Back Where He Started

by Jay Quinn

  Steve smiled. “All questions about the dogs? No more questions about me?”

  “Sure, when are you coming back?”

  “End of March or early April—it depends on how it goes. But I’ll be back with more money than a motherfucker and horny as hell.”

  I looked at him and smiled. “As pushy as you are, I doubt you’ll be all that horny.”

  Steve looked down at his mug of coffee and took a sip. “You don’t know me.” He put out his cigarette, took another out of his pack, and looked at me without any guile. “You don’t know me at all.”

  I lit a cigarette of my own, then lit his. So much smoking carried the weight of a lot of unspoken words. “I don’t know you, but I’m enjoying learning more about you,” I replied.

  “Most of the puppies are going to be picked up next Saturday. I’m only keeping two to gun-train. Heath’ll look after all my dogs. He always has.”

  I nodded. “Are you and Heath still …”

  “Knocking boots? Hell no. But we’re still good friends. And right now, I’m wishing my friend hadn’t gotten to you first.”

  I smiled and took his free hand. “It’s like this, Steve. I think you were absolutely right when I was at your house and you said you thought Heath probably had one foot out the door. I’ve been thinking the same thing for a while now. It wasn’t ever meant to be any big deal, both of us agreed on that. Okay?”

  Steve turned his hand under mine so he was holding my hand, not the other way around. “I might seem pushy, but I’m not a big horndog. I want you to know that. I’m pretty particular.”

  I smiled. “I am too. I can count on two fingers the men I’ve had sex with in the past 23 years. You ought to know I’m not in a big hurry to put a name on the other ones.”

  Steve put his cigarette in the ashtray and turned my hand palm up. He took my ring finger and fiddled in his jacket pocket for something. Pulling out a ballpoint pen, he clicked it and took the tip gently to my fingertip. After a second or two of ticklish business, he let go of my hand. I held my fingertip up and saw he’d written “Steve” there in black ink. I shivered.

  “Keep that one reserved for me, okay?” he said.

  Disturbed, I asked, “Steve, do you have any tattoos?”

  He looked at me searchingly before he replied. “No,” he said. “Not a one. Why? Do you have a thing for them?”

  I laughed. “Nope, I don’t. I can take them or leave them.”

  Steve looked at me, then at my hand, and jerked his head. “Just remember what’s on that finger when it washes off. I’m serious about wanting to know you better, man.”

  “I’ll remember it. When do you want me to come get my puppy?”

  “How about late Friday afternoon? About 5 o’clock. Saturday’s going to be a bitch and Sunday’s going to be worse with me leaving on Monday. Friday suit you?”

  “Friday’s fine.”

  “What are you going to name her? I need to get her papers ready for AKC. I thought I’d add your name in with the proper one.”

  I was at a loss. After I’d met the little girl puppy, “Tonka” sounded ridiculous. She’d been so shy at first, then she’d taken to my affection—as if she’d found a home, as if in the wrangle of puppies she’d become somebody. A trigger got pulled. I looked at Steve and laughed. “Nuala,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Nuala. It’s an Irish name.”

  “What the fuck kind of name is that for a dog? Nooh-lah, like moolah? Damn.”

  “It fits her. She’s somebody.”

  Again, Steve fished in his pocket. This time he pulled out a small wire-bound pad. He turned the sheets to an empty page, picked up his pen, and asked me to spell the name.

  “N-U-A-L-A,” I said.

  “Nuala. It looks better than it sounds.”

  I just smiled.

  He looked at me questioningly once more. I nodded and, with a shrug, he folded the pen and pad back into the pocket of his jacket. Without knowing it, he’d written two names on my heart.

  After a few more longing looks and unrewarded innuendos, Steve left and I took off to the grocery store. I decided if Susan and Trey couldn’t stay for a proper Sunday meal, they could certainly have a large Sunday brunch. Besides, I had Puppy Chow, dog biscuits, and chew toys to buy. As long as Nuala couldn’t outrun me, there was no need for a new collar or leash. Beau’s old collar and leash still hung on a hook by the kitchen door. I had already decided to retire them in his honor. Now, with a little girl dog, I could buy something bright and new when the time came.

