by A J Lange
He missed his mother in that moment, missed her with all the strength he had left, which admittedly wasn't much. She would never know this grandchild, this baby boy who fate or God or destiny had seen fit to deliver to Tanner and Lily, a bright spark of happiness in what had been a difficult year.
Zane’s happiness was measured in compartments, by degree. The loss of Gray was still a wound, still fresh and twisting, a knife to his gut. While Zane could now think of him, remember his time with Gray, without drinking himself into a stupor or feeling so broken he couldn't breathe, he still missed him, every day. He had been thinking about him more often of late, as the days warmed and got longer, remembering hot afternoons in a field of blowing grass, the sun beating down, the smell of freshly turned earth, the spark of sunlight when it bounced from bright blue eyes. Zane knew Gray was in New Mexico now, on a dig.
Zane assumed that meant he was with Collin, but he never asked and Harry never said. They still talked occasionally, mostly by text message.
His mother would have loved Gray, Zane thought, rubbing the soft flannel between his fingertips. She would have welcomed him into her family, without question, because Zane loved him. She would have fussed over his workload and fed him too many sweets, starched his shirts because she didn't trust the dry cleaners not to use harmful chemicals. And she would have loved him with all the love of a mother, regardless of blood, regardless of parenthood or origin.
And it was too much, this mother he missed, and the mother-to-be standing before him, and all the things Zane would never have again, and his face fell, crumpling against the small pillow. Zane hadn't openly cried since the day they buried his father, but he cried now, as Lily pulled him close, hushed him with soothing tones, patting his back.
When the tears ended, he felt weak, drained. He brushed fingers against his eyes, knowing they were red and swollen, but also knowing that Lily wouldn't care.
"Let's go make some banana bread," Lily said brightly, and he laughed, the sound choked out of a too-tight throat, still raw with emotion.
"Yeah, okay," he said softly, and together they walked back into the house.
◆◆◆
Tanner sat across from Zane in a diner booth, a weekly lunch date that Zane depended on, probably too much, truth be told. Tanner never mentioned it, though Zane had noticed that he never, ever, cancelled.
Tanner was watching Zane eat his second piece of pie now, thoughtful expression on his face.
"Do you remember what it was like for me when Aimee died, Zane?"
Aimee. Sweet, beautiful, blonde Aimee whose smile could light a city block. Whose laughter was so infectious she could turn a roomful of grown men into simpering mush. Aimee and Tanner were high school sweethearts, and from the first moment they had laid eyes on one another, that was it for them. They left for college together, ignoring the pleas of their parents and friends to see other people, to be sure. They were engaged at Christmas, their senior year.
And then tragedy.
It was sudden and brutal. Arson, the police report read. The apartment complex itself was saved by sheer miracle, families with children rescued on that dark night by the grace of God, some said. But not Aimee. Aimee never made it out of her bed, the smoke detector never emitting its life-saving peel, $1.29 in a convenience store battery separating Tanner from the love of his life for the rest of eternity.
Zane swallowed against the tears that crowded the back of his throat. "I remember," he said, voice husky and low. He wouldn't meet Tanner's gaze. He did not want to hear what Tanner wanted to say, but was paralyzed to leave. The bite of pie stuck in his throat.
Tanner surprised him with his next words. "Lily saved my life, Zane. I would never have had this life, my beautiful, amazing Lily, if that hadn't happened. It was tragedy, it was grief, it was the worst thing I have ever, or please God, will ever live through." He reached over and clasped Zane’s arm, painfully hard. "But I did live, Zane. "
Zane looked up then, eyes shining bright with unshed tears.
"I will always love Amiee," Tanner's voice broke. "Some days…" he trailed off, faraway look in his eyes. "But I have a good life, one I am grateful for, every day. You," he paused, fingers digging harder into Zane’s skin. "You fucked up, man."
Zane huffed, a watery laugh. "What the fuck, Tanner."
