Caregiver

by Rick R. Reed

  Dan let himself sink back into the upholstery of the couch, allowed himself to relax a bit. Throughout Sullivans whole story, he had been perched at the edge of the couch, muscles tensed, heart rate up. He was glad to think that Adam might be out of that awful place soon.

  “Why wait?”

  Sullivan looked over at him and grinned. “Why indeed?”

  Sullivan didnt say any more. He simply got up and disappeared into another part of the house. Dan heard water running, a toilet flush, and the sound of him gargling. His heart skipped a beat when Dan saw Sullivan rush, naked, between the bathroom and his bedroom. The flash was too quick to absorb anything more than what looked like miles and miles of tanned skin with muscles beneath.

  Dan shook his head, glad that his coming over here today and having Sullivan open up to him may have helped facilitate getting Adam out of jail.

  In what seemed like about five minutes or fewer, Sullivan stood before him, dressed respectably in a pair of khakis and a black polo shirt that strained at his biceps and chest, contrasting beautifully with his hazel eyes.

  “You look great,” Dan said softly.

  “Thanks.” He patted his back pocket, checking to make sure he had his wallet, Dan supposed. “Theres no time like the present to get things started, right? I dont know if theyll release him to me right now, but I can at least get the wheels turning.”

  “Youre really going right to the jail? Right now?”

  “Yeah.” Sullivan smiled and relief infused his handsome features. “What am I waiting for?” He looked down at Dan, as if to reassure him. “Dont worry. Im not a fool. I know we still have a lot of issues to work out. But I think with you in our lives, maybe Adam can start to turn things around.”

  Dan thought, but didnt want to say, that the last hed checked, AIDS was a pretty hard situation to “turn around.” Instead, he asked, “You want me to come with you?”

  “I appreciate that. But I think its better if I go myself.”

  “I understand.”

  All at once, it seemed like there was no more to say, so Dan stood up. “Im glad I stopped by today and I hope everything goes well at the jail.” Dan felt awkward, unsure if he should offer a handshake, a hug, or nothing at all. But suddenly, Sullivan pulled him close, squeezing him to his chest. Dan smelled Dove soap and something muskier, perhaps the scent of Sullivans own sweat, his essence. He felt heat rise to his cheeks in that close moment, ashamed that the nearness of Sullivan was causing him to get an erection. He pulled away. “Youll call me? Let me know what happens? Or have Adam call me?” Dans gaze darted all around the room, anywhere but on Sullivans face, embarrassed that he might have somehow detected the physical effect he had on him.

  “Sure.” Sullivan gave Dans shoulder a squeeze.

  Just for something to say, Dan blurted, “We were supposed to go to Jimmy Macs. Maybe we still can? The three of us?” And a very quiet little voice inside Dan asked if he wouldnt prefer it just be the two of them, Sullivan and him, and then Dan silenced the voice, ashamed.

  Here he was, single but a few days and already pining for another mans lover. Completely inappropriate.

  Dan pulled his keys out. “Well, I should head back home.” He started toward the door. “Its my last weekend of freedom. Maybe Ill head to the beach.” He knew it wasnt true; hed be going home to wait by the phone for news. His eyes met Sullivans. “Good luck. I hope it all works out.”

  “It will.” Sullivan smiled, heading toward the door with Dan. “One way or the other, it will.”

  Chapter Twelve

  SULLIVAN sat on a dune, alone. He stared out at the gentle waves lapping at the pristine, sugar-like shore of Ft. De Soto Beach. His car was parked behind somewhere, pulled hurriedly off the road when he had been seized with angry, hopeless tears.

  He had driven around for hours after visiting the Hillsborough County Jail, feeling dejected and lost.

  He pulled at a strand of sea oats and dislodged it from the sand, flung it into the breeze.

  Maybe if I hadnt called the cops, none of this would have happened and Adam would still be with me.

  Maybe, if after I called them, I had calmed down and not pressed charges, he would still be with me.

  Maybe if I hadnt pressed him about what had happened in Chicago, he would still be with me.

