Simple Gifts

by L. B. Gregg

  The air burned. His heart hammered across the distance. His breath mingled with mine. How easy to fall back into those arms and lose myself in the heaven of Robb Sharpe’s hard body. Anything we did in my house would be free and unfettered. We could dodge history, dump accountability, and hook up like normal adult men do. No big deal. Sex didn’t have to be encumbered by commitment or conversation. We could please each other and leave the heavy stuff outside the door, and Happy Christmas to me, we could move on. Besides, as far as I knew, he was only passing through.

  I bought my lies so easily.

  His chest caught when I rolled to my side and our knees touched. I found his jaw, stubbly and tight, and when I curved a palm around his hollowed cheek, he sighed and leaned into my hand. We fit perfectly.

  Robb licked the center of my palm, and I sucked in frigid air. His tongue rode the edges of my blood stream, lighting a path from my hand, through my heart, and straight into my belly. With that first kiss, I hardened—seventeen again.

  “You’re not still freaked that I’m here?”

  “Just be straight with me. If you stay, fine. If you go? Tell me. That’s all I ask. I have no issues with sex, I just don’t like people in my apartment. I’m sort of crazy that way.”

  “You’re sort of crazy in every way, but I always liked crazy.” His hand flattened on my lower back, and he pressed his long, lean length into me.

  I brushed a kiss against his neck. His skin tasted of salt and aftershave. Then I grew bold and rubbed my palm across his shorn head the way I’d wanted to do all night. His soft hair tickled my palm. “We’re just generating body heat. We’re strictly by the book.”

  “Absolutely.” Lightning quick, soldier quick actually, he covered me and pinned my wrists to the pillow. He didn’t hold me like a prisoner. He held me as if he wanted me to surrender. Good thing I already had.

  Fingers tightened around the bones of my wrists, and his lips teased mine until I rolled into his hips. He pushed back, huge, just like I remembered, and another tremor of lust made my ass tense.

  I knew exactly where we were headed. Exactly.

  Robb pushed to an elbow. His palm slid from my wrist, to my jaw, over my neck, down my chest, and headed straight for my crotch. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Take your clothes off.” I pulled at his sweater. “Why do you have so many clothes on? Take this shit off.”

  “You first.” My boxers slid, and he dug inside the waistband until cool fingers closed around stiff flesh.

  “Jesus Christ that feels good.”

  His tongue slipped between my lips again, his hand worked between my thighs, and I pumped into that fist. I bit his mouth, kissed his chin, sucked his neck and then I grabbed his shirt and sweater in both hands and tore his clothes over his head.

  I stilled. I could count each rib with my fingertips. “What happened to you? You’re so thin.”

  “I’ve gained weight, actually.”

  “That’s impossible.” I stroked the taut slab of his abs and reached low until I worked my way into his underwear. Smooth skin filled my fist, and Robb shoved my knees apart. His hard fingers bit into the flesh of my thighs. His touch thrilled me, the same way his raw words did when he whispered into my neck, “Turn over.” His heart banged into my chest.

  When I rolled to my knees, ready, his heart galloped against my back.

  Fuck the cold air. Fuck the past. Fuck the future. Fuck the party. Fuck my idiotic stitches and my stupid fears. Fuck it all.

  We shoved the covers to the foot of the bed and let the bedsprings scream. The headboard knocked the wall. There wasn’t anyone to hear. I found everything we needed, and with his teeth on my shoulder and first his fingers and then his cock working deep inside me, I willingly let Robb Sharpe strip me from the inside.

  ***

  I couldn’t remember the last time someone stayed the night. By my best recollection? Never.

  Robb tucked me into his lanky body, and the comfortable aura of spent love enveloped our warm little world. I kept sentinel until fingers of gray light reached through the frost-etched windowpanes. The night sky paled, and Robb snored gently into my hair.

  His impossible blue-black hair contrasted against the stark white of his skin and the golden hair on my arms and chest. He was unbelievably pale, even compared to me, and I spent most of my time indoors tending bar. The lavender circles under his eyes were fresh and surprisingly deep.

