by JD Ruskin
Logan grunted and headed for the door.
Caleb grabbed Logan’s hand before he could escape. “Thank you.” At Logan’s questioning look, he clarified, “Three years is a long time not to see the smog-covered stars.”
Squeezing Caleb’s fingers, Logan said, “You’ll be sucking up exhaust fumes and dodging taxis in no time.”
When Logan said it, Caleb could almost make himself believe it.
CALEB OPENED his closet and frowned at the contents. Stacks of neatly folded but worn-looking T-shirts and sweats lined the wooden shelves. The only hanging clothes were a faded green hoodie and a Cubs pullover. Months ago, he had badgered Marco into accepting his nicer clothes for his two teenage sons, who at fourteen and fifteen were already nearly six feet tall. It felt good to have the reminders of his old life gone and be able to help Marco’s family. He had kept the comfortable clothes he had lived in during college and tossed his ragged collection of ill-fitting jeans. He had thought about replacing some of the items since he had put on a bit of weight and muscle. He even went online to buy them, and much to his amusement, he found that new jeans looked more distressed than the ones he had tossed. He had gotten as far as the checkout before closing the browser. Why bother replacing them? He didn’t have anybody to impress. Except today of course. When Logan’s parole officer was supposed to stop by for a visit. Caleb sighed, closing the closet door. It was too late to do anything about his lack of wardrobe.
Through the peephole, Caleb spied a man with a salt and pepper beard and square-rimmed glasses. Giving himself a mental reminder not to act like a freak, Caleb took a deep breath. He wiped his clammy hands against his sweatpants before unlocking the door and opening it.
Caleb shook hands with Logan’s parole officer as they exchanged greetings. Stepping back, he said, “P-please come in Mr. Dabb.”
Dabb wore khaki shorts and a polo shirt, which shouldn’t have been surprising considering the heat, but it was. I can see the man’s toes, Caleb thought absurdly. Dragging his eyes from the man’s sandals, he asked, “Would you like some water or lemonade?”
The lines around Dabb’s eyes and sprinkling of gray in his dark hair and beard put him likely in his mid-forties. He had the kind of face that got better with age; his body was compact and fit looking. His blue-gray eyes seemed to be taking in the details of the room when he spoke. “Lemonade would be great.”
Caleb gestured for Dabb to have a seat on the couch while he headed for the kitchen. He pulled out a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and filled two glasses. He then added frozen lemonade cubes from the freezer. He had frozen a raspberry in the middle of each ice cube, which was seriously overdoing it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He had spent an embarrassing amount of time this morning deciding which raspberries to select.
“I appreciate you taking the time to see me, Mr. Klass,” Dabb said as he settled onto the couch with a weary sigh. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“You can call me Caleb and I’m happy to help Logan however I can.” He brought the glasses into the main room, handing Dabb the lemonade before sitting on the couch as well.
Dabb took a small sip from the glass. “Oh, wow. The real kind.” He took a deeper drink. “God, that’s good.” He put the glass on a coaster on the coffee table and opened his briefcase. “Let’s take care of the preliminaries.” He took out a file folder and a pad of paper. “I’d like your permission to ask you a few questions. If you’re not comfortable answering at any time, just let me know.”
“O-okay.”
Dabb clicked open a pen, his hand poised over the pad of paper. “Are you on disability?”
Caleb took a deep drink from his glass to give himself more time, the lemonade tart and sweet on his tongue. His mother had been forced to go on disability, and he swore he wouldn’t follow in her footsteps. “No, I have my own internet-based business. I offer services such as website creation, copywriting and editing of web pages, and interactive features such as surveys, basic flash animations, and customer ordering systems.”
“You don’t need to meet with clients?”
