Safe House

by Charley Descoteaux

  His father must have been watching for him. Before he could let himself in, the front door opened. It stalled at the halfway point for a moment before bursting open. “Kyle, what’s happened to you?”

  “I’m okay, Dad.”

  “Come in and sit. How long have you used that cane, and why didn’t you tell me?”

  Kyle waited until they’d sat at the dining-room table, where they always sat, before answering. “I’m fi—”

  “Is this why you didn’t want to meet at the restaurant?”

  “Yes. I—”

  “You should have said so. Yoshida’s has American-style tables. I would have gotten one for us.”

  “Sorry, Dad.” It wasn’t easy, but Kyle kept his attention focused on his father’s face. Even sitting, Kyle obviously had a few inches on him—maybe more than the last time they’d been in the same room—but since it had been so long, he couldn’t be sure. His father didn’t look much different—he still had a full head of gray hair (is it touching his collar?) and a few lines around his eyes and mouth—but he wouldn’t expect much of a change in only eight months. Kyle would have rather taken a look around the dining room at his mother’s paintings and the scrolls his father brought home from his frequent business trips to Japan, but he didn’t want to appear to wither under his father’s intense gaze. That would only make the visit even more difficult than it was bound to be anyway.

  Easier said than done.

  It had been too long since he’d been back to the house he grew up in. Either that or he was more nervous than he’d guessed. It wasn’t going to end well, this visit, but he could enjoy the pleasant portions of it while they lasted. “I’m okay, really.”

  “Says the man with the cane. What happened?”

  “Just a little boating accident. I’m fine.”

  At seventy-two, Ken Shimoda could’ve passed for sixty—until he heard the word “accident.” Then he fell back against the dining chair and appeared to age in a handful of seconds as Kyle watched helplessly.

  Kyle reached out and touched his shoulder. “I promise, Dad. I’m fine.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re becoming a daredevil too?”

  “Hardly. When I got in the boat, the weather was calm. It just didn’t stay that way.”

  “You always were just like your mother.”

  “Dad….”

  “Always with your head in the clouds.”

  Kyle shook his head and bit his tongue lightly. He didn’t want to have the same conversation that would end with the same argument about throwing his education away by working as a chef. Especially since he was currently unemployed. “Between jobs” didn’t sound any better, even in his head.

  “If I were just like Mom, I wouldn’t have gotten my EE degree.” He kept from shuddering at the memory, but just barely. The last thing he’d wanted was to study engineering at the University of Oregon. But his father had insisted, and even though his mother would have supported him if he’d chosen a different major, he’d backed down embarrassingly fast.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

  “Dad?”

  “Maybe you should have studied what you wanted. Something that would make you happy.”

  “Are you okay, Dad?” Kyle reached out again but stopped short of touching his father. They’d never been demonstrative. Dad was never a hugger, but Mom….

  Ken sighed, and Kyle’s entire body clenched, waiting for horrible news.

  “They want me to retire.”

  Kyle relaxed so fast he almost slumped in his chair. He tried not to let it show, but his father had to have noticed. That wiped away some of the relaxation. “You’ve earned it. You should do what makes you happy too.” It took serious energy not to cringe after saying that. He meant it, every word, but didn’t think his father would appreciate it. Not his “men work, it’s what they do,” type A father.

  “I wish I could.” He sighed, and his eyes cut away from Kyle’s face for a moment. Kyle turned to see what he was looking at, even though he knew. She hadn’t been able to grow the beautiful flowers she loved, so Nella Shimoda had painted them—and drawn them, and even silk-screened them onto shirts and tapestries for a while. The painting they both took a moment to look at was of three graceful orchids growing from a tree branch. “Nella and I had plans for our retirement. She wasn’t convinced I would ever truly retire, but we still made plans.”

  “Where is this coming from, Dad? Are you sure you’re okay?” Maybe he was overdoing it with the outward signs of respect, calling him Dad in every sentence, but this was not the way he’d expected the conversation to go. In the twenty years since his mother had died, they’d only spoken of her once, at her funeral. If you could call it that—his father had remarked that she would have hated that people had spent so much money on flowers after the notice had specifically requested donations to charity.

  “I’m old, but not old enough to forget all the mistakes I’ve made. There’s nobody left to distract me, to keep me from thinking about them.”

  “Did someone die?”

  “Not recently.” Ken ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture Kyle couldn’t remember ever seeing before. “But since they’re giving my responsibilities to the one who will replace me, I have too much time to think.”

  “Would it be okay if I cooked us something?”

  Ken blinked in surprise, and for a moment Kyle thought his father might be fighting tears. “I would like that. Thank you.”

  Kyle pushed himself up, but before he could move from the table, Ken covered his hand gripping the cane. “Maybe you should rest. I can call and have something delivered.”

  “No need. Unless the kitchen is empty.” They shared a grin, and then Kyle went into the kitchen. He knew his father well enough to know, if not exactly what he would find, that he would find something.

  As soon as he was out of sight of the dining room, Kyle closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. He’d never seen his father so emotional, and it was both welcome and a little frightening. On the one hand, he was happy to have a conversation that hadn’t descended into yelling or silence and stony looks—but the change in his father’s demeanor had him rattled.

