Chapter 7
A week went by—a week in which I made excuses to not see Josh.
I was too busy at work; I’d come down with a mild cold (yes, I’d tested myself for COVID); I had plans with an old friend from college (Josh wouldn’t quit with the questions and suspicions until I assured him the friend was female); I didn’t sleep well and was exhausted.
I needed so many excuses because Josh wouldn’t be put off.
He called or texted me every day—in the morning before I left for work, and in the evening when I returned.
Two of those days I’d claimed to have called in sick, which wasn’t true.
Fortunately, he didn’t have my office number, only my cell, so I could see when he was calling.
On Sunday, I had no choice but to relent. That morning, a gray one marked by drizzle and a sudden drop in temperature to the low forties, I told myself I had only two options—either get right with him or let him go. I was surprised at the resistance I experienced at the notion of breaking up.
I didn’t want to.
It was as simple—and as illogical—as that. I used to scoff at people who said the following, despite a pile of evidence directing them to run the other way—but I love him. And now I was wondering if even that was true. Did I really love this man?
Did I really know him?
Was this a weird kind of complacency?
Or was I afraid of him?
Despite everything, he’d shown me I could love for real. And wasn’t love really just faith wrapped in a clever disguise? Did I believe him? Did I believe in him?
There was only one way to find out—to lay my cards on the table, to gauge his reaction, yes, but also to allow him to defend himself against the suspicions I’d been harboring.
I sent him a quick text.
Feeling better. Am free all day (and all night). Are you? Wanna come by for lunch and maybe more?
I didn’t want him to suspect that I was having him over not only to see if we could get back on track, but also to have a serious discussion about this very black mark on his past.
*
The drizzle turned to one of those all-day downpours made for lounging late in bed, watching old black and white movies on Max, and eating comfort food like stews or chili.
Unfortunately, a day like that was likely not on the table.
The sound of the intercom, the roar of an L train hurtling by, and a blast of deafening thunder coincided at around 12:30 in the afternoon.
I opened my balcony door for a brief, confirming glance that it was Josh who was outside. He stood waiting—and he was drenched. And probably cold. He wore only a long sleeve pale green T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and the Hoka running shoes that I’d bought him.
He returned my look, peering up at me through the rain. “You gonna let me in?”
I hurried back inside and pressed the button on the intercom that would admit him.
When I opened the door, I groaned. “Oh my god. You’re the proverbial drowned rat.”
Josh edged by me and headed to the bathroom without a word. He was in there for a while. When he emerged, he was dry and wearing the flannel bathrobe that hung on a hook on the back of the door.
I was experiencing a dilemma. It would have been so easy to shove my qualms aside and simply pull him into the bedroom. Really easy—because I was a guy who avoided conflict as though it might mean the death of me.
So, indulging my physical desires and putting off the real reason I’d asked him over today was a tempting move—one that had been in my bag of tricks for more years than I cared to count.
But I’d spent the last week worrying and pondering over our future as a couple.
Today, I saw, was a make-or-break moment.
We’d either become more united and perhaps look at that idea of Josh’s to move in together more closely or, as I feared, Josh would reject me outright for being faithless and untrusting.
“Hungry?”
I led him into the living room and we sat together on the couch. The rain tapped against the windows behind us, making me feel like we were the only two people in the world, cocooned.
Josh ran his fingers through his still-damp hair. He smelled of rain. The chest hair peeking out from the folds of the robe tempted me once more. “I’m okay. No rush. I had a late breakfast—Fruit Loops.”
“You and your health food.” I leaned toward him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Anything more and we would have been in the bedroom. The door to it was just across from us and open. The bed was unmade.
It would be so easy…
“Well, I made us a nice lunch,” I said. “Egg salad, rye bread, tomatoes, cucumber, and red onion salad.”
“Much healthier than my breakfast.” He offered a smile and then snatched it back. “What’s going on? You seem tense.” He reached out to massage my neck, I assumed, but I moved away.
One of my defining character traits, besides conflict avoidance, was my inability to hide my emotions. Of course, Josh would pick up on my anxiety right away.
You need to get this over with. Get things out in the open. Talk. Communicate. See where things stand. For god’s sake, just do it.
Despite my mouth being dry and my hands slightly trembling, I plunged in.
“I have a confession,” I began.
Those words—along with we need to talk—are probably the most-feared in the English language. He eyed me, leaning back just slightly. “What’s up? Did you cheat?”
“Cheat?” I laughed. “Really? Is that seriously the first thing that pops into your head? Why? Have I given you any reason to think that?” I frowned. “No, no, not at all.” Why would he believe that? I’d never given him even the slightest reason to get the idea that I was fooling around on him.
“What then?” He stretched out. His bare feet tempted me again to just say, ‘forget it,’ grab his hand and lead him into the bedroom, ten feet away.
But I knew, deep down, that want was just as much informed my conflict-avoidance as it was by lust.
I tried to ignore the rat gnawing away at the lining of my stomach. I couldn’t look at him. I stared straight ahead and forced myself to say the words. “You know that podcast, Meat Locker?”
“I know that podcast.” His tone was dead.
“Remember how you said the guy, Bailey—” I stopped myself because I realized I almost said Karl. “Remember you said he might want to get in touch with me? Maybe interview me?”
