by Willa Okati
The bursting pop of a nearly burned-through log in the fireplace made them both jump.
“Do you ever see omens in fires?” Gavin asked, stroking the back of Ford’s hand. “Or is it just shape, like cloud gazing?”
Glad of a distraction, Ford kissed Gavin’s ear. “Signs in the fire? Only by the way it burns.”
“What about this one?”
Ford watched it crackle, far more awake than Gavin. He didn’t see anything there -- at first. Then he noticed, bit by bit, the way the logs burned white-hot at the last of their centers but shed ash in thick gray heaps that covered the embers. “I see that it’s holding on,” he said. “It’s doing its best to keep going, even if it needs to be fed.”
Gavin hmm’d and said nothing.
Ford tried to do better for him. It helped, the conscious effort. “I see… There, toward the left-hand side? Some kindling that got free. Weird. It should have caught, but it hasn’t.”
“All it needs is a spark,” Gavin murmured. He abruptly grasped Ford’s hand harder, hard enough that Ford winced in surprised pain, and didn’t let go. “Ford? Turn over so I can look at you.” No sooner had Ford obeyed than Gavin took Ford’s sore hand and laced their fingers together. He held their hands pressed between them, heart to heart. “I want something from you.”
“Anything.” And that was the truth. “God, Gavin, anything. All you have to do is ask.”
He regretted his words right away. Before, he’d been cautious enough to hear what a man wanted before he signed up. Even -- especially -- with Gavin. Bad sign to regret promises only a second off the lips. Bad omen.
What was said couldn’t be unsaid. Ford steadied himself. “Ask.”
“Other way around,” Gavin said, echoing what Ford had soothed him with on the pier. He stroked Ford’s third finger. “You ask me.”
“Ask you what?”
His face red, Gavin dragged his nail across that third finger and said nothing. It took Ford fifteen, maybe thirty seconds to understand, and when he did --
Ford had given up on this happening. And to be given it on a silver plate now?
Good sign. It is a good sign. Maybe enough to wipe out the bad omens I’ve been seeing. Maybe it’s a gift. “Will you marry me?”
Gavin pulled him closer and whispered his answer against Ford’s ear, tracing the letters on his back at the same time. “Yes.”
Oh God.
“Ford?” Gavin’s strokes on his back were as light as feathers and as fast as wing beats. “Ford, you’re shaking.”
Was he? Yes, and he couldn’t stop. Ford rolled onto his side to better curl around Gavin, trying not to crush him either, but he couldn’t let go.
Gavin wouldn’t let go either. He rolled with Ford, worry written clearly in his expression. “Ford, my God. Are you all right? You’re scaring me.”
Ford couldn’t help it; he crushed Gavin to him the way they fit best, with Gavin’s head under his chin. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry… I…” His throat was as thick as soup. “Gavin, I --”
“Hey.” Gavin wriggled free to look up at Ford. The concern made Ford pull it together. No scaring Gavin allowed. “I don’t understand.”
“Nothing to understand.” Ford kissed him with deliberate intent this time, meaning to make Gavin forget about the shakes that still made his bones ache every third heartbeat. They were passing now. They’d soon be gone. They would.
He even managed a laugh. “You know how I am. Guess you finally did it. You shut me up but good.”
“Idiot.” Gavin had relaxed some. Not completely. Still a hint of worry in his eyes. Ford kissed the top of his head, wet and messy, just to make him splutter and so that shy sideways smile could warm him up.
“You’re the strangest and most emotional man I’ve ever met.” Gavin sifted his fingertips through the strands of Ford’s hair that fell over his shoulders, soft strokes.
“And you love me for it?”
The question mark came out accidentally. Gavin took it seriously. “Yes.”
Ford shut his eyes tight and counted his own breaths.
“Don’t go stealing my routine. Get your own.” Gavin pinched Ford’s side. “Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t think --”
“I’m fine. I swear.” And he did feel it, moment by moment. Ford guided Gavin over so he could spoon the little guy.
He was not thinking about how, this way, Gavin couldn’t look at his face.
