Winter Heart

by B. G. Thomas

  In my dreams I can fly.

  Wyatt sighed. Listened as the chorus repeated and then was lost in static.

  That song….

  The timing.

  The lyrics hurt.

  But somehow, they filled him with hope.

  And he didn’t even know who the singer was.

  But that’s what Google was for, right?

  Wyatt smiled.

  Somehow, he was feeling hope.

  Somehow he was feeling he just might be ready to fly.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CAULEY LEFT Kevin everything but the house. That he left to SAFE, an organization that provided housing for those with HIV/AIDS, mental disabilities, and substance abuse problems.

  Perfect.

  Even in the end, Cauley gave to the community.

  But everything else Cauley gave to him.

  It had shocked him. Surely his mother should have been the one.

  But as Kevin sat in the basement looking at all of Cauley’s things—at his very life—he knew. What would Lois have done with all of this? There were albums (vinyl) and CDs, videotapes, boxes and boxes and boxes of magazines and clippings, yearbooks, photo albums and loose photographs (including most of those that had been on display at The Back Door—Tam kept the one of Cauley in the jock and put it on the wall behind the bar), costumes and dresses, awards presented to him by the gay community and even one from the mayor, and, inevitably, porn galore. Porn that would have aged Lois by ten years.

  “What am I going to do with all of this, Theresa?”

  His friend was sitting on a plastic milk crate filled with albums across from him and only shrugged in response.

  Kevin had no place to put any of it for one thing. He could put it into storage… but for what? And where? Why? So it could molder and disintegrate—Cauley’s life forgotten?

  So once more Cauley had left it to him.

  “Goddammit!” Kevin cried and dropped his face into his upturned palms.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. Theresa of course. She gave it a squeeze.

  “You could have a big yard sale,” she said. “Get rid of everything that isn’t something personal. Like his photo albums….”

  “In January?” Kevin asked, looking up at her. “Who has a yard sale in January?”

  “Surely they have estate sales in January,” she said. “People don’t die only during the summer.” She winced. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” She sat down next to him. “Boy, and I’m supposed to be brilliant with words.”

  Kevin sighed. “You are.”

  She put an arm around him.

  “Why did he do this to me?”

  “Who else?” she replied. “Who else could he trust to go through all of this stuff?”

  All of this stuff. They’d already been at it for hours.

  “Why the money?” he asked, throwing his hands up. “I don’t need it.”

  She nodded. “There was a surprising amount of it, though. I couldn’t believe how much.”

  But Kevin, who had helped set up Cauley’s savings accounts and funds and stocks, had known it would be something like what the will had revealed. He’d been impressed nevertheless. Cauley had kept up with the deposits after they broke up, and he had little head for money. He’d had little head for money.

  Fuck!

  They broke for lunch—Lois made them grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. That brought up memories, more memories, and they ate mostly in silence. Lois had surprised them by showing up to help with the upstairs, packing up linens and towels and such. She told Kevin she’d wait to pack the clothes.

  “In case there’s something you want.”

  Like anything Cauley had worn would fit Kevin!

  “You never know. Sometimes it helps to keep one or two things. I still have Cauley’s father’s bathrobe and his favorite sweater.”

  So Kevin promised he’d make time to look. It was a chore he dreaded more than all the pieces of paper in the basement that represented Cauley’s life.

  After lunch he and Theresa went back to it and worked late, stopping only to order a pizza. Their main thrust was separating out anything personal. Photographs and such. Things that no one would want if Kevin chose to have an estate sale—and it was sounding better and better.

  “I could give the money from the sale to the same charity Cauley left the house,” he said aloud and without preamble.

  “Yes. That would be perfect,” Theresa replied without missing a beat.

  It was only while driving home that evening—after Theresa declined to stop and get a drink with him somewhere (which was just as well since he’d done more than his share of drinking in the last week)—that he was hit with an idea.

  He’d read an article recently about some archivist who was putting together a collection of gay history. Kevin couldn’t remember all the details, but he thought if he looked he could find the article again. What was Cauley if he wasn’t gay history? Hell! They might even want some of his outrageous costumes!

