Two Hearts

by David Connor

  "The world has far too many insects, dear Franklin."

  Frank smiled. "Several less than a month ago." The extra current still surged through him when it stormed. On clear days, sometimes the mosquitoes sizzled and sometimes they didn't. No matter how much he longed to simply hold Liam in his arms, naked or not, he could not risk it. Yes. Frank realized damned well he'd already grown attached to Liam Hellier, and frustration had set in as well.

  Chapter Five

  "Liam could not wait for you to return," said Marion the next afternoon. "He is ready to go."

  "I have to work, Liam." Frank was somewhat short.

  "We would gladly pay your bills, Franklin. While you care for Liam."

  "That is a ridiculous notion, Mrs. Hellier." Frank looked to her son, his face alternating between sorrow at Frank's tone and joy at his presence. "That wouldn't be proper," Frank stated more quietly. "Besides, the thrill brought on by my return would not exist if I never had to leave. I suppose the next week, however, will be like a vacation.

  "Vaughn tells me any local deaths will be handled by the funeral home over in Millerbroook. Though there is plenty of work to do at the cemetery this time of year, what with falling leaves and all the dying flowers good-meaning people dropped off back in May." Frank sighed. "Maybe you can help with that. I think our days will be full." He smiled.

  Liam returned it and then reached out for his daily hug.

  Frank picked up the teddy bear and squeezed. "My hug to you." He passed the toy to Liam, who did the same thing, making his very own version of Frank's happy hugging sound. "Thank you for hugging me back, Liam. I am happy to see you too." Liam smiled more broadly as Frank's faded due to worry. "You must remember, though. This is the only way we can ever touch. This is our lot. There are times we may want to, but we never—Oomph!"

  Marion put a halt to the lecture when she shoved a valise into Frank's gut. "You should get home now." Who was she so eager to dismiss, Frank or her son?

  "Does he have a comb?" Liam's hair was out of place, and Marion did nothing to fix it. Frank had watched as she'd cleaned him up once, following an afternoon snack. Liam had seemed quite tentative, so very frightened—possibly self-conscious or shy. Frank had longed to touch him then, not in any way sexual, but as comfort, a connection between two human beings. "Perhaps a brush?" he asked again.

  "Of course," Marion told him. "In his satchel."

  Frank had Marion undo the clasp and zipper. He flipped the thing open, without touching the metal parts, and rooted through an outfit or two, and some underwear and socks. The comb was long handled. Frank was rather certain any hurt that came would be to his heart, not to either of their bodies, as long as he was cautious and avoided Liam's cheeks and ears. "May I?" he asked.

  A quick nod said he could.

  "No. Sorry. I better not." He set down the comb.

  Liam picked it up and ran it through the top half of his mane, stopping at the snarls partway down.

  "We're not very fancy at my house," Frank told him, "but Vaughn always says a gentleman should never leave the house with unruly hair."

  "Good?"

  Frank's heart skipped a beat. Liam's hair was still a mess, but how could Frank tell him that now? "Yes, Liam. You look… really good."

  "You have much patience with him," Marion said. "Vaughn said you would." The loving expression Frank had seen on Labor Day toward him and Liam was there again. "Now go." Then it faded.

  "I wish you safe travels and… get well. I hope you do."

  "Thank you." Marion helped Liam on with his sweater. "Goodbye."

  However many words Frank might have had at the ready, pleading his continued reluctance would have been immediately overruled.

  "It's time." Though Marion stood with a tear in her eye, as if parting with her son was a very difficult task, the Helliers' front door was open, and he and Frank were unceremoniously, rather rudely, shoved out.

  "I guess we're on our way," Frank said. "We'll take the long route, through the north woods, over to the west where I live."

  He set down his brown paper lunch bag and Liam's heavy valise the moment they entered the trees behind the mortuary. He searched for a branch and found one nearly as long as Liam was tall. "This is good," he said. "This is about how far away we should stay at all times." Frank put one end of the six-food stick at Liam's shoe and stepped to the other end. "Do you understand?"

  Liam nodded.

  "Good."

  Frank unbuttoned his white cotton dress shirt. The Indian summer weather invited exposed skin, but he paused a moment, insecure about showing his furry scarecrow body in front of Liam. Chances were Liam was going to see it all sooner rather than later, though. So, off the shirt came, along with the undershirt beneath it, with one tug over the head.

