Love Can't Conquer

by Kim Fielding

  But he had to tell them something more. “Do you want to know why I flew out here? Because I’m looking for Keith Moore.”

  Frank looked puzzled. “Isn’t he the one who jumped—”

  “Frank!” Shirley interrupted.

  “Mom. I’m forty-three years old. You can talk about it in front of me. Yes, he’s the one who jumped off the Memorial Bridge. Everyone said so much awful shit about him. You too; I overheard it. Did any of you ever ask yourself why a kid would do that? How much he had to be suffering if he felt like that was his best option?” His voice cracked on the final word.

  “What does that hoodlum have to do with you?” Frank demanded.

  “He wasn’t a hoodlum. He was a boy, just like me. He was abused, Dad. And he was scared and sad and lonely.” He still was. “He didn’t have any allies either, and he wasn’t about to get a scholarship offer from the West Coast, so he tried to find a different way to escape.”

  Shirley shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. The Moores are all dead. The older boy with the train—such a shame!—and the younger with the bridge. Dr. Moore passed away several years ago. Not too long after that, Mrs. Moore….” She hesitated, then seemed to make up her mind. “Mrs. Moore committed suicide.”

  Well, shit. Not surprising that they were both gone, considering the condition of their house. Jeremy wondered if they’d had any regrets before they died. Did they mourn their lost son as much as their deceased one? And Qay—would learning of their deaths help set him free or frustrate him because they never saw the brilliant, beautiful man he became despite them?

  Although Jeremy was still angry at his own parents, the urgency of his rage went away. They’d never truly see the man he became either. Their loss.

  “Keith Moore didn’t die,” Jeremy said. “But he did escape. We ran into each other in Portland. And I love him. Not who I want him to be or who I imagine he could be. I love him. And I have to go find him now.”

  He fumbled the doorknob open—awkward, with his scarf and hat in hand—as his parents sat and watched. But before he walked outside, his mother called his name. “Jeremy! Don’t you walk out on us! We’re your family!”

  Jeremy paused with his back to them. “Not really. But I wish you well. Have a merry Christmas, okay?” And he walked out into the cold.

  He didn’t consciously decide where to drive; the car seemed to pilot itself down his parents’ street and out of their neighborhood. But then the road curved, and he wasn’t surprised to see the Memorial Bridge in front of him. He parked on the shoulder, adjusted his coat and scarf, and got out of the car.

  The wind that swept down from the Rockies and over the plains cut through even his new parka and thick hat. He covered everything but his eyes with the scarf, and yet he was still bitterly cold as he crossed to the middle of the bridge. It wasn’t a fancy structure, just a utilitarian thing of steel and concrete, strung between opposing sandstone bluffs. Beneath him, ice rimmed the edges of the Smoky Hill River, but the water in the center ran free, gray as his own eyes.

  He leaned on the concrete railing and looked down. The river was so very far away. It was easy to imagine a lanky, long-legged boy scaling the low barrier, balancing for a moment on the thin ledge, and then letting go. Falling, falling.

  Jeremy buried his face in his arms and began to sob.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  QAY WAS nearly sober when he trashed his apartment. It wasn’t alcohol that led him to break glass and tear pictures from the walls—it was anger. Anger at his parents, who’d broken him; at the world that had roughed up his shattered pieces; at Jeremy for almost getting killed, for being so goddamn heroic, for seeing Qay at his worst. But Qay’s greatest rage was directed at himself, because he was weak and stupid and so incredibly fucked-up.

  After he’d destroyed everything, when it all lay in shambles, Qay knew what he had to do. Run. Because he loved Jeremy—which was more than he’d ever hoped for. And because if he stuck around, he was going to drag Jeremy down. Just like Donny almost had.

  He wasn’t jittery at all as he collected a few items of clothing and toiletries and threw them in his duffel bag. He zipped up his jacket and ascended the stairs, his mind as calm and clear as a mountain lake. He wasn’t even slightly anxious, because what did he have to worry about now? Everything was already gone.