  The idea gave him a profound sense of relief.

  Perfect. It was perfect.

  Let future historians have a field day.

  But by the time he got home, the relief was replaced by a numbing depression. And a strange panic. The buildings—tall and towering, the very ones he loved so much—had begun to feel threatening lately. As if they might reach down and grab him. Or fall on him.

  Going inside didn’t help.

  Going up to his condo didn’t help.

  That only came with a conviction that his building would collapse into the streets below while he was sleeping. That he’d wake up to the sight of brick and mortar and concrete and of falling… falling… falling.

  It was enough to keep him awake and feeling sick.

  It was all too much! He couldn’t do this. He had to get away! The fucking estate sale would just have to wait. There wasn’t anyone from SAFE even scheduled to come out to see the place for weeks.

  Then he felt it.

  Felt what he’d been feeling on and off for the last couple of months.

  The call of the Land.

  His safe place.

  The place where he didn’t even have to talk. Where he could be the silent giant who had nothing to say to anyone except “Hodor.”

  The thought of Camp grew so strongly in his mind that once again it was almost like he was there. He could almost feel the hot sun on his skin and the soft grass beneath his bare feet, smell the green growing things, hear the ooo-eee-ooo-eee of the cicadas, see the sunflowers that covered the earthen dam, the fields and fields of blackberries that grew out past the main camping area (he could almost taste them) as well as the great blue herons flying over him as he floated on a rubber mattress on the lake (and how they always and every time made him think of pterodactyls).

  It won’t look like that, though, he reminded himself. It’s winter here and it’s winter there. Camp Sanctuary wasn’t even a twenty-four-hour drive away. It was near Kansas City, not Key West. And even though it seemed that way at times—like some magickal place out of time and space—Sanctuary wasn’t Brigadoon, or K’un-L’un, or Shambhala or Shangri-La for that matter. It would be cold. The trees would be bare. The lake was probably at least partially frozen. It might even be snowing.

  And he’d be all by himself. Gryphon and Saffron would be there, of course. They were the caretakers of the land and lived there year-round in a small little cabin. But none of Kevin’s friends would be there. Not Lorax or Bobcat, not Domi Dearest or Knotty Scottie, or Cedar and his new boyfriend Roman (he hoped that was working out), or Dolce and Gabbana, or Hound Dog and Bean….

  …or Wyatt….

  Kevin started, surprised at Little Bear’s sudden appearance in his thoughts.

  Why not stop and see how he was doing?

  It wasn’t like he couldn’t divert off the road for an afternoon. Wyatt lived close to Camp if he remembered right. No. He was sure of it. He could stop and
see how Wyatt was doing. Kevin was sure it wasn’t well. Getting rid of Howard was the best thing that could have happened to the little bear, but Kevin knew—knew—that Wyatt was in pain. For some crazy reason, Wyatt loved Howard. And who knew, maybe Howard was different when the two of them first met—people change. He knew that, considering what had happened with Cauley. It had been hard for Kevin to break things off with him. Maybe Howard had changed and Wyatt had the same trouble that he had.

  Maybe relationships weren’t supposed to last.

  Wouldn’t it be nice to see Wyatt, though? Take him out for coffee?

  No!

  He needed to leave Wyatt alone. The last thing Wyatt needed was some guy he hardly knew showing up unannounced on his doorstep. And it was his own damned fault that Wyatt didn’t know him better, what with him hiding behind the Hodor persona.

  “And besides,” he said aloud, “I need to be alone.” If he went to see Wyatt, he’d be tempted to flirt with the adorable little guy. Knowing Wyatt, he’d go for it too. He knew Wyatt was attracted to him. At least he had been one drunken night. And there had been times when he’d seen Wyatt looking at him in a certain way: across the dining hall, sitting around Domi Dearest’s camp drinking cocktails, swimming in the lake or sunbathing on the beach, that time they did the mud ritual….

