Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“I think so, but I haven’t got a text yet.
” Meredith checked his screen again as Corner called everyone to attention and launched into a long and boring speech about the history of the Corner Store.
In that time, David received notifications that he’d won both the Forkupine and the jade bracelet.
Finally, Corner began to wrap things up, expressing his gratitude toward Cartier, the donors, and the attendees.
Just when David thought he had to be finished, he added, “And I want to give an extra-special thanks to a few of our donors who were instrumental in our success tonight—Omega Stevenson, Lydia Morton-Bentley, and Meredith Schwarzwelder, whose Damaged Scribblings series brought in more than any other single donor.”
The crowd applauded; cameras flashed.
“What,” whispered Meredith, eyes wide. “But it’s nothing, I just gave away a few stupid sketches that nobody liked, and they didn’t even get the name right.”
“Mr. Cartier liked them.” David also suspected Kinley hadn’t been joking about instigating a bidding war, which he’d no doubt dropped out of when the stakes became high enough.
“If I could have the three of you join me up here, please!” called Corner.
Meredith hid his face against David’s shoulder. “Oh, I can’t.”
It was strangely endearing seeing him turn shy in front of a crowd, and it went a long way toward making up for his arrogance at other times.
“You can.” David rubbed his knuckles gently between his shoulders. “Go on.”
Looking like a deer in headlights, Meredith joined the other two in making the trek to the front of the room. Corner, under the guise of ostensibly thanking the three donors, spent the next several minutes congratulating himself for having had the foresight to make the request of them.
At last he concluded his speech. “If you’ve received confirmation of a winning bid, please proceed to one of the registers to collect your items, and thank you again for coming.”
The audience broke into deafening applause—no doubt at the fact that he’d finally stopped speaking—and the journalists from the local and regional papers descended upon the quartet.
By the time Meredith escaped the publicity, David had already paid for and received his items, wrapped in tissue paper and concealed inside a large shopping bag. He waited at the bottom of the mezzanine as Meredith descended, checking his phone. After he spent a moment scrolling, his face fell.
“What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t get it,” he said in disbelief, still staring at his screen.
A tiny seed of guilt sprouted in David’s mind. “You mean you didn’t win anything at all?”
Meredith shook his head. “I was only after the one thing, but somebody must have gone and outbid me at the last second.”
His tone gave David pause. Had he misjudged the whole thing? “Look, I—”
“Mr. Carew!”
David turned to find Leonard Flood hailing him with one upraised tentacle as he oozed toward them across the auction floor.
“Ah, Mr. Flood, I hadn’t realized you were here.” He made an effort to keep his tone polite, but inwardly he cursed the man’s timing.
“Yes, it’s a bit difficult getting around in this crowd,” said Flood.
“Hadn’t heard from you in a bit, so I just thought I’d touch base to see where things stood.
Been a busy week on your end, of course, I quite understand.
” Catching sight of Meredith, Flood slapped a tentacle to his forehead.
“Forgive me for not introducing myself. Leonard Flood, real estate agent. If you’re ever in the market for a place yourself, do give me a call,” he said, and presented him with a rather soggy business card.
“Oh…thank you…” Meredith accepted it delicately between two fingertips.
“Not the time to talk business, of course,” Flood told David, “but I did want to check that everything was all right after you withdrew your offer so suddenly.”
“You made an offer,” said Meredith quietly. It was not a question. “You made an offer on a house.” His voice trembled. “You’re going to leave.”
“No, I—I did, yes.” David admitted. “I mean, I thought about it, for a bit, but it wasn’t—I mean to say—” He turned from Meredith to Leonard Flood and back again, unsure which of them he was actually addressing.
“You see, I was doubting myself the whole time, and I couldn’t go through with it, and—and—” Every word out of his mouth was making the entire situation worse.
“Finding the right place can take some time,” Flood barreled on, “so don’t let that discourage you. Give me a call when you’re ready to schedule another viewing—no rush, of course.”