  He’d left his keys on the kitchen counter, knowing he wouldn’t return. But he kept the door at the top of the stairs slightly ajar because he knew Jeremy would return. Qay had no way to cushion Jeremy’s grief when he found him gone, but at least he could save Jeremy the hassle of borrowing the neighbor’s key.

  The night was cold, but Qay warmed up a good bit as he walked to the river, crossed, and trekked to the Greyhound station. He bought a ticket for the next bus, and an hour later he was on his way to Pendleton.

  He had a little money saved up. Not much. Not enough to afford a motel. So he spent the next days sleeping on buses and in stations, cleaning up as best he could in public restrooms. It had been a while since he’d survived like that, but he remembered how. He didn’t have a destination or plan in mind, and his only regret was that he hadn’t thought to bring any books.

  Well, not his only regret. Because with every single heartbeat, he missed Jeremy more.

  If only he hadn’t gone into that tavern—

  No. He was bumping through the night on a bus and couldn’t even remember where he was going, and he couldn’t blame the tavern. Couldn’t blame the whiskey he’d drunk when he was in there or the fortified wine he’d bought after. Couldn’t blame his parents or bad genes or the fucked-up mess in his head. He had made the decision to drink that night. He had ruined everything he had worked so hard for. He had pushed Jeremy away and rabbited. The fault was all his own.

  At a bus station somewhere east of Salt Lake City, Qay sat on a bench and had such a horrible shaking fit that a young guy in an Army uniform put away his phone and walked over. “You okay, man? Need me to call 911?”

  Qay shook his head miserably and tried to talk through chattering teeth. “P-panic attack,” he gasped. “I’m f-f-fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.” After hesitating a moment, the soldier sat next to him on the bench. He didn’t say anything and didn’t make contact, but he glared at anyone who stared too hard, and his silent presence gradually soothed Qay’s nerves.

  “Thanks,” Qay finally murmured, shaken and pale but with his heart rate and breathing at normal levels. He no longer felt as if he were about to be engulfed by a tsunami.

  “No problem. My mama gets those. She takes something for it. One of those pills with all the z’s and x’s? Says it helps her a lot.”

  Qay nodded slightly. “I can’t take any of them.”

  “That sucks.”

  The soldier was twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, with dark brown skin and the kind of lips that looked as if they would lift into a smile any moment. His voice was surprisingly deep, considering his small stature.

  “Are you going home for Christmas?” Qay asked.

  Yep, there was that grin. “Yessir! My mama’s gonna cook all my favorite dishes, and my girlfriend, well, she’s waiting for me too.” He winked. “You heading off to family too?”

  “No. I’m running away.”

  The soldier looked at him carefully before reaching a decision. “I’ve got three hours ’til my bus leaves, and I’m hungry. Join me for dinner?”

  Qay was hungry too. He was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten since the previous day. And he hadn’t yet bought his next bus ticket. “Sure.”

  They introduced themselves as they walked to a nearby greasy spoon. PFC Elijah Wilson was stationed at Fort Bliss and on his way to Sacramento. He’d done a tour in Afghanistan—which he said he’d rather not talk about—but he now worked with a supply unit, which he liked much better. “A lot closer to home,” he said as he slid into a booth.

  Elijah ordered a burger, and Qay asked for grilled ham and cheese with s
oup on the side. Then they regarded each other over the slightly sticky table. “Wanna talk about what you’re running from?” Elijah asked.

  “You don’t want to hear my sob story.”

  “Sure I do. I got time to kill, and I’m tired of playing Temple Run. And man, I haven’t talked to a civilian in months who wasn’t also a relative. So hit me.”

  It was weird. Qay wasn’t usually eager to spill his guts, but suddenly he needed to unload on someone, even some kid he didn’t know and would never see again. Maybe especially that kid. So Qay told him everything, starting from the moment his brother got hit by a train and ending with the day he told Jeremy to go away. Elijah didn’t flinch over anything—not attempted suicide and stints in mental hospitals, not shooting up smack, not falling for a man instead of a woman. He just listened, nodding as he chewed, until their plates were empty and Qay had no more words.