  "So, this is me," Frank said. There was no time like the present to completely turn Liam off. Though who knew for certain Liam ever had such wanton thoughts in the first place for Frank or any male?

  Liam studied Frank's body. He nodded—whatever that meant. Clamping the giant hugging bear securely between his knees, he then stripped off his short-sleeved striped pullover too.

  Frank looked at him and smiled. "Good. Except…"

  The hair was still a mess. Frank picked up the long stick. He swiped the pronged end on his pant leg, and then tried to use it as a really long brush. Liam purred like a giant blond housecat, and Frank's heart pounded, as if he was doing something far more strenuous. In the end, though, the grooming wasn't doing much good.

  "That'll do, I guess. Let's keep going."

  Bare chested, their carry-along items back in hand, they continued on, heading home together for the first time.

  They strolled leisurely at first, and quietly. Liam's eyes darted in every direction whenever some sort of forest creature made a sound. "Just a doe or her fawn," Frank said, as a twig snapped somewhere close, under the footing of something large. He wondered if Liam was afraid or simply nervous. "It sounds like a person sometimes, but it's not. I've been coming back here all my life and rarely see another human."

  Liam didn't seem convinced.

  Frank almost reached out for his hand. Within an instant, though, he recalled he could never take it. He balled up his shirt instead, after a heavy breath. He tossed it sideways. "Tag. You're it."

  Dropping the suitcase, Frank took off at a run. Glancing back and seeing Liam's mouth agape and eyes wide with astonishment, he started to laugh. "Better catch me. Throw your shirt, I mean. That will be your tag." He ran backwards, zigzagging, laughing, and tripping. "Hit me, and I'm it."

  Did Liam know what being "it" meant? Frank had no idea, but when he turned and darted off, Liam tossed the bear down and followed. He caught up to Frank quite quickly. The two dashed through trees. Frank hid behind one and then leapt out. "Boo!" He laughed harder. So did Liam, after jumping nearly two feet off the ground. Frank felt his short raven waves lift and lower in the breeze as he hit full speed. Giggling like he was ten years old and carefree again—or maybe acting and feeling both for the first time—after a very short time, he had to stop.

  "That was fun. But I guess I don't run much anymore." Frank gulped in fresh air between hysterical barks. Though sweat glistened in the black fur that coated his entire torso, though his gut heaved in and out for breath, it wasn't only exertion that brought on the stitch in his side. It was a feeling, one of innocent glee or a more mature longing. Perhaps it was a combination.

  Liam was sweaty as well, shimmering and porcelain. The sun caught a thick shock of yellow hair when he raised his arm to run a hand through that atop his head. Despite trying to tame it, he made it even worse. Marion must have put some sort of tonic in it, and then neglected to finish with the comb. The stuff gunked it up but didn't hold it in place, resulting in stiff haphazard strands that reminded Frank of dry spaghetti just added to the boiling pot. It was too funny not to laugh at, until the urge came to brush it from Liam's eyes. Then the laughter stopped.

&n
bsp; They were about the same height, though Liam was broader, especially at the chest and shoulders. He could stand to gain a few pounds, Frank thought. Vaughn always said the same about Frank, just like Melissa had once upon a time. Frank ate. He ate a lot, but he never seemed to put on pounds.

  Liam was as handsome as his photograph from years earlier. Only now he was a man, not a boy. A beautiful man, Frank thought again, even with tumbleweed hair.

  Frank wondered what Liam saw when he looked at him. Suddenly, he wished he wasn't so exposed. Blotchy patches on his chest from the fire made him look like a red Dalmatian. The marks on Liam's body were almost pretty. Perhaps Frank's infatuation colored his interpretation. Liam's upper torso was hairy as well—less lush, for certain, but there was plenty of fluffy gold there. Frank's gaze upon it was scrupulous now, unlike the evening at the Helliers' when he'd pretended not to look. There was a thick line that started at Liam's navel much darker than that on his head. Frank knew it spread wildly once it disappeared into loose dungarees. The more he tried to discourage the image of Liam nude on the stairs, the harder it fought to materialize behind his eyes. More frustration was already brewing, a mere ten minutes in, and Frank was fully aroused.

