Drawn Together

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “Well,” drawled Rory. “We could just stay here smelling nice and let the psycho lady come and kill us. That is, if you want to.”

  “Crap.” Yamane slid into the driver’s seat of the car. “I’ll need you to navigate.”

  “Okay.” Rory got in on the passenger side.

  Yamane sat for a while, looking around. “That’s interesting.”

  “What?”

  “The steering wheel is on the wrong side. Was it like that when you left it?” “Get out,” snapped Rory, opening his door. “I’ll drive.”

  “I’m just kidding, you idiot.” Yamane laughed. “Buckle up. We can’t get a ticket or we’ll have to explain the license plates.”

  “Yamane, you made a joke?”

  “Shut up.” Yamane started the engine. “Where to?”

  Yamane drove the battered Toyota out Interstate 15 past Barstow to the last outpost of civilization before Death Valley, Baker, where they stopped at a restaurant called the Mad Greek. After they ate and filled the tank with gas, they changed into street clothes, carefully placing the scrubs they’d been loaned into their luggage in case they should need them again. Yamane began the drive into the seemingly endless desert night.

  An hour into the drive, they switched places. Rory gingerly slid behind the wheel and took a turn, allowing a tired Yamane to get a bit of much-needed rest. Yamane woke when he felt the car slowing down.

  “Have we arrived?” he asked.

  “No, I’m stopping. There’s a car stuck on the side of the road. I thought I’d see if they need help. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Do you really think we’re in a position to help anyone?” Yamane asked. It made him feel a little ashamed when he saw a young mother and several children standing on the side of the road. Only the headlights of Rory’s car illuminated them.

  Yamane exited the car and followed Rory. “Hello,” called Rory. “Do you need some help?”

  “Well,” said a man from under the hood. “Unless you know something about cars, I don’t know how much you can do.”

  “Well, maybe we can figure something out.” Rory turned to the woman. “Ma’am, I have a blanket in the back of my car and a lantern. Why don’t you and the children take it and have a seat while we work? You’ll be more comfortable. Yamane? Do you think you could get that out? I think there’s a package of Fig Newtons there too. Make some friends.”

  The woman, who appeared frightened by being approached by strangers on a deserted road at night, seemed considerably relieved to see Yamane approach with a large homemade quilt and a Coleman camp lantern. He had no idea how to make it work and was embarrassed by her oldest child, who lit it right away, delighted to be useful.

  Yamane sat with them, sharing cookies. Any experience he had with children was limited to seeing them in stores and restaurants. He had no brothers or sisters. He lived alone. Since his experience with Amelia, he’d completely shut himself away from everyone. He said nothing, knowing he hadn’t completely erased the woman’s discomfort.

  Rory stuck his head out from under the hood. “Yamane, this might take a while. Why don’t you get your sketchbook out of my bag and draw something for the kids?”

  Yamane, whose habit of having a pencil and sketchbook close to hand had been sabotaged by his recent brush with Amelia, liked the idea immediately. He returned from the car with a spare book and his pens and pencils, then sat by the light of the lantern drawing one little face at a time.

  “What happened to your hand, Mr. Yamane?” asked John, at ten, the oldest of the four children.

  “It got stuck with a fork,” Yamane replied.

  “No way. Were you taking the things out of the dishwasher? That happened to Mommy once when she put the dishes away. You’re supposed to put them in fork-side down, you know.”

  “It was something like that.” Yamane looked at him around his sketchbook.

  The littlest child, Emma, spoke only a few complete sentences. She sat in her mother’s lap getting her blonde hair stroked. Nathan slept curled on the blanket.

  “Can I see what you’re drawing?” asked eight-year-old Maddy, easily the most curious of the bunch.

  “Wait,” he said, “it’s not done yet.”

  “So you really are an artist?” asked their mother, Katherine.

  “Yes. I draw graphic novels,” Yamane said. “I’m drawing all of you for this sketch. Stop squirming, Maddy.”

