Come Home

by Raleigh Ruebins

  “I look forward to the hearing,” I said. “But right now I just need my card and food, and I’m going to head on back.”

  “Back to Seattle?” he asked.

  “Is that him?” I heard someone whisper from behind me in line. I turned and saw a family, wife and husband and three kids, all peering at me.

  “Gavin,” the man said, shaking his head at me. “Little Bell. Of course it’s you. I didn’t like you in school, but I really don’t like you now that you’re trying to ruin the whole damn island.”

  It was Davey Tanfield, a guy who used to make fun of me for being scrawny back in middle school. He’d pick me up, carry me down the hallway, and drop me with a peal of laughter at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Hi, Davey,” I said. “I hope you’re well.”

  “You’re a fucking traitor!” he said, raising his voice.

  I was truly in deep shit now.

  “He’s right,” Henrietta added.

  “Calm down while we’re in my store,” the tall store manager said. “If you need to take this outside, take it outside.”

  “I’m not here to fight,” I said. “Can we all take a deep breath?”

  Davey was walking toward me though, imposing his thick frame in my personal space.

  “When you waltz onto this island telling us that you’re going to ruin it, you brought the fight, Bell.”

  “Gavin!” I heard from behind me.

  Wonderful.

  Add another drop to the bucket full of people who wanted to fight me.

  But then I felt a hand on my shoulder—not in a hostile way.

  More like something I liked. Something I’d wanted my whole life.

  I turned to see Hunter, scowling and clearly exhausted, but also an incredible sight for sore eyes.

  “I told you,” he reprimanded me, shaking his head. “I fucking told you.”

  “I needed food—”

  “You could have had me bring you food!” he said. “I got off work and drove here to do exactly that, actually. I was going to bring you water, but I find you like this.”

  “Hunter, you know this man?” Henrietta asked, aghast.

  He sighed. “I know him.”

  “Middle school all over again,” Davey said, cocking his head and stepping back. “You’re cool with me, Hunter, but I don’t know why you’d talk to this prick for a second.”

  “Don’t call him that,” Hunter said. “We’re gonna get you out of here,” he said to me.

  Henrietta finally set my card down, and I slipped it in my wallet. Hunter grabbed my bag of food.

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll be back later tonight,” Hunter said to Henrietta and the manager.

  “Barbecue at my place next Saturday, Hunter,” Davey said. “You’re invited, he isn’t.”

  “Can’t make it,” Hunter said, placing his hand at my back and ushering me toward the front doors of the store. He waved them off, and as we left, I heard the three of them still talking about the bridge as if they were talking about a murderer.

  “You know, for someone with off-the-charts intelligence, you’re really dumb sometimes, Gav,” Hunter said as we made our way into the parking lot.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Truly. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at me, stopping near my car. “You kidding? Of course I did.”

  “I’m going to have to handle myself with this stuff,” I said. “It’s not going to be easy, but I’m going to do it.”

  “...or you could just call the bridge project off, like you should do.”

  “Stop saying that, Hunter!” I said, a little too loudly. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m overreacting. My fight-or-flight response is going crazy. I’m going to need extra chamomile and meditation tonight….”

  “Yeah. You’re going to want to take a bath in chamomile tea, probably for the entire time you’re on the island.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Thank you, Hunter. I’m going to head home.”

  He shook his head. “No. You probably shouldn’t do that.”

  “What do you think is going to happen? I’m not going to be mobbed on my ride back,” I said.

  “Well…” he started. “There may or may not be some people… at your house.”

  “Nobody knows where my house even is,” I said.

  He watched me. “They do, though.”

  “Christ, did you tell people?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “But you bought that house from Charlie Fremont, and Charlie is friends with the principal at Kinley High. And I may or may not have overheard a conversation between people in the lounge today, quite pissed off that you’re in that house now.”

  I scrubbed my palms over my face. “Why would Charlie do that? He was happy to sell the place to me.”

  “Well… after reading today’s paper, he’s not quite as happy anymore, I don’t think.”

  I took many deep breaths in a row. “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine. I just need to think positively, keep on track with my goals and…” I trailed off, unsure how to even finish the sentence. People were walking past us in the lot, and every single time, I was checking to make sure they weren’t someone I knew in high school, that they weren’t clutching today’s paper.

  “Yeah, you’re going to be fine,” Hunter said. “Because you’re coming home with me.”

  7

  Hunter

  Kinley became Kinley again the night that Gavin came to spend the night at my house.

  Over the course of the afternoon, a few clouds had started to roll in, and by the time the sun would have been setting, the sky was just a blanket of fuzzy gray.

  A whole order of operations had begun around the back of the house: different Mercedes cars rolling up and parking behind the canopy of trees, Gavin’s assistant and his team members all dropping off various things that he apparently needed. I was standing on the back deck when Vance pulled up. A slow rain had just started to drip down from the trees. I waved, and Vance shot me a look that said something approximating “fine, you’re okay.” Apparently now that I was providing a safe haven for Gavin, Vance was sufficiently convinced that I wasn’t out to murder his boss.

