Jesse cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes. “He liked the
locket design. Events transpired.”
“You are such a
dork
. ‘Events
transpired.’ Pfft. Did the events include orgasms?”
“Why do you want to know? You’re my sister. I don’t want to
hear about
your
sex life.”
“I don’t want details. I just want to know if you’re…you
know, interested in him. Because it’s time you got interested in
someone
, Jesse. Male, female, no one cares—just be
interested in someone. Be happy again.”
Jesse couldn’t help but crack a smile at that, even as he
snorted under his breath. “You make it sound so easy. ‘Be happy again.’ Like it’s
a choice.”
“It
is
.”
“Right. Okay, Christopher liked the locket design. But
obviously I thought it could be a little better since I’m working on it, Miss
Observant.”
Amanda waved her hand. “I stopped actually looking at your
work ages ago. I just make shit up out there to sell it.”
Jesse glared. He knew she was familiar with the details of
every piece. Now she was just yanking his chain.
Amanda continued to study him. “So? Was it a one-time thing
or…?”
Jesse wished he knew. The sex had been terrific. Christopher’s
sheer enthusiasm alone hadn’t been that unusual—most guys were eager to get
off—but somehow Christopher’s urgency had a sweetness to it that made Jesse
want to sample it again. Even if that was probably a bad idea.
“I’ve never actually been in a relationship with a guy,
Amanda. I’ve had sex with plenty of them, but…” He shrugged. “At the most, it
was a repeat situation along with some friendship. I’ve never been in love with
anyone other than Marcy. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
But he’d wanted that, hadn’t he? He’d wanted to find out,
and that’d been the problem. And he’d been too chicken shit to go looking for
it, and that was something Marcy wouldn’t have tolerated. She’d have pushed him
off that cliff. Hell, she’d been
going to
push him
off the cliff when suddenly she’d fallen off one of her own.
“Come on, you know where to start. You’ve seen a movie
before, watched TV, read a book. Ask him on a date.”
“Listen, I think I made the first move with the whole
stalking him at his place of business thing. Seems like it’s his turn.”
“Turn-schmurn. Who follows rules like that these days? And I
thought you were queer—do you even
have
the same
rules? Isn’t it all about the fastest way to getting your dick—”
“Stop. Now you’re being offensive. Just stop.” Jesse’s phone
buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the text.
“Saved by the bell.” Amanda sighed.
Look who got a cell phone! It’s me,
Christopher Ryder. Now you’ve got my number. Feel free to use it
.
Jesse chuckled. Talk about timing.
“What? Is it him? No way—it’s him! So cute. And your little
smile. Oh my God.”
“Shut up, Amanda.”
Jesse had to admit his heart was beating really fast. He
felt like he might laugh, giddy with anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long
time.
“What’s he want?”
“After we had…when we met about the locket—”
Amanda snorted.
“I asked him for his cell number so I could text him. He
said he didn’t have a cell phone. I thought it might be an excuse. You know,
maybe he wasn’t interested in a second round. But I gave him my cell number
anyway. And now it looks like he got one.”
Amanda’s eyes gleamed. “Answer him,” she hissed. “Now.”
His sister was annoying, but the text had triggered in him
the old, familiar, weird, too-good anticipation that used to come over him just
before he did anything truly reckless in the past. The last time he’d felt it
rise up this purely was when he’d jumped with Marcy into the blue water of a
quarry six years ago.
Jesse took a moment to gather his thoughts for a good reply
and decided to go with flirtatious. He might as well see how that went.
Should I take this purchase of a cell
phone as some sort of evidence of intent?
Amanda shifted forward, trying to see the screen. “What did
you say?”
“None of your business.”
Both of them waited, and Jesse’s knee bounced up and down.
My mom’s been bugging me to get one.
Not having one when you asked was the last straw. As for intent—you can take it
however you want.
Jesse grinned.
“Ask him on a date,” Amanda said.
Jesse looked up at her, and then down at his phone. Why the
hell not? The guy was totally Jesse’s type, sang in a way that touched Jesse’s
soul, and had a good-looking face and attractive body. Not to mention he was
friendly and fun to be around, loved his grandmother a hell of a lot, and
gave amazing head
. What was he waiting for?
