by Elle Keaton
“G’night,” Seth offered, before crawling under the covers and pulling a pillow over his head. He was drifting along a lazy river of sex and a full stomach when the other side of the mattress dipped from Sacha’s weight.
The bed shifted, and a heavy arm draped across Seth’s waist. Sacha dragged him close, tucking Seth’s head under his chin. His heart leapt with wanting so badly, wanting what Sacha seemed to be offering. But Seth knew, if there was one lesson he had learned in this life, what the cosmos gave with one hand it took away with the other. Sacha would leave, because one way or another everyone did. It was inevitable, so inevitable that Seth had quit fighting it.
It took Seth a long time to go to sleep. At some point he was going to have to tell Sacha whatever they were doing couldn’t continue. Sooner rather than later.
Twenty-Eight
Seth
“He was handsome and kind. I was so much younger than my sisters, and Owen too, of course, but he paid attention to me. My sisters were courting and learning to be proper wives. Owen was my prince and my protector.” Pale blue eyes watered at the memory of her older brother. They were visiting Pearl at an independent living facility in Wenatchee, about miles from Twisp.
Pearl Penn was, at eighty-seven, about five feet tall and weighed no more than a hundred pounds. A strong wind would blow her away. She was setting a good pace as they walked the grounds of the facility. A pathway stretched out in front of the three of them, winding amongst rose bushes and well-cared-for hedges that offered shade to those who ventured out in the summer heat.
“Erin’s great-grandson looks after me. She married an Addison.” Seth nodded, having no idea who an Addison was, but Pearl, as she insisted they call her, thought them important. “There’s only one of them left now. Owen won’t have any children, and I never married, so that’s the end of the line for us.”
“Owen is named after your brother?” Sacha asked, trying to get the conversation back on track. Seth didn’t mind the wandering focus. Pearl was clearly enjoying having visitors and remembering her long-dead family.
“Yes. By the time little Owen was born, much of the stigma of being like he is… well, my father called my brother a fancy boy. Little Owen doesn’t have to hear that kind of nonsense.” She chuckled. “He hates being called little Owen.” The sparkle in her eyes faded a bit. “My Owen wasn’t really fancy. He was beautiful, though. Too beautiful for this earth.” They approached a little seating area, and the three of them crowded around a metal café table. “May I see the photograph again?” Pearl asked. Seth pulled out the envelope with the postcards and photograph, handing it to Pearl.
Removing the photo, she held it like a treasure, staring at it for several minutes. “Theodore Garrison changed everything. When he came to town, Owen stopped pretending. Stopped pretending to court the Carroll girl, like Daddy asked. Stopped listening to Daddy.” She trailed off. Seth could see that she was trying to control her emotions, but her eyes teared up again. “This picture, it’s how I remember him. How he would want to be remembered. Owen is the one on the left.” Her slim finger traced along the face of the taller man in the photo.
“Would you like to tell us what happened?” Sacha prompted. Seth was enamored with this side of Sacha. He knew, of course, that under the grim exterior Sacha was a gentle man, but Seth thought maybe he was the only one.
Pearl stared out over the green lawn and late-blooming roses before answering. “Well, of course Daddy found out and there was a terrible fight. I ran upstairs and hid in my room; my sisters were already married by then and had their own houses. Mother stood by and wrung her hands. My biggest regret is that I did not stand with Owen.”
She looked so distraught Seth reached out and took her hand where it lay on the table. “You were young; no one would have listened. You don’t need to tell us. We didn’t come here to upset you.”
“You misunderstand, young man… Seth?” He nodded. “In a way you have brought him back for me. Let me remember him when he was happy, when he lived.” She squeezed his hand. “Owen left town, of course. Daddy allowed him back in the house for a few moments to take what he could in a small satchel, and then he was gone. I remember the house fell silent after he left. All the life had been sucked out of it. We were never the same again.
