Zero at the Bone (54 page)

“No, it’s okay. Everything you said, it’s all valid. Those are all legitimate concerns.

But of all those words, only two really matter.”

“What?”

“’I’m afraid.’”

250 | Jane Seville

He nodded, sighing. “Yeah.”

“You just have to ask yourself if you’re going to let that fear win. It’d feel awful to lose him in some mundane way, or find out that what you had wasn’t what you thought it was. But I have to think it’d feel worse never to try.” He rolled his head on the chair cushion to look at her. “You’re right, of course. Like I could ever just give up on it now because it’s scary. Isn’t it always scary?”

“Oh, yeah.” Megan sat up straighter. “I have to be on my way, Jack.”

“So soon?” he said, frowning.

“Never a dull moment.” She got up. “But I’m glad to find you well and safe. I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

He stood up and walked her to the door. “Can you pass something else along?”

“If I’m able.”

“Tell him… tell him to meet me on Christmas Day. I can’t see my family, I have nothing else to do. Tell him I just need to see him, even if it’s only for a few hours. Tell him I begged and got down on my hands and knees and made a shameful spectacle of myself.”

She smiled. “Meet you where?”

Jack looked away. “He’ll know where.”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

December 25, 2006

JACK’S stomach was in knots as he drove through Redding after six-plus hours on the road from Portland. He could have flown, but given travel times and security procedures it was almost quicker to drive the near seven hours that would bring him from his home in Portland to the house his dreams still placed him in.

He’d round the corner and he would or would not see a car in the driveway.
Even if
you don’t see a car, he could still be there. He could have hidden the car. He could have
taken a cab. He could have dropped in from the sky.

He rounded the corner. No car in the driveway.

It was almost noon. He might arrive later. If he’d ever gotten Jack’s message at all, or if he had any intention of honoring his request. Jack thought the chances of D showing up here were no better than even, if that. But it wasn’t like he couldn’t show up himself; if there was even the remotest chance, he had to be here.

He parked his car in the driveway and just sat there for a minute. The place looked the same, if a bit overgrown. All that gardening for nothing.

He got out and went around to the little chink under the foundation where they’d hidden a spare key. It was there. Jack went to the front door and took a breath, then unlocked it and stepped into the surreality of memories that had started to feel disjointed from too much handling.

For all the time he’d spent looking back on his time here, actually seeing the place again was… odd. He’d misremembered a few details that now felt more real in the incorrect recollection than here in reality. He set down his overnight bag (optimistically packed) and stood there, the stale air filling his lungs.

Zero at the Bone | 251

He went into the kitchen. Coffeepot, kitchen table, patio doors. The backyard, unkempt and forlorn. He saw his own shadow learning to shoot, learning to fight, that day that D had smelled the sun on him. They’d cleaned the kitchen before leaving; nothing remained of their time except possibly fingerprints, although Jack wouldn’t have put it past D to have wiped the place down like a crime scene.

He steeled himself and went to the bedroom.

The bed had been slept in. He would have bet money on it. He’d made the bed himself before they left, with his usual anal-retentive precision. Someone had made it, but it was crooked and a little disheveled-looking. He would not have left it like this.

But it was not the bed that caught his attention; it was the note that had been left on it.

He had no idea how long he stood there staring at it.
He’s already been here. He
intentionally came on a day he knew I wouldn’t be here so he could avoid me. He slept in
the bed.

He’s not coming.

He picked up the note with numb fingers and sat down to read it.

12/24

Jack,

Merry Christmas, bud. Sorry I can’t be there with you having some
eggnog or whatever. I just can’t do it. I’m not strong like you. I
couldn’t be there and see you and spend a day with you and then leave
again. Leaving you on that warehouse floor felt like part of me tore off
and stayed behind and I can’t just visit that part until I get to sew it
back on for good.

Nice of you to invite me, tho. Megan said you’re doing ok. Working at a
bookstore. Kinda made me laugh a little to think of you there. She said
you looked real good. All healed up, not so much as a limp. That was a
load off my mind.

I’m doing okay. Things are going about like I thought, except it’s
taking longer, but don’t everything always? Damn frustrating, but I
can’t rush it or it’s all gonna fall apart. I know you’re probably curious
about what I’m doing, exactly, but I can’t tell you. Just one thing I want
you to know is that I kept my promise. I haven’t killed anybody and if
all goes like I plan, I won’t have to. Thought you’d want to know that.

Damn, but I miss you awful. Seems like every dark-haired guy on the
street turns into you. Not that I’m looking, ha ha. I don’t look at other
guys. If I had any kind of way with words maybe I could tell you all
kinds of nice things about how I feel and what I think and all that, but I
don’t have to tell you I ain’t that guy. All I can say is you got no idea
how tempting it was to stay in this house and wait for you, but I gotta
be strong if we’re gonna have a chance later.

Don’t be mad at me for ditching you. I know you’ll understand.

252 | Jane Seville

Can’t believe I wrote this much, damn. Looks like something of you
rubbed off on me, doc.

There’s stuff I’m still waiting to say to you, Jack. Things I want you to
know. But I’m damned if they’re going in a fucking note.

