Love Has No Direction

by Kim Fielding

  “Hi.”

  Parker lifted his head so quickly he almost bashed it into the edge of the glass case. Wes stood there in his denim jacket, hair pulled into a neat ponytail, mouth quirked in a hesitant smile. “Is this the Bobby Darin version?” Wes gestured in the general direction of one of the speakers.

  “Yeah. I like the Fitzgerald/Ellington version better, but I already played a bunch of her songs and wanted more variety.”

  They stared at each other as the sound system recounted MacHeath fashioning cement overshoes for the unfortunate Louie Miller. Wes fidgeted.

  “You changed your hair color.”

  “Yeah. Cobalt Midnight.” He was at a loss for words, then suddenly blurted, “You’re back in Portland.” Parker almost winced. Brilliant observation, and such witty conversation!

  But Wes gave one of his funny little shrugs that now looked so familiar. “Yeah. I, uh, made something for your mom. Want you to see if it’s okay.”

  “I just asked you a few days ago.”

  “Doesn’t take that long. No big thing.” Wes scanned the shop, maybe making sure Jeremy and Nevin weren’t lurking somewhere, ready to attack. “Do you have a few minutes soon? Morrison’s just around the corner.”

  Parker’s thoughts raced. Did this mean Wes was eager to see him again? Or did Wes feel sorry for him and perhaps want to get this obligation out of the way? Maybe Wes just had other errands in town and had stopped by. Maybe this had very little to do with Parker at all. The world didn’t revolve around him, did it?

  Hoping he came off as nonchalant, Parker nodded. “I’ll take a break when Rhoda gets here. Thirty minutes. Coffee while you wait?”

  “Sure.” That might have been relief on Wes’s face, but Parker wasn’t certain.

  Parker didn’t have to ask what Wes wanted. He chose a large mug—one of his personal favorites, painted with bright whimsical birds—and filled it with freshly brewed organic Kona. He left a little room for sugar but none for milk. “Our pistachio macarons are pretty amazing. Can I get you one?”

  “Okay.”

  Wes held out a ten-dollar bill, but Parker rolled his eyes and didn’t take it. “Really?”

  Another little shoulder twitch, and Wes tucked the money away. He stopped to add sugar to his coffee, then took his things to a little table in the far back, beneath a painting of a unicorn with a rainbow-hued mane. The same artist had done the one in Parker’s bedroom, and the artist’s boyfriend often played at the coffeehouse on music nights. Parker glanced at Wes often over the next half hour but didn’t approach him—in theory because Parker was too busy, but mostly because he didn’t want to say something stupid. Every time he looked at him, Wes was watching him back.

  Rhoda swept into P-Town a few minutes early, resplendent in a galaxy-print dress, red cardigan, and shiny red boots. She took off her raincoat as soon as she was inside, but not before she caught sight of Wes. She continued to hold the coat and raised her eyebrows at Parker. He pretended not to notice.

  Within less than five minutes, she’d hung up her coat, greeted the other employees and some regulars, and assessed the condition of her coffeehouse. Apparently satisfied that Parker had done a good job of steering the ship, she nudged him away from the cash register. “Cute hair. Go. Lunch.”

  Normally he might have resisted, due to the obvious way she was indicating Wes, but Parker really did want to see what was in the van. And spend a little time with Wes, even if just in a brief commercial transaction.

  “Okay. Hey, see that guy near the window in the green shirt? His name’s Bob, and he just moved here from Ohio. He’s looking for some good tips on restaurants, shopping… that kind of stuff. You’re better at that than me.”

  Her eyes lit up. If there was one thing Rhoda loved, it was giving advice. And this would be a good test of Bob’s temperament and stamina. Could he withstand a full dose of Rhoda’s guidance? With her happily occupied, Parker ducked into the kitchen and slipped his hoodie on. Wes was standing when Parker emerged, and they left together, neither of them saying anything until they were outside.

  “I’m trying to get my mom a date. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

  Wes snorted. “Yeah. But sweet.”

