by B. G. Thomas
Howard’s mother had to have her foot removed? Wyatt felt a surge of compassion for the woman he’d never met. The poor lady. “I’m so sorry, Howard.”
“Not that I ever gave you the opportunity to meet her.” Howard sighed. “I’m sorry about that, but—”
But you were so angry with her.
“—I was so damned mad at her, you know? For the way she treated me. Put me down.”
She put you down? “I knew she didn’t take your coming out very well.”
Howard laughed. “Did I say that?” He laughed again. “She didn’t really care. She just thought it was one more way I let her down.”
“Oh gods, Howard.” Oh, the look on his face!
Howard held up a hand. “It’s okay. In fact, things are… well… better there. I’ve gone to see her. Last week, in fact. I helped her get home after the operation. And we had a lot of time to talk.” There was sorrow on Howard’s face. But…. Something else. Was it hope? “Wyatt, we’re talking. Mom and I are talking.”
Wyatt felt a little skip in his heart. He couldn’t help it, dammit. After all, he’d been with the man for ten years, eleven really. And he knew how it was to have a mother that didn’t talk to you.
“That’s really good news, Howard.”
Wait. The full impact of what Howard said earlier hit him. Howard was going to give him half of what the house sold for?
“I thought so.” Howard gave him a smile that reminded him somewhat of the one that had won him over a thousand years ago.
He scooted the chair closer to the bed.
“Anyway, the house….” A terrible look crossed his face and then Howard seemed to shake it off. “I did you wrong there. Your name wasn’t on the mortgage, but it was yours too. And I want you to have half. You could put a hefty down payment on the place you’re staying at now or pay off totally a new, smaller house. Better setup.”
Wyatt had to fight to keep his mouth from falling open. He clenched his hands into fists and hoped Howard didn’t notice. He shook his head. “Why are you doing this, Howard?”
“And I want you to have more of what’s in it. There were a few things I took… well… it was just wrong.” Then to Wyatt’s surprise, another tear dropped from Howard’s eyes. “There were a lot of ways I did you wrong.”
Was… was this happening?
Howard stood up.
“And I don’t know why. I’ve asked myself that a million times the last few weeks. But not just then. Even when I was doing it all… I would say… I would say to myself, Why did you do that? You were my little bear, Wyatt. And I’ve never been able to answer. Except….” He wiped at his eyes with the back of a hand. “I was jealous?”
Howard made a move to sit on the edge of the bed and then checked himself. He sat back down on the chair instead.
“Everyone liked you, Wy. No, they fucking loved you! Every time I went somewhere without you everyone would say, ‘Where’s Wyatt?’ And for some reason I would get so fucking mad. Or they would go on and on and on about your act at Festival or your Halloween costume or your jokes—as freaking bad as they’ve always been, sorry, baby—or how funny your T-shirts were or… God. Before I met you, I got the attention. But not long after we got together, it was you.”
Another tear formed, and this one began to roll slowly down Howard’s face.
“Then I realized something else. It was never me they liked. It was my cock. They wanted me to fuck them or let them suck it, and so they would be really nice to me so that would happen. But once they were bored, they were gone.”
“Howard.” Wyatt reached to touch him, then became conscious that he wasn’t even ready for that. He pulled his hand back. “That’s not true. I wanted you, and I didn’t even know about your penis. In fact, you scared the shit out of me when you showed it to me.”
Howard went on as if he hadn’t heard Wyatt. “But with you, they wanted you no matter what. Guys would stop me on the street and ask me about you.”
They would? Wyatt wondered. “Really?”
Howard nodded. “And they still do. Every single day it seems. It’s part of the reason I need to get away. So I can have a chance to be just Howard.”
Wyatt nodded. He understood that feeling. Needing to be just Wyatt and not Wyatt and Howard.
“A Howard with no past and hopefully some kind of fucking future.”
And then Wyatt did reach out to him. And Howard did the same. But only their fingers intertwined, only for a second, before Howard pulled his hand back.
