The Handyman's Dream (11 page)

Rick calmed down, wiping the tears out of his eyes. “If anybody would have told me back in Indy that I’d end up here, I would’ve told them they were full of shit. But I am so happy, baby, so happy I’m here with you.”

“Me too,” Ed said, collapsed against the seat, exhausted from relief and laughter.

“Let’s blow this clambake, shall we?” Rick asked, setting Ed off on more giggles.

They managed to calm themselves down for the long drive back to Porterfield. Rick kept his hand firmly and possessively on Ed’s leg the whole way, and whenever Ed glanced over, the look on Rick’s face told Ed he had found the man he could always be himself with, even in a trendy, tacky fish restaurant.

When they pulled into Ed’s driveway, Rick took his hand away from Ed’s leg to get out of the truck, then turned back to Ed and asked, “Can I come in for a while?”

“Sure,” Ed said, surprised. “But you have to get up so early.”

“I know. I’m just not ready to let go of you yet.”

Ed took Rick’s hand and led him into the house.

Once inside, Rick’s attention was drawn to the stacks of records around the stereo. “What’s all this?”

“After hearing all of those old songs last Sunday, I decided to get all my 45s out and listen to them. I’ve had them going all week.”

“Cool.” Rick shuffled through a few, checking out the titles. He paused over one, smiling. He handed it to Ed. “Can we hear this one?”

Ed looked at it in surprise. It was Andy Kim’s “Baby, I Love You,” one of the songs he had been thinking about long before he pulled the records out of storage.

“Sure,” he said, placing it on the turntable.

“They were playing this one on the radio the summer after I finished high school,” Rick said, pulling Ed onto the sofa next to him. “I remember hearing it late at night, wishing I had someone to love, wondering if I’d ever meet someone I could care about that much.”

Ed looked at him as the phonograph needle connected with the scratchy record, his heart beating faster as he sensed what Rick was trying to say to him.

Rick softly sang along with the record. He stumbled a bit over the lyrics, but Ed heard what he needed to hear. "Baby, I love you" came through to his ears loud and clear.

Rick looked into Ed’s eyes. “’Cause I do, baby, I really do. If I had any doubt before, I don’t now, after finding out about that letter. And like the damned song says, I may start crying, just thinking about how much I love you.” Indeed, tears were in his eyes, and they weren’t from the laughing they’d done together.

Ed looked back at him, tears coming to his own eyes. “I love you, too, darlin’, I . . . I . . .”

Rick silenced Ed’s stammering with a kiss. “My heart really couldn’t wait another day to tell you,” he said, his cheeks wet. “I’ve been wanting to tell you so bad, but I kept telling myself to wait, that it was too soon.”

“Me too,” Ed whispered, convinced Rick was reading his mind.

“Two weeks ago tonight,” Rick gulped, trying to choke back the tears, “I swear my life changed forever. I knew the first time I kissed you. I always thought love at first sight was bullshit, but it’s not. Do you really love me too, baby?”

“I loved you even before I knew your name,” Ed told him, his fingers gently wiping the tears on Rick’s face. “That letter? Why do you think I did that? I had to know if you really were the man I’d been dreaming about all these years, finally coming to rescue me.”

“Am I? That man?”

“Yes,” Ed whispered, as his own tears began to fall.

“Oh, baby, baby,” Rick murmured, holding him close. “I’m so glad I’m that man.”

The record began to play again as Rick brought Ed’s lips to his. His hand went to Ed’s face, his turn now to brush away the tears.

“Baby, I love you,” he repeated. “I have a feeling I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

Chapter Seven

Ed stretched happily in bed the next morning, enjoying the rare November sunshine streaming through the blinds. He relived the evening before, still amazed that a night he was originally dreading turned out to be one of the most important ones of his life.

He frowned a bit. Oh, common sense told him that an open declaration of love between two people was one thing, but maintaining it over time was something else altogether. It was, he knew, still too soon to know for sure that he and Rick were, as they used to say in school, “meant for each other.” Still, if Rick seemed to think he was going to love Ed for the rest of his life, Ed was, for the time being, more than willing to give Rick the rest of his life to prove it.

He looked at the clock and thought of Rick, already up for hours, preparing for the day’s mail delivery. Ed had work himself to do that afternoon, so he wouldn’t see Rick when he came down his street. He didn’t care, though. Rick had arranged for another “sleepover,” and this time tomorrow morning Rick would be right where Ed wanted him: next to him in this bed.

When Ed made it as far as the living room in pursuit of some breakfast he stopped and looked foolishly at the stereo. “Baby, I Love You” was still on the turntable. Feeling even more foolish, he hit the stereo’s power button, then flipped the turntable’s automatic switch. The record began to play as he went to the refrigerator for his usual glass of OJ.

“Stephens, you big dork, you’ve got it bad,” he mumbled to himself, still hearing Rick’s soft, sure voice over Andy Kim’s.

With a bounce in his step, Ed trotted up Hilda Penfield’s front steps that afternoon. Mrs. Penfield lived a few blocks north of Ed’s place on Spruce Street in an old brick Victorian home, and Ed enjoyed being responsible for the smaller aspects of its upkeep.