  Sullivan got up, brushing the sand from the back of his khakis. He stooped over to roll them up to mid-calf and headed down to where the surf pounded the shore. For a long time, he simply walked along the beach, in the dying light, as the day wound down into dusk. He consciously made a decision not to think about what had happened that day, what he had heard, and what awful, uncertain fate now awaited Adam.

  He tried to just let the salty sea breeze buffet his face, stinging. He wanted to simply feel the warm rush of water nipping at his feet and ankles as the water restlessly moved to and fro. He longed for oblivion.

  It was hard, though, not to think about Adam, to wonder what would happen next. In his minds eye, he saw him in the orange prison jumpsuit, being led out to some big bus with other inmates, his hands cuffed and maybe his feet shackled. He wished there was a way he could reach out and stop everything that had happened, longed to pull Adam away from the system, to bring him back home with him, where he belonged. It was what he had intended when he set out, late morning, that day, a time that now seemed so much longer ago than a mere few hours.

  He felt as helpless now as Adam must always feel, trapped in a body whose whims and caprices were completely out of his control. Now Adam was ensnared in a system that had him completely at its mercy, to boot.

  Sullivan felt so awful for his love, the man he had thought, up until such a short time ago, he would spend the rest of his life with. No one on earth could make Sullivan laugh as much as Adam could. That alone made him a keeper, but there was something else too: his ability to make Sullivan feel he was the most special man—no, the most special person in the entire world to him. No matter what happened to Sullivan, no matter how trivial, he could always rely on Adam to be excited, to be interested, to cheer him on in lifes victories, and commiserate with him when things didnt go well.

  And Sullivan liked to think he offered the same to Adam.

  There was a hokey old Helen Reddy song he remembered from his childhood that he now thought described his relationship with Adam perfectly, “You and Me Against the World.” He could hear it now in his mind, maudlin and sentimental, but it caused tears to roll down his cheeks.

  He wasnt sure hed ever see Adam again. Not at a beach, not in his bed, not across a dinner table, not anywhere in the world—not free.

  Sullivan stripped out of his clothes, casting a wary glance around, but no one was looking. The beach was relatively free of sunbathers this late in the afternoon on a weekday. In his boxers, he waded rapidly into the surf, and when he saw a big wave cresting and rolling toward him, he flung his arms above his head and dove into it.

  He stayed under a long time, thinking—not seriously—of just gulping in a big lungful of water, letting it fill his lungs.

  He could sink beneath the surface, disappear. All his problems would be gone.

  But he didnt do that. Couldnt. He rose back to the surface, gulping in air, another wave washing over his head and making him sputter.

  He couldnt let the oblivion of water and a sleep deeper than life release him.

  Adam needed him.

  IT WAS late, after eleven, when Dan finally picked up the phone and dialed Sullivans number. He had spent the whole afternoon and evening at home, waiting for Sullivan to call. He imagined hearing the relief in his voice as he told Dan how Adam was with him. “Yeah, they couldnt very well hold him if I wasnt pressing charges,” Sullivan would say, laughing. He would put Adam on the phone. The three would conspire to meet up at Baxters, the bar on South Dale Mabry Highway that Adam favored, for celebratory drinks. They would be like a family.

  But the hours wound on and on, with no call from Sullivan. At fi
rst, Dan was annoyed, thinking Sullivan and Adam didnt think he was important enough to be let in on the news. But that state didnt last long, soon replaced by worry.

  Dan couldnt imagine what had happened. He hoped, even though it hurt, that Sullivan had simply forgotten to call him. He tried to make himself believe that old saw—no news was good news.

  Yet something deeper and instinctive nagged at him, whispering in the darkest recesses of his mind, that things had gone horribly awry. All was not well. And silence, perhaps to Sullivans mind, was better than bad news.

  But now, as the hour grew late, and the apartment complex around him grew quieter and quieter, Dan could stand the suspense no longer.

  Good or bad, he had to know what happened.

  Sullivan picked up the phone on the fourth ring.

  “Sullivan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Its Dan. How are you?”

  “Not so good.”

