Ashes to Ashes

by Jason Banks

  “Yeah, I won’t lie,” the man in a bright t-shirt with a formal blazer admitted, stepping inside. “It wasn’t a comfortable exchange of body language as he left the lobby. Or I mean, awkward to say the least.”

  “I’ll be okay. Just let me know how I can help you,” Durango offered by pure instinct.

  But the truth was, he felt completely helpless. He figured he would give Max the space he asked for, which meant letting him board a train back home, leaving him to trail behind on the next available trip back.

  Durango sat on the side of the bed which was closest to the door, with his back to Shane, who was appearing to snap pictures of the damage with his cellphone. He noticed the object Max lunged into the room on his way out and bent over to scoop the small brown box.

  Meanwhile, Shane wrapped up taking snapshots of the broken window pane and the broken glass scattered all around.

  “This isn’t going to be cheap, but our insurance should cover this, eh?”

  Durango turned his head back with haste. “No, I want you to charge him every dollar for this. Just because I love him and you’re one of my friends, doesn’t mean he can act without consequences. I wouldn’t tell one of my client’s parents to not discipline their child if it was justified, and Max is a grown man. He needs to be held accountable.”

  Shane tilted his head. “Fair enough, that’s about all he said on the way out,” he recalled, placing a finger to his cheek, using his free hand for an air quote. “Sorry about the window man, just charge whatever you need to my card.”

  Durango rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he’s got the money for it anyway.”

  That was another concept which Durango wasn’t entirely sure how it was going to work out with a relationship. His entire life, he’s never had the luxury of moderate wealth. He grew up in a family that scraped by like the most of them, and he does as such between his alimony to Bethany and raising a child with a few extra special accommodations than a neurotypical one would require. In fact, he was kind of in the middle of thinking about it on the train ride from Seattle to Vancouver. Maxwell covered every expense, making him feel somewhat inadequate for not needing to worry about a single detail. Never before has he been in a relationship where the other half just took care of each expense simply because they could afford it, and he knew the healthy approach was to make Max see the important of balancing these seemingly trivial details.

  Shane’s phone rang with the theme song to the television show ‘Parks and Recreation’ and he stepped out to the hallway, motioning to Durango with his forefinger. “I’ll be right back, eh?”

  Durango acknowledged his friend, while unwrapping the package. He figured if things went the way he was hoping, he’d probably have opened the gift by that moment anyway. As Shane answered his incoming call, he lifted the thin square lid from the box to reveal a gift card for a men’s apparel store and in-house tailor accompanied by a handwritten note by Maxwell.

  Babe. Merry Christmas. I wanted you to have something special from me on our trip, even though I have a couple other things to give you in a few days on Christmas morning. I noticed your closet had some older pieces showing lots of wear and tear, so this is enough to get several outfits and have them tailored specially for you… my special guy. Now look back up at my face and give me a kiss, you big sappy gorilla. Love, Maxwell Florian Williams

  He definitely raised his head but bereft of any notions in the absence of what the note anticipated being two lovers, looking into each other’s eyes with so much passion and tenderness. Durango wasn’t sure whether to cry or feel angry. He was so very hurt by how things unfolded, but his love for Max didn’t dissipate. How could it? He’s already been given the best gift anyone could give him, and it’s thumping right below his healed ribcage. Durango knew time and space would heal whatever momentary gap this presented between them, he just couldn’t place a finger on how long it would take.

  “Sorry my friend, eh, you just missed the new train headed in that direction,” advised the young man stationed within a small glass box of Vancouver’s train depot.

  Maxwell let out a sigh. He just wanted to get back home, but apparently, he was going to have to wait for the next train headed down the Western seaboard—which wasn’t going to be for another six hours.

  “How close is the airport from here? I’m not from around, sorry,” Max asked, rubbing his forehead.

  The boy pointed out to his side. “It’s a few minutes down this main road here, you might be able to still hail a taxi or something down there. By foot, it’s like a forty-minute walk. We don’t have Uber here, yet at least.”

