by Mal Peters
“Nate?”
I’m back on my feet again in less than a second, shoulders tight with anticipation. “Yeah?”
“Can you come in here for a sec?”
Swallowing, I nod; makes sense he’d want to do this inside, where none of the neighbors can hear. Back into the bucket goes the washrag. “Yeah. Okay, Hugh,” I tell him. “Be right—”
He’s gone again before I even finish my sentence. That’s also a bit weird, but I suppose the guy is upset enough that I can cut him some slack, and mostly I’m just relieved to see him steady on his feet and showing no signs of intoxication. Of any kind.
Inside, I find him huddled on the living room sofa with his head almost between his knees, while Callie, picking up on his distress, prances around nervously and flashes us both worried looks. Normally one of us would be trying to soothe her, bartering for calm with comforting pats, reassuring words, and the odd doggie treat, but considering my brother’s demeanor is why she’s all worked up, he’s the one I’m most concerned about. Not knowing what to expect, I sit down next to Hugh, close enough that he knows I’m here, but not so close he’ll feel hemmed in.
Silence floats between us for an agonizing few moments until I find my balls again and manage to start, “So listen, Hugh—”
But that’s as far as I get, again, before my brother’s head comes up and he says, “Nate, stop.”
My mouth clicks shut and I can’t do much else besides stare at him helplessly.
Now that Hugh’s looking straight at me, I notice for the first time since he found us at Phel’s house that he looks like shit, tired and pale and like he went three rounds with a tsunami. Considering he just came back from surfing, maybe that last one ain’t far off. He takes a deep breath. “I know you’ve got a lot to say to me, Nate, and trust me when I say I want to hear it. No way am I letting you off the fucking hook—you or Phel. But right now….”
“What?”
I see my brother take a long, deep swallow, like he’s physically trying to hold back vomit. “Right now I need you to sit here with me for a little while. We don’t have to talk, but we can if you want, as long as it’s about anything other than you or Phel or the incident from earlier I’d really like to just bleach from my mind, okay? That’s all I ask.”
A shiver travels down my spine and makes all the hair on my arms and legs stand on end. I try to hide the shudder that follows. “Hugh, what—” Voice catching, I dare to ask, “Did you… did you go out and do something? You know… something—”
“No.” At that, he looks away and purposely won’t meet my gaze again. “But I really want to, okay? And for the first time in a while, it went a hell of a lot further than just wanting to come home and have a beer and try to unwind. I wanted to obliterate all of this morning and everything else along with it.” He doesn’t say any more than that, but he doesn’t have to. His meaning is pretty clear, and suddenly I’m the one fighting back vomit as the realization that I fucking drove him to this drops in my stomach, even though Hugh will claim otherwise till he’s blue in the face. “Just sit here with me awhile,” he says again.
Not knowing how to respond, I reach over and put an arm around his shoulders, and he lets me. His hand drops to my knee for support. Though his fingers tighten around the cap of bone a bit more than is comfortable, the last thing I can think about doing is complain he’s squeezing too hard. “Okay, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” I eventually force out. “We can talk about anything you want. Let’s just sit right here, Hugh.”
Despite the offer, we don’t talk, except when I notice Hugh’s eyelids starting to droop after about an hour and I suggest he go to sleep. Reluctantly, he does, curling his large body up on the couch with far less awkwardness than I should ever expect from him. Within minutes he’s asleep, probably worn out from surfing and whatever fight is going on inside him at this very moment. Watching him sleep makes tiredness overcome me, too, but I’m still too restless and would feel bad nodding off when he asked me to keep watch. Obviously he can’t do any damage while he’s asleep, but symbolically, I need to stay awake, keep an eye on him. If Phel comes by, and it occurs to me he might, I want to be able to send him home, since I know Hugh probably won’t, not even if he’s still spitting mad when he wakes. Much like his brother, Hugh has a hard time telling Phel no.
