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In the very early a.m., he called Candice and told her to get to Capers ASAP, no questions asked.
He ordered a coffee and waited for her, staring out the windows onto the church across the road. Every part of him was numb. Too hurt to feel it properly any more. He sipped his drink, but didn’t taste it, even clasping his hands around the cup, he felt cold.
He’d barely slept last night—instead he’d stalked the streets until the early morning, feeling like a stranger to himself. He’d been wounded when Karl had left him, but this felt like something different. Something he didn’t know how to handle: shock, frustration, anger, disappointment, shame, and the feeling of being absolutely and entirely isolated overwhelmed him. Hammered at him—his heart. It might have been battered before. But he knew this time it was cracking to the center—where he held Heath closest.
His heart was breaking for real. A tear dropped into his coffee. The first of many, he was sure of it.
He didn’t care who could see him, what they thought of him. The only person whose thoughts he really cared about didn’t love him back. He barely felt it when an arm circled around his neck and lips brushed his temple.
Candice pushed her seat snug against his and rubbed circles on his back, not asking, not needing any explanation, just knowing he needed a friend; that she needed to be there.
She quietly drank her coffee, ordered another, and all the while, they sat and stared at the sidewalk, watching pedestrians walk by, laughing, yapping, lazily dragging their feet. And he counted their footsteps, each one seeming to nail the feeling of isolation in even more. Even with Candice right there next to him, he couldn’t help it. He felt so very lonely.
“We broke up.” He looked at her sympathetic gaze and it only made it worse. A sob thrummed inside of him. “I—I can’t do brunch.”
She continued rubbing his back, and nodded.
He didn’t want to go home, either. Too many memories. Maybe that was why he’d avoided going back to the flat last night. But he knew he had to.
She wrapped him into a hug, her arms so tight around him, as if she could squeeze his pain away. “Anything you need, Will.” And I’ll be there for you. “Anything at all.”
* * *
He wasn’t sure why he bought the gift, but he did.
He was wandering aimlessly in the mall, trying to submerge himself in the crowds as if it would help him feel less . . . alone. And then, there in the display window he saw it, and it was perfect, and so he got it.
Each time he lifted his shoulder bag, he felt its presence and he imagined what Heath’s face would have been like as he unwrapped it; imagined, just like that, it’d spark love in Heath for him.
If only dreams came true.
*
By the fourth day post break-up, he was in a god-damn funk. He moped about; no longer frightened by the squeals and ghostly whispers of the house he lived in alone now. In fact, he almost wished someone would jump out at him—just so he could feel something other than this . . . this all-encompassing sadness.
*
A week to the day after they broke up, Will felt like he was drowning in his bed. He didn’t want to—couldn’t—get up. It took Candice making him cup after cup of tea to drag his sorry ass out of bed.
When he came back from the bathroom, his mattress had been tipped off his bed, the sheets stripped. “Time to get up.”
“I don’t want to.”
Candice pulled open his drawers and pulled out a fresh t-shirt and jeans. “The first few days, fine, I can understand, but now? Now it’s just getting pathetic. The brooding has gone on long enough, and if you don’t get yourself together, there’s going to be a very cheesy talk coming up. And I was kind of hoping we could save on that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t be such a fool. Get yourself together, boy, or I promise Sig, Eric, and I will team up and give you some advice that I can promise will get cringe-worthy.”
“What?” he said and cracked the first grin all week. “This doesn’t count?”
She threw the clothes at him. “Just get up. I want to see you at the end-of-year party this afternoon.” With that she left him to it.
And despite her good warning, Will slipped the mattress back onto the bed, chucked the bedclothes on top, and crawled back in. He had three hours before the party started, there was no point getting up before he really had to.
He left his cell phone on the side-table set to alarm. And slept.
And slept.
And slept! Will leaped out of bed, staring at his goddamn cell—he’d pressed snooze once, it should have gone off again. Dammit, how had he missed his alarm? The party had started for sure—Candice had been excited about this for months. How could he miss it? He skipped a shower and just changed, but even jogging to the Commerce building, he knew he was too late. In the elevator, he crossed his fingers maybe Candice was still around.
Sorry Candice. You were right. He deserved all the cringe the guys would give him after this.
