Ben stood, asked if anyone wanted anything from the kitchen, and was met with a shake of everyone’s head save Nicholas’.
“Another coffee, please?”
Ben ushered the way to the kitchen. He marveled over how much time he had spent in the room since he had come home despite his previous aversion to it, especially the one spot on the floor that he had dreamt of for years—dead mother included.
“Listen,” Nicholas started while Ben poured two cups of coffee. “Kate said her flight leaves at seven, right?”
“I think so.”
“Well, I had an idea. What if we go up to Boston tonight? I’ll drive if you want. Or you can if it helps clear your head. We can drop off Kate at the airport in Charleston and then head up straight from there. Give you a chance to decompress after all this.”
Ben watched Nicholas with wide, stunned eyes. When he did not reply immediately, Nicholas shifted from one foot to the next.
“It’s just an idea.”
Ben put the coffee mugs on the counter by the machine and hugged the sheriff. “It’s the best idea.”
“Yeah?” Nicholas asked, bringing a hand up to the back of Ben’s head.
“Yeah.”
Nicholas placed a small kiss under Ben’s ear before he stepped away.
“It’s ideal. Really,” Ben said, offering Nicholas one of the mugs. “I don’t think I could take being here tonight.”
Nicholas’ smile was warm, but the moment was broken when Nate entered the kitchen. He assessed their closeness and flustered.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t,” Ben assured.
Nate looked between them and cleared his throat. “Nicholas, your mother wanted to ask you something. I’ll keep Ben company.”
Nicholas arched a high eyebrow at his father. The Nolan men proceeded to communicate through a strange, non-verbal exchange of eye squints and head tilts. Nicholas finally sighed and headed out of the kitchen. Ben braced himself for a repeat of Nate’s garage talk.
“Nicholas says you’re moving back,” Nate said offhandedly, and he leaned back against one of the countertops.
Ben nodded, but he felt too wary to speak a confirmation lest he incite the wrath of the former sheriff-turned-concerned father.
“Good. I think that’s good.” Nate regarded Ben with a placid fondness that was almost startling.
“You do?” Ben asked. He realized only in that moment that he had gone as rigid as the soldier at the cemetery. He was not sure what he had expected Nate to say.
“Nicholas seems happy,” Nate said. “I’d like to see him stay that way.” He shrugged as if to say it was no big deal; he was just a father who wanted what was best for his son.
“So would I,” Ben replied in earnest.
Nate nodded, apparently satisfied with Ben’s response. They stood in easy silence before Nate’s eyes glinted with mischief.
“You know,” he started, “Les runs that book club. They meet every Thursday somewhere in town. They used to use that muffin shop, but she’s managed to talk them out of that madness.”
Ben laughed at the way the other man made ‘muffin shop’ sound like a filthy expletive, but he had no idea why he should be made aware of Leslie’s schedule. “That’s nice, I guess.”
“She goes to bed early on Wednesday nights to be up to prepare for the discussions. I never like to watch the television too loudly. Keeps her awake. I tend to save my critical viewings of the exploits of The Atlantic Paranormal Society for when she’s gone.” When he saw that Ben understood him, Nate winked. “Since you’ll be around the corner, virtually, we might as well watch it together.”
“It would save electricity,” Ben said after pretending to consider the option.
“It’d be our contribution to fighting global warming,” Nate said with a wry smirk.
“It’s settled, then,” Ben said, relaxing for the first time that day.
“I’ll see you next Thursday, ten o’clock.”
They shook hands as if they were entering into a gentleman’s agreement and parted just before Nicholas reappeared.
“She didn’t want me,” Nicholas said. “She’s talking about lactation.”
“Oops,” Nate said and shuffled out of the kitchen.
“What was that about?” Nicholas asked.
“Nothing,” Ben said. “Just talking.”
Nicholas appeared unconvinced, but he did not push further.
