Authors: Anne Barwell
Chapter Two
The next morning, Tomas was up at dawn, ignoring his instincts to bury himself under the covers after being woken by the alarm. He pulled back the curtains, blinked against the light, and closed them again, deciding that he would deal with the thought of being out of bed at this ungodly hour later. Still bleary-eyed and groggy from lack of sleep, even after his shower, he grabbed his messenger bag, the laptop hidden safely in the bottom of the wardrobe, and stumbled downstairs, nearly tripping over the cat. Mumbling an apology, he followed the coffee aroma toward the kitchen, searching for his fix.
He had come home the previous afternoon after meeting Cathal and written for the first time in months, the words flowing like they used to, better than they used to, so quickly that he struggled to write fast enough to keep up, quite an accomplishment considering he hadn't handwritten anything in a very long time. He didn't know why the muse had suddenly decided to cooperate, but it had never been one for logic. Perhaps it had taken a liking to the leather-bound journal he'd found sitting on his laptop? His sister had written him a note on the first page:
Dear Tomas,
On the journey through life, there are different ways of traveling. I hope this helps,
Kathleen.
Kathleen had always worried about her younger brother, ignoring his attempts to withdraw from her. She had told him in no uncertain terms that she was his sister and that families stuck together through thick and thin, even when certain members of them needed a swift kick up the arse. Protests that he wasn't withdrawing but merely busy, after attempts to ignore her failed, earned him more glares and a reminder that she still loved him, though at times she did wonder why. He was not about to tell her the real reason for his slow decline into apathy and cynicism; it was difficult to explain and a subject he wished to avoid. He wanted to work things out for himself rather than be subjected to her sympathy and risk her rejection. It would be better this way.
Too many people argued that talking about problems helped, that sharing lightened the load, but Tomas disagreed. This was his life to live alone, his choices, whether they were the right ones or not. There might be different ways of traveling through life, but at the moment it felt as though his lack of options was closing in around him. Yes, he knew part of this was his current state of mind, but for now he would focus on today and the possibility of spending time with Cathal.
Entering the kitchen, Tomas dumped his bag on the floor just inside the door. Donovan was sitting at the table, finishing off a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and drinking coffee out of a large pottery mug inscribed with the words "so what if I do mornings, deal with it." He looked up at Tomas and grinned. "Cat steal your bed?"
"No." Tomas poured himself a mug of coffee. Despite him tripping over her, Blackthorn had followed him into the kitchen and was now watching him carefully. Gulping the hot coffee, he ignored the heat scalding his mouth and throat and instead focused on the aroma and taste. "Is she yours?"
"Nah." Donovan shook his head. "She showed up during a storm right after we moved in and has been hanging around ever since. Heidi insists on feeding the thing even though I told her we'd be stuck with it if she did. She named her too." The grin grew wider. "Blackthorn. I told you she was a fan of your books."
"I know her name," Tomas said, sitting down at the table. "Heidi already told me but was evasive when I asked whose she was." As though on cue, the cat jumped onto the table, her little pink tongue edging toward Donovan's plate and the smattering of leftover egg. Heidi hadn't appreciated the comment that she'd named a female cat after a male character, either. Some things, it appeared, were better left unsaid.
"Get off there!" Donovan grabbed the cat and dropped her onto the floor. She glared and blinked at him, washed her paws very slowly one at a time, and then curled up around Tomas's feet.
Tomas put his mug on the table and stretched, but the cat didn't move. His neck and shoulders were still stiff and sore. Spending several hours last night with the trunk of the tree rough against his back was something he would pay for over the next few days. Although it had been more than obvious as the evening had progressed that Cathal was not coming for whatever reason, Tomas had waited anyway, just in case. It was just as easy to write there as in his room, and this way if Cathal showed, at least Tomas had kept his promise to be there.
"Late night?" Donovan drained his coffee. "I didn't hear you come in, but I figured that you had a key and you'd show when you were ready. Heidi stays up watching some late-night thing, but I'm not one for TV. I prefer a good book. Early to bed and early to rise, and all that."
