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schmericaHmm, so I think I've got *that* out of my system now, at least. Um, hopefully.
*****
I wake up before the alarm can sound -- little surprise, as it has become something of a habit for me these days. I wash briefly in the bathroom and then dress in my uniform.
"Jesus, don't they have snooze bars in Canada?" Ray said, his voice filled with a groggy annoyance. He pulled away from me where our bodies had settled in the night, turning over to his stomach to bury his head beneath a pillow as I began to untangle myself from our bed sheets.
In the kitchen, I put a kettle on for tea, and then open the freezer to decide what to defrost for supper tonight. I narrow it down to a container labeled "Mrs. Warner, vegetarian chili" and another called "Mrs. Prescott, hamburger noodle casserole." Diefenbaker has in the past expressed a marked disdain toward vegetarian cuisine. While I don't wish to encourage his snobbishness, I'm not sure I'm quite in the mood to face his complaints tonight, either. Hamburger noodle it is.
Ray was shoveling the food in eagerly, greedily, barely swallowing between each bite. "This is so good. I didn't know food could taste this good."
I felt much the same way; after weeks on the trail, out on our adventures, the simplest things tasted marvelous, astonishing and new. "I would guess it's simply a matter of--"
Ray waved his spoon at me, cutting me off as he shook his head. "It doesn't matter *why* it's good, Fraser. It just matters that it's good."
Dief and I eat breakfast together in silence -- oatmeal for me, yesterday's leftovers for him. Dief seems in a thoughtful mood, but when I ask him what's on his mind, he doesn't answer. Likely it's something along the lines of the Donaghues' new bitch; he's seemed excited to be sniffing around her since we got back.
Or perhaps it's something more serious. I have been known to underestimate him in the past. Dief's depths of feeling can take one by surprise on occasion.
"Yo, Fraser," Ray called as he closed the front door. Dief trotted into the kitchen immediately, Ray following close behind him.
"How was your walk?" I asked Diefenbaker, but he merely gave a noncommittal answer and then turned to Ray with an odd gaze.
Ray was pouring himself a drink of water. He took a long swallow, then said, "So I'm thinking maybe we should get some check-ups soon, head to the doctors'."
He didn't look at me as he said it, and I thought to myself, you hate doctors.
"Any particular reason?" I said.
Ray shrugged. "Nah. Just, you know. Checking up."
"All right," I said. "I'll make appointments in the morning."
It's a nice day out, brisk but pleasant, and I decide Dief and I will walk to work instead of driving. Dief grumbles slightly at this, but his mood improves significantly as our path brings him across interesting smells to appreciate.
The many admirers we come across don't seem to hurt his state of mind, either; it seems as though half of the town's young women and all of the older ones are out this morning, and each seems to have a loving compliment to give to Dief, along with the sympathetic comments they give me. I thank them all kindly, and I am very grateful for their intentions, but it's still slightly suffocating. It comes as a small relief when we reach the building and can slip inside.
We drove past the outpost on our way home -- we hadn't said a word yet, the entire way. I was driving for once, and Ray sat slumped in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
"I don't want to die here," Ray said, finally, just a few blocks from our home.
I swallowed thickly. I didn't look over at him as I said, "Dr. Maguire said the recovery rates--"
"I *know* what she said, Fraser, I was there, too," Ray said. His voice wasn't angry, but closer to ... resigned. "And I'm telling you, I don't want it to happen here. I wanna go home."
I parked in front of our home and said nothing for a long moment. I said, "All right," and Ray let out a long breath, and the next week we returned to Chicago.
It is a slow day, but I have more than enough work to do, paperwork that piled up high during my leave time. Laurie, our assistant, brings me tea after a while, and sits on the edge of my desk to talk. She's a thoughtful young woman, and I appreciate both her kindness and discretion as our conversation goes on. When she leaves, Dief follows her back toward her desk, and I am left alone.
I work diligently on my files for as long as I can before I raise my head again.
I do not see him anywhere, but I say softly, "I could use your help."
He doesn't respond. He hasn't yet, but I haven't given up hope. There is room in my life for another ghost.