  Although it wasn’t far to Wes’s van, Parker felt chilled by the time they got there. Maybe he should follow Rhoda’s advice and acquire appropriate winter outerwear. Ugh. All the affordable raincoats were so boring.

  Instead of leading them to Morrison’s cab, Wes unlocked the back of the van and gestured inside.

  “This is like a scene in a spy movie,” said Parker. “Or a kidnapping.”

  “I promise not to take you anywhere against your will or divulge state secrets to the Russians.”

  “Fair enough.”

  There wasn’t much room in the back—Parker had to stoop—but at least it was dry. He watched as Wes unwrapped several layers of blankets from something bulky.

  “Oh my God,” Parker exclaimed when the object was revealed. It was a wooden frame about three feet wide and equally tall, holding three shelves. The wood itself was pale with a dark grain, and other species of wood formed insets shaped like cups and hearts and musical notes. The top and bottom of the frame were fronted with intricately carved pieces that incorporated some of the same shapes. The unit was dazzling without being busy or gaudy. “That’s stunning.”

  “Will she like it?”

  Parker blinked at him. “I can’t— This is way out of my price range.”

  “Discount. Most of the wood was leftovers, and I wanted to practice with my new scroll saw.”

  “Wes—”

  “Will your mom like it?”

  “She’ll love it. God, it’s perfect.”

  “Good.” Wes started rewrapping it. “Is there somewhere you want to put it so she won’t know?”

  “Uh….” He had the better part of an hour before he had to return to work. “Do you mind driving to our place? It’s not far. I can hide it in my room.”

  “No problem.”

  They climbed into the front seats, and Wes pulled away from the curb. He didn’t turn down the radio, which was blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd. Parker had to raise his voice to give directions. He sat on his hands the entire time to stop himself from reaching over and touching Wes. To register the reality of him. Ah, but he could still smell him, which only reminded Parker of how sterile his own bed had felt lately. Nice bedding, washed with Rhoda’s favorite unscented, gentle-on-sensitive-skin detergent. No odors of sawdust and spices. And no Wes, of course.

  Parker had to do yogic breathing to keep himself calm.

  Wes backed the van into the driveway at Rhoda’s house, Parker unlocked the front door, and Wes carried the blanket-swathed shelf inside, following Parker to his bedroom.

  Since Parker didn’t have much stuff, there was plenty of space in his walk-in closet. But after they tucked the shelf away, he and Wes stood awkwardly in the bedroom, Wes with the blankets folded under his arm. The situation reminded Parker of the times he’d snuck his high-school boyfriend, Marcus, into the house while his parents were still at work. Parker and Marcus would play video games and fool around, and Marcus would hurry away just in time to not get caught. Although Parker had always been careful to hide any evidence, he suspected Rhoda knew perfectly well what was going on. A suspicion confirmed the day he and Marcus discovered several foil-wrapped condoms oh-so-casually arranged atop Parker’s dresser. His ears still burned at the memory.

  “Can we talk for a few minutes?” Wes was fidgeting again, staring at the floor and playing with the hem of his jacket.

  “Sure. Um….” Parker waved at the bed. Mercifully, the bedding looked rather tidy, and the general condition of the room wasn’t bad. The rest of the house remained neat after his cleaning binge the previous week.

  Wes sat on the edge of the mattress, and Parker perched next to him with several significant inches between them. As the silence stretched, Wes surveyed the room. And as Parker followed Wes’s gaze
, he realized very little of the room was his. It looked as if he was staying for a while in his mother’s guest room, which was in fact the case. But it also meant this space didn’t truly feel like his home.

  “I live like a fifteen-year-old,” Parker moaned.

  “I live in a bus.”

  “Yeah, but it’s your bus. I mean, it’s a totally cool space anyway, but you’ve also made it your own. Anyone who knows you would instantly recognize it as your home.”

  Wes responded very quietly. “Nobody knows me.”

  “I do.”

  Although they’d met only a short time before and had spent only a few days together, Parker knew that was true. He had watched Wes work, had listened to him reveal hard truths about his history, had seen him face specters from his past and apologize in public. Had been patched up by him after falling in the dark and rain. Yeah, Parker knew him.

