Jacob's Ladder (15 page)

That my focus didn"t stray to the quiet corner of the bar where JT sat with his homecoming queen, hand on his chin, hanging on her every word. At least that many times I begged the Fates to turn me around, to cause my heart to quicken when I looked at Cam the way it did when I caught sight of JT lifting his wineglass to his lips.

All the same, while I chatted and ate, I felt JT"s gaze on
me
, as if he was as drawn to me as I was to him, and I felt sorry for him.

Cam"s appeal was in-your-face, and JT"s was as subtle as a whisper. JT lacked Cam"s cowboy charm. He lacked Cam"s humor and bravado, yet I couldn"t keep from looking over at him again and again, until JT and Elaine shared a dessert and then paid their tab and got up to leave. By that time I"d had plenty to drink, and his presence seemed funny, if a little sad. My own pathetic state didn"t bear thinking on.

“So then”—Cam was telling the story of a dramatic 911 call that involved downed electrical wires and rain—“we have to rescue this guy in a pickup truck, and we discover that he"s been riding around, naked from the waist down, flashing truckers. Started the whole damned thing.”

“What a mess,” I agreed, grinning now because JT was finally gone and I could breathe again. “It"s a nightmare when you"re doing something dumb and you need to be rescued.”

“What dumb thing have you done?”

“Me?” I remembered a time when I was about twenty-three. “I was in a bar getting shitfaced, and a bomb went off outside the disco next door. It just decimated the crowd waiting to get in, blew out all the windows on the block.” St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder

83

“What were you doing that was so stupid?” Cam asked, frowning.

“When the blast went off it was total chaos. I"d been trying to forget whatever was bothering me at the time by getting drunk, and the end result was that when the chips were down, I couldn"t
help
anyone. There were these kids from the Ukraine who were there on a school trip—going to the disco as a big treat and a way to blow off steam. Big chunks of metal, ball bearings, and screws had flown from the source of the detonation, blowing holes in all that flesh.” My hand shook, so I put down my beer. “I got a couple of people comfortable, but fortunately EMS was there in a heartbeat. First they shoved me out of the way to get to the worst injured, and then they patched me up, monitored me for shock. I didn"t even realize I"d been hit.”

“Shit,” Cam hissed.

“I managed
supplies
in the Tzahal. I didn"t see much action while I wore the uniform, but I was nearly killed off duty. Go figure.”

“No shit.” Cam leaned in a little sloppily. I suppose he"d already seen more carnage from car accidents than I would probably ever see in my lifetime.

“Twenty-two stitches. That was a tough year there, 2001.”

“Here too.” Cam raised his most recent shot glass.

I muttered a curse. “Yes, indeed.
Hell, yes
. Here especially.” I tapped my beer against his shot glass and vowed to talk about more upbeat things.

“Are you sorry you left Israel?”

“No, my grandfather was dead. All the family I had left was here.”

“Must be strange, though,” he mused. “To move there, serve in the military, and then return here.”

“I"m not really political or religious. I only went to be with my zeyde. Israel filled a void in my grandfather"s heart, and I"m glad we went, but I don"t have the same desire to belong there, I guess.”

“I miss my family a lot.” Cam swallowed hard. “But I got tired of explaining that I couldn"t just pick out a nice girl and settle down if I really wanted to badly enough.”

“I"m sorry,” I told him. I
was
sorry. A sad Cam was unbearable. It felt like a crime against nature.

“Nah. I had a situation that finally made it unacceptable to live in the town where I grew up, and I moved on. I came up here to St. Nacho"s from New Mexico when I saw an Internet ad for an experienced firefighter, and here I"ve been ever since.”

“It feels good here. It"s a good place.”

“You need to think about staying. I heard JT saying Mary Catherine Jensen wants you for a business partner.”

“She"s not looking for a partner really. Just a baker. I could do that.” I tried the image on: staying in St. Nacho"s, finding a small place to live, walking to and from wherever Mary Catherine baked her pies every day. I could be part of the St.

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Nacho"s unofficial domestic-violence work-study program and let the ladies set me straight when I made a mistake. They would call me out for pining over JT when I was having one of the best evenings I"d had all year with Cam.