  Max finished digging his fingernails deep into his forehead, almost to the point it felt like he’d break skin.

  “Okay, thanks for your help,” he acknowledged, sliding his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans. “Is there a place to eat close by?”

  “The best in town is just around the block. Adam’s Livery, order bacon mushroom burger as rare as they can get it,” the young man offered, placing his hand on his chest. “It’s good, eh, but also about the only thing open in these parts at this time of night.”

  You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Maxwell thought inside his head about just starving, if the single-most dangerous place he would definitely hope to avoid was indeed the only place serving food at the current time.

  Max flailed his hand in the air. “Great, great. Thanks,” he replied, turning his back to the train depot attendant.

  He lifted the handle of his suitcase and stepped back out to the sidewalk, where he had no idea what he was going to do. Eat in a lack for a better word he could muster at the moment—bar. Then wait six hours to take a train back home. Or find a ride down to the airport, where he would hope he could beat the odds to find an available seat on a soon flight to Seattle, or sooner than six hours that is. He continued down the sidewalk half a block where he noticed the street turn into a squared off corner. Hunger continued to shrill throughout his tummy, and as he glanced around for the street sign, Maxwell spotted the brightly irradiated sign saying: Adam’s Livery.

  This was obviously his only hope to satisfy his need for food, and it’s not like he didn’t have his wits about him, he knew the dangers of eating in a place like this would be like walking on the fine line between his moral obligations and dangerous territory. Max looked in both directions of the street which didn’t seem to have seen any cars for several minutes, while crossing over to the opposing side which offered his best chance to eat and look at the flight schedule on his phone. Speaking of which, was on its last ten percent. Fantastic, I hope they have an outlet to borrow.

  ***

  Twangy notes of an acoustic guitar from the obvious John Denver cover band danced throughout the dimly lit room as Max stepped inside, with his suitcase by his side. He felt the brute force of the door swing back and jab him into the ass. The same area which was beginning to find some relief by standing after the unbridled passion he’d received from the one man he didn’t want to even think about, not until he could get some sleep.

  “Hey friend,” called out the broad-shouldered man behind the bar, in front of the entire array of wine and spirits.

  Max could practically hear the taps of lager calling his name from the eight or so feet before him.

  He waved to the friendly guy as he stepped forward to find a barstool, pulling his suitcase behind him.

  “Do you happen to have a charging port, I can plug into?” Max asked, waving his nearly dead iPhone into the air.

  The bartender shook his head. “We do,” he staggered. “But this is a no park zone, my friend. You gotta order a drink to stick at the bar and there aren’t outlets at any of the tables.”

  Max rolled his eyes for what could have been the millionth time that night. “You’re kidding?”

  “Not my rules, man. The boss’s words, not mine,” he shrugged, taking a look at Maxwell as if he were practically a stray dog who wandered in from the cold, damp street. “But, I suppo
se he’s not working tonight,” he added, waving Max over to the end of the bar where he could plug-in.

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Max offered, letting out a sigh of relief.

  The momentary whisper inside his head alluded him to think about the fact he’d already fallen off the wagon via some sort of substance with addictive qualities. And since it wasn’t as a medium of any medically prescribed benefits, he knew the minute he walked into his next AA meeting, he’d have to come clean about it. He shook his head at the very notion of falling off the wagon. How could he do that to himself, to Lily? To Mel and the rest of his family? The dark whisper deep within his thoughts continued to nudge Max into the third circle of hades, with the inclination that he’d already fucked up. But much like the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

  Max turned his head with the fleeting notion of soothing his worries. “You know what, fuck it. I’ll have a double Apple Crown Royal with Coke,” he instructed to the bartender, meanwhile substantiating to his conscience he’d only drink one.

  He retrieved his cable and connected it to both the outlet and his phone. As the screen lit up bright with the promise of sucking as much juice it could from the volts of electricity, Maxwell witnessed his drink order being slid in front of him like a fat kid eyeing a full sheet cake at a birthday party.

  “Can I get you anything to eat?”