Dinner tomorrow?
The reply was swift.
Lucky for you, I don’t have a show.
“What’d he say?” Amanda sat so far forward that she looked
as if she might slide off the chair onto the floor.
Jesse rolled his eyes and typed a response.
That’s a yes?
“Come on, give me something here!” Amanda urged.
Name the time and place. I’ll be there.
Jesse typed in the name of the semi-swanky Mexican
restaurant on the parkway. It would be swarming with tourists, but it had the
advantage of an open-air bar on the roof, made tolerable in the chilly autumn
nights by the small gas firepit in the middle of every table. There was also
the added bonus of the mechanical bull in the main restaurant downstairs. If
Christopher drank enough to be convinced to ride it, Jesse definitely wouldn’t
mind watching him try. Seeing his hips buck and slide would be an excellent
prelude to actually getting Christopher to ride
him
,
and if all went well, Jesse hoped that would be a likely outcome.
Great. 7 pm it is. See you tomorrow.
“I made a date with him. Happy?”
Amanda smiled like her face might break. “Yes!”
“Good, because you’ll have to watch the kids.”
An hour later, Amanda had left to “hamster,” and Jesse
glanced at the clock. It was time.
As he drove toward Sevierville, his stomach knotted as it
always did. He hated Thursdays. It got easier, but it was never easy. Still,
nothing would ever stop him from going. “In sickness and in health, as long as
we both shall live,” he’d sworn, and despite how close he’d been to breaking
that vow before the accident, he wasn’t about to break it now.
The nursing home was his least favorite place on earth. It
was full of bad memories and a never-ending sense of hopelessness—a place with
antiseptic in the air, faded paintings of flowers on the walls, and rubber
shoes squeaking on worn linoleum. But he went to check on Marcy’s care and do
the little things that Ronnie, living two hours away with her husband and kids
in Johnson City, had never done, like pick up her dirty laundry and drop off
fresh, soft pajamas. In some ways these tasks were pointless, and in other
ways—personal, intimate ways—so necessary.
As he passed the nurses’ station, he waved to Natalie and
Jason with the bunch of grocery store flowers he brought every time. He used to
bring more expensive bouquets, but sometime over the last five years he’d
admitted that just bringing flowers at all was a concession to a fantasy that
fueled Ronnie’s fire. He’d stopped bringing the finest quality arrangements
because he understood Marcy couldn’t see them, or smell them, or even know they
were there.
But he refused to come empty handed, although Marcy was no
longer even at the party. She’d left the party years ago now, but she was still
his wife.
“Hey there, Mar-mar,” he said, entering Marcy’s room and
putting the flowers on the bedside table.
Curled on her side, she was awake—or at least her eyes were
open. He sat in the chair next to the bed and found it warm. Someone had been
here with her not too long before. Either Tim or Nova must have been visiting.
God knew it hadn’t been Ronnie, since she only came to see her sister if she
was flanked by news cameras, and things between them hadn’t been that heated
since the judge handed down his verdict.
Maybe it was one of the local church volunteers who read to
patients. Marcy couldn’t hear them, though. Not even a little. Brain scans had
demonstrated that quite convincingly.
“The kids are doing great,” Jesse said, like he always did.
He still talked to her like she could understand him even though Ronnie had
used that habit against him during their last court battle.
Remembering the way he’d seen the kids with fresh eyes a few
days earlier, he elaborated, “Brigid’s going through an awkward stage, but I
know she’s gonna come out of it prettier than ever.” He left off his worry
about Brigid’s solemnness and his inability to understand her. “And Will’s
still like a bolt of lightning. Happiest kid in the world. You’d love his
smile. I wish you’d gotten to see more of his smile before…before this.”
Marcy’s skin was white, almost translucent from lack of sun
exposure, and her hair was a brittle, dull blond, nothing like the shiny halo
he’d threaded through his fingers on their honeymoon, kissing the honey color
as it twined around his knuckles. She’d been pregnant with Brigid then, and
ravenous. She’d eaten so much on their first night in the honeymoon suite that
he’d joked that she was going to spend his entire fortune on room service if
she wasn’t careful.
