by Jason Banks
Only a minute, probably less, passed by. After all was said and done, Trevan sauntered to the door. He fumbled with the handle as he tried to finish buttoning his gingham shirt before stepping out into the hallway. But the relief of having dodged a bullet began cooling Maxwell on the inside of his chest. Regardless of the fact he felt like he, himself, had cheated on Brogan. The fact of the matter was, he didn’t commit adultery. Despite his best efforts to feel good about the situation, Max couldn’t fathom himself with anyone else but Brogan. That was all he knew for ten years.
A text notification from Max’s phone was heard from the next room. God only knew what time it was since he had to get his ass in gear to meet one of the realtors he contacted to show him some of the premium real estate listings in the greater Seattle Metro Area. Once he reached his device which showed a low battery, he opened the text from a man who Dirk back in Denver set up a meeting with to speak about Lily and if he’d be a good fit for her counseling and therapy needs if indeed, they relocated.
Hi Max, Dirk mentioned you’d probably need reminding. But it’s ten past eight. Are you still coming?
There was a second message from Melanie who appeared to send while Maxwell and Trevan were between the sheets.
Call me when you get this. I promise it’s not more bad news.
… Quite the contrary actually.
Max dialed his sister, but only got as far as her voicemail. In her defense, it was a tad later in the day and she was surely trying to lug a seven-year-old Princess Peach around the city of Denver. If there was any person meant for the job of keeping a child entertained, it was certainly Melanie Williams. He tossed his phone onto the mattress top before retrieving a semi wrinkled mint green polo shirt from his luggage. The worn-out battery was just going to have to make it through until he could get a decent charge later on while meeting with the child psychologist. Once dressed, he jotted out a one-line text to him that he was running late as he jetted to the elevator.
I’m running a tad late, pardon my lack of regard for your precious time. I’ll be there in ten minutes, twenty tops. The Starbucks on 23rd and South Jackson, right?
***
Meeting Durango which was arranged through a proxy, Dirk Halstead, was a breath of fresh air for Maxwell. He felt a bit of relief in his stomach, if even just talking to him about the issues he’s had with Lily the past few months since Brogan’s death. It didn’t come as too big of a shock that this guy was easy to talk with, provided his occupation and expertise in psychology. It wasn’t like the guy was going to try making a move on him or anything, Max self-assured. For one, he was definitely bound to an ethical standard. For two, Max didn’t pick up a gay vibe from Durango Walters. The man sat behind the opposite end of their small bistro table, nursing a tall decaf caramel iced-coffee. He wore a white t-shirt with a plaid camp shirt overtop it, a pair of generic blue jeans. Max loosened up, knowing that for a change, the very second Washingtonian he was interacting with wasn’t just trying to jump into his britches.
“And really, after losing Brogan, I just didn’t know how well she’d take to me as her only other parental unit. Especially since she wasn’t adjusted to me being home twenty-four seven,” Max explained, clutching his venti iced tea-lemonade.
Durango raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to not being home at all?”
“I am a fashion photographer. Most of my work happens between New York or LA and the major runway circuits in Milan, Paris, Amsterdam, places across our two ponds.”
“That is a major adjustment for a child on the spectrum,” Durango admitted.
Max clicked his tongue in agreement. “I knew it was, but she loves me nonetheless. Which is a relief. Because honestly, other than my twin sister, Melanie—it’s just the two of us in this giant seemingly scary world she sees as a major threat to her senses.”
“And you said you were from Denver, right?”
“Yep, I’m a Colorado transplant. Or whatever they call people not native to the state,” Max joked. “I’m originally a Hoosier through-and-through. Indiana is where my roots are.”
“Forgive me for noticing, especially since we’re not here to talk about you. But I can’t help but notice your ring finger is still occupied. As with most who survive their spouse’s departure, that can be a major milestone in their journey of grief.”
Max glanced down into the sparkle of his Cartier wedding ring, moving it around with his other hand. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. This and my bracelet actually.”
“Oh god, I didn’t realize until just now. But they both match. I take that was intentional?”
“Yep. It’s a whole collection. Something to do with ‘The key to my heart’ or something like that, I think,” he replied, fumbling with his bracelet. “In order to take it off, I have to find this little tool that unlatches the clasp. It doesn’t just slide right off, that’s for damn sure.”
Max was beginning to feel a little more sadness surface and he didn’t want to talk about Brogan anymore. He fidgeted with the bracelet for a moment longer and clicked his tongue. “I think the little dongle must have been kept in a drawer somewhere in his office.”
While Durango spoke very calmly and soothingly, which was typical of anyone in his field, Max felt like the conversation was fairly one-sided. But if he were going to choose him as Lily’s primary therapy provider, he did want to know more about the man.
“You seem to be more of a Mid-Westerner yourself, I peg you for… Dayton, Louisville?” Max motioned his right thumb towards the right edge of the table as if it were a makeshift map of the United States.
Durango pointing his forefinger in Max’s direction as if flashing an air-gun. “Sorta close, actually farther west. I, myself, was born and raised in the great Centennial state.”
