The Handyman's Dream (5 page)

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Wow!” Rick finally broke the silence. He smiled at Ed in astonishment. “Oh, I knew that would be worth waiting for, but—”

“I know.” Ed was feeling quite weak in the knees. “Man, I gotta sit down.”

They both laughed, relieving the tension. Ed helped Rick off with his windbreaker, which he carefully put over the back of a kitchen chair. He led him into the living room, gesturing for Rick to take a seat on the sofa, while he turned on a nearby lamp. He turned back to Rick, who had one arm thrown against the back of the sofa. Ed sat down next to him, and Rick’s arm slid down around his shoulders.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ed said, feeling the words were inadequate to what he was feeling. “And I left our pop on the kitchen table.”

Rick chuckled. “I don’t need it right now. I just need to sit here and pinch myself, like, a hundred times to make sure this is real.”

“If this is a dream, I’m gonna be really pissed.”

Rick turned Ed’s face to his for another kiss. This one was even better than the first, if that was possible. Rick’s hand came up to lightly stroke Ed’s cheek, and Rick made a soft sound deep in his throat.

The lingering kiss ended, and Rick slid forward, yanking on his jeans. “Sorry,” he said, obviously embarrassed as he tried to adjust his crotch.

Ed pulled on his own tight jeans. “I’ve got the same problem.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Rick said, stroking Ed’s mustache. “I honestly came back here with the intention of sitting up all night, talking, but that isn’t what I want to do right now. I mean, I really do want to get to know you better, but I also . . . well, you know,” he finished sheepishly.

Ed reached over to run his fingers through the dark hair he’d admired for so many weeks. “I know what you mean. I think it’s okay, though. I have a feeling you won’t be putting on your coat and leaving right afterward.”

Rick shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. You can count on that. Ed, would you please make love with me? Tonight? Right now?”

“Yes.”

Ed stood up and put out his hand. Rick took it and pulled himself off the sofa. Ed led him from the sofa, past the stairs, and into his small, but cozy bedroom at the back of the house.

“Boy, am I glad I don’t have to work tomorrow,” Rick murmured gratefully.

“Me too, Mister Mailman, me too,” Ed responded, lifting his head for another of Rick’s perfect kisses.

“Cumma, cumma, cumma, cumma, come, come, Mister Handyman,” Rick sang softly in a bad—but wonderful to Ed’s ears—imitation of James Taylor. “The mailman has a special delivery for you.”

* * * * *

“Spent and content,” Rick whispered against Ed’s ear much, much later. “I don’t know when I’ve felt as good as I do right now.”

Ed pulled himself closer to Rick, smiling. “I can answer that question for myself. Never.”

Rick sighed. “Oh, Ed . . . Ed, baby, you are something else, you know that? If I would have known about the cutest handyman in Porterfield, Indiana, believe me, I would have moved here long before Hank ran off.”

“You really mean that?”

“Absolutely.”

Ed toyed with the idea of telling Rick the truth about the phony certified letter, but decided to wait until he knew Rick better, as he was convinced he would soon be getting to know Rick a lot better.

“The first time I saw you at my front door,” he said slowly, “I couldn’t believe it. I walked out the door and watched you walk down the street, just thinking, ‘who is that?’ and ‘how can I get to know him?’”

“I wish I’d known,” Rick said, kissing him again. “Why didn’t you holler at me? Why didn’t you scream, ‘Hey, you, in the blue? I need more than just my mail!’”

“Sheer terror. How was I supposed to know?”

“I know. That’s exactly how I felt yesterday, giving you that letter. I was so blown away by you I told myself that you had to be some straight guy, home for lunch, watching the kids, or something.”

“No kids here,” Ed said, stroking Rick’s back. “Just a lonely handyman.”

“That’s good. I’ve got plenty of kids at home. And trust me, if you don’t want to be lonely anymore, I’d be very, very happy to keep you company.”

“I’d like that more than anything in the world,” Ed said, sighing with . . . relief? joy? amazement? Oh, hell, they all applied. “You know, I’m hoping tonight isn’t the only special delivery I get from the new mailman.”

