After the Fall

by Brad Graber

  Rikki offered Evelyn a withering glance. How could she possibly know if she couldn’t remember El?

  Evelyn waved her hands as if to erase the question. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. You just seem so unchanged. Just as I remember you. It’s such an odd thing.”

  “Well, we seem to be the kind of family that likes to keep secrets.”

  “Oh,” Evelyn balked. “That’s not fair, Rikki. I was one of your mother’s closest friends. She wasn’t like that at all.” Evelyn glanced over at Barney. “How are you doing, dear? Can I get you anything else?”

  “Evelyn, please,” Rikki interrupted. “If there’s something I should know, I’d like to hear it. Please.”

  Evelyn took a deep breath. “It’s hard to know where to start,” she said. “When I first met your mother, she was a very single young woman. I once tried to ask about your father, but she brushed me off. I’d assumed they’d only been together a few months before she moved to Michigan, so I never bothered to ask again. It wasn’t any of my business. And I didn’t want to put her off. She’d just accepted a new job with Jacobson’s in Birmingham,” Evelyn explained, “a high-end store where she was able to use all of her artistic talents working as an interior decorator. Of course, Jacobson’s was in trouble financially in the late ’90s. It went out of business soon after your mother died. She’d worried about losing her job for so long—that’s why ­she was interviewing the week she died.”

  Evelyn sighed.

  “But I’m getting ahead of myself,” she apologized, as she looked at the faces across the table. “So, Elle rented the house next door. My neighbors had bought a property in Traverse City . . . oh, but you don’t care about that,” she self-corrected.

  “I was nervous when I heard there was going to be a renter. But the day the moving truck showed up,” Evelyn said, a wistful look on her face, “there was your mom. She was so pretty, with her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in these scruffy jeans, all set to direct the unloading.” She smiled at the memory. “And then I saw you,” she said, her eyes focused on Rikki. “The most beautiful little girl. You couldn’t have been more than three, just a toddler. With your brown hair pulled up high in the cutest little pigtails. Your mother was so proud of you. We were formally introduced right on my front steps. I still remember that moment.”

  Rikki filled in the rest of the story for Barney. “I lived here until I was eleven. When my mother died, I moved, but I don’t remember much about that. It seems like I was suddenly living with Rita in Queens.”

  “Not all that suddenly,” Evelyn pointed out.

  “Yes,” Rikki replied, unwilling to discuss the months of hospitalization.

  “After your mother died, your grandmother flew out here. I picked her up at the airport.”

  “I know nothing about this part,” she told Barney. “This is all new to me.”

  “Your grandmother was very angry. At first I thought—well, that’s natural. Any parent would be upset after losing their only child. Especially a daughter.”

  “But I thought you said,” Barney interrupted, directing the question to Rikki, “that you had an uncle.”

  “I did,” Rikki confirmed.

  “Not that I knew,” Evelyn answered. “There was no one else but your mother. I would have known if Elle had a brother. Most certainly.”

  Rikki thought for a moment. “Are you sure?”

  ◆

  Harry honked his car horn. He could see Edward off in the distance, standing near the taxi stand.

  Edward still looked remarkably fit. His short wavy hair, close-cropped, added a surprising youthfulness to his presence. Dressed in a blue sport jacket over black jeans, Edward stood expectantly, his flair for style on full display. Except for the designer eyeglasses, in a startlingly bright red frame, he looked every inch the hip college professor.

  Edward waved as the white Ford Explorer pulled up. “New car?” he asked, placing his bag in the back seat.

  “Are you kidding?” Harry said, as he pulled away from the curb. “This is a 1999.”

  “Well,” Edward defended himself. “You know I’m car-blind.”

  “That’s what comes from living in Manhattan,” Harry offered, merging into traffic. “No one drives.”

  “Not much, at least. Except in the summers. I still get out to Fire Island.”

  “You don’t take the bus to the ferry?”

  Edward looked askance at Harry. “No . . . friends drive. I’m too old for the party bus.”

  “No, you’re not,” Harry said, sneaking a glance at Edward.