  Caleb was working the night shift at the diner, so it was just me and Gavin at the house. When we were kids, having it be just the two of us in my big, empty house would have been the blessing of a century. We would have pulled out at least two video game consoles, ordered way too much pizza, and in later years maybe nursed some half-empty bottle from the liquor cabinet.

  It was different now. Once Gavin had finished conferring with all members of his team, I quietly got started making a pot of pasta while a steady rain pattered against the roof. When Caleb wasn’t around I ate simply: spaghetti, rice, more freezer meals than I’d have liked to admit. But I knew Gavin needed something other than carrots and hummus.

  When the food was ready I crossed back into the living room to find Gavin shirtless, stretching, steady in a perfect downward dog pose, his ass sky-high in the air with his palms and feet spread out on the ground beneath.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Hey!” Gavin said, holding the pose for another few seconds before slowly dipping downward. His muscles flexed and then relaxed with the movement, his skin golden and glistening just the slightest bit. He looked like he could have been in some advertisement for a yoga studio.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, followed by a long, deep breath. “Got to get my poses in every night. Especially on a day like today. I feel so restored already.”

  He flashed me a sheepish smile before tugging on the black sleeveless shirt he’d thrown across the couch.

  “Oh, that’s fine,” I said. “I was just about to get started on my nightly yoga, smoothie, face mask, and acupuncture routine myself.”

  His eyes lit up for a moment, as if I’d just told a kid we were headed to the Hershey factory. But then he shook his head. “Right.
Of course. Just before we fly to the moon, right?”

  “Guilty as charged,” I said. “I don’t actually do any of that. I think if I tried yoga I’d get distracted and end up masturbating after pulling a tendon. And unfortunately the dinner I’ve got is spaghetti with red sauce, not a kale smoothie.”

  “Damn, if you’re able to jerk off through the pain of a pulled tendon, you’re a hell of a lot stronger than I thought.”

  “Stronger than you thought, huh? You think I’m a weakling?”

  “I never said that, I—”

  I moved quickly, wrapping my arms around Gavin’s hips and picking him up. I lifted him until he was at my shoulder.

  “Enjoying the ride, Pepper?”

  He groaned as I carried him to the kitchen, taking my time, purposely moving slowly.

  “Getting sick of it up there? I could do this all day.”

  In reality, my biceps were burning, and though Gavin didn’t have a shred of fat on his body, his muscles were shockingly dense.

  “Put me down or I’ll force you to drink almond milk,” Gavin said.

  “No skin off my back. Alternative milks are getting pretty good these days.”

  “I’ll tell your students you watch Sleepless in Seattle every Christmas,” he countered.

  “You think they don’t already know that?” I said, hitching Gavin a little higher up on my shoulder. His body was warm against mine, and his groin was conspicuously right up against my chest. This realization startled me, but I didn’t drop him. “In fact, I’ve made my students watch Sleepless in Seattle with me, right before Christmas break started, as a reward for finishing all their lab work on time.”

  Gavin laughed, squirming just a little in my arms. “At the town hearing I’ll tell everyone you support the bridge project, and that the Wilson family is personally donating toward it,” he said.

  I felt like a balloon that someone had just popped.

  I set Gavin down on the floor, and quickly, his smile faded. “Sorry,” he said softly. “I guess I… shouldn’t joke about that.”

  I didn’t say what I was thinking: sure, it’s easy for you to joke about something that’ll just line your pockets with gold for when you run off back to Seattle, leaving all of us to deal with our home being destroyed.

  It was a little harsh, but it was also a little too real.

  “Let’s just eat, okay?” I said, turning toward the kitchen counter. “I’m sure you usually only eat, like, noodles made out of zucchini and pasta sauce made with fresh vine-ripened tomatoes from Sicily, but… this is what I’ve got.”

  He quietly served himself and came to sit at the table across from me, taking a few bites.

  “This pasta is great,” he said, twirling more around his fork.

  “I know it isn’t your normal kind of food, these days,” I said. “But unless I wanted to serve you farm-fresh Velveeta cheese, or locally grown Doritos hand-crushed onto a bed of instant ramen, there isn’t much else.”

  “I promise, I don’t only eat farm-fresh foods,” I said. “Sometimes I even eat pizza.”

  I eyed him. “Vegan pizza, right?”

  “Okay, sure, yes,” he said.

  “I’m sorry this isn’t what you’re used to.”

  “Hunter, I love it,” he said. “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you actually love it though, or is this just you trying to be positive?”

  He watched me close, studying my face. “This isn’t really about the food, is it?” he finally said. “Something’s bothering you.”

  “Sometimes I just feel like I barely know you anymore,” I said, setting down my fork and finally looking up at him.

  Okay, sure, so he had been right. All I’d needed was for him to acknowledge that it wasn’t really about the food, and I was off like a rocket.

  “I feel like you’re this… carbon copy of Gavin, the one I used to know. But now you exist solely to make money, to eat salads, to have this calculated air of positivity and wellness… but where are you? Where is the Gavin I knew and loved?”

  He was silent for a moment, surprised at my outburst.

  “I do like those things, yes,” he finally said, carefully considering his words. “And the ‘wellness stuff’ has helped me get through so many incredibly difficult things in my life.”

