If I Must Lane Read Online Free Page A

her.”
    “Mmm-hmm.” Melody’s voice went up at the end of that, and Joel found himself sitting up and looking at her funny.
    “What was that for, mammi? It sounds like you thinking something you shouldn’t!”
    Melody shook her head. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready, little brother. So, you think he’ll take care of the cat when he can’t take care of himself?”
    “I know he will,” Joel answered softly. That was one story he didn’t want to tell Melody. For some reason it just hurt too much.
     
    Joel had been gone for a two-day seminar. He’d asked Ian repeatedly, “You going to be okay, Ian? You going to be okay?” But he had to go—what, he was going to tell work he was going to turn down free training because his roommate was a flake?
    He got back to find a mound of open, empty cat food tins on the floor, and Ian sitting shirtless on the couch. (He was always shirtless. The man would have clients come over to get their taxes done, and he’d meet them in cargo shorts, flip-flops, and sweat.)
    He was eating cat food out of the tin, and he was stinking drunk.
    “Ian?” Joel asked, dropping his luggage on the floor inside the door. “Ian, what the hell? You said you’d meet me at the airport! I had to take a cab!”
    “I’m sorry, mate,” Ian said, sounding more than distraught. “I was gonna.” He nodded solemnly. “I was gonna… but I woke up this morning, and there was nothing in the fridge but beer. And cat food. There was lots of cat food. So first I drank the beer, and then, when I threw up, I ate the cat food!” He sniffled a little, sounding pathetic, and then he had what looked to be an attack of clarity.
    “What kind of asshole lets a friend down like that?” he asked himself cruelly, and he sniffled again.
    Joel stared at him in blank horror.
    “Jesus, Ian,” he said softly, walking to the refrigerator and feeling lost. “There’s corndogs in the freezer, you know that, right?”
    Ian started to giggle softly, and he put the cat food down on the floor next to the couch. “Thank God, mate. I thought I was going to have to puke again!”
    Joel told himself it was anger as he threw the corndogs on the plate and broke out a can of corn to nuke with them. Jesus. He and Mel had been fixing themselves dinner since the third grade; you’d think a certifiable genius with an IQ of 170 would be able to fix his own goddamned lunch, would be able to….
    Joel turned to Ian, who was sitting on the couch looking so dejected that Joel’s heart lurched.
    “I’m sorry,” he muttered, not even trying to meet Joel’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m a pain in the ass. I know I am. I- I’m up all night and I never wear clothes and… I just… when you’re not here, all I am is the stuff in my head. I’ve got curves and hyperboles and Riemann and Gauss and they’re sayin’ shit and the world looks clear but time… it just passes, and I don’t see it. How come I know mathematical theory, but I can’t count to sixty? What kind of right is that? And the only thing that makes me more than the shit in my head is doing something for Bastard or…” Ian swallowed, hard, “or when you’re here. You’re the only one who makes me… real.”
     Joel realized that helpless tears were running down Ian’s face. Oh God. He hadn’t even said a word—not one goddamned word—and here he’d gone and made Ian cry.
    The microwave dinged in the silence between them, and Joel grabbed a towel and brought the plate over, not forgetting the fork for the corn and the ketchup.
    Ian took a bite of corndog and seemed to pull himself together, smiling that sunshine smile through his muddle-headed misery, and Joel wanted to do something, stroke his face, pet his wild hair, do something that would reassure him.
    He thumped him heartily on the thigh and hoped that worked okay. “Look, Ee,” he said softly. “I’m mad at you because you’re my friend here. I come home, and you’re falling apart. How’s