Today, however, Mrs. Penfield had asked him to help her pack up some books she was donating to a library fund drive. She warmly greeted Ed at the door, then led him to an upstairs bedroom lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. In addition to the full shelves, books were piled on the floor, along with numerous cardboard boxes.

“Geez, Mrs. Penfield. Why don’t you just move the library over here instead?”

“Well, Ed,” she answered with a chuckle. “What else would you expect from a retired English teacher?”

He looked fondly at the old woman. Mrs. Penfield had presided over Ed’s English class his sophomore and junior years in high school and was one of the few teachers he remembered with any amount of admiration and respect. He believed he had learned more in her classroom than any other, and her persuasive encouragement had turned Ed into an avid reader through his high school years. It was a habit he had let go in adulthood, but now, looking at what seemed to be a lifetime’s worth of good reading in one room, he felt an urge to rekindle it.

“George and I,” Mrs. Penfield said, referring to her late husband, “didn’t drink or smoke, but as you can see, we had one serious vice: books. It’s a wonder this house hasn’t crumbled under their weight. I think, though, the time has come to share these with the rest of the world.”

“Isn’t it hard to let them go?” Ed knew Mrs. Penfield’s belief in the power of a good book.

She shrugged. “At my age I certainly don’t plan to read them all again. The ones dearest to me are downstairs, in easy reach. If the sale of these will help keep the Porterfield Public Library going, then I’m more than happy to part with them.”

Ed smiled. “Considering how many kids you sent there over the years for library cards, I guess that’s not a bad idea.”

Ed got to work, packing as many books as he could fit into each box, then hauling them out to his truck. He’d been at it for an hour or so when Mrs. Penfield reappeared with a glass of water for him.

“Thanks,” he said, thirstily chugging.

“You’ve made good progress.” She nodded approvingly at the emptying shelves. “And, Ed, if you see something you might like for yourself, please take it, or them, home with you. The Porterfield Library can survive the loss of a few of them.”

“Thanks again.” He indicated a small stack off to the side. “I was wanting to look closer at those when I took a break. I think that Ri—I think that I would like these. Especially this one.” He picked up a book he actually had put aside for himself. It was a novel by someone named Anne Tyler. “It was written when I was in high school. I would have loved it back then, a story about a girl who falls in love with a small-town rock singer.”

Mrs. Penfield glanced at the book and smiled. “A Slipping-Down Life. Yes, you’ll enjoy that. I recall you being a big fan of rock-and-roll music. Anne Tyler is always good company. I’m sure there are some others by her in these piles. Take as many as you want.”

“I have to admit, packing all of these books is making me want to read again.”

“Mission accomplished, then,” said Mrs. Penfield with a mischievous grin—not unlike Rick’s, Ed thought—on her wrinkled face.

“You set me up, didn’t you?” Ed asked with a grin of his own.

“Not intentionally, but if I’m still playing a part in the process of getting you to open a book, then I’m delighted.” Mrs. Penfield slowly lowered herself into the one straight-backed chair in the room, her arthritis obviously bothering her. “It’s good to see you cheerful, Ed. Is there a special reason you’re so chipper these days?”

Ed realized he was, yet again, blushing. “I’m in love,” he mumbled, eyes on the books he was packing.

“Ah, that’s it. I should have known. Love has its own special glow, but these old nearsighted eyes of mine aren’t as sharp as they were when I was dealing with a room full of love-struck adolescents.” She chuckled to herself. “I’m out of practice.”

Ed looked up to see her smiling fondly at him. He looked into a face that had never shown him anything but kindness and compassion.

“Mrs. Penfield,” he blurted. “I’m in love with another man.”

Her smile grew larger. “I hope you weren’t intending to shock me with that statement.”

“No,” he mumbled, eyes back on the books. “But I sure shocked myself.”

“Oh, Ed.” She sighed, her smile fading, but a look of quiet understanding remained on her face. “I’ve known since your high school days that a shadow of some kind was hanging over you. I was never sure what it was, though. I couldn’t understand why a young man as bright and likable as yourself was hanging back, not participating as fully in life as possible. I think it’s only been in the last few years, with the advent of the gay liberation movement, that I’ve begun to suspect that a great many of my former students were carrying that weight around.”

Ed’s eyes rose in interest.

“No, I’m not naming names. But, yes, others, even some in your own class, I’m sure of that. What troubles me as a teacher, though, is that homosexuality was such a taboo topic for so long that I had no way of knowing or understanding what was troubling you, or those other students. I can only hope that our colleges are better equipping teachers for that sort of thing these days.”

“I kinda doubt it.” Ed shoved some books into a box with more force than was necessary.

“I suspect you’re right. That’s a shame. It also troubles me to think there are teachers out there, teachers who think of themselves as good teachers, who have watched the same television programs I have and have read the same magazine articles I have and still won’t bother to reach out to a young person who is obviously suffering.”

“They don’t make many like you, Mrs. Penfield,” Ed said in gratitude.