  “I figured… since you hadnt called.”

  There was silence on the line, and Dan was unsure if he had

  been right in placing this call. But he had to know what was going on. In a matter of just a few days, everything had changed so much, and now he was wondering if fate had caused another seismic shift.

  Dan asked, “Is everything okay? I thought you might call. Did you go to the jail?”

  “I went.”

  The line went quiet again. Part of Dan was telling himself that he should just let the guy go; it was obvious from his tone and demeanor that something was very wrong. It was also clear that he didnt want to talk right now.

  But Dan imagined a sleepless night ahead of him, trying to imagine what had happened. In the end, he rationalized that Sullivan, if he was in as much turmoil as his silence allowed, probably needed him too.

  Dan had an idea. “You want me to come over?”

  “Yeah. That would be nice.” Without another word, Sullivan hung up.

  Dan was surprised. “Hello?” He hung up too and went in search of his shoes and car keys.

  It was late, past eleven, so the roads to Brandon were relatively quiet and Dan got to the suburb within twenty minutes. He didnt allow himself to think as he drove because, if he did, he shuddered to imagine the scenarios that awaited him. The worst one would be that somehow Adam had died in jail, either by his own hand or through the murderer known as AIDS. He had heard of people sometimes being felled by a bad case of pneumonia and things being over quickly. It happened. Just as bad was imagining him using a length of cloth to hang himself, or some covertly sharpened object to slit his wrists.

  He told himself none of those things had happened. He reasoned that if something awful had happened to Adam, Sullivan would have told him.

  Wouldnt he?

  What if he was too upset to utter the words? What if he just couldnt bring himself to say something as awful as the man he loved was dead?

  You are being melodramatic, Dan. Yes, people do die quickly from the virus, but that isnt what happened. You just saw Adam. He was fine.

  So, what then was wrong?

  Dan pulled up in the front of the one-story stucco house. He wouldnt have long to wait now. Sullivan opened the door just as he pulled the keys from the ignition. His tall body was framed in silhouette by the doorway.

  Dan couldnt keep the words inside as he hurried up the walk. “Whats going on? What happened? Wouldnt they let you take Adam home?”

  Sullivan stepped back to admit him. Wordlessly, he returned to the living room, where some candles flickered on the coffee table. There was no sound: no music, no TV. There was a sense of something almost surreal about the moment. Sullivan sat down hard on the couch, staring ahead, and Dan assumed he expected him to join him.

  Dan sat at the opposite end of the couch. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Hes not coming home.”

  “What? You mean today or tomorrow?” Dan swallowed. “You did drop the charges, right?”

  “Oh yeah.” Sullivan laughed bitterly. “Turns out it wasnt so much my charges that were the problem. They were just the icing on the fucking cake.”

  “I dont know what you mean.”

  Sullivan blew out a heavy sigh. “Turns out it took a few days for Adams past to catch up with him. Turns out my suspicions about why he was in such a hurry to join me down here were right.” He shook his head, slowly. “I should have known it wasnt that he just couldnt bear to be apart.” He snorted, and then frowned, looking like he was about to cry.

  Dan wanted to wrap his arms around him, but thought it better to simply be still, let him tell the story. It was still a huge mystery to Dan; he had no idea what the other man was talking about.

  Sullivan glanced over at him, quickly, then looked away. He spoke to the air. “Turns out our boy was on the lam. Turns out that when he was in Chicago without me, he really ran wild.” Sullivan shut his eyes. “It took them a few days to sort things out in the system, but Adam was on parole, for fucking grand theft auto.”

  “What?” None of this made sense. A strangler? A car thief? Dan pictured the willowy blond man in his little black dress and pearls, then again on the beach, singing along with Barbra. The image of a felon simply did not go with these other pictures.

  Sullivan threw up his hands. “I have no idea what happened, or why, or where, or when. They wouldnt give me any details. Who am I? Just the guys boyfriend, which doesnt count for much in the state of Florida.

  “Apparently Adam stole a car and got caught. Thats all we need to know.”

  “So did you see him?”

  “No! Hes not there anymore.”

