Chapter 4 #2
Clay and Austin pulled apart, and Austin, smiling, took a long sip of his drink, an act which was followed by Clay using his thumb to wipe away the eggnog mustache on Austin’s upper lip. And still Bill was waiting, looking at Ty as if waiting for his reaction.
Ty didn’t give a damn who anybody loved, and that was the truth of it. But seeing this sweet couple kissing on Christmas Eve, made his belly sink, his chest feel hollow. He would never have what these two had, would never have a child of his own to spoil, would never have a place to call his own.
Maybe if he spoke these thoughts aloud, he’d be told, quite kindly, that of course he would have these things, but at that moment, it was not a possibility he could believe in.
Still, he needed to let Bill and everyone gathered around the fire pit know that he was not about to race screaming into the night at an innocent and loving kiss.
“Here’s to Christmas Eve,” he said, raising his half-empty glass of eggnog and rum.
“And may we see many more like it.” Which was just about as close as he’d ever gotten to saying God bless us, every one, for he’d given up on God and any sense of care nine months before, when he’d sat in the hospital room, holding his dad’s hand, listening to those rasping breaths, and watching the heart monitor’s numbers go lower and lower.
“Everything all right?” asked Bill, leaning a little forward.
If Bill was gauging Ty’s reaction to Clay and Austin being gay, looking for something negative, then he could look until hell froze over, but at the same time, a blue-gray weight seemed to be settling over him.
Christmas blues, maybe it was, and if he had to fake being cheerful one more minute, he was going to come undone.
“I’m just tired, I think,” said Ty, keeping his voice level.
He stood up and went to put his now-empty glass in Leland’s office so it wouldn’t get knocked over as the festivities continued.
“I think I just need to get some rest. If someone can show me where Leland’s cabin is, I’ll just turn in for the night. ”
A moment of silence followed this proclamation, which, in the midst of lighthearted festivities, landed like an unwelcome, un-Christmassy brick.
“I’ll take you,” said Clay. “Just let me get my coat.” Stepping away from Austin’s side, he said to Bea, “Want to help me, honeybee?”
Bea’s reaction made no mistake of the fact that she was thrilled to be allowed to come, as if leading Ty through the snow might even make up for the fact that she’d not yet been allowed to ride her pony.
She raced to get her coat from the tack room, and by the time she returned, Clay had his coat on and a warm knitted cap.
They waited for Ty to get ready, and once he was, the three of them stepped out of the bright, fire-lit barn, and into the dark night.
Snow shifted about in the air, a curtain of flakes that seemed undetermined whether they wanted to stop falling or continue until every human on the planet was up to their necks in snow.
Ty followed where Clay and Bea led, watching as Bea tried to skip at Clay’s side, the snow coming halfway up her thighs.
Finally, Clay bent and silently urged Bea to ride piggyback, which she accepted with a squeal of glee, and then the three of them silently trudged along the narrow track of footprints they’d made when coming back from dinner.
They didn’t go all the way to the main lodge, but instead Clay turned to go beneath a canopy of snow-draped pine trees. Beneath the trees, both pine and leafless cottonwoods, Ty had a sense they were following a trail that at any other time of year would be clear to see.
“This is you,” said Clay, leading Ty to the first of three cabins. “Down you get, Bea, and let me unlock this door.”
Bea climbed down and mounted the steps, stamping her boots as she went, the movement causing an auto-light to come on and flood the snow-flecked air of the small front porch.
Clay unlocked the door, and Ty waited while he turned on one or two interior lights, then stepped into the small, chilly, and mostly dark cabin.
“There’s a mini split in the main room here that’ll have you warm in a jiffy.
” Clay reached to flip a switch, and then a dial to adjust the heat.
“Eat anything in the fridge, and grab whatever you need, t-shirt, sweatpants, whatever. Okay? We’re two cabins down, so we’re close.
But let’s exchange phone numbers, in case you need anything. ”
“Or in case you see a mountain lion,” said Bea, her eyes lighting up.
“Not very likely, this time of year,” said Clay with a smile as he took Ty’s held-out phone and entered his number, then waited while Ty did the same in reverse. “We’ll be opening presents before breakfast, according to Bea, and then we’ll have pancakes afterwards.”
“Message me the second she wakes up,” said Ty, doing his best to smile, to put warmth in his voice. The last thing he wanted was to douse the bright sparkle of the evening’s festivities, and Bea’s anticipation of what the morning would bring. “I’ll be ready.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Clay buttoned his jacket back up, and looked around the little cabin with its wood paneling and sparkling clean kitchen area. “Seriously,” he said, looking at Ty. “Call if you need anything.”
What Ty needed was to be alone, but all he said was, “I will and thank you.”
As they left, he made himself keep the door open a crack so he could wave them off before shutting the door on the night. Which he did as easily as he could, not slamming it or anything, before he turned and leaned against it, palms to the door, the quiet settling around him.
Along the wall, just near the ceiling, the mini-split sighed like a silent ghost. The air in the main room of the cabin warmed little by little, but seemed unable to reach the parts of him that felt truly cold. Like the edges of him. The center of him. His heart.
It wasn’t just the holiday blues, which he could ignore most of the time. It was those blues and their long, mournful wail, a ribbon lacing through him, seen in sudden, blazing gold contrast when compared to the gathering in the barn. A found family, solid as any made by blood.
He felt the wall beneath his fingers, feeling as though he was leaving prints behind, and lifted his hands away.
He’d shower and check the heat and, wearing borrowed clothes, would sleep in a borrowed bed, living a bit of borrowed life, all the while tamping down a sense of sadness that threatened to swamp him. Then in the morning, he’d try again.
It was the best he could do, at least for now.