"I'm serious. You're not living. You're nothing without Gray." Tanner sat up straight then, leaned back against the booth. "Either go get that 'some day' now or...I don't know. No, you know what? Go get it. Screw everything else."
Zane ached for Gray, a physical pain that he felt all the way to his marrow. And he understood Tanner's simple message; he had had something that was good and pure and honest, and he had lost it, the real tragedy not in the accident or the injury, but in Zane, who had let the most important thing in his life walk away without a fight.
"Screw everything else," he whispered, smiling a waterlogged smile at his "big" younger brother.
Tanner grinned back.
And Zane felt something break free in his chest. He thought it might be hope.
◆◆◆
It was almost too easy, leaving one life and beginning a new one. Kenny and Bonnie were so excited about the new baby that they jumped at the chance to close up the auto salvage for a time and take over the running of Joe's. They would be close enough to spoil that baby as much as they liked, and Zane would be free to...do anything.
What he wanted to do, exactly, was still up in the air. He had some money saved, quite a bit actually, because he had always been thrifty, leftover from a childhood of scrimping. Bonnie and Kenny had the bar, the house would be closed up, waiting for his return. If he returned.
Zane awoke on a Wednesday and knew it was the right day. He packed his duffle and drove to Tanner's office downtown.
"What are you going to do?" Tanner's face was full of a sorrow Zane couldn't handle, not now. Maybe not ever. He needed distance and time and, frankly, to be elsewhere, anywhere but here. Somewhere that didn't have Gray lurking in every corner. Lawrence was a constant reminder of how perfect Zane’s life had been, for far too short a time.
"I don't know, Tanner," he said. "That's sort of the beauty of it." His eyes were dry. He was wrung out, but now that he had a plan, such as it was, he was calm and more at peace than he had been in months. "I'm going to drive, see some of those places we used to talk about, when we were kids."
Tanner laughed, a quiet, mournful sound. He had never dreamed his pep talk meant Zane would just take off. "I wish I could go with you, man."
Their eyes met and Zane’s heart filled with an intense longing; he would miss Tanner.
"Me too," he whispered, then cleared his throat. "But you've got that baby coming, and I don't plan on being gone forever." Although, he didn't know. Not really. Maybe he would never return to Lawrence. Tanner and Lily would have a new life now, one that didn't revolve around Zane as much. A baby, a family. The whole house of cards, and Zane was always going to be one ace short.
"You better not be," Tanner said gruffly, pulling Zane into a hard hug. "You call me, every day."
Zane nodded, overcome with emotion, throat too tight to speak. He let himself have this moment. When he stepped back, he swiped at his eyes. Maybe he had a few tears left after all. "You tell Lily I love her, and not to shake that baby loose before I get back."
"First sign of homesickness, you get your ass home, you hear me?"
Zane chuckled, but there was something off in the timbre. "Dude, I've been homesick for way too long." He met Tanner's concerned gaze with a sad smile. "Now I'm going to try and outrun it. Nothing else has worked."
He stuck out a hand and Tanner clasped it, wringing what little comfort he could from the tight grip of fingers. "I love you, Zane. Stay safe."
Zane’s smile faltered and he pulled Tanner into another hug. "Love you, Tanner," he rasped, squeezing his eyes shut. He turned abruptly, pushing through the office door, stepping into the bright spring sunshine and
a whole new life.
◆◆◆
Zane had one more stop before he left Lawrence for good. He drove the familiar trek to the dig site, slowing as he approached, unsure of what he would find, both externally and internally, when he got there. He pulled off the highway, parking in the grass of the quiet, empty field. The flags were all gone, the squares filled in with dirt, new grass already grown over. If you didn't know what to look for, you would never guess this had been an archaeological site just a few short months ago.
He got out of the Jeep and stood in the open door, experiencing a flash of sense memory when the wind lifted his hair, perfuming the air with sweet spring grass. He could see Gray, kneeling next to him in the dirt, demonstrating the proper way to slice through the hard earth. He could feel him, gently bandaging his hand, cradling it against his stomach, giving Zane butterflies long before Zane would understand just how profound that touch would become, how necessary, like air or water.