Howard swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed from the force of it. And then he said, “I wanted you to know that I did love you. I really did.” Another tear joined the others. “I still do, dammit. And I’ve lost you.”
Wyatt sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a shuddering sigh, and felt tears of his own begin to gather.
“I have lost you, right?”
Wyatt closed his eyes, and when he finally opened them again, those tears slipped out freely. He nodded. “Yes, Howard. You have.”
Howard closed his eyes. Clenched his jaw. Opened his eyes again. “Hodor?”
“Kevin,” Wyatt corrected. “His name is Kevin. But he’s only a part of it. I wouldn’t take you back now for anything in the world. Not for anything.”
Howard flinched, and Wyatt was sorry for it. Mostly.
“I don’t mean to hurt you, but it’s true. Not for a million dollars. Not for a million-million. I’m free of you, Howard.” And with a startled mental gasp, Wyatt quite suddenly realized it was true. The weight that was stirring and shifting on his shoulders lifted. He felt it. That was exactly what it felt like. Like tons and tons and tons and tons of huge stones had just raised up right off not only his shoulders, but his heart and mind and soul.
I’m free of you.
There was open pain on Howard’s face now, but alas, there was nothing Wyatt could do about that. That was Howard’s load to bear.
After a long moment, Howard stood up.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt. I wanted you to know that too. That I am truly, deeply sorry. I know that probably doesn’t mean shit to you. You can tell me to fuck off.”
I haven’t yet.
“But I am. Sorry. It’s not just words. I am sorry to my bones. To the marrow of my bones. And….”
Howard shook, then put his arms around himself as if to calm it. “And I am so thankful that I didn’t give you HIV. I gave you enough without giving you that too.”
Howard turned then and started to walk out.
“Howard?”
The man who had been his lover for so long, the man that was truly walking away forever, stopped. He turned slowly.
Do it, Wyatt thought. Go on. Truly free yourself forever.
“I forgive you.” And with those three words, all the weight in the world simply disappeared and was gone, gone, and gone. Something swept over him. A freedom so deep and complete Wyatt almost lost his breath.
Howard surged forward and then stopped, and with a sigh, Wyatt opened his arms.
His ex-lover carefully pulled him into his arms, watching cuffs and wires and IVs, gave him a hug—for Howard, a huge one—and Wyatt hugged him back. He did it the way Katherine had taught him so long ago. With heart. Because it was easy to say you forgave someone, but meaning it was something different. And this startling freedom meant hugging with heart.
Then Howard pulled away. “I’ll always love you, Wyatt,” he said quietly, and then he walked away.
HOWARD STOPPED on the other side of the curtain. Kevin was standing there.
“You heard, huh?”
Kevin nodded. He didn’t say anything.
“Didn’t take you long to step in.”
“It took me years,” Kevin said.
Howard nodded himself. “Fair enough. You’d be stupid not to.”
“And I’m not stupid,” Kevin assured him.
Howard shook his head. Then, “I truly did love him. And a big part of it was jealousy. My God. We would go
somewhere and Wyatt would be wearing pink from his Converse sneakers to his camo baseball cap, even one of those canvas belts with the metal sliding buckle like I wore in the Boy Scouts—only pink. And I would think, Really? You’re going to wear that? And I’d say something… mean. Really mean. And the son of a gun would stick out his chin and defy me and wear it anyway, and what would happen? Everyone would go apeshit telling him how great he looked. And there I would be in my thousand dollar or more leathers, and I was lucky if a half-dozen people said a word.” He shook his head.
“That’s Wyatt,” Kevin said, and he couldn’t help but smile. Because that was Wyatt. And he would have been proud to be seen with his Baby Bear in such an outfit and glowed with every praising remark Wyatt got.
“Take care of him, Hodor.”
Kevin nodded and didn’t correct him. What the hell difference did it make?
Howard took a few steps and then stopped.
He turned around. “There was one more thing,” he said in a voice so light Kevin could barely hear him. “I thought about telling him… and then I couldn’t. You tell him if you want.”