  Then they ordered pie and coffee.

  “Why don’t you call him?” Elijah asked. “See if you can make things right? You can use my phone.”

  “I don’t know his number.” Qay was well aware it was a lame answer, and when Elijah lifted his eyebrows skeptically, Qay sighed. “I don’t think I can make it right.”

  “You think he won’t take you back?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure he would. He’d want to save me. But… I don’t think I can be saved.”

  “Because you relapsed?”

  The waitress came by to refill their cups. She looked tired, but she smiled at them anyway before hurrying away.

  “I guess one relapse in seven years isn’t the end of the world,” Qay admitted. After all, he’d stayed sober in the days since. “But I might have more, and I’m always going to be kind of crazy. Jeremy shouldn’t have to spend his life trying to rescue me.”

  Elijah took a bite of his pecan pie and looked thoughtful as he chewed. “Maybe rescuing you is what he wants to spend his life doing. And you’re not exactly a damsel in distress.” He grinned. “I don’t see you in a pink dress and tiara. You’re mostly rescuing yourself. He’s just there to give you help when you need it. One thing I learned in Afghanistan: there’s nothing shameful in asking for support when you need it. It can save your life. And some guys? Easing other folks’ burdens is what makes them feel strong.”

  Qay burned his tongue on the coffee. “You’re awfully wise for someone half my age,” he finally said.

  “I grew up a lot in the Army. Had a lot of time to think. And you know what? Getting shot at kinda puts things in perspective.”

  “I bet it does,” said Qay, thinking of Jeremy in the factory.

  “Besides, like I told you, my mama’s a little bit crazy too. She’s had some real bad times. But my dad’s been there, helping her get through those times, and she’s helped him through his own struggles. And man, those two are so much in love, none of the rest of us can hardly stand it. They’re happy. Mama has a job she loves and three grandbabies she spoils rotten. A little bit crazy doesn’t mean nobody’s gonna love you.”

  God, could it be that easy? Just keep on fighting the demons and let Jeremy lend a hand when it looked like the demons might win?

  Qay looked up at Elijah. “Can I borrow your phone?”

  HE LOOKED up P-Town’s number on the Internet and called there. Ptolemy picked up, gasped upon learning it was Qay on the line, and quickly handed the phone to Rhoda.

  “Darling! I’m so happy to hear from you! You’re not dead!”

  “No, just stupid.” He could hear conversation and the whir of the espresso machine in the background, and suddenly he was painfully homesick. “Can you give me Jeremy’s number? I need to talk to him.”

  There was a slight pause before she answered. “He’s going to be so relieved to hear from you. Where are you, honey?”

  He looked around the diner. “Utah?”

  “Oh, sweetie. Look, I’m going to give you Jeremy’s number, but you need to know something. He’s not here. He went to Kansas.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He’s looking for you, of course.”

  Qay was going to tell her that was a stupid idea and Kansas was the last place he’d go. Except… when he thought about his current journey—which he’d thought was directionless—he had to admit that he’d been slowly heading southeast. Directly toward Bailey Springs.

  “How long has he been there?”

  “He flew out this morning.”

  “I’m going—I’ll get there as soon as I can.” He’d have to catch a bus, probably transfer somewhere, hitch a ride to Bailey Springs from the nearest bus stop…. It was going to take a while. “Rhoda? Can you please not tell him I’m coming?”

  “Why? He’s going nuts, Qay. I can tell him to sit tight and wait for you, and he’ll be so—”

  “What if I chicken out? I want to go. I think I can do it. But if I lose my shit between here and there, I don’t want to break his heart.”

  “Again,” she said, a hint of acid in her tone.

  “Again.”

  He could picture her thinking. No doubt she wore something colorful and interesting, and he heard her tapping her finger against her tooth. “Okay,” she finally said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. It’s a compromise. You’re going to hightail it to the nearest car rental agency, and—”

  “I can’t rent a car.”

