by Nick Poff
Rick kissed him, a kiss that promised a lifetime full of kisses. “I’ll do everything I can to be worthy of the title of Ed’s lover. Being your boyfriend has been the greatest experience of my life. I can only imagine how wonderful being something more will be.”
Ed was glad the paper towels were still in reach. “This is . . . is . . . all so much more than I even hoped for, but I’m so happy.” He laughed through the tears. “Just so damned excited. Oh, darlin’, we’re gonna have a wonderful life together, I just know it.”
“Me too, baby.” Rick threw his head back and hollered at the ceiling. “Ya-a-a-a-a-ay! He said yes. He wants me as much as I want him.”
Ed decided to do some hollering himself. “I’m Rick Benton’s one-man band, world. I’m the luckiest guy on the whole damned planet.”
Rick jumped to his feet. “C’mon. I don’t care how wet or cold it is out there. If I don’t run, and jump up and down, I’m gonna explode. C’mon, baby!”
Rick grabbed Ed’s hand, and together they ran outside, whooping and hollering. They ran through the woods, shouting for joy, jumping over puddles, and swinging from convenient tree branches. They finally paused by the lakeshore, arms around each other, panting and laughing.
“Oh, Ed,” Rick whispered, holding Ed tight. “I promise you, even through the bad times, even through the times we get so disgusted we almost hate each other, I promise I’ll love you as much as I do right now.”
Ed didn’t answer him. Instead he picked up the stick Rick had used the day before to carve their names in the mud. He added his own words, below Rick’s. ED LOVES RICK 4 EVER.
“‘Cause I do, darlin. I really do.”
Chapter Twenty-two
It sucks, but all good things must come to an end. By dusk that Sunday night, Ed and Rick were back in Rick’s car, heading south. When Rick had them safely on the interstate, they began to talk, getting specific about their immediate plans.
“At some point,” Rick was saying, “I want us to rent a U-Haul and head down to Indy. I sold almost all of my furniture before I moved up here, but I have a few things stored at my parents’ house. The rest of my books, my records”—he grinned at Ed—“which aren’t nearly as cool as yours are; my kitchen stuff. I also have my favorite reading chair and floor lamp, which I think will go great in the west corner of your—I mean, our—living room.”
“Anything you want, darlin’,” Ed said, reaching for Rick’s hand.
“I’ve also got my bed, which isn’t any bigger or better than yours, but we might as well haul it up here. When we can afford it, I’d really like to get a bigger bed for us. I know we usually end up right next to each other, but we’re big guys, and I think a bigger bed would be more practical, especially if my back goes out again.”
Ed laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t exactly like bunking on the couch.”
“I really want us to sit down before this happens and go over your budget, too. I intend to pay for half of everything, but I was thinking, since you’re already doing fine with the mortgage payments, maybe instead of paying half, I’d made an extra mortgage payment every month. That would get us out of debt faster.”
Ed shook his head in wonder. “You’ve really thought this all out. I think that’s a great idea.”
“Well, things will be a little tight for a while, because I still want to send some money Claire’s way to help with stuff for the kids. I’ve given up on the idea of a newer car for me, and I don’t suppose we’ll be able to do any of the traveling I’d like us to do when my vacation kicks in, but I’m willing to sacrifice it all, if it means being with you and building toward our future together. What do you think, baby?”
“I feel the same way, darlin’. It all sounds great, except for one thing.”
“What?”
Ed leaned over the gearshift and whispered in Rick’s ear. “When.”
Rick sighed heavily. “I know. That’s the only sticking point. I meant to talk about it this afternoon, but I got so carried away with the other stuff, I let it go.” He sighed again, taking his hand away from Ed’s to rub his eyes. “I’m worried about the kids’ reaction to all of this. I mean, it was just a little more than a year ago that Hank took off. I don’t want them to think they’re being abandoned again.”
“Darlin’, you’re just moving across town.”
“I know. I want to break the news to Claire first, then sit down and have a really good talk with the kids. Fortunately they’re crazy about you, and I want them to understand they’re not losing an uncle, they’re gaining one. I also want to reassure them they can call or come over anytime they need me. Baby, please understand. I can’t leave until I know they’re okay with it. I just can’t.”
