I sat in my car in front of the bank, fuming, sorting things through. Prezoil wasn’t worried about someone poaching on Darryl’s territory—and Darryl’s territory was Prezoil’s. If I believed him, my idea that Blackhead might have killed Darryl was moot. And I did believe him.

I lit a cigarette and pushed aside old stubs in the ashtray to give it room. Prezoil’s memory of Peter’s death was a little too polished, though I couldn’t put my finger on the embellishments. Or any reason why he’d script them. Malls and all, it was time to head for the wire.

I finished my smoke, started the car, and pulled into the street. At the sound of an angry horn I jumped, glanced into my mirror, and saw a silver Legend all but run into my rear. I waved my appreciation and saw the driver’s graphic response. I thought about throwing my car into reverse to smack the front of his Japanese luxury, but the idea was just my frustration swimming to open air.

I got stuck in traffic on my way to Emil’s. Just as well—I needed time to find my mantra. The dirty little fucker had hired, then tumbled me to Lonny, looking for points. An idea well within the confines of his cunning sleaze.

The traffic broke before my anger. I wasn’t a vegetarian, but didn’t want to kill the bastard either. Wisely, I decided to speak with Jonathan before my house call to Blackhead. Doing time for hurting Emil was a sobering thought.

An unconscious choice of roads carried me past Boots’ apartment building. I glanced up the tall glass face knowing I could see nothing; her apartment was in the back. The end of my work, the beginning of my personal life. “Sixteen tons and what do you get?” I hummed.

The light snow was turning to water the instant it hit the ground, making the road glisten with a metallic sheen under the streetlights. I slowed down as I passed the storefront. I didn’t see anyone inside, but thought I saw something move between two parked cars. Probably a cat but it still raised the hair on the back of my neck.

I found a parking space on Barrie’s block and sat rethinking my decision to visit. I’d only promised to inform him if I found something wrong. I pushed my cigarette into the ashtray, spilling ashes and butts onto the floor. I cleaned up as best I could. But it wasn’t until I cursed myself for promising him anything that I opened the door, and was hit immediately with the sloppy wet.

When Jonathan opened the door his eyes seemed unfocused, ripe with shock and sorrow. “Hello, Jacob, come in.” He barely looked at me as he ushered us to his kitchen. Like his secret room, the kitchen had a comfortable lived-in feeling.

“Would you care for something to drink? I’m having tea but you’re welcome to beer.” “Tea is fine. American, straight up.”

He smiled as he poured from a pot. “American, straight up, coming up.”

I thanked him and waited until he sat down, looking at the bags under his eyes and imagining they’d be sagging further by the end of my stay. “Jonathan, I finished my work and I’ve found nothing suspicious about Darryl’s death.”

I took a deep breath and continued, “He dealt drugs. Coke. But his boss is satisfied it was an accident. Frankly, I believe his boss. I’m sorry, Jonathan, but that’s all there is.” I heard the flustered rush of my words and bit my lip. There was no reason to tell Barrie that Darryl’s desire to move in was drug cover.

Jonathan didn’t look like he was hit in the belly. “I’m not terribly surprised. I went to Darryl’s funeral; the incurable old romantic is on hold. I appreciate your stopping by. You didn’t have to.”

“It was lousy, huh?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Lousy doesn’t come close. Turns out my soon-to-be partner had been in Vietnam. That made him about ten years older than he claimed.” His hand hovered over the black Formica table. “That wasn’t the worst of it. His father saw fit to bury him in full battle regalia.” He looked at me. “Don’t say it. Obviously there was plenty about Darryl I didn’t know, but I don’t think he was a closet hawk.” He paused, and in a more somber tone added, “And I still don’t think he was suicidal, either.”

He stood and retrieved the teapot from the stove, freshened both cups, then sat back down. “But seeing Darryl in a military uniform chopped through my fantasies. I can accept that his death was an accident. But it’s hard to let go of the similarity to Peter’s.”

“The quarry makes it tough?”

He shook his head. “It’s not just the quarry. It’s me too.” “I don’t think anyone who knows you thinks less of you.”

