Asylum (Pride and Joy Book 2)

by Robert Winter

  When they reached Carver Street, Hernán led them up a hill. “Oh, I see it now,” the man said as they neared The Brass Key Guesthouse. A bell tolled on a nearby church, its sonorous tone stirring Hernán’s heart with a longing for home. He was suddenly lonely and reluctant to let the luckless stranger go. Stupid, stupid. You know how this plays out.

  Hernán squared his shoulders. “Okay. You’ve got your key?” he asked, and the man nodded.

  “Yes, key’s still in my pocket.” He blushed and said awkwardly, “Um—can I offer you a towel? Or buy you a drink to say thank you?”

  Hernán froze. Of course he knew the man was gay, and he’d sort of expected a come-on for blocks. He even wanted to accept the offer, to get dry and continue the conversation.

  But no. No way was he going into a stranger’s room for a towel. His chest tightened. The chill spreading through him had little to do with his damp clothes.

  The man looked embarrassed again, probably at the alarm on Hernán’s face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to… I shouldn’t have assumed you were… Oh shit.”

  “It’s fine.” Hernán tried to calm himself. He gave a smile that felt artificial, focusing on even breaths until his shoulders relaxed. “I’m fine. I’ll be home soon to get dry.”

  “Okay. Well, um, thank you again. For saving me.” The streetlights near the inn showed his face more clearly. Humiliation was plain to read there, and Hernán felt bad. The guy was having a shitty night already, and he’d just been shot down.

  “I’m glad to help. Now, back to my imaginary status. An angel’s time is never his own.” Hernán tried for a laugh to make the man feel better; at least he drew a small smile. He held out his hand. “Go get dry. It would be a shame if I saved you from drowning and you died of pneumonia.”

  The man huffed out a chuckle as he shook hands, turned, and walked through the front door of the inn. Hernán waited to make sure he could get inside. The stranger paused at the threshold to look back at him for a long moment, light glinting off his glasses.

  Seconds ticked by, and Hernán had the sudden urge to change his mind. To take up the offer of a towel, or a drink. Instead, he waved and turned away to begin the long walk back to his tiny shared apartment.

  Chapter 2

  Colin woke with a throbbing headache, a terrible taste in his mouth, and a sense of half-remembered shame. It took him several minutes to figure out he was in his room in the Brass Key guesthouse in Provincetown. Light streamed in through French doors leading to his private balcony; he’d neglected to draw the curtains when he stumbled in. Spotting his soggy clothes where he’d dropped them on the bathroom floor, he cringed as the evening started to come back to him.

  The wedding itself had been lovely and serene. Brandon Smith and David James both looked handsome and right together, standing on the beach to exchange their vows. Colin was dying a bit inside, yet he was happy and proud for his friend. Brandon had been through so much the prior year. After a hit-and-run driver left him for dead, a month in the hospital threatened financial ruin, and then doctors had to amputate his leg. David cared for him in every way possible through his recovery. Colin couldn’t say he was surprised when Brandon called him on Christmas morning to say David and he would marry on David’s fiftieth birthday.

  Months of preparation culminated in a small but beautiful celebration on Herring Cove Beach in Provincetown, and Colin was honored to be a part of it. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect evening, as if someone up there had arranged flawless weather and a perfect sunset just for David and Brandon.

  After the ceremony, a waiting motor coach took the wedding party to The Red Inn for the reception. The small, historic inn had a lovely garden festooned with little white lights woven into and around the charming garden and shrubs. A deck outfitted with Adirondack chairs faced the Provincetown Harbor. The reception guests sipped cocktails and champagne on the deck under a thrilling twilight sky of deep purple and burnt orange.

  That cocktail hour was Colin’s first mistake—he started with a manhattan, straight up. The bourbon went right to his head, but he welcomed the fuzziness. The liquor muffled the throb of his bruised heart. By the time the party went inside to sit for dinner, Colin was on his second manhattan. David outdid himself with the wine selection. It started with a rich, white burgundy to accompany the appetizer and then moved to bottles of a California cabernet from Chateau Montelena to pair with the main course.

