plum-meted to the soles of my feet. They’re seeing each other. Something in my stomach curdled.
I shook hands and tried for a polite smile. Outside I was fine, inside I felt black and ugly, and I thought I might throw up on the newly planted potentilla bushes. Instead, I said, “Thanks for agree-ing to this. And for meeting me here so late.” I hadn’t told him the exact reason, other than to say it had to do with work.
“Hey,” Ethan said, “anything to help out the local gumshoe.
Besides, we were here anyway. This place has got to be shipshape for Saturday.”
“Yeah,” Damien spoke up. “I think it’s so cool that you’re a detective and all.”
I’d like to say he was trollish looking, or at least afflicted with a Shih Tzu under bite. But Damien was undeniably good looking…in an aging boy-bander kind of way. “Yeah,” I agreed. “It is cool.”
“Come on in,” Ethan said as he stepped back to let me through.
“How about we give you a quick tour before we take off for the night?” he said with obvious pride in his new home.
“Of course,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I could bear to spend that much time with Ethan and his new boyfriend.
As we made our way through the large house, room by room, each carefully planned for the maximum comfort and ease of its DD6AA2AB8
80
41
-B193
-AD32
-4CDB
-3503D88E1
Anthony Bidulka
eventual inhabitants, it was obvious to me that the place was going to be perfect. The first two floors had spacious suites for about a dozen residents, along with the requisite facilities, public spaces, a mini-gym, well-stocked library-gamesroom, and a movie screen-ing room complete with comfy couches and a popcorn machine.
The third floor was for Ethan and his daughter, Simon, but sadly no room for Damien. (I added that last bit myself). There were a great many superb features: charming nooks and crannies, and, befitting a Queen Anne house, wonderfully flamboyant touches. I made a note to set up a meeting with my financial planner and have him start planning to find a way to plop me into Ash House in my dotage.
Half an hour later the boys were headed back to the city and, I hoped, their respective homes. Left alone in the big empty space, I wandered around for a little longer on my own before deciding it was time to hit the sack. Without any beds in the place yet, I meant that literally.
It was almost midnight when I fell asleep on the back porch to the sound of a trillion crickets. I’d originally set up my sleeping bag in one of the bedrooms, but the night was so beautiful I couldn’t resist. I needed something lovely and peaceful to assuage the muddle of emotions battling for dominance in my head. So many things were weighing on me. The murder of Walter Angel. The confusing treasure map. My engagement to Alex Canyon. Ethan Ash. Alex Canyon. Ethan Ash. And things weren’t going to get better any time soon, for tomorrow morning I was doing something I’d been dreading for a long time. Saying a last goodbye to a friend.
Kelly Doell and I had attended the same small town high school.
Years later, we reconnected in Saskatoon and became best friends.
For many years, she and Errall lived the life of a typical lesbian couple. They met, they moved in together, they got a dog (Brutus), they pooled their k.d. lang CDs. Things were going swell for them.
Errall was a workaholic lawyer and Kelly had found success as the owner of a popular craft gallery on Broadway that featured many of her own wood and pottery creations. Then cancer struck.
DD6AA2AB8
81
41
-B193
-AD32
-4CDB
-3503D88E1
Aloha, Candy Hearts
The disease took Kelly’s breast and most of her inner glow.
Eventually, she packed her bags and moved away. Ran away?
We’d had little contact with her for years. And then, two years ago, she simply showed up again, and Errall took her in without a backward glance. Errall and I have had our issues over the years, but I’ll always admire her
I shook hands and tried for a polite smile. Outside I was fine, inside I felt black and ugly, and I thought I might throw up on the newly planted potentilla bushes. Instead, I said, “Thanks for agree-ing to this. And for meeting me here so late.” I hadn’t told him the exact reason, other than to say it had to do with work.
“Hey,” Ethan said, “anything to help out the local gumshoe.
Besides, we were here anyway. This place has got to be shipshape for Saturday.”
“Yeah,” Damien spoke up. “I think it’s so cool that you’re a detective and all.”
I’d like to say he was trollish looking, or at least afflicted with a Shih Tzu under bite. But Damien was undeniably good looking…in an aging boy-bander kind of way. “Yeah,” I agreed. “It is cool.”
“Come on in,” Ethan said as he stepped back to let me through.
“How about we give you a quick tour before we take off for the night?” he said with obvious pride in his new home.
“Of course,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I could bear to spend that much time with Ethan and his new boyfriend.
As we made our way through the large house, room by room, each carefully planned for the maximum comfort and ease of its DD6AA2AB8
80
41
-B193
-AD32
-4CDB
-3503D88E1
Anthony Bidulka
eventual inhabitants, it was obvious to me that the place was going to be perfect. The first two floors had spacious suites for about a dozen residents, along with the requisite facilities, public spaces, a mini-gym, well-stocked library-gamesroom, and a movie screen-ing room complete with comfy couches and a popcorn machine.
The third floor was for Ethan and his daughter, Simon, but sadly no room for Damien. (I added that last bit myself). There were a great many superb features: charming nooks and crannies, and, befitting a Queen Anne house, wonderfully flamboyant touches. I made a note to set up a meeting with my financial planner and have him start planning to find a way to plop me into Ash House in my dotage.
Half an hour later the boys were headed back to the city and, I hoped, their respective homes. Left alone in the big empty space, I wandered around for a little longer on my own before deciding it was time to hit the sack. Without any beds in the place yet, I meant that literally.
It was almost midnight when I fell asleep on the back porch to the sound of a trillion crickets. I’d originally set up my sleeping bag in one of the bedrooms, but the night was so beautiful I couldn’t resist. I needed something lovely and peaceful to assuage the muddle of emotions battling for dominance in my head. So many things were weighing on me. The murder of Walter Angel. The confusing treasure map. My engagement to Alex Canyon. Ethan Ash. Alex Canyon. Ethan Ash. And things weren’t going to get better any time soon, for tomorrow morning I was doing something I’d been dreading for a long time. Saying a last goodbye to a friend.
Kelly Doell and I had attended the same small town high school.
Years later, we reconnected in Saskatoon and became best friends.
For many years, she and Errall lived the life of a typical lesbian couple. They met, they moved in together, they got a dog (Brutus), they pooled their k.d. lang CDs. Things were going swell for them.
Errall was a workaholic lawyer and Kelly had found success as the owner of a popular craft gallery on Broadway that featured many of her own wood and pottery creations. Then cancer struck.
DD6AA2AB8
81
41
-B193
-AD32
-4CDB
-3503D88E1
Aloha, Candy Hearts
The disease took Kelly’s breast and most of her inner glow.
Eventually, she packed her bags and moved away. Ran away?
We’d had little contact with her for years. And then, two years ago, she simply showed up again, and Errall took her in without a backward glance. Errall and I have had our issues over the years, but I’ll always admire her
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