Caleb paused, wondering how much Logan and his uncle had told the man. He knew his aversion to having strangers in his home bordered on social phobia. He didn’t know why he cared what Dabb thought of him, but he did. “It’s mostly handled through e-mail or on the phone. Whatever can’t be sent to me electronically is sent to my PO box. I generally deal with small businesses that want a site that will get noticed without a lot of cost or difficulty maintaining. I also have a number of steady customers that have me maintain their sites on a weekly or monthly basis.”
“It sounds like a lot of work.”
Caleb smiled weakly. “More like a lot of little work. I charge by the hour and negotiate with the client on an estimated time to complete the job. The Internet boom isn’t what it used to be, but more and more businesses are creating sites so customers can easily find information about them or to advertise promotions.”
Dabb clicked the pen several times. “Will Logan be required to pick up alcohol for you?”
“No, I don’t drink alcohol. And the grocery store knows not to add anything to the order without hearing from me directly.” He had learned his lesson the hard way. His uncle had been furious when he found out the first man he hired had been slipping in booze and charging it to Caleb’s account. Caleb had been more dismayed at the thought of having to invite a new stranger into his apartment. Screwed up priorities? Yep.
“That’s good. Logan’s continued success with AA is a condition of his parole.” Dabb scribbled some more in his notebook before continuing. “I’ve expressed concerns with… your uncle about the appropriateness of Logan helping you in this capacity.”
Caleb heard the same reproach in Dabb’s voice toward his uncle that he had heard in Logan’s. He felt the ridiculous urge to stamp his feet and declare he wasn’t a child in need of protection. The irony didn’t make him any less annoyed.
Dabb must have seen some of that in Caleb’s face, because he raised a bushy eyebrow. “There are qualified individuals who could help you with your situation.” His voice softened, sounding less formal. “If money’s an issue, there are programs designed to help.”
“I don’t want a nurse.” The gravel in his voice startled even him. He cleared his throat. “I know there are people better trained to deal with panic attacks and Logan is more likely to be shocked or even horrified by it.” He paused, needing to take a deep breath. Talking about this with Dabb made him feel as if his ribs were being compressed by a python. He shifted in his seat and told himself he was getting enough air. “I absolutely hate the idea of it happening in front of him.” He wasn’t sure he could face Logan after he had seen how pathetic the panic made him. “Every time I’m able to open that door and let him in, it’s a tiny victory.” He wasn’t comfortable talking to Dabb about Logan helping him leave the apartment. He hadn’t even mentioned it to his uncle, who’d been trying to get him to see a therapist for years. It was too new and too fragile.
Dabb sat silently for a dozen heartbeats, looking at Caleb with those hawk eyes of his as if peeling away at the skin to get to the tasty meat. When he spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion, listing off the details without needing to look at the file in his hands. “A girl sat next to Logan at the bar and started flirting with him. He was too wasted to pay her much mind until her boyfriend showed up.” He paused, his eyes asking if it was okay to continue. Caleb nodded his assent, not trusting himself to speak.
Dabb didn’t look convinced, but he continued anyway. “The guy took a swing at Logan and Logan tossed him over a five-foot bar and into the glass shelves holding the liquor bottles.” He opened his briefcase and took out an eight-by-ten color photo, plopping it on the couch between them.
Caleb looked at the photo, unable to touch it, feeling his chest tighten. The picture showed a close-up of a man’s partially shaved head. A long gash held together with more than two do
zen stitches ran from the middle of his forehead to the back of his ear. The skin was puckered and angry looking.
“Logan wasn’t done yet.” Dabb pulled out another photo, showing the smashed shelves and the floor covered in blood, glass, and liquor. “He climbed on the bar to go after the boyfriend. Three guys tried to stop him.” He pulled out a stack of five-by-seven photographs. He laid out the photos like a card dealer, listing off the injuries sustained to the men who tried to prevent Logan from hurting the man further. “Fractured wrist, broken nose, dislocated shoulder, and numerous bruises and cuts.” Logan had been enraged and unstoppable.
Caleb gathered the photos and handed them back to Dabb. “You’re showing me these because you think he’ll start drinking again and do something to hurt me?”
