by Rick R. Reed
“I do.” He vanished into the office, and she imagined his joy at the very positive words from Cole—how he was at first skeptical, then shocked, and finally excited. There was no big reveal about Cole’s life now. If there was someone else in the picture, Cole didn’t mention it. So Greta hoped and prayed that somehow, through the passage of all these years, Cole had never forgotten her son and was still, in his own way, available to him.
Wouldn’t that be sweet?
Chapter 21
COLE SAW him on the path below, and it took his breath away.
It was obvious Rory was totally unaware he was being watched, which gave Cole the opportunity to stare, to let his gaze linger on the sight of his old boyfriend, just a couple of stories below. The feeling that rose up in Cole was one of unreality, as though he were watching a movie instead of looking out his window. There was also a sense of love, of hope, flickering like a candle flame Cole thought had been extinguished long ago.
“How does he manage to still look exactly the same?” Cole wondered aloud.
Wherever Rory had gone, whatever he’d done, he had to have had plastic surgery. There was simply no other explanation. No one, no matter how well they took care of themselves, no matter their diet, exercise regime, or moisturizing routine, was able to hang on to their youth as Rory had.
It wasn’t just his appearance either, though that was the main thing. There was this kidlike exuberance in his step. There was also a charming curiosity as Rory looked around the courtyard, at the stately maple tree at its center, at the cement planters filled with greenery and orange, yellow, and red asters.
Cole could also see he was searching for the door that would bring Rory to him. When he found the right one and stood before it, he withdrew a piece of folded-up paper from his pocket, presumably to check the address he had written down against the one right in front of him.
And then Rory just stilled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hands hanging at his sides. He looked up, and for a moment Cole thought he’d been caught spying. But then Rory’s gaze moved on.
Cole sucked in a breath as Rory did something unexpected—he turned and began to walk rapidly from the courtyard.
What’s he doing? Cole’s excitement, fear, dread, anxiety—all those emotions took a sudden plummet as he watched Rory take them with him as he headed toward the gate.
Oh shit! He’s changed his mind. Maybe he thought no good could come from this meeting? And maybe he’d be right….
Seeing him headed for the courtyard’s exit made Cole realize how much he’d wanted to see Rory, to come face-to-face with him once more, to hear him speak, to maybe even touch him. And that desire, burning bright, also made Cole feel a stab of guilt deep within his gut, as though he were betraying Tommy. And aren’t you? What would he think if he knew you were entertaining a young man alone while he was away? Cole snorted at the thought. Tommy wouldn’t care. He trusted him implicitly. And that last thought ratcheted up the guilt even more.
He let out a sigh of relief as he saw Rory reenter the courtyard, saw the purpose in his stride as he headed for Cole’s front door. He moved away from the window to grab his phone up off the coffee table, and almost simultaneous with that action, the screen lit up with the word Intercom and the buttons to accept or decline the call.
Because he had no idea what to say, he hit Speakerphone, pressed the right button that would unlatch the lock downstairs, and then listened as the door opened and slammed, as it always did, too hard.
Cole hung up and went to wait by the front door. After a moment footfalls sounded on the staircase, then on level ground as they approached his door.
Again, there was a long pause before Rory knocked. Cole could hear him outside, moving around, maybe pacing. He took a glance through the peephole and saw him standing there in a denim jacket, chinos, and a plain black T-shirt. He looked like a kid, someone young enough, Cole thought with heat rising to his cheeks, to be his son.
This is too weird.
Without waiting for him to knock, Cole at last and impatiently flung the door open wide.
They stood there for the longest time, a distance of only a few feet separating them, but years and years of time apart an immeasurable void. Cole couldn’t believe this was happening, and his mind did a quick catalog of all the things that had happened around Rory’s disappearance so long ago—the searches, the sleepless nights, the dashed hope, the media stories, the tip lines, the offered rewards, the crashing sorrow when a body was found in a forest preserve or dragged from the frigid waters of Lake Michigan. Could this be him? Will there at last be some answers, some closure? But there never was, because, well, Rory was alive.
