Heroes (20 page)

“What are you doing here, Bayle? And what do you mean by asking for Bill?”

Pudgy and soaking, a sopping strand of displaced hair hanging over one eye, Duceeder almost looked like everything Bayle had made him out to be. But somehow the goalie pads and chest protector saved him, gave him even a certain paternal dignity. Bayle reminded himself who Duceeder was and why he'd come and handed over the package.

“What's this?” Duceeder said.

“It's for Billy. For Bill, I mean.”

Duceeder considered the wrapped package. He looked back at Bayle. “He sent you over with this, didn't he?”

“Who?” Bayle said.

Duceeder made a face. “You're telling me that this isn't from Davidson?”

“I didn't say that, I just... I mean, yeah, it's from Harry. He hasn't been feeling too well lately and he asked me if I could drop this off. But I didn't know that Billy was Bill. I mean —”

“You mean you didn't know Bill was my son.”

“Right.”

“Right.” Duceeder bounced the thing up and down in his hand a few light times. He gave it a last look and then handed it back to Bayle. “Return to sender.”

Bayle slowly took the package from Duceeder's outstretched hand. Looked at it. Looked back at Duceeder.

“Don't make this a bigger deal than it has to be, all right?” Duceeder said.

“Look,” Bayle said, “Harry said to give this to Bill. And if I told Harry I would, then I —”

“Go home, Bayle. This hasn't got anything to do with you. You did your job, you're off the hook. Just tell Davidson that that jerk Duceeder wouldn't let you make your birthday delivery, all right? That's all he wants to hear anyway.” Duceeder turned around and bow-legged and goalie-padded moved away. He stopped halfway up the drive, seeming to contemplate whether or not to keep going. He turned around and faced Bayle again.

“I know you think he's Mr. Sincere and everything, but he's full of shit, you know that? If you haven't already found that out for yourself, you will soon enough, believe me.”

Bayle knew this was where he was supposed to jump to Davidson's defence. Duceeder continued.

“Friend of the common man, right? Defender of the down and out. Writes a few articles in that rag of his and all of a sudden he's Joe Public's best buddy. The next time you see Mr. Martyr ask him about Dan Fenton. Ask him how much all his whining about piss-poor washrooms and old arena wiring at the Bunton Center did for Dan.”

“C'mon, Dad! The Chiefs won the toss! They're getting ready to receive!” From behind the screen of the aluminum front door, an enormous plate of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream in each hand, Duceeder's son had apparently gotten over the mystery of Bayle's presence. “C'mon, hurry up!”

“Who's starting this week?” Duceeder asked.

“Grbac,” Bill answered.

“Oh, boy. Feast or famine with that guy. Well, let's see what he's got tonight.”

Duceeder unlaced the goalie pads and threw them on the lawn beside his son's discarded hockey gloves and stick. Taking one of the plates of cake and ice cream, father and son disappeared inside the house, closing the door behind them, leaving Bayle standing by himself in the driveway.

B
AYLE DIDN'T
see Gloria's yellow Volkswagen parked out front of Davidson's place until he almost slammed into it. In the interval it had taken him to return from Duceeder's, the evening's light had been replaced by a thickly damp, almost physical blackness, only occasionally punctured by an infrequent streetlight. Truck safely parked and recognizing Gloria's car now, coming around the side of Davidson's house, fishing in his pocket for the key to the backdoor, Bayle whistled; whistled how interesting it was that he'd never noticed until now just how well-lit Canadian streets were compared to those in the United States.

Whistling done, house key out, quick swipe of sweat from his face on his arm accomplished, the graveyard that was who was on the other side of the door remained as terrifying as prewhistling before.

The voyeur exposed.

The spy spied.

The peeper meets his prey.

Bayle turned the key to the left and hoped it would break off in the lock.

It didn't. But his sudden appearance in the doorway did draw Davidson up from his chair at the kitchen table quicker than Bayle had ever seen him move, even before taking ill.