Ed looked out the window, barely seeing the WELCOME TO INDIANA sign and the lights of the Indiana Toll Road ahead. He thought about how much he had hoped to have Rick with him before the tulips bloomed. Now he wondered if that would happen. Already, it seemed, the warm glow of their weekend together was fading.
He took Rick’s hand, determined to keep his disappointment to himself. “I understand, darlin’. I want you to do exactly what you need to do, because I want you to move in happy and guilt-free. But do you think”—he chuckled—“you can give me a guess as to when? Not to be pushy or anything.”
Rick glanced at him, his warm and tender special reassuring Ed it would work out in their favor. “Soon, baby,” he said. “Soon.”
* * * * *
Rick dropped Ed off at his house, telling Ed he didn’t want to come in, as it was late and he had to get to bed for work the next day.
“Soon we’ll be together all the time, I promise,” he said, kissing Ed in the car.
Ed could feel Rick’s longing in the kiss, a longing that matched his own.
“We’re not just building castles in the air, baby.” Rick stroked Ed’s hair. “We just gotta get through a few details.”
Ed piled his stuff by the back door, then watched Rick drive away. He opened the door to a meowing Jett, a note from his mother telling him he was out of milk for the cat, and—he couldn’t believe it—a ringing phone.
“Aw, crud,” he muttered, kicking a pile of bedding across the kitchen floor. “I guess I’m home.”
Was he home, he wondered as the evening wore on, or in hell? He took no less than four calls for jobs that had to be done, “as soon as you can get here, Ed, I really need you.” His mother called from the warpath, complaining that Jett had tried to bite her when she stopped by the house to feed him, and told Ed he could just find some other fool to feed that beast the next time he took it into his head to run off. Ed was about to take the phone off the hook when Norma called back to tell him she’d smelled something funny in the refrigerator and just when had he last cleaned it? He finally crawled into bed, setting the alarm an hour earlier than usual, hoping to get a jump start on Monday’s work.
Rick called Monday morning. Two people were home sick with the flu at the post office, and he’d been assigned extra work. Not only that, he said, but Josh had put off a project for school until the last minute, so now Rick’s next two evenings would be spent helping the boy build a desert landscape for his geography class.
“Way things are going, baby, I probably won’t see you until Wednesday, but I’ll try to call you tonight, okay?”
Ed was stretched out on the sofa when Rick finally called late Monday evening.
“It may have taken God only six days to create the world,” Rick sighed heavily over the phone, “but how He got the deserts done so fast I’ll never know. I think Josh’s ambitions for this thing outreach his artistic abilities. Mine too, for that matter. I am wiped out, baby. I’m going to bed as soon as I finish talking to you.”
“I probably will too,” Ed commiserated. “I can’t believe how much crap broke down in this town while we were gone.”
“You’re just the glue that holds it together, baby,” Rick teased.
“Some glue,” Ed said, wincing at the s
ound of Jett sharpening his claws on the sofa. He reached over to swat him away. “The only thing I could stick to right now, besides you, is my bed. And as for this cat, he’s going to end up losing either his claws or his balls. He’s really being a pain in the ass. Mom did nothing but bitch about him, and I’m waiting for one of the neighbors to come to the door with a paternity suit.”
Rick chuckled. “Ah, things are indeed back to normal, only more so, if that’s possible.”
Ed’s mind wandered back to the quiet lake, the uninterrupted time they’d had together, and their talk on Sunday afternoon.
“Rick, were we fooling ourselves?”
“No,” Rick said emphatically. “Things are going to work out in time. We’re just back in that damned Real World everyone talks about. Oh, we might have gotten a little carried away, being alone in such a peaceful place, but something tells me no matter what we end up doing, things are still gonna break down, people will still get sick, and at some point you’ll probably get mad at me over something and throw a hammer at me. Romantic weekends are great, baby,” he sighed, “but it ain’t Christmas every day.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Ed agreed.
