Chapter Twelve
Just after six the next morning, David crept downstairs and through the still-dark living room.
To his relief, Meredith was gone from the sofa where he’d left him the night before.
David hoped that by leaving early and unobtrusively, he’d be able to avoid him for as long as possible after last night’s fiasco.
Slipping outside, he made his way down the dark and misty lane on foot.
Though it was chilly this morning, he wouldn’t risk the noise of starting the van.
The thought of facing Meredith again made David’s insides burn with embarrassment, and perhaps a hint of—no. Purely embarrassment. He didn’t know what he could have been thinking, going and—doing what he’d done. He hadn’t been thinking, clearly.
His breath hung in the air, and frost muted the color of the grass, though the sun would soon make short work of restoring the green of spring. David shivered, drew his heavy coat closer around him—and nearly had a heart attack when a figure stepped into the path before him.
A wraith in the mist? (The terrible dark figure that had pursued him through the Midnight Wood?)
No—this particular wraith wore an oversized sweater and was accompanied by a Chihuahua.
David pressed a hand over his heart. “Oh, you wretched creature,” he hissed. “You gave me such a turn creeping up on me like that.”
#77: He has a talent for sneaking up on one out of nowhere.
Meredith giggled at that. “Sorry, David.” He leaned in for his customary greeting, then froze halfway and instead gave David a tentative pat on the arm before drawing back.
Well, that was to be expected, he supposed. Things were bound to be a bit awkward for a time. Nothing for it but to move on; sooner or later, they’d get back to normal. And if it meant an end to Meredith’s unnecessary gestures of affection, so much the better.
“What are you doing out here, anyway?” David demanded. “The sun’s not yet up.”
“Couldn’t sleep, so I came down to get the paper. It hasn’t come yet,” Meredith said apologetically, “but I got yesterday’s post. What are you doing?”
“Thought I’d get an early start at the office,” David lied. “I’ve a great deal to do, what with the centennial auction coming up.” It was true, though, that he did mean to speak to Steve Corner today to make one last attempt at securing a spot on the VIP list.
“You haven’t had breakfast.” It wasn’t a question. The way Meredith said it, it wasn’t even a statement so much as an accusation.
“I’ll go to the Corner Café.”
Meredith shook his head. “What, weak tea and tinned mandarins? That’s no good, David.” He spoke softly this morning, as soft as the creeping fog that surrounded them. “Come on back to the house, I’ll do you some eggs and bacon.”
“You’re a vegetarian,” David protested weakly.
“Yeah, but you’re not. Brian left his groceries behind, and there’s half a pound of bacon that needs used. Tossing it in the bin doesn’t bring the pig back to life, does it?”
At a loss, David allowed himself to be led back up the hill to Midnight Cottage.
—
A strange, gloomy silence descended over the breakfast table.
Meredith only picked at his food, stared into the depths of his untouched tea, and soon retreated to his spot in the bay window.
Even after David returned from washing up the dishes—glaring all the while at the bottle of hand lotion left on the kitchen windowsill, not at all a sensible place for it—the silence persisted.
No scratch of fountain pen, no jingle of bracelets, not a single one of the thousand little gestures that usually drove David up the wall: Meredith humming to himself or drumming his fingers against his sketch pad or clicking his rings together or tapping the nib of his pen against his teeth.
Just what David had wanted, of course. Proper peace and quiet at last. But Meredith did seem to stare awfully this morning: out the window, at the blank page of his sketch pad, down at his own stocking feet (one sock striped, one plain). At anywhere besides David, in fact. It made him uneasy.
He supposed he ought to say something, to tactfully inquire how Meredith was doing after the events of the previous evening.
(The incident in the street, that is. David was quite sure they’d reached a mutual, if unspoken, understanding that anything that might have occurred afterward was best left forgotten.)
He was still trying to work out exactly what to say when his deliberations were ended by Mr. Bednarek’s knock at the door.
“Good morning, good morning,” effused the landlord. “So it seems we have lost another tenant, no? Such a pity that Mrs. Sylvania did not find the room to her liking.”
“Yes, Mr. Bednarek,” said David, “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that.”
Bednarek’s cheery expression faded as his gaze landed on Meredith, who hadn’t risen to greet him and instead sat with his chin on his knees, staring into the distance. “My dear Schwarzy, what has you looking so tragic this morning?”