I do, however, allow myself the luxury of slipping into the kitchen for a snack when lunchtime—even a late lunchtime—comes and goes. I debate waking Hugh up to make sure he gets something to eat, then decide against it since he probably spent most of last night sleepless and worrying about Phel like a damned fool. Hugh needs the shut-eye, and a guilty part of me supplies he might be more amenable to conversation about the past couple of days’ drama if he’s well rested.
After a quick snack of peanut butter sandwiches, which makes me feel twelve again but manages to calm my jumpy stomach, I find myself sitting there at the kitchen counter, staring into space. I have no idea how much time goes by with me spaced out like that; it could be ten minutes or a whole hour. I don’t snap out of it until I realize I’ve been holding my cell phone in my hand almost the whole time, clutching it in my fist like I’m either about to throw it or crush it like a beer can. My aching knuckles alert me to the fact I’m doing it at all, but I don’t have to think real hard about why I took it out, even if I never acknowledged my own hand reaching into my pocket.
At first I hesitate, but after that it’s a lot easier to dial the 740 area code than I would have thought, seeing as how I’ve avoided it all this time. The remaining digits follow practically on their own, memorized so long ago I don’t have to think about which buttons I’m pressing. I deleted the speed dial setting before coming to Cardiff, to reduce the temptation of calling at every moment of weakness and doubt. I notice I’m starting to get a bit light-headed and lean my arms against the countertop for support. The rings stretch out for what feels like a century each, one after another until I know the answering machine’s going to come on if someone doesn’t pick up in the next two seconds.
Someone picks up.
This is okay, I tell myself. It’s not a betrayal if I’m doing something I maybe should have done a long time ago.
There’s a long pause before anything is actually said, but then Emilia tentatively asks, “Nate?” and I breathe an incredible sigh of relief.
“Yeah, Em,” I answer raggedly. “It’s me.”
10
Phel
THE previous owner of Hugh’s house had a thing for ostentatious doorbells, I think; it’s not so much a chime as a chorus of barely musical noise approximating Handel’s Messiah. It goes on and on and on, far longer than any doorbell should. Hearing it for the first time nearly changed my opinion of Hugh as a person, so offensive is the sound, and for weeks after he swore up and down it came with the house. Unsurprisingly, Nate is all too eager to mock Hugh about it at every available opportunity, and has been known to hammer on the buzzer whenever Hugh is particularly buried in work or if Nate happens to be cross with him. Childish, yes, but I admit to having been amused by such antics from time to time, since I’ve often thought about sabotaging the damn thing myself.
As I lift my hand to press the button, it occurs to me I’ve rung Hugh’s doorbell more in the past couple of weeks than I have in months. Once upon a time—and it really does feel that way now—I could walk in the front door and help myself to a beer from the fridge. As far as Hugh was concerned, it was less trouble for me to look after myself and treat his home like my own than potentially interrupt him in the middle of writing or, more likely, be ignored outright. While there has been no formal revocation of my no-doorbell privileges, I think it’s fair to assume I no longer occupy such haughty status as to walk into Hugh’s house unannounced. More than that, I’m scared to try, since I don’t know what waits for me on the other side.
It’s been almost a day since I spoke to the Fessendens, except for an ominous text I received from Nate this morning: Meet me @ Hu
gh’s 2nite. 8pm. Need 2 talk 2 U guys. That’s it. When I responded asking for clarification, all I got was Plz just come. I took it as a measure of his seriousness that the expected innuendo was never made. Not knowing whether or not Nate has already spoken to Hugh about the series of unfortunate and stupid events that have led us to this point, I can’t be sure whether this meeting is to discuss the matter at hand, or something else. Whatever the case, anticipation sent my stomach plummeting to my knees as soon as I received the message, and there it’s remained all day. I’m early, I know, but I couldn’t bear another minute of sitting around my house doing nothing.
Hugh opens the door still glowering at the doorbell chime, and his expression darkens that little bit more when he sees me standing there. The only one unequivocal in her greeting is Callie, who shoves past him to come sniff around my hands, tail wagging joyously. For a moment Hugh looks at her in betrayal, then says to me, “Nate’s not home yet.”
