Chapter Fourteen

Bobby awakened that first morning in July with two thoughts. The first had to do with the well-endowed stud snoring next to him and how deeply in love he had fallen with him in such a short time. He certainly had done little to earn Bobby’s adoration, besides being so damn cute in a rugged sort of way. But he was completely unpredictable, which sometimes Bobby loved, but mostly hated. This unpredictably, however, ensured that things never got boring between the two of them. Bobby prized the excitement that came from that, from the knowledge that every day with this character would be different.

The other thing Bobby was so smitten with was the fact that this one really listened to him. His large brown eyes drank Bobby in with utter devotion, and when Bobby spoke to him, he gave Bobby his complete and undivided attention, as though he was processing deeply every word Bobby spoke.

Yes, his little Chihuahua mix, Johnny Wadd, had proved himself to be such a lucky find nearly two months ago that Bobby often wondered if their encounter in the grimy alley adjacent to a run-down bar and grill was fate.

Bobby had never imagined he’d be a dog owner, or a dog lover whose devotion very quickly knew no bounds.

Now, Bobby looked down on the little dog and watched his rising and falling chest with all the adoration a mother showers on her slumbering infant. Johnny had been all Bobby had hoped. He had quickly taken to housebreaking, using puppy pads when going outside proved inconvenient and saving the rest for the pair’s frequent walks along the shores of Lake Michigan. Johnny adapted effortlessly to being a passenger in a bright orange canvas messenger bag purchased just for him because of its fabulous faux sheepskin lining. And, best of all, he was perfectly content to sleep through the night, a comfort on the pillow beside Bobby’s head. The dog never asked for breakfast or to be taken out until Bobby was ready.

Bobby respected that. Now, why couldn’t he find a two-legged male with such sterling qualities?

He rolled over, observing the bright blue sky, dotted here and there with puffy cumulus clouds that looked like nothing more than cotton balls. The day was fresh and open to all sorts of possibilities, which brought Bobby to the second thing on his mind upon awakening.

He knew Wade had arrived in Chicago two days ago. He had received an email from him that included his airline itinerary a couple of weeks ago.

Bobby was a little disappointed because, although he kept his phone on his person during nearly every minute of the previous forty-eight hours, even taking it with him to the bathroom, Wade had not called.

An optimistic Bobby had imagined Wade texting him, excited, the moment his plane touched down on the runway at O’Hare. I’m here! He would text. Can’t wait to see you! Two days ago, every time he heard his ringtone or the peculiar little tweet he had selected to alert him to a text, he expected to look down and see one or the other would be from Wade. His mood grew fouler as the hours, and finally the days, progressed with no word from the man he had been looking forward, longing really, to see for the last couple of months.

Now Bobby tried to shut out the depressing, pessimistic voice in his head that said Wade wouldn’t call, or if he did, it would be toward the end of his stay and would be to perhaps make arrangements for a quick lunch or coffee somewhere.

He knew he could call Wade. Of course he could, but he remembered how Wade had specifically said in his last email to Bobby that he’d be in touch when he got into town.

Bobby rose from the bed, yawned, and stretched. Johnny aped his master’s movements, then hopped from the bed, tail wagging, an expectant gaze focused on Bobby. Bobby was grateful for the distraction.

“You ready to go outside? And then come back in, have a nice breakfast? How about I scramble up an egg for you?”

Johnny wagged his tail harder, mouth falling open and tongue lolling out. Bobby sometimes swore this creature could understand every word he said.

Bobby dressed quickly in a pair of cargo shorts and a black T-shirt from his favorite bar, Big Chicks, farther north on Sheridan Road. He slid into his flip-flops and grabbed Johnny’s studded black leather harness, purchased because it was so similar to Bobby’s own fetish wear.

“Let’s go.”

Johnny knew the drill by now and actually led Bobby down the long corridor to the elevator, head up and alert for any neighbors. The dog had quickly become a favorite in Bobby’s condo building, with his woeful face, underbite, and feisty and outgoing spirit. Bobby swore in the short time Johnny had lived with him, more neighbors knew the dog’s name than knew Bobby’s.

Once outside, Bobby’s spirits were lifted by the temperature, which he would have estimated to be somewhere in the midseventies, with hardly any humidity. A cooling breeze, in contrast to the sun, moved across Lake Michigan’s waters, which today looked almost tropical, decked out in aquamarine. One of the things Bobby loved about living on Lake Shore Drive was the shifting moods and color palettes of the lake.

Bobby stopped as Johnny lifted his leg to pee on a shrub near the circular drive in front of the building. They moved on, with Johnny barking quick, gruff hellos to two other dogs, a black-and-brown shepherd mix and a Boston terrier, out with their owners, both gay men like his daddy. Bobby and Johnny had seen them both many times before, although Bobby was surprised he had never hooked up with either of the owners.

Or if he had, he didn’t recall it.

Johnny began to circle atop a patch of grass once they emerged from the tunnel that ran under the drive into the lakefront proper. Bobby knew what this meant and drew out a plastic bag from the hydrant-shaped receptacle attached to Johnny’s leash. He watched as the dog did his business, then stooped to clean it up.

“Make sure you dispose of that properly,” a voice said from behind him.

Why, of all the nerve! Of course, he would dispose of the bag properly. Why wouldn’t he? He always did. He didn’t need to be reminded! He whirled, ready to give the person a piece of his mind. He was in no mood to be corrected that morning.

He turned around—and there was Wade. Wade…his eyes crinkled from the sun and his smile, which was huge. Wade, looking absolutely delicious in a pair of madras shorts, espadrilles, and a pale yellow linen shirt, open to reveal his hairy chest. His dark eyes, Bobby swore, sparkled with mischief in the sun. Wade seemed somehow larger than life, bigger than Bobby recalled, with broader shoulders, more imposing biceps, and calves that looked like they’d managed to swallow grapefruits. All of this musculature was highlighted by a thick dusting of coarse black hair that made Bobby a little short of breath.

