11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
They spent the next few days multitasking. Working on the house while also working on finding Colt some place more permanent to stay. Even when he returned to the hotel in the evenings, Colt would still get text messages from Sera with apartment and house listings. (He may have also made the mistake of mentioning his plans to Kate, so she was on the hunt, too.) Still, the help was appreciated, and Sera went with him to do tours of a few places.
Might've helped if Colt had any idea what he wanted . Most of the properties in Gold Moon Bay were fairly similar, even in floor layouts. Though at the very least, rent was a hell of a lot cheaper than the Bay Area had been. He could've easily gotten a small one or two bedroom house for the cost of his apartment back in Whitehall. Did he need all that, though?
"More privacy," Sera had pointed out with a shrug.
After that, Colt abandoned the apartment idea and moved on to rental houses.
He'd just gone to see one that morning, in fact, on his way to Lullaby Lane. A one-bedroom cottage at the back of someone else's acreage. It was a good size for him, well-maintained, and located not right smack in the middle of the small city, but within easy driving distance. Unlike Lullaby Lane, which took several long, winding streets through the hills to get to any real semblance of civilication.
As Colt entered the house, he could tell by the creak of floorboards and the resonating echoe of things being moved and dragged that Sera was upstairs. They hadn't done much work up there yet; there was still plenty to be taken care of in the den and kitchen. That wasn't even counting the dining room or the sun room out back.
He found Sera in his room, which, like the rest of the house, had looked even more a mess after the earthquake. But Sera had made headway. There were boxes stacked neatly against the wall of the hallway, some labeled, some trash bags, and Colt actually had space to step inside his childhood bedroom without immediately having stuff looming over him.
"What're you doing?" Colt asked.
Sera straightened up, swiping his arm across his forehead. "Morning," he greeted brightly, then put his hands on his hips and looked around. "I, uh, got distracted, actually. I came up just to take stock of some things and...here I am."
Colt smiled to himself. "Sounds like you. Find anything interesting?"
Shrug. "Several boxes of Christmas ornaments. I put them downstairs, I think you said you were keeping an eye out for them." He closed up a box he'd been sorting through, stepping past Colt to deposit it in its assigned place in the hall. "This was your room, right?"
"Yeah." Colt's gaze drifted from him, wandering the cluttered space. "I mean, sort of. Obviously it became just another space of Dad's."
Sera reappeared, stepping up alongside him. He stilled for half a moment, brows drawing together. "So, wait. The room looked like this when you were living here?"
Colt shifted as the defensiveness edged in. Took a breath. Slowly let it out. "Yeah. Dad kept saying he'd clear it out. Just temporary storage while he organized some things, but..."
He watched as Sera stepped over to the bed and sat. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, he surveyed the space—or lack thereof—in silence. Colt could practically see the gears in his head turning. Was he envisioning Colt, at ten, twelve, sixteen, sitting in that very spot, dwarfed by the hoard? Constantly presented with evidence of his father's broken promises?
"What was it like?" Sera asked softly, answering Colt's question; yes, he was envisioning it. "Sitting here as a kid, what went through your head?"
Slowly, Colt sank down beside him, almost hip to hip. "I don't know. I mean, lots of things, I guess." On the adjacent wall, the mural he and his dad had painted peeked out, just a sliver of blue and yellow against the otherwise eggshell shade of white. If he allowed it to, his mind would wander to dark places if he immersed himself too much in the past. But to answer that question, Colt closed his eyes and put himself back in this space. Just for a moment.
He was fourteen again, in bed with a flu, the buildup of dust and mildew aggravating his lungs. Wondering if, as it had in times past, this illness would bury itself into his lungs in the form of a cough that would linger for weeks, if not months.
And Colt remembered, running a fever and unable to get comfortable around the aches and pains and inability to breathe right, thinking to himself...
"That I hated my dad." Colt's eyes opened. He'd never admitted it to anyone before. Hell, he was too ashamed to admit it to himself most of the time. Beside him, Sera remained silent, but placed a reassuring hand on Colt's knee as though to coax him into continuing.
So, he did.
"In retrospect, I don't think I hated him . I hated the things he did, the lifestyle he drowned us in. I hated how he'd make promsie after promise after promise." His voice cracked on that last word. "He chose the hoard, the stuff , over me. And...I hated myself, because I thought—surely no dad would choose this unless there was something wrong with his son. I was convinced the problem was that I was irreperably flawed."
