by Nicky James
He ended the call and shoved my phone against my chest. “And never do that to me again.”
“She asked for you.”
“Say it with me: ‘Ma, I’m busy. I can’t talk right now.’”
I laughed. “Yeah, that doesn’t work, and you know it.”
“Because you’re weak.”
“The reception was fine, wasn’t it?”
“Perfectly.”
I checked the time before stuffing my phone in my pocket. It was just after nine in the morning. We were behind. We’d veered off schedule because of that phone call, and my stomach grew hot for a minute while I realigned and shifted my train of thought back on course. It was stupid to panic because of a few misplaced minutes.
“We have about four hours before we should come back and get ready,” I said.
“That’s lots of time. I have us all mapped out.”
Beck drove us through Edmonton’s busy downtown toward our first stop. The Antique Cache turned out to be a bust when we’d gone there yesterday. Beck had sulked for almost an hour.
Our first stop today was a run-down little shop called Salvageables. It was owned by a guy named Manfred LeBlanc. Beck spoke with him on the phone last night since his hours weren’t listed online. Apparently, he opened on a whim since the shop was more or less a hobby for him. He’d agreed to meet us there this morning to show us around.
Beck and Manfred had chatted for over twenty minutes, and it was clear they shared the same passion. Beck had gotten off the phone with a face-splitting grin and exclaimed, “That guy knows his stuff. We’re going there, pronto.”
Hence why Salvageables was our first haunt of the day.
It was a second-hand/antique shop, and the minute we parked out front, I knew we were in for a treat. There was a certain atmosphere surrounding these types of businesses. One I’d learned to recognize from having spent a lot of years following Beck around.
One look at the storefront and Beck nearly bounced in his seat with excitement. It wasn’t because there were front window displays with priceless collections, nor was it because it contained multiple studio rooms of neatly organized antiques. It wasn’t a museum. Nowhere close.
No, Salvageables was a rundown hole-in-the-ground business barely surviving in one of the worst neighborhoods in Edmonton. Unrecognizable as anything worth its salt. The windows were secured with half-inch thick bars and covered on the inside with gaudy fabric that acted as curtains so people on the street couldn’t window shop. It wasn’t that kind of place. The outer concrete wall was a mess of peeling paint, graffiti, and thick cracks running up its length.
Beck shut off the engine and turned to face me with a childish smile he couldn’t contain. “This is gonna be fucking amazing. I know it.”
A small bell rang overhead when we pushed through the heavy wooden door. It creaked and strained against the wooden frame, protesting being opened. A wall of thick musty air smacked us in the face. Dust motes hung in the small beam of sunlight that snuck in behind us then disappeared again into the gloom when the door slammed shut.
Beck inhaled and closed his eyes. I rested my hand on the small of his back, caressing softly as he walked ahead of me. I loved seeing this side of him; when his passion consumed every part of his being.
Bare bulb fixtures hung from the ceiling. Most had burnt out and were never replaced. The lighting was dim, scarcely highlighting all the dark corners, and there was stuff everywhere. Rows upon rows of mismatched, uneven shelving filled with items. The floor beneath our feet was old black tile, scratched, smeared in spots with old paint drips of red and yellow, and chipped in places where the bare concrete showed underneath.
I shivered under the effect of the damp, cool room.
More items hung from the ceiling, spilled from wall mounted shelves, and were stuffed into display cases with dirty, fingerprint-smudged glass fronts. It went on and on. The size of the store was deceiving. Where it looked small on the outside, the depth of the store went on forever.
The chaos was familiar.
Beck’s old loft apartment used to be almost as disorderly, but if you’d asked Beck, it was comforting for him. Orderly in his mind. It was once home. I thought Beck felt that same pulse through his veins as he looked around.
“Hello?” called a gruff voice from somewhere in the big room.
Beck craned his neck to peer over the shelves. “Hello! It’s Beck. Beckett O’Keefe. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”
A man in his late sixties came into view from behind a desk near the back of the store. He hunched when he walked, limped a little, and had a round belly and dangly jowls. He tucked his chin, peering over wire-framed glasses and scanned us as we approached.
“Ah, yes, yes. Beckett. That’s right. Manfred LeBlanc, nice to meet you.”
He held out his wrinkled hand and they shook before Beck turned to me, clutching my shoulder and said, “This is my friend, Gray. I appreciate you opening for us today. This place is fantastic.”
I ignored the vague introduction, knowing Beck felt uncomfortable introducing me as his boyfriend to strangers and smiled as the two of them admired the shop and all it contained. Both wore matching looks of awe.
“It’s my baby,” the old man said with a hitch in his voice.
I could tell already, we were going to be there for a while. This was the kind of place where I’d be sinking into the background so Beck could do his thing.
And I was right.
Ten seconds into their conversation, Manfred dragged Beck into a back room I hadn’t noticed while they chatted histories and timelines that meant nothing to me.
I checked the time, breathed out a long breath, and waited until I felt stable. The stillness of the room was suffocating, but I couldn’t let it dig under my skin.
I wandered the aisles, admiring the random collections gathering dust on the shelves. Ninety percent of what the old man had on display was junk—at least to my untrained eye. Maybe Beck would see it differently.