Bobby had a quick flash of the young Christopher Reeve, when he had starred in his very first Superman movie. Fact of the matter was, Wade put Mr. Reeve to shame, even in his glory days.

Oh my God, what am I going to do? Bobby’s fears about being tempted came crashing into his head, causing his already quickly beating heart to accelerate a little more. How can I resist that? They say “Let go and let God,” but hell, all I’m thinking right now is “Let go and let Wade.” Let Wade—do anything he damn well wants.

Bobby tried not to let the sudden storm that had blown up in his mind reflect on his face. He grinned. “I was wondering if you were going to be in touch.”

Wade shrugged. “I wanted to surprise you.” He moved closer and gave Bobby a brief hug. Johnny, jealous, yipped. “I hope that’s okay.”

“I don’t know.” Bobby looked down at the Chihuahua. “Is that okay with you, Mr. Wadd?”

“You named your dog Mr. Wadd?”

“Johnny Wadd.” Bobby chuckled.

Wade stooped down for a glance under the canine carriage. “Oh, I see. Well, the name certainly fits.” Wade laughed and stood back up, but Johnny was not about to let him get away, standing on his hind legs, propped up by Wade’s own calves, and staring up at Wade with mournful eyes. Wade petted him, scratched him behind the ears.

After Johnny had apparently had enough attention, he wandered off to sniff a patch of grass that had probably been marked earlier by one of his peers.

Wade caught Bobby’s eye. “I do hope I didn’t overstep my bounds by coming down here. If you have other plans for the day, that’s completely cool. We can maybe get something on the calendar for later in my stay.”

“No, no, not at all. I’m glad you’re here.” Bobby grinned. “And I can’t imagine a nicer surprise. How did you plan this, anyway? I don’t remember giving you my address, and it had to be a crap shoot knowing I would be outside this morning.”

“Well, you’re one of those weird, dwindling few with a landline and listing in the phone book, although you are certainly not the only Robert Nelson or R Nelson in Chicago! I played the odds that this address would be yours—and I won. Sabine helped me out. She told me that the Robert Nelson just east of Boystown would most likely be you.

“And you told me you had gotten a dog in one of your emails. As a dog owner myself, I knew that it was pretty likely one of the first things you’d do in the morning is take your little critter outside.” Wade cocked his head. “And if you didn’t, or I missed you, I would have just called your cell.”

They fell silent for a moment.

Wade asked, “So…are you free today?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I had kind of planned on spending time with you this weekend anyway, so the day—gorgeous as it is—is ours to enjoy, obstruction free.”

“That’s good.”

“You wanna come upstairs?”

“Said the spider to the fly?”

Oh, buster, if you only knew… Instead, Bobby said, “You and me have a lot to talk about. Come on up, and I’ll put some coffee on. You and Johnny can get better acquainted while I shower and make myself pretty.”

“That should take about thirty seconds.”

“Flatterer! But I’ll take it. Come on.” And Bobby, feeling suddenly as though he were walking on air, led Wade inside his building. What would he do—he couldn’t help but wonder—if Wade tried to get into the shower with him? Wade didn’t know it, but Bobby felt the responsibility for whether he reverted to old habits or not rested entirely in Wade’s hands, which was not a good thought to have. But they do say, in the group, we are powerless over our addiction. And yes, sir, I do feel pretty powerless right now.

*

An hour later, Bobby found himself sitting across the table from Wade at Tweet, the restaurant next to Big Chicks and headed up by the same owner. When Bobby asked if Wade had anything special in mind for the day, Wade had responded, “I want to see the Chicago you don’t necessarily get in the tourist guides. I mean, Sabine and I have been to Millennium Park, and we went up in the John Hancock. We rode the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. We did the Architecture Foundation boat cruise. We had lunch at Pizzeria Due. We did the Art Institute. All cool, but I figured you’ve been here long enough to show me some things that are off the beaten path.”

Bobby felt more than a little pressure, since the things Wade had named would have been some of the first things he would have suggested if he had not been challenged otherwise.

So Bobby was thinking, thinking, thinking. He would play the day by ear, but he would do his best to impress Wade. He wanted to impress Wade. His mind, already, was filled with thoughts of…Wade.

Bobby was grateful he had a car because living right in the heart of the city, he had many times considered just ditching it. But today, it would be easier to chauffeur Wade to the places he wanted to take him.

They finished their Bloody Marys and eggs Benedict and set out. “Where are we headed?” Wade asked, as Bobby used the remote to unlock the doors of his car.

“You’ll see. But it’s quiet, and although there are hundreds of people there, you’ll be amazed at how little any of them has to say.”

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up in front of a Gothic sandstone arch that looked ready-made for a castle.

Bobby parked the car across the street. Wade looked over at him, and Bobby could see the uncertainty playing about his features.

Wade asked, “You brought me to a cemetery?”

“You said you wanted different. And Rosehill isn’t just any cemetery. Aside from being a beautiful oasis right in the middle of the urban jungle, it’s historic.” He rattled off the names of some of the cemetery’s better-known mausoleum and plot residents—“Charles Schwab, the Florsheim shoe guy, Oscar Mayer, the founder of Sears, the Schwinn bicycle guy, a whole bunch of former mayors and politicians, even a gangster who died in the St. Valentine’s Day massacre.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it is…and it’s beautiful. And some of the monuments are amazing.”

They began walking through the cemetery. A warm breeze buffeted them, and the quiet serenity of the grounds stilled them, until they came to one monument.

“You weren’t kidding when you said some of the monuments are amazing,” Wade said.

They had paused in front of the marker for Frances Pearce. Atop the large headstone rested a sculpture encased in glass. The sculpture was a lovingly rendered and detailed portrait of a young mother reclining with her child. “They say she died in childbirth, and her husband commissioned this statue. That’s his grave over there.” Bobby pointed to a much less remarkable memorial for Horatio O. Stone, nearby.

