by Cubed, Magen
He shook her hand. “Deal.”
VII.
The basketball court was full of new faces as Adam took an empty seat toward the back of the room. He sat and listened to Dr. Bell give his weekly pep talks on acceptance and recovery. New faces soaked it in with nods or downcast eyes. The dog tags at his neck felt less of a weight than they ever had before, resting on his chest through the fabric of his T-shirt. They were just objects in space, extensions of himself like his shirt or his shoes or his car parked on the curb. He didn’t speak up or introduce himself or tell his story this time. Instead, he listened and took comfort in his rickety chair, the cold coffee on the table in the corner, and the sound of wind rattling at the door to the parking lot. He took comfort in familiar mantras and the low intonations of Dr. Bell’s voice, and felt just a little brighter.
When Adam left, he found Bridger waiting for him on the sidewalk. Bridger pulled off his dark sunglasses to let them hang from the collar of his shirt. Adam pulled on his jacket. He wasn’t sure if he could look directly at Bridger right now, feeling at a sudden and distinct disadvantage.
“Did you follow me?” he asked.
He had left early that morning while Norah got Hannah ready for the day and Clara paced around the kitchen on the phone with her mother. When Adam made his escape to the VA center, Bridger was still asleep, murmuring about fire and water. Adam needed to clear his head, take a walk, and get some perspective on things in the boarding house.
“I was in the neighborhood tying up some loose ends,” Bridger said gently. Adam hated that he couldn’t tell if he was lying. “I didn’t see you this morning, but I had a feeling you might be here.”
“Was it a hunch?”
Bridger definitely smiled this time. “It’s a psychic thing.”
Adam shrugged. “I’m just tying up some loose ends for myself, I guess.”
“I thought you stopped coming a while back.”
“I did. But sometimes it helps to see how far I’ve come since I was last here.”
“Ah.” Bridger leaned against the hood of the car and put his hands in his pockets. “You know, you look remarkably miserable for somebody who saved the day this week.”
“I’m not miserable.” Adam was the one who almost smiled this time. “I just didn’t save much of anything.”
“You did more than me. I was passed out on the floor, remember? And I think Hannah tried to draw on my face, too.”
“Oh, I’ve done my time as a babysitter, so I know. And she always uses permanent marker on me.” Adam sighed. “We did the right thing, didn’t we?”
“Of course we did.”
“I mean, yeah, we stopped him, but that doesn’t change anything else. A lot of people are still dead and we can’t fix that. I just thought that, when all of this was over, it’d feel over, you know? It’d feel like a big win. Now, I can’t really tell how I feel.”
“At the risk of sounding like somebody’s dad,” Bridger offered, “life isn’t about wins or losses. It’s about action and inaction. You did something. You took a stand. We all did. Wrong or right, that’s what counts in the end.”
“I guess so.” Adam looked to the ground, licked his lips, and stalled for time. Still, he couldn’t stop the words that tried to crawl out, push past his teeth, and peel back his lips to spit themselves all over him. “I don’t think I can be your friend anymore.”
That drew Bridger up short in a visible wince. “Adam.”
“Don’t, okay? I don’t mean it like that. Look, I know I said before that I was fine with whatever this is, but I’m not. I’m just not. And I know you’re not okay with that right now, but I can’t do this. I mean, yeah, maybe you’re right and the cancer kills you. Or maybe none of us will ever die. Or maybe the worst thing that happens is that you’re a midlife crisis on wheels and this is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, but I don’t care about that. I just don’t want to spend whatever time we do have being afraid of what could happen.”
Bridger blinked. “Who said I was a midlife crisis on wheels?”
Adam shrugged. “Norah.”
“Not totally inaccurate, I guess. Actually, that’s why I’m here. I really wanted to talk to you.”
Adam fidgeted under his jacket. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them to himself. “About what?”
“The other day, after you called me looking for White, I blacked out. I had a dream, and you were in it.”
Adam couldn’t help but smirk. “Wow. Does that line actually work on people?”
“Shut up. Anyway, look, I had a vision, okay? But this one was clear. It was... tactile, like I was there. Something happens to the city, and we end up scattered, trying to deal with it. And you were there, too. But you were different. You were older, tougher. You were our leader, if that makes any sense at all. But we’re together, okay? You and me. In the future, I survive the cancer, and we’re in love, and we take care of each other.”
“Yeah?” Adam swallowed. Hope made his stomach tremble.
“Yeah,” Bridger said, giving himself the latitude to move in closer. He didn’t mention the destruction, the fires, or the gray skies. There would be time for that another day. “And when I saw that me—that other guy from the future? I was jealous of what he had, because he got to be with you and take care of you. He was happy despite everything. And I know I don’t get to have it both ways like this and drag you around until I feel better about the things, but I’m in this now, okay? I’m in this for as long as you want me around.”
Adam shook his head. “You are so stupid. Did you practice that?”
“Well, yeah,” Bridger admitted reluctantly. “On the bus ride over. Can you really tell?”
“Yes, you idiot. But what about your wife?”
“The papers are signed. I’m not going back. I can’t now. She knows that.”
“So, are we really doing this?”
“I want to.” Bridger shrugged. “And look, I haven’t dated anybody since before you were born, but I’d like to give it a shot, if you’d let me.”
Adam sighed. “You know we’ll never hear the end of it. The cradle-robbing jokes will never stop.”