The elevator doors pinged open.
He took one step into the foyer. A few people milled around, laughing, eating party sandwiches, their faces lit with the golden glow of sunset sifting through thin wispy clouds. Will looked past them and halted.
In the corner, the dead plant that had been sitting there all semester had been replaced with a potted Benjamina tree, and the ugly grey wall in front of him was no longer ugly.
In the middle of it hung Candice’s canvas.
He stared at the view of Dunedin city, the contrasts of dark and light softened in the light. But what had him sucking in his breath and laughing out loud were the figures flying over the city.
He could make out Sig and Candice, his supervisor, the guys from the office next door, Eric and himself. She’d turned the eleventh floor into geeky superheroes, saving the city with pieces of code. And when he inched closer and studied the buildings, the hills and the sky, he saw in very fine writing, quotes they’d all said throughout the year. He laughed at his own “bad computer” and Candice’s: “it looks like a pig farted these numbers” and even Eric’s “it’s coding me insane.”
Tears seeped out of his eyes as he continued to laugh, and his supervisor briefly glanced his way, raising a hand.
Will acknowledge him briefly, before reading the small plaque under the painting. At the end was a dedication: To all you suckers. You know who you are. It wouldn’t have been nearly half as fun without you.
Jesus. How long and hard the eleventh floor had tried to solve the mystery of canvas. And it was so simple. He’d snooped, worked his charm, spent copious amounts of free time trying to figure it out, and he couldn’t solve the mystery whose answer had stared him in the face each and every day.
He moved around the corner, the light to the Freak Zone at the end of the hall was on, and he could hear Eric laugh as he approached.
Sig swung open the door as he entered, Candice looped around his arm. “Ah-ha, finally the man shows up.”
He looked at Candice’s calm facade. Too calm; that couldn’t be good. “I’m so sorry, Candice.”
“And?” she said.
“And it looks amazing. That foyer was ugly as hell before today.”
“And?”
He looked to Eric perched on his desk for support, but the guy shook his head. “And congratulations?”
“No, the brooding you idiot,” Candice said, “are you going to pull it together now? Or do I have to make good on my promise?”
He came into the office and collapsed on a chair. “I’m beginning to think the cheese and cringe just might help sort me out. Maybe then I’ll really learn my lesson.”
She sniggered, and kindly changed the topic. “So, you like it? It really ended up Sig making it what it was—I was tackling it all wrong.”
“Background to foreground—” Sig started, but Candice finished: “large to small, light to dark. Large details to intricate. Yeah-yeah, I got it now.”
Eric sighed. “I can’t believe the answer was staring us all in the face like that. Makes me feel, well, stupid comes to mind.” He scrubbed the side of his neck along the curve of a tattoo. “So, Will, have you and Heath made up yet?”
“Stupid’s a good description for you,” Candice said, scowling at Eric. “Really, you think this”—she threw a hand toward Will—“looks like someone who’s made up with the one he loves?”
Will looked down at himself, his shirt was inside out, and the inner pockets of his jeans were showing. She had a point.
“Point,” Eric agreed. And then to him: “Taking your time, aren’t you?”
Will gripped the desk in front of him, sure he couldn’t have heard right. “What?”
“Just leave it, Eric. He’ll figure it out in his own good time.”
“Figure what out?”
“Nothing.”
Candice changed the conversation and for the next half-an-hour any mention of his break-up was purposely avoided. She made them all sign the Canvas folder that she said she was going to frame.
After an hour, Will had to leave. Last to come, first to leave. He shook his head, but right now it was a struggle to keep up the conversation. Especially with Eric’s assumption running through his head that he and Heath should have gotten back together already.
The foyer was empty when he approached and pressed for the elevator. As he waited, he looked again at the canvas. The answer to the mystery really had been staring him in the face.
Sig caught up to him as the elevator doors opened. “I just have one thing I need to say, and I’m going to kick myself later for how preachy this will sound, but bear with me, okay?”
Will let the doors close again without stepping inside. “Preach away.” It was the least he could let him do after disappointing Sig’s girlfriend. His friend.
“I get why Eric thought you’d be back together already. When ’Dice told us what happened, I thought it was just a temporary break-up, too.”