“Look, Bayle!” he said. “Look who's back!” Beaming at the younger man, Davidson kept thumb-pointing over his shoulder at Gloria sitting at the table (slack-limbed lovely long Gloria; loose grey sweat-shorts and black sleeveless t-shirt, flesh-bare legs crossed one over the other, much-much-skin-exposed sandled foot airborne happy tapping to tunes only to her ears heard: Gloria as Bayle had lustily nightly conjured her). “Look who's back in town!” he said.

Except for noting how many days it was before she was to return home, Davidson had barely even mentioned Gloria's name over the last week; now he was like a squirming teenager whose only aim in life was to share the wonderful news of her arrival with the rest of the world. Bayle frankly found the whole display more than a little bit embarrassing. Bayle also saw that Gloria wasn't wearing a bra.

Davidson turned away from Bayle and stood before Gloria. He offered opened hands for her to hold in his and she took them and did, she and he eye-to-eye smiling. And smiling. Bayle thought he felt a little bit sick to his stomach.

Without breaking eye contact with the blissful Davidson, “Gotta say I'm a little surprised to still find your face around these parts, Bayle,” Gloria said. “Thought you'd be handing out all those As, Bs, and Cs at — where'd you say you were going again? — Saint Something or Other College.”

Bayle and Gloria hadn't spoken since that first night on
the road when she'd called home to ask after Davidson's health, but Bayle had always assumed that Davidson, who'd talked to her on the phone almost every other evening, had told her he'd moved out of The Range and in with him. Why wouldn't he have?

“I guess Harry told you I've been kind of hanging around here since you left,” Bayle said. He still hadn't met Gloria's eyes. Not that that would have been easy if he'd wanted to. Davidson and Gloria's hands were their own again, but their faces only mirrored that of the other.

“As a matter of fact, no, he didn't.”

“How come you didn't tell Gloria I was staying here, Harry?” Bayle said. Davidson didn't answer, apparently didn't hear, just stood there staring at Gloria. “Harry?” Bayle repeated.

“Hmm?”

“Why didn't you tell Gloria I was staying here with you?”

“Didn't I tell you Bayle was sleeping on the couch, G.?” Davidson softened his voice, though not enough that he could have intended Bayle not to hear. “Kid was between a rock and a hard place. Girlfriend back home gave him a Dear John letter over the phone and he really didn't have anywhere else to turn. We got along fine though. No problemo.”

No problemo? Davidson went to the sink counter to unplug the whistling kettle.

“Why, that was real nice of you, Harry, real generous. Good to have friends in times of need like that.” Gloria cut her eyes Bayle's way, but Bayle was looking hard at Davidson.

“Did you take your medication tonight, Harry?” Bayle said, knowing he had. “You know that the doctor said it wasn't going to work properly if you didn't take it three times a day.”

“What medication?” Gloria said. She uncrossed her legs and looked at Davidson's back as he poured the boiling water from the kettle into her tea cup. “What medication, Harry? You didn't say you were taking any medication on the phone.”

“Harry's not been well, Gloria. In fact —”

“You mind, Bayle, I'm talking to Harry,” Gloria said. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, waiting for Davidson's answer, “Well?” she said.

Davidson finished getting the tea ready and walked it over to the table. “It turns out I had some kind of virus, that's all. But the doctor gave me an antibiotic for it and now I'm fit as a fiddle. Nothing to worry about.” He placed the cup of tea on the table in front of Gloria. “Can I get you some honey for your tea, G.? Maybe some toast? You sure you're not hungry? You've had a long trip.”

“I'm fine,” she said. Davidson shrugged his shoulders and smiled okay and began to energetically wipe down the countertop. Gloria spooned the tea around in her cup and kept a close eye on him as he finished up the job and wrung out the yellow dishcloth and hung it over the sink's faucet.

“Gotta make a pit stop but I'll be right back,” he said, sprightly moving off down the hallway. Bayle and Gloria heard the bathroom door close.

“Well, he sure looks better than before, you gotta admit that,” Gloria said.

“It's just because you're here and he's excited,” Bayle said.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom. The clock over the kitchen table ticked ticked ticked slow ticking seconds.

Breaking the silence, “Look, you don't know what he's been like,” Bayle said. “I guess you didn't know I've been working his assignments at the
Eagle,
either.”