  “Nothing too spicy.” Ken made a little noise leaving the table—a warning, maybe—and went through the kitchen to sit on a stool, leaning on the bar between the kitchen and the living room. Something else that Kyle had done throughout his childhood.

  Kyle ducked into the fridge to quash the memory. “How about some…. Ooh, you have noodles. The good kind.”

  “How do you think you know they’re the good kind?”

  Kyle straightened with the bag of Shirataki noodles and a handful of vegetables. He grinned at his father’s smug look before holding up the food to ask for his approval. When Ken nodded, Kyle let the refrigerator door fall closed and got to work. At first it felt odd, cooking with his father watching, but it didn’t take long for him to relax and enjoy it. The colors, textures… the anticipation of the finished dish. The aromas he created didn’t quite dispel the lingering scent of his father’s favorite tea.

  He cooked in silence and was startled to find his father standing beside him when he slid the food onto two plates.

  “I’ll bring both. You can handle the kettle?”

  “Sure.” He put the kettle on for tea, marveling that Ken hadn’t criticized him for forgetting to do so earlier. By the time he made it to the dining room, his father had already sampled dinner.

  “Exceptional. You have a gift.”

  “Thank you.” To say that was high praise would be the understatement of the past twenty years. Any praise at all would have qualified.

  “I cook noodles and vegetables every week, and they never end up tasting so delicious. Well done.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  They concentrated on eating for a few minutes. When the kettle whistled, Ken brought it and two cups out on a tray, the fragrant tea leaves making Kyle’s throat tighten with nostalgia. Tha
t made no sense—he’d had some at Buchanan House just a few days before, the very same flavor.

  “When your mother died…. I know, you were a grown man, but I should have done more to help you through that time.”

  “I was twenty-seven.”

  “We could have helped each other, Kyle. Become closer.” He rested his chopsticks against his plate and looked at Kyle until he met his gaze. “She would have wanted that. I should have….”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “I’m worried about what will happen to you after I’m gone.”

  “Dad. Unless you’re keeping something from me, you seem healthy.”

  “No, no. I’m not sick. But….” Ken ducked over his plate and ate for another minute or two. When he peeked up, Kyle felt a familiar twinge in his gut, a sinking feeling that went with that look every time.

  “You’re all alone, still.” He raised his hand for silence, using the same gesture he had all of Kyle’s life.

  Like a traffic cop. Kyle groaned inwardly, both at his own thoughts and what was coming.

  “I’m not saying to get married, even though you could do so now. But open your heart, Kyle. Don’t stay lonely too long. It doesn’t get any easier with time and practice.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Ken snapped, but his angry look was quickly replaced by something closer to contrite. “I’ve given up on grandchildren, but I will not be spoken to as though I were a doddering old fool.” He seemed shocked by his own words. Ken slowly shook his head as he put his chopsticks down and carefully placed his hands on the table to either side of his plate. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue. I only want you to be happy. To find a nice young man who will be there for you when I’m gone.”

  “Okay. Dad, please, if you’re not sick, you have to stop talking like that. You’re freaking me out.”

  “I always loved it when you stood up to me.” Ken’s smile seemed silly, maybe bashful? Kyle gave a passing thought to the possibility he’d spiked his tea.

  “If you say so.”

  “Every time. You were so quiet growing up, I was afraid of you being neglected in school. That’s why I pushed you so hard. It was such a joy to watch you rebel.”

  Kyle almost choked on a piece of squash but managed to wash it down with a sip of tea. “Rebel? I never rebelled against anything.”

  “Yes, you did. You had to go to U of O, had to live in off-campus housing. So many things in those years you insisted upon.”

  Because I thought you’d refuse to spend the money and I’d be off the hook. What a little shit I was. A spineless little shit.

  Something in his father’s expression made Kyle wonder if he’d known—or at least figured it out sometime since.

  “Funny you should mention that. School. I’m thinking about going back.”

  “Really? To Paris, to further your career?”

  “Paris sounds nice, but no. I’m thinking of becoming a massage therapist.” He braced himself for a wave of negativity, but what he saw on his father’s face was the opposite.

  “Your mother practiced shiatsu before we married.”

  “She did? I never knew that.”

  “By the time we met, she’d given it up. The business end was too time-consuming. It left her without time to be creative.” Ken smiled. It was a look Kyle remembered from his school days when he would show his straight-A report cards, which he’d brought home only about half the time before college and then never again. Pride. “You will make a wonderful massage therapist.”

  “Thanks. I—”

  “Let me help you with the tuition.” Ken visibly pulled himself back and took a steadying breath. Obviously he wasn’t without questions about this new revelation, but he had chosen to keep most of them to himself. For now. “How long will you study?”

  “The program takes a year, full time.” Kyle studied his father across the corner of the table—the table where for the first eighteen years of his life he’d eaten, done his homework, and tried to learn even one of the visual arts, where his mother’s talents had lain. “Thanks, Dad. I’d appreciate your help.”

  Kyle realized he was holding his breath just as his father smiled.

  “If you need to move in here to save on expenses….”