“No kidding. Colorado, eh?” Max questioned, sipping the last of his beverage through the straw. “As in Denver?” he added, rattling the ice at the bottom of his cup to get every last drop of liquid.
“I haven’t spent much time in Denver itself. Maybe a week or two here and there. Most recently, in June,” Durango replied, rubbing his fingers the circumference of the plastic lid on his cup. “Ever mosey over the mountains into Grand Junction? That’s where I’m from,” he affirmed.
“You know, I am familiar with that portion of Colorado. Never been there, but it’s recently been in the news so much, I practically cringe when I hear it on TV.”
“Why is it mentioned so much?”
“That guy like seventeen years ago whose wife and daughter came up missing?”
Durango rolled his eyes. “You mean the Michael Blagg case?” he inquired. “He was convicted when they found his wife in the Mesa County landfill. So much evidence stacked up against him,” he added, shrugging his shoulders. “Yet he still tried to plead his innocence.”
“Yeah, that guy. He’s been given a retrial. It’s crazy. But there was also that young girl a couple years ago…”
Durango placed a finger on his chin, finishing Max’s sentence as if they were on the same brainwave. “Yeah, Delaney. Bless her family’s hearts. That was a real good nationwide mention of my hometown. Sad and so very tragic, but…”
Max interjected once more. “…but so touching that Taylor Swift herself would take a whole day from her life to spend it with a terminally ill young girl in her home, fulfilling a lifelong dream.” He looked into his glass, sighing. “I’m starting to realize that Lily is now my whole world. And if something happened to her, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Welcome to parenthood,” Durango joked. “Where have you been?”
“Until this year,” Maxwell replied, tilting his head against the window while modestly stretching back into his chair. “Checked out of the realities taking care of a child. Mostly one to six thousand miles away for three weeks each month on business.”
Max realized that probably sounded callous, or that he was an emotionally detached father up until this point. It wasn’t that he didn’t lik
e spending time with Lily, it was the fact he was more-or-less out of the picture all too often with work. But now, Max quickly began understanding what it meant to care for a young human being with all his heart—keeping their best interests in mind all the while.
Durango coughed briefly, rattling the remnants of ice inside his cup. “Oh, but yeah. Michael Blagg,” he reintroduced the subject, looking aimlessly into the shrinking cubes. “No matter how much at the end when I didn’t like my ex-wife, I never in a million years would’ve thought about committing murder.”
Bingo. Max knew the man wasn’t gay. No matter how attractive he was to the gay male eye, Durango Walters was admittedly straight. “Ex-es can be the worst, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, we divorced shortly after my six-year-old son, Gage was born. I couldn’t come to the reality of starting a family on a lie which I kept telling myself and everyone else for years,” Durango confessed.
Oh perfect. Max started to think about the weight of such a lie which would result in divorce. A lie is a lie, no matter how you toss the coin. He began to question whether Durango Walters was a good candidate after all to become a source of psychological encouragement for Lily. Was he even a good role model?
“What lie?” Max questioned, now raising his eyebrow.
“About who I was, Max. You understand, maybe.” Durango used air quotes. “Keeping up appearances.”
“Why would you need to keep up appearances?”
“Because I’m gay,” Durango confirmed. “I couldn’t stand to be that person anymore. It wasn’t genuine, and it wasn’t fair.”
Across the table sat Maxwell Williams—a younger, darker featured gentleman of who Durango used to be a handful of years ago. The kind of man he always wanted to meet in his life, but never did. Because he was stuck in his marriage for ten years, he never got the opportunity to express himself. He was forced by most of his family to be the epitome of everything he didn’t wish to represent. The dominant macho alpha male, who worked a construction or oil drilling job during the week. And the kind of sporty outdoorsman who went fishing, hunting and hiking on the weekend. For nearly thirty years, Durango Walters was living the lie. Even years after his divorce with Bethany, he continued to battle with his sexuality. By that time, he’d reached a certain point in his life where he didn’t think much of love anymore. He thought it was all too little, too late. Only when he shoved away his personal demons, Durango crossed the bridge of doubt and dipped his toes in the dating pool. With not much luck at his attempts to find a true soul mate, he stopped looking.
The fact of being a prospect for the swarthy fashion photographer’s seven-year-old daughter on the autism spectrum did not, however, keep him from catching an innocent glimpse. Ethics aside, this meeting—though a professional one—was possibly the first in a very long time to raise Durango’s heart rate beyond 100 bpm. Partly because most of the time he was sitting in front of children, between walls that looked akin to a storybook, running his neurons faster than the speed of light. Although he enjoyed his work with kids, he also looked forward to a conversation with adults whom he didn’t need to use simpler vocabulary. Nevertheless, Durango still maintained a distant and professional client-provider relationship with his clients. But there was an itch inside him that felt compelled to share a bit more about him with Max than most any other client or parent.
He cleared his throat. “Since we’re getting way more personal in an introduction meeting than I care to admit, I still should tell you that Gage is also on the autism spectrum.”
“That’s a good thing in my book, actually,” Maxwell assured him, reaching around toward the nearby waste-bin to throw away his cup.
