The Way to Joe

by Hollis Shiloh

  Jake was a big African-American guy who looked like he should've played professional football, and he dwarfed my little friend, but they didn't look like they even noticed the difference in their sizes. The way Caden snuggled in his arms and looked up at him adoringly, well, it brought a lump to my throat. I'd never thought my flighty, flirty best friend would find that, someone he really loved and wanted for keeps—and who wanted him for keeps, too.

  He was already talking about wedding bells, the ass. I told him to cool his jets, and he laughed at me and said that was old-fashioned. "Joe must be rubbing off on you," he added.

  I made a dirty comment in reply that got us both laughing. Because yeah, of course. And it was kind of awesome.

  For Christmas, Joe got me a full-body surfing suit so I could go surfing in the cold weather, and I got him a ship in a bottle. He liked it a lot. For her treat, we fed Suzie two strips of carefully cooked, thick-sliced bacon, and then ate just a bit ourselves, too, one Christmas treat for breakfast. We sat for a while, hugging on the couch, watching the tree lights sparkle, the electric fire glow, and Suzie stretched out on the rug. I felt like I'd never been happier.

  But I got restless after bit. I hadn't had my run yet. Suzie looked ready to skip hers, sleepy enough to enjoy a lazy day, but I was twitchy.

  Joe gave me a pat on the thigh. "Why don't you try your new suit? Go on."

  His smile was sincere, so I jumped up and gave him a grin, then ran off to do so. I left my phone home, and almost ran to the beach, wearing the suit. It felt so new and shiny, and it was a hard fit at first, but I knew it was going to be awesome—I just knew it. I'd never gotten to wear one that was exactly my size before. He'd done a pretty amazing job picking it out—and he'd gotten the really high-end one, so it should last me for years and years.

  Maybe as long as he'd live.

  I pushed that thought away. It made me feel sad.

  I wanted lots more years with Joe. We worked together. Somehow, we just worked. He was humble enough and accepting enough to let me help him with the things he couldn't do himself anymore, and I thought I was able to accept help from him, too.

  I liked taking care of him, but more than that, I loved him. I cherished our moments together. I felt, like, totally respected. I wasn't his boy toy or some shit like that. Whatever it looked like from the outside.

  And yeah, sometimes there was the generation gap thing, but that kept life interesting too, you know? Always more to learn about each other.

  We were both shocked at some of the things the other had always considered normal. Me, that he could have lived so much of his life feeling like he had to be straight. He'd never been taken off somewhere like they'd tried to do with Caden. He'd just always felt this great pressure to conform. He regretted the years he'd wasted denying who he was, hurting people in the process—getting married to a woman who gradually lost all respect for him as their sex life withered on the vine—but he tried not to look back too often or for too long.

  "At least I'm living now," he'd told me more than once, usually followed by a kiss. "And she is, too."

  They weren't friends—not by a long stretch—but he seemed to still care about her.

  Me and Joe had lots to learn about each other.

  I loved how protective he was of me, even in retrospect. He was shocked by the fact that I'd once hitchhiked over a hundred miles when my ride fell through for a surfing thing. How I'd gladly lived hand to mouth for ages, just happy to go on the surfing circuit with an easy-come, easy-go attitude toward lovers.

  I'd always been careful, but I hadn't been really, super-deeply in love before. At least, not so it was mutual.

  Joe had been in love, unrequited, when he was younger. He didn't like to talk about it much, as though the thought still made him sad.

  Despite the big house and the money he had, I got the feeling he'd been pretty lonely. He didn't have a lot of friends, not close, real friends, just some people he'd schmoozed and worked with in his business. He didn't have dinner party friends, or a best friend he emailed all the time, or old college buddies who made him smile every time their names came up.

  He'd lived such a lonely life. It made me sad for him, made me wish I'd been born earlier and we could've met each other sooner, closer to the same age. But maybe we'd have been in different places then, me still needing to surf and never be tied down, him still lying to himself about who he was, and hating himself for it.