Kate had been delighted by Nicholas’ idea to venture up to Boston that night. Her initial uncertainty regarding Ben’s relationship with the sheriff seemed to have disappeared, and the two of them maintained a steady flow of conversation as the Malibu sped down the interstate toward Charleston. Ben wondered if they were both making an extra effort to alleviate the muteness that had befallen him since they left Point Pleasant.
“Oh, hey,” Kate said. “I have an idea. You should both come to New York for Thanksgiving at the end of the month. Have you ever been, Nic?”
“I haven’t,” Nicholas replied. “I’d like to sometime.”
Ben raised an eyebrow and wondered if Nicholas had traveled outside of West Virginia much—if at all—over the years. He hoped the answer was ‘not much.’
“Then you should come,” Kate said. “It’ll be great. We could have a big dinner and show you the sights. Ben, please?”
“I’ll have to check, Katie. I have a talk thing in Boston. I think it’s the day before.”
“A talk thing?” Nicholas asked, sounding surprised.
“At a university,” Ben said. “It’s an English department thing. I agreed to it ages ago.”
“God, it’s weird, isn’t it?” Kate asked no one in particular.
“Really weird,” Nicholas agreed.
“What is?” Ben asked, furrowing his brow.
“You,” Kate said. “Some big writer. People read your stuff all the time. And they respect you enough to invite you to open your mouth in front of roomfuls of other people. It’s weird.”
“Gee, thanks, Katie,” Ben said, snickering. “Try not to be too shocked.”
“Have you read any of Ben’s books, Nic?” Kate asked, and she peered over her shoulder to Nicholas in the backseat.
“I have,” Nicholas said. Ben wanted to smile at the prideful lilt he heard in the other man’s voice. “And I never knew he wrote them until last week.”
“That’s hilarious!” Kate exclaimed. “Even the first one?”
Ben cast a frown over to Kate, who looked like she realized she had just shoved both of her feet—shoes included—into her mouth.
“That one’s my favorite, actually,” Nicholas said after a few seconds of deliberation. “It’s poignant.”
“It’s beautiful,” Kate said softly and adjusted her seatbelt over her stomach. “Anyway, check your schedules, both of you. If you’d like to come, that is.”
“I’ll let you know,” Ben said.
When he navigated the Malibu onto the on-ramp that led to the airport, Ben gripped at the steering wheel and spared a glance at his sister. Kate was staring off at one of the runways; a plane was taking off.
He pulled up outside the departures terminal. Security guards were directing cars and passengers with wheelie suitcases. Ben parked in the drop-off bay, popped the trunk, and got out of the car. Kate followed, and Ben noticed Nicholas stayed in the backseat to give them a final few moments alone together.
Ben drew Kate’s suitcase out of the trunk and sat it on the ground beside his sister. Her brow was furrowed while she watched him.
“You okay?” he asked.
Kate shook her head, but she tried to smile.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “Me too.”
Kate clutched the handle on the suitcase and scraped her manicured thumbnail against the plastic; it was an absent gesture Ben recognized as that of someone trying to distract her thoughts through empty fidgeting.
“You come visit soon, okay?” Kate said as she l
eaned in for a final hug.
“I will,” Ben promised, and he gently squeezed her shoulders before she receded. “Thanksgiving.”
“Good. I’m glad. I’ll call you Monday night,” Kate said. “To see how the move went and such.”
Nicholas climbed out of the Malibu. Ben stepped aside so that Kate and Nicholas could share a quick hug. Ben heard her whisper, “Take care of him, okay?”
Nicholas offered her a nod of stolid reassurance. “And you take care of the little one,” he said, gesturing to her belly. “I look forward to meeting him or her.”
“Of course,” Kate said. “You take care of yourself too, Nic. And let me know about Thanksgiving.”
She turned and disappeared inside the airport. Ben lingered on the sidewalk after the automatic glass doors slid shut behind her. A security guard blew his whistle, and Ben stirred.
“Shall we?” Nicholas asked, tilting his head to the car.