  Max patted his rumbling stomach. “I’m gonna have what the kid at the train station recommended,” he began, but realized the bartended was about to finish his sentence.

  “I suppose you talked to Johnny?” he smirked, holding a sparkly old-fashioned glass in his hand with a dry rag.

  “That would be the one,” Max said, swirling the little black straw in his drink.

  The man nodded his head. “You got it, he orders the same thing each time so I already know what you want,” he chuckled, reaching out his hand. “I’m Pete.”

  Max raised his hand to shake. “Max.”

  “Nice to meet you, looks like you’ve had one hell of a night,” Pete offered, turning his back to Max as he punched the food order into a register screen.

  Maxwell nodded his head. “You have no idea, Pete,” he paused, beginning to raise the glass of poison which would befoul his abstinence.

  He held the glass up in front of him as if to propose a toast. His mind flashed back to the early episode from a favorite television show, ‘Nurse Jackie’ when a former nurse laid in her death bed surrounded by the entire current nursing staff, wielding glasses of champagne. Pete turned back around with a bottle of water, while Maxwell recited Paula’s last sentiments on the show.

  “Here’s to you, and here’s to me. And if we ever disagree, fuck you. And here’s to me.”

  Pete’s face grew long. “Tragic,” he said, touching the edge of his water bottle to Max’s glass.

  Max’s lips pursed around the rim of the glass and the heavy fumes of liquor reminiscent to that of an actual granny smith apple with notes of maple excited his senses. His first sip turned into a generous gulp, but clearly, any reservations he had about falling off the wagon were tossed by the wayside well before stepping foot inside moments ago. The fact of the matter was, the very next meeting Max would be walking into the day after Christmas, instead of his ten-year coin—he’d be collecting another starter chip. And since there wasn’t any turning back, Maxwell was determined to swallow the leftover portion on the second wind.

  He glanced into his phone to which he noticed, he hadn’t received a single message or missed call from Durango. But if there was anything else he was determined to do, it was to sink his woes down into his gut with the help of a little liquid courage. What Max wasn’t sure of, were how many old-fashioned glasses he’d be sliding across for Pete to wash away the self-pity he’d leave behind in each of them. Within hours, a little would certainly turn into quite a lot.

  “I’ll have another,” Max affirmed, waving Pete down from the other end of the bar where he was assisting a new patron. “And a round for whoever wants something, on me,” he insisted.

  After catching Pete’s attention, he unlocked the screen on his device and pulled up the Delta Airlines app. After a few quick details, he found the Vancouver airport code, followed by his destination. The results pulled up an upcoming flight, which to his favor was only a couple hours away. That left time to eat, hail a cab, and be wheels up with a few minutes to spare. Given his frequent flyer status, booking an itinerary was a breeze. Within just a couple taps and the validation of his fingerprint, Maxwell could be at ease knowing that he’d be back home quicker than a train could get him there.

  Pete appeared in front of Max’s right shoulder, placing his new drink in front while retrieving the former remains of despair and muddled regret with his free hand.

  “You gonna be okay, my friend?”

  Max looked up from his phone, already feeling his forehead transform its density to that of air. “Yeah, I’ll be just fine,” Max tried sounding convincing. “Just fine,” he reiterated, feeling a slight twinge of fear stab into his gut.

  One of Pete’s coworkers brought around a rectangular plate with a generous burger and heap of greasy French fries. The aroma of his fresh burger enticed his eager stomach, but somehow didn’t seem to satisfy the impending doom he felt surfacing under his skin. He’d just thrown away ten goddamn years of hard work, over something which he began to feel like somehow he’d overreacted a bit too rashly.

  “Enjoy,” the tiny blonde-haired waitress said, scooting the plate in front of him.

  Max shrugged. “Thanks,” he replied, not entirely sure what joy would be offered. At this point, he was fit to be tied after sending his life into a rockier trajectory. And he wasn’t certain if he’d screwed everything up yet or not, because deep down, he still loved Durango for everything he was. For everything he brought into Max’s life before he found out that destiny brought the two of them together.