  Edward smiled. “You can still be charming when you try. I guess you haven’t changed much.”

  Harry let out a belly laugh. “Are you kidding me? I got all dolled up for you,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to see me looking like a bum.”

  “You mean the real Harry? The guy from Microsoft Live Meeting.”

  “Say what you will . . . I just didn’t want to be judged. Especially on Christmas Eve.”

  “Oh, Christmas Eve.”

  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Couldn’t stand to be away from me for the holidays?”

  Edward laughed. “Oh yes, that must be it,” he said sarcastically. “Who can resist Christmas in the desert?”

  Harry followed the signs to AZ-51. “It is beautiful this time of year.”

  Edward nodded as if he understood. “Well, I’m not going to ask why you’re still living out here, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Edward turned to look out the passenger window. “Or why you continue to live alone. Richard’s been gone a long time. What’s the sense in isolating yourself?”

  “I’m not isolated,” Harry answered as he pulled onto the highway. “There are a lot of amazing people living in Arizona.”

  “Tell it to the Republicans.”

  Harry bellowed, “I’m not a Republican!”

  “Living out here,” Edward snapped, “you might as well be.”

  ◆

  “You look good,” Edward said as Harry showed off the backyard. Both men had changed into shorts. “Love the red bougainvilleas.”

  “Every day is amazing.” Harry gestured for Edward to take a seat on a red lounger. “Try it. It’s very comfortable.”

  Edward paused a moment, touching the cushion. “Is it clean?”

  “Of course,” Harry answered.

  “Do I have to kick off my shoes if I do?”

  Harry laughed. “No. I get that would be too much to ask of a New Yorker to completely chill. No—by all means, keep those shoes on. Maintain control. I know how important that is.”

  Edward kicked off his Gucci loafers. “See?” he said, holding the shoes up for Harry’s inspection. “I can do it.” He sat on the edge of the lounger. “So why, Harry? What’s going on with the book? Why so late?”

  Harry sighed. “What’s the temperature in New York City right now?” He glanced up at the sky. “The high in Phoenix today is 83.”

  Edward rolled his eyes. “Hmm. Fascinating. A weather report. Perhaps you might squeeze in a prediction on when I might see the next two chapters.”

  Harry stretched out on the adjacent lounge chair. He waved a hand, signaling for Edward to do the same. “There, isn’t that better?”

  For the moment Edward seemed to relax into it. He closed his eyes as Harry sneaked a peek at him. Even though it was the early afternoon, stubble was beginning to show on Edward’s baby face. Harry thought it wonderfully sexy.

  Edward tilted his head toward Harry. “I haven’t forgotten why I’m here. And may I remind you, I have other projects to oversee, Harry. You’re not my only focus. I really can’t afford to take this kind of time to babysit.”

  Harry laughed. “There we go. Right to work. Not even a moment to appreciate how blue the sky is. The warmth of a winter sun.”

  Edward shielded his eyes with the palm of his hand as he sank back into the lounger. “It’s so damn bright here. How can you stand it? I hope you’re
using sun protection.”

  Harry smiled. Edward was already looking for what was wrong. “Maybe in the summer, but not in the winter. I think I’m fine.”

  “I wouldn’t trust that, Harry. Melanoma can be a killer. How old are you now? Fifty-one?”

  “Somewhere in that vicinity,” Harry answered, refusing to be pinned down.

  Edward yawned, raised his arms, and slipped his hands behind his head. Eyes closed, he tilted his face up to engage the warmth of the sun.

  Harry shifted onto his side as he admired Edward’s profile. He’d nearly forgotten Edward was so handsome after seeing his face distorted on Microsoft Live Meeting for so many months.

  “You still have that great, aquiline nose,” Harry offered.

  “Sephardic Jews from Turkey. The nose runs in the bloodline.”

  “Right,” Harry remembered. “A Sephardic Jew from Saint Louis, Missouri, named Edward Heaton. Now how did that happen?”

  “No one wanted an agent named Shlomo Carasso,” Edward said with gusto. “I’m just lucky my nose can carry the new name.”

  “Literary agent. That sure didn’t work out.”

