A Note in the Margin (15 page)

John was already outside leaning against the wall lighting up a cigarette. He glanced up at Jamie and shook his head. “He’s gone back to
that,
hasn’t he?”

Jamie wanted to lie and say no, but couldn’t. He leaned beside John and watched an old man pushing a battered shopping cart filled with bags, paper and plastic, through the narrow opening of the door. Jamie hoped there would be room for him even though he doubted it. He sighed and said quietly, “I don’t know, John, but something was really upsetting him. So there has to be a good reason, yeah?”

John tipped his head back against the wall and exhaled a long stream of smoke before saying, “I thought he would be able to talk to me about his
reasons
by now.”

Jamie nodded. “He still has a lot to work through, I guess. I can’t even imagine what his life has been like.”

So many images flooded John: David hurt and bleeding in his stairwell, his shame at not being able to stay clean, the tentative nature of their lovemaking. John wanted to make it
all
right for him so he could lead a normal life, but Barbara’s words of warning were only just starting to become real.

After stubbing his cigarette out on the graffiti-covered wall, John straightened his back with a weary roll of his shoulders and said, “Let’s go, Jamie. He’s not here.”

Jamie nodded and said a little too quietly, “Yeah, maybe he’s at home already… and didn’t see the note.”

John didn’t answer.

They drove home the long way past the park, both looking at every person they passed, but neither said a word. By the time they reached the store it was well after eleven and the note was still stuck to the door untouched. John reached out to rip it off, but Jamie stilled his hand. “Leave it please, John. Just in case.”

John looked at Jamie, ready to argue, but left the note with a small nod of his head. “Just in case.”

The
two young mothers stopped talking when they alighted from the bus and looked at the quiet man sitting in the corner of the bus shelter. One made a hushed comment, to which the other shook her head, and they tugged their children away a little faster. David lowered his head and closed his eyes.
N
ot long now.

He ached and his head thumped, but none of that mattered now. He was here and would see him soon. It would be worth it.

A group of teenage boys spilled out of an old car and laughed as they shoved one another toward the low brick wall in front of the school where they quickly took up residence. David shrank back into the shadow of the shelter. He’d learned from experience to avoid teenagers in large numbers. He heard another car pull up. The boys started cheering and he could make out a shout of, “Hey, Robinson!” He leaned forward enough to see Adam getting out of the driver’s seat of a new car sporting learner driver plates. From his hiding place, David watched the boys surround his son, who proudly showed off the little blue car until the school bell sounded.

When the boys dispersed and disappeared into the school building, David whispered sadly, “Happy birthday, Adam.”

A soft
breath on the back of his neck was the first thing John registered as his uneasy sleep receded.
David.
But the reality of the night before soon invaded that thought and an empty nausea overtook him. He reached out to the nightstand and lifted his cell phone. John knew there’d been no call, but he still felt compelled to check.
No messages.
He turned onto his back and pinched the bridge of his nose; his eyes stung and the small amount of sleep he’d managed had done nothing to ease his headache.

It was still early, but John knew he couldn’t stay in bed any longer. It felt wrong. But at the same time he didn’t have the energy to get up.

The movement in the bed woke Jamie and he sat up, momentarily thrown by his surroundings; it had been a long time since he’d crawled into bed with his parents in this room. He looked down at John and, although both men were still fully clothed, he felt a little awkward and unsure of what to say. John acknowledged Jamie with a brief nod, but escaped further conversation by sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. When Jamie started to speak a simple good morning, John held up his hand to silence him, got up, and walked through to the kitchen.

After a visit to the bathroom, Jamie braced himself and entered the kitchen where John was stacking dishes in the cupboard. Jamie watched for a little while before getting the courage to ask, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” John replied in a manner that told him not to pursue it any further. But Jamie ignored the tone, understanding John’s defense mechanisms, and suggested, “We can look for him again.”