“Temporary? He doesn’t love me back, Sig. It doesn’t get more permanent than that.”
“Just, are you sure about that?”
Sure? Of course he was. He’d asked him point blank to tell him what he thought of him and he couldn’t.
He opened his mouth to reply, but Sig cut him off.
“Just think about it, okay?”
With a clap to Will’s shoulder, Sig left.
*
He walked through the botanical gardens toward home, Sig’s words following him the entire way. Are you sure about that?
He was sure.
Absolutely.
Wasn’t he?
He hadn’t eaten since that morning, and his stomach lurched in complaint. At home he checked the cupboards, but there was barely anything there. Crackers. Some dry pasta, but he didn’t feel up to cooking. He slumped onto the couch and dug his nose into Heath’s favorite cushion. He could still smell him there. He sighed into it, warm breath bouncing back on his chin and neck. He’d never had to worry about what to do for dinner with Heath around. Heath knew how much he disliked cooking and had done it for him. He was kind and thoughtful like that.
Just as he’d been kind and thoughtful about the Stewart Island trip he’d so carefully planned. Heath really had listened to him and remembered. He always did, and had showed on so many occasions that he cared for Will. Like helping him overcome his fear of Murky, embracing all his weirdness and accepting him, wanting him to be comfortable . . . And what had he done in return? He’d basically turned his nose up at all those things and honed in on one thing—on hearing the words.
He sat up straight, clutching the pillow and he banged his head into it again and again. Eric wasn’t the one who was stupid. He was. How could he be so . . . so blind? It was just like with Candice’s canvas. Heath might never have given him the answer he had been so intent on hearing, but it was there. Right in front of him, as obvious as the ugly foyer wall that had stared down at him every day.
*
He rang Heath. No answer. He tried sending several texts and anxiously went to bed.
On Saturday morning, after no word from Heath, he gave in to sensibility and flooded Heath’s inbox, telling him he’d do anything if only they could only talk. He’d even walk Murky on his own every day for as long as Heath wanted.
And when, later that day, he still hadn’t heard back, he decided he couldn’t wait a moment longer. He had to talk to Heath.
* * *
It was overcast outside, and an icy southerly blew against him as he walked the forty minutes to the Wallace’s.
His teeth were chattering by the time he got to their driveway.
He hesitated at the Commodore, wondering how something he hated could make him feel so nostalgic. The drive to Macaroons, if he’d known it’d been his last—
He shook his head. He had to focus.
Vicky answered the door, smiling as she saw him, but she didn’t beckon him inside. “Is Heath there?” He knew he was; he’d just seen his car.
“I’m not sure he’s up to any company right now, hun. Would you like to go for a walk with me?”
He barely heard her offer, the first sentence she’d uttered still ringing in his mind. If he hadn’t been frozen in front of a concerned Vicky, he’d have fucking bawled his eyes out. Had he finally turned Heath away for good by not contacting earlier? He took a shaky step back, and then steeled himself. He’d come here with a purpose. He wouldn’t give up so easily.
“I really have to see him.”
She bit her lip. “I’m not sure. He’s been off all week. I think he’s going through something, and while I really want you two to sort whatever-this-is out, I don’t want to rush him.” She reached out and gently patted his arm. “But when he’s ready, maybe then you could—damn, boy, your fingers are icicles. Hold on.”
Vicky muttered her disapproval at his state as she disappeared. In the corner of his eye, he caught an upstairs curtain flickering. He looked up. The window to William’s room was cracked open a fraction. But he was certain he’d seen something more than the curtain move.
At the same moment Vicky came back with a pair of gloves and a thick scarf, Will charged past her and into the house. “Sorry, Vicky. But I just . . . I have to do this.”
He sprinted up the stairs.
“Will.”
His name from the top of the stairs startled him and he tripped, skidding down several stairs. He was tempted to knock his head on a stair; instead he let it dig into his forehead as he groaned in embarrassment. That hadn’t been how he’d hoped to make an entrance.
The sound of footsteps padded toward him and he lifted his head. And there was Heath, in bare feet and sleeveless shirt, reaching out a hand to help him.