Gavin wasn’t having any of that. He made an impatient tch and rolled right back. “Don’t… don’t fall apart on me again. Okay?”
“I promise.” Ford lifted Gavin’s hand to his lips. “You’d better do the wedding toast. I’ll get flustered and break down just like this again. Wait and see.”
Now Gavin was grinning, forgetting. “That’s the best man’s job.”
“Could it be the best woman’s? Kayla?”
Gavin considered that with due measure. He stopped playing with Ford’s hair and clapped Ford’s shoulder with his palm. “All right. I trust her, and she’s been a part of this. Sort of.”
“Every little bit helps, right?”
“I think so.” Gavin said that to Ford’s face, his serious mien mixed with -- what? “Awe” wasn’t the right word. Not “wonder.” Something bigger than both of those. “When?”
“When, what?” He’d lost Ford there, though since Ford’s head was muddled that was easily accomplished.
Gavin heaved a melodramatic, put-upon sigh and pushed Ford onto his back, then followed. It seemed to get easier for him each time, climbing on top. Ford’s ass ached, reminding him of how much Gavin had changed. Gavin stretched out atop him as comfortably as if he were on a bearskin rug. He tweaked Ford’s ear. “When can we get married?”
“Oh wow.” Ford’s mind raced. “I don’t know. When we get back home?”
Gavin ducked his head and looked almost shyly down at Ford. “Or… we’re not that far from Canada,” he said, neither stuttering nor breaking between words. “Maybe that’s a sign.”
Ford couldn’t breathe. “I thought you didn’t believe.”
“I told you that you made me want to.” Gavin shrugged, abashed. Ford could tell he fought the urge to wriggle down and off, but he made it and stayed put. That core of steel inside him spread outward. “We can get married tonight.”
“Tonight?” Ford sat up, dragging Gavin along with him. He took Gavin’s face carefully between his paws. “You’re serious.”
Gavin’s complexion suffused dark red, but he didn’t back down or retract a single bit of his statement. He really wanted this. “Canada’s an hour’s drive, maybe two.” His strokes deepened to nearly a massage. “I don’t know what life would be like without you chattering twenty-four-seven, making me crazy.” He touched his lips to Ford’s on the last word. “So marry me. Tonight. Tomorrow if places are closed.”
Ford checked the clock on the wall, a strange piece that had to have come from someone’s attic. An honest-to-God cuckoo, if he was any judge. Ten p.m. almost. “Tomorrow,” he said aloud, thinking it over.
Gavin didn’t know that. “Early tomorrow,” he replied, as if agreeing to another proposal. “We slept the day away. We can drive tonight.”
“You honestly don’t want to take it any slower?”
“Ford.” Gavin pushed their heads together. “I am sick and I am tired of going slow. Waiting to make sure something’s to the letter. I want to get out there in that crazy Jeep and make this happen. Give me coffee, and I’m good to drive.”
Ford flexed his hands to hide the occasional tremor. “You’re sure?”
“Stop asking me that. I am.”
“Wait. Passports.” Ford didn’t know how or didn’t want to know how to describe what that flaw in the plan made him feel. “We’d need them for the Canadian border.”
Gavin wrinkled his nose. “Like you didn’t bring yours thinking you’d coax me around to a trip to a pub with a truly insane amount of hockey kitsch plastered ove
r the walls.”
True enough. “But you?”
Gavin finally let go and tumbled down to lie on his back on the bed. “Ford. When have you ever known me not to go anywhere, with anyone, without being prepared? The passport lives in a pocket of that duffel I brought. I’m good.”
Then there was nothing to stop them.
“Ford?”
Would you look at him? The trust he has in himself? When did we change places?
Ford couldn’t think with that damned bad-luck Jonah wind blasting against the cabin walls. “I should get a map.”
“The office manager could probably give you directions.”
“I think I need a map,” Ford said, needing it in more ways than one. “I don’t want to get us lost on this part of the trip.”
There was Gavin’s real grin, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “All right.” He cocked his head. “Do you want me to come with you? I honestly don’t think I can move just yet, and my ego doesn’t much like your being able to jump right up --”
“Silly.” Ford kissed the tip of Gavin’s nose. “I need to do it by myself anyway.”