“It’s beautiful.” Wade seemed awed, and Bobby was glad he had brought him here. In spite of the beauty of the day, they had the cemetery almost entirely to themselves. He eyed the mother and child, reclining in each other’s arms for eternity. There was a tranquility about the statue that left Bobby yearning for something he couldn’t quite define.

“Local legend has it that on the anniversary of her death, the glass fills inside with a white mist.”

“Really?”

“Now, I can’t vouch for that personally, but there are people who swear it’s true.”

They walked on, pausing at the many mausoleums dotting the manicured grass, the obelisk honoring Senator Charles Farwell, tributes to fallen soldiers, going all the way back to the Civil War. Finally, Wade tugged at Bobby’s hand.

“Let’s sit down for a minute. That Bloody Mary and hollandaise sauce have clouded my head and thickened my blood. I need a break.”

Careful not to sit in goose crap, which was plentiful here by this serene pond dotted with geese and even a couple of swans, Bobby sat next to Wade. For a while, they gazed out at the water, quiet, companionable.

Finally, Wade asked, “How have you been, Bobby? I know losing a parent is hard.”

Bobby’s mind flashed on his father. Just a quick image of the man smiling. There was a contentment surrounding this image, an unexpected sense of calm, and it made Bobby catch his breath. He wasn’t used to thinking of his dad this way. If he could have predicted this moment, when Wade conveyed his sympathy and concern for Bobby’s loss, he would have thought he simply wouldn’t care.

“Yeah. Life becomes different when a parent goes.” He stared off at the greenish water, bedazzled with what looked like sequins, courtesy of the sun. Another image came to him—Dad sitting at their kitchen table on Queen Anne, reading the newspaper, magnifying lenses perched on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know if this was fifteen, twenty years ago or more, but it was something he remembered about his father. Every night, after dinner, he would bring out the day’s Seattle Times and page through it, concluding with the crossword puzzle. Bobby didn’t know why this particular image chose to present itself now, save for the feeling it gave him, one that he realized he’d had as he helped his mom clear the dishes from the table—a feeling of security, of sameness, of, dare he think it, family.

He didn’t want to become maudlin on this gorgeous summer day, so he turned to Wade and smiled. “I have a lot to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, remember that little scene you witnessed at the baths in Seattle? And what we talked about afterwards?”

“Of course I do,” Wade said softly.

“Well, when I got back here, I dug deep and thought really hard about who I am, why I am, what I’m doing.” Bobby recounted his slips, those uncertain steps toward sobriety, toward understanding that sex could be an instrument of joy and connection and how his abuse of it had actually removed the pleasure from it, making it instead something to bury his head in. Or the head of his dick, he quipped, but he didn’t smile. He told Wade about Sex Addicts Anonymous and the community of friends he had found there, people who shared his concerns and walked with him on a journey that was baffling and filled with pitfalls but was made easier by the company, by the simple knowledge that there was a small community of people who cared if you succeeded or failed. He told Wade about Camille, his sexy therapist, who appeared to have just a tiny bit too much appreciation for Bobby in the way she leered at him when Bobby suspected she thought he wasn’t looking, but ultimately, how she led him toward making profound conclusions about his life. And, of course, he mentioned Johnny. “That dog was like my dumpster-found savior.” Bobby laughed, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d fall in love with a dog. But I did. And a well-hung one at that! Leave it to me. I never denied being a size queen!” Bobby laughed and then grew serious. “Caring for Johnny has shown me a side of myself I didn’t know existed.”

“What side is that?”

Bobby didn’t want to say, although he knew the answer was “unselfish.” The response would simultaneously put him in a bad light and a good one. “I don’t know. Isn’t there some saying about not really knowing how to get love until you give it?”

Wade shrugged. “Probably. Hallmark, maybe?”

“Whatever. Johnny made a difference, made the path I’m walking on right now easier.”

Wade stared at him, and Bobby felt the force of his gaze penetrate him, almost like the sunlight streaming down. He felt seen.

Wade said, “There’s something different about you. I can see it. Feel it. You seem calmer, somehow, than when I saw you last in Seattle. I know you were fresh off your father’s death, but that wasn’t all of it. There was something so deeply unhappy in you, it almost radiated off you.” Wade touched his face, and Bobby let out a little gasp, feeling tears rise to his eyes. “It’s different now.”

Bobby stared into Wade’s dark eyes for a long moment, and it seemed the pastoral setting around them dissolved, fading away, so that it was just the two of them, alone, suspended, linked in a kind of void.

He didn’t know if it was wrong or not, a slip or not, but Bobby had never felt a moment more right to do what he was about to do. He leaned forward only a little, because they were sitting so close, and kissed Wade.

Wade’s mouth, warm, sweet, and spicy from their breakfast, opened to accept his tongue, to accept him. They pressed their faces together, tongues dueling, lips locked in a passion so sudden and fierce it nearly knocked the breath right out of Bobby.

Who knows how long the kiss would have gone on had it not been interrupted by the long blast of a car horn, which prompted the geese sitting nearby to take flight. Bobby and Wade broke apart, panting, and looked to see an ancient powder-blue Valiant glide by, not twenty feet away. Two old women were in the car, wearing twin gray upsweeps of hair and twin faces of disapproval.

Wade laughed. “Didn’t you see the sign?”

Bobby got up, brushing the grass from his ass. “What sign?”

Wade stood too. “The one at the front that said ‘No Public Displays of Affection.’”

Bobby pushed him. “There was no such sign.”

“No, but maybe there ought to have been—for us.” Mischief danced in his eyes.

Wade took Bobby’s hand, interlacing his fingers with Bobby’s. “Come on. Let’s see what else you’ve got up your sleeve.”