  “Okay,” said Maddy.

  Yamane looked back over at the disabled car. Rory made several trips to the back of his car for odds and ends. There had been no civilization in sight for a long time, and there didn’t look like there would be anytime soon. Yamane had no idea whether it was closer to go back the way they came or to go forward toward Las Vegas.

  “Okay, Jim,” called Rory from behind the hood. “That might work, start it up and let’s see.”

  Jim, in the driver’s seat, turned the engine over. It started up with a rumble.

  “Hey,” Rory said. “Sounds good. Sing praises to the zip tie.”

  The two men congratulated each other. Yamane picked up the sleeping Nathan and helped to place him in his car seat. He folded the quilt and turned out the lantern, allowing it to cool before he placed it back into Rory’s car. As he returned to say good-bye to Katherine and Jim, he signed and dated the sketchbook.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Yamane, Rory. You’ve been such a blessing to us,” said Katherine. “I was scared, and the kids knew it.”

  “I would have been scared too,” said Yamane. “It’s worrisome being responsible for people you care about. Anyway, here” -- he held out the sketchbook -- “I’d like to give you this.” He went to shake hands with Jim.

  “Thank you so much,” said Katherine.

  “Wait to give thanks when you get to a gas station safely. I’m keeping my fingers crossed,” said Rory.

  “Good luck to you.” Jim waved.

  As they watched the family drive off, Yamane returned to the driver’s side of the car. Rory got back into the passenger seat stiffly and drifted off as they continued on their way. The first bright rays of dawn cracked the darkness on the horizon just as they began to see casinos crop up, fading as the harsh desert light illuminated them.

  “Rory.” Yamane touched his shoulder. “We’re here.” He continued to drive until Rory sat up completely and looked around.

  “Let’s stop in that gas station there. I want to use the bathroom and then we’ll switch. I know where we need to go from here.”

  “Okay.” Yamane pulled in, driving into a parking space near the bathrooms. He retrieved coffee while Rory used the restroom. When Rory came back, Yamane used the restroom himself, taking his toothbrush and toothpaste with him as he had seen Rory do. It seemed that life on the road was not nearly as new to Rory as it was to him.

  Yamane rejoined Rory and sipped his coffee. “Where to?”

  “I have a friend who owns a bakery here. I want to get her advice on some things. She’s a nice girl; you’ll like her.”

  Yamane digested this. “Are you sure she can’t be connected to you?”

  “I’m sure. She’s a friend from college when I was an undergrad. Nothing’s certain, but it isn’t like we’ve even kept in touch lately. I saw her in Mississippi last year; that’s how I know where she is. She says she makes world-class croissants. Let’s go.” He started the engine.

  Yamane was exhausted, but the more distance they put between them and Amelia, the better he felt. When they pulled up next to a dainty little bakery called Hubbard’s Cupboard, Rory parked the car. Rory stamped and stretched his long legs, coming around the car to get the door for Yamane, who had already opened it and gotten out by himself. Yamane gave him a hard stare.

  “Sorry,” said Rory. “It’s the princess thing. I’ll try to remember how manly you are next time.”

  They entered the tiny bakeshop together. The woman behind the counter turned when the little bells on the door jingled.


  “Avery?” Rory asked.

  Avery looked up and squealed. She threw the receipts haphazardly into a basket next to the register and rushed around the counter at an alarming speed. “Rory. Rory, Rory, you’ve come! I’m so glad.” She threw herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and kissed him passionately on the mouth.

  Rory, whose body wasn’t prepared, slammed back against a rack of breads with a thud. He shot a worried glance at Yamane over her shoulder, holding Avery in his arms with his hands cupped under her buttocks to keep her from falling.

  “Uh.” He grunted. “Broken ribs, broken…ribs…”

  She jumped off him, her hands over her mouth in horror. “Oh, Rory! I’m so sorry. You look like hell.”

  “Is there someplace we can talk?” Rory asked when he caught his breath again. Avery took his hand. “In here.” She indicated the kitchen.