Still, he felt a little reassured. Rick was right. He was simply overreacting to a bad Monday. Things would soon calm down.
Or so he thought. Tuesday afternoon, after his usual Tuesday morning with Mrs. Heston, was a repeat of the day before, as he found himself running from job to job, repairing everything from broken windows to leaky faucets. He ended the day at Mrs. West’s, who had insisted he stop by and rehang a bird feeder that had been knocked out of her maple tree by some hungry squirrels. He climbed her stepladder, bird feeder in hand, feeling, as Rick would say, wiped out. He clung to a tree limb for a moment, trying to gather the energy to descend the ladder without repeating his disaster at Rick’s parents’.
“Ed?” Mrs. West called from her back steps. “Look at this banister.” She gave the wrought-iron railing on her steps a good shake. “See how loose this is? Can you reinforce this for me today? I can just see myself taking a tumble like poor Gladys Mertzel, breaking a hip.”
Ed slowly climbed back to earth and said apologetically, “Mrs. West, I am really beat right now. Can I take care of it in the morning?”
Mrs. West squinted at him. “Why, Ed, you don’t look very good. You coming down with something? There’s lots of flu going around, you know.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” He grabbed the ladder, which seemed to weigh a ton.
“You just stick the ladder in the garage,” Mrs. West commanded. “I don’t want you coming in the house if you’re sick.”
“Oh, I’m just really tired,” he replied. “It’s been a long week, and it’s only Tuesday.”
“Still,” Mrs. West said doubtfully. “You go right home and get some rest. You call me tomorrow before you come back over here. Last thing I need is to be around a sick person.”
“I’m not sick,” he mumbled. “Just tired.”
By midevening he’d changed that tune. Yes, he admitted, he was sick, but surely it was no more than a cold, probably brought on by the cold, damp air at the lake cabin. He told Rick as much when he called before bedtime.
“We’re up to three people off with the flu at work. Are you sure it’s just a cold? Maybe you should check in with your doctor.”
“Aw, crud,” Ed muttered. “Why is everybody so determined to give me the flu? I’m a little run-down, and I caught a cold. No big deal. I’ll stay home tomorrow, take some aspirin, and I’ll be back at it on Thursday.”
Rick sighed. “Well, I sure wish I was there to play nurse for you, like you did for me that time with my back, but we’re so swamped at work, I’m not gonna have any time to myself tomorrow. Thank God this desert is built. It ain’t no Sahara, but it’ll do.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m probably better off here alone anyway. No sense in you catching my cooties.” Ed paused to cough. “Hell, there’s enough of ’em floating around that post office.”
“Baby, you don’t sound well at all,” Rick said, a trace of worry in his voice. “You take it real easy, you hear? I promise to stop by sometime tomorrow afternoon, or tomorrow night.”
“With some butter pecan?” Ed teased.
“If that’s what you want, you got it.”
“No, I want rocky road. Bring me some ice cream, and I’ll relieve you of any guilt for not being here.”
After canceling his Wednesday jobs, Ed went to bed, falling asleep almost before he had the covers pulled back. He tossed and turned more than usual, and finally woke up at three to take more aspirin. The phone woke him up five hours later.
“Ed? It’s your mother. What’s this I hear about you being sick over there?”
“Oh, Mom-m-m,” he groaned. “Who told you that?”
“Rick called here this morning, all worried about you. I knew he was a good man. He said he couldn’t get over there to see you until tonight, and wanted me to check up on you. I already made an appointment with Dr. Weisberg. You be in his office at ten-fifteen, you hear? Do you want me to take you?”
“Aw, crud,” Ed moaned. “Dr. Weisberg? Mom, I’m not that sick, I just have a cold.”
“I’ll just bet you only have a cold,” Norma barked. “Oh, I know you, Ed Stephens. You never admit when you’re sick. Just like your father. This town is full of flu right now, and you’ve got it, you just won’t admit it. I’ll be over there at ten to drive you to the doctor’s. Honestly. How would you survive if I wasn’t looking out for you?”