  Eventually, the furnace kicked on, and I slept.

  I woke alone, sweltering under a pile of blankets, blinking at a field of dust-coated stars. Daylight, but soft. The snow had stopped. Water ran in the bathroom, so Robb hadn’t bailed. Now we’d do the awkward morning-after waltz, which I preferred to do clothed, just in case things ended badly. We had a history of fucking things up, Robb and I, so I grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor, and as I slipped on a T-shirt, the bathroom door creaked, and Robb entered the hall, dressed in yesterday’s party clothes and poised to run. His shirttails hung from his sweater, and his shoes were on.

  “Hey.” His fractured voice shot across the hall. Nothing soft or kind remained from last night, but that’s not what surprised me. He was a tough customer; I didn’t really expect anything less.

  What rooted me in place, with my pants unzipped and my sleeve half on, was Robb himself.

  Holy hell.

  Morning revealed ashen skin and a locked jaw. His teeth gnashed, but he didn’t flinch or shift his feet, and he wouldn’t look my way either. He stared at the front door, so ready to sprint, I could almost feel his muscles tensing. Under my ridiculous paper sky, he stood like a stone, but underneath, his skin crawled with panic.

  His beautiful brown eyes were red-rimmed, and worse, Robb’s Adam’s apple bobbed. I knew that look. I’d practically invented the “swallow your feelings” look. Robb choked those emotions down, and his gaze went from the door to the floor as he struggled for control.

  Christ. I should have known the truth the second I’d seen him brooding by his parents’ mantle. He’d run from the house, he’d abandoned me in the truck—he was different. And this difference had a name. Not a happy one.

  Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

  I thought his voice had broken, but no, something had broken Robb.

  If only his silly penlight had shed light on this for me sooner, I’d have removed my head from the depths of my own ass, and I’d have asked the right question from the start. Finally, I did. “Hey. You okay, Robb? How are you?”

  So little. So late.

  “Fine.” He watched the front door, no doubt gauging the safest escape route. Man, I’d been there a thousand times. I’d been there last night.

  He finally looked my way. “I have trouble sleeping most of the time. Gets me up at night. Makes me jumpy. Parting gift from deployment they tell me. Did I wake you? I tried not to.”

  I shook my head. “No. Slept like a baby, actually. Thank you for that.”

  “How’s your head?” He didn’t make a single move to check my pupils, nor did he wait for an answer. “I thought I’d head back, give you some space. You seem fine today.”

  “I am. And I have that list from the hospital, just in case.”

  “Sunny’ll be here soon. I called her. I hope you don’t mind.” His fingers drummed against his thigh and sweat glistened on his forehead.

  I checked the window. “Are the roads clear? You want some coffee before you go—”

  “No. Thanks. I’m good.”

  I trailed him to the front door, passing under a dark and dusty sky. He’d freeze if he didn’t get his coat and hat from the bar. Where would he go? Back to the lake? Or was he fleeing Cornwall for good?

  I stopped him with a hand on his. “Robb. Wait.”

  “I need to go.” Robb dropped his chin and squeezed his eyes shut. “I swear it’s not you.”

  “I know. I understand. Listen to me, Robb. I understand.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you have some problems, with your
mom leaving, and everything else, and I swore all I wanted was to see you and not complicate anything. I asked my mother to invite you. She and Sunny both. I didn’t know Sunny hadn’t told you.”

  “I figured as much. I’m glad Sunny brought me, but I did think your mom was suspiciously friendly last night.”

  “They’re worried. That’s for sure.”

  “They love you.”

  He nodded. “I can’t believe…I mean last night, I didn’t intend for things to go so far.” He swallowed again and squeezed my fingers. “But I see you, and I can’t help myself. I’m sorry. We have shitty timing.”

  “No regrets. You don’t have to explain anything. We’re old friends who reconnected at Christmas. I’m glad we did.” Solid truth. Robb had given me a Christmas gift that mattered. Closure. My throat closed, but instead of damming the flood of words, I set them free. “I want only good things for you, Robb. Honestly. I wish you well.”