"I need a Thermos," Tomas said, ignoring the question. "Is there one I can borrow?" He paused. "Please."
Donovan stared at him, raising an eyebrow. "It has manners!" He leaned over, lowering his voice, his eyes narrowing. "What happened out there last night? You've even been making conversation this morning. Come on, something must have happened. It's the end of the world, right? And no one bothered to let me in on it. Figures."
"If I see the four motorcyclists of the Apocalypse, I'll be sure to let you know," Tomas replied dryly, unable to resist the reference and doubting that Donovan would recognize it for what it was. "In the meantime I would appreciate the loan of a Thermos and a supply of strong coffee." He yawned, not used to starting an early morning on less than four hours' sleep.
"You've read
Good Omens
?" Donovan didn't seem to be able to decide whether he should be amused or impressed. It was not the reaction Tomas had been expecting, and it shot holes in the reasoning he had been carefully building as to why bothering to make any conversation with Donovan, apart from what was required, would be a waste of time and energy.
"I find it amusing," Tomas said, using the tone that implied that this line of conversation was not one he wished to pursue. Most people shrugged and walked away.
Donovan just grinned, pushed back his seat, and walked over to the pantry. Opening it, he peered inside, shifting several packets before pulling out two Thermoses, one large, the other somewhat smaller. "Yes!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "I knew Heidi kept them in here somewhere." He strode back to the table and put them down in front of Tomas. "For you we have an extra-special offer. You get to choose which one you want for the day." He pointed to the larger one. "Six cups for the day tripper who gets really thirsty or--" Donovan's finger went up into the air, then down again to rest on the other Thermos. "--two cups so you don't need to come home so often to pee." Lowering his voice, the grin changed to a smirk. "Of course you could just use the tree, depending on how shy a guy you are. The hedge does block most of the view, at least from the kitchen windows, even though Heidi keeps threatening to trim it back so she can see what exactly you writer types get up to over there."
"Hedge?" Tomas looked at Donovan blankly. All he could remember was the tree and the surrounding grass.
"It's green and made up of bushes growing closely together," Donovan said helpfully.
"I know what a hedge is, Donovan." Tomas stopped, a smartarse remark paused on the tip of his tongue, his brain backtracking to what else Donovan had said. "What makes you think I'm going anywhere near that tree?"
"
That
tree, huh?" Donovan looked smug. "Not just any tree, but that tree." Although Tomas hadn't answered his question about the Thermoses, Donovan walked back over to the pantry and put the smaller one away. He turned to face Tomas again, smirking. "Let's see. You're a writer. For some weird reason that tree seems to inspire writers; we've had some staying before and they used to sit out there all odd hours scribbling whatever it is you guys scribble in notebooks or the like. So, what's the attraction? I'm missing something. I must be."
A slow flush crept across Tomas's cheeks. The tree was merely a peaceful place in which to write. He was going to sit under it again today because of that, nothing more. If he met Cathal again, so be it. After all, Cathal had borrowed Tomas's book and had promised to meet so that he could return it and maybe read another. Tomas's imagination was merely bridging the gap between fantasy and a reality he craved. He needed to keep the two separate, even if meeting Cathal had made that part of himself he had refused to listen to difficult to deny.
He stood, grabbed the Thermos off the table, and walked quickly over to the kitchen counter, intending to rinse it and then fill it with hot coffee. He was not in the mood for breakfast; there was no point eating just for the sake of it. The emotions playing tag across his mind could go to hell. Tomas lunged for what was left of his rationality, with the intention of dragging it back kicking and screaming as it spotted the open kitchen window and dived through it. A streak of black leapt from the floor to the counter, meowing loudly as it, too, disappeared through the gap between the window ledge and the bottom of the lacy, sheer curtains.