“This picture must have been taken soon after he left. I don’t know how Owen met Theodore; he appeared one day and, as I said, our family was never the same. What our father suspected before was confirmed.” She sighed. “I learned later some local boys had followed them and spied on what they were doing, then came running here to tell Daddy.” It was disturbing how much hatred a tiny old woman could pack into the word “Daddy.”
“I don’t really know much. What I do know I had to sneak around and pry for like that girl detective, Nancy Drew. Owen and Theodore left and traveled around; who knows what young men could get up to back in those days. Theodore eventually returned to the east coast, leaving Owen behind. Owen ended up in Skagit working for a bank, then a paper mill, but he was let go from both places for drinking. Then he worked at a bakery; Daddy called in a favor, and Owen was allowed to work there as long as he stayed away from liquor and men. But he couldn’t do either. I remember the day Daddy got the notice from his friend who owned the bakery saying they had let him go. He was so angry.” She stopped for a moment, and Sacha offered her a bottle of water from his pack. “Thank you, young man.” Seth smiled at Sacha being called “young man.” Pearl took a long drink of water before restarting her story.
“Daddy traveled all the way to Skagit. Back then it was quite a trip. He was gone for over ten days, and he brought Owen back with him. My brother had been gone from town for years by that time. He looked so much older, broken. You know how people say ‘a shadow of his former self’?” Seth nodded.
“Owen wasn’t even a shadow. There was nothing left of him. Daddy thought that under his watchful eye Owen would repent, behave himself, but he got into even worse trouble—he didn’t care at all anymore. Owen didn’t care what anyone thought of him. Sometimes he would talk to me, when he was sober enough. He would tell me about Theodore and remember that he’d been happy once.
“His drinking got worse, and his carousing, and Daddy put him in a sanatorium here in Wenatchee. Owen was in his early thirties. I never saw him again; he died not long after. I think it was of a broken heart. Because I spied on him too, and those men he spent time with—he didn’t care about them. I think he did it to get back at Daddy.
“Daddy paid Theodore to leave Owen. There was a letter in his things after he died. In Daddy’s things,” she clarified. “I don’t know which one of them is worse for such a sin. Daddy for taking away Owen’s love or Theodore for agreeing. I’ve thought about it a long time. I think it was my daddy, but on bad days I’m still not sure.”
They all sat quietly once Pearl finished her story. Birds were chirping recklessly, as were crickets and other loud bugs. A breeze blew, strong enough to ruffle the tips of the grass. A few other residents were out and about, enjoying the pleasant day. Seth had hoped there would be a happy ending for Owen and Theodore, or, at least, a happier ending.
Pearl interrupted his thoughts. “There’s Owen now. I wondered how long it would take the front desk to tell him I had strangers visiting.”
The afternoon light was behind the man walking toward them. Until he reached their table, he was a black outline against the glare of the sun. Up close, the resemblance to his great-great-uncle was uncanny. He was lanky with short dark hair, somewhere between late twenties and early thirties. Because the photo was black-and-white, Seth didn’t know the color of Owen senior’s eyes. Young Owen had striking amber eyes. Seth stared, caught by the golden intensity of his gaze. Simply exquisite.
“Hey, Auntie P.” Owen stopped by her chair, crouching so she wouldn’t have to crane her head. “Jennifer told me you had guests.”
“That girl has better things to do than gossip about my male visitors. She woul
dn’t call if it had been someone from the seniors group,” Pearl huffed.
Owen chuckled and stood. “Owen Addison, Pearl’s nephew and partner in crime. May I join you?” He proceeded to sit without waiting for an answer.
“These boys came here asking after big Owen. Sacha Bolic and Seth Culver, meet my rude, several times great, nephew.” They all laughed and shook hands before Pearl finished telling her nephew what the strange men were doing visiting her. “Sacha and Seth found some of Owen’s belongings, can you believe that?”
Owen looked at them for confirmation, eyebrows raised. “Yes,” Sacha answered, “in a building I’m remodeling in Skagit.”
“Oh yeah? Weird. What were they?”
“A book of poetry, some mysteries—the kind with colorful covers and ridiculous plotlines—”
Seth interrupted, “Says the ex-US Marshal.”
