The little house
sat on the corner of Whitewood and Ennis, looking strangely out of
place. Perhaps it was the roof, sagging in on itself as if the house had
grown weary over the years. Or maybe it was the addition, which had
been hastily stacked on the side of the building and was painted in two
different colors, as if the contractor had changed his mind halfway
through the job. Overall, it projected a somber air, and the people who
passed by would hold their breath instinctively as they approached, as
one does at the side of a deathbed. Perhaps it was some animal instinct
that told them to do so- perhaps some shadow or shape in the bushes told
of the decaying dreams that had dwelled there once but now lay rotted
in the attic. At any rate, the little house at Whitewood and Ennis was
not pleasant to behold, and the paltry rent reflected that fact.
But Kevin Price could look past the chipped shutters, the cracked concrete, the faded paint. After all, he valued having a roof over his head slightly more than his pride.
On this day, as he pulled up the driveway in his beat-up blue sedan, the muggy air weighed over the neighborhood like a curtain of lead. He let the engine sigh to a stop, but did not open the door. Instead, he leaned back in the seat, tapping his fingers against his thigh and thinking. Just thinking.
He thought first of the dilapidated house and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It dwelled perpetually on the forefront of his mind, the disheveled silhouette forcing a sigh from his throat as he put the car in park. He would shelve his agitation by assuring himself repeatedly that he would move out soon and get a house on the better side of town.
But he didn't believe that, of course. Kevin had lived on the corner of Whitewood and Ennis for going on five years. The promise, by now, had lost all resemblance of meaning.
His thoughts quickly turned to deeper things, to tax returns and credit card bills and how he was going to pay the lawn guy next month because without him the house would lose what little order it had retained. The little worries piled up until they seemed insurmountable, impossible even. But he could ignore them for now. Forgetting, or at least postponing the inevitable, was the only protection he had anymore.
The car door slammed shut, and with it his thoughts on those matters.
He dragged himself up the driveway and down the little brick path, up the concrete steps and onto the bristly doormat. A small ceramic food bowl was lying on the mat, and a small black-and-white cat as well; it let out a meow and twitched its tail at the sight of its benefactor. Kevin smiled sardonically and pushed the food bowl to the side with his foot. As usual, the cat made no attempt to move.
It stared at him with wide blue eyes, as if it knew something it didn't particularly want to say. Kevin sighed and nudged it with his foot. "Come on, cat," he said. "I need to get through."
The cat blinked once, but it acquiesced, padding over to the far edge of the porch with its tail swishing high in the air. "Thank you," Kevin muttered, only partly sarcastic. The cat sat with its back turned, declining to reply.
As Kevin stepped inside, the artificial coolness greeted him like an old friend. The house, in all its inexpensiveness, wasn't large by his middle-class standards, but it was enough; and what "enough" was, Kevin hadn't bothered to define. The rooms stood still and quiet, cool and dark with the exception of the lonely light he'd left on in the kitchen. When he swung the door shut, the slam seemed to punctuate the silence.
Thunder rumbled outside as he glanced out the kitchen window. It was dark, unusually dark for a June afternoon, the sun's face folded over by a thick blanket of clouds. The cloud cover cast shade over everything, as if the street were obscured by a giant shadow. It would rain soon. Another victory for the weatherman on Channel 7.
Kevin turned to the stove, letting out a silent sigh. He stood there for a moment, his mouth pressed thin, his fingers resting on the smooth granite countertop. Anxiety began to grip his chest again, but he ordered himself to focus on the present. Pasta salad.
Kevin had been thinking of pasta salad on the drive home, trying to rid himself of the anxiety that dogged him. He'd been set on it for dinner. It was a little comforting, Kevin thought with a smile, that the ingredients were so familiar and inexpensive.
He had just put the water to boil when he realized that it was raining. The raindrops were a welcome sight in that hot July, shaking the leaves of the bushes and beading themselves on the windowpane. They made a soothing sound, undemanding and regular against the airy hiss of the stove, and Kevin stopped in his preparations just to listen.