  The grocery store errand filled what was left of my morning and early afternoon. With time still to kill before Susan’s and Trey’s arrival, I struck out for the beach, thinking a long walk would do me a world of good. I had much still swirling in my head. Though Thursday’s snow was long gone, my thoughts were still as disorganized as that improbable, chaotic flurry.

  The beach was cold, but with the wind calm, it was only just brisk. I was the only one out in the wintry sun. The ocean was as still as a bathtub. Only the shore break reared and receded with its unique susurrus. I let Steve Willis leave my mind first. For all that it might be frustrating him, I was enjoying putting off the inevitable. I was far too attracted to him not to surrender eventually, but I wasn’t ready to contemplate what would come after the first rush of pleasure.

  He was an odd man. Steve was isolated and alone here, but obviously he was also very much of the place. I wasn’t of this place entirely—I was still a newcomer and I wanted to enjoy my time alone while I learned my place in the scheme of things. And, quite frankly, I was scared of Steve Willis. I was the marrying kind, but I wasn’t ready to get married again quite yet. I wanted to belong to me for a while. And that brought another man into my thinking.

  It was time to cut Heath loose. I did enjoy his company. He was the first friend I’d made here, and I didn’t want to lose that, but I just didn’t want to sleep with him anymore. As reluctant as I was to admit Steve Willis into my bed, I knew that’s where he’d end up. I simply didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to carry on sexual relationships with more than one man at a time. I thought of how ludicrous that might sound to the rest of the gay world, but the gay world wasn’t one I’d lived in for many years. I was who I was. In that regard, I didn’t need to defend myself to anyone. I couldn’t wait to tell Wade Lee. He’d have a fit.

  I shuddered to think of the mental gymnastics it’d take to carry on two simultaneous affairs. I’d end up a patient of Dr. Rivera’s, not just an employee. With that thought in mind, I allowed myself to get excited again about my new job. I strolled all the way to the pier feeling quite satisfied with myself. I knew the job would be more difficult than I’d imagined. It had to be more than sitting by the window in the receptionist’s office, dressed in flip-flops, shorts, and a T-shirt and gazing out at the view. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that’s all it’d be. If it was, I’d be bored to death.

  I reached the pier with a happy mood settling around me. I turned around and headed back home with the sun on my face. I couldn’t wait to have my new puppy along for the walk. She’d be too small at first to make it the whole way to the pier and back, but she’d grow fast, they always did. I recalled it seemed as if Beau had turned from a squirmy, pissing puppy into a big, bounding adolescent in a matter of days. Ol’ Nuala would be a real joy.

  So would this new baby of Trey and Susan’s. After my chat with Susan on Christmas Day, I was certain that’s why they were coming down. Already, in my heart, I knew Susan was pregnant. Trey’s voice had betrayed so much happiness in our phone call, and his sudden need for a visit couldn’t have been triggered by something as mundane as my finances. There was going be another baby Ronan for me to love—I was going to be a grandmama. The thought of it filled me with joyous laughter.

  I recalled hearing Nuala O’Faolain in an NPR interview. She said when she got old she wanted to live in a small place where she could walk to the pub each eveni
ng and sit to nurse a drink. She said she was looking forward to the time when she’d be sitting alone and someone would come into the pub and say, “Oh look—there’s old Nuala. Let’s buy her a drink.” To me—having spent a small amount of time in such pubs along the southern and western coasts of Ireland—it did seem like a fine way to live out one’s last days. But I wasn’t in my last days—not yet. I still had much happiness to enjoy and many memories to make.

  Up ahead I could see two figures walking toward me. They were close together, gently bumping each other, as best I could tell. Ah, yes. They were much too close together to be two men. Not on this beach, not at this time. That thought didn’t bother me. I was prepared to live out my days alone, even if there were a world of possibilities in Steve Willis’s blue-eyed stare. I’d have my Nuala for 12, maybe even 14 years to come. After that, I’d still only be on the working side of 60. There’d be time for another puppy again perhaps. And with a baby Ronan, there’d be a need for me even longer after that.