  “Do you need me to be here? I will if…. Dad. I’ve managed to put a little money aside, and the condo is near the school I’d like to attend. But if you ever need me to help you with anything, I hope you’ll ask.”

  “I would like to go to the beach retreat—Buchanan House.”

  He’s been thinking about saying that for a while. “Why?”

  “Why not? I haven’t taken a vacation in twenty-two years. It’s right on the beach, and I want to support your friends.”

  “They’re doing okay, Dad.”

  “Would I have to be gay to go?”

  “No.” Kyle tried to think of a reason his father shouldn’t go to Buchanan House, but he couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound offensive in one way or another.

  “So if I make a reservation, it’s okay with you?”

  Kyle squirmed under his father’s gaze. “You don’t need my permission or approval.”

  “No. But if you’d rather I didn’t go….”

  “How about if I call and see what kind of events are coming up and when they have room?” It took a little effort, but Kyle managed not to drop his gaze from his father’s. It wasn’t easy to think about the things that went on at Buchanan House—everything he’d personally done there—with his father staring right at him.

  “We could go together!” Ken Shimoda had rarely looked so delighted, so Kyle didn’t have the heart to deny him. If they took a weekend at the coast, it would be a bonding experience. Not exactly the venue Kyle had envisioned for doing that kind of thing with his father, but there were worse places.

  “Um… sure. Let me work on it.”

  BEFORE MUCH longer, Ken started to look tired—he’d probably been up since five, even if the company had started to push him toward retirement—so Kyle excused himself to go back to the condo. He sprung for another cab, and at the door his father embraced him as though he didn’t expect to see him for a year.

  When he let himself into the condo, it wasn’t late, but all the lights were off. That wasn’t unexpected. What he hadn’t expected was to find Chase sitting on the couch in the dark, his head in his hands. Kyle sat beside him without a word. Chase’s phone on the coffee table in front of them reflected the streetlights through the open window and threw shadows on the ceiling.

  “I’m an asshole,” Chase groaned, and when Kyle turned to him, Chase grabbed him into a hug.

  “No, you’re not. Take it from me. I’m an expert on that kind of thing.”

  “I should’ve gone out to pick you up. Sorry about that. I knew you’d spring for the car.”

  “Not a big deal. I made it.”

  “Paulie told me you’re going back to school. Are you staying on here?”

  “Yeah. Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

  “No. Stay. Garrett’s going to crash in the West Hills for the next few weeks while he does a job for some lawyer.”

  “Good. My dad just offered me my old room, but I’d rather stay here.”

  Chase shivered, and Kyle held him a little tighter. The three men had gotten close in the few short months they’d shared the condo. Chase and Garrett were easy to live with, especially when they were liking each other.

  “I keep telling myself I’m worried he’ll get into trouble on this job, get hurt somehow. But I’m really worried he won’t come back.”

  “He’ll come back.” Kyle wished he knew what to say to help Chase feel better about the whole thing, but if the words existed, he couldn’t find them.

  “Sorry the setup didn’t work out. He’s hot, and he didn’t seem like a total asshole.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  They sat in silence for a while, and then Chase showed Kyle
the painting he was working on. Kyle dusted off his laptop, placed a grocery order online, and went to bed. He stayed there, staring at the patterns of light on his ceiling, thinking about Brandon and wishing he’d opened that damned door all the way, not understanding why he hadn’t. What would have happened if he had? Would they be together?

  After two tries, wouldn’t they have found a way to make it stick if they were meant to be together? Should he forget all about it? Or should he take a page from Chase’s book and fight for the chance at something real? Chase hadn’t given up on a Happily Ever After with Garrett even through a decade of on-again, off-again that obviously put him through the wringer. Was Chase crazy or smart for playing the long game?

  By the time the sky began to lighten, Kyle had thought about it for so long that none of the words in his head made sense anymore, so he got up and drank coffee until the groceries arrived. Kyle made a big breakfast for himself and Chase, who looked much better than he had the day before, and then spent most of the rest of the day at East West College making the necessary arrangements. He couldn’t control what anyone else—Bran—did, but there were a few things he could control. Kyle planned to concentrate on those and try to let everything else fall away.

  It could work.

  Chapter Twelve

  BRAN HAD been spending far too much time at the gym. He hadn’t done much else in the past three months besides work, sleep, and work out, but it couldn’t hurt to build up healthy muscle mass. Late spring and early summer on the central coast meant a lot of rain, so he wasn’t excited about the idea of running outside. Cardio is overrated anyway.

  He had a membership at a gym that flew a rainbow flag every day of the year, and even though it wasn’t exactly a “gay” gym, he’d found some action there in the past. Not that he was looking at the moment. He had enough trouble trying not to think about Kyle and how royally he’d crashed and burned. He consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he wasn’t lying to himself about everything. Tim Tate had been the only real “action” he’d found at the gym. It had been wonderful while it lasted, but he’d known from the gate that their relationship would have a limited run, that it came with an expiration date built in. Men like Tim—tall, gorgeous men half his age—could and did do much better than someone like himself. Bran hadn’t thought it would end in such a publicly spectacular way, but he had only himself to blame for that.