  About then, Colin’s evening started to grow hazy.

  He didn’t think he’d done anything too embarrassing, like dance on a table. Or dance at all, for that matter. But then David’s brother Matt gave a toast; Colin drank with everyone else to David and Brandon’s happiness. Brandon’s sister Jo-Lynn told a funny story about Brandon, and everyone drank. David’s friend Terry tried successfully to embarrass David, and everyone drank. Their friends Jane and Sara rose to offer a prayer in memory of David’s deceased lover Kyle. When Brandon raised his glass into the respectful silence to honor the man David had lost, Colin drank too.

  Perhaps that heartfelt but melancholy moment did him in. Colin was suddenly, profoundly, alone in a crowd of kind, well-meaning people. David and Brandon’s happiness was palpable. He yearned to have someone gaze at him in total adoration, the way Brandon looked up into David’s eyes. But he hadn’t dated a man steadily since Pranav in college, let alone had one he could call “boyfriend.”

  Maybe it was Colin’s own fault, for keeping himself so guarded, so walled-off. On one of his rare dates, at any question that strayed close to his family or his upbringing, he’d find a way to change the subject. He chose topics so carefully, worded his answers so closely, that he probably came off as evasive. But he’d seen the other side of things as well, when he revealed too much about himself and watched the change come over someone’s face.

  Gazing at David and Brandon through bleary eyes, he started when Joe Mulholland sat down next to him. Joe was in his sixties. He had white hair and bright blue eyes, and wore a loose-fitting blue silk shirt and pale green trousers for the celebration. Although he stood no more than five and a half feet tall, his charisma filled the room.

  They’d met a few times while Brandon was still in the hospital, and then at occasional dinners and cocktail parties organized by Brandon and David. Joe was a former monk, a fact delighting Colin to no end. He ran a shelter for homeless LGBTI teenagers with the help of his husband Terry.

  For the preceding few months, Colin, David and Joe had all worked together to protect a thirteen-year-old girl with no immigration papers whose parents had been deported to Honduras. Her foster family threw her out when she admitted she was a lesbian. Colin’s work at the not-for-profit association Immigration Initiative in Washington, DC, gave him access to valuable resources to help David, a lawyer, prepare the necessary papers for the Customs and Immigration Service.

  Joe rested a hand on Colin’s. In his raspy Boston tones, he asked brightly, “Dear heart, are you enjoying the party?”

  Colin nodded and answered, careful to enunciate around his thick tongue. “I am. Enjoying it, I mean. How’re you doing, Joe?”

  “Marvelous, my dear,” he enthused. “What a celebration! What joy! I’m simply ecstatic when two people find their way together like this.” Colin smiled and said something polite in response.

  Joe crooked his head. His blue eyes gazed at Colin penetratingly. Joe patted his hand, leaned slightly forward, and dropped his voice as he murmured, “Your time will come.”

  Colin blinked rapidly. “Thanks, Joe. I hope so.”

  “Trust Mother Joe. When you least expect it, love will find you.” Joe patted his arm again, rose, and moved off to chat with David’s brother.

  Colin watched the festivities for a few moments longer, but his head began to spin. Brandon caught his eye as he stood, wavering slightly on his feet. Colin mouthed to his friend, “I need to walk.” Brandon smiled and nodded back.

  Colin recalled stepping out into the crisp fall ev
ening and then swaying a bit as he tried to pick a direction. He more or less put his head down and started to walk, unsure of the location of his inn or even the center of Provincetown. His shoes scuffed along the asphalt. Left right left right.

  When he looked up again, he found himself in a parking lot, mostly empty, abutting the harbor. He staggered over to the raised concrete edge to look across the water. By that point the alcohol had him firmly in its grip. He remembered looking down and noticing water lapped near the top of the embankment. The moon reflected on the surface of the rippling water and maybe he bent over to take a closer look. Then he was wet and cold and thrashing around, until a strong arm gripped his waist and a deep voice told him, first in Spanish then in English, to stop struggling. He instinctively relaxed into the man’s hold.

  And then Colin had proceeded to humiliate himself over and over.