Words were trapped beneath his tight throat, and he coughed in a hurry to set them free. “I’m sorry. Sorry for pressuring you, sorry for what happened with Rory, sorry for that whole night, and most of all, I’m sorry for not seeing it.”
Heath crouched in front of him. He looked tired and as if he hadn’t shaved all week.
“You’re sorry?”
“Really, truly, deeply.”
Heath sighed, reached out and dragged his hand down his arm until it reached his wrist. Tightening his grip, he pulled Will up and dragged him up the stairs.
And into William’s room.
Heath shut the door behind them and motioned for him to sit as he shut the window. Will sat on the bed both he and William had slept in.
What are you doing in here? he wanted to ask him, mystified. Curious. But he held back. It wasn’t the time.
“It’s been a hell of a week,” Heath said, his back to him, peering through the curtains.
“I’ve missed you.”
Heath sighed, took off his cap and re-set it.
“I’m sorry,” Will said again. “I wish that fight had never happened—”
“Fight? You broke up with me.” He plunked into William’s desk chair. Silence claimed the space between them for a few elongated seconds. “In some ways, I wish we hadn’t fought, either.”
“In some ways?” Will asked, feeling cold, though his fingers had returned to their normal color.
“Yes. I’m also partly. . . glad.”
He let out a sore laugh. He was glad they’d fought?
“Don’t take it the wrong way, Will. Hear me out.”
He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees, looking down on his fingers as Heath spoke. It looked vaguely like he was praying. Which in a way he was. Praying for understanding, for forgiveness, for getting Heath back in his life.
“The week apart,” Heath started, rubbing at his frown. “I realized I have a life. I have things I like to do and things I have to do. I realized I am fine on my own.”
Will reeled back, tears springing to his eyes.
“No wait, I’m not finished,” Heath said, hand outstretched toward him as if afraid he would run away, which half of him wanted to do. The other half repeated all the things Heath had been and done for him when they were together, and that won out; he stood next to the bed and braced himself for more.
“I’m fine on my own, but that’s it. It’s not great. Not wonderful. Not anything like it is when I’m with you.”
His knees weakened under him and he crashed to the bed. Not anything like it is when I’m with you.
“I love doing the things I want and don’t want to do with you, Will. And I want to be with you. I’ve known it since before we got together. Known it since the moment you said such wonderful things about my mum. The feelings I had then—they blew me away. And I just knew. This is the guy. My guy. And I hated myself for pushing you away. For not being able to say it.”
“Your guy?” he mumbled in two part awe and one part shock.
“Yeah, my guy.” He smiled, but if was brief. He had more to say. “I should have been clearer about this much earlier, but I didn’t let myself, because of a couple of things. That night when you pulled me up on my throwing myself into sex for escapism. I’ve . . . I guess I’ve wanted to make sure—to make very sure that this wasn’t something like that. That I wasn’t throwing myself into this relationship because I needed someone to make the pain of William less. I wanted to be sure this was more than me escaping those hurts.
“So I waited, never answering your words to me at night, because I didn’t want to lie to you.”
Will opened his mouth to say something, and Heath shook his head, cutting him off. “And to make this all the more complicated, when I was sure beyond doubt that this was nothing to do with escaping anything, I still didn’t say a word.”
Heath met his gaze. “When I’m with you, I’m happy. So very happy. And sometimes I go for long stretches—sometimes whole days—when I forget about William. When I don’t feel the tug of that pain. And I thought, maybe that’s the reason I’m so afraid to declare just how much you mean to me. Because you mean so much, and it frightens me. And I don’t . . . I don’t want to forget him, ever.”
He grunted, balling his fists. “It’s not coming out right. This is difficult for me to explain, and it frustrates me—sometimes I feel like I contradict myself. But somehow both things are true. I’ve tried to escape the pain of losing William, most often with sex, but at the same time I never want to forget it either. Hear how screwed up that is? But I just—”
“It’s okay, Heath.” Reaching out Will was just able to touch Heath’s knee. “I . . . I get it. You want to remember your brother, but you don’t want the pain that comes with it.”
“Yeah, except sometimes it feels like the pain is what keeps my memories of him fresh. So I feel stuck. Like it’s a catch-22 or something.” He sniffed, swiping the nose with the back of his hand. “It freaks me out, Will, because being with you, thinking of a future with you . . . it felt like it was a step closer to forgetting him.”