Narrowing his eyes at Seth, Sacha continued, “A pair of glasses, a stack of postcards—from Theodore Garrison. That was about it.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry we didn’t bring everything with us. We weren’t sure Ms. Penn would be able to see us.”
“Please call me Pearl,” Pearl admonished.
Owen gave her a stern look. “Auntie, you should have had me check them out first. You didn’t know who they were.”
“For crying out loud, Owen, I live here.” She waved at the grounds and facilities. “No one is going to do anything here, and not to an old bat.”
“Quit fishing for compliments; you are beautiful and you know it.” Pearl beamed at him, and Seth saw the young woman she’d been shine through. She looked much like both Owens, although her eyes were a faded blue-grey instead of amber.
“So, you found this stuff and, what, decided to be detectives and figure out who the owner was?”
“Well,” Sacha reminded him, “as Seth said, I was a US Marshal until recently. But you have Seth to blame for most of this. He was determined to find out who the men in the photograph were.”
“Can I see?”
Pearl handed the photograph to Owen. He stared at it for a long time, everyone silent while he looked at the man he was named after. There was a lull in the hum of crickets and chatter of birds that made the moment stand out. “He looks so happy here. I’m glad he got to be happy, even for a little while.”
The men were afraid of tiring her, but Pearl insisted they all visit the small cemetery where Owen had been laid to rest. He’d died in Wenatchee, and her father had buried him here—away from home, forever exiled. She said he hadn’t allowed a funeral. Owen was buried and forgotten.
If there was such a thing as a typical small-town cemetery, the Lower Wenatchee River Cemetery was it, situated amongst rolling hills above the lazy river with a panoramic view of the valley. The grass in the cemetery was green, of course, but the surrounding parcels of land were golden under the heat of the eastern Washington sun. From the top of the hill, Seth could see the stubble of wheat fields as well as rows of corn waiting for harvest. Wenatchee was known for apples; orchards lined the valley floor, alongside the river, expansive netting covering many of the trees in an attempt to thwart thieving birds and other pests.
Owen’s grave was set away from the family plots. Instead of a large standing stone, he merely had a flat piece of granite laid even with the ground.
Owen Lee Penn
b. December 7, 1919
d. August 12, 1954
It was painful to imagine the hurt and betrayal Owen must have lived with. Standing over Owen’s grave, the world still turning more than sixty years after his death, Seth felt emotion well up for this man he’d never known, who had loved, lost, and never regained his sense of balance. He’d taken a risk, and the world had crushed him. Sacha ran a hand down the back of Seth’s arm.
Nothing was wrong with Pearl’s eyesight; she caught the movement and smiled. “Are you two young men together?”
Owen turned beet red. “Auntie P, you don’t ask people that!”
Seth gaped, his mouth opening and shutting as he tried to come up with an appropriate answer. He had no idea what he and Sacha were doing, so finding a way to answer Pearl was impossible. After being awake half the night panicking about how to tell Sacha they couldn’t be anything other than friends with benefits, he had no response.
Sacha looked slightly embarrassed by the question, but managed to direct a not-so-scary smile at Pearl. “Seth and I met early this summer.” Seth tried not to look freaked out by the answer, one that implied they could be together.
“You two make a handsome couple. Do you know any other single young men? Owen is never going to meet someone in this little town.”
“Auntie P! You do not, just, just—” Owen sputtered to a stop.
“Out your nephew to complete strangers?” Seth prompted, glad to turn the attention away from Sacha and himself.
“Yes, that.”
This time Pearl rolled her eyes. Seth had no idea eighty-year-old women could look that skeptical. “Owen, my heart, you were never ‘in.’”
Owen groaned, covering his face with his hands, muttering to himself about boundaries and old women.
“This is going to sound crazy,” Sacha said.
“Nothing is crazier than my aunt outing me while standing over my uncle’s grave,” Owen said in a disgusted tone.