“I’ll have to check back at the post office, but I think there’s another one waiting for you for tomorrow.” Rick looked thoughtful. “Matter of fact, I think there’s one for the next day, too.”

Ed chuckled. “There’s no mail delivery on Sunday.”

“There is now, baby,” Rick said, hugging him. “You can get a special delivery anytime you want.”

Ed sighed, thinking that although no manger, stable, or shepherds were involved, a miracle of some sort had taken place in Porterfield that night. The refrain of an old Chicago song went rolling through his mind. It’s only the beginning, he thought. He knew in his heart this was indeed only the beginning for Rick and himself.

Chapter Three

Ed’s clock radio snapped on at ten o’clock. He slowly came awake, trying to push his tired eyes open. He looked around his bedroom in confusion, bleary eyes coming to rest on the clock radio, which was blaring Air Supply’s “All Out of Love.”

“How inappropriate is that?” he mumbled, reaching to shut it off.

He rolled over, groaning, then smiled as his head landed on the pillow Rick’s head had lain upon several hours earlier. Ed had experienced some of his usual weird dreams while he slept, but he knew it was no dream that Rick Benton, the new mailman, had been with him. Rick had left around four, saying he thought Claire and the kids might worry if they woke up and he wasn’t home. Ed sniffed the pillow richly, thinking it still smelled of Rick. Oh, man,you can shake me, but don’t wake me from whatever is going on with him and me, he said to himself happily, paraphrasing an old Four Tops song.

Ed crawled out of bed and reached for his ratty old bathrobe. He wondered if Rick had managed to get any sleep on this Saturday morning in a house that held three kids. He imagined Rick in the room he had told Ed he shared with his nephew, pillow over his head, as a cartoon program blasted from a nearby television. He hoped Rick was getting some rest after their long night. Ed’s smile became a frown, as he wondered if Rick’s rather unique living arrangement would create any problems in their budding relationship. But Rick had promised to return to Ed’s house that night around six for dinner and whatever else they may think of to do with the evening. He’d even hinted he might be able to spend the night.

Ed shuffled into the bathroom half-awake, imagining them together the next morning, thinking of his new mailman making a Sunday delivery. He counted the hours until he would see Rick again and knew that the day would not move fast enough. Still, he wouldn’t be sitting around waiting. He had promised his sister, Laurie, he’d be over early in the afternoon to install her new dishwasher.

“More plumbing,” he grumbled, walking into the kitchen.

He was both tired and excited, and he had no interest in fixing a nutritious breakfast. Half-convinced his mother would fly into the room at any moment, he snuck a Hostess cupcake out of a cabinet and wolfed it down with guilty relish. He grabbed an overripe banana off the counter, then poured himself some orange juice.

He halfheartedly peeled back the banana. When it came to fresh fruit, Ed’s imagination seldom went much past bananas. He wasn’t all that crazy about them, but found them wonderfully convenient and portable, an easy snack to grab while he was working on a long job.

His thoughts turned to his job and the motley crew of people he routinely helped. Ed’s almost boyish shyness, his warm smile, and his easy grace with older folks had made him extremely popular with the senior set in Porterfield. They knew they could depend upon him for the largest of tasks, such as house painting and appliance repair, all the way to the simplest of things, such as oiling squeaky doors and hauling heavy bags of water softener salt. A good deal of what he did wasn’t so much fixing as maintaining, and more than one of his regulars had claimed he kept them out of the nursing homes they all seemed to dread. Such remarks made Ed think he was doing his part to make the world a happier place.

He wondered, though, how this remarkable new turn his life had taken would affect his work. Although Ed hadn’t specifically told even his own family he was gay, he didn’t particularly think of himself as closeted; rather, his up-to-now discreet social life had simply never caused any reason for raised eyebrows. He knew he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Rick and was convinced Rick felt the same way, but Ed was a little uneasy about developing such a relationship in Porterfield, “the Peyton Place of Indiana,” as his sister once referred to it. He shrugged it off. Hell, we haven’t even had our first real date, and already I’m worrying. Let it go and enjoyit. Through some unbelievable miracle you got the guy you wanted, and he’s coming back tonight, and you are the luckiest guy in the world. Just let it happen, for God’s sake!