  Wes picked up a small silver-toned elephant from the nightstand. He turned it over in his hands as if he were fascinated by it, even though it was clearly nothing but a mass-produced knickknack. Rhoda had purchased it as part of her redecorating efforts, and Parker sometimes used it to prop up his phone at night.

  “Have you heard anything else from the Seattle police?”

  Well, that was unexpected. “No. Why?”

  “Do you mind talking about it a little?”

  “It’s okay.”

  Rhoda had been carefully dancing around the topic, occasionally coming close to mentioning it but not quite getting there. Parker hadn’t taken the bait, mainly because there was nothing he wanted to say.

  “I was thinking…. Look, you’re a lot closer to this than me. I’m just an outsider. But does something about it feel off to you?”

  “Off? You mean like Logan’s dead? That’s pretty fucking off.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But I mean how he died. And why. And the note.”

  Parker took the elephant and made it hop majestically down his thigh to his knee, where it reared up in a silent trumpet. He’d never named the thing. Should he have? He’d been sleeping next to it off and on for several years. But it didn’t even have eyes or a mouth, so maybe a name wasn’t necessary. He handed it back to Wes.

  “Yeah,” Parker admitted. He’d thought it was weird from the beginning, actually, but his reasoning had been clouded by emotions. During the relative calm of the past several days, Logan’s death kept popping into his head. Not just the sadness of it and Parker’s lingering guilt, but also a general feeling of unease, as if he wasn’t quite grasping something.

  When he was little, those Magic Eye pictures were popular. His friend Hannah had a whole book full of them, but no matter how hard Parker stared, he could never see the 3-D images she insisted were there. Logan’s death was like that. No matter how much Parker turned the suicide over in his head, the story never quite gelled. He just couldn’t imagine Logan killing himself, especially over Parker.

  He turned to look at Wes, who was regarding him closely. “It feels off.”

  “Do you want to do something about it? Or let it go?”

  Weird. If Wes had insisted on poking at this topic, Parker would have pushed back and refused to discuss it anymore. But Wes hadn’t insisted—he’d asked what Parker wanted—and Parker had the impression his preference would be respected. That made him reluctant to walk away.

  “Do what?”

  Wes’s smile looked more grim than happy. “Something that requires some help.”

  Chapter Ten

  NEVIN NG was a dangerous man, and not just because he carried a gun. As far as Wes knew, Nevin had never actually pulled a weapon on anyone, although Parker told him that Nevin’s husband, a real estate developer, had shot and killed a serial killer. Nevin’s real weapons were his sharp mind and even sharper tongue. Which is why Wes was more frightened of him than he was of Jeremy, even though Jeremy was a foot taller and a whole lot heavier.

  Still, as Wes sat at a table in P-Town with Parker beside him and Nevin and Jeremy seated across from them, he addressed his request mostly to Nevin. That was because, of the two of them, Nevin was more likely than Jeremy to bully the Seattle detective into cooperating.

  “Why do you give a flying fuck about any of this?” Nevin had his arms crossed and his brow lowered.

  “Because it involves Parker.”

  “So?”

  “We’re friends.”

  Nevin gave a dismissive pfft and rolled his eyes. “Now that you’ve crawled out of the closet, you’re gonna do favors for all the pretty queer boys?”

  “Just Parker.”

  Interesting. When Wes responded to Nevin’s barb without defensiveness, Nevin’s posture loosened and his scowl faded. “Parker’s not just any pretty queer boy. He’s ours.”

  “Hey!” Parker protested. “I appreciate the support, but I’m a grown man, and I don’t need any human attack dogs going after my friends.”

  “Too bad, Smurf. You’re Rhoda’s kid, and that means we’ll be keeping douchebags away from you when you’re a hundred and three.”

  Wes didn’t say anything, mainly because he didn’t want to treat Parker like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Jeremy might have felt the same way; he remained quiet with his huge coffee cup in his hand and his long legs stretched out under the table.

  The four of them sat silently.

