Page 43 of The Invisible Roommate

“Blue,” Emory said, before yawning.

“Blue?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Maybe. I guess you don’t sound like you’d have blue eyes.”

“How does someone with blue eyes sound?” Emory asked, amused.

“Point taken.” Gerard gestured for his guitar back, stowed it safely away. Emory half missed the weight of it in his lap. “What shade?”

“Of blue? I don’t know.”

“Light or dark?”

“Light.”

“Pale or bright?”

“Pale.”

“Ice blue,” Gerard whispered. “If I had to guess.”

“Now that you say that, somebody did describe my eyes as icy once, so there you go.” Emory smiled.

“The sound of your voice gave it away,” Gerard joked.

Emory laughed too enthusiastically, too openly. Worried he’d expressed too much, he excused himself to the bathroom and, as soon as he turned on the light, jumped at his reflection in the mirror. Gerard had been right. All wrapped up, he looked every bit the monster he felt underneath, and how could Gerard Wells feel anything more than sympathy for a monster?

21Gerard

The next morning, while bent over to touch his toes during a full-body stretch warm-up led by the unexpectedly limber librarian in the choir, Edna, Gerard got a whiff of the T-shirt he’d thrown on before leaving that morning.

Burnt wood … banana …

Emory.

In his rush to get out the door, he had scooped up the first T-shirt he saw, assuming it was clean and his. Now, he stared down at his sneakers, blood rushing to his head, smelling like his invisible roommate.

Their impromptu guitar lessons the night before had awoken an unexpected, unshakable affection for Emory. The last time he’d experienced that kind of connection, he was getting to know Toby, which felt like a road he could not traverse again while hiding out on an island.

Though maybe he could adopt a what happens on Iping stays on Iping mentality?

In a way, the biggest problem he had faced with Toby was publicly coming out and being seen together. Nobody could see Emory in his present condition, which at the very least solved one potential problem. Not that he should’ve been searching for hypothetical solutions.

During vocal exercises and song run-throughs, Gerard held his hymnal and sang louder, hoping his volume would drown out any pesky thoughts, his voice would vibrate so sharply in the space that it would pop any bubbles of feeling that escaped him. He kept his eyes locked on his music, afraid to spare a glance at the statue of Jesus on the cross because he was certain he would see freshly painted judgment there.

Near the end of their hour together, Regina made an announcement. “Angie and Kellen are heading up the annual Halloween Masquerade Party this year at the school and have decided to do a small talent portion to showcase local groups. Angie has generously asked us to lend a song or two to the program. This would require a few extra hours of rehearsal time per week, so I understand if this doesn’t fit into some of our busy schedules, but I think it’s a sweet opportunity, even if not all of us can participate. I’d like to take a vote on this now, if we’re amenable.”

“What would we be singin’?” asked Grace, an elderly soprano with at least fifty years on Gerard.

Regina perked up at Grace’s question. “Since it’s the evening before All Saints’ Day, I was thinking we’d do a solo of ‘Blest Are the Pure in Heart’ and then to get the crowd going, we’d perform a choral arrangement of ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ with optional sing-along for the audience.”

Titters of excitement broke out around Gerard while his own gut tightened. He’d come to Iping to escape performing.

Regina asked for a show of those who would like to perform. When every person in the room raised a hand, Gerard followed suit so as not to be singled out.

Clearly having anticipated an affirmative vote, Regina passed out pages of sheet music for the selections, telling everyone to look over their voice part before next rehearsal, and that anyone who wanted to audition for the solo should prepare to do so next time.