As the water in the pot boiled louder and harder, so too did the rain escalate, until it rattled the windows and flooded the brick walkway. Runoff streamed down the driveway and into the street, a muddy river flowing into the sea. The storm had draped itself above the weathered house, and the sun-withered branches of the bushes waved wildly back and forth as if heralding its presence. Kevin paused in his dinner preparations, watching the rain streak down the window. The pot bubbled warmly on the stove beside him.
Between his cooking and the weather, he missed hearing the minivan pull up to the sidewalk. The cat twitched its ear at the sight of its passenger, but it didn't make a sound.
The driver got out and shut the car door, but Kevin made no notice of it, absorbed as he was by the downpour and the tough thwick-thwick of his knife against the cutting board. As the lone figure dashed up the driveway and onto the walk, its presence obscured by the storm. But after it passed, Kevin paused and set his knife down. There was something strange in the air, a noise that shouldn't have been there. Glancing over his shoulder, he reassured himself that the kitchen was empty.
When he turned and looked out the window, all was obscured by wind and dark.
The doorbell surprised him with its insistent tone. It chimed in the entryway, slightly impatient, seeming to demand his presence. Had Corynn forgotten her keys again?
Kevin set the knife down, wiping his hands on his pants. "Coming!" he called.
His shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor as he crossed the long hallway. The windows by the door were so fogged that he could hardly see through, though he noticed without thinking that Corynn was wearing a new coat. He swung the door open. "Cor-"
And then, he stopped. Because it wasn't Corynn at all.
For standing there was Connor, sopping but defiant on the front step. He looked so much older than the boy who'd hawked religious tracts in Uganda, but at the same time, so much was the same: his hair, his ears, the way his fists curled when he got impatient. Kevin's eyes widened, and his grip became frozen on the doorknob. "Connor," he said, almost to himself.
Connor took a deep breath, his eyes staring straight into Kevin. "Hello, Kevin," he said.
Kevin suddenly became aware that his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it quickly. "Um… would you like to come in?" he asked, gesturing to the hall behind him.
He let out his held breath as Connor nodded. "Yeah," Connor said, smiling tightly, "I would."
When they reached the little kitchen, Kevin glanced at Connor warily; Connor didn't even look at him. The wooden chair let a groan slip out as it took Connor's weight. Kevin opened a cabinet door, rustling through the pantry shelves. "Do you want tea or anything?" he asked over his shoulder.
Connor nodded heavily, watching the back of Kevin's head. "Tea would be fine."
Kevin turned the boxes around to look at their labels. "Green, Earl Grey, Black, Herbal…"
"Earl Grey is good, thanks."
The microwave filled the kitchen with its insistent, low humming. As Kevin's fingers drummed on the counter beside him, his gaze caught Connor's for a split second. Something about Connor seemed sadder to Kevin. His back was as straight as his days as mission leader, but his face wore years and years of worry.
Kevin turned away, feeling old all of a sudden.
A kind of thick awkwardness hung in the air as the cup rotated on the microwave tray. It made the kitchen feel too small for the both of them. Connor recognized the feeling with familiarity, while Kevin felt like his every breath was being examined. Outside, the rain beat a heavy rhythm on the roof. A branch beat again and again against the window, as if it wanted to come in.
Finally, Connor spoke. "You've got a cat," he said.
His observation shook Kevin for a moment- but he quickly went along with it. "Yeah," he said, laughing a little. "It just- I don't know- showed up one day."
"Oh. Does it have a name?"
"Actually, it doesn't. The…" He cleared his throat. "Corynn doesn't like him very much."
Connor just nodded, focusing on something in the near distance.
Kevin noticed Connor's expression; his gestures became even more expressive. "It was a kitten when we found it. We fixed it up and got it back on its feet. Corynn, well, she's not a cat person… but it hung around."
Connor coughed into his hand. "That's nice," he said, staring down at the table. "Really."
The timer beeped cheerily, and both men jumped. Kevin went over to put the teabag in, setting the timer again, watching Connor out of the corner of his eye. "So, how's work?" he asked.
He heard Connor shift, and turned around to face him. "Something wrong?" Kevin asked.
"Kevin, why are you ignoring me?" Connor said suddenly.
Kevin blinked. "What, do you think I'm ignoring you?" he asked, the air suddenly feeling very warm. "I haven't been ignoring you! I invited you in." He stressed the word "invited", straining it out between his teeth.