  #

  So there I was on Christmas morning, riding a particularly sweet wave. All of a sudden, I felt a twinge inside me, like a silent warning bell.

  I'd had this alert twice before in my life, an inward knowledge that came unasked, sometimes unwanted.

  I got off my board quickly and hurried home, back to Joe.

  The dog was in the yard when I got there, where I'd left her.

  The front door looked like it hadn't been shut right, still open. Suzie was barking her fiercest bark. I padded to the gate and let her out, holding onto her collar, letting her pull me faster.

  We got inside. There was blood on the kitchen floor, red and too bright, a parody of Christmas color.

  There stood Nash, Caden's brother, holding a knife and waving it around. He whirled at the sound of us entering.

  I released Suzie. She jumped, taking him down instantly, mouth on his wrist. Her weight outdid him. He cursed, screamed, but she held him down easily.

  Joe sat down hard, his face white. He was holding a hand to his wrist. "Call the cops," he told me. "He tried to rob the place."

  I looked down at Nash, ragged and thinner than I remembered, wild-eyed. I guess the rehab hadn't taken, and he thought of Joe when he needed a rich guy to rob.

  #

  In the hospital, I sat miserably on a plastic chair in the waiting room, my head down. I was about ready to drop.

  I hadn't felt like I had time to change out of my wetsuit, and it was getting pretty uncomfortable.

  They were treating Joe, but I couldn't get information, couldn't get in to see him. Nobody would tell me anything, either.

  Even though it was Christmas, the ER was busy.

  I'd managed to tell the emergency workers, a little hysterically, that Joe's heart was as big of an issue as the gash on his wrist. They'd seemed to have the bleeding under control when they wheeled him away, and he'd tried to send me a reassuring smile, but he'd quickly closed his eyes, looking totally drained.

  And all I could do was wait and hope that he'd be okay.

  #

  I didn't get to see him. I went home to change, and came back, and the day got much, much worse. Because his kids had arrived, looking fierce and scared and young, wearing their awesome clothes and sunglasses, even in the winter, and trying to look cool rather than scared, holding onto their cell phones like they were lifelines.

  The boy, Troy, raised his voice and pounded on the desk, as if that would make things better. The nurse told him and his sister, Olive, something quietly, shaking her head. Then she pointed quietly in my direction. They both turned. Olive looked at me, and her lip curled with disdain. Troy just looked at me in disbelief, his gaze flat and angry.

  Clearly, I was the one who deserved the blame.

  And I realized I did.

  Nash wouldn't have known about Joe if not for me dragging Joe into rescuing poor Caden. And they weren't letting anyone in, so it must be bad.

  Sure, I was nobody, but they ought to let his kids in. And they weren't.

  Troy walked over, his stride fierce. He wore really expensive-looking clothing, and his sneer was purebred cool-dude superiority. He kicked at my feet with his designer sneakers.

  I was wearing faded flip-flops, baggy jeans that had rips in them, but not on purpose, just because I'd worn them out. I'd remembered to throw on a t-shirt, but it was a faded old thing Caden had given me, an off-white Rolling Stones vintage '72 concert poster reprint with Jagger in silhouette. It had a few holes in it from where the dog had chewed on it. I hadn't
combed my hair, so it had dried sticking up funny. I knew how I must look to them, saw it in their eyes.

  "You," said Joe's son with disgust. "You're nothing but a fag."

  "Yeah." I looked at him, blinking, my eyelids fluttering a little too much. I felt like shrinking away. He towered over me, even if I might be taller standing up. I didn't want him to hit me, and I didn't want to fight him. Joe loved his kids—I mean, seriously, loved them. No way did I want to hurt this brat, even though he looked like he wanted to kill me.

  "You did this," he said, and then spit on me, a little spray of liquid, and hate.

  I looked away, wiping my face with the back of my hand, tears springing to my eyes. Because I was scared he was right.

  Olive let out an awkward little laugh, looking away, embarrassed.

