Chapter Three

UNLIKE EVERYTHING ELSE in the Rowel household, the dining table was massive, taking up a huge chunk of space. Made of slabs of solid oak, it had been passed down to Justin’s dad from his great-grandfather. It could comfortably sit about a dozen people, but even now, it groaned under piles of food. Green-and-red garlands hung from the crown molding all around the room in sweeping semicircles, and a centerpiece of pine boughs and gilded cones sat on the narrow side table next to the stack of extra napkins.

“We won’t have any room in our stomachs for Christmas dinner tomorrow, Mrs. Rowel,” Dave said, setting a chicken casserole in the middle of the table.

“Don’t be silly, dear,” she said, arranging the plates and the cutlery just so. “You’ll all be hungry as a pack of wolves by tomorrow night. And call me Kelly, would you?”

Justin didn’t know about tomorrow, but now, the smells and sights were enough to make his mouth water. Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t had anything to eat since the scone he’d washed down with his coffee that morning.

He found himself seated between Aunt Marnie and Elliot. As overpowering as his aunt’s rosewater perfume was, he was much more acutely aware of the other man’s presence, the way their elbows nearly touched and Elliot’s elegant fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass.

Excitement that had nothing to do with food or the liveliness of the conversation coiled in the pit of Justin’s stomach. Snatches of half-repressed memories of closeness flashed before his mind’s eye, fueling a reaction that was both startling and unwelcome.

He must have blushed, because Trish, who was sitting across from him, gave him a funny look. He pretended to study the composition of the green bean and almond dish to avoid her scrutiny.

The conversation around him flowed in its familiar course. Justin was mostly quiet, too busy tucking in to participate. Steaming hot food took the edge off his anxiety, isolating it in a warm cocoon. It wouldn’t last, but at least it stopped Justin’s thoughts from running around in frantic circles for a while.

He was conscious of Elliot glancing sideways at him from time to time, but he couldn’t tell whether it was because he was expecting Justin to contribute to the discussion of politics, or because he was eating his weight in beef and vegetable stew. Either way, with Uncle Tony and Aunt Marnie present, Justin wasn’t touching politics with a ten-foot pole. He was grateful when Trish and Dave were finally able to shift the focus to less contentious topics, like their upcoming sports competitions.

Elliot wasn’t very talkative either. He’d never been terribly outgoing, and it was probably weird for him suddenly being thrust in a boisterous bunch he hadn’t seen in years.

“So how are things going at the store?” Aunt Marnie asked, and all of Justin’s tentative contentment evaporated.

“Fine,” he said.

“Didn’t they open a Tool Depot on the main street?” Uncle Tony said around a mouthful of creamed potatoes. “That’s one big store, that.”

Kelly and John, who sat at opposite ends of the table, across from each other, exchanged a look. Trish, who must have already been cued to this unfortunate development, shifted uncomfortably in her chair and threw Justin a guilty glance as if she’d been the one to bring the cheap one-stop chain store into their little town.

Justin was mildly surprised Uncle Tony had been able to shift his attention from his phone long enough to actually notice a brand-new building being erected. Then again, Tool Depot probably advertised their new Carson branch on Facebook.

“They did,” he said dryly.

“Must be bad for business,” Aunt Marnie observed, scooping up another helping of the roast. “You should do one of those—what do they call them—viral campaigns to boost awareness. That’s all the rage now, apparently.”

Justin shoved the beans around on his plate. His earlier voracious appetite followed right on the footsteps of his affable mood. It was useless to explain to Marnie that the Rowel Hardware core clientele had no idea what a “viral campaign” was, and that this clientele had dwindled practically into nonexistence even before the paradigm shift in hardware consumption, aggressively enforced by the new chain store.

“You could always sell it,” Uncle Tony said. “That new developer is buying properties all around downtown. What do you say, John? I bet you could get a good deal on it, too.”

Justin’s father, who had been proposing the exact same thing in private for the better part of last year, made a noncommittal sound.

“If Justin says the store’s doing fine, then it’s fine,” Kelly said firmly, addressing no one in particular. “Now, have some more of that stew before it grows cold.”

“How are things going in California, Elliot?” Trish asked before taking a sip of her wine. “Are you all about that beach life now?”

Justin eyed his own glass longingly, but he was driving, and he had a feeling no amount of wine was going to be enough to mellow him out anyway.

“I’m not really the type.” Elliot smiled faintly, with just a hint of mirth. “And I’m usually too busy to hang out at the beach anyway.”