  Kevin smiled. Then without even thinking about it, he walked to his bedroom to one of the prints he’d decided weren’t for public consumption. The mud ritual. That summer that was simply perfect, and he and more than a dozen others had all gotten naked and climbed down into the big muddy pond to the south of the camper’s circle. They’d all been laughing and carrying on and helping each other get even muddier—slathering on each other. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Wyatt had started something by piling mud on top of his own head. He’d sculpted a big thick sculpture—without the benefit of being able to see what he was doing—and then he’d plucked a bunch of black-eyed Susans and clover and Queen Anne’s lace and stuck them down into his creation, and it was so funny and cute, but somehow beautiful as well. Kevin wanted a picture, and it wasn’t until he was climbing out of the pond that he had realized he was getting hard.

  “I know,” said somebody. Kevin couldn’t remember who. “Fucking hawt!” Kevin saw the guy was looking at his semierection. “Hey, Hodor…. You’re a grower and not a show-er, aren’t you?”

  The comment had pissed Kevin off, and he’d turned his back on the skinny little man so he could take some photographs (after wiping his muddy hands through the grass, of course). No one was concerned. There was an unspoken law at Men’s Festival. Pictures were private, and no one had to be worried that the photographs would be seen by anyone that wasn’t a part of the tribe.

  “All those hot bodies,” the guy was saying. Naked Ned. It was Naked Ned. Kevin remembered that now. One of the few downright creeps who came to Festival each year. “Make sure you don’t get the fat guy with the flowers on his head.”

  Kevin had turned on him then, willing with all his might for his hand not to clench into a fist. Naked Ned stepped back, eyes wide. “S-sorry,” he’d muttered.

  Now Kevin stood looking at that photograph, and there to the right was Wyatt, looking his way, hand over his crotch, smiling shyly up at him. God. So damned cute. And he was the only one covering his penis. Kevin had always thought Wyatt had a nice penis. And Wyatt was like him. It might not look all that big when it was soft, but Kevin had seen his bear with a hard-on once in the shower and….

  No! Stop it! For God’s sake! Wyatt was not “his” bear. And Wyatt wasn’t even going to be at Camp. You’re not going to stop by and visit him either. It was better that there wouldn’t be anyone at Camp. He needed to get away to be alone. Get away from the sudden claustrophobic feeling the city was giving him. Camp would be perfect. He wouldn’t even have to say much.

  The idea hit him as so perfect and with such urgency that he realized this wasn’t just pretend. It was the tickle. And he knew not to ignore that strange little tickle at the base of his skull. The one that then rippled outward and over his scalp. He needed to go with his instinct. He wanted to go to Camp. He could barely wait as he booted up his laptop to get the phone number for Sanctuary. He was surprised at how his heart pounded. His heart never pounded!

  Kevin found the number and dialed it into his cell phone and waited a seeming century for an answer—and truth be told it really only rang two or three times before the voice came from the other end of the line.

  “Camp Sanctuary, this is Gryphon speaking.”

  “Gryphon,” Kevin cried, then forced himself to calm down. “This is Kevin Owens.”

  There was a pause. Then: “Okay….”

  Kevin laughed. Of course. He wouldn’t have a clue who Kevin Owens was. “Hodor. This is Hodor.”

  “Oh!” came the reply and an answering laugh. “Hey! How’re you doing?”

  Kevin took a deep breath. “To tell you the truth, not so good. I…. Things have been rough, and I’m finding I just need to get away. And for some reason, Camp has been calling to me for weeks.” He felt funny using that phrase. Calling to me. But hell, Gryphon hung out with all kinds of people who professed to be psychics and channelers and reincarnations and high priests and priestesses. Surely Gryphon heard such ideas all the time. “I know Camp is probably closed,” he continued in a rush, “but is there any way you would let me come stay for a few days? I won’t be any problem.”

  There was another laugh on the other end of the phone. “Wow. You won’t believe this, but you’re the second person to ask me that today.”

  Someone else had called? Shit. He hoped it wasn’t Howard.

  “I see,” Kevin said.

  “You’re welcome to come stay, Hodor. The problem is that he’s reserved North Three, the only cabin with heat.”

  Kevin’s shoulders slumped. Shit.