Heath sniffed again, but this time the back of his hand swatted away the tears leaking out the sides of his eyes. Will shuffled over the floor on his knees and wrapped his arms around Heath.
Heath’s next words hit the top of his head. “The last year and a half, I’ve made myself think I was strong, that I was handling this as well as I could. I always thought Mum was hit the hardest. But, Will, I think I’m just as devastated inside. I didn’t cry it out every day like Mum, or get depressed, but I got—well—like this. I’m paranoid. Absolutely terrified of imagining the future—of imagining being a hundred percent happy again. And wanting exactly that at the same time.
“I’m crazy. I’m scared of a future with you because I really think we could be happy together.”
Will brushed a kiss over Heath’s cheek. His words were so utterly sad and so beautiful at once.
“This week,” Heath continued, “I wanted so badly to chase after you, to make you take me back, but I knew I couldn’t do it that way. I had to sort out my head first. Needed to figure things out, to come to some type of peace with William. That’s why I came in here, this room. So I could feel the pain and hurt in all its intensity. It was—a punishment for being happy with you, for wanting us to have a future, and thereby slowly forgetting him.”
Will drew back, hands sliding to Heath’s chest, wincing. “Punishment?”
“That’s how it started. But—everyday I came back in here, the pain became a little less. And on Wednesday, I wasn’t crying anymore, I was laughing. I remembered when he was a kid and he told me to play hide and seek, but I was a lazy bugger and said no. But he hid anyway—and accidentally locked himself in the wardrobe. Instead of crying and wailing, he took all the clothes in there and put them on. When it was time for me to call him for lunch, I heard him shuffling, opened the wardrobe door, and out he rolled. When I raised my brow, he just said it was cold in there and sauntered down to lunch.
“I remembered the time he caught me kissing and feeling up my first girlfriend and he said he wouldn’t tell Mum anything about it as long as I gave him all my dessert for a week. Then fast forward four years and I turned the tables on him. Best desserts ever.”
He picked up the book of poems from next to the lamp. “We used to take these poems and make them as dirty sounding as we could.” Heath’s lips twitched with the memories. “They kept coming, Will, all these stories. The things we did together. And just like that I craved coming back in here for more. It made me hope. That with time, good things can come out of the pain I have inside.”
Heath captured Will’s face, palms on either cheek. “I have some issues—things I need to sort out. I’m—I’m afraid it’s not something I’ll be able to get over any time soon, but I think maybe I’d like to go back to therapy, like Mum. Because I feel deeply inside that you’re my guy. And while I could be okay on my own, I’d rather go for the wonderful with you. If you hadn’t have come today, I would have come to you, to apologize and, well, demand you take me back.”
Will could feel Heath’s fingertips tightening in silent question: ‘would you have?’ He removed Heath’s hands from his face, holding them in his own, and he spoke, his mouth running away from him to say: “I should never have broken up with you the way I did. I was stupid. I was looking for words, when the proof was right under my nose.” Heath Wallace might not be able to say the words, but Will could see now that he’d meant them. “Good things take time. And you have my time. As much of it as you need.”
* * *
For hours they talked and held each other. It was wonderful and warm and—
His stomach gurgled. Loud.
Heath chuckled.
Will pulled himself out of his arms. “Gah, I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“What? Yesterday?”
“There was nothing in the cupboards. I’ve been living off stale crackers and cheese. But then I ran out of cheese. I’m going to get something to eat.”
“I’m coming with you,” Heath said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again. How foolish I’ve been.”
“I’m just going downstairs to raid your fridge.”
“Or . . . ” Heath leaped off the bed. “I’ve a better idea. I’m taking you to Eureka.”
Downstairs, Heath grabbed his bag, and cell phone off the charger.
Wait a sec. His cell phone, and he was turning it on.
Will lunged for the phone and nicked it from him.
“What’s that about?”
Will thought to the messages he’d left, the groveling. That insane idea he had that he’d walk Murky every day.
“How do you clear messages on this thing?”
“You left me messages?”
“How do you delete?”