Connor's mouth tightened, straight as a fuse. "I sent letters," he said tersely, "Tons of them. I called your home phone and your cell."
"How'd you get my phone number, anyway?"
Connor shook his head, his voice charged with anger. "I asked your mom, Kevin. She didn't even know who I was."
Kevin folded his arms, his lip jutting out as he spoke. "Well, that's great!" he said with false enthusiasm. "And how is it any business of yours what I do, huh? Considering we haven't talked in, oh, eight years!"
"And whose fault do you think that is?"
Kevin flushed, the way he always did when he was accused. "Connor, you worry too much," he said. "My business is my business."
Connor curled his fists. "Oh, gosh, Kevin, don't start this again."
The timer beeped abruptly. Kevin opened the door with a jerk, grabbed the cup, and set it down on the table as the liquid sloshed over the sides. It sat there between him and Connor, steaming cajolingly, tea rolling down the sides in rivulets.
Connor took a deep breath before speaking. "I've been worried about you," he said, looking at Kevin.
Kevin's chest had tensed. "You shouldn't be," he said roughly. For a moment, his thoughts flashed back to the darkness of the Ugandan night, to the whispered arguments behind the bathhouse of the mission.
The memory dissipated with a surge of frustration.
"Kevin." Connor seemed to want to say something, but he stopped abruptly. He seemed to be struggling with something, but he finally worked up his courage. "Kevin, I don't think you're happy."
Kevin scoffed under his breath. "You don't-"
"I don't what?" Kevin's dismissiveness had touched a nerve in Connor, and he was letting it all go now, rivulets of little things rushing together and becoming a river. "I can't tell when you're happy? Because I can, Kevin, I can!" He slammed his fist against the table, shaking the tea in its mug. "I've always been there for you, so why shouldn't I know if you're happy or not? I've always been there for you, Kevin! I've always known you, so tell me why you're hiding it!"
Kevin tried to answer, but Connor cut him off. "No," Connor said, his teeth gritted. "Give me the truth for once."
As he searched for what to say, Kevin felt that old doubt creep into his chest. He took a long, labored breath, releasing it slowly. "I did… what I did, because I wanted to."
Connor looked at him with a kind of sordid disbelief.
"Not because of you, not because of anyone else." Kevin considered the floor, then looked back at Connor. "That's it."
"You know that isn't true," Connor said, frustration heavy in his voice.
Kevin shook his head. "And why do you care?" he asked, not doing a good job of hiding his desperation. "Why are you even here?"
There was something in Connor, fighting to get out- but he clamped down and didn't answer. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I was evicted today," he stated as plainly as he could.
"What?" Kevin felt a strange mixture of suspicion and pity as he searched Connor's face for answers.
But Connor shook his head. "I came here," he said carefully, his eyes on the cup before him, "because I still care about you, Kevin."
Kevin's eyes were weary, but something caught in his chest. "Why are you here?"
When Connor looked up at him again, his blue eyes were devoid of anger. "I just want you to be happy," he said, the rain nearly drowning out his words.
Kevin leaned back on his palms, resting against the counter.
"Kevin," Connor sighed, "you helped me a lot. And I don't…" He trailed off, shook his head, and rose from the chair. "I'll go now."
Kevin started forward. "Wait!" he said, the words more a reflex than anything.
Connor looked surprised, but he sat back down in his seat.
As thunder rumbled outside the window, Kevin crossed his arms across his chest. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. He seemed to be chewing on what to say.
"Connor," he said slowly, as if he were pulling a knife out of his chest. "I miss you."
Connor seemed crushed. His face sank with pity as he regarded Kevin with those familiar blue eyes. "Oh, Kevin," he said, "Oh, Kevin, I can't miss you anymore."
A passing instance of something flickered on Kevin's face, but other than that, he barely reacted. He seemed to pass through the years in an instant, pulling back to a place where the darkness protected him. After a moment, he spoke. "Corynn will be home soon," he said steadily, like he was reading his line from a scrap of paper.
Connor leaned forward. "Kevin… do you love Corynn?" he asked.
Kevin said nothing. His whole body seemed slumped now, his expression stony, like he didn't want to admit something.