  Edward sat up in the lounger. “Now, that wasn’t my fault.”

  “Right.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “The world wasn’t ready for you.”

  “No,” Edward admitted. “I wasn’t ready for it. I’m a better editor than an agent. Besides, I like a steady paycheck. Working for a publishing house beats freelance.”

  “Hmm,” Harry said, stretching his neck left and then right. “Smell that?”

  “What?” Edward asked.

  “Barbeque.”

  “I don’t smell anything.”

  “I do,” Harry jumped to his feet. “I want me some barbeque. How about we go to Don & Charlie’s for a late lunch. A Christmas Eve celebration.”

  Edward suddenly brightened. “Friends of yours?”

  Harry smirked. “It’s a restaurant. The best barbequed ribs. Ever heard of Carson’s?”

  “In Chicago,” Edward confirmed. “I’ve had dinner meetings there.”

  “Right. This is the same owner as Carson’s.”

  “Okay,” Edward agreed. “But I don’t really eat barbeque.”

  Harry chuckled. “A Midwesterner who doesn’t eat barbeque? Who are you?”

  “A New Yorker, Harry. I’m a New Yorker.”

  10

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t be calling Barney’s family to let them know where he is?” Evelyn asked Rikki as she made up the guest bed after settling Barney on the sofa in the living room. “They might be worried about him,” she continued as Rikki stuffed a pillow into a fresh pillowcase.

  “You better talk to Barney about that,” Rikki advised, unwilling to discuss Barney’s circumstances.

  “And as for you,” Evelyn said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “what shall I do about you?”

  Rikki stood wide-eyed, unsure what to say.

  “Come sit.” Evelyn patted the spot next to her. “I know all about your grandmother. Believe me, I do. But she doesn’t deserve to worry. That really isn’t fair.”

  Rikki sighed. “I know that she’d be upset if she knew I was in Michigan and not with Barbra—but there is no way for her to know. And if I had told her, well, I’d be right back in Queens, and I’d never have had the chance to visit with you.”

  Evelyn smiled. “You know, you have that same look in your eyes that your mother had.”

  “Really?” Rikki said.

  “Whenever your mother wanted me to do something for her, all she had to do was look at me. She had these beautiful blue eyes. The shade of a robin’s egg, I used to tell her. It’s an unusual color.”

  Rikki leaned in.

  “And I always promised your mother, no matter what, I would be there to help her out. You know, it’s not easy for a single mother to raise a daughter.”

  Rikki listened.

  “And so, I’m about to do something I hope I don’t regret.”

  Rikki waited.

  “I do know about Richard.”

  Rikki gasped. “You do?”

  “Yes. I do,” Evelyn confessed.

  “But why the secrecy? Why didn’t you come out and tell me right away?”

  “I guess I needed to see that look in your eyes. I had always thought it was the color that set your mother’s eyes apart. But your eyes are brown, and still . . .” Evelyn stopped talking as if she was lost in thought. “It wasn’t the color at all. It was something deeper. Something I can’t quite explain.” Evelyn shook her head as if coming out of a dream. “It made me realize that I had no business helping Rita alter the past. As we discovered, she’s already cut me out of your life. So what harm can any of this do now?”

  ◆

  Harry slipped out of bed, searching for his underwear. Beetle looked up at him from his locked crate.

  “Where are you going?” Edward asked, suddenly roused as he rolled over.

  “I need something for my indigestion,” Harry admitted. “I love barbeque, but it doesn’t love me.”

  Edward laughed. “Maybe we should have waited until you’d had more time to digest.”

  “I thought we did,” Harry said.

  “Lightweight.”

  “Hey,” Harry answered. “When you get to be my age, you’ll see.” Harry spotted his black shorts by the side of the bed. He bent over and picked them up.

  “Oh, Harry. You’re not so old.”

  “Older than you,” Harry snapped, stepping into his Calvin Klein’s. “Nothing really fits well any more,” he complained, tugging on his underwear, slipping a hand down the front to adjust himself before disappearing into the master bath.

  “You still look great,” Edward called out, rolling onto his side.