  “I know. I’m… sorry, Gav. I’m not trying to talk shit about all of the good things you’ve done. I just… I fucking miss when we spent all our time together. Even after college you visited more. Now you never do.”

  “I’ve been so busy,” he said.

  “We’re both busy,” I added.

  “I know. It’s… just a part of life, Hunter. You know?”

  I pulled in a long breath of air. “I know. Shit, Pepper, I’m sorry. Here I was trying to make you dinner and I’m only adding to your stressful day, now. I’m kind of the worst.”

  He quirked one corner of his mouth up in a smile, reaching out to grip my hand. The sudden touch was unexpected, but I loved the weight of his hand atop my own. “You’re so far from the worst. And no, this isn’t just some positivity exercise. I was so damn glad to see you in the grocery store earlier. You saved me.”

  I snorted. “I didn’t exactly save you. I don’t think anyone would really come to physical blows with you over the bridge project. But… I was relieved to see you, too.”

  “I have a suggestion, and you’re probably going to hate me for it,” Gavin said, reaching back to finish the last bit of pasta on his plate.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “If you’re going to suggest using less salt in the sauce, I know, I’m sorry. I was just a smidge heavy-handed. I sincerely hope we aren’t both dried-out husks by the end of the night.”

  Gavin laughed softly. My favorite goddamn thing in the world. It wasn’t easy to get him to laugh—a genuine one, not his stock, small-talk laugh—but I’d always been able to do it if I tried. It was like a prize.

  That was the Gavin I knew.

  “No, the sauce is perfect. But… would you be willing to do… a goal-setting exercise with me tonight?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, jeez, Gavin, you know, when I was talking about how you’ve changed I didn’t think you’d immediately swerve so hard into convincing me to drink the Kool-Aid.”

  “I know, I know,” he said, holding his hands up. “It’s cheesy, and it’s new-agey, and it’s very not your style. But I’m going to be doing it myself, and I’d… love it if I could do it with you, too.”

  “What’s next? Am I going to start doing yoga with you? I don’t think my body bends that way, Gav.”

  “Trust me, writing down a few words is much easier than asana poses.”

  “It sounds hard enough to me,” I said.

  “You’re allowed to say no!”

  I shook my head, standing up and bringing my plate to the sink. “Nope, let’s do it. I’m sure my goals are going to be about as lofty as a mud bog, but I’ll try anything once. Let’s go.”

  “What the hell is a mud bog?” he asked, gathering more dishes and joining me in cleaning.

  “Y’know, a bog. A swamp. A place that monsters lurk just under the surface.”

  “You think so highly of yourself, Hunt,” he said. He opened up the dishwasher, and I handed him a rinsed-off plate.

  “Should that be one of my goals? To think of myself as more of a murky lake than a muddy bog?” I asked.

  “Clearly it should,” he said. “Alright. Step one finished, the. Hunter Wilson: more of a silty riverbed than a big bad bog.”

  We finished washing the rest of the silverware, and I started a kettle of water for tea.

  “I assume you drink black tea with no sugar, no lemon, no anything?” I asked, reaching for the basket where we’d accumulated various varieties of teas. “Caleb has quite a selection here. Greens, blacks, whites, even a red rooibos…. and something called gunpowder, which I’m not sure we should be ingesting.”

  “Gunpowder is an amazing green,” Gavin said, le
afing through the various teas. “Y’know what? I’ll go wild. I’ll take the gunpowder with a little honey.”

  “Honey!” I exclaimed. “I really am a bad influence on you, aren’t I?”

  “The worst. But I ran an extra four miles today.”

  “My students always say treat yo self,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t know about me, but you deserve any type of treat you want.”

  I poured our tea into two big mugs and we made our way back to the living room. I plopped down on the couch while Gavin grabbed a small notebook from one of his bags.

  “Do you always have a goal-setting buddy working next to you?” I asked. I reached over to one of the tall bookshelves next to the couch, sliding out a notebook I hadn’t used in years. I brushed dust off the top.

  “No way,” he said emphatically. “I’ve actually… never set personal goals alongside anyone else. I’m usually way too embarrassed.”

  “You aren’t embarrassed around me?”

  He furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “Of course not. I’m more comfortable with you than anyone in the world.”

  I had known that was true at one point in my life, but it meant a lot more hearing it today. I had this image of Gavin in my head as being a business mogul, surrounded by friends and lovers and people flocking to his charms.

  But Gavin really was still simple and almost pure at heart, just like he had been back in the day. His habits had changed over the years, but the essence of him hadn’t at all.

  “Okay,” I said. “So, I’m totally supposed to write exercise more, eat more vegetables, drink eight glasses of water a day, right?”

  “If those are your goals, then yes,” he said brightly, cracking open his notebook as he sat down next to me on the couch. Meatball lumbered into the room, sniffing Gavin’s bags idly before plopping to the ground, tucking his head underneath the coffee table in front of us.

  “Your place looks good, by the way,” Gavin said, looking around the living room. “I wondered if it had only been so clean the other day because your parents were here.”