Who else decodes you?

 

Sunny wasn't certain she was uncovering much, but she was boxing alot of Hart's books and magazines. It was all in French, but she'd came across something about guns. She brought it to Louie's attention.

"Did you know about this?" She asked one night after their one pot meal with rice still in the rice cooker.

Louie squinted as he took a look at it. "It's in French." 

He shrugged and went back to cleaning up.

"So." Sunny swelled a frown. "Don't you get it?"

"Get what?" he turned back to her as he was spooning out rice to put away. She leaned against the doorway in the small galley kitchen.

"He liked guns."

"Well," Louie winced as if that wasn't a real alarm. "You can't say he's a serial killer because he liked guns."

Sunny wobbled her head in a fret that Louie wasn't thinking. "What if he was running from something in Paris and it all caught up to him?"

"Oh, you're just making stuff up now." 

Louie put his hands on his hips as if that was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard about his old roommate.

"He liked games," Louie told her. "He was like anybody else. Chewy can tell you that much."

"Chewy?" She looked at him blankly. She hadn't thought of questioning Chewy. She had to go back to a room full of boxes. 

It was so overwhelming. This was not what she wanted. She wanted her own space. Not Hart's. The more she lived there, the worse she thought of him. Like he might be an Ozzie Osbourne-loving spy of some kind.

Louie came to the room after soaking the dishes in the sink. "I'm trying to find a way to send it all back." He said about Hart's stuff.

"We can't." Sunny swelled a frown. "You know and I know how much that would cost." Now she had her hands on her hips ready to do something drastic.

"Let's just sell what we can and get rid of  the rest."

"But," Louie squinted. "Isn't that a little rash?"

"Lou, I'm beginning to think you were more in love with him than I ever was." 

Sunny crossed her arms as she stood in Hart's room in one of his old tees that she didn't mind eating in. If it stained. So be it. She kept his flannel boxers because they were comfy to lounge in.

"You..you are just being impossible," he told her. "You must be dreaming. He never thought of me that way."

"Of course, not." She kept her eye on him. "But you did."

He scowled back and went to his room. The subject was mute.