“You work at an art gallery, right?” Dave asked. “What is it you do?”

“I’m a buyer. I also set up exhibits and handle the sales. Administrative stuff, mostly.” Elliot glanced at Justin. “It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.”

Was he trying to sweeten the pill of disappointment? If so, he wasn’t doing a very good job, even though Justin was past his initial bitterness.

They had planned on moving to California together, five years ago. The day they both received their letters of acceptance to the Otis School of Art and Design had been the happiest in Justin’s life. But it all went to hell a few weeks later when Justin’s father was diagnosed with leukemia. With the medical bills adding up, his parents could no longer afford the pricey tuition, and since his mother spent her days taking care of her husband, it fell to Justin to oversee the hardware store which had then been the family’s sole source of income.

So he stayed while Elliot went away, all the way to sunny California to live that “not so glamorous” life he’d always wanted.

Yeah, okay, perhaps some of the bitterness was still lurking under the surface.

After the meal, they all helped to clear the dishes and adjourned to the living room, carrying along the remnants of their coffee and dessert. Not hot cocoa, though—that was a Christmas Eve treat reserved for tomorrow night.

Colorful fairy lights twinkled all over the Christmas tree in the corner. Tomorrow there would be heaps of colorfully wrapped presents under it, each tied with a neat bow. For the past few years, after the Rowels had fallen on hard times, the gifts tended to be on the small side—funny socks, slippers, books, printed mugs—but the joy of their unwrapping had never diminished because of it. They were all there to enjoy being together, and no present in the world was worth more than that.

Aunt Marnie insisted on putting on some reality show on TV, but no one paid it much heed. Once again, Justin stayed on the sidelines of the conversation as everybody chattered around him.

Elliot excused himself after about half an hour, when the chitchat dwindled down and people began to yawn. Kelly shot Justin a pointed look as Elliot rose from the sofa and shook everybody’s hand goodbye, but he didn’t perceive its meaning.

Or, rather, he did, but opted not to.

 

IT WAS PITCH dark and freezing cold outside by the time Justin bid his own goodbyes to the rest of the clan. Since Dave’s pickup had been taking up most of the narrow driveway, Justin had to park farther down the street. He took out the keys and headed toward the spot where he’d left his car.

When the gable of the Rowel house disappeared from view behind a bend, he stopped and took a deep, steadying breath. It came out in a tiny puff, immediately dissolving in the crisp night air. It had been a beautiful, mild day, but sometime during the evening snow began to fall, the tiny flakes glistening for a split second in the glare of the streetlights before falling softly to the ground, covering it in a lacy white blanket.

Justin shivered. He’d left his jacket in the car, and now he was definitely feeling the chill. He liked this kind of cold, though—the soft snow, the sharp bite, the intangible smell of pine. It had been like this since he was a little kid, going to sleep with his fingers crossed, hoping for a white Christmas.

Well, if the weather kept up, he might get his wish. Other wishes, though…

Compelled by some half-formed impulse, Justin walked past the neighboring houses, juggling his car keys. After about half a block, he stopped in front of the Turner residence and looked up at the slanted roof and the sprawling front porch. Aside from the overgrown front lawn, no signs of disrepair had started to show, but the large house was dark and silent, save for a single lit window on the second floor. No decorations, no twinkling lights, no plastic reindeer in the yard.

Justin stared at that window as conflicting emotions swirled inside his chest. Despite being friends with Elliot almost his entire life, he’d never been close with the Turners, and after Elliot had left, they barely saw one another around at all. He was horrified to hear about their car crash, but after that initial bout of grief, he effectively pushed all thought of them out of his mind, too preoccupied with the grind of the daily mill. Perhaps things would have been different if Elliot had answered his calls, but—

Justin shook his head. He was grasping at excuses, when in reality, he’d simply distanced himself from pain that reminded him too acutely of the anguish of losing a parent—something he’d been lucky enough to have avoided. Even though Elliot had declined his offer of condolences, it didn’t make Justin’s apparent indifference any less shameful. He didn’t know what he could have done, but surely he could have tried harder.

Should have, could have, would have.

But they were both here now, weren’t they? Elliot was alone in his parents’ empty house, and Justin was on his way to his empty apartment above the shop, where the chill had nothing to do with December weather. Perhaps they could be alone together, just for a little while.

He slid the keys into the pocket of his jeans and hopped up the shallow steps to the front door. Already bracing himself against a polite rejection, he knocked.

