Page 16 of A Boy Called Lovesong

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just want to get some cat litter and go. Is that okay?”

“That’s okay. We all curse sometimes.” He pointed to one of the bags of cat litter. “Get the litter made from recycled material. If you need to fucking look after your dog, you might as well look after the fucking planet too.”

“You need to open some windows. It smells terrible in here.” Regina sat opposite me with her nose twisted in a way that made me want to twist it right off her fucking face. She was no longer dressed in black but had progressed to a floral patterned dress and a large yellow handbag. Apparently, her period of mourning had ended.

Between us sat two urns on the coffee table—the silver cross-covered urn she’d left me a week ago, and a white ceramic urn I’d had made for Joel at a pottery artist’s studio on Bleecker Street, with the musical notes of Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” painted in a spiral from the tip of the urn to the base.

Apart from buying kitty litter, it was the one thing I’d achieved in the past seven days.

But it was the one thing that mattered most.

Regina looked at the two urns, then snatched up my ceramic urn so abruptly I slid forward on the couch, ready to catch it should she drop it.

She didn’t. Instead she shook it in her hands as though the mere sound of the contents would indicate that there were no more than half the ashes left inside.

A suspicious glance was aimed my way before Regina picked up the silver urn, celebrating death and suffering with each and every ornately carved crucifix. She shook it even more vehemently than my urn.

“They’re not maracas,” I said bluntly.

“I’m just trying to ascertain whether you’ve held up your side of the bargain.” The sound of the contents swishing around inside the silver urn seemed to satisfy her somewhat. “Did youuse weighing scales? I want to know I’m taking exactly half of him home to where he belongs.”

“Of course,” I lied.

Regina placed the silver urn in her handbag and stood. “Good. Then it’s time to leave this house. I honestly can’t stand the stench a moment longer. Dennis, in the name of God, open a window.”

Jumping at his wife’s orders, Dennis yanked apart the nearest drapes and slid the window open.

Dramatically, Regina sighed with relief and waved a hand in front of her face as though wafting in the fresh air, gazing at the rays of sunshine out the window as she said, “You know, sometimes, when I see the light streaming down from the heavens, I wish Joel had died when he was a little boy. So that he could’ve been spared the person he became.”

“Oh my God,” I uttered in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“I said I wish Joel had died before he ever met you. God would have taken that little angel straight into his kingdom.”

“Get out! Get the fuck out! You’re the fucking devil, you know that? Get the fuck out of our house now!”

Calmly Regina leveled her gaze at me. “Oh Noah, if you think I’m the devil, just you wait till the dayyoustep in front of a bus.”

She turned sharply and headed for the door.

I jumped over the coffee table and reached the door first, wanting to be sure they were gone, once and for all. But as I yanked it open, Dennis stopped. “Just one last question. Do you still have Greg? I haven’t seen him around.”

“Greg? Who the hell is Greg?”

“The dog.”

“His name’s Chet. As in Chet Baker. And yes, he’s still here.”

“I wasn’t sure. I noticed the kitty litter, I thought maybe you got yourself a cat instead. Reason I ask is, it’s Emilia’s eighthbirthday next month and she’s always wanted a dog, and we thought…”

“You’re not taking my dog!”

“Technically, Greg was Joel’s dog.”

“You’re not taking my dog!”

Regina tugged her husband out onto the front steps. “Oh Dennis, for heaven’s sake, just forget about it. Emilia wants a purebred anyway. Besides, who knows what that dog’s seen? Now come on, we’re finished here. Quite frankly, I never want to see this place agai—”

I slammed the door shut.

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