  I wanted to hug the sky. I wanted to sing on the cold, sunny beach where I’d come to live out my life. I wanted to do more than just smile and put one foot in front of the other.

  The couple in the distance grew more distinct the closer they came toward me. When they raised their arms to wave, I waved back. It had to be Susan and Trey. I wanted to run toward them, waving and crying out, but I didn’t. The indignity of it be damned. I was mindful of the renewed hunger for Marlboro Lights in my lungs and the unforeseen fragility of a weakened spot on an artery, hiding itself away for another day. Instead, I smiled as big as I could, hoping to let them know how happy I was to see them, until I reached them and could tell them so myself.

  CHAPTER FIVE,

  SPRING

  Late in the afternoon, on the Thursday before Holy Week, I looked out my window over the causeway and the marina and noted the steady stream of traffic heading in off the bridge from the mainland. The people with cottages were returning early to open up their places after a long winter’s dream of warmth, sand, and summer. I fleetingly wished I could send them all home. Cathy told me Easter Weekend was the real start of the season; it was one of the busiest weekends of the year. None of us looked forward to the traffic or the crowds.

  Cathy was gone to pick her daughter Sierra from day care. Tony was in session with a “client” as I’d been taught to say, and no one was due in for the rest of the day. I took off my earphone now that I’d caught up with yesterday’s transcriptions. I’d found the task simple and interesting once I’d caught the hang of it. The best way to handle the transcription chore I discovered, was never to let it get ahead of me. Immediately on arriving at the office, I’d make myself some coffee and get to work. Sometimes, if the phones rang constantly, I’d fall behind during the day, but I wouldn’t leave the office that afternoon until I’d completed the transcripts of all the sessions from the day before.

  So far I was pleased with the Riveras, and they seemed pleased with me. Sierra was a doll baby. Though she was rarely at the office, she did come on the days that pre-K and day care were closed, or if she had a bug. Her mother was more than right: she was very well behaved.

  I often brought Nuala to work with me. In fact, I brought Nuala to work with me every day but Thursdays, when I had

  Adoration after work. I didn’t know who was happier to see whom—Nuala and Sierra loved each other. I thought it was good for the puppy and the child to play together, and Cathy agreed. She said she was able to dodge Sierra’s requests for a puppy by telling her she already had an office puppy.

  It was really a laid-back place to work. Cathy was very personable, but most of the day she was bound to her desk, taking care of all the insurance work. The good doctor had quite a few patients for a relatively new practice, and he was happy with me as long as I had the right file ready for him before he greeted each patient at the waiting room door. I had some secret fears about internecine warfare between the husband-and-wife team, but they never were anything but affectionate and courteous to each other.

  I once remarked to Cathy how happy their relationship seemed. She just laughed. “You should hear us at home sometimes. It’d freak you out. But in the office we have an agreement to treat each other as colleagues and business partners, not as husband and wife. We keep the irritating shit at home.” They did a great job of it. I never once heard them say a cross word to each other.

  With a bit of play in me, I pushed off hard from my computer desk and rolled my chair to the counter under the glass window where I welcomed clients and took their co-pay checks. By 10 of 3, I had the office’s bank deposit ticket filled out and paper-clipped to the day’s checks. With that done, the reception desk was neat as a pin and ready for me the next morning. I had nothing to do now but wait for Cathy to return from picking up her daughter from pre-K and take any stray calls that might come in.

  On the wall under the reception window I had taped a row of postcards from the Caribbean. All of them had one- or two-line greetings from Steve on the back. Most recently, I’d gotten a stiff mailer envelope from St. Lucia that contained a color picture of Steve standing, lean and tanned, with a record marlin. Judging from the tick marks painted in foot increments on the uprights holding the crossbeam that held the hanging fish, Steve stood just past six feet (if you measured upside down); the fish came in at nearly nine feet from its tail to the end of its bill. On the back of the photo Steve had written, “I’m sick of white water and killing decent marlin for asshole rich people. Home April 11. Is my name still on that finger?” Either way I measured when I looked at that picture, I’d come to see both the man and the fish were prize catches.