Back on the interstate, Ben checked his side mirror while he changed lanes.
“You seemed unsure about Thanksgiving,” Nicholas observed.
“Not unsure, it’ll just be tricky to manage, but I guess I can fly up from Boston. I don’t normally do the holidays.”
“You don’t?”
“Unless you call a turkey club at the 24-hour diner around the corner from my apartment a form of celebrating,” Ben replied. “After midnight. Nighthawks-style.”
Ben thought back to his last Thanksgiving when he had been in the midst of completing the final edits on The Corpse. He had stayed in all day, drinking coffee and watching the snow from the living room window while he reworked the final scene several times over before he was happy with the ending.
When he was satisfied with his work, Ben had gone out well after midnight and wandered into a Hopper-esque fantasy in which Bob Dylan blew into his harmonica from a static-laden radio perched on the window between the kitchen and the diner. He had joined two other patrons at the front counter. They hunched over cups of fresh but acrid coffee without speaking a word to each other or even to the older waitress who provided refills without prompting.
“Ben,” Nicholas started, and the reproachful tone of his voice drew Ben from the memory. “No offense, but that’s really fucking sad.”
Ben shrugged as if to say he had never thought the same. “Anyway, if you really want to go up to New York, I can make it work.”
“I want to be wherever you are,” Nicholas replied.
Ben glanced over to Nicholas and then back to the interstate. “What are your thoughts on seeing the World’s Second Largest Garden Gnome?”
Six hours into the drive, and they were halfway to Boston, but it was well after eleven o’clock. Nicholas—concerned member of the police force that he was—thought it best that they find a motel. Ben agreed; he was exhausted, and, considering Nicholas’ early morning, he was sure the sheriff was too.
There had been decent music on the available radio stations and none of the unsettling broadcasts from backwoods snake handlers congregating over the greatness of Jesus Christ—hallelujah!—that tended to bleed into normal FM stations when driving through rural West Virginia.
Ben and Nicholas had played a ridiculously long session of Have you ever? throughout the first half of the drive before they stopped for dinner at a greasy spoon in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. They ordered waffles for dinner, much to Ben’s delight, and they did not speak of Andrew or the funeral. They talked about Ben’s books, instead.
“I think you and Daniel are the only people in the world who actually liked Gray Area,” Ben said and sipped his coffee.
“But it’s clever! And there are zombies. The way you approach the idea of losing your identity even though you’re still the same, just different… I really liked it.”
“You’re just saying that because you want in my pants again.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Well, if you’re bored with my pants already…” Ben said, crossing his arms.
Nicholas’ entire face lit up from the effect of his tender smile. “Oh, I like your pants just fine, Wisehart. But I really did like the book.” His sincerity was stirring, and Ben looked out the window to hide the slight blush he knew had crept across his cheeks.
He paid for their dinner and tossed Nicholas the keys. “You okay to drive for a while? Until the motel?”
“Sure,” Nicholas said and slid in behind the steering wheel.
“This is surreal,” Ben said, climbing into the passenger side.
“Is it?” Nicholas asked and cranked the engine.
“A week and a half ago, everything was different.”
Nicholas hummed in agreement as he drove them back out to the highway.
Ben reclined in his seat and found he really liked watching Nicholas drive. It’s the focus he puts into it, he realized. Like the look he gets when he’s inside you.
“What?” Nicholas asked, noticing Ben’s gaze.
“Hmm?”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m just admiring the intensity you put into certain activities,” Ben replied. He caught Nicholas’ affectionate eye roll when a car’s headlights on the opposite side of the highway illuminated the sheriff’s face.
“You know,” Nicholas replied in a tone that was both pleasant and conversational. “As you just noted, it’s only been a week. You have no idea how deep my intensity runs.”
“Maybe I’ll find out.”
“Oh, you will. I’ll make sure of that.” Nicholas had a confident grin on his lips as he spoke.
Ben admired the other man’s profile and felt lighter than he had all day. “I love you.”
