Chapter Seventeen

ON THE PHONE, John’s mother sounded steady and calm. She called Isaac “mon cheri,” which made John complain, “But that’s my nickname.” She promised to make the necessary arrangements and didn’t ask too many questions. More than anything, she wanted to make sure her son was safe, and that, Isaac could guarantee. John hadn’t left Isaac’s sight once over the past twelve hours.

John sat on the edge of his bed next to his suitcase as Isaac pulled things from drawers. Isaac knew which shirts were John’s favorites. He knew where to find underwear and socks. In the bathroom, he knew to grab John’s toothbrush and mouth guard—his “dentures,” as they jokingly called it. He even packed John’s shampoo and lotion, although Isaac put a bit of the witch hazel balm in a smaller container that he could keep for when the coming nights without John might howl like ghosts.

Satisfied with his work, Isaac zipped the suitcase closed. John grabbed his hand and pulled until Isaac got the message and sat next to him. John leaned his full body weight against Isaac and hid his face against Isaac’s chest.

“Hey, it’s not forever.” Isaac kept telling himself that, so he thought John should hear it, too, no matter that it did little to dwindle the ache in his chest, the echo like hunger in his tummy.

John mumbled something.

Isaac felt warm breath against his skin so leaned closer. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave you,” he said.

“Don’t think of it that way.” Isaac pulled back so he could tilt John’s chin up and stare. “You’re not leaving me. You’re leaving Lothos to get help, but I will be here when you get back.”

“What if you forget about me?”

He kissed John’s forehead. “How could I forget about you when I’m keeping an eye on your house and walking your streets? Everything here reminds me of you. Not to mention the fact that you’re taking half my heart with you to South Dakota; you know that, right?”

“God, you’re so maudlin.”

Isaac gave him a playful shake.

“I’m sorry for…” John’s eyebrows squeezed together.

Isaac knew he was going to say Chris’s name, but it was over. It was past, so he cut him off. “We’re good. Everything is good.”

John’s jaw clenched. “Watch out for Tommy and Cleo?”

“Yeah.” He touched John’s hair—couldn’t stop really.

“Are you seriously petting me?” John asked.

“I know I’m supposed to be the strong, supportive boyfriend right now, but I am going to miss the hell out of you.”

John pitched forward, and Isaac caught the familiar weight. His John: skin and bones that never felt sharp but always soft and welcoming. Slim hips Isaac could hold in the palms of his hands. Wild hair and even wilder eyes and a mouth that could cause both pleasure and pain.

“I fucking love you,” John whispered.

Isaac held John even tighter.

“I’ve loved you for so long. I don’t know why I didn’t say it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac said as salt stung his eyes. “I love you too.”

 

THE ENTIRE STAFF of Being Frank stared at Isaac as if he had all the answers, but he didn’t—not even close. Isaac was more lost than ever, having put John on a plane the day prior for his extended leave of absence. He was going back to the “nut house,” as John so lightly put it. Isaac had stayed at John’s house the night before and barely slept. The whole house felt wrong with him gone. Isaac had never realized how quiet it was on top of that damn hill.

“Well.” He congratulated himself on such a strong opening.

“How’s Janelle?” a mousy girl asked from the back.

“As far as I know, she went back to Oregon with her parents on Saturday.”

Anthony, hiding under a hood, nodded to confirm. Isaac hadn’t slept the night before, but Anthony looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Maybe he hadn’t. His best friend was gone—alive but possibly never the same—and here he was, trying to talk about school.

“And what about John?” Anthony lifted his head just enough to be heard.

Isaac crossed his arms, visibly protecting his heart. “He’s on temporary leave, getting some help. I don’t know how long he’ll be gone.”

Collectively, shoulders dropped. From where he stood, Isaac could just make out the snow-covered altar on College Green. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. “After all that’s happened, I assume people are going to expect us to shut this down. They might say it would be in poor taste to continue. But I disagree.”

Anthony flipped his hood back. “You do?”

“It’s callous of me to say I understand what happened to all of you last June. I don’t. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned at my ancient age—” He tried to smile. “—if I’ve learned anything, it’s that running away from the horrible things that happen to us is a race that never ends. You could run your whole life from the memory of this, but eventually, you’re going to get tired of running, and that’s when you’ll fall apart. If we face this now, together—remember all of it—maybe we can start to heal. And not just us; maybe we can heal the whole school.”

“That is some idealistic bullshit, Dr. Twain.” Anthony smirked and chewed on the string from his hoodie. “But I can dig it.”

“Gee. Thanks, Anthony.”

“With John gone, are you going to fight our battles now?”

“Tooth and nail.”

Anthony ducked again beneath his hood. “I want to add John and Janelle to the dedication page since we lost them too.”

Isaac shook his head. “They’re not lost. They’re just…rerouting.” He blinked at his own word choice. He’d been rerouting for years but had finally reached his destination.