“Well I don’t tell many of my client’s parents, hardly ever. Some parents might think that being the parent of an autistic child somehow clouds my perception or doesn’t give me a neutral stance to practice psychology.”
Max’s phone screen lit up as it buzzed on the tabletop.
“Speaking of Lily, this is my sister,” Maxwell advised, sliding out of the tall barstool. “I have been trying to get back with her all evening. I think I should be going.”
“No, no. I understand. It’s late,” Durango replied, offering out his hand to end the conference on a professional note. “My son is probably wondering why he’s at the babysitter’s longer than usual anyway.”
Max smiled. “Boy don’t I relate with that parental guilt.”
“Spectrum Dads, right?” Durango smiled, offering a chuckle. “We should form a club and call it precisely that.”
As the two of them shook hands, Maxwell began pacing to the door. His head turned back toward Durango who was steps behind him on the way out.
“I’ll call you in a few days, once I get back to Denver and talk with my sister about the move. You might be the first person I’ve met on my quest for finding a new provider for Lily here on the West coast. But for some weird reason, I think I already know you’ll be an excellent person for her to place her trust in.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Williams,” Durango smiled back. “It would be my honor to get to know Lily and help her on the transition from Denver to Seattle.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Maxwell shriveled his face as if he were in the presence of a close friend. “Just call me Max,” he chuckled. “Mr. Williams is my dead father,” he joked.
Durango noticed a sparkle in Max’s eye as he walked past him, stepping down toward the blacktop on the path to his car. It wasn’t the minor attraction which made the whole interaction peculiar. There was something else, something beneath his skin that felt immensely comfortable being around Maxwell. There just had to be some force which brought this new prospective client his way—and he didn’t believe it had anything to do with their mutual contact, Dirk Halstead.
The commute from Jackson street to his brother’s home on the other side of Seattle would be a good time for Durango to catch up on his audiobook. He absolutely loved the world of fiction. In fact, other than his brother and Gage, books are what helped occupy his free time. As much as he enjoyed having a social life, it didn’t get to happen too often because he was a single father of an autistic son. Heavy responsibility aside, Durango wouldn’t trade having such an amazing child for anything else in the world. Just because he was stuck at home with a special needs kid, didn’t mean he couldn’t still have fun. The truth is, most times Durango Walters doesn’t know how to have fun without Gage at his side. His brother John certainly stepped in whenever necessary, to be as helpful as possible in helping raise Gage each time he could and without exception.
As per usual Seattle fare, the gray skies were forming, and another rain was just about to grace the lush green grasses in the Lakeside Estates subdivision. Durango pulled his silver Honda Element into John’s slanted driveway.
Apart from riding in an Uber or taxi, it was unusual for Max to be sitting shotgun in a vehicle these days. He was usually the one behind the wheel. Though the day ahead was reserved for his new realtor Pam Lancaster, to show Max the lay of the land as she showed him some of the most recent premium real estate in Washington’s capitol.
“You’re going to love it here,” Pam said jovially, preparing to start a one-and-a-half-mile trek across the L.V. Murrow Bridge. “Especially anywhere on Mercer Island. Just from everything you’ve told me so far in emails, this is the best place you could raise your niece.”
Max interjected. “Daughter, actually. She is just used to calling me ‘Uncle Max’ because my late husband was the biological parent at conception. She’s autistic so it’s trickier for her brain to grasp the concepts other neurotypically developed children understand without issue.”
“Oh that’s so darling.”
“It is. She is a huge blessing in my life. One I definitely do not want to lose.”
As the two of them reached near midway of the floating stretch of concrete, Max looked out from his passenger window overlooking Lake Washington. As the sun danced across rippling waves in the wat
er, the pit in his stomach ached. He knew there was a possibility that the Baxter family could rip her right out of his arms if the judge felt he was an unfit parent. Although the supreme court only just barely began honoring same-sex marriage, the country had a long way to go before society stopped criminalizing the LGBT community or stripping them of several social customs. Parenting, or adopting, being one of the most fundamental rights any responsible person should be granted—no matter the color of their skin or who they chose to sleep in bed with. If roles were reversed, Max knew that Brogan wouldn’t let this potential reality eat his insides like a parasite. So, he wondered why he let this upcoming battle rip him apart. He needed to be strong. He needed guidance. He needed his lawyer to call him back.
Pam looked over into Max’s direction. “Darlin’, you’re out in left field. Everything okay?”
“Yep, just fine. Anxious to see these houses,” he said, pushing the fear back down. This was not the time to let the fear of losing Lily cloud his judgment and choose the wrong residence for them.
“Well shit, sweet pea. If I’d known you were looking for houses, we wouldn’t be traveling so far east of Puget Sound.”
A confused look washed over Max’s face. “That is what we’re doing, right?”
Pam chuckled. “I wouldn’t call these houses as much as I would huge luxurious boxes with more lights than a Dutch brothel.”
“Oh right,” Max grinned. “Though to be fair, a motel room in the middle of Bumfuck Egypt has more lights than a brothel.”