And standing right in front of him.
Cole felt dizzy. For the first time in his life, he thought he might faint. He saw stars. And the air around Rory seemed to shimmer. Maybe this was a dream, after all. This wasn’t possible, was it?
Cole had no words. He simply stood there, clutching the doorknob with a hand he knew had gone bloodless.
It was Rory who spoke first. “Well? Aren’t you gonna ask me to come in?”
What should I do? Should we hug? Tripping over his own feet, Cole stumbled a little backward while at the same time opening the door wider. He took a big gulp of air, air he felt was suddenly in short supply.
“Sure,” he said, voice only a whisper. He cleared his throat and said with a little more volume and force, “Come on in.”
Rory edged by him, and Cole knew this was no imposter. He immediately recognized his scent, something clean, something identifiable only as Rory-smell. Maybe there was a hint of mint in the smell, a bit of body odor, even. Rory had never believed in deodorant.
But the scent was uniquely him.
Cole closed the door, and the two of them once again stood, at a loss for words, in the entryway. Rory smiled. Oh my God. It’s you. Just as I remember. This isn’t the work of a brilliant plastic surgeon. This is a fuckin’ miracle. Cole gestured toward the living room, sweeping his hand wide. “Come on in and sit down.”
Rory took a seat on the couch, back rigid, not touching the cushions. Why, he’s just as nervous as I am! Cole could think of nothing to do but revert to banal social pleasantries. Otherwise, what would he say? Part of him wanted to scream.
“You want anything? I could make coffee or tea. Or if you want, uh, I think there’s some Diet Coke in the fridge. Maybe a couple bottles of Tommy’s kombucha.”
Rory looked up from the glass surface of the coffee table at which he’d been staring. “It’s really you,” he said softly.
Cole sighed and plopped down on the couch next to Rory. “I should be saying that to you.”
Silence, like a cloak, hung over them for the longest time. Forget soft drinks and everyday hospitality. This encounter was anything but everyday. It was surreal. A page out of a book of fantasy or science fiction stories.
Sleet tapped on the windows.
Rory nodded toward the glass. “It’s raining.”
Cole glanced dumbly at the smeared windowpanes. “How is this possible?” at last tumbled from his lips.
Rory said nothing for a while, staring off into space. Finally, he said, “We can’t ask that.”
“Why?” Cole wondered.
“Because there’s no answer.”
“There must be. There has to be some explanation.”
“If there is, I can’t tell you what it might be. I went out one night to grab a burger while you worked late—inventory, you said.”
“Moody’s?”
“Yup.” Rory cocked his head. “How did you know?”
“Your waitress came forward after you’d gone missing. She was the last person to see you—” Cole caught himself. He was about to say “alive” because he’d said it so many times before. “Her name’s Dora. She’s our friend now.”
Rory leaned forward a little. “Our?” The hurt on Rory’s face was apparent.
“Let’s not worry about tha
t now. How did you get here?” Cole needed to know, in spite of Rory warning him not to ask. There had to be an explanation. There had to be. Otherwise Cole thought he’d lose his mind.
“The Purple line.”
“C’mon. You know that’s not what I mean. Where have you been all these years? How did you finally come back? Why were you never in touch with me?” Cole suddenly felt at the brink of tears.
Rory licked his lips and gazed around the room for a moment. “Could I maybe have that Diet Coke you mentioned? Or at least a glass of water?”
Cole hurried to comply. He simply grabbed a can from the fridge, popped it open, and brought it back to Rory.
Rory took the can and downed a long swallow. He belched. “I’m surprised you have this stuff. You never used to like it.”
“How do you remember something like that? How do you remember what I was doing at work the night you disappeared? I barely remember that job myself.”
“It was at Pier One in Evanston.”
