Chapter Ten #2
Whatever reply Greg had intended to make was forgotten when his leg throbbed painfully. “I think I’d better… sit down.” He stumbled over to the couch, lifting his leg onto the cushions. He sagged against them. “I might have overdone it.”
Micah growled unhappily. “I knew I should have stopped you from having wine with dinner. You can’t mix pills and alcohol. Is it hurting?”
Greg nodded. “But it’s better now that I’m sitting.” He peered at Micah. “Joshua told me you weren’t a night owl. And I’m surprised to find you painting. He also mentioned something about you preferring natural light.”
Micah chuckled. “Sounds like you and Dad have had quite a few conversations about me.” He sighed.
“He’s right though. Usually, I’m not a night owl, but I couldn’t sleep, for some reason.
I thought if I came in here and worked for a while, it might help.
” He huffed. “Not that I’ve painted anything.
And no, that wasn’t because of the light.
I’ve been sitting here, just… thinking, I guess.
” Micah stared at the canvas on the easel.
“What are you working on?” When Micah hesitated, Greg hastened to reassure him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. For all I know, you don’t usually let anyone see your paintings until they’re finished.”
Micah gazed at the canvas. “This isn’t like the stuff I normally paint.” Then he expelled a breath, picked up the canvas, and brought it across to where Greg sat. He turned it around, and Greg caught his breath.
“Is that… your mom?” He was gazing at a portrait of a woman, with shoulder-length brown hair, deep brown eyes and a warm smile. The resemblance to Naomi and Micah was unmistakable. “It’s beautiful.” The rich copper sweater she wore accentuated her coloring.
“It’s not finished.” Micah stood it against a pile of canvases, then sat beside Greg on the couch, avoiding his leg.
Micah perched on the edge of the seat cushion, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them, his gaze focused on the portrait.
“I started painting it about five years ago. It was going to be a surprise for Dad’s fortieth birthday.
Only we never seemed to find enough time when he wasn’t around.
And then, when she got diagnosed with a brain tumor… .”
“I’m so sorry.” Greg’s heart went out to him.
Micah stared at the portrait. “They operated and removed it. They said they got all of it. But she was never the same after that. She complained of double vision, amongst other things. She used to say there was a Gremlin inside her head, messing around in there. Then two years ago, in the week leading up to Christmas, she collapsed. We called for an ambulance, and they took her to Campbell County Memorial Hospital. She never recovered consciousness.”
“Oh, God, Micah.”
Micah twisted to face him. “She didn’t die right away.
The day after she arrived there, they were going to declare her dead, but when they turned off the machines, her heart kept right on beating.
So the docs turned the machines back on.
Then they said they couldn’t declare her dead because there were still drugs in her system.
” He shook his head. “We saw the brain scans. We knew she couldn’t come back from that.
But no, they still wouldn’t declare her dead.
The third day—that was Christmas Eve—they finally made a decision and turned off the machines.
We sat with her all day, watching that damn blip on the monitor, listening to her heart slowing down. ”
It was so close to what Greg had experienced with his dad, it was scary. “I know. I’ve been in that place too.”
“Yeah?” Micah reached out and grasped Greg’s hand, squeezing it. “It got to two in the morning. Dad and Naomi had stepped out to find some coffee, because we wanted to be awake when she…” His face tightened.
“I get it.”
“Anyhow, at two-twenty-five, an alarm sounded, and God, it made me jump. It wasn’t until later that I realized what it was.” He smiled. “I reckon Mom set it off, to warn us to get our asses back to her bed before she went.”
In spite of his heartache, Greg smiled. “I like that idea.” Micah’s fingers were laced with his, and it was a comforting feeling.
“By the time Dad and Naomi got back to her room, Mom had just gone. I held her hand while the line flattened out. Then I kissed her goodbye.”
Micah’s words finally registered. “So Christmas Day is—”
“Two years to the day that she died. Last year—Oh, God, Greg, last year was just awful. Thanksgiving was a mess, but we muddled through it. But then Dad wouldn’t put up the lights.
He refused to buy a tree. And when the day came, I wanted to just curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep.
Only, I couldn’t. Naomi and I talked about it, and we pasted on a brave face and shoved our tears way down deep where Dad couldn’t see them. ”
“You were being there for him.”
Micah nodded. “And we got him through it. Of course, we didn’t celebrate.
Mom would’ve been so angry with him. She was a Christmas nut.
Every year, as soon as Thanksgiving had come and gone, out came all the holiday movies, and believe me, she had about a ton of them.
” He tilted his head to one side. “Maybe this year will be different.”
“How so?”
Micah gave him a shy smile. “I’m hoping you’ll still be staying with us, for one thing.”
Greg stilled. “Really?”
“Sure. Unless you really wanna go traipsing across the country back to California. You’re more than welcome to spend the holidays with us.
It may even do Dad some good, to have another face around the place.
You never know, he might even agree to us putting up a tree.
” Micah’s smile grew sad. “She’d like that.
” He peered at Greg. “So? Will you stay?”
He needed to think about this. It couldn’t be a spur of the moment decision. This required reflection and—
“Yes, I’d love to.” The instant the words left Greg’s lips, he was so happy he’d said them. Micah’s face lit up.
“Great. I’ll tell Dad in the morning.”
Greg smiled. “It is the morning.”
Micah let go of his hand and stood up. “Then maybe it’s time we were both in bed.” He bit his lip. “I mean, our own beds.”
Greg snickered. “It’s okay, I got that part.” Come to think of it, he was suddenly bone tired. “Maybe you’re right.”
Micah held out his arms. “Then allow me to help you back to your room.”
The way Greg’s leg was aching, he needed all the help he could get. “Done.”
By the time Micah had gotten him to his room, Greg’s body was crying out for sleep. Micah surprised him by helping him out of his robe and into bed, pulling the comforter over him with care.
“Try to sleep. I’ll see you in a few hours.” Then Greg’s heartbeat raced as Micah bent over and gently kissed his cheek. “Good night.” The door closed softly behind him.
Greg lay there, his mind going over Micah’s story.
If he’d thought the family was wonderful before, that was as nothing compared to his opinion of them now.
They’d gone through so much, and yet they’d emerged strong, connected…
together. He closed his eyes, and Micah’s image was right there, those deep brown eyes so like his mom’s, the short, brown hair, the sweet smile.
Don’t forget sexy. Because it surely was a very sexy smile.
The warm, sexy smile of a gay man who’d just kissed him good night. Now that was something to dream about.