wouldn’t be open to residents for another month or two, while the niceties and accoutrements and landscaping and general finishing-up-touches were completed. But I didn’t need any of that. I just needed a roof over my head where no one would think to look for me. I couldn’t stay at my house, my office, or any of my friend’s houses (I had no idea how much White Truck Guy knew about me and my life). The new Ash House, vacant and a few kilometres out of town, was perfect.
When I’d called Ethan with my proposal that I move in for a day or two, he’d readily agreed. He actually liked the idea of having someone there. During the day it was busy enough with tradespeople and the like, but at night it was empty and secluded on its five-acre lot just south of the city limits. I wasn’t sure if I was keen on the idea of playing live-in security guard, but turnabout is fair play, I suppose.
It was almost ten-thirty at night when I pulled into the yard.
Although the newly paved driveway was lined with a charming DD6AA2AB8
78
41
-B193
-AD32
-4CDB
-3503D88E1
Anthony Bidulka
parade of Victorian-style lamp posts, the power had obviously not yet been connected, as they sat dark. The only source of light came from the porch that wrapped around the three-storey, asymmetri-cal Queen Anne-style house with its fanciful towers and turrets.
Jared and Ethan had done a masterful job of designing the place. It was immediately inviting and a feast for the eyes. I was hoping the porch light meant that Ethan had already arrived to hand over a set of keys.
I left the Mazda in a near-completed lot that would soon be used for visitor parking, and headed for the house with my sleeping bag and duffel. The path from the lot led me through an expanse of thick and gnarly prairie caragana that had been there long before the house. I appreciated the use of native vegetation, and the trail was made navigable by recently laid fieldstones, but the lights weren’t working here either, so my progress was halting.
I made it only halfway before I stopped altogether. I cocked an ear.
I definitely heard something.
Why an unfamiliar noise in the dark would make me stop, rather than speed up, I don’t know. Weird Quant gene, I guess.
I listened. Something was definitely rooting around in the underbrush. Human or beast? From far off I heard the unmistakable yowl of a lone coyote. Then several more answered back. I decided I didn’t care to find out who or what was out there after all. I picked up the pace.
Happy to have reached the porch without incident, I tossed my stuff onto a wicker chair and turned to knock. That’s when I saw the face peering out at me through the screen door.
“Who are you?” I said, a little louder than required.
“Damien.”
Before I could react, Ethan’s smiling face appeared behind the man.
“Russell, it is you. We thought we saw a set of lights pull into the yard. Welcome to Ash House!” And with that he threw open the door and his arms for a hug.
I hadn’t actually seen Ethan for several weeks. Busy with work, avoiding temptation, that sort of thing. He looked good.
DD6AA2AB8
79
41
-B193
-AD32
-4CDB
-3503D88E1
Aloha, Candy Hearts
He’d cut his normally shaggy hair short. Suddenly scruffy Scooby Doo had become a sleek Great Dane. He was wearing cut-off jeans, which he filled out in all the right places, and an appropriately named muscle shirt. As we embraced, I could smell sweet sweat mixed with a light, orangey cologne.
“Sorry,” he said with his ever-ready smile, “I’m a mess. We were working on the pool house today. Dirty work. Hey, you’ve met Damien, right?”
Wasn’t that the name of the little devil kid from The Omen?
“Uh, no. Not ‘til just now.”
Ethan flashed an embarrassed smile. “Oh, well, uh, Russell, Damien Janzen. Damien, Russell Quant.”
As he made the introductions he placed an arm around the other man. International signal for: we’re together. My heart
When I’d called Ethan with my proposal that I move in for a day or two, he’d readily agreed. He actually liked the idea of having someone there. During the day it was busy enough with tradespeople and the like, but at night it was empty and secluded on its five-acre lot just south of the city limits. I wasn’t sure if I was keen on the idea of playing live-in security guard, but turnabout is fair play, I suppose.
It was almost ten-thirty at night when I pulled into the yard.
Although the newly paved driveway was lined with a charming DD6AA2AB8
78
41
-B193
-AD32
-4CDB
-3503D88E1
Anthony Bidulka
parade of Victorian-style lamp posts, the power had obviously not yet been connected, as they sat dark. The only source of light came from the porch that wrapped around the three-storey, asymmetri-cal Queen Anne-style house with its fanciful towers and turrets.
Jared and Ethan had done a masterful job of designing the place. It was immediately inviting and a feast for the eyes. I was hoping the porch light meant that Ethan had already arrived to hand over a set of keys.
I left the Mazda in a near-completed lot that would soon be used for visitor parking, and headed for the house with my sleeping bag and duffel. The path from the lot led me through an expanse of thick and gnarly prairie caragana that had been there long before the house. I appreciated the use of native vegetation, and the trail was made navigable by recently laid fieldstones, but the lights weren’t working here either, so my progress was halting.
I made it only halfway before I stopped altogether. I cocked an ear.
I definitely heard something.
Why an unfamiliar noise in the dark would make me stop, rather than speed up, I don’t know. Weird Quant gene, I guess.
I listened. Something was definitely rooting around in the underbrush. Human or beast? From far off I heard the unmistakable yowl of a lone coyote. Then several more answered back. I decided I didn’t care to find out who or what was out there after all. I picked up the pace.
Happy to have reached the porch without incident, I tossed my stuff onto a wicker chair and turned to knock. That’s when I saw the face peering out at me through the screen door.
“Who are you?” I said, a little louder than required.
“Damien.”
Before I could react, Ethan’s smiling face appeared behind the man.
“Russell, it is you. We thought we saw a set of lights pull into the yard. Welcome to Ash House!” And with that he threw open the door and his arms for a hug.
I hadn’t actually seen Ethan for several weeks. Busy with work, avoiding temptation, that sort of thing. He looked good.
DD6AA2AB8
79
41
-B193
-AD32
-4CDB
-3503D88E1
Aloha, Candy Hearts
He’d cut his normally shaggy hair short. Suddenly scruffy Scooby Doo had become a sleek Great Dane. He was wearing cut-off jeans, which he filled out in all the right places, and an appropriately named muscle shirt. As we embraced, I could smell sweet sweat mixed with a light, orangey cologne.
“Sorry,” he said with his ever-ready smile, “I’m a mess. We were working on the pool house today. Dirty work. Hey, you’ve met Damien, right?”
Wasn’t that the name of the little devil kid from The Omen?
“Uh, no. Not ‘til just now.”
Ethan flashed an embarrassed smile. “Oh, well, uh, Russell, Damien Janzen. Damien, Russell Quant.”
As he made the introductions he placed an arm around the other man. International signal for: we’re together. My heart
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