It was just a field now, and the absence of everything Zane knew to be familiar was a crushing blow. He closed his eyes against the weight of the sorrow. When he climbed behind the wheel again, his eyes fell on the small vase on the seat beside him. He traced its delicate lip with a finger. He should drive back into Lawrence and drop it off with Tanner, let Tanner return it to the university where it belonged.
Zane looked through the window at the light green grasses waving in the mid-morning sun. He turned the key in the ignition; he wasn't going back to Lawrence. If that was some sort of statement, not returning the vase to its proper place, so be it. A part of him felt like the original creator might be sympathetic to Zane’s plight. A piece of him, and of Gray, was embedded in that ancient slip of pottery as sure as the hands who had formed it so long ago. He tucked the towel back over the vase to protect it from rolling off the seat and put the car in drive.
◆◆◆
Zane drove south until he hit Tulsa, where he pulled into a truck stop and ate waffles and scrambled eggs at a 24-hour Denny's. He bought state road maps for Oklahoma and Texas in the convenience store next door, and spread Oklahoma out against the hood of the Jeep, looking at his choices. He could stay on I-44, tracking west through Oklahoma City and Amarillo, then New Mexico and beyond; or, he could go south on highway 75 and into Dallas. He hadn't been to Texas in years, and there were other options from the Dallas/Fort Worth area. He could drive south to Galveston, see the ocean, maybe see if any of his buddies from his boating days were still around. He studied the map, biting his lip.
Gray was in New Mexico.
As much as he might want to pretend he was considering his options, Zane knew he had never really had a different route planned. He hadn't really even needed the maps.
He got back in the Jeep and headed west.
Chapter 19
Zane’s only companions on the long trek across Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle were a pile of faded casette tapes and a few terse, sarcastic text messages from Harry.
Zane: Did you know there’s a volcano in New Mexico?
Harry: Are you high?
Zane shoved his Capulin Volcano National Monument brochure in the glovebox, along with a disposable camera he had picked up when he stopped for gas and food in Amarillo.
Zane: You have directions to the NM dig?
Harry: Bout fucking time.
Harry: You’re a moron, you know that?
Zane: Do you have them or not. Sheesh.
Harry: Attaching a mapquest link. For God’s sake shower first. You probably stink. Are you sleeping in your car?
Zane ignored that one, leaning against the Jeep's bumper in the parking lot at the trail head. Sure, he might have slept in his car a couple of nights, but Harry didn’t have to know that. Nosy bastard, anyway. He pulled up the map link on his phone and studied it.
The site was within the boundaries of the Chaco Canyon National Monument in the remote canyon country of New Mexico. It took him the better part of the day to get there, choosing a route that dipped below the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. Zane paid for a one-week national park pass at the visitor center. According to Harry, he would have to take a one and a half mile hiking trail to the Wijiji great house, where the dig had been set up to excavate the area surrounding the small ruins. He followed a narrow paved road to the parking area closest to the trailhead.
It was hot. Zane carried a water bottle, an informational brochure the park ranger had pressed into his hands, and the small cardboard-wrapped camera. He wasn’t dressed for a hike, and he was nervous about being exposed out here on the trail, where you could see for miles across the flat canyon basin. Now that he was minutes from (probably) coming face to face with Gray, his calm serenity had fled. His pulse fluttered hard in his throat as he walked along the dirt trail. There was an older couple on the path, moving slow and taking copious photos, and two young, enthusiastic hikers. Zane chose the hikers to tail; hoping to blend in. At least until he could decide if he wanted to be seen.
He heard music, the sound tinny and distorted, and he knew they were getting close.
It was as he rounded the last corner that Zane spotted him, and his heart pounded to a halt. Gray was thinner, his jeans and shirt hanging on his frame. His hair had grown back, still short, but there were no scars visible from the accident. He was sporting several days worth of stubble.