“No, in fact, Mr. Flood, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” David looked desperately to Meredith, who had gone faraway again, his expression quite unreadable. “Actually I’ve realized I’m quite content with where I’m at, for the time being.”
“Understood, understood. Do keep me in mind if you reconsider.” Flood gave David a jovial and somewhat damp clap on the shoulder and took his leave.
“Meredith—”
“No, no,” Meredith interrupted, “no need.” He pressed both hands to his face, exhaled a slow, shaky breath, then lowered them and turned a sad, tired smile on David. “Bit of a shock, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” said David. “It was sort of on impulse, and when I really thought about it, that wasn’t what I wanted at all, and—I’m sorry,” he repeated uselessly.
“Ah, well, no harm done.”
David wasn’t convinced, but Meredith reached out to rest a hand on his arm. “ ’S all right, David, really. Can’t blame you, all things considered.”
Moving aside to clear a path for two women making their way toward the exit, David said, “Perhaps you should.”
“Nah, what do you think? Course you never c-could’ve gone through with it, you’d miss Bianca too much.”
I’d miss you too much, David wanted to say, but before he could—
“I’m going home,” said Meredith. There was a weariness in his voice, and as they followed the departing throng out through the lobby, he looked startlingly haggard beneath the fluorescent lights.
David wanted to ask when he’d last slept properly, but didn’t imagine either of them would take any comfort from the answer. Instead, he said, “All right. Come on, then.”
Meredith shook his head. “You don’t have to. I know you probably want to stay and…” He trailed off with a gesture that encompassed the surrounding crowd. “I can walk.”
“In those heels?”
David’s tone was light, but Meredith’s empty, distant look didn’t lift. “I’ll manage.”
“I mean it,” insisted David. “I’ve just about had my fill of all this as well. Let’s go home.”
Meredith made no reply to that, and as soon as they were in the van, he curled up in the passenger seat, resting his cheek against the window.
As they drove back to Midnight Cottage, David’s unease grew.
This hadn’t turned out the way he’d intended at all, and he didn’t for one moment believe Meredith’s insistence that everything was fine.
As soon as they got back, he decided, he’d give Meredith the bracelet, apologize again, make sure he understood that David really meant what he’d said to Flood, and, from there, somehow lead into the conversation the two of them desperately needed to have.
It wasn’t until David turned on the living room lights that he saw the shine of tears on Meredith’s lower lashes. “You really are upset,” said David quietly.
Bianca climbed up onto the arm of the sofa, wagging her tail and demanding attention. Meredith listlessly stroked her fur. “I wanted that bracelet, David.”
It was by no means the answer David had expected, but that at least he could do something about. He set down his shopping bag and reached into its depths, grappling for the flat square box. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it mattered to you that much.”
“It ain’t about the thing itself, ’s just how Kinley s-said I ought to do something for myself seeing as how—you know, lately things have been—oh, I don’t know.
” Meredith made a gesture of futility. “And then he was giving me some lecture about the Protestant work ethic, which I didn’t really underst-st-st—follow, but in the end, I really just wanted—” He stopped, too near tears to continue.
David was dying inside. He had to be the lowest person on earth. He’d thought they were playing a game—he’d only meant to tease him a bit and make him laugh, but he’d accomplished the exact opposite.
Wretchedly, he presented the box to Meredith.
He opened it, and his eyes darted between its contents and David in disbelief. “You were number 108?”
David was floored. Meredith really hadn’t known he was the one bidding against him all along?
“Oh, you poor silly little bird.” His voice came out huskier than he’d expected. “Do you mean to tell me after all this time, you still don’t know my handwriting?”
Sinking down to sit at one edge of the sofa, Meredith lifted the bracelet from its nest of cotton wool and regarded it for a long moment. Then he returned it to the box, slid it onto the coffee table, and said, tonelessly, “Thank you.”
Taking a seat next to him, David wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a sideways hug. “Meri, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I thought you were just playing along, pretending you didn’t know it was me,” he confessed. “I never meant to make you sad, not about that or about—any of it.”