“He’s gone, Jamie,” John snapped, determined not to allow the emotions bubbling so close to the surface to break through.

“You found him last time,” Jamie said quietly.

John slammed the cupboard door and spun around to face Jamie. “How many times do I have to
keep
finding
him? Tell me that.”

That surprised Jamie; the answer seemed so obvious. “Until he stays.”

John’s resolve crumbled and he sat heavily at the table. Barbara’s words ran through his head.
I’m not going to kid you, John. It’s not going to be easy, and it may not work out. So you need to decide is he worth all this?
He pushed his hand through his hair and looked toward the window away from Jamie.

“I can open Margins if you want,” Jamie offered and sat opposite John, fiddling with the handle of the empty mug left on the table.

John shook his head and sighed. “Leave it today….”

“But what if he comes to the store? We have to have it open. I’ll stay at the store if you want to go look again. Maybe that lady from the shelter can help this morning?”

John took the mug gently from Jamie and turned it over in his hands. He focused on the authors’ names repeated several times in what looked like copperplate—obviously a publisher’s promotion. He placed the mug carefully on the table and looked up at Jamie, his voice soft but determined. “You’re right. I can’t give up that easily.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right, yeah?” Jamie grinned and was instantly up out of his chair and heading for the door. “Come on then. Go find him.” John couldn’t help but smile back at the young man literally pushing him out the door.

John
scratched absently at the beard of stubble on his jawline as he drove down the main street. He felt dirty and uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, the same ones he’d slept in.
One fucking night and I’m complaining.
He turned the car into a side street next to the shelter and shut off the engine. Jamie’s optimism had stayed with him for the first part of the drive, but now John sat in the driver’s seat reluctant to leave the confines of the car. His head fell back against the headrest and he closed his eyes.
What if he’s not there? What then?
The impending sense of loss was so powerful that it virtually immobilized him. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t go in there again and not find him among all the other lost souls.

A tap on the window roused him and John opened his eyes to see Barbara standing on the edge of the sidewalk. He wound down the window and gave her a not very convincing smile.

“John, isn’t it? What brings you here?”

John got out of the car and told her as briefly as he could what had happened since their last chat. Barbara simply stood and listened with the occasional nod. When he finished she said, “To be honest, John, I don’t know what to say to you. But let’s start by going inside to see if he’s there and we can talk properly over a coffee.”

Barbara locked her handbag in a drawer in her office and quickly checked through the roster for the day. John waited patiently as she frowned over her paperwork and sighed. “Never enough willing hands. Okay, let’s see if we can find….” She looked at him for a reminder.

“David,” John said quietly, his stomach already churning. Barbara gave him an apologetic smile and put a hand on his arm while she called out to a young man in the next room. “Brian, let John check around a bit. He’s looking for the ‘sketchbook’ guy.”

“Sure thing,” Brian said. “But I haven’t seen him around here for quite a while.” He turned to John and after giving him a quick once-over suggested, “There are still a few in there, but its mainly old guys sleeping it off until chucking out time.”

Barbara was already waiting at the table in the kitchen when John finally gave up his search of both the sleeping area and dining room. “Come and sit down, luv,” Barbara said gently, taking note of John’s miserable expression. “As I said before, I don’t really know what went wrong, but from what you said it seemed that in
his
mind it was very important to go, even though he obviously didn’t want to.”

John nodded. “It was tearing him up for days before….” He hesitated for a minute before asking, “He left his sketchbook with me. Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t really know; I think you know him better than I do, but it does tell me that he cared enough to entrust it to you,” Barbara said softly, taking hold of John’s hand. “I’ve
never
seen him without it.”

John looked away. It took him several uncomfortable minutes before he managed to suggest, “Maybe I could call the police?”

This is so hard.
Barbara watched him carefully as she said, “It’s too early for that, hon. Maybe tomorrow. But to be honest I don’t think they’ll follow it up; he’s an adult who left of his own accord and… and I’m sorry to say, would still be regarded as a transient.”

