Struggle On Home

Chapter Six

Crater was gone by the time Abel woke up. He'd let him sleep on the couch for the night, making sure before he himself went to bed that all the cash he had in the apartment was sequestered safely underneath his mattress.

There was a note on the kitchen counter:

Hey man, thanks for letting me stay for the night. I'm sorry I took your stuff. I used your shower while you were asleep, and I had a bowl of cereal, but I didn't take anything else. You were a real help, and I swear I'll repay the favour sometime.

Yours,

Crater.

P.S. I saw K.C. getting on a bus for Des Moines yesterday evening. He had a suitcase with him, but not much else. I think his girlfriend might have thrown him out or something. I'll keep an eye out for him, if you like. Thanks again for all your help.

Abel fried himself some eggs, flipped them onto a plate, made some coffee and set it all on the table, along with the note. He read it over as he ate, chewing slowly, not thinking of anything but the food in his mouth and the words in his head.

After he'd finished his breakfast, he sat there for a while at the counter, staring out at the watery blue sky and brooding. So K.C. had been in town the whole time, and he hadn't even known. He'd never seen which bus K.C. had boarded that awful summer morning, but he'd always presumed that he'd want to make a fresh start, far away from his hometown. He himself hadn't wanted to go back, after all. But his grandmother had been admitted to a nursing home, and he'd had enough money to rent a place of his own anyway.

His lips quirked into a rueful smile. It was just as he'd told K.C.: salmon spend most of their lives trying to escape the rivers of their birth, and they end up dying there. It reminded him of all the other bullshit animal kingdom adages he'd ever heard. Mayflies only live for a day. Some grubs spent seven years underground and die after a week on the surface. Pelicans wound their breasts to feed their young. Starfish can replace their arms, salamanders grow back their tails.

Swans stay loyal to their mates all their lives.

Black widows eat theirs.

Abel took his plate and mug over to the sink and began washing up. He frowned at the frothy, scum-slicked water as he mulled over the situation. Should he go to Des Moines and track K.C. down? What was the point? What would he do if he even managed to find him? K.C. was an asshole, that was all....just a cruel, stupid kid who'd ruined Abel's life and given him spit for thanks....

Abel missed him so much it hurt.

He missed K.C.'s bawdy, silly sense of humour. He missed the way he'd come to Abel with his pointless worries and shallow joys, the way he'd shared every single moment of his life with him. That wild crop of white-gold spikes, the brain that never stopped going, those eyes like two blue headlights on a cop car-every little memory of K.C. that he had was a different hole in his chest.

But I won't go looking for him, Abel realised. He sighed and clunked his head against the grimy window. I won't ever forgive him for what he did unless he comes looking to apologise to me first, I know it. Christ help me, I'm such a proud fucking bastard.