The Man on the Balcony

by Edward Kendrick

“That’s quite a setup you have there,” Mark said, pointing to the computer on the desk. “Are the books for reference?”

  “Yep. They help when an author writes some detail that doesn’t sound right to me. Especially if they’re doing a mystery or police procedural, which several of them do.” Austin rolled his eyes. “I probably know more about how to handle a crime scene than your average person. What I don’t know, I can look up in the books, or online.”

  “I didn’t realize editing included fact checking,” Mark said. “I though you just made certain the grammar, spelling, and punctuation were the way they should be.”

  “That’s a big part of it, of course. But I don’t want my authors making fools of themselves because they didn’t do enough research. It doesn’t look well for either of us when a reader spots something we missed.”

  “Sort of like me and costumes. Or more like Sara, since she’s the one who creates them. She’s a stickler for getting things right.”

  “So no zippers on period costumes?” Austin quipped.

  Mark laughed. “There are limits to what a customer will accept. She’ll put on buttons, or fake the proper closure, then hide the zipper under the flap. That way everyone’s happy.”

  “You don’t buy your costumes?”

  “Menswear, sure. No way I’d expect her to make tuxes and tailcoats, or slacks and shirts to go with them. The same with gangster suits, or relatively modern women’s clothing. There are retro shops online specializing in them and we’ll pick up what we need from ones we trust.”

  “What about…hmm…Santa costumes?”

  Mark grinned. “Do not mention the word Santa in front of Sara. She’ll shoot you. Thankfully, at this point, we have all we need of them, and elves.”

  “There’s more to running a costume shop than I’d ever imagined.”

  “It keeps us busy, depending on the season.”

  Now what do we talk about? Austin wondered when neither one of them seemed to have anything more to say about their respective jobs. “Are you hungry, yet?”

  “Define hungry,” Mark replied. “All I’ve eaten today was two sandwiches, and that was long before my trek home.”

  Austin smirked as he got up. “So starving would be the operative word at the moment.”

  “Pretty close. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Figuring Mark didn’t want to sit and wait, Austin suggested he set the table, then showed him where everything was. The galley kitchen, which was fine for one person, seemed crowded with two people in there. He was very aware of Mark as they tried to avoid running into each other. Too aware, damn it. It reminded him of when he and Jon had first moved in together, into an apartment with a tiny kitchen. They used to joke about tossing a coin to see who got to fix dinner since there was barely room for both of them to work on a meal. He paused while dishing the stew into a serving bowl, remembering the man he’d loved—and how he’d died.

  * * * *

  Mark caught a glimpse of Austin’s face, filled with sorrow. Before he could ask what was wrong, Austin sucked in a deep breath and finished filling the bowl, which he handed to Mark. “Put this on the table, if you would, while I get the bread and butter out.” He was smiling, so he’d obviously pushed whatever had been troubling him away—at least for the moment.

  Mark did as he’d been asked, going back to get the coffee pot. By the time he’d filled their cups, Austin was setting the bread and butter on the table. “Am I missing anything?” he asked as they sat down.

  “Not that I can see,” Mark replied. He tasted the stew, then told Austin it was very good, because it was.

  “I could say it’s an old family recipe,” Austin said. “I’d be lying. It’s called get some stew meat, potatoes, and whatever veggies catch my fancy, add in a can of beef broth, slow cook it, and voila, stew.”

  “Well, it works.”

  “Thanks.”

  After that, they didn’t talk much as they ate. Mark had the feeling Austin wasn’t used to having company, which didn’t surprise him. He’d gotten the impression, during their supper at the bar, he was a solitary person. Like me, for the past few years. Work and Todd and not much else. It’s time to change things, for both of us.

  After dinner, Austin did the dishes while, with his permission, Mark made another pot of coffee. When they were settled in the living room again, at each end of the sofa, Mark asked, “Have you read all those books?”

  “Yeah. I’m a voracious reader. Always have been, since I was a kid.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “In Oregon,” Austin replied. “Dad is a high school teacher, Mom works as a secretary at the grade school, so reading was part of our lives.”

  “You and how many siblings?” Mark figured the our must have meant he had some.

  “Two sisters, younger than me, one brother who’s older.”

  “Do you see much of them?”

  Austin nodded. “Holidays, mostly. Or when Cal comes through town on business. We email often though, so we know what’s going on with each other. How about you?”

  “My folks live about a hundred miles north of here. My father owns a small clothing store; Mom helps him out when needed. No sisters, one younger brother.”

  “So you come by owning the costume shop naturally,” Austin replied with a smile.

  “Pretty much. Plus the fact I helped out with plays in high school. I liked costumes but didn’t have the talent to create them, so I helped the actors dress for whatever show was going on. I did the same thing in college, even though I was majoring in business. The reason for that as a major was the idea I’d take over when Dad retired. I worked with him for four years, at which point I decided I’d had enough. A guy I knew from high school, who was in a lot of the shows, came into the store one day. He remembered me, we got talking, and he told me about the costume company. It was owned by an older woman who wanted to retire. I came down here, talked to her, and now I’m the proud owner of my own business.”

  “That’s quite a story.”

