Not to mention the fact that Ben, at the uncomfortable age of seventeen, seemed to be the only boy in their high school who liked other boys. So he played baseball, went on disinterested dates with pretty girls, and kept up all the appearances that were expected of him.
Ben burned with jealousy when Nicholas went on his first date with Julie Sanders. Their senior year fling lasted for less than a week, but it was through the overwhelming, all-consuming jealousy Ben felt when he learned of their first date that he realized he loved his best friend far beyond their platonic brotherhood.
He had been secretly delighted when Julie started ignoring Nicholas’ phone calls. Ben offered his silent support to his best friend the afternoon that he and Nicholas saw her in the school hallway with her arms draped around the solid form of Josh Calloway.
Ben often wondered what a date with Nicholas would be like; he sometimes imagined that their ventures to the Marquee for black-and-white horror were dates. Ben would sit next to Nicholas in the red velor seats of the movie theater and pretend that they were together as more than friends. He reveled in the ease of their interactions and the comfort of Nicholas’ shoulder as it brushed against his own.
And so their friendship continued with Nicholas going on occasional dates, and Ben sometimes going on a few of his own when the issue came up at family dinners. What happened to that Sarah girl? She was pretty. Are you taking Karen to the dance? She’s so lovely. Ben would call up the girls named whenever his mother or father enquired. He arranged for brief dates that he never put much thought into so as to keep his parents off his back while he tried to figure out the best way to woo his best friend. He would figure out how to break the news of his apparent homosexuality to his parents after he crossed that first bridge and actually had something to tell them.
Ben never figured out the best way because Nicholas had never shown him the same kind of interest that he showed to the girls he took on dates. Nicholas had pined over Julie after she left him for Josh. He would complain about how none of the girls wanted to be with him. Always girls.
Ben played the supportive best friend; he would skip planned dates on Saturdays and go to the movies with Nicholas instead. Ben had even dodged senior prom in favor of a Hitchcock marathon at Nicholas’ house when neither one of them had bothered to score dates for the tedious high school event. Nicholas told Ben he was a good friend for doing it, and Ben had shrugged as if it was not a big deal. He was glad Nicholas knew that even if there was never a girl for him, Ben would always be there.
And Ben was, even though he never found the courage—or the right moment—to tell Nicholas how he felt.
Time passed, and Lily appeared. She and her family had moved to Point Pleasant in January; her father worked at County General with Andrew. “The Conrads, they’re good people,” Andrew told his family over dinner one night. “You should show Lily around, Benji. She’s eighteen. Maybe take her out to the pictures.”
Ben was happy to oblige, but he was not happy for it to end up as an awkward date, so he asked Nicholas to come along. Ben felt like a third wheel the entire evening; Lily and Nicholas had clicked.
Lily was pretty, but in an ordinary way. Her cropped, mousy brown hair offset her pale skin, which was dotted with freckles. She was quiet and sweet enough, but she had a propensity for giggling. Ben had found her irritating, but the next day, Nicholas revealed that Lily had agreed to go on a date with him. Just him. No Ben allowed.
Soon, Nicholas and Lily were a content couple that the people of the town ‘Ooo’d’ and ‘Aww’d’ over when they walked hand-in-hand around the square. Between Nicholas’ college course load and Lily, Ben barely saw his best friend anymore.
He did not show up at The Point that night. After work, he went home, showered, and dressed for the occasion, but he could not bring himself to leave the house.
It felt familiar; it was how Ben behaved three months prior, after his mother died. He had not been able to leave the house for a week after the funeral. He holed up in his room and helped his father clean and clear away smoke damage when it was asked of him, but he did not venture outside of his comfort zone after the burial, not for a while. Kate’s presence had been like a soothing balm, but she had returned to Boston two days after the service; she was apologetic but burdened by the responsibility of her course load and the looming presence of her final finals week.