“For luck?” Gavin crossed his arms behind his head. He seemed to ask the question seriously.
It was as good a reason as any. “For luck.”
“Okay. Go on, then.” Gavin shifted lower in the bed. “I’ll keep this warm for you.”
Ford kissed him once more. For better luck. Then he -- He didn’t flee. He just threw on his clothes and left in a hurry. And if he hurried more than he should… well, it was cold outside.
Ford set his shoulders, clenched his teeth, and walked right into it. No turning back now. To hell with the signs. The hell with them and the fear he couldn’t shake too.
He wanted this. Even if it wasn’t what fate decreed he was allowed to have, he’d take it.
Chapter Ten
The manager’s office was shut up tight. No help there. And however far Ford drove toward what he thought might be the nearest town, the only thing he found open was a small bar with a collection of motorcycles but a few cars parked out front to leaven the effect.
Still not sure if going in there was a good idea or a bad one, Ford parked anyway and, once he’d killed the engine, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He hadn’t dared do this on the road.
Kayla. He needed to talk to her. Everyone and everything came along at the right time if you believed. He said yes, Kayla, out of nowhere, after I’d given up. But now the signs are telling me to run away and stay away, even though that’d kill him and kill me too. I want to ignore them. I want to be someone I’ve never been and take this for myself. But I don’t think I know how. Kayla?
She’d laugh or she’d cry or she’d squeal fit to deafen him. Probably all three. Then she’d shake some sense into him and talk him down even from hundreds of miles away and make him promise they’d let her plan an after-the-fact bachelor party. Better than going to see the wizard, you dork.
Four rings and Kayla’s phone went to voice mail. Damn. Bad sign.
Ford checked out the bar again. He still didn’t exactly like the looks of it, for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down, but an abrupt memory flashed through his head of Grandpa Xiao waving that heavy cane under his nose.
“I am not a drinking man, and if I ever hear you turn that way, you’re not too big for me to turn over my knee.” Remembering that made Ford chuckle. Even then he’d been almost a foot taller than Grandpa Xiao. Not that he doubted Grandpa could have made it happen.
He’d eyed Ford grumpily, then said, “There’s some men who look for answers at the bottom of a bottle. Horseshit. All you ever find there is glass and a few dregs. If you want answers, and drinking’s where you are, then for fuck’s sake, drink one-half of a beer and then ask the barkeep what you should do. Never fails.”
Ford had believed him then. He clung to that now, weaving it through the still-so-present sense memory of Gavin in his arms. Okay, then. Remembering one of Grandpa Xiao’s lessons was a good sign. He still had hope.
He took a deep breath and climbed out of the truck. Here went nothing.
* * *
The difference inside and outside the bar -- Ford couldn’t call it night versus day or apples versus oranges. It was warmer than he’d expected. Smaller too. Lots of wood and plenty of rough types in leather and flannel, but the woman behind the bar had a kind if worn face and a no-nonsense way about pulling the beer taps. Something about her, the way she moved and the angles of her face, made Ford think Chinese was part of her ancestry too.
A good sign. Maybe Grandpa Xiao’s spirit had led him here. Who knew?
She nodded at him to acknowledge his entry, no curiosity about a nonlocal wandering in, and waved him to a seat at the far end of the bar.
That was a good sign too. Right?
Ford took a careful seat, surprised to find the stool long-legged enough even for him. Then again, they did grow ‘em big up here. Perched on its edge, he shrugged out of his windbreaker and felt the icicles melting out of his hair.
Next to him, a couple of what could only be buddies huddled around their third, thumping him on the shoulder and keeping a steady line of shots coming. The barkeep rolled her eyes as she passed them another set of three of something with a hell of a fume on it, but she patted the middle guy’s hand as she passed them and came to Ford.
“What’ll you have? We’ve got beer, more beer, and hard liquor. You want anything fancy, you can drive fifty miles to Dolor.”
Ford would have liked her if he’d met her at any other time. She had a world’s worth of stories behind those lines on her face and the agile moves that made her age impossible to guess. He kind of liked her now. She was calm, steady, stable.