By one o’clock he was in his truck, on his way to Laurie’s house, determined to keep his thoughts only on the task before him. A good deal more tranquil and affable than his mother, Laurie was just as shrewd as Norma, however, and more than once she had ferreted information out of Ed he had wanted to keep to himself.

He pulled up in front of her comfortable, green two-story home on West Elm Street. Laurie and her husband, Todd, had bought it for a great price at an estate sale. It had been well modernized by the elderly couple who lived there previously, and though it wasn’t quite ready for the eighties, it was up-to-date by seventies standards. Ed, who considered his own home not much more than a bachelor pad, was a trifle envious. He wondered what kind of houses Rick liked best, then shook his head.

“You barely know the guy,” he snorted, parking the truck. “Get a grip, Stephens!”

Toolbox in hand, Ed entered the house through the front hall. He peered into the family room, where his brother-in-law was parked in his recliner, intent on a televised football game. Todd Ames, a short, dark-haired, attractive man, was usually just as calm and good-natured as his wife, which was an asset to his job as a loan officer at Porterfield First National, but he was looking a bit surly at the moment.

“How’s it going?” Ed asked, glancing at the TV.

Todd scowled. “Oh, IU is losing, as usual. Stupid bastards,” he hollered at the TV.

Ed, who didn’t know a first down from a fourth, merely said, “That sucks,” and walked into the kitchen, and familiar territory. His five-year-old niece, Lesley, was running around the kitchen table, whisk broom in hand, dressed in a witch’s costume.

“How do you expect to fly anywhere on that?” he asked her.

Lesley paused in her circles and glared reproachfully at her mother, who was taking clothes out of the dryer.

“This is the only broom Mommy will let me have.” She approached Ed from behind and slapped his butt with the whisk broom. “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!” she screamed, taking off for the family room.

"Lesley, I told you to quit hitting people with that broom! Now go put it away for the rest of the day," Laurie shouted.

Ed looked at his sister, who rolled her eyes at him. “Isn’t Halloween still a week away?” he asked her.

Laurie sighed a mother’s sigh. “Not around here. It started a week ago, and she’ll probably still be wearing that outfit when we carve the Thanksgiving turkey.”

Ed laughed as he inspected the secondhand dishwasher Laurie had convinced Todd to buy to replace the old one, which was still under the kitchen counter.

“I made Todd promise to help you haul that thing out back when you’re done,” Laurie told him.

“Well, first I need to turn the water off. I hope your laundry’s done,” he said.

“Yeah, this is the last of it. Just let me get some water for coffee, then it’s all yours.”

When Ed returned from the basement the coffeemaker was going and a glass of Pepsi waited on the counter near the dishwasher.

“Since I knew you were coming, I bought a carton of bottles on sale at the IGA,” Laurie said, indicating the Pepsi. “I’m about half-tempted, though, to let you take the rest of it home before the kids, or Mom, finds it. The kids are wired enough as it is, and I can just hear Mom. ‘Do you want your kids to spend as much time at the dentist as you did?’”

They both laughed. Ed looked fondly at his sister, just a year and a half younger than himself. Through the mysteries of genetics, Laurie had inherited their mother’s short stature, but their father’s dark hair and coloring. Ed was even taller than Tim Stephens had been, but had his mother’s sandy-brown hair and light complexion.

“I’d be happy to take all the pop you have,” Ed said, thinking of his dinner company and the cans of pop he and Rick had never got around to drinking the night before. He turned to the old dishwasher, smiling.

Laurie looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled back at him. Ed was still occasionally surprised at how close they had become as adults. To his recollection, they had passed the years 1961 through 1966 in their own form of the Cold War, speaking to each other only when absolutely necessary, then mostly in threats and demands. He happily settled to work, grateful for his sister’s friendship and their collusion together against their mother’s bossiness.

“Where’s Bobby?” he asked now, noticing he hadn’t heard or seen his seven-year-old nephew.

“Oh, he’s next door at the Schmidts’,” Laurie said, folding towels. “He’s totally hooked on that Pong game they have on their TV. I don’t get it”—she shrugged—“just bouncing a dot back and forth on the screen, but he loves it. Who cares, though? If the Wicked Witch of the West stays out of here, I may actually get some work done.”