Bobby didn’t know if he meant regarding what he wanted to show Wade about Chicago, or if he meant in the physical contact department. Either way, Bobby felt he had stepped into a dangerous, bottomless well of temptation, and he didn’t know how he could ever emerge. He glanced at Wade, at the way his dark, wavy hair absorbed the sunlight, and wondered if he even wanted to.

*

“Are you sure this is okay?” Bobby had taken Wade to the Heartland Café in Rogers Park for dinner. The place was iconic, a leftover from hippie days when tofu was king and macrobiotic was a word people tossed around with seriousness. Bobby remembered Wade liked to eat naturally and for that reason, plus the relaxed atmosphere of the laid-back-to-a-fault eatery, had brought him here.

They had wanted to sit outside, since the day was holding steady in its promise of glory and sunshine. It seemed that dusk was hours away, when in fact it was only an hour and a half distant, heading fast over the western edge of the city. But a large crowd thwarted their wish, all of whom wanted to sit outside, and their request for the first available table got them near the covered patio, but not on it. Still, with the windows open, they could enjoy the warm breezes that wafted inside.

“This is great. How long has this place been here?”

Bobby shook his head and grabbed a piece of pita bread from the bowl they had ordered to share as an appetizer and loaded it up with hummus, avocado, and tomato. “As long as I’ve lived here and I think well beyond that.” He peered around him at the rustic interior, listening as a jazz trio began tuning up on a little stage set up in the window of the main dining room. “From the looks of the place, and the stuff they have on sale in the gift shop, I’d guess they opened in the late 1960s.”

“Before we were born.”

“Yeah.”

Bobby stared into Wade’s dark eyes and thought how he could drown in them. He also thought he should be taking a quick break to duck outside and call Aaron, to let him know he was in such a state of temptation, but something always prevented him. He could say it was the arrival of their waitress, a cute blonde with a nose ring, dreads, and a butterfly tattoo, who introduced herself as Betty, or he could attribute it to their appetizer being set in front of them and his hunger after a day spent exploring what seemed to be the whole north side of the city—and beyond. They had gone to the top of the lighthouse in Evanston, on up to see the architectural wonder of the Baha’i Temple in Wilmette, then headed west to hop on I-94, and then back south toward the city and to the Wicker Park neighborhood, where they had spent hours among the stacks, comparing notes on the more unusual offerings at Quimby’s Queer Bookstore, which, despite its name, was not a GLBT establishment.

Yes, he could attribute his not calling Aaron, or any other member of SAA whose numbers he had carefully programmed into his iPhone so he would have them at the ready in times of need, of which this was a perfect example, to any number of reasons outside the most basic one. The one, which, if he were being completely honest with himself, he would know was the true reason.

He simply didn’t want to.

For to call Aaron or some other member of the group might cause an interruption in this day, might indeed, as Bobby well knew, put an end to it.

And he couldn’t do that. The day had been magical, and continued to be so. There had been no more kisses, but the same intimacy that had gripped them by the pond at Rosehill remained with them throughout the day, exemplified by stolen glances that lingered for a fraction of a second longer than what might be considered normal, or a hushed whisper that placed the two of them into a bubble of exclusivity, or even the provocative brush of a hip against a hip or a quick touch of one hand to another.

And, throughout the course of the day, they had shared their stories with one another, catching up on what had gone on with each of them in the intervening years between high school graduation and the present. Bobby wasn’t shy, and this was the amazing thing. He freely shared his decade of sexual adventuring with Wade, recounting what was really a tale much more of quantity than of quality. But the wonderful thing, the thing that made him feel closer to this man from the city in which Bobby had grown up, was that Wade listened and never judged him.

It was as if at last someone, outside the more rigid confines of a therapist’s office or a twelve-step group, saw him for who he was and accepted him. Understood him.

Bobby knew in the past he had wanted men and that want sometimes went beyond the physical, but it was always an unspecified yearning, a desire to possess, to have what he perceived the rest of the world having while he alone was denied.

But with Wade, he felt a meeting of the minds, a connection that was as powerful emotionally as it was physically. Wade knew him, knew where he was from in a geographical sense, but also on a much broader scope, understanding the roads Bobby had traveled, the wrong turns he had taken, and his desire, at age forty, to avoid those wrong turns for the time he had remaining.

All of this flashed through his mind as he gazed into Wade’s eyes, as they chatted over nothing, sharing their food, their beers. Underneath the table, Wade’s foot, freed of its shoe, rested on Bobby’s bare instep, and the pedestrian touch was more exciting to Bobby than a blowjob, sending a rich, pulsating current of electricity that pulsed and radiated up his legs, went directly to his groin, and radiated outward to envelop his heart.

Betty showed up with their dinners—buffalo chili for Bobby and a seitan stir fry for Wade—and smiled down at them as though she too was in on what was going through the couple’s minds, or at least Bobby’s at any rate.

“Can I get you two anything else?”

“No, thanks,” Bobby said, but he wanted to add, Yeah. Why don’t you go ahead and bring us the check? I want to get this boy home. But, of course, he had no idea Wade would even come back to his place after dinner, and if he did, what would happen there. In spite of the closeness they had shared throughout the day, Bobby wasn’t at all sure Wade was on board for more than hand holding and soulful gazes. And Bobby didn’t know if he was either, which, in and of itself, was something of a small miracle.

The old Bobby probably would have blown Wade at least once in the car by now and coerced him into fucking him in the bathroom stall of the men’s room in the basement of the Baha’i Temple. He snorted with laughter at that last thought.

“What?” Wade looked up from his plate of vegetables, his eyebrows coming together. Betty walked away.

“Just a funny thought, that’s all. Nothin’.” Bobby dug into his chili. “You know, I’ve had an amazing time with you today. Better than I could have ever imagined.”

Wade covered Bobby’s hand with his own. “Me too. I hope we can spend some more time together while I’m here.”

“Oh, I’ll be either heartbroken or furious if we don’t. Probably both. Besides, I haven’t shown you Graceland yet.”

