There was definitely more smoke coming from the chimney of the house over the hill. Jack was keeping a list of when he saw the first tendrils and when they stopped because maybe if he could figure out the schedule he could figure out why this change had occurred. Was it a change, though? Or had he simply never noticed before? He couldn’t be quite sure.
What he needed was some sort of periscope so that he could see more than just the roof and the chimney. Maybe if he got a ladder...?
No. No, that was a terrible idea.
Do you know who lives in the place over the hill from me? Jack texted Charlie.
Nope, Charlie replied. Did you google it?
Jack rolled his eyes. Charlie thought it was hilarious to suggest googling everything, even un-googleable things, as if he were eighty years old and it was a revelation. Or had Charlie genuinely meant to suggest it because he’d thought Jack hadn’t known? It was always so hard to tell with Charlie.
Then Jack realized he actually could google it because real estate sales were public records. But he didn’t know the address and it turned out that Google Maps hadn’t taken much care to capture the fringes of Garnet Run.
He typed, Could you drive over there and see who lives there??? and deleted it. He typed, Can we take a quick drive by it? and made himself delete that too. Finally he wrote, If you happen to drive past and see anything strange will you tell me?
Charlie didn’t answer. Probably busy at work.
He thought about texting his best friend, Vanessa. She did impulsive things all the time and might not question him wanting her to surveil a stranger to slake his burning curiosity. But he hadn’t responded to her last few texts or picked up the phone the last couple times she’d called and he didn’t want to deal with having a conversation about why. Hell, he hardly knew himself.
“Thanks,” Jack said as Charlie put the last of the bags of groceries on the counter.
“Course,” Charlie said and began putting the groceries away.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jack said.
“It’s no problem,” Charlie said automatically.
“Charlie, I can do it.”
To prove the point, Jack shoved himself upright and grabbed for his crutches. He leaned one against the counter and tried to open the cabinet door above the refrigerator but the movement jarred his ribs and he hissed, recoiling. His recoil sent the crutch sliding to the floor and Jack panting.
Charlie sighed and picked up the crutch.
“Sit down before you break your other leg,” he said wearily. His jaw tightened and he shoved his hands in his pockets.
Jack sighed. “Sorry, I just...”
Hate being helpless. Hate being a burden. Again.
Charlie waved him off and put the groceries away. He rolled his shoulders when he was through.
“So what’s your fascination with the neighbors?”
“No fascination,” Jack lied.
Charlie peered at him.
“You having a Rear Window moment or what?”
Jack always got a kick out of Charlie’s Hitchcock obsession. Those who didn’t know him well thought it was out of character, but the meticulous planning and the patience of a long game suited Charlie perfectly. At this particular moment, however, Jack glared.
“No.” Jack had shot for a casual tone, but Charlie kept looking at him. Jack didn’t do casual well. “Just curious.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow and Jack followed his gaze to the binoculars sitting on the coffee table.
“You want me to—”
“No, it’s fine,” Jack interrupted. It came out sharper than he’d intended. He wasn’t sure why he was embarrassed that Charlie knew what his boredom had driven him to.
“Guess I’ll take off, then.”
Jack nodded.
“Unless you want me to hang out? Watch a movie or something?”
Sometimes Jack couldn’t tell if Charlie made offers like this out of genuine desire for his company, out of obligation, or out of habit. Jack wasn’t sure Charlie knew himself.
They got along well, enjoyed each other’s company, but there was always something between them that only time would clear away. Or it wouldn’t.
Charlie still saw Jack as the thirteen-year-old kid he’d gotten saddled with at seventeen when their parents’ deaths had changed everything, and Jack still saw Charlie as the fierce authority figure who’d cared for him at the expense of his own desires. Not that Charlie would ever admit it. That, too, Jack wasn’t sure Charlie knew.
Jack was desperate for the distraction Charlie offered. He’d only been couch-and bed-bound for three days and he was already climbing the walls. But he’d probably snapped at Charlie enough for one day.
“No, that’s okay. Another time.”
Charlie nodded and stroked his beard—a clear indicator that he was concerned—but just dropped a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“Let’s get you back to the couch.”
Jack wanted to scream. Also to burn the couch.
“Take care, bro,” Charlie said when Jack was settled, and as he walked out the door darkness closed over Jack again.
That night, when Simon returned with the dogs, he lingered in the doorway instead of coming inside. Jack accepted the licks and headbutts of the returning animals and felt his stomach lurch as Simon edged out the door.
He didn’t want Simon to go, leaving him all alone again to stare at the ceiling or the TV or a book or the animals.
“Um. Hey. Simon?” Simon turned. “Could you help me? With something.” Jack gestured to his cast. “Damn thing.”
Simon nodded and Jack wracked his brain, having spoken without thinking this through.
“Uh, in the kitchen.”
They walked to the kitchen. Jack’s crutches made every step an effort, giving him plenty of time to think.
What are you doing? What exactly are you trying to do?
“There’s, uh, coffee filters up there. Do you mind grabbing them?”
Jack pointed to the cabinet above the refrigerator and Simon stood on his toes to catch the edge of the cabinet. The line of his back was graceful, even beneath the oversized sweater he wore. He snagged the sheaf of filters and moved to set it on the counter next to the coffee machine, but he froze.
He turned slowly and looked at Jack, and Jack saw the neat stack of coffee filters Charlie must have placed there earlier.
Simon was looking at him like he’d played a nasty trick.
“Sorry. I thought I was out,” Jack muttered. “My brother—”
But Simon was already nodding and making his way to the door.
“Sorry,” Jack called after him again, but Simon didn’t answer, and the loneliness of a long night engulfed the house.