“I remember telling you he might get in touch.” He took my chin gently in his hands. “I don’t recall mentioning an interview.” He turned my face a little more. His gaze met mine. He wasn’t happy. “Don’t tell me you let him interview you?”
“No, no worries there.”
“Good.”
I realized I could stop there. Move to the bedroom.
Move to the kitchen. Turn on the TV. Serve lunch.
Propose a game of cards. Turn on the TV.
I could have done just about anything to escape his glower, the meanness in his eyes.
But I thought of the phrase, in for a penny, in for a pound, and knew that if I wanted any kind of resolution or even a smidgen of hope, I needed to see this through.
I blew out a big gust of air. Steeled myself. And said, “But I did talk to him.”
“What? When?”
Oh, now things would get tricky.
It had been a couple months since I first met up with Karl last summer. I told myself I didn’t need to provide specifics, especially if the specifics were certain to light a fire under why-didn’t-you-tell-me-sooner anger. And especially if I’d seen Karl more than once…
“When doesn’t matter. He called me and I was curious, so I agreed to meet him on my lunch hour.” On my lunch hour sounded better than we had lunch together.
“And?”
I swear it seemed as though I’d opened the door to my balcony and let in a gust of cold, damp air. I shivered. “And he wanted to interview me. But I told him no.”
“That was the end of it, I hope?”
I waited a minute. “No. We talked a while. He told me about the case. He also let me know who he really was and why the case was so personal. He hadn’t yet admitted the connection on his podcast.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Josh’s lips became set in a thin line. He crossed his arms and moved away from me, so we were no longer close. “So you’ve been listening to the podcast?”
I admitted I had. I stared down at the hardwood floor—a chastened kid. “Wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s simple human nature to be curious, especially about something like this. It doesn’t mean I believe anything bad about you.”
For a long while, the only sound was the soft thrum of the rain falling outside. Thunder boomed and someone’s car alarm went off.
“Wouldn’t you?” I repeated. “If the tables were turned?”
He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t. Especially if you’d asked me, as I asked you, not to.”
“I’m sorry. You’re a stronger man than I am.”
“I don’t know about that.” He scooted closer and our arms touched.
Again, the room was filled with a tense silence for what seemed like a couple of hours but was really only two or three minutes.
That tension lightened a bit when he said, “Look. I guess I can’t blame you.
It’s an unusual position you’re in. This kind of shit doesn’t happen to everyone and not every day. ”
I nodded. I didn’t, and wouldn’t dare, tell him I’d met with Karl on several more occasions. And I certainly wouldn’t tell him that I trusted Karl, even if I wasn’t sure I was on the same page with him regarding his suspicions about Josh. I’d yet to hear anything truly damning.
Or was I simply in denial?
Josh went on. “So, what? You avoided me all week and now have me over today to—what? Break up with me? Maybe tell me you don’t believe I’m a killer, but it’s hard to continue in a relationship with a guy who has something so ugly hanging over his past?”
I placed a hand on his thigh. “No, honey. Breaking up with you was never the case. It didn’t even occur to me.” Not quite the truth, but close enough, and, I hoped, a comfort to him.
“I wouldn’t blame you.” He turned toward me. “It’s happened before. Guys going out with me somehow get wind of what happened all those years ago and freak out.” He shrugged. “Google is not my friend. And Meat Locker sure as hell isn’t.”
I watched as his expression softened and then, a surprise, his eyes grew shiny with tears.
The hurt he obviously felt filled me with guilt, however justified my suspicions were. “Oh, please. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I brought it up.” I could have kicked myself for saying the words, but I could have also kicked myself for hurting someone I did care about.
“No. No. We should have this talk. I like to brush it away too much. It’s easier, but probably not better.
I want you to know, again, I had nothing to do with Reggie’s death, other than maybe I didn’t try hard enough to protect him when that nightmare went down.
With all the blood and the guy coming after me as well with that butcher knife, I panicked. I was in shock.
“But I never would have hurt Reggie. He was my heart, my love, my everything. I’d have sooner hurt myself than him.”
He looked deeper into my eyes, as though to say he felt the same about me, which made the guilt rise even more.
“He wasn’t perfect, by any means. What Bailey doesn’t talk about in his podcast was how Reggie was an addict.
I’m sure he was a good kid once. Well, I know he was—sweet, innocent, caring.
But when a drug gets its claws into you, it’s hard to escape.
It becomes the priority. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d thought of leaving him, especially after yet another relapse.
But I knew the heart and soul that lurked underneath his sickness. I always had hope.”
Josh turned to gaze outside a while, and I did too. The day had become shrouded in a white mist. The rain seemed to have abated just in time for the dense fog to press against my windows.
“Let’s go have some lunch,” I urged.
“One more thing. And I hate to say this because I really love you, Ted. But it has to be said. If you have even a little, tiny part of you that wonders if I have it in me to kill someone, please—hard as it might be—say so now.”
“And if I do?”
“I hope you don’t. But if you do, I’ll get up and walk out that door.
I can’t be with someone who mistrusts me about something so vital.
I won’t like it because you’re one of the best things to come along in my life in a long, long time.
But without your trust, and mine, we won’t make it. It’s better to cut our losses now.”
I wanted to ask if I could think about things and then realized that too would most likely be a deal breaker. So I simply said, “We’re good.”
And then I wondered if I said the same to myself long enough, I would believe it.