  Wes wondered whether other customers were watching, and if so, what they thought was going on. Four frowning men of various ages and manners of dress, each with a different coffee drink, all of them supervised from afar by Rhoda, who was theoretically running the till. Parker had asked her not to participate, and although she’d agreed, it didn’t keep her from watching anxiously.

  Parker began to fidget with his paper napkin, folding it, rolling the edges, and tearing it into tiny bits he’d have to clean up later. “Are you going to help us?” he demanded at last.

  Nevin lifted his chin. “Jeremy and I will help you. He can fuck off back to Podunk and mind his own goddamn business.”

  “No, he’s with me. We’re doing this together.”

  Nevin looked surprised, although not entirely displeased, that Parker was standing up to him. And then everyone was surprised when Jeremy finally spoke up. “No,” he said, echoing Parker. “They’re together.”

  That made Nevin swivel his head and raise his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Oh. This is Parker’s personal business, and he should be the one deciding how he wants to proceed. Besides, as I recall, Wes is a fairly bright guy. He could be helpful.”

  Nevin muttered something at Jeremy that sounded like “fucking Sasquatch,” and Jeremy cheerfully flipped him off, but Wes was dealing with an odd little sensation in his chest. It took him a moment to recognize it as relief. Not only was Jeremy taking his side—well, his and Parker’s—but he’d said something nice about Wes. He wasn’t treating him like the asshole son of a bitch who’d gotten somebody killed.

  Parker let go of the last flecks of dismembered napkin and grabbed one of Wes’s hands, causing him to jump a bit. Wes glanced at Rhoda, who was still looking their way but didn’t appear upset and hadn’t moved from behind the counter.

  “Wes is super smart,” Parker said. “He can take any old pieces of things and find a way to put them together into something amazing. His home? It’s totally unconventional, but he’s discovered all these creative ways to make it work. Wes figures things out.”

  Wes had never thought of himself that way. He wanted to protest but feared he’d come off as falsely modest. Besides, Parker didn’t need another person challenging everything he said; Nevin had already done enough of that. And with Parker’s soft, long-fingered hand holding his, Wes could almost believe he was something more than a loser who played with tools for a living. So he didn’t argue, but he gave the hand a quick squeeze and looked Nevin straight in the eyes. Not challenging, just not afraid.

  A tall man with a battered biker jacket, gray backpack, and streaks of silver in his straight
black hair entered P-Town, looked around for a moment, and headed their way. He was handsome, although something about his face and posture suggested his journey hadn’t always been an easy one. His wide smile seemed genuine, and it broadened even more when Jeremy caught sight of him.

  “What happened to your class?” Jeremy asked.

  The man, who must have been Qay, Jeremy’s husband, rested a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Prof let us out early. She has a red-eye flight to Philly for a conference.”

  Jeremy introduced him to Wes—they nodded at each other—and then had a conversation with Qay about dinner and a hike they were planning for the next day. They didn’t speak for long since Qay clearly didn’t want to disrupt the rest of them, but even in those couple of minutes, their love for each other was evident in the way their bodies leaned subtly together and they finished each other’s sentences. Bitter jealousy stung the back of Wes’s throat, not just over their relationship but also over the way jaded, cynical Nevin didn’t say a single caustic word to them. He simply waited, absently stroking the wedding band on his finger.

  When Qay said goodbye to everyone, waved at Rhoda, and strolled away, Jeremy watched him go.

  “When do you want to do this?” asked Nevin, drawing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand.

  Parker answered. “Now. Like, tonight. You think you can get hold of her?”

  “I can do anything,” Nevin replied with a sharp-toothed grin. He pulled out his phone and poked at it for a few seconds, then stood. “Be right back.” With a complex hand gesture in Rhoda’s direction, and her nod in return, he strode across the room and went to the kitchen, where there would be less ambient noise. Right afterward Parker let go of Wes and hopped up to join his mother behind the counter, where he began to do something complicated with the espresso machine. That left Wes alone with Jeremy.

  “Congratulations,” Wes said, waving at the door where Qay had exited.