“I know this doesn’t feel real that the guy who’s been delivering your mail is capable of doing something like this. But he is. He did.”
Caleb felt like someone had poured sand down his throat. He took a deep drink from his glass before continuing. “I know how weird it is that checking the mail is more terrifying than having an ex-con bring it to me.” It was the truth. He wasn’t afraid of Logan, even if he should be for more reasons than Logan’s record. He looked at his drink. The glass was cold and slick against his hands; the contents rippled ever so slightly.
“I’m not judging you. I want Logan to succeed.” Dabb pulled off his glasses and began polishing them with the bottom of his shirt. “I also want to limit the damage if he fails.”
Caleb swallowed hard, the lemonade feeling like acid churning in his stomach. “What do you want me to do?”
“I think I should force him to find another part-time job. I think you’d both be better off. I’ll help him find another one.”
Caleb put his glass on the coffee table, afraid it would shatter in his tightening grip. “If you think that’s best for Logan,” he said, stressing the name, because he didn’t want Dabb’s pity or his protection. “Then I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”
“You still want him working for you after seeing those?” Dabb gestured toward the closed file folder. “I won’t hold it against him or you if you want to hire someone else.”
Dabb was right. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t imagine the man he had gotten to know over the past few weeks capable of such a brutal attack. Could the booze really change him so much? What if he starts drinking again? He reined in that line of thinking. It wasn’t fair to Logan. “I refuse to be afraid Logan might slip back into bad habits. He’s earned the right for a second chance.”
Dabb looked Caleb in the eyes for the next few moments, and then he sighed. “Let’s give it a couple of weeks. I’ll look into some prospects for another job in the meanwhile.” He handed Caleb a business card. “Call me if you have any problems.”
Caleb accepted the card numbly, wondering if he would ever get his own second chance. Not to get his old life back, but a new one. Where he would select his own produce. Eat a hotdog bigger than his head at the ballpark. Go to a movie with a friend. They had seemed like impossible goals only a few weeks ago, but a flicker of hope burned in his belly.
“Caleb.” Dabb said it like it hadn’t been the first time. “Come lock the door after me.”
Caleb shook off the thoughts and rose. Dabb stood in the threshold with a pained look on his face. “Take care of yourself,” he said, making it sound like an order instead of a request.
Something in Dabb’s intense gaze made Caleb’s stomach clench. Uncle Harrison looked at my mother that way. He didn’t want to be seen as fragile, breakable.
Caleb smiled stiffly. “I will. Thank you.” Only after he had secured the door, did he hear Dabb walking away, his feet pounding on the steps.
Flopping on the leather couch, Caleb covered his face with his arms. His mother would be devastated to know how far he had sunk since her death. When she got upset, her heart would race and she would get dizzy, even faint if she got flustered enough. Caleb tried very hard never to be the cause. When the panic attacks first appeared, he did everything he could to keep her from finding out about them. The campus doctors subjected him to a barrage of tests to see if he had a heart condition like his mother. The tests all said the same thing. His heart was fine. His head was screwed up. He managed to hide it from her until six months into his first job after graduating. He had been pushing hard to meet a deadline for a client, living on caffeine and too little sleep. His meltdown occurred in the middle of a family dinner. His uncle used to say she would worry herself into an early grave if she wasn’t careful. That was exactly what she did. And her son had helped put her there.
LOGAN LEANED against the front of the apartment building, trying to give Caleb time to get his shit together. On Friday, they’d only made it a block before Caleb needed to turn back. He’d probably spent the weekend berating himself, in spite of Logan’s attempt to reassure him that he’d made it further than he’d been in three years. Logan knew without a doubt that the only reason Caleb was standing here was that he wanted to help Logan and saw this as the only way to do it. I’m helping him too, he told his bristling pride. Squatting, he pressed his shoulder against Caleb. As Caleb tried to stop gasping like a dying goldfish on the exhaust-thickened air, Logan eyed the flow of people shuffling on the sidewalk. The late-morning traffic wasn’t too bad, and the weather had cooled to a balmy 70 degrees. Most of the business commuters were already tucked away in their cubicles, and the teens that seemed to wander the streets endlessly in the summer were still snoring in their beds. Those that remained were an eclectic collection: power-walkers, nannies and their charges, wide-eyed tourists, people trying to walk and text on cell phones and doing a piss poor job of it, real and wannabe homeboys, and the invisible vagrants with their pushcarts and layers of baggy clothing.