“Oh no you don’t.” Heath whipped it off him and started listening to the messages, “What’s so—” Heath’s eyes twinkled as they met his, and Will bit his bottom lip. “I can’t have heard that right.” He touched his screen. “Have to listen to that one again.”
After he heard it a second time, Heath dragged him to the car. “I’m so testing that offer of yours.”
Will laughed and when he hopped into the car, he felt, for the first time, the Commodore was the perfect way to drive. “Wait,” he said, feeling the weight as he moved his shoulder bag to his feet. “I forgot.” He pulled out the gift. “This is . . . this is for you.”
Heath stared at it, and gingerly took it from him. “Thank you.”
“You haven’t even seen it yet.”
It took Heath all of two seconds to tear away the ribbon and blue paper. His hand clutched his gift, and he laughed. Leaning over, he kissed him. “It’s perfect. Now buckle up.”
Will lifted the belt and pulled to the lock-attachment-thingy. Heath took his gift, a small ballpein hammer, and hit the belt home. A few seconds later, the Chili Peppers were on and Heath’s thumbs hit the steering wheel in time to the music. At the traffic light, he turned down the volume. “I’ve a favor to ask.”
“Anything,” Will replied.
“Next Sunday it’ll be two years since my brother died. I’d—I’d really like it if you came to his grave with us.” Heath laid a hand on his thigh and squeezed. “Please?”
Of course. He nodded.
* * *
The next Sunday morning, he, Heath, and Vicky shared a somber breakfast. He could hardly taste the cheese he ate or the coffee he drank, but he continued to eat to bear the silence. Heath’s eyes were glazed as he stared at the fourth empty seat at the table, and Vicky kept clearing her throat—as if she wanted to say something and break the silence, but couldn’t.
A moan came from outside the sliding door. Murky padded across the veranda, tail down, and pawed at the glass. Did he know what today was too? Or could he sense Heath and Vicky’s distress?
Watching the dog whine and press his body against the door had Will feeling sorry for Murky. Vicky shivered as the dog barked and glanced at him over her shoulder. She cleared her throat again. “Sounds like it—” she stopped, rubbing her forehead with two fingers. “He,” she said quietly. “Sounds like he needs a walk.”
Still with glassy eyes, Heath pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll sort him out.”
“N-no,” Vicky said. “Stay with Will, I—Just stay here.”
Heath frowned, his eyes focusing on his mom. But she didn’t acknowledge his questioning look; instead she grabbed a jacket, her keys, and Murky’s leash, and took the dog for a walk.”
Will packed the dishes in the dishwasher and scrubbed what couldn’t go in, leaving Heath to watch the backyard as he gripped his coffee, sipping occasionally.
“Do you want . . . should I maybe go and come back later?” Will asked after he was done.
Heath’s head jerked in his direction. “No. Please don’t, it’s . . . it’s . . .”
“Okay.” He smiled and sat back in his chair.
Heath reached over and took his hand. “Thanks.”
They sat like that until Vicky came back and put Murky into his kennel. When she turned toward them, Will noticed her make-up was blotchy. She tried for a courageous smile, but it came with a fresh wave of tears. She ducked her head and came inside, bee-lining for the bathroom.
When she re-entered the kitchen, the only clue she’d been crying were her bright eyes. Heath got up and hugged her. “Thank you,” he said to her. “Thank you.” Then he steered her into a chair and poured them all another cup of coffee.
There was a tentative peace between them until Mr. Wallace arrived. He came in, cradling three large bouquets in his arms. “The door was open,” Mr. Wallace said, carefully setting the flowers on the bench. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Will tensed, waiting for Mr. Wallace to see him. Heath’s dad hadn’t seen Will since the last little . . . scene a few months back.
Mr. Wallace sighed and looked up. When he did, he caught sight of him, and his cheeks flared with heat. “What’s he doing here, Vicky?”
Heath jumped to his feet, cup almost tipping off the table in his hurry. “Dad, I’ve told you. Things are different now. Things maybe you’d have more clue about if you called more often. Or heck, even if you emailed. Being up in Christchurch is no excuse.”
Mr. Wallace stepped back and looked toward the bench of flowers. “They’re different?” he said, as if sounding out the words.