If I had to guess, I would say the items worth anything had been tucked away somewhere where the public couldn’t see them. Likely the back room where the men’s combined voices rose and fell with exclamations of joy, wonder, and laughter.
Collectors often kept the important stuff tucked away. Protected.
The display case Manfred had in a far back corner contained some interesting jade figurines that looked old enough to interest Beck. I’d seen similar items in his shop back home. I noted their location so I could show him whenever the two returned up front.
It was quiet. Still. Calm. I floated in this place of nothingness with the dust motes. The outside world couldn’t penetrate the shop’s thick walls, and for a brief moment, the voices from the back abandoned me.
I checked the time on my phone again to be sure. To be certain.
But time was still ticking.
I cursed myself and kept walking up and down the aisles.
Stacked in collapsing piles near the bottom of another shelf were old newspapers. I picked up a few off the top, noting the dates going back to the nineteen forties and fifties. The pages were yellowed and the pictures faded. There was water damage along their sides and a few held tears along their creases.
Farther along was a bin containing African carved walking sticks. I admired the designs and pictures along their lengths and traced a finger over the deep grooves in the wood. The images looked like they’d been burned into the surface somehow.
I moved on.
It was a full hour before Beck and Manfred wandered out front again. Their loud chatter had turned to whispers and shifted to something a little more serious, but I didn’t pay them mind. They were two like-minded men in their element. I was sure if I left them alone, they could talk for days about their hobbies and never get bored.
A short time later, Beck snuck up behind me as I admired a collection of miniature straw dolls I knew nothing about. “Ready to head out?”
I spun, startled at
his sudden appearance. His gaze shifted away from me to examine the shelf. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and his shoulders were almost near his ears. I frowned.
“Are you done?”
“Yup.”
“You didn’t barter your way into some new trinkets for the shop? How is that possible?”
“Nah,” he said a little too fast. “Manfred has some crazy incredible stuff though. Nice guy.”
“So that’s it? Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He met my eyes briefly and looked away. “Wanna grab an early lunch and head back to the hotel?”
My gaze skipped over Beck’s shoulder to Manfred who was acting busy behind his cluttered desk but wore a knowing grin on his face. Back to the hotel? What happened to the other million stops Beck had planned to make?
“What’s going on? Why are you being weird?”
Beck’s face cleared and he flinched, blinking at me and playing the innocent card. “What are you talking about? Manfred and I are gonna talk about some stuff later is all. He has some pieces I might be interested in. Not something I can jump on today. We exchanged numbers. That’s all.”
“You gonna tell me about it?”
“Nope.”
It was odd. Beck never walked out of an antique shop emptyhanded unless the place was a dive. We’d been there for far too long for him to be indifferent.
“I saw a little sandwich shop not far from here. What do you think? Wanna check it out?”
I narrowed my eyes and stared at him. He laughed and shoved my shoulder. “Would you stop.”
“Fine. Sandwiches.”
We said our goodbyes and left. Manfred said something about calling later today. Clearly they were working out some sort of deal on some mystery item Beck didn’t want to tell me about. Whatever. I never pretended I understood Beck.
Beck was eccentric and quirky, and I loved him for it.
After a decent lunch at Big Mama’s Bistro—yes that was the name of the ridiculous sandwich joint Beck found—we headed back to the hotel. Any effort to unearth information about Manfred or his priceless hidden pieces was diverted expertly.
I gave up.
My nerves kicked in the minute I showered and pulled out the outfit I’d brought to wear. I checked the time every five minutes as my anxiety rose until Beck took my phone away from me.
My heart fluttered and the sensations of racing minutes were on the verge of taking effect. I could feel the rush building inside me. The sensation of my blood pumping through my veins faster than was normal was growing. A tingle shivered across my skin and rose the hairs on my body.
“Relax,” Beck said when I stared too long at the digital display on the clock on the bedside table. “You’re hyper-focused on the time right now, and you need to stop. Finish getting dressed, and we can go walk around. The more stationary you are, the more you worry.”
I knew that.
Beck was already dressed.
We’d both brought nice pants and button-up shirts. Beck had prohibited ties when I’d tried to pack them. With his hair fixed and shirt done up to the collar, Beck could almost pass for one of those nerdy professors with his dark-rimmed glasses.
I smiled but stayed silent. He’d kill me if I spoke my thoughts out loud.
I fixed my hair, shaved, sprayed myself with a light coating of cologne, and lingered in the bathroom as I recited my prepared speech in my head over and over.
It wasn’t often I told my story. Outside of therapy and family, not many people knew all the details and consequences of my accident. The papers had broadcasted a version of it for a short time, but that was a year ago. People had moved on. The media had found other things to worry about. I wasn’t anyone special in the end. Just a guy who’d been caught in a storm and wound up with a list of issues a mile long.
No one knew the half of it.
Maybe I was still a little bitter.
“Ready?” Beck asked, leaning on the open door to the bathroom.
I reached for my phone in my pocket, but it wasn’t there. Beck shook his head.
“Yeah, I’m ready. Might as well mingle. It doesn’t start for another forty-five minutes, but it’d be good to find a seat with the other guys from group. At least I kind of know them.”