He leaned close to Caleb’s ear to speak over the murmur of voices and the sounds of traffic. “Do you think that guy,” he said, tilting his head toward a middle-aged man with a hideous Hawaiian shirt, “knows the chick he’s hitting on has a dick?”
That got Caleb’s attention. He stopped hyperventilating long enough to sneak a peek. The tranny had platinum-blond hair down to her pert ass and she was playing with the guy’s copious chest hair with her blood-red nails. She caught them gawking, and her eyes locked with Logan’s for a moment before trailing to Caleb. A wicked smile crossed her lips, and Logan had the irrational urge to haul Caleb upstairs and hide him away. Great, I can add possessive to my list of admirable traits. He pushed off the wall, dragging Caleb with him. It was only two blocks to Meng’s Market, but it seemed to take forever.
“People are staring at me,” Caleb said, his voice barely audible over his ragged breathing.
Logan wished he could put his arm around his shoulders, but he didn’t want to draw any more attention to them. They were turning heads all right. Men and women were swiveling their heads to check out Caleb’s ass, encased in a pair of gray sweats that looked glued on. His long-sleeved white T-shirt was so thin Logan could just make out Caleb’s tight nipples. Caleb’s luscious lips were parted slightly and his breathing heavy, like any second he was gonna throw his head back and come. Yeah, they’re staring. Wondering how I can afford such a hot rentboy.
“Who says they’re looking at you? Remember back to when you first met me.”
Caleb remained quiet for a few steps. “Does it bother you?”
Up ahead, Logan spotted a mother and her young son. She pulled the boy in close and inched over until she was as far away as she could get on the sidewalk. Her wary eyes never left Logan until she’d passed by them.
“No big deal.” When Logan glanced away, he caught Caleb giving him a look that seemed to say so much: bullshit and I’m sorry and they’re idiots.
Caleb squeezed his elbow. “I guess I should be happy my freakiness is curable.” He bumped Logan’s arm. “You’re stuck being a giant.”
“Smartass.” Logan flicked the back of Caleb’s ear.
&nbs
p; Caleb gave him a toothy grin, not looking the least bit chagrined. He then stopped. “We’re here.”
Logan stepped through the sliding door, trusting Caleb to follow. Caleb licked his lips, his eyes darting around the store as if counting the potential number of witnesses if he fell apart. His eyes lit when he spotted Min and Mr. Meng approaching. With a squeal of delight, Min wrapped her arms around Caleb, hugging him close. Logan felt that ridiculous urge again, wanting to peel Min off Caleb. Caleb didn’t look any happier about Min touching him. Logan tried not to be happy about that.
Oblivious to or maybe in spite of Caleb’s discomfort, Min took hold of Caleb’s hand, snatched a box from below the counter, and dragged him toward the back of the store. Logan leaned against the counter, enjoying the view of Caleb’s retreating backside. Just as they reached the dairy case, Min looked over her shoulder and giggled in a way that could only mean trouble. A yank on his sleeve had Logan glancing down at the storeowner.
“You dating Mister Klass?”
Amused, Logan peered at the old guy. “Not yet.”
Meng nodded thoughtfully before walking away. A few minutes later, he returned, carrying a large plastic bag. Holding out the bag with both hands, he offered it to Logan with his head bowed. Confused, Logan accepted the frozen bag of… something. Through the frosty plastic, he saw what looked like an earthworm on steroids with tentacles glued to its face.