  “Well,” said Yamane, “you two seem to have some catching up to do. I’ll just pour myself a cup of coffee, if that’s okay, and raid your baked goods. Rory says you make the best croissants.” He went around the counter and helped himself while Rory tried to disengage the girl. Rory disappeared into the kitchen with Avery. A little bit later, Rory returned with a carafe of coffee and more croissants.

  “See,” Rory said lamely. “Isn’t she nice?”

  Yamane looked up from his paper and then returned to it, saying nothing. While he was reading, he removed his hooded sweatshirt. Next he took off his sunglasses. Idly, he combed his fingers through the long, silky strands of his hair with one hand so that it fell over his shoulder.

  He looked over at Avery, who was bringing her own coffee to the table, along with a chair from one of the other tables scattered about the small area. Yamane reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Yes,” said Rory.

  “I wasn’t asking you,” Yamane said.

  “It’s against the law, I’m sorry,” Avery replied. Yamane put his lighter and cigarettes down.

  “Well, Yamane, you must tell me,” she said, frankly gawking. “Where did you meet Rory?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Yamane asked. “I’m his sacred maiden.”

  10

  Yamane took stock of his belongings in the dismal motel room while Rory showered. He hung his clothes neatly in the closet, knowing his eye-catching coats were out of the question for a while. His still-painful hand ached and throbbed as he tried to put on a plain linen shirt with buttons instead of the T-shirt he’d been wearing. He was tired, in pain, and felt impossibly foolish.

  He felt safe with Rory, his knight-errant. It was Rory with whom he had laughed and cried and curled up on the floor like a teenager. But Rory wasn’t just his knight; he was everyone else’s as well.

  When the realization dawned that Rory was a compulsive hero, it did nothing but make him feel…unremarkable. He sat down at the battered desk, reflexively opening and closing the drawers to see what, if anything, was inside. He had thought, had hoped, that Rory’s protective attitude reflected a growing regard for him.

  When Avery had sailed across the room to him and leaped into his arms, the inescapable truth about Rory painfully occurred to him, and not, he was ashamed to admit, even for the first time. Rory was a straight man. He looked right somehow with Avery in his arms.

  Rory returned from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel tied low around his hips. The cuts and bruises that covered his body were so numerous and ferocious that there was no place, anywhere, where Yamane could see untouched and unrelieved skin.

  Suddenly, the long night and the gravity of the situation caught up with Yamane, and bile rose in his throat. He ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time to be violently sick in the toilet. He felt gentle hands pull back his hair and a cool, damp towel next to his face. He gratefully accepted it and wiped his mouth, feeling more foolish still. Even in this, Rory was there for him. Rory left so he could put himself back together. When at last he came out of the bathroom, Rory was lying on one of the beds.

  “Are you okay?” Rory asked. “Can I do anything?”

  “It’s fine.” Yamane got into the other bed, trying to plump up his flat, rubbery little pillow.

  “You know, that’s not the usual reaction I get to my naked body,” Rory teased. “Throwing up, I mean. I’d say that was a first.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.” Yamane turned away.

  “At least it’s over for now. I’m going to sleep for six hours, and then I have someplace to go. I set the alarm. We can eat together first, if you like.”

  “I’d like that.” Yamane sighed. He’d had very few male friends over the years, when he thought about it. Plenty of straight men had been happy to take what he had to give. He knew Rory was different. Rory wouldn’t just accept a man in lieu of a woman because it was convenient. For some reason, that made him like Rory even more, damn him. Wondering what the next adventure might bring, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

  At around five in the afternoon, Rory and Yamane had dinner and walked along the strip, taking in the rather dismal late afternoon sights. The noise in the street was terrible and the heat oppressive.

  Not for the first time, Yamane was asking himself why he drove a man he really liked to a hotel so that man could meet up with a woman.

  “I’ll try to get some pay-as-you-go cell phones, but call Avery’s from the hotel phone if there’s anything you need,” said Rory. “You still have the number, right?”