I try not to scowl. Even if that’s the case, does he expect me to go home and come back again, or maybe wait on the front stoop like a dog? Surely Hugh can’t be that disgusted with me. Besides which, there’s a reason I came a bit earlier than Nate specified in his text. “I wanted to speak to you before Nate lets us in on whatever surprise he’s hiding,” I tell him. “If that’s acceptable.”
Hesitating, Hugh continues to block the doorway with his body until I give up and start to turn away, sighing heavily. He grabs my arm unexpectedly. “Wait.” I glance back at him, and he shuffles his feet like he’s the one who should be embarrassed and uncertain. “I’m sorry. I think it’s probably a good idea if we have a minute to speak alone too. Come in.”
I follow him into the kitchen with Callie in tow and see he’s in the middle of fixing himself a modest dinner of spaghetti and tomato sauce. It’s inadequate and boring, since Nate is the unabashed cook in the family, and it tells me there’s still some distance left between them. The thought floods me with shame. Despite everything, I’m worried what will become of Hugh’s relationship with Nate. Cut off from my own family, I don’t want that for either of them. Nate has made bad choices, yes, and hurt people, but knowing as I do how much he loves his family, especially Hugh and Liam, it’s not a fate I’d wish on him, not even at my most bitter.
As if he senses my assessment of the scene, Hugh courteously asks, “Have you eaten?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t, but I doubt I could keep anything down right now anyway.” He shrugs in sympathy. “Thanks, though.”
“Uh-huh.”
Forever ago, I used to excel in taking control of situations in which I felt like a fish out of water, using my suits and matching ties and expensive haircuts as a shield between myself and my fear of not owning a room enough to meet my father’s standards. Hugh shouldn’t instill me with this same worry, but right now he does. Right now, I know I’m not owning anything.
As if he understands, Hugh goes to the fridge and grabs a beer, popping the top off against the counter before he hands it over. Whether it’s meant to be for liquid courage or a sign all is not lost, I can’t be sure. Hugh grabs one for himself too and downs it considerably faster than I could even attempt. Soon enough, the silence begins to stretch out as long and thick as syrup.
Just as quickly, it becomes too much. “How was I supposed to tell you it was your brother who ruined my life?” I blurt out, and I don’t miss the way Hugh’s fists clench in response. He doesn’t answer, though I can tell he wants to, and I’m so desperate to have out with it all I can’t help but goad him a little. “Well?”
“You should have just… told me!” he finally explodes. Such an overly simplistic declaration would normally be enough for an eye roll from me, but I know Hugh knows this isn’t the most eloquent response he could have given either. Likewise, it’s usually the simplest of statements that require the most complex answers.
I try to consider what it might sound like to come out and tell Hugh the whole thing. Of course, it would all be different now than if I’d explained it weeks ago, more different still if I’d done so before I knew he and Nate were related, but before I can think too hard, I find the words falling from my lips. I speak slowly, as though my brain is unsure of the story. Unable to watch Hugh, I focus on my hands instead, pulling and twisting the hem of my plaid shirt—one of Nate’s? I no longer know what I own anymore—between my fingers.
“I met Nate in Columbus over a year ago. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever come across and just… the way he looked at me was so unlike how anyone had ever looked at me before. We fucked. That was supposed to be the end of it.” I pause and look up at Hugh to find him watching me in a fixed way, though his expression is uneasy. “I had no idea he was married, no idea about Liam or anything else, I swear.”
Hugh says, “I know. Nate told me.”
I resist the urge to grab Hugh’s arm and shake him, fighting hard to remain where I am. “I’d never… been with someone before like I was with Nate. Never had a boyfriend, never was a part of something longer than one night or maybe a weekend. I didn’t think I was cut out to love someone the way I wanted to love Nate; it scared the shit out of me. But every time he came to me, it was like he knew my mind was just waiting for him to change it, like it was impossible he was the only one who wanted what he thought we could have.”