Still, I dangled over the precipice. So many moves. So many times I"d relocated thinking the next place would be better, that I"d put down roots and start to build—

if not a family—a sort of tribe where I belonged. I"d already adopted Muse and Mary Catherine. There"s nothing I wouldn"t have done for those two. I had strong and inappropriate feelings for JT, sure, but I loved his dad. I really, really liked Cam, which made me sad in a way, because if I"d been smart, I"d have taken him up on the encounter that his eyes and that slow, country-boy smile had been promising me all night.

I was thinking about all these things when Cam got right next to my ear and said, “You and me isn"t going to happen, is it?”
Ah shit
. “No,” I told him honestly. “I want it to be different, but I can"t get JT

off my mind. I"m damned if I know why. I"m not a guy who goes after straight men.”

“JT"s not straight.” Cam pursed his lips in distaste. “He"s a fucking coward. His loss. Is this the first time that"s happened to you? You hook up with a guy, and you"re invisible the next time you meet?”

“I"m nearly thirty-two. What do you think?”

“I think it sucks to be alone,” Cam said. “Tonight, stay and dance with me. At least drink. Be out and proud and forget the JTs of the world.” I only had to think about it for a minute. “All right.” St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder

85

Chapter Thirteen

Cam threw a couple of twenties on the table, and I paid my half. I vowed to eat there again and see if the rest of the menu was as good. By the time we got up, some of the waiters were pushing back the tables, so we decided to take a walk to get some air before going back to dance.

The minute I stepped outside, my head cleared enough to appreciate the beauty of the place. I wanted to walk on the sand, close to the water. Cam followed along, pulling off his boots and socks, making a remark that he"d be sorry later when he was dancing with sand between his toes. I toed off my Vans and socks as well, rolling up my pants legs as I"d seen him do, and we left our things lying where the dry sand gave way to the wet and the shore dropped steeply off.

Water foamed around our feet as we walked in silence. I watched it, not really seeing it except to avoid sharp shells and rocks and bits of trash. Cam took my hand, and I knew he intended it to be more of a comfort than a pass. I gave it a squeeze and let go, then threw an arm around his waist, inviting him to put his around my shoulder.

Clouds moved overhead fast, almost like time-lapse photography, drifting over the stars and the moon in an inky black sky. Thicker, darker clouds were headed our way, ominous with moisture. It looked like we"d get more rain if they stood still long enough over St. Nacho"s to drop it.

At some point we reached the pier and stopped walking. We sat down on the damp sand and simply watched as the waves rolled gently into the shore.

“Yasha?”

“Mmhmm?” I rested my head on Cam"s thick biceps, sorry once again that I could offer nothing more than friendship.

“Do you ever feel like the only time you exist is when others are watching?”

“What do you mean? Like if a tree falls and there"s no ear to hear it, does it still make a sound?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Am I really here if there"s no one to see and remember? No one to care that it"s me?”

“I don"t know. You"re taxing my brain after too many drinks. Here. Look. If you push your finger in the sand, like this,” I demonstrated, “you don"t just move the grains of sand you push. You move sand all around. See?”

“Yeah.” He watched my finger as I did it again.

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Z. A. Maxfield

“You can"t know which ones either. You change things up close and farther away whether you like it or not. A guy like you—a guy who rolls out on a fire truck when there"s an accident on the highway—you"ve got to be changing things you"ll never even know about. Touching lives you can"t imagine.”

“That"s right.” He grinned down at me during a break between clouds, and the moon glazed his face with a silvery light. “Cool.”

“I don"t like to be alone, Cam, but I"m getting older—too old for recreational sex and one-night stands. I"m getting tired of Mr. Right Now. The last guy nearly killed me. I"m pretty sure I have sucktastic taste in men.” Cam laughed at that, and I laughed with him. “You must have, or we"d be hitting it like rabbits right now. Come on. Free ride on the Camshaft…” I rolled my eyes. “As enticing as that sounds, do you honestly think that"s a good idea? I"m not your type.”

Cam looked thoughtful. “I"m still trying to decide if I have a type. Whether you"re it or not. Mostly I figure breathing is good.” He grinned, and I knew we"d gotten past a particularly tricky land mine. “So far that"s been my type.”