“Graceland? Elvis?”

“No, it’s another old cemetery on the north side. Some of the biggies in Chicago history are buried there—Marshall Field, Mies van der Rohe, George Pullman, Louis Sullivan—and it’s reported to be really, really haunted. When we get back to my place, I can show you some pictures that ghost hunters have taken in the cemetery that are supposed to be real. You don’t want to miss out on that.”

“You and cemeteries. Who knew? And who knew they could be so much fun? I’m down for Graceland.” Wade pulled his hand away. “But what’s this about coming back to your place after dinner? I hadn’t been issued any such invitation. I assumed after this, you’d drop me back at Sabine’s family’s house in Wilmette. That’s why I thought you came all the way back up north.”

Bobby felt his spirits take a plunge. He supposed the trial he was anticipating wouldn’t be a trial at all, not when the object of his temptation had just pretty much ruled out any “occasion of sin” as the lapsed-Catholic Camille might have termed it.

Wade reached over and startled Bobby by touching his cheek. “Hey, I never said I wouldn’t come back, just that I hadn’t been asked. Don’t look so crestfallen. You’d make a lousy poker player.”

All at once, Bobby realized that maybe not having Wade back really wasn’t such a bad idea. He didn’t know if they would end up being intimate or not, but maybe there was a certain pleasure, one which he would have to confess to himself he had never experienced in his self-indulgent life, in waiting. Anticipating. Letting the excitement build, and build.

Delayed gratification was a concept Bobby had no familiarity with, until now.

“So you would like to come back?”

“Maybe. Just for a nightcap.” Wade grinned, and Bobby felt his common-sense resolve melting.

He said the next words in a rush because he knew if he didn’t get them out quickly, he would never say them. “It would be fun, Wade. But you know all we’ve talked about, all those things I told you about how hard I’ve been working since I last saw you?” He started to go on, but again, Wade squeezed his hand, halting him.

Wade smiled. “I know. It’s okay.”

They fell silent, and Bobby cast his gaze around the busy restaurant. He hadn’t noticed because his focus had been so intent on his dinner companion, but tones of navy, lilac, and gray had replaced the summer’s blue skies that had been in place when the pair had sat down.

He also hadn’t noticed the other couple, two young men like themselves, sitting at a corner table outside on the patio. Bobby felt his heart ascend and lodge in his throat.

One of the men, dark-haired, intense, wire-thin, and wearing a white tank and faded, ripped jeans and flip-flops, was totally immersed in his companion across the table. It was almost like Bobby could draw a straight line between the pair’s eyes. That’s how connected they were. The other guy, blond and bearded, was broad-shouldered, with muscular biceps and shoulders straining the thin fabric of the black T-shirt he wore.

They were a beautiful couple, and Bobby thought anyone could see that, gay or straight. Such good looks transcended gender.

Another thing: anyone with a pair of eyes in his or her head could see was that the two were hopelessly in love. The way they gazed soulfully into each other eyes, how they laughed together, as though they were conspiring, their whispered words across the table put them in a small world all their own in spite of all the people surrounding them, laughing, eating, drinking, and even walking by on the sidewalk. All of these things told a great and potent love story.

It almost brought tears to Bobby’s eyes.

Wade flicked Bobby’s hand with a finger, making Bobby realize he had fallen silent for perhaps too long. “What are you staring at?”

“Those two.” Bobby nodded at the couple on the patio.

Wade turned discreetly to look. “Man, what a pair of hotties.” He turned back to Bobby, grinning.

Bobby shook his head. “Oh, it’s more than that, my friend. Can’t you see it? Can’t you just practically feel how into each other they are?” Bobby said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I envy them.” He wasn’t even sure he had spoken loud enough for Wade to hear.

Wade looked again. “Yeah, now that you mention it. It’s pretty obvious they’re smitten.”

Bobby stared at them again, shutting out the other diners and even Wade. He knew them. They were Caden and Kevin, his former best friend and the boyfriend who Bobby, once upon a time, had attempted to steal from him, thus sealing the end of their friendship. It made his heart hurt to look at them. For one, he missed Caden so terribly, and he knew what a good man Kevin was—honest, simple, compassionate, not to mention sexy and smart—and felt a deep sense of regret that neither of them was in his life. For another, the fact that their love for each other was so obvious caused a sharp twinge of longing, painful, to course through him.

He felt like the easy love they had, unselfconscious, real, and impossible to ignore, was something which had been denied to him. Bobby wondered if he even had the capacity to feel the way they did, if he had the depth of emotion within him to experience that kind of love.

He looked over again at Wade, who had stopped eating and was staring at Bobby expectantly. “What? Is there something you’re not saying? It’s like those two have you transfixed. Do you know them?”

Bobby had shared a lot with Wade throughout the course of their day, but the one thing he did not share was what had happened with Caden. He could easily let Wade know what a slut he had been—after all, the man had seen him in action at the baths in Seattle—but he just couldn’t bring himself to let Wade in on what a shit he had been as well. He just never saw a reason to reveal himself in such an unflattering light. Now he wondered if he had made the right decision, holding this piece of his history back. If anything were ever to grow between him and Wade, as Bobby hoped it would, he knew that making a clean breast of things would be the best course to take.

“Yeah,” Bobby said softly, taking a sip of his beer. “I know them both.”

“And?”

And Bobby told him the whole story of how Caden had once been his best friend and how Bobby had betrayed their closeness to chase after the man now sitting across the table from Caden. Bobby swallowed hard, summoning up all the courage and resolve he possessed, and forced himself to let Wade in on the duplicity he had instigated, how he had almost prevented the scene they now saw before them, not twenty feet away. When he finished, he fully expected Wade to shake his head and say something along the lines of “Wow. I didn’t know you could be so rotten.”

But he didn’t, because Wade was kind. Wade had a good, nonjudgmental heart. “I can see how much this means to you,” Wade said. “And I can hear the regret in your voice. You really miss him, don’t you?”