  The December sun glistened down through his office window as Durango sat behind his desk, racking his brain about what to do. What could he say to make Max understand his intentions? He’d surely planned on telling him sooner, but every time he thought the right moment arrived—he’d been robbed of the opportunity. He couldn’t count on one hand how many times he tried. Luckily for him, Durango’s brother John stole Gage for the entirety of the day, that brisk Christmas Eve. Gage expressed his interest to go shopping without his daddy, so he could pick out a present to give him. As any loving father would do, he embraced the opportunity to afford his son the ability to learn the elements of giving during the holidays. Especially since he was at the appropriate age to start learning the reasons for the season.

  While the afternoon presented him with the chance to do some personal conflict resolution, Durango couldn’t help but feel exhausted after the last couple days of catching minimal sleep. He paced out toward the living room, clutching to his cellphone in the hopes Maxwell would call. It had literally been a full two days, and the worry inside him intensified as each hour progressed. However, being the dutiful psychologist he was, this was clearly a situation which he needed to give Max just a little bit more time to have the opportunity to reach out first. Durango’s optimism wasn’t lacking, as he continued to hold onto the hope for this whole fiasco to come to pass.

  He slid the flip phone onto the surface of his coffee table while inching down into the cushions of his sofa. His exhausted riddled eyes shut momentarily, and it took no convincing him to keep them shut as he whisked away into an instant slumber. Maybe, he hoped, just maybe when he awoke, it would have been to the sound of a phone call or Maxwell hovering overhead, jolting him awake. The truth was, Max already had a copy of his housekey. He knew Max would take the step to reach out, it was just a matter of when. But it wasn’t without some disconcerting small level of doubt. It tuns out, when he called his brother from Canada, John hadn’t heard anything about going to pick up gage from Maxwell’s place yet. It wasn’t until he
retold the horror of what happened a couple hours before his call, when John apparently sped across the city to fetch his son and bring him home with him until Durango could get back into town.

  ***

  “Maxie?” Lily peeked her eyes around the heavy master-bedroom door, finagling her tiny body through the wedge.

  As Maxwell opened his eyes, he spotted Lily sitting by his side, looking straight down into his eyes, holding a half-eaten sugar cookie which was at one point in the shape of a candy cane.

  Maxwell rubbed his eyes to fully awaken from whatever long nap he’d taken. “Hi munchkin,” he greeted her.

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” she smiled, continuing to allow the crumbs of the cookie she was devouring to fall freely onto his chin. “Isn’t Santa coming tonight?”

  “It is?” Max questioned, attempting to sound shocked and play into her excitement, but the truth was—he was genuinely surprised. “Well then,” he added, while looking at the time on the alarm clock on his nightstand behind Lily. “Oh yep, it’s four thirty. I bet you he’s somewhere over in Europe right this minute.”

  Lily gasped, allowing even more cookie debris to sprinkle down. Maxwell propped his backside up to the headboard and leaned over to disconnect his Apple Watch from its charging dock.

  “Why don’t you go start writing your letter to Santa, sweetheart?”

  She nodded, “I was waiting to do that with you.”

  The warmness of her response sank into his heart, as he embraced in the fact this was actually the first year he’d be doing this with her. Usually, Brogan would be the one who sat down with her, perched on the barstools at the breakfast counter. This also brought on the rushing thoughts and feelings about what happened just a day or so earlier with Durango at the resort in Vancouver. He wasn’t entirely capable of measuring time in this current moment, but he figured he’d been sleeping off the effects of his bender. And what must have Melanie thought? Or Lily? Does Durango know?

  Lily scooted off the bed and hurried back through the bedroom door, where Melanie quickly replaced her niece’s presence inside the room. Only this time, Max wasn’t greeted with an innocent seven-year-old princess smile. Rather, a long distressed look of what seemed to be fear, concern, and confusion all in one extremely dramatic display. He rubbed his head at the fact he couldn’t recall an entire portion of time, from the moment he finished his first drink that night until he came home. He vaguely remembered stumbling into the master bathroom to relieve his full bladder. But everything else… not a thing.