Eastern Lights (Compass 2)

Other rules were created, too.

We’d made up the rule that any interview topics would be left outside of the household, so he’d have a safe place to return to after his long days at work, which were oftentimes very long days. Even though I left the article aspect of his life outside of his home, he brought his workday into what was supposed to be his haven.

Some days, he’d get home around ten at night, and he’d go straight to his office and dive back into doing work until the wee hours of the morning.

On Sunday morning, I’d awakened early to go visit Grant’s grave for my weekly trip, and I was surprised when I saw Connor still sitting in front of his computer. I knocked on the doorframe, and he looked up, appearing exhausted.

“Early morning or late night?” I asked.

He glanced at his watch and groaned as he rubbed his hands over his face. “Late night. What are you doing up so early?”

“On Sundays I go out of the city to visit Grant’s tombstone. I get up early so I can catch the sunrise with him and read some comic books.”

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and gave me a lazy smile. “That sounds amazing.”

“It’s a tradition that I’ve adapted.”

He stood up from his chair and walked in my direction. “Can I come with you?”

I was a bit taken aback by his request. I’d spent months with Jason trying to get him to come visit Grant’s grave spot, but he always said it was too early and just plain odd.

Connor asked without even being invited to come. Plus, he was running on zero to no sleep.

“Are you tired?” I asked him.

“We can whip up some coffee to take with us,” he said. “I remember you talking about Grant a few years back, about how important he was to you. I’d be honored to meet someone that special to you.”

The way he said ‘to meet’ made the butterflies swirl in my stomach. As if Grant was still alive and well.

“If you want to come, I’ll be glad to have you.”

“I do,” he promised. “Let me get the coffee brewing, then we can head out.”

Once the coffee was brewed, we were on our way to see Grant, with blankets and comics galore. When we arrived, Connor lay out the blankets for us to sit on and smiled as he stared at Grant’s tombstone. I sat down, and he followed my steps, sitting right beside me.

“There’s a lot of quarters,” Connor noted.

“Yeah, I leave one every single time. Grant believed that if a penny was lucky, then a quarter had to be twenty-five times as lucky. Whenever I find a quarter, I figure it’s a kiss from Grant. It’s stupid, I know.”

“There’s nothing stupid about that.”

“Jason thought it was,” I told him.

“Jason also thought Italy was a continent. His opinion is mute and void.”

I snickered. Touché.

“Can you tell me stories about him?” Connor asked, bending his legs and resting his crossed arms on top of his knees.

“You really want to hear stories about Grant?”

“Yeah. Stories about him, and you together. I want to know it all, if you want to share it with me.”

That felt so odd to me. Jason never asked, and he never wondered. But, Connor seemed so interested in knowing more about my past, more about what made me into the person I’d become. Talking about Grant felt like talking about a parent. He meant the world to me, and I loved how when I began to speak, Connor listened intently to every word that left my mouth.

Then, he read the comics to Grant and me, which made my heart began to beat for him. He didn’t have a clue how much him showing up with me met. It felt so special to have someone to watch the sunrise with as I sat at Grant’s grave.

When it was time to leave, Connor pulled out his wallet, grabbed a quarter, and left it on the tombstone for Grant to have. I wondered if Connor had any clue of how good of a person he had been.

Each day, I loved waking up and not being alone in the household. There was something comforting about having someone else in the penthouse with me, even if Connor and I weren’t always interacting. I liked knowing that if something ever went wrong, there was someone right around the corner.

Still, I worried about Connor and his work habits.

One night, I woke up around three to go get a glass of water, and I found him still sitting in his office typing away. His shoulders were rounded forward, and exhaustion sat heavily on his face. I didn’t interrupt him, but the image stayed with me for a few days until I felt as if I needed to step in. I might’ve been crossing a line, but when he came home from work one night, loosened his tie, and sat grimacing, I knew he needed a break. I was even more certain that he wasn’t going to give it to himself.