"Fuck!" Tomas exclaimed as the coffeepot fell from the counter to land at his feet, splinters of glass spreading across stained wood, hot coffee barely missing him as he jumped back out of the way.
"What the hell?" Donovan glared at the path of destruction Blackthorn had left behind her. "Stupid cat," he muttered. "Are you okay? Something must have spooked her."
"I'm fine." Tomas bent to help Donovan clean up the mess, picking up the larger pieces of glass while taking care not to step in the rest. Cats did not follow rules, preferring to do what suited them on their own timetable. Attempting to understand them was a waste of time. Something may have spooked her, or she might have just decided that leaving through the window was a more interesting option.
Collecting a brush and pan from the cupboard by the back door, Donovan efficiently swept up the rest of the glass and threw it into the bin under the sink. Walking back to the pantry, he pulled out another coffeepot. "I used to be a Boy Scout," he explained in response to Tomas's raised eyebrow.
"I met one of your neighbors yesterday," Tomas said, deciding he did not want to dwell on the thought of Donovan as a Boy Scout.
"Yeah?" Donovan filled the new pot with water, placed it on the hotplate to brew, and began spooning coffee into a paper filter. "I knew there was a reason for that shade of pink before, buddy," he said triumphantly. "What's her name?"
"
His
name is Cathal." Cathal had told Tomas to call him Cat, that his friends called him that. Tomas hadn't decided whether Donovan was a friend yet.
"Weird name." Donovan looked Tomas slowly up and down, the spoon that had been in his hand landing in the sink with a loud thunk. "Sorry, I don't know him. Did he say he came from around here?"
Had Cathal ever answered that question? Tomas frowned, trying to remember, his brain helpfully supplying images of Cathal and the brief sensation of his lips against Tomas's but not the words he needed. Suddenly Tomas wasn't sure about anything. One of his favorite fantasy books was missing. Cathal had been fascinated by the pictures, hand-drawn watercolors of fairies, dragons, and other mythical beings. It was a book Tomas had found in an old secondhand bookstore years ago, buried behind a stack of old magazines, the only book by this particular author. Attempts to find another had been met by blank looks and dead ends. The story itself was magical and had drawn Tomas into a world he still turned to when he wanted to escape his own.
"Is that coffee ready yet?" Tomas asked, avoiding Donovan's gaze, and with it, his question. Cathal had borrowed the book. Tomas wanted it back. He had never loaned it to anyone before. It was one of his most treasured possessions. "I don't want to be late."
"A date, huh?" Donovan checked the water level in the kettle, put it back on one of the gas hobs, and turned it on. "I can make instant if you're in a hurry. It's not as good as the real thing, but I can bring you out some decent stuff later."
"No!" This was something Tomas needed to do alone. Besides, if Cathal didn't show up, he would feel like an idiot. Illusions were easier to hang onto when they were not shared, and Tomas felt weirdly possessive about this one. An inner voice chastised him for being rude. It sounded familiar, and rather than attempting to work out why or argue with it like he would have normally done, Tomas was too tired to care. "I'm sorry, that was out of line. I didn't get much sleep last night."
Donovan grinned. "You're gonna need the decent stuff to get through the morning then." He waved a hand toward the coffee machine. "Another ten minutes while I make you some bacon sandwiches to take with you." Walking over to the fridge, Donovan took out a packet of bacon, sprayed the frying pan with cooking oil, and began cooking the breakfast Tomas had not asked for.
"Do you always take notice of what your guests actually want or don't want?" Tomas sat down at the table again, picking up what was left of his coffee. He stirred it again, leaving the spoon in the cup, and drained it.
"It's part of my charm." Donovan buttered bread and pulled a roll of greaseproof paper out of a drawer. Tomas closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, opening them with a start at Donovan's next words. "Must be quite the guy if he's done this kind of a number on you in under twenty-four hours. That's damn impressive."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tomas said very calmly. "Cathal borrowed a book from me, and I need to find him so that he can return it." His stomach rumbled, and Donovan smirked.