“Oh yeah.” Cole laughed. “I hated that gig. But then I’ve hated almost every bit of gainful employment I’ve ever had. Pier One, wow, they went out of business years ago.”
“I know. I tried to find you there,” Rory said.
“You did?” Cole scratched his head. “I quit that job shortly after you were gone. I was lost without you, Rory. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Where were you?” Cole repeated, even though it was beginning to sink in that asking that question was useless.
Rory put a hand on Cole’s hand. The touch was electric, and for a moment Cole wanted to snatch his hand away, but he didn’t. After a while he relaxed into the touch. It felt good. Cole let his head loll back on the couch. Closed his eyes.
Rory said, “I remember, because for me, it wasn’t that long ago. Like yesterday, or maybe just a few weeks ago. Certainly nothing like years or decades.” He shrugged. “It all seems so recent.”
Cole kept his eyes closed, partially because he hoped it would encourage Rory to keep talking and partly because it somehow felt more real without the visual. He could imagine himself young again—or that Rory had aged. Whatever—he saw them as more equal.
“Okay. Let me try and make these muddy waters clear. And don’t expect much. But I’ll try. The plain and bald truth is I remember pissing in an alley.” And Rory continued to tell the tale of the night of his disappearance. Cole assumed his memory was so clear because it really wasn’t that long ago—for Rory. How that was possible made Cole’s head hurt.
Rory finished up, “I remember a bright light above me. I remember feeling like my feet were leaving the ground.”
“Weird,” Cole said. He snickered. “Maybe you were abducted by aliens.” He laughed some more, his voice going a little high, edging hysteria.
Rory fell silent for a very long time. When he spoke, his voice was deliberate yet very soft. “Yeah. That’s what I think. Seriously.”
Cole opened his eyes and sat up, peering over at Rory. “You’re fucking with me.”
Rory squeezed Cole’s hand. “You ever heard of time dilation, as it pertains to space travel?”
Cole just shook his head. He felt an odd lightness and again feared he might faint. This conversation could not be happening.
“It’s physics. Einstein talks about it in some of his stuff. It basically involves his theory of relativity. If you google it, you might come up with a story about a couple of twins. In Einstein’s theory, there’s no such thing as ‘time.’ Time passes differently for different observers, depending on the observers’ motion. So you take these twins—one stays home, on Earth. The other goes into space in a superfast vessel, almost as fast as the speed of light, before coming back. When the one twin does return, the traveling twin is markedly younger compared to the one who stayed home. The exact age difference depends on the details. For example, it could be that, aboard the spaceship, two years of flight time passed, but on Earth, a whopping thirty years had passed between the spaceship’s departure and its return.” Rory let go of Cole’s hand and stood up to cross the room. He stared out the window.
“Cole. This is the only thing I can find that makes any sense. That might explain why I’m still in my twenties and you’re—” Rory turned to look at Cole. “And you’re in your forties.”
Cole could think of nothing to say. This was just too odd. Too, pardon the pun, out of this world, too incredible. But yet, what Rory said made sense. He could think of no other way to explain things. At least ways that weren’t as far out there as this one. Finally he asked, “And what do you remember? I mean, like, after that feeling of being lifted up?”
Rory returned to the couch, sat close to Cole. “Nothing. The whole time—which I guess now was twenty years—is a blank. The next thing I remember is being in the alley again. But it was morning, and everything looked different.” He smiled. “Because it was different. I just didn’t know it. I thought a few hours had gone by, when it was apparently a couple of decades.” He talked on—about how he found his way to his mother, her wanting to keep him a secret, how he’d frantically searched for a way to explain what had happened to him, especially when he knew he’d be coming to see Cole. “I needed to have something to tell you. I didn’t want you to think I’d just run off.”
“That’s what I would have thought. No doubt. But then there was the pesky piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit—”
“My age. I know.”
“Yes.” Cole felt as though his head might explode from the fantastic—literally—ideas he was trying to process. “And you remember nothing else?”