Hand in hand—which Beck recognized I needed—we took the elevator to the first floor and found our way to the designated conference room. We weren’t the first to arrive. There were all kinds of people milling about.
I caught sight of some familiar faces and pulled Beck along so he’d follow. I recognized Finn, Ireland, Brenda, Shay-Lynn, Anastasia, Rory, and Adrian all surrounding a table near the front.
Adrian caught my eye as we approached and hustled over. He carried sticker name tags in one hand and a black Sharpie in the other.
“Hi, Gray. Gonna give you a name tag if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
He wrote carefully in big block letters before peeling off the back and slapping it on my chest. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he nudged them up again. “There you go. We’re all going to sit here at this table.”
“Thanks.” I chuckled as he weaved away to the little Arden guy from group who’d just arrived before doing the same thing to him.
Beck lingered by my side. He no longer held my hand, but our shoulders brushed together. We didn’t sit. Instead, we hovered by our table and observed the crowd.
Adrian finished with Arden and Arden immediately went and joined Anastasia. Iggy, Arden’s boyfriend, if I understood correctly, remained on the outskirts of our group. He looked tired as he watched after Arden. With a heavy sigh, he shifted and scanned the room.
When he caught my eye, he smiled shyly and wandered over. I didn’t know him. Nor did I know Arden that well, but circumstances had opened doors for us all and we’d become tentative acquaintances.
“Grayson, right?” Iggy asked.
“Yeah, that’s me. This is my partner, Beck.”
Iggy nodded politely at Beck. “This might be weird or not appropriate, but I just wanted to say I’m really glad to see you up and walking around. Actually, I’m glad you’re alive, quite frankly.” His gaze shifted once to Beck before returning to my puzzled expression. “I’m sorry. I’m an EMS worker. I was part of the crew called to the scene when your house collapsed. Not gonna lie, that was hands down the scariest thing I’ve ever dealt with. We didn’t think you’d make it. So… I’m just glad you did.”
Lost for words, I stared for a beat too long which made Iggy stir. Before he could regret initiating conversation, I jumped in.
“Wow… um… Thank you. I don’t really have any memories of that day actually, but I’m glad I was finally found. And freed. I never did get to thank the workers who pulled me out.”
I offered my hand, and Iggy smiled and shook it.
“Really,” I said. “Thank you.”
“It’s part of the job. We don’t often get to see what happens after we drop patients off at the hospital. I’m glad I could reconnect with you.”
“For sure.”
Iggy wandered toward Arden, keeping a distance from the young man but hovering nonetheless.
“That’s pretty cool,” Beck said by my ear.
“Yeah, it was.”
“I told you Dewhurst is way too fucking small, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
Deciding to take our seats at the big round table near the front of the room, Beck and I silently people watched. We’d known each other all our lives, so idle conversations weren’t necessary.
“Oh shit,” I said, ducking my head and sinking down on my chair.
“What? What is it?”
I didn’t have time to answer before Krew appeared beside the table, a wide, beaming grin plastered to his face. Outside of the bar setting, he was almost unrecognizable. He’d toned down his look for the conference and wore a nice, slim-fitting sweater, dress pants, had less makeup on, and minimal gel in his hair.
But none o
f it canceled out his vibrant, outgoing personality. That couldn’t be masked. Beside him was an older, well-dressed gentleman who was easily twice his age. The man’s hand rested on Krew’s hip like he was ensuring he stayed within arms reach.
The fact that Krew recognized me after all this time was a little concerning. Yes, I’d been to Bottoms Up frequently over the years—but not since the change of ownership had taken place and it became Limbos. Krew and I never talked. We weren’t friends. We’d caught each other’s attention long ago on a lonely slow night and took care of a growing itch we’d both felt at the time.
He’d never asked for my name, and I’d never given it.
“Well lookie here. I never see you at the bar anymore, sugar. You used to be quite a regular.”
Before my accident, I wanted to say. Before Beck had become my boyfriend, alleviating the need for me to go searching for a hookup. Over a year.
“Nope, I haven’t.”
“I saw you here yesterday, and I couldn’t quite place your face. Then it dawned on me. No clue how I could have forgotten you.” His gaze slipped to my crotch as he licked his lips long and slow. Then he looked at Beck and gave him a wink. “You’re a very lucky man, if you know what I mean.”
Beck stared, slack-jawed while the older man looked exasperated and whispered something in Krew’s ear that made him scowl.
“Fine!” Krew said to the man before crossing his arms. “Sorry I brought up your memorable penis. It was rude of me. I shouldn’t have done that. It was nice to see you again, Grayson. Please take care.”
Then he stormed off looking more amused than upset.
“My apologies. I’m Max,” the man said, offering out his hand.
“Um… Gray, and this is Beck.” We shook, and I couldn’t have felt more awkward. “I’m sorry too… I think. Jesus.”
“Think nothing of it. You aren’t the first past hookup I’ve met, and you won’t be the last. If it’s any consolation, this was the least awkward of them all so far.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Max ducked out and went after Krew who was invading Ireland’s personal space more than I knew he’d like.