“Yeah, well, you ought to probably narrow it down from there if you want anything to last.”

“You know what? You"re probably right,” he teased, getting up and dusting his ass off. “I"ll get right on that tomorrow. Right now I want to hop into a pile of flesh and dance until I"m creaming my jeans.”

I looked back at Nacho"s, up the beach. Cars were already starting to park on the streets around it. In the distance the headlights looked like strings of Christmas lights.

“Gonna be a busy night,” Cam said, starting back toward our shoes.

Suddenly I felt so tired. “Yeah, you know what? I think if you don"t mind, I"m just going to head back to the motel.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I keep baker"s hours, and all that booze made me tired.”

“It"s the ocean. Very relaxing.”

“If I don"t head home, I"ll fall asleep here on the beach.”

“It"s fine. You need me to walk you back? No strings.”

“I"ll be fine.”

When we found our shoes again, we could smell the cigarette smoke from the patrons outside the bar. I couldn"t say I"d miss that. People stood two and three deep outside, smoking and waiting for others to show, cooling off from the dance floor in the night air.

I shook my socks out and regretted the necessity of putting them on again, but it was a long walk back to the hotel. My Vans slid easily back on my feet, and in no time Cam and I stood at the corner of the street where we would part company for the night.

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87

“I had a good time. You"re a great guy. When you find out what you want, I know you"ll get it. You deserve all the good stuff.” Cam jerked his chin in my direction and said, “Likewise,” before giving me a bone-crushing hug. “I"ll be seeing you around. Beware of counterfeit.” I knew what he meant—not money but emotions. Look out for guys like JT

who were all hot and bothered in the dark but didn"t know you when the sun came up. “I will.”

I didn"t want to tell him I"d be heading home if Dan came to get me the next day, and I didn"t know if I"d be back.

“See you.” He turned and walked away. I half expected him to get a running start and then just plow into the knots of hot guys standing around, like some juggernaut of love, leaping naked into a pile of willing flesh. I wondered what it"d take to slow him down. Not me. I knew that. Still, he made me smile.

I turned on the main drag again, finding my way along quiet streets to the motel. It would be useful to have a car here, not that I"d really need it, but on one of the few big rain days, it might be nice to stay dry. There was no public transportation whatsoever in St. Nacho"s. JT"d told me there weren"t even cabs. The town stretched out farther on the other side of the highway, past the motel, and I hadn"t begun to explore it. That"s where the high school was and where Ken Ashton lived with his partner, according to Mary Catherine.

I liked the apartments near the beach, and I"d seen a FOR RENT sign or two. I didn"t doubt I could make it work. I could give up my lease on the apartment in LA when it came time. Move here. Work somewhere.

Did St. Nacho’s want me?

St. Nacho"s certainly called to me. Maybe it did want me. And maybe I was ready to settle down with a place, if not with a person.

My thoughts continued like that until I became aware of an engine on the street, doing the curbside crawl next to the sidewalk where I ambled along. I knew it was JT before I looked up. The purr of his engine seemed as familiar to me now as his face.

I kept walking. I knew he"d have to lean way over or even stop the truck and put it in park before he could crank down the window on the passenger side to talk to me.

“Sucks to be you,” I muttered.

Eventually, after trying and failing to get my attention, he parked the old Ford and got out, sort of speed walking to catch up to me.

“Wait,” he called. “Yasha. Wait.”

I wasn"t exactly afraid of what he"d have to say to me or in any way surprised when he said, “About what happened in the bar—”

“Dude—”

“No, listen. I"m sorry about that. Really sorry.” 88

Z. A. Maxfield

“Cool. Okay, thanks,
Jason
.” I began walking again. He could follow me to the motel for all I cared. He"d just have to walk back and get his damned truck.

“I asked Elaine out weeks ago.
Yasha
, will you hear me out?” I spun around to face him. “Sure. But what do you have to tell me that I don"t already know?”

JT looked blank.

“I thought so.” I turned back and started walking again.

“Well,
hell
. I panicked, all right?”

“Sure.”

“I woke up in the middle of the night, and I thought, oh
fuck me
. I"m gay.”