  “I dont understand.”

  “They took him away. Hes too big time for the county jail.”

  Dan felt like he wanted to puke. “What? Did they send him back to Illinois?”

  “Oh no, hes still in the great state of Florida.” Sullivan glanced over at Dan again. “But now hes in the state pen, up in Raiford.”

  Dan felt a jolt course through him as he pictured petite, blond Adam in the state prison. He couldnt believe this was happening. It had to be a mistake. A sick joke. Sullivan was lying—and both he and Adam would laugh when Adam emerged from the bedroom, delighted at how gullible their new friend was. Adam would shriek, “Gotcha!”

  Sullivan slid over so he was sitting right next to Dan. Dan felt the heat radiating off his body. “I know I owe you some kind of rational, complete story, or at least one that doesnt raise more questions than it answers, but this is all I got. I wish I had more.”

  And he covered his face with his hands, his body suddenly wracked by sobs.

  Dan gnawed at a hangnail, watching Sullivan out of the corner of his eye, uncertain about what he should do. Instinct told him to hold Sullivan, to tell him that, somehow, they would work things out, get this all sorted.

  Yet there was something holding him back. Impropriety, he supposed, kept his arms glued to his sides.

  Sullivan choked down a sob and looked over at him. “I could use a hug.” The sentence was so plaintive and simple that Dans reservations took a quick powder, and he reached over and took Sullivan in his arms.

  For a while, all that happened was that Sullivan wept, almost soundlessly, into Dans chest while Dan made slow circles on his back, in motions he hoped were both gentle and soothing. Dan forced himself to concentrate: this was a friend in turmoil, this was someone who needed comfort, succor, a balm to his wounded soul.

  Yet Dan could not stop the physical sensations that Sullivans closeness caused. He could not deny the lazy way his cock was jerking to life at the feel of Sullivans hard chest pressed against his own, the satin of his dark, curly hair as he patted it. Dan couldnt pretend there wasnt a rush of heat rising to his face, his neck, his chest. He scooted his ass back some to ensure their bodies did not touch below the waist. If Sullivan realized he was causing Dan to get hard at a moment like this, what would Adams lover think of him?

  Hed have every right to order Dan to hit the road, to get
the hell out of their lives. What was the matter with him, anyway?

  A deep well of shame rose up in Dan, enough to cause his dick to wilt a bit.

  But not completely.

  In the midst of all these conflicting thoughts, Dan didnt notice that Sullivan had stopped crying and was staring up at him.

  Their gazes met in the gloom of the flickering candles and something passed between them, communicated only by their eyes. What was it? Dan wasnt sure, but he thought maybe the emotions they exchanged had a lot to do with understanding and a shared bond—a man they both loved, in their own ways, was in deep trouble and turmoil, in a place far beyond the reach of either of them.

  In that moment, and maybe for only a moment, they connected. Sullivan moved his face up and closer to Dans. Dan inclined his own lips toward Sullivan, feeling pulled toward him like a magnet, even though a million tiny voices inside were telling him not to.

  The kiss was electric—a release and a commingling of pain, all at once. Each mans mouth ground against the others, hungry, desperate. Dans tongue found Sullivans and dueled with it, savoring the sweet taste of his mouth. He pushed up against him, at last letting his hardened cock connect with Sullivans body, glad in a savage way that Sullivan was just as aroused as he was.

  As quickly as the kiss began, it was over. Both men pulled away suddenly. Dan slid back down to the end of the couch, panting.

  Sullivan laughed. “That was wrong.”

  “So wrong,” Dan agreed, pulling at his crotch to straighten his twisted-up cock with trembling hands.

  And then they were on each other again, kissing, touching, running their fingers through each others hair. Dan straddled Sullivans lap, grinding his ass against Sullivans cock, which felt like steel. He mashed his face hard against Sullivans, savoring and wincing at the burn of his stubble on his cheeks, knowing it would leave a mark, if not, indeed, draw blood.

  Dan pushed against Sullivans chest and stood quickly, breathing heavily and staring down at him. There were two things he could say at this moment.