  On the night nearly six weeks ago when I’d gone to Steve’s to get Nuala, we’d sat in the living room by his fire and talked over a bottle of red wine. I learned he was half Italian. His father was from Salter Path, but he’d joined the navy. When he was stationed at the navy yard in Boston he’d met Steve’s mother, and that was all she wrote. She was a Gagliardo from Brookline. He was a Willis from Bogue Banks. It was an improbable combination, but it resulted in a happy marriage and Steve’s long-waisted body, olive coloring, and dramatic eyes.

  From his father he’d learned to be a waterman and he had no desire to be anything else, despite an undeniable intelligence and an artistic eye. It was his mother who encouraged that part of him. The three of them had been quite happy in that small house by the sound, but an accident claimed his father when Steve was 20, and cancer his mother not long after that. Except for a smattering of aunts, uncles and cousins, throughout Salter Path and far away places where different, sometimes better, lives had taken them, Steve was alone.

  Learning this, I was able to get a better sense of his nature. He was no pushier than other guys probably were, but he did have the added impetuses of missing a loving home, and an Italian mother. Her son was a little prince who grew up to have no kingdom. Steve had tried and mostly failed over the years to connect with anyone special. I wasn’t quite sure why he thought he might see that possibility in me.

  I said as much to Heath when I told him—gently—we wouldn’t be sleeping together anymore. He laughed and asked if Steve had finally staked his claim. Narrowing my eyes, I told him we hadn’t slept together, if that’s what he meant.

  “Oh, hell,” he said. “That’ll be the end of it for sure. Once he gets you in bed, I’d give a hundred bucks to be a fly on the wall. You two were meant for each other. I can honestly tell you that because I’ve slept with both of you. You’ll eat each other alive.”

  I didn’t bother asking him to elaborate; I figured as much. In any case, Steve was on his way home, and I was ready, if he’d still have me.

  “Hello, Chris!” I heard Sierra’s happy greeting no sooner than her mom had cracked open the waiting room door.

  “There’s my Sierra girl,” I said, opening the glass window to wave. “Come in here and give me a hug.”

  She ran to open the inner door to the office and then scamp
ered to my lap. “Where’s Nuala?” she asked.

  She was a happy, loving child and it was hard not to spoil her. “Ol’ Nuala’s back at our house. Today’s Thursday, remember?”

  “She does love that dog,” Cathy said. “Any calls, Chris?” She was now visibly pregnant and winced in pain as she braced her back with both hands.

  “No, not a one. Why don’t you tell Dr. Tony you’ve had enough for today and go home to take a nap? You’ve been hurting with that back all day.”

  Cathy smiled and shook her head. “That would be nice, but your rule about getting all your work done before you go home has rubbed off on me. I have a few more things to do and then I’ll get out of here. Promise.”

  I nodded and turned my attention back to Sierra. “So, did you do any artwork today?”

  “No,” she said. “Pre-K has art on Friday. Today Miss Sharice did reading and arithmetic.”

  “Okay! Then you should like what I have for you in my knapsack. Bring it to me, okay?”

  Excitedly, the little girl slid from my lap and walked across the office. She retrieved my knapsack from under my computer desk and brought it to me. I took it from her gently and fished around in it to find the Little Golden Book I had stashed there. I had discovered a trove of them for 10 cents each at a yard sale and bought the lot. Every week since, I had presented one to Sierra. I handed the book to the little girl and she hugged it to her chest and spun with it in her arms.

  “What do you say to Chris, Sierra,” her mother prompted.

  Sierra reached out with both arms and I leaned down for a wet kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Chris,” she said.

  “You spoil her terribly,” Cathy said. “What are you going to do when you run out of those books?”

  I gave Cathy a smile. “Well, I’ll have to go to another yard sale, won’t I? If she loves to read, she should have all the books she wants. It’s a friend she’ll keep the rest of her life.”