"Kevin." Connor leaned forward, his arms crossed against the table. "You can still change. You can have a better life." And with every word, he seemed to believe it.
Several booms of thunder sounded, rolling into each other like breakers against the shore. Kevin looked up. "Corynn is coming."
Connor shook his head, standing up again. "I'm going to leave."
"Don't go." Again, his words seemed almost a reflex. He began to panic, digging for the words, any words, that would make Connor stay, because he somehow needed Connor more than ever.
"Kevin." Connor's voice was incalculably tired. "Kevin, what do you want me to do?"
Kevin paused. And he couldn't answer.
Connor McKinley glanced up at the dull, gray horizon, at the drops of water making little plips as they beaded, swelled, and jumped from the roof's rim. The air was warm and heavy again, and the only rain was the shower of water that fell when wind shook the leaves of relieved trees. The thunder sounded again, but it was small and far-off. A bird sang in the bushes, adding a soundtrack to the dull sounds of the storm's passing.
Connor regarded the view with a world-worn stare. He looked down, sighed, and ran his thumb over the ear of the black-and-white cat, which had padded over to him when he first sat down. The cat looked at him, its blue eyes narrowed. It seemed to want to tell him something, its curved throat white and careful as it began purring.
Shaking his head at nothing in particular, Connor stood up. He inhaled the earthy breeze, then glanced down at the cat. "Take care of him, okay?" he said gently.
The cat blinked and didn't answer.
Connor left his presence at Kevin's house like an unconquerable shadow; like the shadow of the cat's hood as it waited patiently, never leaving. The cat yawned, looking tired but sleeker than ever- a testament to Kevin's careful care, even as his house crumbled around him. It flicked a tatted ear at the drops blowing from the rain-soaked trees and eyed the man as he walked away, his gait so wearied but certain.
Connor McKinley was never coming back. But he was right there by Kevin's side, every single day.
The tires of Connor's car sprayed puddles into the air as it drove away from Kevin's house for the last time. A female driver watched it curiously as he turned the corner. The new driver pulled into the driveway, right next to Kevin's sedan, her kitty heels clicking against the concrete as she got out. Her keys jingled in her hand as she carried a bag of Chinese take-out up the walkway.
She shook her head at the cat but made no attempt to move it. Then, she thumbed through the keys with one hand and found the right one. Inserting it into the lock, she turned it with a twist of her wrist.
To her surprise, she found the door already open.
And the cat sat on the corner of the doorstep, watching it all.
Via : fanfiction.net
But Kevin Price could look past the chipped shutters, the cracked concrete, the faded paint. After all, he valued having a roof over his head slightly more than his pride.
On this day, as he pulled up the driveway in his beat-up blue sedan, the muggy air weighed over the neighborhood like a curtain of lead. He let the engine sigh to a stop, but did not open the door. Instead, he leaned back in the seat, tapping his fingers against his thigh and thinking. Just thinking.
He thought first of the dilapidated house and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It dwelled perpetually on the forefront of his mind, the disheveled silhouette forcing a sigh from his throat as he put the car in park. He would shelve his agitation by assuring himself repeatedly that he would move out soon and get a house on the better side of town.
But he didn't believe that, of course. Kevin had lived on the corner of Whitewood and Ennis for going on five years. The promise, by now, had lost all resemblance of meaning.
His thoughts quickly turned to deeper things, to tax returns and credit card bills and how he was going to pay the lawn guy next month because without him the house would lose what little order it had retained. The little worries piled up until they seemed insurmountable, impossible even. But he could ignore them for now. Forgetting, or at least postponing the inevitable, was the only protection he had anymore.
The car door slammed shut, and with it his thoughts on those matters.
He dragged himself up the driveway and down the little brick path, up the concrete steps and onto the bristly doormat. A small ceramic food bowl was lying on the mat, and a small black-and-white cat as well; it let out a meow and twitched its tail at the sight of its benefactor. Kevin smiled sardonically and pushed the food bowl to the side with his foot. As usual, the cat made no attempt to move.
It stared at him with wide blue eyes, as if it knew something it didn't particularly want to say. Kevin sighed and nudged it with his foot. "Come on, cat," he said. "I need to get through."