  “You deserve better. All I do is leave—but you terrified me then. And now? I want to stay, to see if this thing between us could work.”

  “But you can’t. I understand. Sometimes, people leave. And I’m not as fragile as you think. We can pick this up some other time. I’d like that.”

  “You’ve made a great life for yourself, Jason. You should be proud.” He shook my hand off, turned the knob, and Robb Sharpe disappeared from my life again.

  Chapter Six

  “Mail’s here.” Donnie waltzed into the office and dumped a stack of letters onto the towering pile of bills sitting on my battered desk. Envelopes spilled into my lap, and Donnie ducked back to the bar. “Sorry, Jase!”

  Just another normal, slow Wednesday in March. Donny held the front of house. I’d settled down with a cup of Earl Grey as U2 played over the bar speakers. The day was unremarkable. I had a turkey and bacon sandwich to snack on, and my laptop fired up. I found my letter opener and sorted envelopes, bills from junk, until I came across an unmarked, rain-stained letter, postmarked in California.

  Weird. I sliced the envelope and, inconceivably, a crushed paper crane slid into my waiting hand. I almost dropped it as my universe tilted to a halt. Bono droned on. Glasses rattled in the bus bucket outside my office door. But I sat stupefied by a simple folded scrap of notebook paper. College ruled. The crane’s striped wings were uneven, and he looked a little lame.

  I glanced at the office door, who knows why? Maybe I hoped to find him standing there, because it didn’t take a detective or a return address to know who’d sent me an origami bird.

  I had no clue what he intended. He’d written nothing on the crane, not that he would, but I checked. At first blush, I thought maybe this crane was one of the many I’d made for him all those years ago—but no. I knew he’d folded this piece just for me. Not a single pen mark on the envelope, either. Only my name in his bold, all caps style of writing. Like he was making an important point from somewhere far across the country—JASON FERRIS, THIS BIRD’S FOR YOU.

  Did a paper crane mean he’d had a change of heart? Or was he merely “thinking of you”? Was he better? Had he rested? Was he happy? Was he crazy? Why was he in California?

  Did he miss me?

  I dropped the little bird in the trash, crushing hope under the firm heel of experience, and moved on with my day. We’d had one night together in ten years. Yes, that one night was spectacular, but he was nuts, and I had issues.

  I wrote checks and manhandled Excel. I drank tea, and the bird watched me from the wastepaper basket.

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” I rescued him, straightened his lopsided wings, and set him on the shelf. Paper cranes. You’re not supposed to toss them. You honor their intent—you hope for the granting of a wish.

  The wrinkled crane collected dust for a week, until the following Wednesday the postman delivered another small, unmarked envelope. I shut the door to my office and opened the letter with a neat slice.

  He’d crafted the second crane from a plain brown paper lunch bag.

  I swallowed until the lump in my throat disappeared and my eyes cleared. I cradled that little bird in my fingers. Such a tiny, simple thing.

  Did Robb know? I couldn’t remember telling him, but he remembered everything. His paper bag crane recalled all those drives with my social workers from DCFS. He’d tapped directly into the small child inside of me, forever clutching my meager belongings to my chest, braving the world alone.

  I set the fragile paper bird on my office shelf to join his striped brother.

  He’d be my favorite.

  Another Wednesday, another plain envelope, and as the weeks turned to months, more origami birds arrived first alone, then in pairs, then groups of twenty, until a flock of fifty or a hundred cranes flew from the confines of their paper sleeves, or padded envelopes, or battered boxes, and spread their wings. They appeared in every color, newspaper print, legal pad paper, food wrappers, shopping bags, magazine pages. They came from California, Oregon, Alabama, Massachusetts, and each one looked more sure and sharp than the last.

  I finally gave in and strung the cranes properly, forty rows of twenty-five each.

  An army of earnest origami cranes spanned the office with a message that was impossible to ignore. They flew weightless, silently keeping me company as I worked. I couldn’t miss the parallel between the desperate, youthful come home to me cranes I’d made at seventeen, and his careful, thoughtful wait for me cranes he’d made at thirty. Robb’s wish filled the empty space in my office and soothed the deeper void inside my heart—where I’d always been sidelined or forgotten or ashamed.