The bed creaked as Sera shifted. His arms went around Colt, dragging him closer, and Colt went without protest, folding himself into that embrace like it had the potential to make everything better even though nothing could. Sera pressed a kiss to the top of his head, words soft.
"It wasn't you, Colt. It wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve any of that."
His vision blurred. When he had to blink, the tears slid hotly down his cheeks. Logically, he knew that, but there was a severe disconnect between what his brain knew and his heart felt. Colt looked again toward the mural, covered up and disregarded, just like he'd been for so many years. For a while, he simply allowed Sera to hold him, soaking up the comfort his arms provided, allowing himself the kindness of being able to softly cry.
"We painted that wall," he found himself eventually saying. "When I was... I don't know, four, five. Painted a whole picture on it. Birds. Penguins, flamingos, parrots. I'm sure mine look like shit, but at the time, it was a masterpiece to me. And then he just...covered it up. It was the first wall to get taken over in here."
Sera slid his long fingers through Colt's hair, soothing, comforting. Colt felt the shift of his head as he looked at the wall. "Should we uncover it? Reclaim a happy memory?"
Colt swallowed hard. "I don't know. I'm scared."
"Of what...?"
"I'm scared if I dig up the good memories, I'll realize they were that good after all. Just my brain trying to play damage control." He closed his eyes, felt the rise and fall of Sera's chest as he breathed. Then he pulled back and away to look at the other man. "...But I guess there's only one way to find out."
It took four hours to clear half the bedroom, and that wasn't even doing much organizing. It was hauling boxes and books and bags down the steep old Victorian staircase and out to the porch, where it could be looked at later.
Right now, they were on a mission.
What they were left with, once the wall had been unburied and human eyes laid upon it for the first time in twenty years, was a wash of bright colors. There was no mistaking that a child had painted it, along with a father who tried his best, but still had no clue how the basic body of a bird was built. The birds were recognizable enough, though, even if only by color. Fat little misshapen penguins toward the bottom, in spaces Colt had been readily able to reach. A neon pink flamingo nearly as tall as Sera. Chickens, bluejays, crows. All offset by green grass and blue skies, which were blotted with sponge-generated clouds.
All Colt could do was step back and take it all in, waiting for some kind of emotion to wash over him.
Nothing. Nothing more than a dull, deep-seated sadness that left him feeling tired and bitter. "Well, that's not winning any awards, is it?"
"But it's cute," Sera said. He touched a small handprint on the wall, brown, accented with a red wattle and a small yellow beak and legs to transform it from hand to animals. Sera's palm easily covered the entire turkey. "It looks like you guys had fun making it."
"Completely pointless in the end, though, yeah? Right after Mom died, he started hiding it."
Sera drew in a sharp breath and seemed to hold it. Colt looked at him. Frowned.
"What?"
"...How'd your mom die, Colt?"
He folded his arms with a perplexed frown. "Stomach cancer. They caught it late. She went downhill fast."
"And you remember that?" Sera asked slowly.
"I mean... I was like five, so it's not like I can recall it vividly or anything."
"But what can you recall? What, in specific?"
"Where is this going?"
"Please, just...humor me?"
Colt sighed. "I remember...arguing. Mom and Dad. I feel like Mom blamed Dad a lot, but I don't really get why. I remember a lot of crying. Dad coming into my room to tell me goodnight and his eyes—they were always puffy and red. Even when he smiled, he looked so sad." Pause. "And then...nothing. Mom was gone. It was just the two of us."
"Do you have memories of a hospital?" Sera asked quietly. "A funeral?"
"No—seriously, what at you getting at?" Colt turned to face him, scowling. "I was five, Sera, they probably didn't want me hanging around a cancer ward or whatever. I don't know. What's it matter?"
Sera didn't answer. Didn't look at him. Just worried at the inside of his lower lip while his eyes remained locked on that mural. Colt grabbed his arm, forcing Sera to turn, to look at him.
" Hey. What is it?"
Those green eyes Colt loved to stare into dropped to meet his. Uncertainty and frustration and regret painted a mural on his face just as messy as the one on the wall.
"Colt," his hands slowly came to rest upon Colt's shoulders, squeezing, to hold him in place. "Your mom... She's not dead."