  I got up, looking around blindly for the exit, and walked away.

  They looked after me—everybody in the waiting room did—like they didn't know what would happen next.

  I didn't either.

  #

  I went and sat in the pickup truck and cried my eyes out. I texted Caden again and asked him to think good thoughts for Joe. He called me back, and we talked for a while. I felt a little better with his comforting voice near me, even if the rest of him was far away.

  Eventually I dried my eyes and drove home. I took a shower, changed into something I hoped was decent, and went back to the hospital again, hoping I could avoid Troy and Olive. I didn't want trouble.

  I didn't want Joe—when he woke up and called for us, because he had to wake up, he had to—to have to choose between us.

  All I could do now was hope, pray, and wish with all my being that Joe would be okay.

  The nurses gave me a sympathetic look, but couldn't tell me more—except that the twins were waiting in the other waiting area, the one with the big TV.

  I was hungry, so I started to go to the cafeteria to find something, then I thought, fuck it, and went to the vending machine. I bought M&Ms.

  While I was eating them, I got another text from Caden.

  He loves u and he wont leave u—in any way. Love u babe. XO ~Caden!~

  I finished the M&Ms, shook out the bag, and went back to buy more. I was leaning against the machine, trying to decide what I wanted, feeling like crap in every possible way, when the nurse found me.

  "Are you Seth?" she asked.

  I nodded, eyes wide.

  "He's asking for you."

  I hurried down the hall after her, hardly daring to hope.

  They brought me into Joe's room, and he was there, propped up, looking wan but with a smile on his face.

  "Sorry, honey," he said, in a slightly raspy voice. "They sedated me. I didn't get a chance to ask for you." He held out his uninjured hand for me to take.

  I walked over, and did. And for the first time I dared to think that things might actually be okay again someday.

  #

  When they let his kids in, I wanted to disappear. I put my head down and held onto his hand, because he wanted me to. My eyes burned and I wished I could disappear as they went over a litany of the problems with me, and blamed me for everything. There was such outrage and accusation in their voices, as if I was stealing their father, or worse, his money. They seemed so entitled, childish, and bratty to me—but I felt so guilty about Joe's health and my possible role in it that I couldn't have fought them on any of it.

  But I didn't have to. Joe took up the gauntlet. He kept hold of my hand, occasionally squeezing it gently, and in a very quiet voice, reiterated that we were together now, he didn't love them any less, it wasn't anybody's fault, especially mine; it had just happened, and he was going to be okay.

  Fortunately, the nurses came in to send everyone away before he could get too exhausted. Perhaps even more fortunately, they sent the children out first and gave me a couple more minutes with my man. But I could barely look at him.

  "Come give me a kiss," he said, looking exhausted, especially around the eyes, as though his children had wearied him even more than his medical problems.

  I gave him a kiss, barely holding back the tears.

  "Hey." He squeezed my arm. "You know it's not your fault, right?"

  I looked down, wiped my face on my sleeve.

  He gave my hand a friendly little shake. "It's not. Don't let them get to you. And I owe you an apology."

  I looked at him quickly, meeting his gaze now. "You don't."

  "I do. I put off having you meet them. I shouldn't have. I thought it would be easier to wait for longer, but it just left fate to pick a poorer time for us." He smiled sadly. "Don't give up on me. I know I've become a lot of trouble, but don't give up."

  I shook my head and wiped my eyes, and then they sent me away. He gave my hand one last squeeze, his gaze burning into me, reassured and filled with such love that I was mesmerized.

  The nurse who led me out kept a hand gently on my arm. "There's another way out of the hospital, if you don't want to go past them," she told me gently.

  I was glad to take it. Glad to escape.

  I was honestly scared to go back home, though. If the children came, I'd have to face them again. Or if Nash had cronies, they might have snuck back in and trashed the place, or be waiting to get revenge. Probably not likely, but everything felt terrifying and too hard right now. So instead of driving back, I got a hotel room in town and stayed near the hospital.