“Oh God, yes.” Without thinking, he blurted out, “Caden was my only friend.”

“Really? I thought I was your friend. And those guys in your group?”

“Of course you are, Wade. Of course you are. And the group has delivered to me some really good friends. But Caden was my best friend. He stuck with me when I was at my most hateful, my most promiscuous. And when he and I were together, he really was the only man I could truly call friend. The others were just encounters or, at best, fuck buddies. No one who gave a damn about me.” Bobby sucked in a big breath. “But I don’t want to sit here feeling sorry for myself. I take responsibility for what I did. And I know that the price I’m paying now—although it’s really high—is, in the end, fair.”

“Have you apologized to him?”

“Dozens of times. I emailed, called, texted, everything. I even lay in wait for him at the lakefront just to tell him I wanted to make amends.”

“And none of that got through?” Wade shook his head. “I mean, what you did was pretty terrible. I’m sorry, but it was. But if you’ve apologized in good faith, and it obviously looks like everything came out okay in the end for him, then I don’t understand why your old friend Caden is being such a dick.”

Bobby felt a surge of warmth for Wade, inspired by his obviously coming to his defense. He also felt protective toward Caden. “He’s not a dick,” Bobby said quietly. “He’s a good guy who never deserved what I put him through.” Bobby shoved his chili away from him, covering it with the paper napkin that had been in his lap, no longer hungry.

“Well, maybe he just needs a little more time,” Wade said. “He might still come around.”

“I can hope.” Bobby shrugged. He caught Betty’s eye and motioned her over. “Could we get our check?”

“Sure thing, hon. Need anything else?”

Bobby shook his head, and Wade said, “The check will be fine.”

Bobby said, “I’m sorry. I should have asked if you wanted anything else. That was selfish of me.”

“It’s okay,” Wade said softly. “You probably want to get out of here, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I don’t really want to run into them.”

“Why don’t you slip out now, and I’ll meet you at the car.”

If Bobby didn’t love this man before, he did now. Wade’s kindness was rare, and Bobby thought no one had ever looked out for him quite like this before. He took out his wallet, but Wade waved him away. “My treat.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue. Next time, it’s on you. And I want upscale.” Wade chuckled.

Bobby hurried out of the restaurant, keeping his gaze focused on Caden and Kevin. He was sure they had never spotted him.

They were too focused on each other.

*

Outside the restaurant, darkness had fallen completely. Bobby hurried west, even though he had parked east of the Heartland, just so he could avoid an encounter with Caden and Kevin. They would surely see him, since they were seated just off the sidewalk. It was easier to go around the block than to experience the pain of coming face-to-face with the couple. He was sure there would be dirty looks, downcast eyes, and silence that grated worse than if they had stood up and yelled at him.

Wade hurried after him. “Hey, wait up! Didn’t we park in the other direction?”

Bobby stopped and turned, explaining the method to his madness.

“I’m so sorry you have to feel this way, Bobby.”

They walked to the car in silence, the chirping of crickets and the rush of traffic on Sheridan Road their only accompaniment. Once in the car, Bobby started to push the button that would start the ignition, and then pulled his finger away, laying his head on the steering wheel. He was breathing hard and felt tears were close behind.

Wade ran his hand over Bobby’s back in slow circles, saying nothing. And the truth was, the simple touch meant more to Bobby than any words ever could. He didn’t know what Wade could say, anyway, that would make him feel better. But the feel of the man’s hand on his back was soothing, and it was enough to stave off his tears.

After a moment, Bobby sat up straighter, dislodging Wade’s touch. He blew out a shaky breath. “I’m okay.” He started the car and pulled out onto Glenwood Avenue.

The drive back to his condo on Lake Shore Drive was quiet. The only words spoken were from Wade, who commented on the lighted towers lining the drive on the west side and the huge expanse of dark on the east. They had the windows down, and Bobby finally tuned his Sirius radio to a classical station and set it to low. He wasn’t in the mood to play tour guide anymore.

He didn’t know why seeing the two of them hit him so hard. Well, no, that wasn’t really true. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that there were many reasons seeing them had such a profound impact. The difficulty lay in deciding—if that was even necessary—on which one was the most significant.

For one, he had yet to see the pair together. Even when all the drama took place last winter, he had never really seen Caden with Kevin. The couple’s happiness, the obvious joy they found in one another’s company, was a sharp pain to his heart, making him wonder if what he saw on their faces, the way their hands casually linked across the table, would be something he would ever experience. But then he thought of how selfish such thoughts were. He realized that he could be happy for them (and he was), but sad for himself.

For another, seeing them drove home the point (hard) that Caden wanted nothing to do with him. He had never answered Bobby’s heartfelt letter, let alone ever responded to the countless apologies Bobby had sent his way. The fact that he obviously was indifferent to Bobby and had moved on with his life hurt more than the knowledge that he hated Bobby. At least with hatred, Bobby thought, there was still some feeling left.

The last reason Bobby felt so desolate was the fact that seeing the pair had such a power over him. That simple sighting in the restaurant had pretty much ruined the wonderful day he had been sharing with Wade.

Wade broke the silence as they exited at Belmont. He chuckled and said, “So I am coming back to your place?”

“What?” Bobby stopped at a red light. He had been so lost in thought that he almost forgot Wade was on the seat beside him. That’s a first. A hot man in the car with you and you not even aware of his existence. Bobby, oh, Bobby, what’s happening to you?

“I thought you’d take me back to Wilmette. To Sabine’s.”

Bobby laughed, feeling heat rise to his face, remembering how he had made a point of nixing the idea of Wade coming home with him after dinner. In his upset, he had just driven on automatic pilot, and since his default setting for being out anywhere was to go home afterward, he had simply headed south.

