Once in May

Chapter 1: Phone Calls and ProblemsMarch John Welsh banged the front door closed, locked the deadbolt, put the security chain in place and reached up to push the latches closed. Not until then did he dare breathe. He had no real memory of driving home from the café, but since he was here unharmed, he figured it had gone well enough. As the tremors started up again, he hurried through the small log cabin, checking first the kitchen then the combined living room and office. When he couldn’t find any signs of anyone having been there, he dived for the phone on the old desk in the corner and headed to his bedroom. It wasn’t really a bedroom. When he’d moved in, it had been a small storage space, but the first time he’d inspected it, he knew it would be where he slept. Big enough to fit a narrow bed and still leave a small aisle between it and the wall, the small space was crucial, as was the lack of windows. With only one possible way into the room, there would be no surprise visits. Unlocking the door took longer than usual, but once he had it open, he slipped inside and shut it without a sound. It was a solid front door, not meant to be inside a house. He locked the three deadbolts he’d installed, double checked they were locked, and grabbed the cover off the bed. The hard, cool press of the walls against his shoulders as he slid down to the floor helped calm him down enough to hit the speed-dial button on the phone. “Yeah?” Timothy’s deep grumble surrounded him like a blanket, and John drew in one shuddering breath. “John? John, are you there?” “Yeah, yeah I’m here.” He pushed the blond tresses out of his face, pulled his knees to his chest and let his head fall back against the unyielding wall. “You want to talk?” “No…not really.” Hearing Timothy breathe was enough. “What happened?” An alertness crept into Tim’s voice, sending a wave of guilt crashing over John. He shouldn’t have called, shouldn’t burden Timothy. That was why he had the rules—to ensure Tim didn’t have to worry, but he’d ruined it by calling. “I was too late.” “Too late for what?” John remained silent for longer than he should. He could tell Timothy was getting restless on the other end of the line. “I went to have breakfast.” “You did? That’s great!” No, it wasn’t great. He shouldn’t have gone. The rules allowed him not to go into town this week. He’d told Timothy he wouldn’t, and yet he had gone. Why had he gone? “I didn’t make it out until…until…some people came.” His hands started shaking at the mere remembrance. That man—the owner of the dog he’d found—had come too close. He’d been about to touch John, but Tom had stopped him. “So…you had breakfast in a public place while other people were around. That’s great!” “He almost touched me.” John hoped Timothy couldn’t tell from his voice how shaken he was. “He? Who?” The growl was comforting, even though John knew Timothy didn’t think a verbal thank-you counted as nearly touching. In John’s defence, the guy had taken a step in his direction. “The owner of the dog that came by the other day.” “He touched you?” “Erm…no. He said thank you.” A chuckle? Really? Timothy was laughing at him? “Oh, babe. People usually do when you find their long-lost pets.” “He wasn’t long lost, he was recently lost,” John tried to grumble, but instead, he sighed. He rolled his head a little as his shoulders loosened. Timothy was on the other end, listening to every breath he took, probably measuring how fast they came. “Are you starting to feel a little better?” Timothy had turned serious again. “Yes, a little. Thank you.” He did feel better. His limbs were heavy, and he had to suppress a yawn. “Anytime. I take it there won’t be any other breakfast visits this week?” “No…I…I think I’ll stay in for a few days.” “It’s only Monday, though. Maybe you’ll feel ready later on, around Friday maybe?” “I don’t have to. I talked to several people last weekend.” He’d delivered eggs to the egg hunt. He’d talked to that Tristan guy when he and Tom had come to pick up the dog, and he’d even said hi to Tom in the café today. “You never have to, John. You’re the only one who says you do. I’d love for you to eat breakfast in the café every day, gossip with the locals or whatever, but I want you to do it because you want to.” John changed the subject. Nothing he could say about his rules or timetables would change how Timothy saw things. “When are you coming to see me?” “Soon, babe. It’s just…It’s a mess here. Anna isn’t…she hasn’t been doing well lately. I’ve had Lily a lot and…” Timothy’s voice trailed off. “I’m sorry.” Timothy didn’t want to talk about Anna. She was Tim’s sister and, from what John understood, she’d been in and out of some recovery program. He thought it was alcohol, but Tim hadn’t been clear on it. Either way, she wasn’t around a lot, most often leaving her daughter with Timothy. He shouldn’t burden Tim with his problems. “No, no, I like having her. It’s just…a little too much to do sometimes. Talking about, did you look at the work I did on the site?” John let him change the subject; it didn’t matter what they talked about. All he wanted was to hear Timothy’s voice, but he grew more tired by the second. Even if it was only Jen in the café, the breakfasts were exhausting. Today had been… John yawned and tried to forget about it. After a few more minutes, they hung up, and John crawled into the bed, hoping sleep would make him forget.