Ben occupied the same puddle of self-pity and grief just three months later, and he did not feel like celebrating his friend’s news. Not at all.
He changed into jeans and an old white t-shirt and read J. G. Ballard in the safety of his bedroom. Andrew was on call at the hospital for the night; he had been spending more and more time there since Caroline’s death, but Ben did not mind.
At eleven o’clock, Ben took stock of the dark house. He went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a bottle of his father’s beer, which he opened without hesitation. He was less than three months shy of the legal drinking age, but that did not stop him.
Ben did not linger in the room. Even with its refurbished new floor and walls, the memory of his mother sprawled out on the old tiles made Ben feel like he was trapped at the bottom of a swimming pool with no way to breach the surface for breath. He gulped a long swig of the bitter liquid and went to sit outside on the porch.
Humidity clung on the air like the droplets of sweat that had already started to form on the cold bottle in his hand, but the night breeze brought in the scent of lavender from Ava Carmichael’s garden across the street.
The motion sensor lights activated as Ben sank down on the front steps and took another draught of his beer. He wondered how many of their friends were at The Point to celebrate. Maybe Axel Cook—Point Pleasant’s resident mustachioed barkeeper who boasted a jovial countenance as he often proclaimed the bar’s unofficial slogan, ‘When you don’t see the point, go to The Point’—would have let Nicholas sneak a beer or two for the occasion. Nicholas was a fun drunk. Just don’t tell the sheriff.
Ben should have told Nicholas a long time ago. He should have swallowed every ounce of fear he felt over his best friend’s possible rejection. He should have told Nicholas the truth.
In the wake of his mother’s death, Ben felt like a different person. Life changed even if on the outside it seemed to stay the same. Life was the shifting seasons that caused the fruit trees to flourish then wither. Life was dying at the age of forty-six while baking a cherry pie. Life was fucking short.
“You didn’t show,” a familiar voice said from the sidewalk, and Ben looked up to see Nicholas standing on the other side of the picket fence that lined the front yard.
“Hey,” Ben said as he finished his beer. “Sorry.”
Nicholas unlatched the gate and walked into the yard, though he stopped a few feet away from where Ben sat. “Why didn’t you show?”
Ben could not tell whether Nicholas was annoyed, angry, or worried. Maybe he was a bit of each, but Nicholas had always been able to keep himself on lockdown when he deemed it necessary.
“I dunno. I just didn’t.”
“Why are you mad?” Nicholas asked, narrowing his eyes as if this might help him to gauge Ben’s reaction.
“I’m not mad,” Ben replied.
“Then what are you?”
“I don’t know, Nic,” Ben said. “I’m just confused, I guess. You barely know her and now you’re going to marry her?”
Nicholas straightened as if he was preparing himself for battle. “I’m happy, Ben. I would hope you would be happy for me too.”
“How can I be, exactly?” Ben asked, and he stood to face Nicholas. “How can I be happy when I know you don’t belong with her?”
Nicholas blinked in surprise. “And who am I supposed to belong with, exactly?”
“Me, you idiot!” Ben said before he could stop himself.
“Is that what this is about?”
Every muscle and tendon in Ben’s body went rigid. He knows. How long has he known?<
br />
“You’re still going to be my best friend, Ben. Nothing is going to change that. I want you to be my best man!”
A moth fluttered above Ben’s head. His hands shook like the flit of its wings as it battered itself against the light fixture by the front door. No, no, no. Nicholas had completely misunderstood.
Ben could let it be. He could let Nicholas think he was a selfish asshole who thought marriage meant the end of friendships.
Life was short, though.
Too fucking short.
“I don’t mean that, Nic.”
“I don’t understand,” Nicholas said finally. Ben was not sure if the dread he felt in the pit of his stomach was due to the long silence that met his initial statement or the calculated evenness of Nicholas’ tone.
“I love you,” Ben said. “I’ve loved you for years. You don’t belong with Lily because I think you belong with me.”