Kevin geared himself up for it. What would Howard say?
“I was the one that did it.” A tear, huge, rolled down Howard’s wet cheek. “I’m the one who scratched ‘faggot’ on his car.”
“What?” And then his eyes went wide. Last year, of course. When Wyatt had come to Camp. The word “FAGGOT”—in big capital letters—had been scratched across the right passenger quarter panel of Wyatt’s beloved Mini Coop.
“He didn’t even notice for two or three days. I kept waiting and waiting, and finally I had to point it out, and Wyatt was upset for what looked like about a minute, and then he said it was kinda cool. Like out of Queer as Folk. I was furious.”
Oh, that’s what he pretended, Kevin thought, remembering. But Wyatt cared.
“And you’re dropping this in my lap?” Kevin said, fighting a rising anger.
“No. I just thought now wasn’t the time for him to know.” He looked toward the curtain. “I thought it was a bad one, in fact. But I thought someone should know. And I think you’ll know if there is a right time.”
I think that time will probably be never, Kevin thought.
“Good-bye, Hodor,” Howard said, and turned and almost walked into Wyatt’s mother, who was just returning from the cafeteria with three cups of soft serve.
“Good-bye, Big Sir,” Kevin said, letting the man have it one last time.
Howard froze for an instant. And then left.
And was gone.
“Who was that?” Wyatt’s mother asked.
“I’ll let Wyatt tell you. But only if he wants, okay?”
Their eyes met and there were questions there and then… understanding.
“All right,” she said.
And then they went to Wyatt’s side of the curtain.
“Piña colada, anyone?” she asked.
“Oh, yummy!” Wyatt cried in delight. “I hope it has rum in it. Lots. I could use it.”
“Somehow I doubt it,” his mother said and took the terrible chair and with sharp eyes indicated Kevin should take the recliner. He didn’t argue. “You know I’ve never had rum before. What’s it like?”
“Oh, delish!” Wyatt exclaimed happily. “But mostly only in something?”
“Something like this?” she asked, and took a taste. “Oh, that is yummy, isn’t it?”
“I’ll make you a real piña colada when we get home,” Wyatt said.
And there was something different about him. His shoulders were higher. Wyatt was no longer slumped with the pain and wear of days upon days upon days.
He looked… happy.
Kevin smiled.
And felt blessed.
THE NEXT day Wyatt astonished everyone when his drainage bulb was empty except for only the tiniest amount. It hadn’t been emptied since about an hour after Howard’s visit.
“They” all picked and pecked amongst themselves like biddy hens, wondering what had changed.
But Kevin knew.
They released Wyatt that afternoon.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
KEVIN TOOK Wyatt home and was glad of it. It was a fairly big house, and he had to figure out how to set his cub up. There was only one bathroom in the house, and it was upstairs. And getting him up there was a bit of a deal—the staircase was narrow, and he wasn’t excited about Wyatt trying it himself, at least for a few days. An older lady several doors down offered to loan them her portable commode, and Wyatt paled at the idea.
“Poop in that?” Wyatt pointed at it, horrified, when Kevin brought it into the house. “I dar’st not!” he exclaimed dramatically, spreading fingers across his chest. “And then I would have to drag it upstairs by myself anyway, because there is no way I’d let you!”
“I don’t mind,” Kevin said. “It’s just p—”
“Tch! Tch! Tch!” Wyatt tch’ed, raising a finger imperiously. “I have spoken! The plastic urinal thing I’ll use. It’s almost fun. Sticking my dick in there and all. I can’t remember who it was—it should have been me—who said one of the best things about being a man is making the world your urinal! But I will not—” He pointed at the plastic and metal cheap-man’s throne and shuddered. “—use that. I’ll wear Depends first. Or stay upstairs.”
“Okay, okay,” Kevin said, laughing hard enough that he had to wipe tears from his eyes. Then, changing the subject: “By the way, your front yard. Is that a garden?”