Nicholas spared a furtive glance over to Ben and turned back to the road ahead. His grin widened, and his hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I know this is an awful day to be happy, but I am. I love you too, Ben.”
“Life goes on, I suppose,” Ben said as he peered out the front window. “You have to reach for the happy moments when you can.”
Nicholas seemed contemplative as they drove beneath an overpass. The Malibu’s headlights glimmered on the reflective green exit sign overhead.
“Is that what you were doing?” Nicholas asked.
“When?”
“That night. Your mom—” Nicholas started, but he trailed off. “I’m sorry, this is a bad subject.”
“It’s fine,” Ben replied. “Life’s short, Nic. That’s what I figured out. After my mom died, I mean. It’s so fucking short, we could die right now, or tomorrow, or whenever.”
Nicholas said nothing, but Ben knew he was listening intently.
“You were my happy moment back then. You still are. Of course I had to reach.” Ben fidgeted with his seatbelt as he spoke, and he brushed his hand against Nicholas’ jeans-covered thigh as if to emphasize the sentiment.
“I should have reached back,” Nicholas said.
“We’ve been over this,” Ben said with a sigh. “I’d really like it if you’d stop beating yourself up over it.”
Nicholas went silent again, and Ben was surprised when he finally spoke. “I don’t know how to be happy,” he said. “It’s been a while. It feels like a new concept. I still need to adjust, I guess.”
The melancholy in his tone caused Ben to straighten, but he kept his hand in place. Nicholas steered onto an off-ramp. There was a motel listed on the highway signboard.
“Do you have any idea how many motels I’ve been in? The esteemed sheriff of Mason County, in and out within half an hour,” Nicholas said, snickering with derision. “How many women have gone to their knees for me, how many of them I closed my eyes on and tried to imagine what it would be like with you and not just some stranger from a bar in Putnam County?”
“Nic,” Ben whispered as Nicholas pulled the Malibu into the motel’s parking lot. “It’s me now.”
Nicholas killed the engine and faced Ben with a somber countenance. “I just don’t want to fuck this up,” he said. “I know I almo
st did before.”
“We,” Ben interjected. “We almost fucked it up. Together.”
The red neon sign over the building flashed the word ‘Vacancy,’ and the office lights flickered a dim, hazy yellow. There was a single figure behind the desk, but Ben could not be bothered to look closer. Nicholas stared off at the highway and seemed to be preoccupied with some morose meditation.
“You know what I love about driving at night?” Ben asked suddenly.
Nicholas continued to look forward, but he shook his head. “The quiet?”
“Not exactly,” Ben said. “The stars. Sometimes in Boston, you can’t see them at all. You have to drive pretty far to get out of the light pollution of the city.”
Nicholas said nothing.
“My point, though,” Ben continued, “is that sometimes, you have to go further into the dark. There’s no way around it. Not if you really want to see the stars.”
“You’re better with words than me.”
“Then listen, Sheriff,” Ben said as he slid closer to Nicholas’ seat. “Why don’t you go get us a room? And we can go find the stars. Together.”
“I like this analogy,” Nicholas said.
Ben winked and watched as Nicholas got out of the car and strode across the parking lot. He kept his eyes on the sheriff, though his thoughts wandered to the scattered pieces of information he had gleaned about Nicholas’ life in Point Pleasant over the last thirteen years.
Ben had his share of shitty experiences outside of the town, but he was starting to realize how much worse their separation had been for Nicholas. Ben had been rejected; he had his closure and could try to move on. He could try to forget. He could lose himself in the arms of whatever man or woman he desired for a night and not feel guilty about it because they accepted him even if only for a few hours. These flings had cleaned out his wounds like the step before applying a bandage to a scab that he would never stop picking, but they never made him hate himself.
Nicholas, however, had been the rejector. He had apparently spent so long hating himself for what he considered a life-altering transgression that even his sexual history was tied up in his personal castigation.
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