See you soon (I hope),

D

Jack read it three times. Maybe there was some kind of code embedded in it that would lead to some secret location where D was waiting for him.

Oh God, you really have drunk the Kool-Aid with all this cloak-and-dagger stuff,
haven’t you?

If there was a code, which he doubted, he didn’t get it.

He put the note aside and flopped backward onto the bed, kicked off his shoes and burrowed under the covers. He buried his head in the pillow and smiled; a faint smell of D remained.

Jack got out of bed and stripped naked.

This is weird, Jack.

Fuck weird. He was here, he was right the hell here.

He got back into the bed and shut his eyes, imagining D right where he was lying, just the day before. Possibly only hours before, depending on what time he’d left.

He rarely allowed himself the luxury of remembering the sex he’d had with D. It was too depressing. He’d jerk off to gay porn instead, or imagine getting a blow job from Anderson Cooper. D was not willingly allowed into those fantasies, probably for much the same reason D had refused to meet him here.

Now, he just went with it. He let it wash over him and wallowed, his mind sinking deep into a mudbath of erotic memories. Within seconds he was painfully hard.

That slow blow job he gave me at the hotel in Baltimore. The first time I topped for
him, that little look over the shoulder he gave me, his hips in my lap….

He hadn’t even gotten to the really good stuff before he was going off.

Shit. That was some kind of a record.

Relax. You can do it again in a few minutes.

He sighed.

Merry Christmas, D.

Zero at the Bone | 253

VALENTINE'S DAY. Just pour lemon juice in my eyes.

Everybody was buying cards, and schmoopy books about lurve. This holiday wasn't exactly gangbusters for bookstores, but some guys had cottoned onto the fact that a good book or a DVD lasted a lot longer than flowers, so it was certainly busier than usual.

Jack was putting in an hour at the register, being his usual charming self and chatting with the customers.
Stay busy and don't think about it.

Gloria came behind the registers during a lull. "Brought you a latte," she said, handing him a cup.

"Thanks. I'm off in an hour anyway."

"You wanna go out? We can do the Single People Anti-Valentine Fatwa thing." Her eyes were full of understanding behind all the black Goth eyeliner.

Jack shrugged. "I don't think so. I just want to go home and stare at my cell phone."

"You think he might call?"

He sighed. "Not in a million years."

She rubbed his arm. "I hate to see you looking so down in the mouth," she said, sticking out her lower lip. Jack had told Gloria a little more about his situation since first admitting it to her months before, just enough so she understood the situation but not enough to give anything away. She straightened up, putting on a smile. "You ever think maybe you ought to just get laid?"

Jack snorted. "Frequently."

"You could walk into a gay bar and take your pick, you know. He wouldn't hold it against you."

"No, I don't think he would. I might, though."

"Jack, it's unreasonable to expect you not to get any at all during an involuntary, open-ended separation."

"I know. Maybe I'll get to that point. Just… it's too soon."

"Okay, I get that." She patted his arm again. "And if you'd like to dip your toes in the other side of the pond, you know I'm available."

He laughed. "Thanks for the offer."

"I like to think of it as a public service."

"Just doing your part for the good of gay America, is that right?"

"Hey, a lot more of your people have taken the occasional poke at their hags than they'll admit, you know."

"If you say so."

254 | Jane Seville

"Just, don't be too sad tonight, okay? And call me if you find yourself doing anything remotely resembling drunk-dialing."

"Who would I drunk-dial, Gloria? I don't even have his number."

JACK trudged home, head down, eyes on the ground. Nothing in the mail but bills, that stranger's name shouting up at him from the address labels.
Someday, someday it'll be
Francisco again. He said so, and I believe him.

That belief was becoming a mantra, a point of faith with about as much empirical evidence as intelligent design. The note D had left him in Redding had been re-read nearly to tatters, its contents long since memorized and examined until the words had started to lose meaning. Five months now, soon to be six, and although he'd imagined it would probably take at least this long, maintaining his equanimity was no small task. He hadn't even heard from Megan since Christmas.

He stopped at the top of the stairs. There was a package on his welcome mat.

Trying not to get too excited, Jack approached casually. Had he ordered something from Amazon? That was a distinct possibility. He was a slave to those damn daily Gold box deals. But this package was not from Amazon. It didn't have the smiley on the side.

He bent and picked it up. It was hand-addressed, and he knew that writing, except there was no street address on it. It must have been hand-delivered, which meant either Churchill or Megan had brought it, since they were the only ones who knew where he was. "Shit," he muttered, fumbling for his keys and finally shoving his way into the apartment.

He dropped his bag and coat, already tearing at the package. What on earth would D

send him on Valentine's Day?

When he saw the box, he just stared for a moment, and then choked out a laugh that was trying not to be a sob. "Jesus, D," he said. "For all you gave me shit about it you sure love giving me damn chocolate-covered cherries."

There was no note. He hadn't really expected one. It was enough to know D was thinking of him. Jack tore the wrapper off the box and opened it. A whole box this time, not just the tiny four-piece he'd left in his suitcase back in Baltimore. Several dozen.

Plenty to stretch them out for weeks.

Fuck that. Eat them all tonight, in one sitting. Eat them until you puke.