John closed his eyes, but knew what she said was true. He took a deep breath and nodded. Barbara squeezed his hand. “I’ll keep an eye open for him here and ask around. Look, I’ve got a map of the park and can show you the most popular places. Plus we can check out where the soup wagon is going to be tonight.”

It
was already late afternoon by the time John sank back into the driver’s seat. He’d wandered through the park hopeful at first, but gradually became more dejected as he witnessed many dirty faces that either avoided his curiosity or were simply lost in their own survival. None of them were David. He checked his cell phone again, but he hadn’t missed any calls.

John sat in the car for a long time. He watched the gray smoke of his cigarette slowly drift out the open window.
I didn’t manage to give these up for long,
he mused as the long line of ash finally fell onto his trouser leg. It was afternoon and John knew he needed to head back to relieve Jamie, even though it felt a lot like giving up. He butted what was left of the cigarette into the ashtray and turned the keys in the ignition.

The news on the car radio was heading into the expected “feel good” human interest story as John pulled away from the red light at the intersection near the store. He glanced briefly at Margins, more out of habit than anything else, and caught sight of a figure sitting on the sidewalk just out of sight of the storefront. He was past it before he could see clearly, but by the time he’d parked the car his heart was like a jack-hammer in his chest. He shoved the keys in his pocket and jogged to the corner, slowing to a stop as he reached its edge.
Take it easy, Mac.

He took a deep breath and calmly stepped around the brickwork to stop at the figure. When David didn’t move John asked quietly, “Dave? Why are you outside?”

David didn’t look at him, but stood up slowly. John could see his fingers twitching and flexing as he fought to hold himself together enough to answer. “I just came to get my book.” It was said softly, but with the finality of a door slamming in John’s face. He looked at David, waiting for more, but David continued to stand with his arms now defensively wrapped around his body and his eyes on the ground between them.

Something clenched inside John. “It’s upstairs.” He turned his back on David and walked to the door of the apartment. Without further comment John opened the door and stood aside for David to walk up the stairs.

On entering the living room John’s eyes flicked to the sketchbook and he said, “It’s on the coffee table.” He watched David walk across the room, eyes down, and pick up the book.

John didn’t understand any of this.
What the fuck did I do wrong?

“I looked for you,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the anger and bitterness out of his voice. “Half the bloody night I looked for you, David.”

David hesitated, his fingers tightening reflexively around the spiral binding of the book. He couldn’t explain. There was no way to make John understand. He knew it was no excuse for what he’d done but said tentatively, “I had to see Adam.”

“Okay, you had to see your son. I can understand that, but I don’t get what’s been going on with you and why you didn’t….” John stopped speaking. It suddenly struck him what it all meant and why David hadn’t come home. He stood and glared, not wanting to believe it.

John slowly shook his head and said with a quiet bitterness to his voice. “Bus fare. Is that right, David? Is that right?” His hands clenched into fists as his voice rose to a choked shout. “Still acting like a fucking whore for a few fucking dollars?”

John’s words battered him; he stared down at the dirty fingers that clutched tightly at his sketchbook. David wanted to run, to get away from the accusations,
the truth,
but he simply didn’t have the strength anymore. He felt numb, heart and soul. Only every other word registered and he closed his eyes.

All the anger and frustration John had bottled up since the night before poured from him onto David, with John only pausing to take a breath when he saw David’s book hit the floor. David staggered, his grip on the back of the chair the only thing holding him on his feet.

The room was suddenly silent as John stood and watched David sway slightly before crumpling to his knees. The air left John’s lungs, taking all his anger with it, to be replaced by the sickening realization that he was the one hurting David now. Forgotten keys previously gripped tight enough to make sharp indentations in John’s palm fell to the carpet and he rushed over to David. “Oh fuck, Dave. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” John gasped and dropped to where he could wrap strong arms around him to support and hold him close.