“I’m sorry. I was preoccupied and just did what comes naturally. I didn’t mean to presume, and I certainly wasn’t up to…” Bobby’s voice trailed off. Up to what? His old tricks? Being duplicitous? Making like a spider to a fly? “I can turn around easily enough.”

“Why don’t you just go home? You have a guest room, right?”

Bobby felt a shiver inside. In spite of all that had gone on, he didn’t know how having Wade in the condo overnight might go. It was too much temptation, especially if Wade was even in the smallest way willing.

“Um, yeah.”

“It’s got clean sheets and everything, right?”

Bobby laughed. “I honestly don’t think it’s ever been used.” When Bobby bought the condo, he had thought some of his family might venture out from Seattle to visit him, but none ever had. “But yeah, it should be fine.”

What are you doing, Bobby?

He pulled into his space in the parking garage and looked over at Wade. Even in the fluorescent lighting, Wade managed to look stunningly handsome. I guess that’s one way to define true beauty: you look good no matter what the lighting is. Bobby got out of the car, having no idea how the rest of the night would play out. Would he succumb to the temptations that had been part and parcel of him all of his adult life? Or would his mood save him because, for the first time he could remember, he was just too down to contemplate going down on a hot man?

Inside the condo, Bobby switched on some lights and turned to Wade. “Would you like something to drink? The nickel tour?”

“Later. I think, right now, the best thing is to get you into bed.”

Bobby stood near his floor-to-ceiling windows, paralyzed. Here it was. The temptation—Wade couldn’t have laid it out more clearly. What else could getting him into bed mean? He supposed he could go through with it…

Wade must have seen what was going on with Bobby, writ large on his face, because Wade laughed. “By get you into bed, I meant only that I would tuck you in and get you a drink of water, read you a bedtime story if you require it. I’m too tired to have the energy to do much else.”

Bobby was touched. The offer meant more to him than if Wade had pounced on him once the door was closed, tearing off his clothes, as had just about every other man—save for Caden—Bobby had ever had up here.

“Go on,” Wade said. “I’m sure I can find the guest room.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I should check and see if there are sheets on the bed?”

Wade turned him around. “I’ll be fine. If there are no sheets, I’ll find some. I’m quite capable of making up a bed myself.”

“Okay. Thanks for this.” Bobby was suddenly so tired. It was like every bit of life had been drained out of him. He walked, like a zombie, toward his bedroom. At the threshold, Johnny waited for him, staring up beseechingly at his master.

“Oh shit,” Bobby whispered to himself. “I forgot all about you. Come on.” He patted his leg, indicating that the dog should follow him to the front door, where his leash and harness hung on a hook by the door.

Johnny panted as he trailed Bobby. At the door, though, Bobby was surprised to see Wade already waiting, crouched down on the floor with the leash and harness ready in his hands. He grinned up at Bobby.

“Are you for real?” Bobby asked.

“Of course.”

“Why does someone like you have to live all the way across the country?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Wade answered. “Can you give me the keys? Johnny and I here will take a little stroll, and we don’t want to wake you when we get back.”

Bobby grabbed his keys out of his pocket and handed them to Wade. “Enjoy. And thanks again.”

Wade got Johnny “saddled up,” stood and kissed Bobby lightly on the lips, which sent a shiver through Bobby, making him long for more, making him wish Wade would hurry up and go. “Sleep. You’ll feel much better in the morning. You’ll see.”

Bobby watched until the pair exited through the front door, Johnny casting a puzzled stare back at Bobby, as if to say, “What? You’re not coming along? What is this shit?”

After they were gone, Bobby felt there was no better refuge for him than his own bed. He didn’t even bother to turn on any bedroom lights as he stripped down, dropped his clothes on the floor, and collapsed on the bed.

It wasn’t until much later that he awoke. The condo was silent, and even the constant whoosh outside of traffic rushing north and south on the drive, was silent. He stood, feeling awake and not groggy in the least, and went to his windows, where he stared out at the night. The drive below him was indeed empty, and Bobby wondered what wee hour this could be, when not a single car was present on Lake Shore Drive.

Did that ever happen?

He wondered how Wade was sleeping. He hoped it was deeply.

He rummaged around in his dresser and pulled out a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt and slid them on. He walked out to his living room, enjoying the stillness.

Where was Johnny? The little dog was like his shadow when he was at home, and now he was nowhere in evidence.

But there, by the window, he could see someone sitting in one of the leather chairs he had positioned there for staring out at the water and its changing moods. He neared the chair, thinking it was Wade, but when he got closer, he stopped and gasped in shock.

It was not Wade, but his father.

Robert Nelson, Senior sat, taking in the tranquil night. He didn’t look at Bobby, but he must have sensed him there, because he spoke to his son. “I don’t know why we never came to visit. You have the most amazing view. Is that a Ferris wheel?” He leaned forward to look south, at Navy Pier and its principal landmark, a wheel that honored the Ferris wheel built for the World’s Fair in 1893. It turned slowly, its lights a beacon in the night.

“Yes, Dad. That’s exactly what it is.” Bobby drew in a breath and sat in the matching chair opposite his dad. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. I had the sense there were some things left unsaid between us.”

Bobby chuckled, but there was little mirth in it. “That’s an understatement, Dad.” He felt he could be free with what he said. None of the fear and anxiety his father usually inspired in him was present, probably because Bobby didn’t believe his father was really there. This had to be a dream, a sleepwalking dream, perhaps.

“Like what?” Bobby asked.

“Like that you never knew how I felt about you?”

“How could I, Dad? You never told me.”

“I didn’t know I had to.”

“You did. I never knew.”

“I guess I just thought being there for your mom, your sister, and you said it all. I worked all my life at a job I hated just so I could take care of all of you. Where I come from, a man who provides for his family shows his love that way.”

“And I thank you for that.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do. Without your money, I could have never had all I have in this life,” Bobby conceded. “You were a good provider.”

“But you wanted something more.”