I swallow at the memory the same as I always do, feeling the weight of that love pressing down on me until I couldn’t tell myself apart from it. The constant anticipation of suffocating to death with it, but finding each breath easier than the last. “You don’t know what that’s like, Hugh, because you’re the type of man who’s always known you could have a family—you probably knew the second you met Nell you would marry her. I grew up thinking I’d never have any of that until I met Nate, and then I started to want it more than I wanted everything else. I was ready to throw everything else away for him because of how badly I wanted that dream.”
“And you had it taken away from you,” Hugh finishes, voice tight. “I know how that feels, Phel. You don’t have to tell me what it’s like to have the rug swept out from under you and all your dreams with it.”
“But do you know how it feels to have to look at the person who caused it?” I answer. “What it would have felt like if you came face to face with the person who fired that shot?”
Hugh jerks like I’ve slapped him in the face, but recovers quickly. “But you went back to Nate, Phel. You’ve been saying for months how your life was totally wrecked, and yet I bet almost as soon as he showed up, you went crawling back.”
“He was the one who begged me to come back,” I counter, but the minute the words are out, I know how stupid this distinction sounds. “But yes, I was foolish enough to fall for it a second time.”
“Fall for what?” Hugh asks. “You already knew everything, didn’t you? Did Nate surprise you with something new?”
I shift my weight from foot to foot and look back down at my hands. “No. There was nothing new.”
“Then you went back in with your eyes open, man,” Hugh answers. “Whatever decisions you made were all up to you. I’m not saying Nate gets a free pass for what he did, but you coulda walked away this time and didn’t, same as you coulda chosen to tell me the truth, and didn’t.” I knew that was going to come back around in short order.
Trying hard to say exactly what I feel, however difficult, I grimace. “Admitting I’d gone back to him was no less difficult than breaking the news to you about our history,” I say quietly. “Because I knew you’d say exactly this. And I knew you’d be right.”
“Then why the hell did you go back?”
Still hesitant, I shrug, since the inadequacy of the gesture is no different than the inadequacy of the English language to describe everything I’ve been feeling these last few weeks, or months, or year. The word “madness” doesn’t quite cut it. “I wanted to rewrite history, I think.”
“That’s not possible,” says Hugh with rigid certainty. “Wha
t happened, happened, and trying to do it over with the kind of baggage you’ve been hauling around is hardly going to help. Even I know you aren’t that stupid.”
I flinch. “Well, I was. Or just very good at convincing myself while I was at it.” We both let that hang there a while, neither of us willing to touch it, and when I break the silence, it’s not to apologize or to offer more excuses as to why I’ve been such a fucking idiot, in all respects. “We’re not so different, Hugh,” I tell him. “What I said to you on the phone yesterday wasn’t a complete lie—I do value this friendship, and I want to salvage whatever bit of trust might be left. Or better yet, rebuild it. I don’t know how, but that’s what I want.” I can’t bear to say out loud that I probably won’t be around much longer to do it, since I know Nate isn’t going to be the one forced out of Cardiff in this equation, but Hugh probably knows that already too. “I was afraid the truth might do more damage. I didn’t want to lose you either. Not in addition to everything else.”
“Lying to my face isn’t the horse I’d have chosen to bet on,” Hugh deadpans.
“I know,” I answer raggedly. “And you have to know how much I regret it.”
Whatever Hugh might have said is cut off by the front door slamming, a warning, however insufficient, that Nate is home. Any bombshells still in store are about to make themselves known. My stomach tries to launch itself from my knees up to my throat, and I have to turn away from Hugh to hide how nauseated I must look. From his pained expression, I know he catches it anyway, but instead of commenting, he goes to meet Nate.
“So what’s with all the secrecy, dude?” he asks, not bothering with pleasantries as I hear Nate’s footsteps approach the kitchen. I don’t blame the man, who must be thoroughly sick of surprises by now. His tone suggests there’s already been some kind of a discussion between him and Nate, but I’m startled to find he knows as little about the topic of today’s surprise discussion as me.