He looked homeless, Zane thought, smiling sadly. Zane stood behind the older couple and pretended to take photos of a falling down pueblo structure on the dry, barren landscape, but he was really watching Gray, eyes following him as he talked to several workers huddled around a makeshift table. Zane shrank behind the couple when Gray turned toward them.
He wasn’t ready.
He had a sudden irrational fear that Gray would begin shouting (although Zane had never, not once, heard Gray shout. He had rarely even raised his voice). Or that Gray’s eyes would be fearful and troubled, afraid that Zane had stalked him halfway across the continent (which, he had, sort of). But Gray paid him no mind, climbing over red rock boulders and the edge of an ancient wall to cut a shortened path to a tent Zane hadn’t noticed before. He was studying something in his hand, oblivious to Zane’s crushed and broken heart, screaming with the need to see him up close, to hear that rough voice and fall into those solemn eyes, where he would happily, gladly, drown.
Zane followed the couple as they worked their way around the trail, snapping pretend photos, even offering to take their photo, using their fancy camera with its big, black lens. He had no idea if he did it correctly, but the shutter made a whir and snap when he pressed it, and they seemed pleased when he passed the expensive looking piece of equipment back to them. He surreptitiously studied the students and workers around the dig site as he continued to feign exploration, but there was no sign of Collin.
He stalled as long as he could, but Gray didn’t come out of the tent.
Zane’s nerves got the best of him and he followed the trail back to the parking lot. He sat in the Jeep as the sun dipped low in the sky, eating a granola bar and an apple from the convenience store sack on the seat, replaying the way Gray’s graceful frame had moved between the dig area and the students, being so fucking Gray. It was the worst kind of torture, but Zane savored it because he knew it might be the only glimpse he got.
At dusk, students begin to emerge from the trail and pile into their cars to leave. Zane sat up at attention when a lone, dark head appeared in the distance. He climbed from the car. It was now or never. Zane had already tasted never; he literally had nothing to lose.
He unwrapped the small vase and dropped the towel on the seat, shutting the car door. He approached Gray slowly, not wanting to startle the man.
“Grayson.” Zane didn’t know why he used his formal name. Maybe because they were strangers again.
Gray looked up, a friendly smile on his face that faltered when he saw him, recognition flickering. He walked slowly to Zane, studying him, wary curiosity on his face. He stepped too close, in such a cla
ssic Gray maneuver that Zane’s heart turned over painfully in his chest. “Zane. ”
“Yeah,” Zane could only whisper, caught in bottomless blue. Gray watched him closely, and Zane could feel his face flush hot. Even late into the day after having worked in the humid temperatures and face covered in stubble, Gray was beautiful and Zane ached to touch him.
Zane lost time; he didn’t know how long they stood there staring at each other before Gray blinked, breaking the spell. Zane cleared his throat. “I, um,” he fumbled and held up the small urn. “I wanted to bring you this. It’s kind of important. It’s.” Zane almost said ours. “It’s yours.”
Gray took the vase carefully, turning it over in his hands, brow wrinkling as he studied it. Zane watched as he bit his lower lip in concentration. “I’ve seen this before,” he finally said, quietly.
Zane released the breath he’d been holding. “Yeah, you have. We found that together, you and I.” It wasn't entirely true of course, but it’s how Zane wanted to remember it and how he wanted Gray to remember it too. “It belongs with you.”
Gray stared at Zane until Zane had to look away, cheeks burning again, throat tight with all of the things he couldn’t say.
Gray shuffled his feet, pulling the urn against his chest carefully. “I was just leaving.”
“Oh, yeah,” Zane stuttered. “Me too, actually. I...” But he couldn’t finish. There were still pieces of him that could be broken off, it would seem. He turned to go.
“I would like to hear the story of this vase,” Gray said. Zane looked quickly back, and their eyes caught. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
