Free Close to Hugh by Marina Endicott Page B

dare                   can’t bear to tell me
                                                          I think that was a lie   Elora Gorge
    he won the lottery                     can’t decide what to do with it
    he’s shopping for a present        for our anniversary
                                                    can’t find one                    can’t face me
    his other wife is sick                  he’s got to look after her  his secret wife
    he got religion
    started speaking in tongues       at a Kinsmen’s breakfast
                                                    like Dad’s friend Phil Millman
                                                    burly in a brown 50s suit
                                                    then a clerical collar            struck
    he hates me                              can’t bear to tell me                he’s left me
    no
    none of those                                                                               please

3. WHIRLING AWAY FROM HUGH
    Okay, away from the hospice, running over to Della’s to get the January flyer settled. And for the collage course starting next month. Ian Mighton arrives tomorrow—wait, Thursday? Lucky turn of events, Mighton able to teach the class because he’s got to be in town to sell his old place. The house he let Lise Largely live in, while they were dating. You’d think (Hugh’d think) Mighton would have more sense than to fall for full hair and an empty, roaming eye.
    Hugh veers across the street in body, veers his mind away from Lise Largely, the realtor-slash-developer who has a bid in on Jasper’s place, who wants to buy Hugh’s too, who wants the whole building for a naturopath/allergy spa. Hugh could find another venue, or give up, give up, give up. A gallery is a mug’s game at the best of times and now is not the best time, no. Who’s to say she shouldn’t have it.
    Hugh’s to say. He says Never give up. Never give in .
    And Echo replyeth: Give up … give in .
    He strides along anyway in the fresh tangle of leafsmell, rainslick; the sun sulking, slumped behind a bank of fog climbing off the river. Red flash—a cardinal, flying low across his path. Another follows, a pair of bright crimson males. Some note from Audubon or Birds of North America slides into his mind, that males with brighter red have greater reproductive success than males that are duller in colour. Mighton is as bright a bird as you can get, except for Newell, the brightest, yet neither of them has had reproductive success. Does Newell mind? Does he mind the way Hugh minds? You never know. Newell is detached.
    At Della’s corner lot, a dash of coat out the back door—red and gold paisley lining flaring, not the solid funereal black of yesterday. Well-kempt, unkempt, verklemmt . The car, Della’s green Mini, flicks out the side drive and off downtown, without a glance behind to Hugh, jumping, waving his arms, a mad puppet dancing to yanking, tangled strings.
    He gives up. Goes to the house, to wait till she gets back.
    “Your mom on her way to see me?” he yells as he opens the front door.
    Up the short flight of steps, Elle’s head appears around the louvered kitchen door, nods. It’s nearly ten, don’t people ever go to school?
    “Does she have her phone?”
    Shake of the head, after a quick look at the kitchen counter.
    No, she never does. “I watched her drive off,” he says, begging pardon for busting in. “It’s the Mighton flyer. She knows his stuff better