heat crept up Gerard’s neck. “She likes music?”
She nodded. “Big into music. Loves it. Wants to do it when she grows up.”
“Cool.” Gerard kept his head down, rummaging in his fanny pack for exact change. The music playing in the store grew moderately stronger. “Christian rock?” he asked hopefully.
“Naw. Pop music? She’s got a set of pipes. Plays the guitar, too.”
“Cool.” He felt like a buffoon for repeating himself, but he was getting the impression she was hinting at knowing his true identity, so he asked the necessary question. “Do you listen to pop music with her?”
“Me? Naw. I don’t like that loud stuff. Music should be about rejoicin’ not partyin’. That’s just my humble opinion.” She performed the sign of the cross, kissed the tips of her fingers, and then directed them toward the roof.
He heaved a sigh of relief. “You and me both.” He handed over the cash before she even read out the total. The fanny pack around his waist was growing light faster than he’d expected, but he supposed that was bound to happen when he hadn’t budgeted for an invisible roommate.
“I wish more youngins shared our thinkin’ on music,” she said with a wink. “Need a bag?”
“No, thanks, but, uh, can I see the sketch of the scientist?” Bringing Emory up with anybody on the island was a bad move. If he courted too much attention, people might come sniffing around. Since Jeanie seemed to have a previously vested interest, he saw no harm.
“’Course!” She disappeared into the back room where she loudly shuffled through papers.
When she returned and he saw the sketch on a dirty piece of loose-leaf paper, he deflated.
No wonder the police didn’t take this and hang it around town on WANTED posters.
The drawing resembled a human, and it was better than the average child could come up with, but the proportions were unsettlingly off.
Emory’s forehead was the size of his neck.
His hair looked like the bottom half of a mop.
On one side, he seemed to be missing a pupil.
The sketch was the equivalent of a factory-defect Mr. Potato Head if the holes were all drilled an inch or two off-center and the pieces got plugged in anyway.
“Uncanny, ain’t it?” Jeanie asked, clearly fishing for a compliment.
Gerard nodded politely. “I’ve never seen him, but wow, a guy who looked like that would be hard to miss if he were still on the island.” Seriously, if he ran into a man who resembled the one in her drawing, he’d run screaming in the opposite direction. The visage was pure nightmare fuel.
“Keep an eye out,” she said. “And come back if you need to order anythin’.”