Chapter Two

David

March

 

The library looks the same. The American classical façade, all red brick and white columns, was such a comfort to me as a kid. I loved walking the half mile from our house to sit in the quiet stacks and flip through the small collection of art books or put on the colossal black headphones to listen to The Smiths for hours on end.

Anna suggested we grab dinner together at a restaurant that had opened since I’d moved away. As I wait for my best friend, I wrap my wool coat tight against the sharp edge of the wind blowing in off the Hudson. The air is wet and heavy with cold. Forcing my attention to the gray clouds as they tumble across the night sky, I curse myself for scanning the streets for any member of the Patras family. Their diner is around the corner from here and I keep worrying one of Nick’s sisters or his brother or one of his million cousins might walk by and recognize me. Hopefully not his dad though. That’s a face I could do without seeing ever again. I know I’m being paranoid, but it’s not without good reason. That family defines tight-knit and I remember with a twinge how much power Mr. Patras’s anger could wield.

My reverie is interrupted, however, as Anna tumbles out of the library entrance, gaze fixed tightly to mine. Her red hair is longer, tied back in an elaborate fishtail braid. She’s wearing a truly enormous purple knit scarf wrapped around her neck and a giant smile.

Her familiar smell of grapefruit and coffee and paper envelops me as her arms twine around my neck. “Jesus Christ, I’ve missed you.” She leans back and grins at me, even bigger now, her warm brown eyes shining.

Something releases in me seeing her again. Sure she was in Chicago for the New Year, but this is different. We’re back on familiar ground together.

“Missed you too,” I mumble as she squeezes me into another viselike hug. We walk in a calm silence and I realize that the town doesn’t look quite the same. Numerous funky little restaurants, cafes, and shops have opened along Main Street, replacing the vacant and boarded-up storefronts of my high school and college years. Anna gestures toward a once-abandoned mill by the river and tells me a luxury hotel has opened and that they have a decent bar.

“If you need a drink at the end of the night we can swing by.” She winks and grabs my hand, pulling me into a cute restaurant, the front window adorned with vintage half aprons in lieu of curtains. As we push in through the front door I’m surprised by how full the place is, the bar packed and most of the tables occupied. There are young couples who look distinctly like city transplants, bearded guys in high-end workwear and willowy women in skinny jeans and suede ankle boots. Older couples and families huddle together too, sharing artfully arranged plates of assorted cheeses and meats and sipping wine and cocktails. And I see people I immediately recognize as queer. Men sitting close together and talking animatedly, a woman stroking another woman’s face in an absent, fond gesture. I realize with a jolt of happiness just how much the town has changed.

I turn to Anna and she’s smiling at me. “See, this place isn’t so bad. As I’ve been saying for like eight years.”

The cute young host leads us to a two-top in the back of the restaurant. His eyes meet mine as he hands me my menu and a bit of heat creeps into my cheeks.

“You’ve still got it!” Anna giggles, shrugging off her pea coat and unraveling her gargantuan scarf.

We’ve been saying this to each other since college, always ribbing the other when someone seems to check one of us out. I laugh but then a gentle quiet settles between us as we both peruse the menu.

“You going back to the hospital tonight?” Anna’s voice is soft. “I can come with you if you want.”

I shake my head. “No. Visiting hours ended at eight. Plus my dad was super out of it. He knew I was there, but he’s on a lot of medication and he’s still in the ICU. I’ll go back in the morning. I have a meeting with some other doctor. The one overseeing his recovery, I think?” I huff out a long breath and my shoulders finally relax a bit.

The warm chatter, the delicious smells of browned butter and garlic, the soft light emanating from the antique fixtures overhead all make my eyelids heavy. We place our orders, Anna getting the vegan option, me the roasted chicken with spring vegetables. Each of us takes a grateful sip of white wine. As we wait for the salad we opted to share, I tell Anna about the four hours I spent at the hospital, about all I know so far regarding my dad’s condition, and finally about my decision to leave my job and move back to care for my dad full time. At this, Anna’s mouth falls open.

“David, are you serious?” Her thin eyebrows rise. Masking her feelings has never been Anna’s strong suit. Concern and excitement war in her expression as she waits for my reply.

I nod. I still don’t know how I feel about my choice. The rational part of me is aware that leaving a job I was incredibly lucky to get at one of the best museums in the world after spending roughly twelve years in school is a huge mistake. But something about the decision just feels right. My father is my only family left. He needs me.

“I’m sure the museum would let you take a leave of absence, right?” Anna asks, looking a bit confused. “Jimmy and I are both here. If you want to take a few months to help your dad recover…” She trails off when her eyes meet mine, then her expression softens. “Well, not to be selfish, but I’m pretty fucking excited you’ll be back here. I’ve missed your whiny ass.”

I watch as a new expression crosses her delicate, elfin features—the mischievous, I have gossip face she used to make in high school so often when we sat on my parents’ couch drinking herbal tea.