“Ben!” Nicholas said as if Ben had just uttered some blasphemous curse. “Stop.”
Ben prepared himself for the response he had always known he would receive if he ever made this confession. Nicholas stepped away from him.
“This is crazy,” Nicholas whispered as he ran a hand through his dark hair. “You don’t mean that, Ben.”
“I do, Nic. I do,” Ben replied. The air seemed to vacate his chest entirely as if someone had taken a baseball bat to his lungs. “I mean every word.”
“Since when are you gay?” Nicholas asked abruptly, and his even tone finally broke to reveal his confusion.
“I don’t know what I am. All I know is that when I’m with you, I’m happy. Happy in a way no one else has ever made me. Happy in a way I don’t think I could be with anyone else but you. Happy in a way that makes me want to do anything you want if it meant you could feel what I feel when I’m with you.”
Ben caught only a fleeting glance of his friend’s eyes in the dim glow of the porch light. Their usual easy, open glean was now as shuttered as the windows of the Carmichael house behind him.
“Ben, we’re friends,” Nicholas started, and Ben had the sudden urge to break in, to say something—anything—to stop Nicholas from saying whatever he was going to finish with, but Ben forced himself to remain quiet as Nicholas went on. “And I love you like a brother. You’re my best friend. But I don’t think of you that way. I never have. And I don’t think—” he said, but he seemed to struggle to find his words.
A flare of hope stilled Ben’s breath. If Nicholas had even the slightest hint of doubt, Ben might have a chance. But then Nicholas’ shoulders stiffened with a resolve as effective as a fire extinguisher.
“I never will,” he finished. “I just can’t think of you like that.”
Ben was certain he felt his heart stop. The words were bad enough, but the sheer finality of Nicholas’ tone brokered no argument and quelled the flicker of optimism that Ben had felt just seconds before.
“Oh well,” he said at last. “I didn’t expect you to.”
Nicholas shifted with unease. It was as if he had discovered a copperhead had coiled itself by his front door, and he was trying to discern the best way to dispose of the creature before it slithered inside and infected him with its venom.
“Ben—” Nicholas started, but Ben shook his head.
“It’s fine. I get it,” Ben said. For a brief, feverish moment, he could almost feel the skin on his back transfigure into red scales. “But don’t marry her. You’re not happy, not like you should be. Like you deserve to be. When you marry someone, whoever it is, you should be over the moon. You should be so happy that you can’t stop smiling for days. I didn’t see that earlier, and I don’t think I’ll see it as long as you’re with her.”
“I am happy,” Nicholas said with a sharpness that stung like a bite from that fucking snake. “I’m with Lily, and I’m pleased with the decision I’ve made. You need to respect that. And don’t presume to know anything about the way I feel.”
“Don’t marry her, Nic,” Ben whispered. “Please, don’t marry her.”
“That’s enough,” Nicholas said, and his voice took on an icy edge that Ben had often heard Nicholas direct toward assholes like Josh Calloway but never toward himself.
There was nothing more to say. Ben had confessed, and it ended just as he had always known it would. They stood in silence as Ben gazed at Nicholas, who looked off at the trellis that climbed the side of the house and refused to make further eye contact.
“Well, I guess it’s pretty clear I won’t be your best man,” Ben said, his voice trembling like the wings of the moth that still hovered around the porch light.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate now.”
“No. I don’t suppose it would.”
“I need to go.” Without another word, Nicholas retreated. He strode through the front gate and disappeared down the street.
Ben watched Nicholas until the sight of his turned back was out of view. Cicadas sang from the distant tree line. The green glow of a firefly flickered near the cherry tree. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a crack of heat lightning shot across the sky. Ben lingered in the yard until the first few droplets of rain broke the atmosphere.
Sleep eluded him that night. He considered calling in sick to work the next morning but decided that he needed the distraction. The day passed with Ben wishing he could shed his skin to rid himself of the scaly sensation that crept down his spine like goosebumps. When it was time to go home, he left the office without saying goodbye to his co-workers.