Wyatt nodded. “It sure is. Spectacular too. You should see the daffodils! It was Sloan’s mother’s garden, and he’s afraid to sell this place because he’s afraid the new owner will just rototill it over and roll out some sod.”
Kevin gasped—his turn to be horrified. “That would be terrible!”
Wyatt nodded and shrugged, somehow at the same time. “But it’s a lot of work, and I think that Sloan was hoping maybe I’d take care of it, but gods. All that dirt under my nails? I pay to get these done.”
“There are gloves, you know,” Kevin said, laughing again, and then reflected on how often he’d wished he had a garden, but living in the big city—especially in a condo—made that pretty difficult.
Wyatt didn’t respond right away, but there was a twinkling in his eyes.
All of Wyatt’s friends had been there the day Wyatt got home, even Asher, who luckily had finished his pickup shots in LA just a few days before.
There was tons of food, and Wyatt had even gotten Asher to make piña coladas for his mother, and of course the bartender par excellence had come through, even finding a pineapple vodka to sweeten the alcoholic deal. He himself only had a sip, though. “They’re for your mother, after all,” he said, and then had not so much as a beer.
But of course Wyatt wouldn’t let his mother so much as taste them until he had sung the infamous piña colada song.
“Whew!” Wyatt’s mother cried after one sip. “So that’s rum!” She switched to water partially through her second drink when she found herself plopping down in an easy chair and unwilling to get up. “I don’t know how you boys put these away like you do!”
Wyatt was in high spirits and had even tried to dance to the famously corny song, but by the time he’d reached the first chorus—about liking piña coladas and hating yoga and having half a brain—it was clear to all, even him, that he had to sit down.
The doctors had warned Wyatt that he might never get back to the way he was—what had happened to his gallbladder and what it did was very traumatic to his body—but Kevin wasn’t about to remind him of that. Thoughts became things after all.
And he had thanked that emergency room nurse named Doris who had gotten Wyatt a room and might have saved his love’s life.
No one stayed late, much to Wyatt’s objections, but all could see even he didn’t totally mean it.
They didn’t make love that night, even though they both wanted to. Wyatt’s spirit was willing but his body wasn’t, and Kevin was afr
aid he’d hurt him. There were a hell of a lot of stitches involved in the creation of a “pretty scar” and while Wyatt refused to even peek under the bandages, Kevin had and saw it was healing beautifully. One day—and he could almost see Wyatt in his mind’s eye—he was sure his lover would be proud of his life’s battle scar.
Two weeks passed, and each day Wyatt got a little stronger. It would be weeks before he could go back to work, but his boss made sure he knew his job would be waiting for him. There had even been a collection by his coworkers of food and necessities to stock his cupboard. It had made Wyatt cry and made Kevin proud that so many people cared so much for his lover.
Lover.
The word made his skin tingle.
And any fears he might have had that he was just some rebound were eased not only by the way that Wyatt looked at him, those gorgeous deep brown eyes aglow, but by friends and Katherine, Wyatt’s boss, and even Wyatt’s mother.
“Don’t you hurt my boy, or you’ll hear about it from me,” she warned him, but one time only. One time was all he needed—not that he ever planned on doing anything of the sort.
They grew closer every day, sharing stories and experience and laughter and pain and music and passages from books.
Wyatt’s mother stayed for only a few days—long enough to finish reading Wish You Well—and after reading enough to catch up while Wyatt took one of his frequent naps, Kevin found himself loving to be read to by the woman as well.
“You are wonderful,” he told her many times through his days of getting to know her from hospital to home. “Wyatt is so lucky to have a mother like you.”
She shook her head. “I’m trying to make up for a lot of lost time,” she replied, looking at her son thoughtfully. “And so grateful Wyatt’s letting me. I’m so sorry your mother doesn’t know what she has in you.”
Kevin didn’t know what to say about that. “They never really treated me badly,” he said, banishing memories of being asked if he couldn’t please shut up for just one single solitary goddamned second. “I think they just didn’t know what to make of me.”