Chapter 9
9
“ I f we open a quarrel between past and present, we shall find that we have lost the future.” —Winston Churchill
Our return to civilization made me yearn for the simple pleasures of life in the wilderness. It’s funny how quickly I could forget blisters, hunger, and the elements when confronted by a messy apartment with an empty fridge and two messages on my phone I didn’t look forward to listening to. I purposefully waited ’til Jack dropped me off in Georgetown Sunday afternoon to deal with reality. Groceries and tidying were manageable. It was returning calls to Cary and Paul that seemed daunting.
I listened to Paul’s message first. His lovely accented voice informed me he was back in the US and would love to see me sometime this week. Did Friday work? I sighed, thinking I’d never been in a situation where I had to put the brakes on with one guy because I was involved with another. I amended “involved with” to “in love with” in my head, but I wouldn’t share that with Paul when I returned his call. I saved his message, thinking I’d deal with him later, and listened to my brother’s instead.
“Hey, Curt. We brought Dad back home. Um…. We arranged hospice care because… it’s time. I know it’s hard, little brother, but I was thinking you might want to come back and maybe say good-bye. I don’t know how much longer he has. Maybe a week, more or less. But I wanted you to know. Call me, okay?”
My hand shook as I brought my phone away from my ear and looked at it as though it were a foreign object. I didn’t know what to think. I wasn’t sure how to feel or even act. A very real part of me wanted to get up, shower, go to the grocery store, straighten up my apartment, and get started planning my week at work. Fuck him. How dare he make me care about him when he had proven he couldn’t care about me if I couldn’t be what he wanted?
Another part of me remembered being the kid who’d looked up to his larger-than-life dad. The megastar technology exec whose very presence created a stir in any room he walked into. Any bit of attention from my busy father was like being given a piece of gold. I hoarded those pathetically few memories like a miser and turned them over and over in my mind until he was practically a legend, a god to my teenage self. I liked who I was when I worshipped my father. I liked the simplicity of my life then. Finding out who he really was when he realized who I was… that was devastating. Could I mourn the man I had thought he was? Or was it too late?
I picked up my keys, deciding my empty fridge really needed my attention. Real-life shit could wait.
Jack was the first person I told about my father being in hospice care. He could tell from the sound of my voice something was wrong when he called later that night. I loved him a little more when he showed up at my door a half hour later and drew me into his strong, protective arms, warding off my demons when I proved helpless to do it on my own. He stayed with me that night, watching sports highlights and making idle conversation to distract me from darker thoughts. I slept fitfully while tucked closely at his side.
Other than a quick word about the cap being off the toothpaste, he didn’t say one word about my messy apartment. A sure sign of some cataclysmic shift. I was too emotionally drained and confused to try to figure what any of it meant. I was just grateful Jack was with me.
The next few days were oddly disjointed with no real flow. I was distracted at work and not as productive as usual. I finally gave in and told one of the partners about my dad’s waning health when he was forced to ask me the same question three times in a meeting. He was sympathetic and told me to take whatever time I needed to be with my father. I thanked him and kept the “fuck that” to myself.
I wasn’t going to San Francisco to watch him die. No way. I hadn’t even decided if I’d go to his funeral. I couldn’t think clearly at all. Past and present were crashing and colliding at a frenetic pace. I was a control freak who was losing control. I had no idea how to do anything more than the basics, and I was more than a little pissed that it was my father instigating this mental spiral on his death bed.
It was all so irrational, so selfish. I was never so glad to have the amazing friends I did, who seemed to like my company when I couldn’t bear to be alone with my ugly thoughts.
My friends rallied around me, calling and offering support by way of a drink, dinner, or an ear. I had always counted myself lucky to have people like Matt and Jason in my life who knew me and cared about my well-being. Along the way, our circle had expanded to include Aaron, Jay and Peter, and Jase’s wife, Chelsea. Each one of them made a point to let me know they were there for me. I wasn’t alone.
But Jack was my rock. He didn’t have to say a word. He was just there. Ready with a word of wisdom, a quick joke, or comforting hand on my shoulder. I knew when this mess was over I’d tell him how I felt. I’d tell him I loved him. I didn’t want to say it when my emotional stability might be questioned. I knew my words were true but I didn’t want him thinking I was speaking in the heat of the moment.