As he ambled out to the parking lot behind the Gazette, his pace slowed. Lily was waiting for him. She leaned against the driver’s side door of the Camaro and offered an apprehensive smile when he approached.
“Lily.”
“Ben,” she said and stepped away from his car, which eased the tense set of his shoulders only slightly.
The sight of her touching his Camaro with the same hand that bore Leslie Nolan’s glimmering engagement ring ignited something so dark and unexpected in Ben that even Nicholas’ cold resolve would not have been able to smother its heat.
“Everything all right?” Ben asked, forcing the words out at a conversational register.
“Not really. Nic was upset this morning,” Lily said. “Really upset. He wouldn’t talk about it, but I know he went to see you last night after you didn’t come to the party.”
Ben hated that she referred to Nicholas as ‘Nic.’ Lily had taken to calling him Nic the first night they met. Nicholas preferred that most people—even his parents—call him by his full name, but Ben had always been the exception. After twenty years of friendship, he had earned the right to call his best friend by the shortened version of his name. Lily had no such claim. Or maybe she did now that the ring on her finger sparkled in the waning sunlight.
“I dunno, Lily,” Ben replied as he pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket and moved to unlock the car.
“Are you upset about something?” Lily asked, and she moved in front of the door again to prevent him from climbing inside. “Is it something I did?”
“No, Lily.”
“I don’t understand, Ben. I thought you’d be happy for us.”
Ben let out a laugh that seemed to unsettle her. “Please get away from my car.”
“I don’t understand, Ben,” Lily repeated, receding until she stood in the empty space beside the Camaro.
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?”
He slid into the driver’s side and slammed the door shut. He did not bother with the seatbelt. He cranked the engine, drove off, and left Lily standing next to the empty parking space.
Ben gripped the steering wheel tight. He passed the usual turn that would lead him home and kept going. Bill Tucker’s farm was in Ben’s rearview mirror before he even realized where he was going.
When he realized how far he had driven, Ben pulled the Camaro over to the shoulder of the road and put the car into park.
“Fuck,” he whispered and slammed his fist on the da
shboard. The outburst felt like relief; it hurt his hand, but the pain was almost cathartic.
“Fuck,” he said again but louder. “FUCK!” he outright screamed as he beat his fist on the side of the steering wheel.
Ben stumbled out of the car. “Fucking fuck!” he called out into the forest that surrounded the empty stretch of road. He kicked at the front left tire before he spun on his heel and paced around the car. He ran a hand through his hair and gripped it tight at the roots as if trying to wake himself up from a bad dream.
Without thought, Ben tugged at the leather cord around his neck, yanking it hard enough to break the material. He had worn the arrowhead every day since Nicholas had given it to him almost nine years prior, but he wanted it gone even though he immediately grieved the loss of its familiar weight. He stared down at the carved stone attached to the center and clutched it hard in the palm of his hand for a long moment before he reared back and threw the necklace as far as he could. It disappeared into the woods by the roadside, and he did not bother to watch where it landed.
Ben slumped against the trunk of the Camaro and let it support his weight while his knees shook. He felt hollow inside despite the pounding of the broken heart in his chest, which was evidence of the fact that he was anything but empty.
He doubled over, put his hands over his face, and stayed like that for several minutes before he sank into the car and drove home.
Andrew was preparing dinner in the kitchen. Ben waved at his father’s welcome and stood by the kitchen sink to look out the window at the apple tree in the backyard.
“Thought we’d have steak tonight,” Andrew said.
“I’m gonna go away for a while,” Ben replied.
“Okay, we can have burgers,” Andrew said with a laugh. “No need to throw a fit.”
“I need to work some stuff out. On my own.”
Andrew faced his son, but Ben continued to peer out the window despite his father’s concerned gaze. “Did something happen?”
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