House Keys
Rodney's not even sure how it happens, how he finds himself with the keys to John's car and the keys to John's house and some vague instructions for taking care of John's dog, all because John's disappeared off-island "for a few days." Apparently Rodney agreed to . . . whatever he agreed to, although Rodney has no idea when John even asked him, and it's all still confusing enough that he's been sitting in John's Wagoneer in the airport parking lot for the last 20 minutes.
He's not really all that sure about John Sheppard, period. John Sheppard, whom Rodney met on his second day here, who purportedly has a job flying planes, but who seems to like to round Rodney up at all times of the day and spirit him off for coffee or ice cream or clam chowder and smirk at him while Rodney talks, who seems to like Rodney, and, well. He thinks they might be friends, or something, but it makes his head hurt to think about it too hard, so he sticks the key in the ignition and drives.
"Stay over there if it's easier," Rodney thinks he remembers John saying, and something like, "Whatever's in the fridge is yours," which would be a lot more tempting if there were something more than a jar of relish and some suspicious-looking cheese inside. With Cash gazing at him expectantly but unhelpfully, Rodney makes the executive decision to head back out again and stock up, and he finds himself bumping along at a more sedate pace than John ever drives, swerving lazily to avoid bikers. Cash is riding shotgun-Rodney's not sure whether he's even allowed to be in the passenger seat, but his head's out the window and his tongue's lolling in what looks like a pretty ecstatic way.
It's too early for Bartlett's Farm to be harvesting their own vegetables, Rodney discovers, but he still spends an hour and nearly a hundred dollars at the market there, buys more vegetables than one person could possibly eat, good cheese and crackers, eggs and bacon and chocolate, and he's not sure why he's laying in for a siege, except that John's fridge clearly needs restocking, and the salt air always makes him hungry anyway, and there's a woman who talks his ear off with suggestions for sautéing or steaming or roasting just about everything in his basket. She carries one of his bags-possibly she works there?-and follows him out to the truck and coos over Cash and asks Rodney whether the dog likes to swim.
Rodney has no idea, but it sounds reasonable, and on her advice and with her scrawled directions, he finds his way to Miacomet. It's cooler right on the shore, and Rodney digs in the trunk and finds one of John's sweatshirts (for him) and a tennis ball (for Cash), and it turns out that Cash will happily fling himself into the pond to retrieve the ball however many times Rodney throws it. On the ride back, Cash sprawls across the back seat, a wet, sandy, apparently happily exhausted heap, and Rodney finds himself humming contentedly in spite of the ache in his shoulder.
He makes an omelet, later, and experiments with feeding Cash snacks out of the fridge-cheese is a hit, and ice cubes and carrot pieces are crunched up happily, while a mushroom is rejected and left soggy and half-chewed on the kitchen floor-and after he's washed dishes and discovered John's stash of beers, it just seems easier to spend the night on the couch.
Rodney sleeps hard, but his back's killing him in the morning, and once he can stand more or less upright, he takes apart John's bed and throws the sheets in the washer and drives over to his cottage to pick up his journals and his clothes and his toothbrush.
He sleeps better the next night, sleeps great, actually-Rodney's never been a dog person, and he doesn't know if Cash is allowed to sleep on the bed any more than he's allowed to ride in the front seat, but he doesn't try to hog more than his fair share, and when he snores, it's quietly.
John's house is uncluttered and open and welcoming in a way that Rodney's rental cottage, with its overdone sailboat motif, isn't. He feels something in himself unwinding, and he wonders if it's John's laid-back influence on the place or the other way around, because it's easy to relax here, to be calm and quiet and spend an afternoon on the wide, comfortable couch just watching the way the afternoon light plays over the floorboards, the way the curtains billow in the sea breeze, shadows shifting over smooth stones lined up on a windowsill.
Rodney expects John to call, but he doesn't, and if John left him the keys to every other part of his life, he didn't leave his cell phone number.
So when the front door opens four or five days after, and John's suddenly standing backlit in the doorway, Rodney starts from where he's slumped on the couch, papers sliding onto the floor. Cash doesn't get up, but his tail thumps against Rodney's leg, and it occurs to him in a moment of belated panic that he's pretty sure John just asked him to check in on his dog, that he might have overstepped some boundaries in making himself quite so much at home here-wearing John's sweatshirt, sleeping in John's bed, the strange intimacy of touching the taps in the bathroom, of brushing by John's coat hanging on a peg in the hallway-and then John closes the door, materializes into worn shorts and tired, soft eyes and grey temples, steps inside and says, slow and fond and warm, more genuine than Rodney's ever heard him, "Hey, Rodney, you're here."
And Rodney thinks-he thinks maybe John's just handed over one more key.