He swallowed thickly. He remembered so much when he was near
her, and he hated that it wasn’t out of shared joy, but because of how
different she was now. How broken and empty. No, he remembered it because of
how different they
both
were. He lived in a world so
very far away from the life they’d planned together.
“So…I have a date.”
Marcy remained curled on her side, one hand gnarled up next
to her face, and another clenching rhythmically by her thigh—reflexes that used
to lead him to hope, but there was no getting past the last brain scan he’d
consented to look at. Her cerebral cortex had been nearly entirely replaced by
cerebrospinal fluid now. Not that you could convince Ronnie or her pastor of
that. Devil’s tricks, they said. Lies.
“Remember when you met me?” Jesse leaned forward, tucking
the blanket around her body and running a hand over her forehead. There was no
response to his touch. She didn’t moan or lean into his fingers, and her eyes
remained vacant. “We both thought I was as gay as they come, and then…well, it
turned out that maybe I was bisexual?” He wasn’t sure why he was thinking about
all of this now, but the memories unspooled in his mind.
It’d been in Italy. He’d been fucking Edoardo for about
three weeks, and Marcy had recently given the boot to Brent. She was making
noises about going back home, and Jesse had been desperate for her to stay.
“It wouldn’t be the same without you, Mar-mar,” he’d said,
falling on his knees dramatically. “Please stay. Please.”
They’d been everywhere—and had done nearly
everything—together since Tim brought Jesse home to
share a
meal
that first time. They’d only been separated when Marcy first
started dating Brent. She’d refused to leave Gatlinburg without the dork. It’d
only taken Jesse a week of traveling alone to send Brent a pre-paid card and
some airline tickets to surprise Marcy with the gift of joining Jesse in
Greece. And from there they’d gone on and on together, the three of them, until
Marcy got sick of Brent’s stupid jokes and lackluster performance in bed.
“Stay,” Jesse had begged her.
“And what? Watch you screw every guy you deem worth sleeping
with? Going to bed on my own just to wake up hung-over and miserable? I’m tired
of living it up. I miss my parents, Jesse. I miss my home.”
“I miss home too, Marcy,” he’d said. “But I’m not ready.”
“Because you’re not done showing up your dad. Even now that
you sold out of the company.”
“I’m not—”
“You can say you’ve got oats to sow and asses to plow, and
you can say that it’s because Edoardo isn’t boring yet, but it’s really just
you proving to that old bastard again and again that he still can’t tell you
who to be or what to do. But for how long? What was the point of all of this,
Jesse? You were supposed to be studying with all these big name international
jewelers and learning your trade.”
“I am!” he’d insisted. He’d made a new piece as an
apprentice in every city they’d been in, and he had the photographs of Marcy
wearing the rings and bracelets to prove it.
“Whatever you say, Jesse. We both know you’ve been partying
and acting like you’ll never have to pay the piper. That neither of us will.”
She’d been a blaze of pale fury. “And I never thought I’d say it, but I’m sick
of all this uncertainty. Aren’t you? Even a little?”
Jesse
had
been sick of it, but
his pride kept him from admitting it. Marcy, however, was set on going home,
and so they’d had one last night of clubbing, drinking, and dancing with
Edoardo. After returning to their hotel, the three of them sprawled out on the
bed together, and in a burst of absurd laughter, they’d started a very drunk
game of truth or dare.
Ten turns in, Marcy chose dare, and Edoardo pointed between
them. “I dare you to fuck.”
It’d been ridiculous, laughable. Jesse was gay. They all
knew that. Edoardo had felt the evidence of it just that morning in a rough and
tumble screw.
“Yeah, right,” Jesse said.
Marcy had scoffed and rolled her eyes, taking another big
swig from the open bottle of gin they passed between them. “Forget it. I choose
‘truth.’”
“No. You said dare.”
Marcy looked at Jesse and, as she licked her lips, the
drunken laughter fell from her expression, and something new and defiant crept
up in its place. Jesse had seen that look in the past—just before Marcy would
suggest they do something insane, like dive off the cliffs or try a hit of
acid. Jesse’s stomach had flipped in anxiety, and shockingly his cock thickened
and swelled.