Chapter 86
Hard to say where Sander was, other than right here, right now. Everything around him, all the familiar everyday objects, the kids’ jackets and shoes, the hat rack, Olivia’s coats, the umbrella, the rug on the floor—all of it had become astonishingly foreign.
“Could I…” the man in the doorway began, “it’s so hot. Could I come in and have a glass of water?”
He picked up his backpack. Sander held his breath and stepped aside, let him in, whatever he was. The man glanced around the front hall with curiosity, at the hooks for adults and children.
With a start, Sander reached out and grabbed the man’s forearm. The man laughed uncertainly.
Wrinkles around his eyes, crows’ feet. He was very tan. Sander was still grasping the man’s arm, but then an icy gust came between them and he dropped it abruptly as if his grip frightened him.
The man looked over Sander’s shoulder, at the kitchen.
“Could I just have a little water, please? I’m so thirsty.”
Sander turned around, looking away from the visitor for the first time.
He slowly went to the sink and filled the glass he had just been drinking from; he turned his head.
The man was still there. Sander held out the glass and watched it be swallowed by a hand meatier than his own, veinier, browner. The skin tougher.
“Thank you, Sander.”
The man drank greedily as he eyed the bracelet around Sander’s wrist. Rays of sun fell through the picture windows in the living room, warming the ash-gray herringbone parquet.
The man sat down on the kitchen bench and exhaled. One of the cushions slipped out of place and he straightened it, a movement so ordinary that it appeared even more surreal to Sander. He pulled out a chair and sat down too.
“Killian?”
“Been ages since I heard anyone say that name out loud. It feels kind of weird.”
He looked out the window at the driveway, Sander’s car gleaming in the sun.
“Nice to have a car. Walking everywhere really takes a toll. Especially with this heat. But at least there are sidewalks here. It’s nice.”
Something shifted in Sander’s throat, something that wanted out. He was afraid it was a scream, but it didn’t quite feel like one. He didn’t know what it would be until he opened his mouth.
Sander began to laugh. Killian just stared at him.
“Are you okay?”
“Okay,” said Sander. “Okay.”
Sander’s laughter grew louder. He made a face.
The man at his kitchen table began to laugh, too, at first in a terse, bursting sort of way, like he was trying to suppress it, but then noisily and warmly as it tumbled all through his big body.
Wave after wave passed through them. The sound ricocheted and echoed through the empty house.
They sat there like two friends who had pulled off a massive con.
“It was you I saw,” Sander said, “wasn’t it?”
Killian stiffened. Were the words more dangerous than Sander thought? When he relaxed again, it seemed like it took a lot of effort. “Where?”
“Outside the chapel. And after the funeral. Across the field, over by the bushes where the Soderstroms’ house used to be.”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “It probably was. I couldn’t miss it, you know? He was my dad.” He had grown solemn, the last words sounding awfully thick as they came out. “Yours are both still alive, aren’t they? I thought I saw them. How are they?”
Questions for an old friend you run into at the grocery store. As if the events of the past had suddenly become insignificant.
“They’re getting old. Dad uses a cane. But they’re good.”
Killian, if it really was him, didn’t respond. Maybe he was thinking of his own parents. One hand tapped lightly at his glass.
“What is going on?” Sander said, but it wasn’t entirely clear who he was addressing.
“Can we just…” Killian began, but then he hesitated, as if he, too, were beginning to realize how bizarre this was. “Can we just hang out for a little bit? You know, like we always used to. Is that okay?”
An odor rose from Killian when he moved, maybe it was his clothing. Sander inhaled it. All the other senses can fool a person, but not smell.
It was really him.
“What do you mean, what do you want to do?” was all that came out.
“Do you have any beer?”
“No.”
Killian glanced at his backpack. “Good thing I do.”
His eyes sparkled. Then he stopped to consider something and quirked his lips.
“I understand I have a grave. I’d like to see it.”