  The scar down the center of Liam's chest had reddened during play, Frank noticed. "Are you okay?" he asked him. "Perhaps that wasn't a very keen idea."

  Liam nodded.

  "You are?"

  Another nod came as confirmation.

  "Are you certain?"

  Liam nodded one more time.

  "But now your neck hurts, I bet. From all that nodding." Frank bobbed like a woodpecker after ants in the bark of a tree. "Ow."

  Liam barked out his seal laugh. It was truly a delight.

  "Let's rest up a minute anyway." Frank picked up Liam's things, and also his lunch bag. He sat beneath a huge oak tree, one of the few still offering full shade in early October. Liam sat down next to him—close—too close, so Frank moved. "I'm sorry. I must." If the curse didn't necessitate it, the erection did. "Remember that stick?" Across from Liam, rather than side-by-side, Frank opened the brown paper sack. "Orange?" He held it up to Liam, who nodded. "Shall we split it?"

  Liam shook his head side to side.

  "No? You don't like oranges?"

  Liam didn't answer. He watched intently, though, as Frank peeled the fruit. When Frank broke off a piece and held it out, Liam twisted his head back and forth again.

  "Hmm. Have you forgotten what an orange is, maybe?"

  Liam pointed to Frank.

  "I'm an orange?"

  Liam offered a disgruntled expression. Frank's humor was wearing thin already.

  "You want me to eat it?"

  Liam nodded.

  "Whatever you say." Frank took the segment between his lips. "Mmm." He closed his eyes and sucked out its juice. He chewed gluttonously and never opened his eyes until he swallowed. When he did, Liam, who still stared, licked his lips. "You want some now?"

  Liam pointed again.

  "You just want to watch me eat?"

  An affirmative nod.

  "Okie dokie, then." The second wedge exploded at first bite, spraying a glittery, orange mist. Liam gasped, and then covered his mouth. Frank laughed. The enthusiasm was endearing and also sexy in such a hunky man. Biting down on the wedge with an exaggerated chomp, Frank dribbled juice down his chin, a wet stream that trickled down his neck, and through the hair in the hollow of his naked chest. Liam's eyes had followed it. Frank's eyes had followed Liam's. "I made a mess, but…" Frank touched the wetness of his fur. He swished one finger about, and then brought it to his tongue. "Mmm. That's so good."

  Liam smiled, then got up on his knees, his intentions uncertain to Frank. When he reached over, presumably to collect a drop for himself, Frank screeched, "No, Liam! No!" and clambered to his feet. "You know you can't touch me!"

  Liam's heart was broken; Frank could tell. He'd flinched. His face had crumbled, and his eyes still welled with tears. And the fault lay with Frank, for holding out the orange wedge, for tempting him. Frank had planned on tossing it, like cookie bits at the Helliers' dining room table. He should have made that clear.

  Liam rarely cried. And Frank thought no less of him for doing it now. It was not unmanly at all, but rather very humanizing. He'd been strong through what must have been near-intolerable pain when learning to walk again. He hadn't cried in frustration, no matter how many times he'd fallen down when finally doing it unaided, or how many times he'd dropped his fork when remastering the task of feeding himself. The man had been through so much trauma, uncertainty, and upheaval. Now, he'd been uprooted, almost abandoned by his parents—discarded—to go reside with a virtual stranger. That was enough to make anyone cry. Yet Frank knew he had been the trigger—on their very first day together.

  "Liam…"

  Frank remembered then the wet eyes at the dinner table the night before. It was getting scolded that made Liam Hellier saddest, not pain, not frustration. Feeling as if he's disappointed someone, that seemed to be what truly hurt him. That realization broke Frank's heart.

  "Forgive me," Frank begged. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I never want to hurt your feelings. If we touch, though, it could hurt you for real… very badly. You remember that, right?"

  Liam nodded solemnly.

  "I'm so sorry if we've confused you. Sadly, nothing has changed as far as that." Frank paced as he spoke, crunching tiny brambles and dry autumn leaves beneath his feet. "Once we get you healthy, you'll meet other people. Normal people. Normal-looking people."

  Liam shook his head hard.

  "I know it's scary right now. By the end of the month, though—Halloween time—I bet you'll be eager to socialize with all sorts of—"

  Liam covered his face with his hands and kept on shaking his head.