  “Rory, I’m not your child. You can actually leave me alone and go out for the evening.”

  “Don’t stay up too late, and don’t watch anything scary on television.” On a more serious note, Rory added, “I should be back by dawn, or I’ll call you.”

  Yamane didn’t remember when he ever felt as alien as he did now. This was a part of America he’d never experienced. His love of quiet beauty and his natural shyness combined to make this more difficult for him than he’d imagined.

  Rory seemed to sense his mood. “This is where I need to go.” He pointed to the Treasure Island entrance. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

  “You forget I’ve lived a lot longer than you.”

  “Yes, I know. Age and beauty. I’ll be home around dawn.” Rory hugged him.

  Yamane looked around, but no one paid attention. He wondered if that was because in the clothing he wore, he could easily be mistaken for a boyishly made woman. He decided to walk some more, and looked in on the casinos. He didn’t like the atmosphere or the crowds.

  At least he felt he could smoke freely, but then he laughed at himself when he picked up his cigarette butt among the thousands on the ground to throw it away. In the end he decided to get a nice big bottle of something lethal and go back to the room.

  The phone rang at about six a.m. but Yamane only heard it as a distant annoyance from beyond the billowy cocoon of misery he’d wrapped around his head. It had seemed like a good idea to maintain a blissfully oblivious buzz all night, but now, in the painful morning after, not so much. He ignored the phone completely, so when he heard the key turning in the lock he tried to ignore that too.

  “What the hell?” came Rory’s voice from somewhere far away. Another planet.

  “What?”

  “Are you drunk?”

  Shirtless, Yamane arose like a zombie from the rumpled motel bed.

  “You got a problem with that?” he asked. His head was ringing, and his mouth tasted like he was sucking on dirty socks. He sat cross-legged on the bed. He plastered a phony smile on his face. “So, how’d it go?”

  Rory stood framed in the doorway. “I’m not a subtext kind of guy, Yamane. If you have something to say, please say it.”

  “I need a shower.” Yamane tried to walk past him.

  “Not so fast, cher.” Rory caught the smaller man as he attempted to slip by him. “Whoa, you smell like a still.”

  “Sorry.” Yamane had worked hims
elf into such a state of self-pity that he’d bleed out his eyeballs before he’d let this man cher him.

  “When you come back, I have some things to show you,” Rory said simply, letting him go.

  * * *

  While Yamane was in the shower, Rory tidied up bedroom area. He needed a nap. First, though, he had to find out why the princess was in a royal snit. He hadn’t been very forthcoming about his plans, mainly because if he failed, he didn’t want Yamane to know it.

  Yamane thought he was a naive otaku who lived in a world of comic book fantasies. Rory admitted he might have done something to enhance that idea by driving all the way from Louisiana to win over his “sacred maiden.” Rory got out the packages he brought with him. Sometimes things just don’t go the way you plan.

  He sat down at the little desk, using his pocketknife to open a blister-packed pain reliever. He chewed the tablets, making a face that only people who chew medicine like that can make.

  When Yamane finally emerged, he was scrubbed clean with wet hair, wearing jeans and a huge T-shirt. Rory thought he looked like a drowned cat.

  “So, are you going to tell me what this is about?” Rory asked. “I called to tell you I would be late, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I’m sorry. I must have been passed out.” Yamane looked away.

  “Drinking like that is often its own reward, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Yamane bit his lip.

  “I bought some things. I got phones; we’ll need to charge those,” he said, going through the packages. “I got myself some clothes. I didn’t bring many when I left home. We can do some laundry this afternoon, if you’d like.” He held out a rectangular-shaped velvet box. “I bought you a present.” He blushed now that it came time to give it.

  “Rory, for me? This is by far the strangest thing ever. I’m sitting here thinking, ‘Why am I waiting in a motel like a child while you go out with a woman?’ But then you come back with a present for me. Why would you bring me a present? You didn’t steal all this, did you?”