The cat blinked once, but it acquiesced, padding over to the far edge of the porch with its tail swishing high in the air. "Thank you," Kevin muttered, only partly sarcastic. The cat sat with its back turned, declining to reply.
As Kevin stepped inside, the artificial coolness greeted him like an old friend. The house, in all its inexpensiveness, wasn't large by his middle-class standards, but it was enough; and what "enough" was, Kevin hadn't bothered to define. The rooms stood still and quiet, cool and dark with the exception of the lonely light he'd left on in the kitchen. When he swung the door shut, the slam seemed to punctuate the silence.
Thunder rumbled outside as he glanced out the kitchen window. It was dark, unusually dark for a June afternoon, the sun's face folded over by a thick blanket of clouds. The cloud cover cast shade over everything, as if the street were obscured by a giant shadow. It would rain soon. Another victory for the weatherman on Channel 7.
Kevin turned to the stove, letting out a silent sigh. He stood there for a moment, his mouth pressed thin, his fingers resting on the smooth granite countertop. Anxiety began to grip his chest again, but he ordered himself to focus on the present. Pasta salad.
Kevin had been thinking of pasta salad on the drive home, trying to rid himself of the anxiety that dogged him. He'd been set on it for dinner. It was a little comforting, Kevin thought with a smile, that the ingredients were so familiar and inexpensive.
He had just put the water to boil when he realized that it was raining. The raindrops were a welcome sight in that hot July, shaking the leaves of the bushes and beading themselves on the windowpane. They made a soothing sound, undemanding and regular against the airy hiss of the stove, and Kevin stopped in his preparations just to listen.
As the water in the pot boiled louder and harder, so too did the rain escalate, until it rattled the windows and flooded the brick walkway. Runoff streamed down the driveway and into the street, a muddy river flowing into the sea. The storm had draped itself above the weathered house, and the sun-withered branches of the bushes waved wildly back and forth as if heralding its presence. Kevin paused in his dinner preparations, watching the rain streak down the window. The pot bubbled warmly on the stove beside him.
Between his cooking and the weather, he missed hearing the minivan pull up to the sidewalk. The cat twitched its ear at the sight of its passenger, but it didn't make a sound.
The driver got out and shut the car door, but Kevin made no notice of it, absorbed as he was by the downpour and the tough thwick-thwick of his knife against the cutting board. As the lone figure dashed up the driveway and onto the walk, its presence obscured by the storm. But after it passed, Kevin paused and set his knife down. There was something strange in the air, a noise that shouldn't have been there. Glancing over his shoulder, he reassured himself that the kitchen was empty.
When he turned and looked out the window, all was obscured by wind and dark.
The doorbell surprised him with its insistent tone. It chimed in the entryway, slightly impatient, seeming to demand his presence. Had Corynn forgotten her keys again?
Kevin set the knife down, wiping his hands on his pants. "Coming!" he called.
His shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor as he crossed the long hallway. The windows by the door were so fogged that he could hardly see through, though he noticed without thinking that Corynn was wearing a new coat. He swung the door open. "Cor-"
And then, he stopped. Because it wasn't Corynn at all.
For standing there was Connor, sopping but defiant on the front step. He looked so much older than the boy who'd hawked religious tracts in Uganda, but at the same time, so much was the same: his hair, his ears, the way his fists curled when he got impatient. Kevin's eyes widened, and his grip became frozen on the doorknob. "Connor," he said, almost to himself.
Connor took a deep breath, his eyes staring straight into Kevin. "Hello, Kevin," he said.
Kevin suddenly became aware that his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it quickly. "Um… would you like to come in?" he asked, gesturing to the hall behind him.
He let out his held breath as Connor nodded. "Yeah," Connor said, smiling tightly, "I would."
When they reached the little kitchen, Kevin glanced at Connor warily; Connor didn't even look at him. The wooden chair let a groan slip out as it took Connor's weight. Kevin opened a cabinet door, rustling through the pantry shelves. "Do you want tea or anything?" he asked over his shoulder.
Connor nodded heavily, watching the back of Kevin's head. "Tea would be fine."
Kevin turned the boxes around to look at their labels. "Green, Earl Grey, Black, Herbal…"
"Earl Grey is good, thanks."