“What?” I chuckle. I’m grateful for a change in topic. My mind is exhausted from churning over fears about my father and the career suicide I’m about to commit. I’m ready to shut my anxiety off for a bit and listen to Anna’s tales from the library and town gossip, like her hilariously disturbing story of the elderly pharmacist and his wife having loud, vigorous sex in the library’s local history room.

“You’re going to hate me for bringing him up. He who shall not be named.” She pauses, but the lifted eyebrow and smirk remain fixed on her pale face.

I groan. “Anna. No. Come on. Not after all the shit today.” It’s our agreement that she doesn’t fill me in on anything to do with Nick or the Patras family. I can’t deal with details of his wedded bliss or—

“He got divorced,” she blurts out, a bit too loud. A few people at the tables next to us glance over, looking alternately amused or irritated.

My neck is hot, and my muscles clench tight, like I went for a long run and forgot to stretch or drink any water after. I shouldn’t care. This information should not matter. Nick is straight. He insisted on this fact. What happened between us over and over was a mistake. He insisted on that. But he had also insisted he loved Christi and now they’re divorced?

My voice is a croak when I finally speak. “When?” I take a big gulp of wine, hoping it will hydrate my utterly parched throat. It doesn’t.

Anna looks abashed. “Like…two years ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I can’t tell if I’m angry or impressed. Anna kind of sucks at keeping secrets or withholding information. After I pleaded with her to stop giving me a blow-by-blow description of every time she ran into Nick around town or at the library it still took her a while to remember not to mention him. She thought, rightly so, that I was being dramatic.

“Well, you asked me never to bring him up again. And it always made you seem upset to hear about him. So yeah, when I found out I didn’t think it would matter. Honestly I hoped you were over it anyway. But since you’re back…and single, I thought maybe I should tell you.”

The mischievous expression is still on her face and my exasperation grows. Honestly Nick is the last thing I want to deal with right now. Of course even though I’ve barely heard from him in ten years he can still find a way to fuck up an already horrendous day.

“Okay, but get this…” Anna’s voice is positively tinkling with delight and I’m about to ask her why she insists on torturing me, when she continues. “He’s a farmer.”

Then we’re both laughing and I’m not sure why. But the idea seems too absurd. High school heartthrob, hulking star of our varsity football and basketball teams, destroyer of my adolescent psyche. Girls in our class actually called him “The Greek God.” Now he’s a divorced farmer? Tears well at the corners of my eyes as I laugh at the image of Nick’s hulking frame in denim overalls, a straw hat covering his thick, dark hair. Okay, that’s weirdly kind of hot. Fuck.

The waiter delivers our food and Anna and I are both grinning like idiots still as he walks away. “I see him almost every weekend at the farmers’ market,” Anna states matter-of-factly, taking a small bite of mushroom pasta. “He actually grows the nicest eggplants I’ve ever seen. Even if he is a dick. Hah!” She laughs at her own lame joke. “But yeah, anyway, he and some friends started this whole organic farm somewhere outside Woodstock, I guess.”

I haven’t even touched my food. It smells amazing, the chicken skin is perfectly bronzed and crisp and the accompanying new potatoes and English peas look delicious. But my stomach is so full of butterflies I don’t think I could fit any food in.

“Do you know why he got divorced? Christi couldn’t get into the whole farm lifestyle or something?” I’m trying to keep my tone light, but my voice is doing its whole nervous shrill thing and I know Anna sees right through it.

“I have no clue why. He’s only been doing the farm for the last year or so, so that can’t be it. The rumor was that he had an affair with a woman in the city and Christi left him but I don’t think that’s true.” Anna holds my gaze for a long moment and I can tell she’s trying to decide how much she can push this topic.

I sigh. “Go ahead. Give me your theory.” I already know what she’s going to say.

She beams. “Okay. So.”

Clearly she has been bursting to tell me this and I feel momentarily guilty for getting so angry with her over bringing Nick up in the past. I was being kind of a baby about something that happened a decade ago.

She drops her voice to a dramatic whisper. “I think he’s gay. Like, my guess is he couldn’t live a lie anymore.” I scoff but Anna continues. She never bought that he was straight to begin with. “Look at the facts, David. I mean, fact number one—you guys hooked up like, what, ten times? And he was always kissing you and stuff.”

“Eight,” I quickly interject. But wish I hadn’t because Anna looks smug and it makes me sound like a weirdo.

“Exactly. You should call him! I mean, you’re single…he’s single.”

I interrupt. “Anna, no. I’m here for my dad, not to torture myself with Nick. Plus, he is not gay.” My voice gets hoarse again. “You know what he said to me. You know why I can’t see him.” My wine glass is empty and I contemplate ordering another, or a whole bottle, for that matter, but I have to drive and I know drinking will do nothing to help this mess. “Can we drop it? I want absolutely nothing to do with Nick.”