“No. I didn't.” Gloria set down her cup of tea. “I thought you had your own job waiting for you back in Canada. How come now you're working Harry's?”

This time Bayle did look in her direction, even if not exactly meeting her eyes.

“I came to be working it because Harry was — I mean,
is
— too sick to do it himself. I was doing him a favour. Just like I was doing him a favour by staying here and cooking his meals and badgering him to take his medication and making his Goddamn lemon tea every night. Just like I thought I was
doing you a favour, too. You seemed pretty keen on the idea of me hanging around here before you left town.”

“I said I hoped you'd look in on him once in awhile, not take away the poor man's job. It's bad enough he can't be covering the hockey team no more because of that sonofabitch Duceeder, but now I've gotta come home to find out you've been writing all his other stories too?” She picked up her cup but set it right back down.

“He needed me,
Gloria, you don't understand, you weren't here. You never saw him sitting in that chair in the other room like a T.V. zombie every night when I'd come home from work. You never saw what a chore it was just to try and get him to eat a little something at dinner every night just so his medication would work. You don't know. I do. I was here.”

“Well, those things don't seem to be the way they are now, do they?” she said.

Bayle didn't know what to say, had seen the suddenly animated Davidson just as well as Gloria had.

“Maybe it was you that needed someone,” Gloria said.

“Now what the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“It means, what with your girlfriend cutting you loose and all, maybe you were the one needing —”

“What happened between my girlfriend and me's got nothing —”

“Maybe it's got everything —”

“People, people,” Davidson said, coming into the kitchen, holding up conciliatory hands. “What's with all this ruckus? You'd think we weren't all good friends here.” If anything, Davidson looked even better than he had before he'd left the room.

Gloria leapt up from her chair and into Davidson's arms.

“Hey, what's this?” Davidson said, talking to Gloria but looking over her shoulder at Bayle.

“This is someone who's glad to have her old Harry back,” she said, “that's who.” Gloria nuzzled her head between Davidson's shoulder and neck. Davidson grinned off into space.

Bayle brushed by the clinging couple.

“Just give me a couple of minutes to throw my stuff together and I'll be out of your hair,” he said.

Gloria gently broke free of Davidson's embrace. Taking his hand in hers she followed after Bayle into the livingroom. “You don't have to rush off just because I'm here, Bayle,” she said. “I expect I'll be staying the night, but I don't think Harry's gonna be so mean as to make me sleep on the couch, are you, Harry?” She squeezed Davidson's hand. Davidson just smiled. “Are you, Harry?” she said again, slight pressure of fingernails applied to the flesh of Davidson's palm this time finally doing the trick.

“Hell, no,” he said. “Bayle can stay here for as long as he likes. Damn couch is starting to show his imprint from sleeping on it for this long now, anyway.” Davidson chuckled at what he thought was a pretty good attempt at lightening the mood of the room. Gloria frowned, dropped his hand. Bayle continued piling his belongings onto the couch.

“Look, it's no big deal,” Bayle said, going to the closet and pulling out his suitcase. “I mean, I was planning on moving back into The Range sooner or later anyway. It's closer to the
Eagle
and I can use the extra twenty minutes sleep in the morning.” He folded his few articles of clothing on top of the rest of his stuff in the bag and zipped it shut, surveyed the room for any forgotten items.

“But today was your last day at the paper, Bayle,” Davidson said. “I'm starting back up tomorrow, remember?”

Bayle looked down at his packed suitcase. “I guess you are ready to go back now, aren't you?”

“Like I said, fit as a fiddle,” Davidson answered, smiling widely, slapping hard his tiny pot belly twice for emphasis.

“What are you gonna do, Bayle?” Gloria said.

Bayle picked up his bag and laptop. “I don't know,” he said. It wasn't the kind of honesty any of them wanted to hear.

Lowered heads; silence.

“You need a ride, Bayle?” Gloria asked, looking up.

“Christ, yes, of course the kid needs a ride,” Davidson
joined in, the second head to lift. “It's the least we can do for you for covering my ass down at the paper when I was on the sidelines. Kid did a damn good job, too, G., you should see his stuff. Solid. Real solid. Surprised the hell out of me, actually. Kid writes just like an old pro.”