  His face burned at the recollection. When the shame grew strong enough, he forced himself out of bed to shut the curtains and get a glass of water. Looking through his shaving kit, he fortunately found some Tylenol. A glance at his phone showed it was still early in the morning. Good thing I left it in the room. Otherwise I’d be looking for a bowl of rice to dry it out too.

  He climbed under the covers and tried to go back to sleep, but it was too late. His brain filled again with memories of talking to the stranger who’d rescued him, and of every inane thing he’d said.

  Oh fuck, I threw up too. Colin burrowed under the covers as he remembered the man handing him a plastic bag to wipe his mouth. A bag for dog crap. How appropriate. He could almost hear his sister Katherine berating him for his foolishness. In getting so drunk. In falling into the water. In making an idiot of himself in front of a handsome stranger.

  Well, his sister probably wouldn’t have commented on the stranger’s looks, but from what Colin recalled, he’d been striking. Almost beautiful, in fact. Tawny, smooth-looking skin. Dark eyes that seemed almost obsidian. Thick black hair, and a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache. Lithe body clad in jeans and a wet sweatshirt hinting at a well-shaped chest and broad shoulders.

  Chero, Colin recalled. The stranger had called him “friend” in Spanish that sounded, to Colin’s experienced ear, more Central American than Mexican. I should have spoken to him in Spanish. Maybe it would have gone better.

  On the other hand, his rescuer’s English had seemed strong, even idiomatic. Many of the people from Latin America who Colin encountered in his work struggled with the oddities of the English language. Not the prior night’s angel of Colin’s imagination however. Colin chuckled briefly at the memory of light banter as the man guided him to his inn.

  Then he groaned as he recalled his inept attempt to make the guy stick around. A towel or a drink. Jesus. I might as well have offered him a condom and begged him to fuck me.

  Drunk or sober, he seemed to have a knack for misreading cues. It was why he dug in his heels when his boss Maryanne tried to make him take on a prominent role at the Immigration Imitative. She kept telling him he could accomplish more if he got out of his office, but it was where he felt safe. He liked working behind the scenes, preparing those better suited for lobbying lawmakers on Capitol Hill. If he went along to a meeting, he’d probably garble the script or accidentally insult an important staffer.

  Fatigue and a hangover fueled his self-flagellation until he slipped back into a doze. Waking for the second time when his phone chirped, he squinted at the display before snagging his glasses off the nightstand to read the message from Brandon:

  Lost you last night. Everything OK?

  He positioned himself against the soft pillows and typed back:

  Yes, just over-imbibed and am paying the price.

  Brandon sent a sad-face emoji with a message:

  You up for lunch with me today?

  Aren’t you and David leaving for honeymoon?

  We head to Boston in AM to get flight to London.

  Oh right. David and Brandon would spend some time in London first, and then head to France for ten days. It would be Brandon’s first trip outside the United States and he was incredibly excited.

  A second message from Brandon flashed up:

  David is taking Matt and my sisters sailing today but I don’t feel steady enough on my prosthesis. So let’s have lunch!

  Done. Where and when?

  Haven’t been to Veranda all summer. Meet me there.

  Two hours later, Colin slid into an outdoor booth at a restaurant called Veranda. The September weather was beautiful. A strong sun shone down brightly on the tourists strolling Commercial Street to enjoy the tail end of summer. A series of blue and yellow umbrellas sheltered Veranda’s outdoor space. Its white wooden benches were strewn with yellow and blue pillows in a variety of patterns and sizes.

  “Two for lunch, sir?” asked a dark-haired waiter in white shorts and a white polo shirt. “Can I get you anything to drink besides water?”

  Colin tilted his head. Something about the waiter seemed familiar, though he was sure they’d never met before. Perhaps it was just the waiter’s slight Central American accent. He debated ordering a cocktail as hair of the dog, but ruled it out as memories of his embarrassing night crashed back into his head. “Just an iced tea, please. And yes, there will be two of us.”

  “Of course. I’ll leave these menus and I’ll be right back with your tea.”