The microwave filled the kitchen with its insistent, low humming. As Kevin's fingers drummed on the counter beside him, his gaze caught Connor's for a split second. Something about Connor seemed sadder to Kevin. His back was as straight as his days as mission leader, but his face wore years and years of worry.
Kevin turned away, feeling old all of a sudden.
A kind of thick awkwardness hung in the air as the cup rotated on the microwave tray. It made the kitchen feel too small for the both of them. Connor recognized the feeling with familiarity, while Kevin felt like his every breath was being examined. Outside, the rain beat a heavy rhythm on the roof. A branch beat again and again against the window, as if it wanted to come in.
Finally, Connor spoke. "You've got a cat," he said.
His observation shook Kevin for a moment- but he quickly went along with it. "Yeah," he said, laughing a little. "It just- I don't know- showed up one day."
"Oh. Does it have a name?"
"Actually, it doesn't. The…" He cleared his throat. "Corynn doesn't like him very much."
Connor just nodded, focusing on something in the near distance.
Kevin noticed Connor's expression; his gestures became even more expressive. "It was a kitten when we found it. We fixed it up and got it back on its feet. Corynn, well, she's not a cat person… but it hung around."
Connor coughed into his hand. "That's nice," he said, staring down at the table. "Really."
The timer beeped cheerily, and both men jumped. Kevin went over to put the teabag in, setting the timer again, watching Connor out of the corner of his eye. "So, how's work?" he asked.
He heard Connor shift, and turned around to face him. "Something wrong?" Kevin asked.
"Kevin, why are you ignoring me?" Connor said suddenly.
Kevin blinked. "What, do you think I'm ignoring you?" he asked, the air suddenly feeling very warm. "I haven't been ignoring you! I invited you in." He stressed the word "invited", straining it out between his teeth.
Connor's mouth tightened, straight as a fuse. "I sent letters," he said tersely, "Tons of them. I called your home phone and your cell."
"How'd you get my phone number, anyway?"
Connor shook his head, his voice charged with anger. "I asked your mom, Kevin. She didn't even know who I was."
Kevin folded his arms, his lip jutting out as he spoke. "Well, that's great!" he said with false enthusiasm. "And how is it any business of yours what I do, huh? Considering we haven't talked in, oh, eight years!"
"And whose fault do you think that is?"
Kevin flushed, the way he always did when he was accused. "Connor, you worry too much," he said. "My business is my business."
Connor curled his fists. "Oh, gosh, Kevin, don't start this again."
The timer beeped abruptly. Kevin opened the door with a jerk, grabbed the cup, and set it down on the table as the liquid sloshed over the sides. It sat there between him and Connor, steaming cajolingly, tea rolling down the sides in rivulets.
Connor took a deep breath before speaking. "I've been worried about you," he said, looking at Kevin.
Kevin's chest had tensed. "You shouldn't be," he said roughly. For a moment, his thoughts flashed back to the darkness of the Ugandan night, to the whispered arguments behind the bathhouse of the mission.
The memory dissipated with a surge of frustration.
"Kevin." Connor seemed to want to say something, but he stopped abruptly. He seemed to be struggling with something, but he finally worked up his courage. "Kevin, I don't think you're happy."
Kevin scoffed under his breath. "You don't-"
"I don't what?" Kevin's dismissiveness had touched a nerve in Connor, and he was letting it all go now, rivulets of little things rushing together and becoming a river. "I can't tell when you're happy? Because I can, Kevin, I can!" He slammed his fist against the table, shaking the tea in its mug. "I've always been there for you, so why shouldn't I know if you're happy or not? I've always been there for you, Kevin! I've always known you, so tell me why you're hiding it!"
Kevin tried to answer, but Connor cut him off. "No," Connor said, his teeth gritted. "Give me the truth for once."
As he searched for what to say, Kevin felt that old doubt creep into his chest. He took a long, labored breath, releasing it slowly. "I did… what I did, because I wanted to."
Connor looked at him with a kind of sordid disbelief.
"Not because of you, not because of anyone else." Kevin considered the floor, then looked back at Connor. "That's it."
"You know that isn't true," Connor said, frustration heavy in his voice.
Kevin shook his head. "And why do you care?" he asked, not doing a good job of hiding his desperation. "Why are you even here?"