  I couldn't be bothered eating healthy now. I had McDonald's while waiting to see him again. And I didn't get any exercise. I barely remembered to drive over and take the dog to stay with one of Joe's friends. I didn't see signs of the children, but I didn't wait around until they decided to show up, either.

  #

  I ate fast food every day till Joe came home. I didn't go surfing once, or get other exercise, or go home. These unhealthy habits felt a bit like penance. They also probably helped make me more depressed. I barely remembered to comb my hair on the way to pick him up from the hospital, on the day he could go home.

  His children were back at school. The holidays had ended. Joe was well enough to go home. But it had been a scary time and had taken far longer than I thought it should've. I was still pissed about Nash, and felt guilty, like I'd brought him there. I was doubting literally everything about our relationship, mine and Joe's.

  I knew very well that his children scorned me, hated me. I felt it every time I had to be near them. At the hospital, Joe had kept us apart as much as possible and even spoke to them about how they were treating me, but it didn't change the way they felt about me.

  Joe seemed emotionally sturdy, but so weak. I was scared. Scared to ever have sex with him again, and scared to lose him.

  He leaned on my arm on the walk out to the car. I felt miserable. I got him inside and drove us towards home. Slowly. I didn't want to jar him.

  I felt his gaze on me. I took a second to look, and he'd twisted towards me, his smile amused, his eyes warm. "You're thinking something over there."

  I shrugged. "I'm sorry about Nash. He wouldn't have known anything about you if I hadn't gotten your help rescuing Caden."

  Joe smiled. "Well, let's think about that. He didn't know where I lived, unless he did some skulking or following or spying later. He didn't follow us home, and he didn't do anything earlier. No, I suspect it's one of those coincidences, or else that he found out later and decided to pay us back for being gay. Either way, his homophobia, criminal acts, and drug problem are not your fault."

  "No," I said wistfully, sounding less than convinced.

  "Right now I want to go home, eat one of your delicious salads, and go to sleep for a while. But tomorrow—soon—I need to apologize to you. Properly. I should never have put you in that situation. You should have a legal right to see me, and my family should not have learned about you when I couldn't protect you."

  "You don't have to protect me." I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a child."

  "No," he said. "But right now, you're my boyfriend. And I want y
ou to be my husband."

  I didn't say anything. We drove in silence, my mind reeling.

  He pressed a hand to his head, grimacing. "I'm sorry. That didn't come out right. It sounds as though only what I want matters, and that's got to be the least romantic proposal ever. I want to do it right. I do. I mean—" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Seth. I want to do this right, but I don't seem to have the right words just now." He collapsed back against his seat and sighed.

  "It's okay," I managed. I had no words, either. I drove on, and we didn't talk.

  I roused myself enough to make a nice big salad when we got home. He showered, we ate, and then he went to bed. I showered too, but I didn't go to bed.

  I went surfing.

  The waves comforted me. They cleared my mind, let it go restfully blank in their deep, comforting blue embrace.

  I'd call my grandma later. I'd talk to Caden when I got the chance. And I'd put Joe off for now. He didn't need extra stress when he was recovering.

  But no way was I marrying him.

  #

  "Can we at least talk about this?" asked Joe, following me around, his voice almost pleading.

  "We did talk about it." I finished putting the dishes into the dishwasher and moved on to the next chore, not looking at him.

  He'd been home almost a week, was doing pretty well. We'd even managed gentle, careful sex a few times. He was talking about how much he couldn't wait for the weather to get nice enough to go boating. In the meantime, he'd been building little model ships. And asking me to marry him.

  "I'm not having anybody say I married you for your money," I told him.

  "You're not, and our marriage is nobody else's business. But I don't want to leave you in that position again. And…and I want to be your husband. I wasted too much of my life. Now I want to live honestly with you, give you the protection you deserve, and share our lives—not as 'boyfriends' but as husbands, the real deal. Won't you even think about it?"