Thursday morning I sat at my office desk, rereading a memo while sipping my fourth cup of coffee. When my cell rang, I picked it up without looking at the caller ID. When you were constantly braced for bad news, what difference could it possibly make when it came? I was a stress case, a nervous strung-out mess. No doubt a visit with a reputable therapist was in my cards.
“Curt Townsend,” I answered.
“Curt? Hello. It’s Paul. How are you?” The lilting, lovely British accent threw me for a minute. I had completely forgotten about Paul in the midst of my family drama. I’d never returned his call from over the weekend and I hadn’t thought twice about it.
“Paul. Uh. Hi.”
“I’m just back in the States this week and I was hoping I’d see you. Are you free tomorrow night? There’s a jazz band playing at?—”
“Paul, I…,” I interrupted him but was immediately interrupted myself when my office phone buzzed. “Sorry, I have a call coming through I have to take. Can I call you back later?”
“Don’t worry. Just be ready. I’ll be by to pick you up tomorrow at seven. Cheerio!”
I stared at my cell for a second before turning to my office phone. I was easily and gratefully distracted by the caller requesting contract details for my current project. I didn’t think about Paul again until later that afternoon, when I struggled to remind myself to call him back before the day’s end and let him know I wouldn’t be going anywhere with him.
I forgot to call him. I didn’t even realize my oversight until I was back at my desk the next morning and had one of those strange déjà vu feelings come over me. Before I had a chance to deal with Paul, my cell rang again. This time I looked at the identification of the caller and froze for a second before answering.
“Hi.”
“Curt, he’s gone. Just now. I….” Cary’s voice cracked with grief. “Come home, Curt. Please.”
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes against the wall of pain, sorrow, and fear. I was surprised at the strength of it. If I weren’t sitting I would have fallen to my knees. Speech wasn’t possible. I opened my mouth but quickly closed it, leaning heavily forward with my elbows on my knees.
I tried again and said the only thing I could think of. “Okay.”
I have no idea how I maneuvered through the remainder of the morning or afternoon. I took care of some basic e-mails, made a reservation for a direct flight from DC to San Francisco for the next morning, and somehow made my way back to Georgetown. I packed a light suitcase, knowing the visit would be short, and turned my energy to tidying the stacks of magazines and newspapers when my mind began to drift to unpleasant thoughts.
When I heard a knock at my door later that afternoon, I had another one of those out-of-body “return to the present” sensations. I hoped it would be Jack but then realized I hadn’t told him yet. In fact, I hadn’t told anyone but work associates. I looked through the peephole to see Aaron and Matt. I quickly opened the door.
“What are you?—”
Aaron launched himself into my arms while Matt stood by with his hands deep in his suit pants pockets. His expression told me they had somehow found out… most likely through the law-firm grapevine. Aaron pulled out of my arms for a minute and looked me over carefully, his dark hair falling artfully into his sad eyes.
“I’m sorry, Curt. Just sorry. I know this isn’t easy, whether or not you were close to your father. Losing a parent is….” He shook his head mournfully. “Very difficult. Let me make you some tea or something, okay?”
Aaron stood on his toes to plant a gentle kiss on my cheek before making his way to my kitchen. Matt watched him, probably wishing he would come back and supply a cue card or give a hint about what one says to someone who’s just experienced a death in the family.
“You okay? What are you going to do?”
I took a deep breath and walked over to my sofa. I shook my head and ran a frustrated hand through my hair, wanting to answer my friend but not really knowing how.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine, anyway. I… I’m going back.”
“Good.”
“Why do you say that?” I gave Matt a sharp sideways glance. He knew about my less-than-stellar relationship with my family. I didn’t tend to go into detail, but he knew enough to know I didn’t get along with my father in particular.
“Closure.”
“I’m going for Cary. He asked and….”
“Go for your brother, yes. But go for you too. Say good-bye to your past.”
Aaron walked into the living room and handed me a cup of tea before taking his place on the sofa next to Matt. I watched how closely they sat and how effortless they were together. When Matt’s arm dropped, Aaron filled the offered space at his side. When Aaron shifted on the cushion, Matt made room for him. They weren’t showy or overly demonstrative. They were a couple and they moved as one. I felt a sharp longing for Jack. I wanted and needed him in an almost physical sense that had nothing to do with sexual desire.