Bobby felt something catch inside him, and he drew in a frantic, quivering breath, telling himself to be calm. He could only nod and hope his father saw.

“What did you want?”

Bobby felt the tears, hot, spring to his eyes. “You. I just wanted you. I wanted you to be there for me. I hungered for it.” Bobby cast his mind back, way back, to ninth grade, when he had been on the track team, running the mile relay. Bobby had never been good at sports, but at least he could run. And deep down, he hoped that this effort would please his sports-obsessed father, who was always parked in front of the TV on weekends, no matter what kind of sport was being broadcast, watching avidly.

Maybe, for once, he would notice his son, take an interest.

And it had been good, when the first meet came about and his father insisted on driving him down to the field on that drizzly Saturday morning. Bobby looked out the car window when he got there and saw all his teammates arriving, many with their own fathers in tow. His excitement rose as he imagined his father cheering him on as he rounded the track, as he chatted with the other boys’ fathers.

But his father just pulled up in the car, put it in park, and turned to his son. “Just give me a call when you’re done.”

Speechless, Bobby had gotten out of the car. He turned to watch his father drive away, hoping that he would realize nothing could be more important than this track meet on this morning in May. He watched, mouth open, until the Audi disappeared completely from view.

At the meet, his relay team placed first, and Bobby ran his quarter mile fast enough to break the school record.

What did it matter?

“It did matter,” his father said, startling him, jolting him out of memory.

“Why would it matter to you? You couldn’t even be bothered to give up the two hours of your day to stay and watch me.”

“Oh, but I did. You just didn’t know it. I parked the car and came back, and I watched you from beneath the bleachers. I was so proud.”

“Bullshit.”

“You ran that quarter mile like you had a tiger on your tail.” His father laughed.

Bobby wished it had been true. This was some kind of crazy, fucked-up dream, some wish fulfillment.

“I was there, Bobby. I saw you break that record.”

“Then why did you never say anything?”

His father bowed his head. When he spoke, his words came out halting and soft, unlike the confident manner he usually used when he spoke. “I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t? Why the hell not?” The tears rolled down his cheeks. “It was all I ever wanted.”

“It wasn’t in me. Sad, isn’t it? But we sometimes learn by example, and my father—”

Bobby held up a hand. “I know. He beat you. He hit your mother. You were a prince compared to him.”

“Yes.”

The two men fell silent. They said nothing for the longest time, and then his father rose. “I have to go back.”

Bobby didn’t look at him.

“I know this is supposed to end with me telling you how much I love you and how proud I am of you, but that wouldn’t be me, now would it?”

Bobby looked up at the man. He was already growing shadowy and insubstantial, as if his form were fashioned from smoke.

“No” was all Bobby could say. He knew to say more would have his voice coming out broken and choked, and he couldn’t bear to display his weakness to his father.

“I can say this, though, son. You’ll never have any kind of relationship with anyone until you realize you must accept them for who they are. You may get a little; you may get a lot. But only when you start from the point of what’s possible, rather than what you hope for, will you ever find love.”

Bobby had barely registered the words before he realized he was sitting alone in the living room. He felt something cold and wet on his toes and looked down to see Johnny, licking.

Bobby stood. “You telling me you need to go outside? It’s the middle of the night.” He shook his head. “Come on, then.”

When Bobby returned, he unleashed Johnny, who made quick sticks to their shared bedroom, and imagined him hopping up on the king-size bed and curling up in a tight little ball on one of the pillows.

Bobby didn’t follow him, not immediately. Instead, he went and stood outside Wade’s door, his head inclined, listening. He thought maybe he’d hear him snoring, or at least breathing, but nothing was audible through the thick door.

Wade was inside. Bobby was out here. All it would take to broach that separation would be for Bobby to reach down, turn the doorknob, and walk into the guest room. He could glide silently through the darkness and sit beside Wade on the bed. He could reach out a gentle hand and play with his dark curls, run it over his chest, let it wander farther south…

He could imagine it all, standing there in the stillness that comes only in the middle of the night, and he felt himself growing aroused as he thought of Wade awakening and not being startled but, instead, reaching up with one hand to grasp the nape of Bobby’s neck and pull him toward him to kiss. Wade’s mouth would be warm, wet, like a Seattle spring night. Bobby could practically feel the burn of Wade’s stubble on his face, the hunger in Wade’s mouth as the kiss grew more passionate, as Wade threw back the sheet with one hand and pulled him down on top of him.

He could imagine so much but wondered if acting on this fantasy, even if all was reciprocated as he imagined, would be the course toward something healthy. Or would it, in the morning, look like nothing more than a trick, another mistake in a long line of them?

Was Wade worth waiting for?

Bobby turned and went to his room. As he knew he would be, Johnny was curled up on the pillow that would be next to Bobby’s head. The dog looked up for a moment, yawned, then tucked his head back between his forepaws and returned to his slumber.

Ah, to have a dog’s life…

Bobby sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, his back resting against it, legs sprawled out lazily before him. He knew the possibility of sleep was over for this night, and he wondered, then, if Aaron would be awake.

He glanced at his clock on the nightstand and saw it was now nearing 5:00 a.m. There was a possibility the guy could be up, sure, but Bobby would wait until morning to call.

Instead, he sat, looking out the window, and watched until the sun rose slowly over the lake’s still waters, throwing shades of orange, pink, and pewter across the horizon.

He thought of his dad, and he wished the wish all children have for parents who have died, whether there was a good relationship or a bad one—for more time.

Because with time, any wrong can be righted. Death wiped out that chance.

But he remembered, then, his father’s parting words to him, about how we had to accept, sometimes, the things we are given, if there is ever to be a chance at, well, anything. It was what the Serenity Prayer told him, and he finally got it.

Accept the things we cannot change.

In order to ever love his father, he had to love his memory as he was, not as Bobby wished he had been. When he could begin from that point, maybe there would be room to see things he had never seen.