The house was so quiet he heard the floors creaking as Elliot walked to the front door and opened it. He still wore that brown sweater, and he regarded Justin silently for a split second before stepping aside, inviting him in with a gesture.

The entryway and the spacious living room were shrouded in darkness, penetrated only by the light of the streetlamps outside. Elliot switched on one of the side table lamps, a tiny beacon amid lingering shadows. The unintentional chiaroscuro drew Justin’s attention to several cardboard boxes stacked on the coffee table, with picture frames sticking out. It seemed like Elliot had already started packing.

“Your mother is still the best cook in the neighborhood,” Elliot said.

“Yeah.” Justin turned to face him. “It was nice having you there with us.”

“Was it?”

“I meant what I said earlier. Whatever happened between us, you’re still family, Elliot,” he said softly.

The dim light reflected off Elliot’s glasses, obscuring his expression. Once again, Justin found himself hyperaware of the other man’s presence. The infinitesimal warmth he exuded was like electricity, charging Justin’s nearly depleted batteries. With the heater off, the room was distinctly chilly, but heat stirred somewhere deep inside Justin, in a place that had felt frozen solid for way too long.

“I know,” Elliot said, just as softly.

Justin bit his lip, looking away. His gaze fell on the overflowing boxes, and he walked over to the coffee table. A small picture frame was resting on top of one of the boxes, and Justin picked it up, instantly recognizing the vibrant colors.

“I can’t believe your folks kept that,” he said, running his fingers over the protective glass.

He’d painted this as a present for Elliot when he was elected president of their high school Art History Club, painstakingly recreating the bold brush strokes of van Gogh’s Irises. Elliot’s favorite painting—or at least it used to be when they were both young and carefree.

The original was part of the Getty Museum collection, so Elliot must have seen the real thing in person. Justin’s copy probably didn’t do justice to the effortless representation of quiet, simple happiness, suffused with life and sunshine. As always, even his best try wasn’t good enough.

“They knew how much I liked it,” Elliot said, coming to stand next to him. He touched the picture, his fingers brushing close to Justin’s.

Not enough to take it with you. But Justin knew he was being unfair. Elliot had been starting a new life, and he’d needed a clean break from everything weighing him down.

“I’m sorry,” Elliot said.

“For what?” Justin looked up at him in surprise.

“You know for what.”

“Don’t.” Justin shook his head. “Don’t ever be sorry for being happy.”

“What if I’m not?”

With them both standing inside the tiny circle of yellow light, Justin couldn’t miss the flicker of pain in Elliot’s gray eyes.

Justin’s throat constricted, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. How wrong was it of him to feel a jolt of irrational hope at Elliot’s admission? He’d never wanted Elliot to be miserable, never wished for his dreams to be shattered as his had been. That was what being a friend meant, and their going from friends to lovers and then to strangers didn’t change that.

“I’m sorry too,” he whispered, encompassing all his heartbreak and regret into that single word. “So sorry, Elliot.”

Elliot’s lips twisted into a bitter little smile.

“We can stand here and apologize to each other all night, and it still wouldn’t change anything.”

“I guess not.”

There was a short pause as they both visibly struggled for composure. Justin was the first to avert his eyes.

“Do you need help with that?” he asked, putting the frame carefully back in its box and nodding at the rest.

Elliot shook his head. “I don’t think I have it in me to sort through it all tonight.”

“There sure are a lot of memories in this house,” Justin said.

“No. They’re all here.” Elliot tapped on his temple. “The house is just a house. It’s timber and shingles and glass. But seeing all their stuff…my stuff…brings it all back. It’s a lot harder to handle than I thought it would be.”

“You don’t have to handle it right now,” Justin said.

One step was all it took to close the distance between them, but it was one of the hardest he’d made in his life.

They were standing so close Justin could smell his mom’s apple pie on Elliot’s breath. It made him almost giddy, as if he were a boy on the cusp of adulthood, enticed by the siren song of his first true love. And perhaps he still was.

“You can come with me,” he said. “Sneak out, like we used to. Just this once.”

“For old time’s sake?” Elliot’s smile was crooked, but there was something vulnerable in the way he regarded Justin, searching his eyes for the answer only he could give.

“For tonight’s sake,” Justin whispered.

Elliot was silent, and for one awful second, Justin was sure he was going to refuse.

“Okay,” he said finally, and his tentative touch when he reached for Justin’s hand ripped through his doubts like wildfire.