A good sign.
“Beer’s perfect, thanks. As dark as you can get it.”
“Here sits a man with troubles on his mind,” the barkeep muttered, though she was already manipulating glass and tap to work up a good two inches of foam on the top. Skilled. “I know the look. I’d have the time if I weren’t keeping that one well on his way to alcohol poisoning.”
She wanted him to ask, Ford thought. His need for advice could wait a little longer. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do men ever come in and drink themselves stupid? Women too, for that matter.” She poured four more shots in glasses spread over a rubber grid. Three for them, one for Ford. “They need drink most when they’ve been unlucky in love. When they’ve got broken hearts on their minds.”
The shot glass slipped in Ford’s fingers; he caught it before it dropped and spilled. Bad sign. The worst of all. “Heartbreak,” he said.
“You could say so.” The barkeep clicked her tongue. “That one? His wife ran out on him. Bah. Marriage. I’ve been there twice, and if I had my way, I’d do away with the whole damn rigmarole.”
Ford drank the shot without tasting it. “You don’t believe in marriage?”
She made a face. “Maybe for a lucky few. Mostly, though, I do not. Marriage changes people. Best way to fuck up a good thing is to put a ring on it. Just makes it that much harder when things end.” She raised one eyebrow. “You married?”
“No,” Ford said. He followed that with a gulp of beer.
“Hmph.” The barkeep shrugged. “Where you headed, then? Forward to Dolor or back to the highway? Out here, if you’re not local, it’s one or the other.”
Ford opened his mouth to answer forward. He couldn’t.
And though he drank his beer down to the dregs, none of it took away the bitter taste of the bad signs that crowded in around him.
* * *
Kayla still wasn’t picking up her phone. At least Ford got a busy signal this time and not rings to voice mail that told him nothing. She was still there. All he had to do was keep trying.
That could be a sign. Something along the lines of don’t give up. He’d have liked that usually, before tonight. Now? Ford growled in annoyance. He couldn’t turn it off, could he? Everyw
here he looked, he saw signs that warned of imminent disaster. A broken chain that left a sign swinging crazily in the wind. Snapped branches in a ditch. A pet on the side of the road -- Oh God, he couldn’t look at that one.
Ford didn’t start his engine. He tucked the map the barkeep had sold him inside his shirt and tried Kayla again. No answer. God help him, he had to hear a comforting voice. He’d worked himself into a hell of a state, and he needed the comforting.
Who better -- or worse -- to turn to?
Gavin answered on the first ring. “Ford? Everything okay?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice.” Outside the 4x4, Ford could hear the dull thump of the broken sign, thudding against one of its side posts, as if the omens had decided he’d suddenly become too stupid or stubborn to understand anything but the simplest messages.
Gavin hadn’t missed the pause, but he had happier thoughts on his mind than Ford did. “Daydreamer,” Gavin said fondly on the other end of the line, his affection still so shy -- but not like it used to be. “Where’ve you been? You’ve been gone almost an hour.”
“Oh my God.” Ford felt himself pale. “I wasn’t ditching you. I swear I wasn’t.”
Gavin laughed, one of his real laughs. “I know you weren’t.”
“You do?”
“I trust you,” Gavin said simply, as if it were nothing, not everything, and Ford was glad he’d already been sitting down. “Did you find a map?”
“Yeah.” Ford cleared his throat. “Took me about this long to find anywhere open. Rural, you know?”
Gavin made an mmm sound of agreement. Ford wished he could see Gavin’s face. Needed to. “But you won the day?”
“Won the day. Listen to you.” So easy to fall back into the give-and-take. If it weren’t for that damn sign blowing in that damn wind…
Static crackled across the line. Ford could feel the cold seeping in. Gavin’s breaking up. Breaking, broken, broken up, broken apart, broken hearts.
“Can you hear me?” Gavin finally cut in after too long of the static. “Ford?” Clearer now. “Ford, are you there?”
“Yeah,” Ford said, forcing it to be so. He unfolded the map and spread it out on the steering wheel, focusing on that and only that.