“Fuck them. If the others don’t like it, they can pay rent. I’m not dealing with Clara’s sarcasm for free.”
Adam laughed. It was a happy and loving sound, though wetness crept unbidden into the corners of his eyes. Bridger took Adam’s face between his hands and felt the warmth of him under his fingers. Adam sighed again and leaned into the touch. He felt like he could swell up and float away and Bridger would be there to keep him.
“So, will you do me the honor, Adam James Harlow,” Bridger asked, “of letting me be your old man?”
“Yes.” Closing his hands around Bridger’s wrists to root them to the spot, Adam smiled. “You can be my old man.”
Epilogue
The party was Clara’s idea. She brought it up over breakfast one morning while her housemates were gathering around the dining room table with coffee, toast, juice and cereal. It felt right to put hot dogs and burgers on the grill, Norah’s collection of Electric Light Orchestra albums in the stereo, and half the stock of Ned’s Beer and Wine in the ice chest. Because they had survived, Clara said, and didn’t they deserve something to show for it? Didn’t they deserve to be happy, if only for one day? Even Kyle couldn’t come up with a reason to say no as Hannah bounced in agreement, coming up with plans for decorations and party favors.
So, Clara and Adam volunteered to decorate the backyard with tea lights and streamers while Norah walked Hannah through the neighborhood with copies of her handmade invitations. They knocked on doors to invite any children whose parents would let them attend. Bridger and Kyle were put in charge of procuring the alcohol and animal parts, coming home with six-packs and liquor bottles tucked under each arm and every kind of kosher meat known to man. Clara bought three piñatas from the party supply store. Adam manned the grill, citing decades of family camping trips and Fourth of
July barbeques as experience. Norah levitated the dining room table outside to serve as the buffet station while Kyle and Bridger picked up cheap folding tables and chairs and set them up around the yard. Before long, the backyard was something like an oasis.
By 5:00, the first neighborhood kids started knocking on the front door and timidly asking if they had the right address. By dark, the backyard was full of six-, seven- and eight-year-olds running and laughing and eating the candy from the pulped remains of Clara’s piñatas. Hannah was explaining the finer points of Star Trek to a boy with curly, black hair, and Clara was coaxing Adam to help her teach three girls dressed as Disney princesses how to dance. Norah laughed into her third beer over Clara’s elaborate choreography, and she laughed at Adam’s beet-red ears when Bridger flipped through Clara’s questionable taste in albums in search of suitably embarrassing dance music. (It would stay G-rated, of course, because there were small children underfoot..) On the porch, nursing a tall glass of bourbon, Kyle watched on quietly and felt warm all over.
“This looks like quite the party,” came a voice from behind.
Glancing up, he found Amanda standing over his shoulder with a bottle of Crown. She held it out in tempting offer. She smiled. After a moment, he did, too.
“Hey,” he said. “Sergeant Sidhari.”
“Hey,” she said. “Mr. Jeong.”
“You made it.”
“You kidding? If Kyle Jeong asks you to go to a party, you better damn well go to that party.” She set the bottle down and sat beside him. “Although, I didn’t expect it to be quite so kid-friendly.”
“I live in the suburbs now,” he said. “Have to keep up appearances.”
“Indeed. Which reminds me, actually.” Amanda produced a slim manila folder from her bag and handed it to him. “This is more than just a social call. Sorry.”
“The Meinyk case?” he asked, skimming through the contents: rap sheets, mug shots, and crime scene photos of shootings and bloodied bodies with holes punched through them. “I haven’t seen this since I was on vice.”
“This came across my desk this morning. Narcotics has been trying to bust into the Meinyk operation for two years, but these guys are ghosts. Came out of Ukraine six years ago and brought a kind of drug trade we’ve never seen before. They had a guy in deep cover for the last eight months, but he was killed outside of a deli on the Russian side of the Hull. Shooter came up behind him and shot him in the middle of broad daylight. Major Cases are absorbing the investigation, but none of the witnesses are willing to ID a shooter. It’s hard to do my job when no one wants to help.”
“And you thought I’d have a look into it?”
“As a gesture of kindness and civic duty,” she said with feigned innocence. “From one friend to another.”
“Of course.” He closed the folder. “I’ll get started tonight.”
“Relax, Jeong,” she laughed. “The bad guys will still be there tomorrow. Just enjoy the party.”
As the sky overhead turned from purple to black, the raucous sounds of children playing filled the backyard of the house on Chelsea Street. From the safety of his perch, Kyle watched his friends dance and eat and laugh under the influence of alcohol and terrible music. Norah took Hannah by the hand to sway together as Clara played monster for a cluster of giggling children. Adam took his rest on Bridger’s knee after the older man sat at a folding table with a beer. Adam closed an arm around Bridger’s shoulder to play with the hair curling at the nape of his neck. With Amanda at his side, Kyle did what she asked of him. Because Clara had been right after all.
And for one night, in one neighborhood, in one city where impossible things happened, they were happy.
About the Author
Magen Cubed is an author of novels about monsters, superheroes, and various other kinds of strangeness. Her first novel Fleshtrap was released in 2013 from Post Mortem Press, and her superhero fiction series The Crashers kicks off with its first book in 2016. The Crashers: Koreatown is coming in 2017, along with several horror/paranormal romance novels about monsters and the people who love them. Magen also lives in Texas with a little dog named Cecil.
You can find more of her work at her website, or follow her on Amazon for updates on upcoming books.