  “No license?”

  He had a valid Oregon license; getting one had been a step toward becoming a responsible citizen. “No money and no credit card.”

  “We can deal with that. No arguing, Qay. Just listen.” She probably used the same authoritative tone with her son. “Get to the rental agency. Call me from there, and I will authorize you to use my Visa. And—”

  “I can’t use your money!”

  “No arguing, I said! You’ll pay me back. Eventually. And knowing you owe me a debt will give you extra incentive to keep on track. You’ll rent that car, drive straight to Kansas, and throw yourself into Jeremy’s arms. Period, the end, happily ever after. If you promise to do that, I won’t call him. I won’t need to, because pretty soon he’ll see you himself.”

  Elijah must have been able to hear Rhoda’s end of the conversation, because he looked amused. And he nodded emphatic agreement.

  Qay took a minute to think about her proposal. He pictured himself doing exactly as she ordered, and although he expected to start sweating and hyperventilating, his breathing stayed slow and easy. He wasn’t panicked. He was… relieved.

  “Okay. Thanks, Rhoda.”

  She made a happy little sound. “You’re being sensible. Hallelujah. I think this is going to work out just fine.”

  He wrote down her cell number and Jeremy’s on a paper napkin, which he tucked into his pocket. After ending the call, he returned the phone to Elijah.

  “I don’t know who that lady was,” Elijah said. “But I’d pit her against any army on earth.”

  Qay grinned. “Yeah, I hear you.”

  Using Elijah’s phone, they discovered a car rental agency just a few blocks away. Qay insisted on paying for both dinners, and in the parking lot, he gave Elijah a hug. “I don’t know what you intend to do when you get out of the Army, but I sure as hell hope you’re considering a career as a counselor.”

  Elijah’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “People used to say I was dumb ’cause I had trouble reading.” He shrugged. “Dyslexic. But I’m not dumb. I can go to college and do something like that.”

  “I have the feeling that whatever you decide to do, you’re going to impress the hell out of everyone.”

  “Thanks, man. Now go get your happy ending.”

  Qay chuckled. “You too. Didn’t you say your girlfriend was waiting for you? And Elijah? Stay safe. This world’s a better place with you in it.”

  “I HAVE always depended on the kindness of strangers,” Qay said to himself as he crossed the parking lot. And for one of the rare times in his life, fortune continued to smile on him. The car rental agent was agreeabl
e once she spoke with Rhoda, a nearby Starbucks was still open and willing to sell Qay a venti Americano spiked with lots of sugar, and the road was clear. He drove through the night, stopping only a couple of times for a quick stretch, a bladder emptying, and a coffee refill. He kept the speedometer as high as he thought he could get away with.

  Traversing the Rockies in the dead of night wasn’t exactly fun, but at least the highway had enough interesting curves and slopes to keep him alert. He couldn’t find anything decent on the car radio, so he sang loudly—and badly—as he went. And he wasn’t scared, not even once. It had been a long time since he’d driven any distance. He’d forgotten how freeing it could feel.

  He rolled into Bailey Springs midmorning, feeling cramped, gritty, and exhausted. He yearned for a shower and a bed. But comfort wasn’t his priority—Jeremy was. Qay didn’t know exactly where his beloved was, but it wasn’t a big town. Nobody could stay missing there very long.

  Qay stopped at the Burger Hut near the highway. He’d lost his virginity there, in the dark corner between the building and the garbage corral. Now, he walked inside the restaurant, hoping he didn’t look too disreputable, and smiled at the girl at the cash register. “We’re serving breakfast until eleven,” she said, sounding as bored as a nineteen-year-old in rural Kansas could be. He wondered if he’d gone to school with her parents.

  “Actually, I was just hoping I could borrow your phone book.”

  That perked her up slightly, maybe because it was unexpected. “How come?”

  “Looking up an old friend.”

  She gave the universal gesture for whatever and reached under the counter. “Here,” she said, plopping down the thin book.