There was something in Connor, fighting to get out- but he clamped down and didn't answer. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I was evicted today," he stated as plainly as he could.
"What?" Kevin felt a strange mixture of suspicion and pity as he searched Connor's face for answers.
But Connor shook his head. "I came here," he said carefully, his eyes on the cup before him, "because I still care about you, Kevin."
Kevin's eyes were weary, but something caught in his chest. "Why are you here?"
When Connor looked up at him again, his blue eyes were devoid of anger. "I just want you to be happy," he said, the rain nearly drowning out his words.
Kevin leaned back on his palms, resting against the counter.
"Kevin," Connor sighed, "you helped me a lot. And I don't…" He trailed off, shook his head, and rose from the chair. "I'll go now."
Kevin started forward. "Wait!" he said, the words more a reflex than anything.
Connor looked surprised, but he sat back down in his seat.
As thunder rumbled outside the window, Kevin crossed his arms across his chest. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. He seemed to be chewing on what to say.
"Connor," he said slowly, as if he were pulling a knife out of his chest. "I miss you."
Connor seemed crushed. His face sank with pity as he regarded Kevin with those familiar blue eyes. "Oh, Kevin," he said, "Oh, Kevin, I can't miss you anymore."
A passing instance of something flickered on Kevin's face, but other than that, he barely reacted. He seemed to pass through the years in an instant, pulling back to a place where the darkness protected him. After a moment, he spoke. "Corynn will be home soon," he said steadily, like he was reading his line from a scrap of paper.
Connor leaned forward. "Kevin… do you love Corynn?" he asked.
Kevin said nothing. His whole body seemed slumped now, his expression stony, like he didn't want to admit something.
"Kevin." Connor leaned forward, his arms crossed against the table. "You can still change. You can have a better life." And with every word, he seemed to believe it.
Several booms of thunder sounded, rolling into each other like breakers against the shore. Kevin looked up. "Corynn is coming."
Connor shook his head, standing up again. "I'm going to leave."
"Don't go." Again, his words seemed almost a reflex. He began to panic, digging for the words, any words, that would make Connor stay, because he somehow needed Connor more than ever.
"Kevin." Connor's voice was incalculably tired. "Kevin, what do you want me to do?"
Kevin paused. And he couldn't answer.
Connor McKinley glanced up at the dull, gray horizon, at the drops of water making little plips as they beaded, swelled, and jumped from the roof's rim. The air was warm and heavy again, and the only rain was the shower of water that fell when wind shook the leaves of relieved trees. The thunder sounded again, but it was small and far-off. A bird sang in the bushes, adding a soundtrack to the dull sounds of the storm's passing.
Connor regarded the view with a world-worn stare. He looked down, sighed, and ran his thumb over the ear of the black-and-white cat, which had padded over to him when he first sat down. The cat looked at him, its blue eyes narrowed. It seemed to want to tell him something, its curved throat white and careful as it began purring.
Shaking his head at nothing in particular, Connor stood up. He inhaled the earthy breeze, then glanced down at the cat. "Take care of him, okay?" he said gently.
The cat blinked and didn't answer.
Connor left his presence at Kevin's house like an unconquerable shadow; like the shadow of the cat's hood as it waited patiently, never leaving. The cat yawned, looking tired but sleeker than ever- a testament to Kevin's careful care, even as his house crumbled around him. It flicked a tatted ear at the drops blowing from the rain-soaked trees and eyed the man as he walked away, his gait so wearied but certain.
Connor McKinley was never coming back. But he was right there by Kevin's side, every single day.
The tires of Connor's car sprayed puddles into the air as it drove away from Kevin's house for the last time. A female driver watched it curiously as he turned the corner. The new driver pulled into the driveway, right next to Kevin's sedan, her kitty heels clicking against the concrete as she got out. Her keys jingled in her hand as she carried a bag of Chinese take-out up the walkway.
She shook her head at the cat but made no attempt to move it. Then, she thumbed through the keys with one hand and found the right one. Inserting it into the lock, she turned it with a twist of her wrist.
To her surprise, she found the door already open.
And the cat sat on the corner of the doorstep, watching it all.
Via : fanfiction.net
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