  Was that smart? Harry wondered as he searched for a bottle of Gaviscon. Should I really be sleeping with everyone who walks through the front door? He located the Gaviscon in the back of a drawer, shook out two white tablets, and popped them into his mouth. The chalky, minty flavor sent chills up his spine. Disgusting, he thought as he chewed, breaking out into goose bumps up and down his arms. And then he remembered. Richard had taken tons of Gaviscon during the last year of his life. His stomach always seemed upset. It had been nearly impossible for him to eat.

  “Are you still alive?” Edward called from the bed.

  Harry leaned on the vanity. He looked in the mirror. He’d maintained his physique. Eating most meals alone will do that. Lifting weights had helped retain his musculature. Even his abdomen had cooperated, remaining mostly flat. “Maybe it isn’t all so bad,” he whispered. “Maybe there’s still a chance.”

  “What’s that?” Edward called from the bedroom. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” Harry answered as he returned to bed.

  ◆

  Evelyn took Rikki’s hand in hers. “So, before I say anything more, we need to make a pact.”

  Rikki was growing tired of Evelyn’s buildup. In so many ways, Evelyn was beginning to remind her of Rita. Everything seemed to be a negotiation. Nothing could ever be told straight out. It all had to come with conditions, wrapped in mystery. Rikki wondered if that’s how adults communicated. It all seemed so tiresome.

  “I’ll tell you, but you won’t tell your grandmother.”

  Rikki was confused. “What does it matter? You said yourself that she had cut you off.”

  “Yes,” Evelyn acknowledged, “but now you’re back. I don’t want to lose our connection. You’re still a minor. Your grandmother can make it very difficult going forward.”

  Rikki quickly agreed. “Okay. Fine. Now tell me.”

  Evelyn took a breath. “Well, I don’t know all that much. But I know your mother loved him.”

  “Then why don’t I know about him?” Rikki asked. “Why is he such a big secret?”

  “I only know why your mother never discussed him,” Evelyn explained. “She promised your grandmother that she wouldn’t. And you were so youn
g, she didn’t want you to slip and accidentally tell your grandmother. But I’m sure she’d planned on telling you when you were older. When she was sure you might understand. Older. Perhaps your age now.”

  ◆

  When Harry returned to the bedroom, Edward was sitting up against the headboard, the sheet covering his groin. Without clothes, Edward looked even younger.

  This is a mistake, Harry thought, a depression settling in.

  Edward seemed to sense the change in Harry. Calm shifted to concern. “What’s wrong? Is it more than your stomach?”

  Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched. “What are we doing?” he asked.

  Edward came behind him, a leg on either side of Harry. Harry’s back rested against Edward’s chest. “What do you think we’re doing?” Edward whispered in his ear, then softly bit the lobe.

  Harry sat straight up as Edward’s fingers caressed his chest, pulling gently on his chest hair, teasing one nipple. “I don’t know.”

  Edward pulled Harry into a tight embrace, burying his face in Harry’s neck. “Then we’re doing nothing. Nothing at all,” Edward said. “It doesn’t have to mean anything or be anything. It can be whatever you want.”

  Harry leaned forward, pulling out of Edward’s embrace. “But what does it mean to you?”

  Edward ran a finger down Harry’s back. “The truth is, I love you, Harry. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. But you never believed me. I was either too young or I lived in New York City. You always had an excuse.”

  “Well, you are too young,” Harry answered. “Much too young for an old man like me.”

  Edward slipped off the bed. He stood naked before Harry. “Take a good look, Harry, because I’m not a kid any more. I’m forty. I just had a birthday, not that you remembered. There are only three ages for a gay man: 18 to 29 when you’re young, 30 to 39 when you still think you’re young, and over 40, when you’re invisible. We’re now old together. I’ve crossed 39 and it’s like crossing the Jordon. That means we’re both standing on the same bank of the river.”

  Harry laughed. “Nice metaphor.”

  Edward took a bow.

  “But you’re still too young.”

  Edward sneered. “You haven’t changed. You still won’t let anyone in, will you? I’ll always be standing outside your door trying to get in.”