  And he had so wanted to go to Camp. It had seemed like a life preserver he needed in a turbulent ocean.

  “You know, I could go check in the basement of Main Hall. I think there might be a couple of space heaters in there. As long as they don’t blow the breaker, you could stay in North One. We just reinsulated it, and I think you’d keep warm enough if you wore the right clothes.”

  “Really?” Kevin asked. His heart was pounding again.

  “The seven-day weather forecast is only calling for a couple inches of snow and temperatures in the thirties. It won’t be toasty. But you won’t freeze.”

  “That’s fine,” Kevin said quickly. “I’ll dress warm. I just want to be on the Land. You know?”

  “Yes, I do, my friend. Why do you think me and Saffron have been living here for so many years? I understand completely.”

  Kevin nodded, feeling good for the first time in a week—feeling a premonition of hope.

  “Of course, you won’t have any way to cook….”

  “Can I use the camp grill? Or no. I have a little hibachi. I’ll bring that.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Oh, Gryphon. Thank you.” Kevin was smiling. It felt good on his face.

  “Sorry that you can’t share North Three. But Wyatt’s called and asked for the same thing you have. He wants to be alone too. Guess he’s got a lot on his plate.”

  Kevin froze. Wait. What? What had Gryphon just said? Wyatt? The coincidence was too much! “Did…. Did you say Wyatt?” Did Gryphon just say Wyatt?

  “Yeah. He’s another of you Men’s Festers. He goes by the camp name Little—”

  “Bear,” Kevin finished, his heart now in overdrive. “Little Bear’s going to be there?”

  Kevin closed his eyes. He was shaking.

  And he remembered a kiss.

  Of course the kiss hadn’t been real. But still.

  “Yes. But like I said, he’s wanting solitude. I don’t think he’s going to want company—”

  “That’s fine,” Kevin said, his voice trembling. Remembered sitting around the fire pit on Yule and the feeling of lips on his.
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  Crazy…. This is crazy…!

  He could see Wyatt in his mind’s eye. So cute and sexy, short (the top of his head came to about Kevin’s collarbone), wonderfully plump (padded), a hairy chest (but not too hairy), that sweet plump butt (that he always stared at when Wyatt shed his sarong and waded into the lake), and of course his big dark puppy-dog eyes.

  “Well, when do you think you’ll be here?” Gryphon asked.

  Gryphon’s question banished Kevin’s vision, and he paused to answer. Sanctuary was about eighteen hours away if he drove straight through. If he left now…. No. He was too tired. He needed a good night’s sleep. He took a deep breath. Willed himself calm. “I can be there day after tomorrow,” he replied.

  “Okay. I’ve got you marked down. That should put you here before the snow. And you know, if you do want some company, Saff and I could have you over to our cabin for dinner one night.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Right now all I want is to be by myself.”

  Or was that true? Quite suddenly Wyatt was filling his thoughts again. He found he was buzzing, had butterflies in his stomach, felt like he wanted to giggle.

  What are you doing? You called because you wanted to be alone. You wanted to get away. What the hell are you doing thinking about Wyatt like this?

  And Wyatt wants to be alone. He doesn’t want to see me.

  Yes. But if he’s walking around, I can always say hello.

  “I’ll see you Tuesday,” Kevin said.

  “Tuesday it is,” Gryphon replied.

  Kevin signed off and knew he couldn’t even consider going to bed. Pack. I have to pack! So that’s what he did. He had to really think about how he was going to pack. It wouldn’t be the same as camping for the summer. No. He needed to be warm. Staying warm was the last thing he needed at the end of July in Kansas! He had no need for his tent or his canopy or any of that. But bedding he would need. Sleeping bag. Extra blankets. Other stuff. On a whim he threw his autographed copy of Leap and the Net Will Appear! into his duffle bag. Theresa would have said it was foolish to take it on the road, but he liked the idea of taking a bit of Malcolm to the land that was so special to him. The book had helped him through tough times—helped him break up with Cauley, something that he had so needed to do. Cauley had forever hated the book and author—said that it had ruined their lives. But it wasn’t a book that had done that. No….