  "Okay. Fair enough. One day at a time." Frank picked up the giant bear with an exaggerated grunt. "Hug," he said. He squeezed the toy tight, making a goofy sound and rocking back and forth like a sapling in a hurricane. He held it out to Liam, who hiccupped with sobs. "Hug," Frank repeated. "Frank is sad too."

  Liam stood. He took the bear from Frank's hands, Frank being extra careful that no part of them touched. The bear was so big, the transfer was easy. Liam hugged it. He mimicked Frank's sounds as always, only not quite so jovially as usual.

  "Are you angry at me?" Frank asked.

  Liam shook his head side to side.

  "Am I angry with you?"

  Liam nodded.

  "No, Liam." Frank heaved. "My gosh, no." He kept his unsteady voice as soft as he could make it. "I could never be. Never. If I was able to hug you for real, I might never stop. Come." Frank sat back down. "Sit with me. Hold Barry Bear's hand. Pretend it's mine." When Liam sat, Frank set the bear between them, and each held onto one paw. It was less than six feet, though the big bear did have quite the wingspan, so to speak. "This is nice," Frank said. "And Frank's not angry. I promise."

  Liam smiled. Then he wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand.

  "Would you like some orange now?" Frank held up the fruit and motioned between them.

  Liam nodded.

  "Thatta boy."

  "You must remember he is every bit a man."

  If only Frank could forget. He broke off a segment of fruit and held it out. "Here."

  Liam came toward it with his mouth open. Then he backed off and snickered.

  "Silly Liam," Frank said smiling. "Mine then. Mmm. So good." He rubbed his lower abdomen after swallowing, his sticky hand tacky against the hair there.

  Liam tapped his stomach like a drum. He leaned in again, his blue eyes all a-sparkle, some from the tears, some with mischief.

  "So we're going to try again, eh?"

  Liam opened wide and bobbed.

  "Not too close." Frank held the orange slice just out of reach. He squeezed it gently, so just one single drop of its juice landed in the center of Liam's waiting tongue. Liam closed his eyes tight; the tang seemed a brief
surprise. He might have shuddered. His lashes definitely flickered, and the crinkles at the corners deepened, like they did when he grinned. Frank quivered then—most definitely—as Liam heartily chewed and swallowed once the treat was released. How close had Frank come to brushing Liam's lips with his fingertips? Frank shivered again at the thought. "Yummy, huh?"

  Liam impersonated Frank's tummy rub and made a similar sound. "Mmm."

  "Good."

  "G-good."

  Frank's next breath caught in his throat. Every word Liam spoke was a treasure to his ear, even if it was the same word twice.

  It was nearly dark by the time they headed for the trailer. Frank didn't turn a light on upon entering. There was thunder in the distance. Indian summer meant evening storms, and Frank didn't want to take a chance with his new boarder. He didn't sense a strong one. He might have to go outside if it got too intense. He might go outside either way, even if only heat lightning came. "Dinner by candlelight, perhaps?" he asked Liam.

  Liam smiled. It was barely light enough to see it, but he did.

  "What to have? What to have?" Frank checked the cupboards and the fridge. "Spaghetti?"

  Liam nodded.

  "You want to try and say it? Spa-ghe-tti?"

  "G-good."

  "Close enough for now."

  Frank cleaned himself up in the bathroom while Liam waited in front of the sofa along the front wall on the opposite end of the trailer. Both still only half clothed, they listened to Frank's favorite Motown record on the player while they waited for the pot of water to come to a boil. They sat down at opposite ends of the kitchen table. Not nearly as long as the one in Vaughn and Marion's dining room, it was maybe on third the size, but it was made of wood—and so were the chairs—each leg with a rubber foot. They were grounded, and separate enough, Frank decided. Though just to make sure, he moved his chair back, past the stove, into the very short hallway. He'd need a fork as long as the stick in the woods to eat that way, but he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

  "Twenty minutes until spaghetti. Sp-a-ghe-tti."

  "G-good."

  "Good." Frank drummed his fingers against the wall. Had he run out of things to say already? The record had stopped. He should put on another. "Oh my God! I know. I just got this forty-five." Frank stood, all excited. "I don't shop much, but Vaughn gets me records for my birthdays and Christmas, and sometimes just because, in an effort to keep me tuned into this decade." Frank found the recording and put it on. "You can sing along." He turned to Liam. "How would you like that?"