  I kept count, because I wanted to believe he’d send that perfect thousand, but the week before Thanksgiving, the cranes stopped coming.

  “Knock, knock!” Sunny popped her happy face into my office on Christmas Eve. Her hair had grown over the summer, and black curls fell to her neck. She wore a loosely knit cap on her head, a long white scarf, and with tall leather boots and a black skirt and tights, she was beautiful, à la Mary Tyler Moore.

  “Hey. Long time no see.”

  “Wow.” She poked my paper bag crane with her finger. “Are they still coming?”

  “Not really. Not for a few weeks.” I wasn’t going to revisit my disappointment, but Sunny had no problem hauling my pain right back into the open.

  “Oh. Well…that’s disappointing, right? I thought he’d meet his goal. He’s always focused. Plus he’s really good at math. How many are there?”

  “I don’t know. Nine hundred something.” Nine hundred and eighty-seven. “Not nearly enough.”

  “Pfft. Right. Liar. When did you get so hardheaded? Maybe nine hundred is exactly enough. Have you thought of it that way? Maybe Robb got his wish.” She plucked a yellow crane off the shelf and smiled. “Why’s this one here?”

  “I’m short a few. I couldn’t string them. That’s one of the leftovers.”

  “He’s so cute.” Sunny gently manipulated the perfectly folded wings and made him swoop across the desk. “This is a hamburger wrapper.” She laughed. “Look at that. I wonder if he ate the whole burger first. I hope so. He’s so skinny. But, how funny is this?”

  “A lot of the cranes were like that. Newspaper stories, or comic strips. He sent a glossy of Johnny Depp dressed as a pirate. And a magazine shot of the solar system…”

  Sunny kept blathering, “I wonder if he was eating his lunch and he thought—Jason Ferris, this bird’s for you.”

  “What’s up, Sun? What do you need? I’m still not coming to the Christmas party.”

  “I’m not going yet. I wanted to see you first. Have you unfolded any of them? Maybe there’s a secret message hidden inside.” Sonny wiggled her eyebrows and pretended to unwrap the bird’s wing.

  “Don’t!” I snapped the paper from her fingertips. “What the hell is wrong with you? Origami isn’t about writing secret messages inside, it’s about the gesture. Folding those cranes means you want something badly enough, you’re willing to do something extraordinary.
You don’t take the asking lightly. You mean it.”

  “Right.”

  “And I told you, he stopped sending them.”

  “But why did he stop? What’s he saying now, Einstein?”

  “That he’s busy? That he’s bored? I’m sort of bored with this conversation. Don’t you have some shopping to do?”

  She placed the paper bird back on my office shelf. “You’re such a bad liar, Jase. You’re dying to know why he stopped. You want him to send the rest—how many was it?”

  Sunny could be such a pest when she had a point to make, so I gave in. “Thirteen. What do you think he means?”

  “I’d think he’s hoping you’ll be here when he comes back. That was your wish, right?”

  Chapter Seven

  Sunny’s Mini Cooper made a left at Cornwall’s one and only traffic light, and I lurked like a creep behind a framework of tiny twinkling lights. She’d missed the party. Her mother would have a cow, but I was glad she’d stayed.

  I waited until her taillights vanished into the squall. The light swung above the empty intersection. Snow hid her tire tracks and soon, there was no sign of her having passed through town.

  She’d given me a Christmas present and for the first time, I’d forgotten to get her something in return. I should just write the Orphan Handbook and then dedicate it to her. She’d like that.

  I flipped the bar sign to Closed and began the unpleasant task of wiping empty tables with a soaked rag. The candles were snuffed and stored, the stock reshelved, and Christmas music warbled from the bar speakers. I should’ve changed the CD, but that required a trip to the office and, call me crazy, I’d grown tired of my office lately.

  I swiped the tabletop, and the overhead lights blinked a warning a millisecond before the room plunged into absolute black.