I left a message for Jack when I walked outside to the street to say good-bye to my friends an hour later. I stuck my cell in the back pocket of my jeans and wondered if I should just drive to his shop. He was probably knee-deep in some repair or other and wouldn’t bother to check messages. I turned back toward my building, intending to grab my keys and head over the bridge to Jack’s when I spotted Paul making his way up my sidewalk.
Oh shit. I had completely forgotten about him.
His stride was easygoing and jaunty as though he didn’t have a care in the world, and nothing more pressing to do than go on date to see a jazz band. I liked Paul. He was a nice man. Nice. But he wasn’t the guy for me. He didn’t excite me, make me angry, make me think, or make me laugh, at myself or life in general. And honestly, I didn’t like jazz as much as I thought I did. I just wished I didn’t have to go through a potential scene when my mind was a hundred miles away from caring about ending something that really never was.
I offered him a weak upturn of the lips when he recognized me standing outside wearing a pair of ratty old jeans, a black T-shirt, and a SF Giants baseball cap. He was dressed for an evening out in his ubiquitous khakis and a light blue cashmere V-neck pullover. His blond hair was cut shorter than I remembered, and although I couldn’t deny he was a handsomely elegant man, I knew now I preferred someone rougher around the edges… with longish dark hair, toned muscles, and lots of gorgeous ink.
Paul greeted me with a warm hug and gave my ensemble a quizzical once-over. I certainly wasn’t dressed for a date.
“Running late?”
“No. Not exactly.”
“It’s all right. We have an hour or so before the concert. I can wait.”
I took a deep breath and folded my arms over my chest before launching into my explanation. I hadn’t rehearsed what I’d say to him because I’d barely thought about it. No doubt everything came out in a terrible jumble of nonsensical words.
“Paul, I’m not going to the concert. I’m—I met someone. Well, actually we’ve been friends for a while, but I’m in love with him. And I can’t go with you tonight. That’s all. I should have called you, but it’s been a strange week. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’d congratulate you, but you don’t seem particularly happy. Are you sure about him?” he asked kindly.
“Jack? Yes, absolutely. I’m not… happy. But that has nothing to do with Jack. My father died. Today. I’m try?—”
Paul’s response was immediate and it surprised me. He pulled me into a tight embrace and wrapped his arms around me in a show of comfort. The hug went on a little longer than normal, which I could accredit to some compassionate side to him I didn’t know. When I managed to pull away from him, I knew I was fucked.
Jack stood five short feet away. His face was unreadable, but his posture was rigid and tense. Paul didn’t seem to notice him when he leaned forward to kiss my lips. But Jack noticed. He turned on his heels and walked up the street toward his red pickup truck. I pushed Paul out of the way and started to run after Jack. It was too late.
I was at Jack’s garage twenty minutes later. I didn’t know if I’d find him there or at the bar. He wasn’t answering his phone, so I took my chances with the shop first. I turned my car down the small alley entrance leading to the back garage area and sighed in relief when I spotted his truck. I parked illegally in front of the heavy metal doors and made my way toward an open side entry. The sound of classic rock being played at an obscene volume greeted me as I peeked inside. There were two burly-looking men dressed in coveralls working at different stations. They appeared to be engaged in a conversation, but there was no way I could hear them over the din of the music. One of them noticed me and hooked his head toward the office. I looked in that direction and found the guy I’d been hoping to see. I nodded and made my way toward the windowed office, carefully setting aside the memory of the last time I’d been there.
I knocked once and cautiously opened the door. Jack was sitting at his desk seemingly engrossed in something on his computer, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. I smiled at the incongruous sight of him in a snug-fitted T-shirt, his body ink beautifully displayed, with those “old guy” glasses. My heart skipped a beat as I once again was rocked by my feelings for him. I sent up a quick prayer he’d listen to me as I closed the door behind me.
Jack set his glasses aside and rubbed the bridge of his nose before he looked up at me. The office was obviously soundproof. It was eerily quiet in the small space. I took a deep breath and bit the inside of my cheek, hoping I could figure out how to get him to listen to me.
“I’m sorry about your dad.” Jack gestured to the chair in front of his desk, ignoring the fact he’d seen another man’s arms around me less than half an hour ago.
I sat on the edge of the seat, too nervous and keyed up to relax.
“Thanks. I’m going back tomorrow morning. Cary said a memorial service was being held the day after.”
“That’s fast.”