“Well, they should. It hurts my heart to think of you carrying such a burden alone all of these years.”

“Rick and I talked about it, what it was like in high school and how we got to where we are. I guess you just have to find a way to deal with it, to cope. You either find a way to survive, or you die.”

“I’m sure many have died,” Mrs. Penfield said quietly. “For my own selfish reasons, I’m glad you’ve become a survivor, Ed. But enough of this talk. Tell me about your young man.”

“Well, he’s not all that young. He’s a year older than me.”

“That is still very young to me.”

He grinned at her. “Okay, okay.” He stared off into space for a moment. “Rick’s wonderful. I mean, you’d expect me to say that, but he really is. He’s intelligent and funny. He reads a lot. In fact”—he gestured toward the growing stack of books by his side—“most of those are for him. He’s strong. I don’t mean he can lift a truck or something, but he’s strong in the way that really counts. I think surviving being gay has made him strong.”

“There are those who say what does not kill us makes us stronger.”

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s Rick right there. He’s also very kind. Right now he’s helping his sister take care of her children. Her husband just took off,” he explained, “and Rick moved up from Indianapolis to help her out. He says it isn’t a big deal, but I don’t know very many people who’d do that. He says meeting me was his reward for any sacrifice he made.”

“And Rick? Is he your reward?”

“Yes, he is. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but yes.”

“You’ve done more than you know, Ed,” she said gently. “I could point out the specifics, but if you give it enough thought, it will come to you on your own.”

“Thanks,” he said, his blush returning to his face.

“I’ve no doubt that your Rick is everything you say, and I’m pleased to hear he feels for you what you obviously feel for him. If it is indeed love, time will tell.”

“That’s what Laurie said, that I wouldn’t know for sure until I’d given it enough time.”

Mrs. Penfield nodded in delight. “Your sister is a wise woman. I enjoyed her in class as much as I did you. Ed, do you think you’re up to one more lesson from an old teacher?”

“As long as there isn’t a quiz!”

“No quiz. Although I fully expect you to keep me updated on your progress.” She frowned in concentration. “I’m not quite sure how to say this, but it strikes me that you and Rick have a bigger uphill battle to face than a man and a woman would have. I fear the disapproval you may have to face. If the love is real, it will give you the additional strength you’ll need to fight those battles.”

“You mean,” Ed said slowly, “that if our love is as strong as I think it is—well, hope it is—that it will help us fight off those who think we don’t have a right to be together?”

“Exactly. The love will grow stronger, as the two of you will. It occurs to me that you’ll both need a good deal of strength, as well as patience, to cope with the unique problems you might face. Not to mention a lot of understanding and compassion for each other. That’s more than a good many people are willing to bring to a relationship, but I believe it will be essential to your success.”

Ed thought about what she had said. “We need to be there for each other during the bad times, and if we truly love each other, we will be.”

Mrs. Penfield smiled at her former student. “Yes, Ed. It’s adversity that tests our love for one another the most. If you and Rick can survive the adversity, and survive it together, than you’ll both be stronger, better men for it. There. That’s the lesson. The old lady is through with her sermon.”

“Thanks for the lesson, Mrs. Penfield, and more importantly for not judging. Some part of me knew you wouldn’t, so that’s why I felt I could be honest with you.”

“I’m glad of that, Ed. That means a great deal to me. Thank you for confiding in me. Perhaps Rick can accompany you on one of your jobs here. I’d like to meet him.”

“Sure, I have a feeling the two of you would really hit it off!”

Mrs. Penfield slowly brought herself to her feet. “Well, I need to let you get back to work. Since I’m still as nosy as I was in school, there’s a lot more I want to know, but we can save it for another time. I’m really very happy for you, Ed. And don’t ever doubt that you deserve it, because you do.”

* * * * *

Ed was stretched out on the sofa, already engrossed in the Anne Tyler book, when Rick arrived that evening. He burst through the back door, and Ed threw his book aside to meet him in the kitchen.

Rick was carrying a large paper bag. It looked slightly greasy, and it smelled delicious.

“I have solved our dinner problem,” he announced triumphantly.

“You did? What’s in there?” Ed leaned over the greasy bag to kiss him.

Rick put the bag on the table, then reached for Ed and a much closer, more substantial kiss.

“When I left work today, I noticed the Porterfield Jaycees were having a chicken barbecue fund-raiser,” Rick said when they’d had enough kisses for the moment. “I stopped by there on my way here and picked up two dinners for us. We’ve got barbecued chicken, baked potatoes, and everything else we could need, except the drinks, but I know my man always has plenty of cold Pepsi-Cola on hand.”

“You mean you don’t want a bottle of some fa-a-abulous white wine to go with it?”

“Oh, please. I’m sure you wouldn’t have an appropriate vintage,” Rick said in a prissy voice, making them both laugh, remembering the past evening.

They sat down to enjoy the chicken.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, too,” Ed said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you after dinner. I spent the afternoon at Mrs. Penfield’s, like I told you, and I brought home a little bonus. We had a great conversation, too. Were your ears burning?”