2008

"I suppose I could get some food together", says Francois, as he presses send, then shuts his laptop. "I can do it", say I. "What have we got?" "There's a ton of Costco potato salad in the fridge", says Francois, swinging his legs down to the floor. "We don't shop at Costco." "Chelsea does, she came over this morning to get her cat and to dump the potato salad on us because she bought too much." "Easy to do at Costco", says Erik. "Kenny and Amaris are coming for lunch by the way." "who?" says Carl. "My old friend. He lived here." "He's dead." "Carl, you already saw him alive last night. Remember?" "I already told you we didn't see him. Right, Erik?" "We did see him", he says. "Now I remember. With Ethan." "Oh my God", says Carl, his eyes widenng dramatically, "You're right..."

2009

Following Francois into the kitchen, I say, "Francois, you remember meeting Kenny yesterday, right?" "Kenny?" "At the Refuge." "Where?" He is rummaging in the fridge, first taking out the huge container of potato salad which he drops onto the counter. "You don't remember?" And now my friend is standing leaning against the counter with his fingertips pressed to his forehead, as though enduring intense pain. "i can't talk about this right now", he says, returning now to the fridge. "Well, they're on their way over for lunch, right now, and should be arriving any minute." "Who?" "Kenny...and Amaris. The woman we also met there." "How do you know it's really him", says Francois, fixing widened and scared eyes on me. "Quite simple. When I texted him this morning, I did not give him the address. He lived here with us for five years. It it's really him, they will both find their way here without any help from me."

2007

It has been a long drive, and Francois is alone in my father's house, horizontal on the couch, as always, propped up by cushions and writing on his laptop. "You're back", is all he says, just glancing up, then resuming his typing. "Wow, how's that for a welcome", says Carl, with grim humorous good will. Without looking up, he mutters, "Did I forget to wag my tail?" "Oh, you cat people", says Carl, letting himself drop onto the other half of the sofa, just missing Francois' bare feet as he pulls them out in the nick of time. "Always a flatterer." Erik and I have each taken an armchair. "Are you the only one here?" say I. "Until two minutes ago, yes, I would say so." "What are you working on?" asks Erik. "A letter to my mother who is finally recovered from covid. Her husband is still struggling but seems to be rallying. What about your mom, Carl?" "She is about to be discharged from hospital. I imagine she will be staying in New West, there is more room plus Melissa is a lot better with her than I am." "And, Jason and Lazarus?" "They went over to Maureen's this morning. They will be staying with the girls... and George and Jeffrey are hoping to lease the condo from you longterm" "We've already agreed", say I. "There is a text on my phone from Kenny: "Amaris and I have just left Richmond. May I presume we are invited for lunch?"

2006

There were limits to what we could pack and carry from the mansion, but as we are all filing in and out of the house with boxes, and unpacking everything, there is a collective sense of resignation over having to make do. Everyone did strip their own bed and bagged and carried with them their own bedding. Carl had gone online to order and purchase the seventeen mattresses and boxsprings, all single, and the last ones were delivered yesterday, presumably while we were doing other thngs, but he did clandestinely explain to me that he had already hired and mobilized various other helpers connected with the ones who painted the house. And now Jeff Bezos is just a little bit richer thanks to my friend's resourcefulness. But we have to leave the others, Melissa, Sheila, Glen, Michael and Matthew, to do their own settling in. Maureen has already agreed to lend two of her spare bedrooms to Jason and Lazarus, and George and Jeffrey refuse to leave my condo downtown, which is fine with me, leaving more room in my father's house for the rest of us. I am back behind the steering wheel of my car, as Carl and Erik both join me, and now we are on our way back to my father's house....

2005

It is lunchtime and here we are, both cars in Queen's Park, pulling up in front of the Queen Anne style Victorian doll's house. And it is lovely, the sky blue exterior with the white trim woodwork and fin de sicle curlicues all suggesting a festive summer sky. "You're new home, Glen", says Carl, forcing a smile, for all the stress we are under today. "It is beautiful", he replies with measured perfunctory indifference. Knowing far better than Glen, who has lived the most sheltered existence one could imagine, instead of lecturing him about how fortunate he is, given that many men of his age and lack of means are already sleeping under bridges and crowding homeless shelters, I dutifully hold my tongue. The house smells and looks freshly painted, and the small bits of furniture we found time to purchase do not do the place justice, leaving the rooms looking underfurnished, and all the walls white and starkly naked, but each bedroom imcluding the occasional rooms, seventeen in all, has a bed, and Melissa has had the forethought to bring enough bedding from the mansion to guarantee sweet dreams to everyone staying here tonight. She also took the time with her brother's help to empty the refrigerators, and soon we will be having lunch, our first meal in our, or should I say, in their new home, buffet style, natch, because we also are lacking a table and chairs.

2004

In my car we have besides the driver, me, Carl, Erik, and Glen. Behind us are following Melissa in her vehicle with Sheila, Michael her son, and Matthew. we have just bypassed the diner, and we are counting on a long drive given that traffic is already heavy. It is a preternaturally quiet drive, in this car, anyway. I have put on a classical cd, the Mozart Requiem and it appears to be to everyone's taste. Between Tron or Ethan last night, and the cops searching the house for bodies this morning, we are all, shall we say, lost for words. It is almost as though I am alone in the car, though still aware of this pressing burden of presence. We are past Abbotsford, and the Mission exit is now just behind us, but I don't reckon we are stopping till New Westminster, where I imagine the new house awaits at least some of the people in our two cars, all freshly painted and furnished like a big happy, if slightly creepy, Victorian era doll house...

2003

"But Kenny.. we were both there. Yesterday. Remember?" They seem to be taking their time finding their way to my car, which is okay. This cannot wait. "I was dreaming about that place last night. We were both there. And several friends of yours. But that was a dream" "You were also here with me last night, in a different mansion, and some of those few friends. Including Tron. But now this morning, you are not here, and no one remembers you, and Tron, who was Ethan, a random guy on his bike who spent last night here, but..." "Wait a minute...Tron? "Lives at the refuge, the big house you were in on that island, tall, dark hair, gold and green robes, fourth century christian martyr." "O my God Chris. We have to talk. Look, I can be in Vancouver today, I am staying with my friend Amaris at her parents' house in Richmond. We actually saw you guys in the Waves coffee shop on Broadway, or thought it was you, and we walked in, and you and I looked at each other, and we knew each other right away, but Amaris said it was too soon, so we left." "Come over to Dad's house this afternoon. Keep in touch in the meantime. I have to hang up now because I'm in the car and they're coming, I will be driving them back with me into town...I will call you as soon as we're there...