Page 42 of Hounded
The bulletin board onthe wall of the Lather & Lint Laundromat was littered with Help Wanted ads and pictures of lost and found pets. I perused them for the fourth time in a row, reading every word of an overly detailed flyer about someone’s escaped pet pigeon. No amount of description or the black and white photograph scanned into the middle of the page would differentiate “Pidgelet” from the million other flying rats that plagued Brooklyn. I couldn’t even bring myself to empathize with the owner’s sob story about a window being left open by the maid. When it came to a life spent in captivity or escape into freedom, I was rooting for the bird.
Behind me, Indy lay on the bench that stretched down the center of the room. He had one leg draped over the other and a copy ofHighlightsmagazine tented across his face. He’d snagged the magazine when we first arrived, then complained that “some kid drew circles on Spot the Difference and ruined it for everyone.”
After that, he’d gone quiet. Judging from his infrequent texts, he didn’t have much to say to me,strangers that we were, but the need for clean clothes proved reason enough for him to call on a Saturday morning and request a ride to the laundromat. I wasn’t sure how he could have gone through so many outfits in five days, and the single trash bag he lugged out to the truck proved my suspicions accurate. He was bored, maybe lonely, and I was better company than none.
I’d thought his inability to drive was a blessing. It forced him to stay put and out of trouble. He was safe and equipped with Sully’s warding charm to mute his aura. It wasn’t at all like a house arrest anklet and the trailer was no kind of prison. Or cage.
Or was it?
I glanced at the grainy photo of Pidgelet and grumbled under my breath. Still rooting for the bird, apparently.
Turning, I walked over to Indy and tapped the sole of his shoe. More platforms today, with a pair of jeans that were more holes than denim and a strapless top that bared his shoulders and midriff. He’d added a clip-on belly button ring with a gem that dangled and danced every time he moved. As if it wasn’t already hard enough not to stare.
My nudge prompted Indy to slide the magazine down onto his chest and expose his bright teal curls.
“You want me to teach you?” I jerked my thumb at the Pontiac parked in the lot, then nodded toward the stacked washer/dryer rattling away. “We have time.”
Indy sat up and tipped his head to one side, then the other. A smile crossed his glossed lips. “You trying to get rid of me?”
Never. But it wasn’t fair to keep him confined. It wasn’t kind.
I raised one shoulder. “It’s a nice car. Someone should drive it.”
Indy squinted, his long lashes tinted with mascara. “You drive it.” He snatched theHighlightsand tossed it onto the bench behind him. “I like being a passenger princess.”
Relief washed over me, and I nodded before Indy continued.
“But, if you’re giving lessons, I wouldn’t turn down a hot driver’s ed teacher. We could have the fullGhostexperience. I sit on your lap, and you move my hands on the wheel.”
He hummed a few notes of “Unchained Melody” while warmth flooded my face. I ducked my head as he started to giggle.
“And before you ask,” he added, “no, I don’t remember that movie. But I watched it the other night and again yesterday. Cried both times.”
I didn’t tell him he criedeverytime, but I did crack a smile as he stood and wandered toward the windowed storefront.
The laundromat was oddly vacant for a weekend. A gray-haired man dozed at the desk, rendered redundant by the vending machines stocked with everything from detergent to softener to stain remover. Indy had chatted with him when we first arrived, but he let the man rest while he surveyed the parking lot and the neighboring shops in the strip center.
“So, it’s been a few days,” he said over his shoulder. “Has anything interesting happened at your job or with your…lifestyle?” He aimed a meaningful look at my collar,which was more visible than I preferred on top of my V-neck thermal.
I tugged on the choke chain. “Nothing worth mentioning,” I muttered.
Indy hummed and bobbed his head while turning to put his back against the glass. He folded his arms across his bare belly, and the gemstone in his navel sparkled again. “Well, we can’t really talk about me with the whole lot of nothing I have rattling around in my head.” The typically melodic notes of his laugh fell flat. “You know they said it might be permanent?” He looked simultaneously bewildered and so discouraged that I struggled not to wince.
“Permanent brain damage,” he continued. “I hope it was worth it. I hope it was the best fucking high of my life—”
“We can talk about you.” The offer spilled out, unbidden, but I would rather talk than hear one positive word about Indy’s fatal overdose. Was it worth it to throw a whole lifetime away? To leave me to endure the loss alone while he rose above it, ignorant and unscathed? Did he think about how I would feel? How much I would hurt? My stomach roiled.
Indy arched a tweezed brow, and the corner of his lips lifted along with it. “Not for long.” He laughed; it still didn’t sound right.
“Then I’ll tell you about you.” I crossed the scuffed linoleum floor to come closer to him. “What would you like to know?”
He considered for a moment before replying, “Everything, I guess.”
The washer churned and the dryer tumbled, flooding the air with humidity and the floral notes of soap. The man at the desk snored quietly. I drew a breath.
“You’re always hungry,” I began, noticing the donut store down the lot he had doubtless been eyeing. “You like strangers, rock music, old movies…”
And couch cuddles and sleeping in late. He liked love notes, forehead kisses, and being dipped when we danced. He collected bottlecaps and the beach glass we found along the banks of the Hudson River. When we drove his car, he liked to open the windows and let the wind rush through in a way that made my hound howl with happiness.