“I don’t have an answer to that question right now, Mom,” he said, raspy-voiced, clinging to the wall. Standing upright seemed to take an enormous effort. “But if you insist on hauling me off to Weisberg’s office, I’ll be ready. Like I have a choice.”
Ed managed to get himself dressed and ready by ten o’clock, but it was quite an effort.
“Everyone wanted me to have the flu,” he grumbled, feeding the cat, “so now I’ve got it. Okay, everybody, are you happy?” He coughed long and hard, almost scaring Jett away from his bowl. “Damn,” he said to the cat, “I feel like shit.”
As usual, Dr. Weisberg was running late. Ed sat slumped in a chair, wanting to stretch out on the floor. His coughs echoed around the room along with those of several other miserable patients.
“Oh, this place is just a disease pit,” Norma hissed to him. “Why doctors stopped making house calls, I’ll never know. Why, I remember that ear infection you had in kindergarten. I called Dr. Weisberg and he came right over. The state of medicine today is a disgrace.”
“I’ll be sure and tell the doctor that, Mom,” Ed whispered, giving up on the magazine in his lap. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on it.
“Humph. Old goat should be retired by now anyway,” Norma mumbled. “They’ll probably carry his dead body out of this office, still wearing his stethoscope. Still,” she allowed, “he’s done right by our family all these years. Why, I remember the night you were born, him standing over me chewing gum of all things. Held you up and told me you were a boy. Now look at you. Sick as a dog.”
Ed didn’t quite follow that, but chalked it up to either his mother’s usual ramblings, or the fact that the flu that had taken over his thought process along with everything else.
The nurse, who was almost as old as Dr. Weisberg, called his name. He stumbled into the examining room she indicated, and collapsed on a chair. In here, at least, he was safe from more of Norma’s comments on modern medicine and family history.
Dr. Weisberg shuffled in a few minutes later, his usual kindly doctor’s expression on his wrinkled face.
“Well, there, Ed,” he said cheerfully. “Looks like the flu to me. I can tell that from here. You’re the fourth one I’ve seen today.”
Great, Ed thought. He had gotten out of bed and put up with his mother for an hour to be told what he already knew.
“Nasty strain moving through town right now,” Dr. Weisberg continued, sho
ving a thermometer under Ed’s tongue with a palsied hand. “Bad time of the year, early spring. People think it’s behind them, but it’s still hanging around to knock them down.”
The doctor checked Ed’s blood pressure, then put his cold stethoscope on Ed’s chest. He removed the thermometer, squinting at it through his glasses.
“A hundred and two,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Not good, there, Ed. Still, you’re young and strong, you’ll beat this off in a few days. I’m going to write you a prescription, though. Thing I’m worried about with the late winter flu is pneumonia setting in. People think it’s warm and they can do whatever they want. I can just see you out there with that toolbox before you’re healthy enough for work. I don’t care who calls you, you stay home and tell them to wait, or call someone else, for at least a week. No sense spreading this around anymore.”
“How am I suppose to pay you if I’m not working?” Ed asked sourly.
Dr. Weisberg laughed. “Oh, we’ll get the money out of you one way or another. You just stay in bed, drink lots of fluids, and keep up with the aspirin, along with this antibiotic.”
The doctor hobbled over to the sink to wash his hands. Ed had to admit that Norma was right about one thing: Dr. Weisberg was way past normal retirement age. The doctor had never been anything but kind to Ed, and Ed genuinely liked the old man, but watching him fumble with the paper towel dispenser, Ed knew he’d want someone else if stitches or surgery were required.
“You come back in a week if you’re not any better,” Dr. Weisberg said on his way out of the room. “But I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”
Norma deposited Ed at home, then took off for the drugstore. She returned with a bottle of pills and brought one in to Ed, who was in bed, Jett by his side. She gave the cat a dirty look, but managed to keep her thoughts about him to herself. Ed took the pill and gratefully sipped the orange juice she had brought as well.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, trying to smile at her. “I feel like I’m ten years old again.”
“Humph. Sometimes you act like a ten-year-old. Well, unless you need anything else, I’m going home. You can call me. Honestly, this family would go to hell in a handcart if I wasn’t around.”