I gave a humorless chuckle and wiped my damp palms on my jeans. It seemed strange to be talking about the service when the air was practically buzzing between us with unspoken grievances.
“Cary told me Dad, in his typical fashion, had the service planned himself. He wasn’t leaving his last hoorah up to anyone’s whim. Strict instructions about which psalms were to be read and what music should be played were carefully drawn up. Knowing him, a lawyer was probably involved.”
Jack smiled weakly and turned his head to look out at his garage. When he turned back, I saw the resolve in his eyes. He was shutting me out. It was time for me to explain.
“Jack, Paul means nothing to me. I was… look… I was outside saying good-bye to Matt and Aaron when he walked up and… I told him about you. I told him I couldn’t see him again and….”
“Curt, stop!” He stood up quickly and hit his desk hard once with his fist. I started in surprise. I’d never seen Jack really angry before, and it was a little frightening.
He didn’t speak for a moment, and I got the impression he was trying to figure out what to say to get me to leave.
“Jack, please, you don’t….”
“I don’t. You’re right. I can’t do this, Curt. I can’t be the fucking schmuck who gets screwed over yet again. I won’t be left again.”
“What do you mean ‘you won’t be left again’? I haven’t left. I won’t leave you.” My voice had risen to a strangely high pitch. The entire exchange had an almost out-of-body feel.
Jack crossed his arms over his chest defensively as if warding off words he wanted to believe but wouldn’t let himself. He had to know I was sincere. How could he not?
“Jack, you’re always telling me to trust you. I do. Implicitly. Please trust me. I wouldn’t hurt you. I won’t?—”
“I don’t know what to say. I can’t take chances anymore with…. When I saw you with Pat, something inside me just….”
“Paul,” I corrected him.
“Whatever. I’m just not made for this… part of it. I can watch sports and God knows I love sex, but this… I’m not doing this again.”
“What exactly are you not doing? I don’t get it.” I was so frustrated and emotionally raw. His cryptic references to the past were confusing. If I was fighting a ghost, I needed to understand what the fuck he meant.
“This! This relationship shit! I’m the one who gets screwed. The one who wants more than the other guy, or worse, the idiot who gets cheated on!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t cheat on you. I’ve never cheated. Ever. I… who…?”
“Shane. Whatever, not important. I doubt you’re kind of man who sneaks home to get fucked by his boss, but I’m not taking anymo?—”
“Is that what he did?”
“It’s not important. Curt, I care about you. You’re a good friend, but the rest… as much as I want to, I’m not sure I can trust anyone again. I’m… sorry.”
“Jack, I love you.”
It’s hard to say which of us was more surprised by my outburst. I sat back in the chair, torn between being mortified by my revelation and really fucking proud of myself for admitting how I felt. Humiliation won out as the silence stretched longer than comfortable. My skin felt warm, and I found it suddenly difficult to breathe.
“Curt.” As his astonishment faded, his piercing blue eyes sharpened with determination.
I wished I could hear even the faintest bit of music from the speakers in the garage. Anything to break the ominous quiet in this small fishbowl of an office. I couldn’t bear the sound of my labored breathing or the pounding of my heart. The problem was, I didn’t know what to say to change Jack’s mind. To make him admit he loved me too. To make him say he’d try to trust me. I wasn’t even sure that was something one could try to do. It seemed like you either trusted or you didn’t.
I nodded lamely and swallowed hard as I stood on shaky legs. What now? Did I shake his hand and agree that friendship was cool? That all I needed was a buddy to watch a baseball game every now and then? The very thought of pretending I could be content with just hanging out once in a while was unbearable. I loved him. If I couldn’t have all of him, I knew I’d never be happy with a small piece of his time. It was over.
I held on to the edge of the desk while I took one last glance at Jack. He looked as miserable as me. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t giving us the chance we deserved, and while I wanted to fight for us, to change his mind, I wasn’t capable of it just then. I needed to go to San Francisco first. Maybe when I returned, I could make this right.
I moved on trembling legs toward the door and opened it slowly, letting the wall of sound pour over me. The extreme volume of the music playing in the garage flooded the small office like that damned wave I’d always been sure was close by. It was the perfect analogy for how I was feeling at that moment.
I knew when I first met Jack he was different, special. I knew I was out of my league, out of my depth. I should have known it was simply a matter of time, but I had stupidly begun to hope. Unfortunately, I had been 100 percent correct, and now I was a drowning man.