David wished Bednarek hadn’t asked that particular question.
Meredith heaved a sigh, then proceeded to astonish him by bursting out: “Everybody’s getting married except for me!”
#78: It is impossible to ever guess what he will do or say next.
“Oh, come now,” Bednarek attempted to console him. “The right person awaits you just around corner, no? I am certain you will make someone a lovely wife or husband someday.”
Meredith brightened up a bit at that. “You think so?”
“Without a doubt!” proclaimed Bednarek.
“About the roommate situation,” David broke in.
“I did wonder if we mightn’t perhaps have better luck in the long run if we were a bit more selective?
” At Bednarek’s puzzled look, he elaborated, “Making sure they’re a good fit for the, er, household.
Brian, for instance, turned out to be a bit volatile. ”
“And George-7 was simply awful to David,” added Meredith, “even after we explained that accountants here don’t do that business with the chickens.”
“And Joanna,” said David. Meredith shuddered.
“Ah, Mrs. Joanna,” said Bednarek fondly. “A charming young lady.”
“Charming? She went playing Charlie Parker records at all hours of the day and night,” said David. “I tell you, she drove poor Schwarzy to tears.”
“Oh, she did not.”
“She did.”
“I might’ve cried a bit,” Meredith conceded.
“You wept for days and days.”
“Well, I got her back in the end, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know how much of a victory I’d call that,” David grumbled. “You played Gang of Four at her until she had a nervous breakdown, and we all had to suffer for it.”
“It was Rip Rig and Panic, actually.”
“God, you’re a sadist.”
Meredith grinned. “A bit, yeah.”
#79: He admits to that a little too easily.
“Boys, boys,” interrupted Bednarek. “I am landlord, not proprietor of record shop. I assure you, I take such preference into account. In fact, I have found for you already new roommate. He arrives this evening.” The suspect cherub-grin had returned.
“I tell you, we cannot keep them away from the Midnight Cottage!”
Not until Bednarek had gone did David remember he’d meant to press him for details about his meeting with Cartier. As usual, Meredith had gotten him badly off track.
It was a relief to finally leave for work, where his attention was occupied by preparations for the centennial gala and, during slower moments, sifting through house listings.
Soon enough he’d find the right place and be able to wash his hands of Midnight Cottage for good—all the more urgent after last night.
Not, of course, that anything had happened. A moment of poor judgment, brought on by the adrenaline rush of a shared danger. Nothing more. They both understood that. Hardly worth mentioning again.
Still, David stayed late at the office. (Possibly it took him that long to work up the nerve to approach Steve Corner, only to find the manager’s office dark and deserted when he finally did.)
Just as he stood outside the front door of Midnight Cottage, willing himself to actually step inside, tires crunched on gravel behind him.
He turned in time to see a dilapidated sports car pull up next to his van.
From the driver’s door emerged a small man with glasses, a septum piercing, and a wispy goatee, with curly dark hair piled up into a bun atop his head.
“Is this Midnight Cottage?” he asked.
“It is indeed,” said David. “You’re the new roommate, I take it?”
“Picked up my keys from Bednarek just now,” the newcomer confirmed.
“Do come in.”
As David led the way inside, the man said, “I’m Todd Billion, by the way.”
David shook his hand. “David Carew. And this,” he said, as they stepped into the living room, “is my pet magpie who’s temporarily escaped from its cage.”
He didn’t know why he expected that to work any better than his last attempt at forcing Meredith to introduce himself, because it didn’t.
In the bay window, Meredith looked up from painting his nails and gave a little wave. “Yeah. Hi.”
After allowing himself to be embraced and air-kissed, Todd Billion cast an uneasy glance toward the window. “So, uh. Wow. I guess we are really up close to the Midnight Wood, huh?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do the werewolves ever bother you at night?”
“There are no werewolves in the Midnight Wood,” said David, then frowned. “Well. I suppose there was the one. And it was rather late when he came to the door.”
“Oh, it was no bother, really,” protested Meredith. “He only wanted to borrow a grammar book.”
“Yes, which he never returned, by the way.”
“Oh,” said Todd, who didn’t look the least bit reassured. “Right.”
“Don’t listen to David.” Meredith held out one hand to watch his freshly painted nails shine in the setting sun. “There’s nothing to worry about in the Midnight Wood.”
David wished he himself could be so easily convinced.