“A good friend of mine is getting married next spring. Would the two of you like to come? You could see the Warrick where we found the box, meet some new people? I know it’s a ways out, but I think you’d have a good time.”
“Um, aside from how you don’t know us, your friend definitely doesn’t know us. Why would he invite strangers to his wedding?”
Seth laughed. “Joey and Buck are throwing the biggest, gayest wedding Skagit has ever witnessed. Pretty sure they won’t care about a couple crashers, and Joey would probably be offended if you don’t come now that you’ve been invited.”
Owen glanced at his aunt, who had an expectant, hopeful look on her beautiful face. He sighed. “When is it?”
They stayed a little longer at the gravesite. Pearl told some stories from childhood and had Owen pull a few weeds that were too close to the granite marker. When she was obviously tired, she allowed Owen to take her elbow while they walked back to their respective cars.
“We should head back to Skagit. Parker and Zeke should have had time to sort things out… we need our privacy back.” Sacha smirked. “And I got a phone call from the electricians. I’m hoping for good news, but they didn’t leave a message.”
Twenty-Nine
Seth
We.
How had “we” snuck in? When had it happened? When Sacha said it, it sounded so good, so normal, except Seth knew it wasn’t… and it wouldn’t last.
The drive back to Skagit was torture, at least for Seth. He couldn’t think of any topic of conversation that didn’t begin with a panicked, “What the fuck is happening?” As much as he was trying to deny it, to avoid it, something was happening. Something Seth was terrified of. The silence grew until it felt like a living thing trying to suffocate him.
If trees and mountains flashed by along the highway, Seth didn’t see them. If anyone asked, he wouldn’t have been able to say what route they took or if there had been traffic. Instead, a heavy mass of anxiety centered in his chest, pressing in and making him feel sick to his stomach. He stared unseeing out the truck’s window.
Truthfully, the knot had been forming for weeks, but he had ignored it. Pushed it aside in favor of the effortlessness enjoyment of Sacha’s company. Parker had warned him, though, and the conversation came back to haunt him at the most inopportune times. Like now, as Sacha masterfully guided his truck along the scenic highway back to Skagit.
It wasn’t casual.
Nothing about what they were doing was casual.
“What are you thinking about over there?” Sacha’s voice surprised him over the rumble of the truck’s engine.
“Uh, nothing.” Everything.
�
�Sure doesn’t seem like nothing. I don’t think you’ve been this quiet since we met.”
“I, uh, don’t think we should do this anymore.” The words vomited out of his mouth. Seth hadn’t known they were there.
“All right… do what?” Sacha asked carefully.
“This.” He waved a hand back and forth between them, hoping Sacha would understand.
The truck slowed as Sacha pulled off onto the shoulder. “You’re going to have to be more specific than ‘this.’”
Seth’s face heated. It was tempting to escape Sacha’s curious gaze by walking the last few miles back to Skagit. He breathed in a lungful of air. “Um, this… what we’re doing. It can’t be more than sex.” He couldn’t look at Sacha. “It’s me. I, ah, don’t do anything more than casual. And I, uh, have probably led you on a bit… okay, a lot, but it has to stop.”
The truck engine rumbled again. Seth dared a glance over at Sacha. He checked traffic before pulling back out onto the highway. “Okay.” And yeah, this was a level of uncomfortable silence Seth had never experienced.
It wasn’t until they got to his house that he realized Zeke and Parker were probably still holed up inside.
Sacha stopped him as he moved to get out of the truck. “You do what you need to do. I’ll round up the boys. We’ll stay somewhere else, give you some space.”
Parker was going to kill him.
He couldn’t… It was safer by himself. In his excitement over meeting someone new, the thrill of a little historical sleuthing, Seth had let his guard down. He had done exactly what Parker said he would: hurt Sacha. And it was worse than that, because once they had left, Seth was sitting in his quiet, empty living room wishing they were back. Well, Sacha, at least.
Thirty
Sacha
“He what?!” Parker moved as if he was going to get in the truck and go give Seth a piece of his mind. “I warned him not to fuck with you.”