Meredith gave a tired laugh and inclined his head to rest against David’s shoulder. “ ’S all right. Sorry I ruined everything being a bit of an idiot.”
“You’re not.” David brushed a stray lock of brass-blond hair from his face. “I’m always going and pushing you a bit too far, aren’t I? Sticking my big paws in where they don’t belong.”
“Nah, normally I’d get a kick out of a thing like that.” Meredith sagged against David, winding up halfway in his lap and slumping down further so his face was hidden against his chest. “Don’t know what’s the matter with me lately.”
“You’ve been having a hard time.”
With a sigh, Meredith admitted, “S’pose you could say that.”
“And I haven’t made it any easier on you.” Especially not with his clandestine attempt to move out.
David stroked his hair, and in that moment, he had a crushing realization.
He was no good for Meredith. He wanted to be with him, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but he’d only go on hurting him.
All this time, he’d been blundering along, his attempts at showing his affection rough and clumsy—a child grasping at a butterfly, heedless of its fragile wings.
For a time, David had seen the possibility of something between the two of them, something with enough momentum to carry him out of the inertia of his present life and into some kind of future, whatever that future might be.
But perhaps it was just the opposite. Perhaps Cartier had the right idea, and the only way to move forward was to raze his current life to the ground and for them both to walk out of the rubble—in separate directions.
“Meri?”
“Hmm?”
David focused on the sliver of night sky visible between the curtains, pinprick diamonds on black velvet.
Perhaps only rhinestones, but in the end, it didn’t make a difference.
“Whoever it is you’re in love with—” David hesitated.
No matter how he might hope, there was no chance that Meredith could return his feelings.
How could he possibly love someone who was so dull by comparison, who went hurting him at every turn, who surely could not compare to the unknown admirer who’d sent him those hated daffodils?
(Even in their wilted state, they mocked David from their place on the coffee table.) He shouldn’t finish the sentence.
It was terribly selfish of him. It would give everything away, yet he couldn’t stop himself continuing, “If you ever decide to tell them, I hope they realize how lucky they are.”
Meredith pulled away and sat up, leaving David bereft of his warmth. It had been the wrong thing to say—either an unwanted revelation or a reminder of Meredith’s own unrequited feelings.
Meredith’s eyes darted over toward David in that sideways searching look of his. “Actually, I think…”
David closed his eyes. This was it. Now that he’d gone and raised the subject, he was about to be let down gently, and that was even worse than a short sharp rejection.
“I think I’ve just about got up the nerve to tell him. Soon. Quite soon, actually.”
“Oh.” David had been wrong. This was worse. He blinked against the sting in his eyes. Meredith not only didn’t care for him, but he’d been about to put a stop to things between them anyway.
“David, I—”
“Don’t.”
The single word came out with a harshness he hadn’t intended, and Meredith recoiled as though David had slapped him.
“What?”
David couldn’t look at him. It was all he could do to make a pretense of studying the window, but his eyes couldn’t take in the stars anymore. All he could see was a smudge on the glass, the unraveling hem of the curtain, his own reflection pale and wavering.
“I know what you’re going to say,” said David hollowly, “but I can’t bear to hear it. So if you have the least shred of care for—for me, for our friendship, you won’t say it.”
Meredith went still, barely breathing. “Oh,” he said. “I—I hadn’t realized. I mean—I thought—”
There was no longer any point in trying to save face through denial. “I’m afraid so.”
After a long pause, Meredith said simply, “I see.” Coming from him, that terseness was shockingly cold.
David made an effort to keep his tone brisk, to show that he wasn’t hurt, not at all. He’d known all along what he’d been walking into. “Yes, well, it should have been clear from the beginning. As you said, we were just having fun.”
“Yeah,” said Meredith, blinking hard. “S’pose it had to come to an end s-sometime.” He shrugged out of David’s sweater, rose to his feet, picked up Bianca, and turned to go. Then, turning back: “I’m sorry.”
“No need,” said David.
Meredith ascended the staircase, and David could only sit frozen, watching his retreating back, left with nothing but a crumpled heap of wool that held the faintest scent of patchouli.