“They are,” Will said. Why not? He wanted to stand up for Vicky, too. “Vicky and I are friends. We go out for coffee sometimes, we take walks at the beach, and sometimes I come here for dinner, too. There’s no harm in what we do or in what we have—in fact, I’d say it’s the opposite; we each bring a little joy to one another. And that’s not going to change.”
Heath bent over and kissed him. “You bring a lot of joy.” Then he faced his dad. “So please let it go. I want my boyfriend to get to know the dad I like, not this one.”
Vicky’s chair legs squealed as she got to her feet. “Nicely said, boys. Greg, can I see you in the lounge, please?”
Heath waited a moment when they left, then moved to the opened doorway to listen. Will smiled. That was his kind of guy.
He inched closer, curious too, and Heath curled a finger to join him, smiling slightly.
“I fucked up in there, didn’t I?” They heard Greg say.
“Yes, you did.”
“I’m sorry, Vicky. It’s not my right.”
“No, it’s not anymore.” There came a shuffling. “These are for you. Signed and dated. I hope you’ll be happy.”
Heath bit his lip and Will wrapped an arm around his waist. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Um, yeah,” Heath said, voice cracking. “I just . . . I . . . maybe listening in isn’t a good idea.” He stepped back from the door, and Will went with him.
Heath slumped onto a dining chair and snagged Will’s hand as Will sat next to him.
“I’m sorry,” Will said softly. “How can I help?”
He shook his head. “Actually, I think I’m relieved. My mum needs some closure and I’m glad she’s finally getting it.” He sighed and looked at Will. Then out of the blue, Heath tugged him off the chair and onto his lap. Their noses bumped, and Heath held Will’s hips steady. They were so close, but Heath didn’t kiss him. Not right away at least.
“I’m really glad she’s getting it,” Heath said, “because I know it helped me—I only wish I’d talked to you earlier, Will. I wish I’d just told you how I felt, how hard some things were. I wish I could take back time and let you know. I don’t want to make that mistake again. And I wish, I really wish I could have said—”
Will kissed him, cutting him off with a gentle kiss. “We can wish a lot of things, Heath, but it’s not going to change the past. Let’s put that behind us and move on. If you wish, wish for the future, for things we can do something about.”
Heath rested his forehead against Will’s. “You’re beautiful, Will. Thank you for being here. And I want you to know something: you’re delusional if you think you’re leaving at the end of this year. I want you with me here all the time, and some way, somehow, I’m gonna make it happen.”
*
Rain pattered lightly over the grass, the grey marble headstone, and the bouquets of fresh flowers at Vicky’s feet.
Heath gripped his hand tight. So tight he could feel his pulse thrumming through him. They stood behind Vicky and Greg, under a large evergreen tree with sweeping branches.
“I have an apology to make to you, William,” Vicky said, after she’d told him how much she missed him. “I want you to know how sorry I am for not looking after your dog. Heath has done a wonderful job with him, but I—well, I’ve hated him for living instead of you. I took that out on him.” She looked out over the rows of headstones and back to William’s. “It’s my goal for the next year to work on that.”
Greg took her hand, and bowed his head. When it was his turn, he too apologized for things he’d screwed up, promising to work on them. But the apologies were brief, for the most part Vicky and Greg shared little anecdotes with William: funny stories they thought would make their son laugh, and as they told them, they laughed, too.
Vicky glanced at Heath over her shoulder. “I think your brother has some things he’d like to share with you now,” she said. “I think you’ll like what he has to say.”
She and Greg said goodbye and moved to the trunk of the tree and waited. The rain was getting stronger, the tree catching the heavy drops, but building them to bigger ones that plopped down on them.
Heath let go of his hand and rummaged in the bag he’d brought. “I have an umbrella in here somewhere,” he said. “Bought one the other day. Ahh!” He took out the small yellow thing and opened—
Will swallowed.
Heath had bought his very own Mickey Mouse Monstrosity.
He held it over them, and Will helped, their hands touching.
“William,” Heath said softly, “I want to tell you about something very special that’s happened to me. And I’m sure you’ll appreciate the element of . . . freakiness in this story.” Heath looked at him, their eyes catching a moment. “This is the story about how I fell in love with Will Sharp. . . . ”
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>>> The End <<<