Intent on disconnecting the old dishwasher, Ed chuckled, his back to Laurie.

“What’s up with you today?” she asked. “No offense, but you look like crap, as though you didn’t get any sleep at all, but you’re in an awfully good mood.”

“Is that a crime?”

“No. But it wasn’t that long ago we lived in the same house. I don’t recall you being so sunny when you’re short on sleep.”

Ed sighed. Here it comes.

“You have a big night last night?” she asked.

“Oh, I was hanging out with a friend,” he mumbled, head under the counter.

They’d never talked about it, but he wondered if Laurie knew the score with him. She’d been friends with some gay guys in business school, and she’d dropped a few subtle hints over the years.

“Aha!” Laurie crowed, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “That explains it. All bleary eyed, but afterglowing all over the place. Is it someone from town?”

“Geez, Laurie,” he protested, glad she couldn’t see his face.

“Oh, come on,” she said impatiently. “I may be a mom, and Norma Stephens’s daughter, but I know afterglow when I see it. Heck, I could tell the minute you walked in here. So who is he?”

“Um . . . ”

“Oh, Ed, get over it! I had you figured out the minute you broke poor Cathy Carroll’s heart. I don’t care if it’s another guy. Come on! I’m your one and only sister. Details!”

Ed pulled himself from under the counter, sighing. “First of all, I did not break Cathy Carroll’s heart. She’d pretty much written me off when I told her I was going into Marsden with Dad instead of going to college. The only reason she hung on to me was for a date to the senior prom. Secondly, I just met this guy, and I don’t want to jinx anything. So don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

Which, unfortunately, piqued her interest even more. “Wow! You mean this is someone special?” she asked, eyes bright.

Ed sat on the floor, resigned to telling her the whole story, which he did, ending with Rick’s reasons for living in Porterfield.

“Wow,” she repeated, impressed. “I didn’t know they made men like that. We go to Dr. Wells, you know. I think his sister has cleaned my teeth. Awfully nice, as I recall. And good at her job. I had no idea she was married to Hank Romanowski. Well, for her sake I’m glad her brother’s here for her. And even gladder her brother is here for my brother.”

“Aw, crud, Laurie, we barely know each other. Don’t go picking out wedding presents yet.”

“Still,” she said, looking at him wisely over her coffee cup. “If the look on your face when you say his name means anything, I have a feeling he’ll be around for a while.”

Ed’s usual blush spread over his face. He returned to his dishwasher chore. “If we’re going to be all open and honest here,” he said, inspecting the hoses on the new dishwasher, his back to her, “I’m glad you’re okay with all this, but what do you think Mom thinks about it?”

She didn’t say anything, so Ed turned around to face her. “Well?”

Laurie shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve never talked about it. Your guess is as good as mine. But I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Ed stared at her in disbelief.

“Oh, I know Mom’s loud, opinionated, and whatever else you want to call her,” she said with a sigh. “In spite of it, though, all she really wants, like Dad did, is for us to be happy. You know she’s not any Bible-banger. Heck, she hasn’t set foot in church since Pastor Garnett had that affair with Mrs. Wheaton. Mom would rather be a heathen than a hypocrite, she always says. I think if you bring a guy to her house who can charm her and who praises her cooking, she won’t even notice it’s a guy and not a girl.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ed retorted.

“Yes, it is. But if I was really worried about it, I’d tell you.”

Ed took a sip of his Pepsi. “All the same, I’d like to put that off as long as possible!”

“Can’t say as I blame you. Poor Todd still has nightmares about the first time I took him home to Mom.” She looked affectionately at her brother. “Now, get that thing hooked up and get out of here so you can get ready for your date, okay?”

Ed smiled at her in gratitude. “You know, you’re not bad, for a little sister.”

“I’m the best damned sister in the world! You get down on your knees and thank God you got me, ya hear? And you can just tell this Rick Benton for me that he’d better be good to you, or he’ll have me to deal with.”

* * * * *

The phone was ringing when Ed entered his house later that afternoon.

“It’s about time you got home,” Glen complained when Ed answered. “Why didn’t you call me, and who was that last night?”