“I’m not talking about what anyone else thinks.” He looked directly into my eyes. “And I’m not talking about homosexuality. Not even my attraction to younger men. Christ, if my relationships were hetero I’d be a hero.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I need glasses. I look right through people I love and see only what I want.” His tone filled with disgust, laced with more than a little bitterness. “It was true with Peter, obviously true with Darryl.”

“Peter?”

“Yes, Peter. After he died I discovered he’d been a thief as well as a hustler. I thought him frail”—his voice had softened—”like a poet.”

I felt sorry for him. Whatever his flaws he deserved better. I thought of Megan and her manipulative phoniness. We all deserved better. “Maybe that was the side of him you brought out.”

“Right.” He frowned and his voice turned sarcastic. “Darryl too.” “You’re not the only fool for love.”

He shrugged wearily and sighed. “It depresses me to watch how this affects Melanie. My history with Peter makes it difficult to be much help. That just makes everything worse.”

“Help with what?”

“Her moods. They’re pretty hard to miss.”

“So she’s lost her temper a few times,” I protested. “Melanie’s volatility is a strong throwback to Peter’s death.”

I listened as he peeled away the years. “After he died, she was like a cornered animal. Trusted no one, refused everyone’s concern or care. Once the shock settled, it almost got worse. She seemed unable to make contact. Now I’m afraid that’s happening all over again.”

My head filled with a different picture, a picture of Melanie last night. “Jonathan, you’re dumping shit on yourself. She hasn’t been removed with me.”

“Really?” He wanted to believe. “I wouldn’t lie to protect you.”

His smile challenged the lines on his face. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.” “You don’t have to guess.”

He heard what I said, but his smile folded back into the worry. “You do care about her, don’t you?”

The ambivalences about my attraction to Mel floated to the surface, but all I murmured was, “I care about her.”

He peered at me. “There are a couple of things I’d like to ask…”

I raised my hand. “Don’t.” I tried to jibe his version of Melanie with my own, but all I said aloud was, “I’ll keep your concern in mind, Jonathan. I do care about her.” I grinned. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been grilled by a girl’s father.”

He appreciated my acknowledgment. “Thank you, Matt. She’s about all I have left.”

I saw an opening. “No, man, she isn’t all you have left. Since I’ve come back here, the one thing I’ve heard over and over is nobody gives a shit about people in The End. You’re the someone who does give a shit. I don’t think this neighborhood can afford you giving up on yourself.”

A trace of cynicism crept into his tired eyes. “Is there some of your own guilt buried in that? Some question about why you ever left The End?”

I flashed on being led out of The End on Megan’s leash. “I left here for the wrong reasons, but I left twenty years ago. I have plenty of regrets, but The End isn’t my home. It’s yours.”

He smiled ruefully. “It’s hard to feel at home anywhere now. I look at my affairs and see dead bodies of people I loved but never knew. I see my daughter bending under the weight of my mistakes. Right now, it’s difficult to see much else.”

I stood up. “Give it a little time, Jonathan. The only person who can crumble under the weight of your life is you.”

He pulled himself to his feet. “You’re a kind man, Matthew. I understand Melanie’s attraction.”

I shrugged and thanked him for the tea. Although the conversation was finished, I was reluctant to leave. I didn’t expect to come back here or even see him again. When I left The End twenty years ago I couldn’t wait to get out. I had imagined my leaving was the beginning of a glorious life and marriage. This time there were no dreams. This time I was making up for missed goodbyes.

We stood awkwardly in the kitchen, each waiting for the other to move. Finally I stuck out my hand. “I wish I could have told you something you wanted to hear,” I said.

“You have,” he said, and led us down the hall. Before he opened the door he looked at me. “I have one last favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Whatever your relationship with Melanie is, or will be, I hope you say nothing to her about my attachment to Peter. I’ll tell her someday, but not now.” He showed a resigned but honest grimace. “I want it to come from me.”

“Don’t worry, Jonathan. I’m not about to interfere. Especially about something I don’t understand.”

“Thank you, Matthew. I hope we get a chance to meet again.”

Barrie’s house loomed large and empty behind us. I opened the door and felt a blast of cold air. “Me too, Jonathan. Me too.”