“Well, I do remember the night we moved into our apartment.” And Rory tried to make sense of what he’d seen in the sky, the fog bank, the membrane, whatever it was, and the figures that seemed to be dropping from its churning, ethereal body.
“Wow. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You would have said I was dreaming.”
“I think I’m dreaming right now,” Cole said. And suddenly intellect shut down and emotions took over. He couldn’t process logical thought anymore, but he could feel. And what he felt was that Rory was here now. Rory was home.
He was alive! His love! He was right next to him. And Cole had believed he’d never have that again. He hiccupped out a short sob and then blurted, “Will you hold me?”
Rory took him in his arms and held him close. And it was suddenly as though no time had passed—not twenty minutes and certainly not twenty years. They were the boys, the young men they’d been, in the giddy throes of first love. Cole kept his eyes shut tight as he clung to Rory, their bodies meshing and merging on the couch. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to process this moment.
Something like joy tingled through his system. This was a moment he’d waited for most of his adult life.
Cole’s lips found Rory’s. His mouth was real, and he parted his lips eagerly to admit Cole’s tongue. This kiss, this connection, was suddenly so big it filled Cole’s world. He forgot where he was, who he was, what mattered—there was only the pure unadulterated bliss of finding what he’d thought was forever lost.
This was right. This was elemental, what he’d been longing for, an antidote to years of boredom with Tommy.
And the name Tommy, at last, stopped Cole short. He broke away from Rory, pushing against his chest with the palm of his hand, a little breathless.
Rory’s face was flushed, full of wonder. “What’s wrong?”
Cole groped for the right words. He felt sick. “I can’t do this. Not yet. Not until I make things right.” Am I really contemplating breaking Tommy’s heart? “I, uh, I have a husband now. Tommy. We’ve been together—” Cole’s voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes. Now he was feeling he’d betrayed not Tommy, but Rory. But he had to admit the truth. “We’ve been together almost as long as you’ve been gone. He helped me, at first, to look for you. He was there when I needed someone, when my world seemed to be crashing down around me.” Cole eyed Rory. The hurt on his face was a
pparent.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” Rory said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Mom told me not to, for this very reason.” He laid a gentle hand on Cole’s cheek, then took it away, as if he hadn’t the right. Tears welled in his eyes but didn’t fall. “I should have known, I did know, that someone like you wouldn’t wait, holding a vigil for someone who might never come back. I knew you were married—it was in the private investigator’s report.” Rory looked away and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to upset your life, to shake its foundations.”
He stood. “I guess my main reason for coming was to let you know I was all right. I am all right. That I’m… alive.” He smiled, and Cole thought he’d never witnessed such sadness in an expression he’d always thought was reserved exclusively for happiness.
“Oh, Rory. I do appreciate that. You don’t know how your death—and I’m sorry to use that word, but there’s a marker at Graceland for you—has clung to me through all these years. I think always, in the back of my mind, there was this hope that you’d come back. I knew it wasn’t rational. But you’re standing here, right in front of me, a miracle, a mystery, showing me that my hope wasn’t without meaning, wasn’t in vain—not really.”
Rory took a few steps away from the couch. “But what do we do with it?”
The question hung in the air for a long time, like a cloud of smoke. Cole knew what the answer should be—“I do have a life now. You need to go and find your own. I want only the best for you. And maybe one day, somehow, we can be friends.” But something in him resisted saying the words, resisted mightily. At last he said all he could say, all he was able to. “Can you give me some time? I need to think about where I am now.” He looked into Rory’s eyes and saw his own despair and sadness mirrored there. “I still do love you, Rory. But I also love Tommy. And I’ll be damned if I know what I should do right at this very moment.”
Rory nodded. “Okay. When you find out, you know where to reach me.”
Cole closed his eyes and put his hands over his face. “I don’t know what to think,” he said through his hands, voice muffled. “But I do know this isn’t done yet.” He removed his hands to find an empty room, the front door still open.