  Colin was still trying to figure out why the waiter seemed familiar when Brandon walked up to the restaurant and, catching Colin’s eye, gave a quick nod. Brandon moved effortlessly on flat ground, despite the artificial leg beginning below his left knee. He wore shorts and made no effort to disguise his prosthesis. In fact, he’d added racing stickers to the metal post that ran down to the sandal covering his carbon-fiber foot. He’d trimmed his blond hair and beard recently for the wedding, and the light in his blue eyes radiated his joy.

  “Well, afternoon, sunshine,” Brandon said with a big grin as he slid into the booth across from Colin. “I’ve seen you look better,” he drawled. His Texan accent always struck Colin as exotic, and so much more interesting than the way people talked in New Jersey.

  Colin groaned. “Don’t remind me. I got completely carried away last night.”

  “I worried when you didn’t come back to the reception, but I figured this is P-town. How much trouble could you land in?”

  “What about a late-night swim?” Colin began to tell Brandon about his drunken adventure when the waiter returned.

  “Oh my God!” the waiter exclaimed. “It’s Brandon, isn’t it?”

  Brandon looked up at the waiter and blinked before recognition dawned. “Rudy! How are you?”

  Rudy leaned down for a hug, while Brandon awkwardly patted his back. “It’s so nice to see you again,” Rudy cooed. The reserved waiter who seated Colin was gone, and an effusive and happy boy began to gab with Brandon like they were old friends. “Do you come up to Provincetown a lot? I haven’t seen you since last summer. I think it was Memorial Day. Are you seeing that handsome man from last year or is this your boyfriend?” Without taking breath, Rudy turned and thrust a hand out to Colin. “Hi, I’m Rudy.”

  Colin shook it, bemused by the man’s enthusiasm. “I’m Colin. And no, I’m not his boyfriend.”

  Brandon said, “I’m still with David. We just got married yesterday at Herring Cove.”

  “Married!” Rudy sighed dramatically. “So exciting. Oh, that David was just dreamy. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Rudy. Do you work here now?” Brandon asked cautiously.

  “Yes. I’ve been here all summer. Gerald kicked me out last fall when we were back in Boston, and I tried a few different jobs there. Nothing panned out, though, so I decided to come back to P-town in May. At least I know the place.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work out with Gerald,” Brandon offered.

  Rudy flipped his hand dismissively. “He was a pig in the end, but I can’t say I was surprised. He had another boy in plac
e before he told me to pack a bag.”

  Colin sipped nervously at his tea. He didn’t know who they were talking about, but the gist of Rudy’s comments was clear.

  An older man walked by the table then and gave a very pointed cough that made Rudy jump to attention. “Let me get your order, boys. Maybe we can chat again before you go.” He jotted down their requests and scurried off.

  Brandon shook his head as Rudy left. “I only met him once before, but he was just the same then. Chatterin’ like we’d been friends forever.”

  “I think you told me about him, when we talked about that party you and David went to,” Colin said carefully. The party had led to Brandon and David breaking up, until Brandon’s hit-and-run accident brought them together again. He didn’t know if Brandon would want the reminder.

  His friend seemed unfazed however, and they resumed their discussion of Colin’s adventures. When he described his ineptitude in asking his savior in for a towel or a drink, his head sagged. Brandon reached across the table and gripped Colin’s wrist.

  “Hey, buddy. Maybe he had a boyfriend or girlfriend. Maybe it was just bad timin’. But it’s good you put yourself out there. You need to do more a’ that.”

  “Easy for you to say, with your looks.” Brandon’s heavily-muscled chest and arms made Colin feel underdeveloped. No matter how much time he put in at the gym, he couldn’t seem to add any bulk.

  “You’re good lookin’, Colin. You’ll find the right guy.”

  Rudy returned then with their plates on his arm. “Here we go, boys. Fish and chips for the bride, and a Cobb salad for the bridesmaid.”

  Colin had to laugh. “What, I don’t get to be a groomsman at least?”

  “Bridesmaid is a much more important role.” Rudy winked at him and started to turn away, but the color left his face as he stared hard at a man walking into the restaurant. “Every damn day,” he muttered.