*****
I wake up before the alarm can sound -- little surprise, as it has become something of a habit for me these days. I wash briefly in the bathroom and then dress in my uniform.
"Jesus, don't they have snooze bars in Canada?" Ray said, his voice filled with a groggy annoyance. He pulled away from me where our bodies had settled in the night, turning over to his stomach to bury his head beneath a pillow as I began to untangle myself from our bed sheets.
In the kitchen, I put a kettle on for tea, and then open the freezer to decide what to defrost for supper tonight. I narrow it down to a container labeled "Mrs. Warner, vegetarian chili" and another called "Mrs. Prescott, hamburger noodle casserole." Diefenbaker has in the past expressed a marked disdain toward vegetarian cuisine. While I don't wish to encourage his snobbishness, I'm not sure I'm quite in the mood to face his complaints tonight, either. Hamburger noodle it is.
Ray was shoveling the food in eagerly, greedily, barely swallowing between each bite. "This is so good. I didn't know food could taste this good."
I felt much the same way; after weeks on the trail, out on our adventures, the simplest things tasted marvelous, astonishing and new. "I would guess it's simply a matter of--"
Ray waved his spoon at me, cutting me off as he shook his head. "It doesn't matter *why* it's good, Fraser. It just matters that it's good."
Dief and I eat breakfast together in silence -- oatmeal for me, yesterday's leftovers for him. Dief seems in a thoughtful mood, but when I ask him what's on his mind, he doesn't answer. Likely it's something along the lines of the Donaghues' new bitch; he's seemed excited to be sniffing around her since we got back.
Or perhaps it's something more serious. I have been known to underestimate him in the past. Dief's depths of feeling can take one by surprise on occasion.
"Yo, Fraser," Ray called as he closed the front door. Dief trotted into the kitchen immediately, Ray following close behind him.
"How was your walk?" I asked Diefenbaker, but he merely gave a noncommittal answer and then turned to Ray with an odd gaze.
Ray was pouring himself a drink of water. He took a long swallow, then said, "So I'm thinking maybe we should get some check-ups soon, head to the doctors'."
He didn't look at me as he said it, and I thought to myself, you hate doctors.
"Any particular reason?" I said.
Ray shrugged. "Nah. Just, you know. Checking up."
"All right," I said. "I'll make appointments in the morning."
It's a nice day out, brisk but pleasant, and I decide Dief and I will walk to work instead of driving. Dief grumbles slightly at this, but his mood improves significantly as our path brings him across interesting smells to appreciate.
The many admirers we come across don't seem to hurt his state of mind, either; it seems as though half of the town's young women and all of the older ones are out this morning, and each seems to have a loving compliment to give to Dief, along with the sympathetic comments they give me. I thank them all kindly, and I am very grateful for their intentions, but it's still slightly suffocating. It comes as a small relief when we reach the building and can slip inside.
We drove past the outpost on our way home -- we hadn't said a word yet, the entire way. I was driving for once, and Ray sat slumped in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
"I don't want to die here," Ray said, finally, just a few blocks from our home.
I swallowed thickly. I didn't look over at him as I said, "Dr. Maguire said the recovery rates--"
"I *know* what she said, Fraser, I was there, too," Ray said. His voice wasn't angry, but closer to ... resigned. "And I'm telling you, I don't want it to happen here. I wanna go home."
I parked in front of our home and said nothing for a long moment. I said, "All right," and Ray let out a long breath, and the next week we returned to Chicago.
It is a slow day, but I have more than enough work to do, paperwork that piled up high during my leave time. Laurie, our assistant, brings me tea after a while, and sits on the edge of my desk to talk. She's a thoughtful young woman, and I appreciate both her kindness and discretion as our conversation goes on. When she leaves, Dief follows her back toward her desk, and I am left alone.
I work diligently on my files for as long as I can before I raise my head again.
I do not see him anywhere, but I say softly, "I could use your help."
He doesn't respond. He hasn't yet, but I haven't given up hope. There is room in my life for another ghost.