  “I suppose.” Mark took a drink of his coffee. “You said you used to be an interior decorator. Why the change to editing? I bet there’s a lot of places here who could use your decorating talents, if you were any good.”

  “Modesty aside, I was very good, though you couldn’t tell it from looking at my apartment,” Austin replied with a brief grin. “But when the company closed, I decided I wanted to do something else.”

  “When you change careers, you do it big time.”

  “Yeah, well…” Austin stared down at his hands, clasped around his cup, and again Mark saw misery in his expression.

  “It might help if you talked about it,” Mark said quietly. “Whatever it is, keeping it inside seems to be eating you up, whether you realize it or not.”

  “And relive it all again?” Austin spat out. “I do that too much as it is.”

  “But only in your head, I think,” Mark replied. “Talking it out…”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. He’s dead. I saw him…” Austin sprang to his feet. Crossing to the balcony door, he slammed it open, stepping out into the cold, snowy evening.

  Nonplused, uncertain how to react, Mark sat there for a moment. Then, getting up, he went to the doorway. “Tell me,” he said.

  “Tell you what? That I watched the man I loved die a horrible death? That there was nothing I could do but watch? That all my hopes and dreams died in that moment? Is that what you want to hear?”

  “No,” Mark replied, going to stand next to him. “No one would want to hear it. No one would want to have faced what you did.” He gripped Austin’s shoulder when it seemed as if he was going to turn away. “I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me. Just know, I’m here when you’re ready to let it out instead of burying in inside. Tonight, tomorrow, a year from now—when you’re ready, I’ll listen.”

  “Go away, Mark. Go home. Please,” Austin begged. His eyes were bright with unshed
tears as he pulled free of Mark’s grip to lean against the railing, looking out at—At his past. And there’s nothing I can do to help him if he won’t let me.

  Going back inside, Mark got his coat and left the apartment. As he did, he made a promise to himself. One way or another I will do what I can to make Austin realize if he doesn’t let go of the past, he won’t have a future worth living.

  When he was out on the sidewalk, he looked up. Austin was still standing at the balcony railing. From what Mark could see of his face, he was unaware of the snow drifting down, turning his shoulders and dark hair white in the light from the room behind him. Then Austin shook himself, as if suddenly coming awake, turned, and went back into the apartment, closing the door. Locking himself in with his memories.

  Chapter 7

  Sunday, Mark did his usual cleaning and shopping. Monday, he called a locksmith to come out and change the locks on his door.

  He stopped by Austin’s building, twice—on Sunday and then Tuesday after work. When he buzzed him, he got no answer. Not even a “Who’s there?” If it weren’t for the fact he saw lights on in the apartment every evening, he would have been worried. Okay, more worried than I am already. Did my trying to push him into talking about the death of his lover drive him deeper into his solitude? I only wanted to help. Someday, I’ll learn to keep my big mouth shut.

  He did keep his mouth shut, but only barely, when he got a call Wednesday evening. It had been one of those days and he was frazzled, having dealt with customers who would have shown up on Saturday, had the weather cooperated. Since he didn’t recognize the number, he figured it was a telemarketer and he was in the mood to read them the riot act.

  What he should have done is ignore it, because it was Todd.

  “Hi, love,” Todd began.

  Which was as far as he got. “I’m not your ‘love’,” Mark replied tightly. “By the way, where are you calling from? Not your phone.”

  “I left mine in the cab, on the way to the hotel, so I picked up a cheap one to use until they return mine.”

  Mark didn’t believe him for a second. He had a feeling Todd had gotten a different one so he wouldn’t ignore his call.

  “I’m downstairs. I was going to surprise you by waiting in your place until you got home, but you’ve changed the locks.” Todd sounded hurt, and angry.

  “Big surprise. If you came out here to try and get me back, forget it. Go home, Todd. If you didn’t get the message the last time you were here, it’s over!” Mark replied. Then he hung up. His phone rang seconds later. Ignoring it, he put the phone on ‘silent’, muttering, “If you leave any messages, I’m erasing them.”

  Going to the window, he looked down at the sidewalk just in time to see Todd stomp out the building’s front door. He pulled back when Todd looked up, waited a moment, then looked again. Todd was stalking down the pavement to a car parked two doors down. “Cab, my ass,” Mark muttered, since it was a rental car.

  With a sigh, praying this was the last time he’d have to see or hear from Todd again, Mark went into the kitchen to fix something to eat.

  * * * *

  Austin had barely stepped onto his balcony when he saw Todd coming out of Mark’s building. From the expression on the man’s face, he was not happy. Let’s hope it means Mark told him to get lost—again—and that he believes it this time.

  He glanced over at Mark’s window in time to see him move out of view when Todd looked up. Seconds later, Mark reappeared, his attention obviously focused on his ex-lover. Then he disappeared again. If asked, which no one would, Austin had to admit he was hurt that Mark hadn’t looked his way.

  My fault, though. I haven’t given him any reason to. After the night he came to dinner…He went back inside, collapsing on the sofa. All he wanted to do is help, and I pushed him away as hard and fast as I could.

  “When is it going to stop hurting?” he whispered. Is Mark right? Would talking about it help? He’s the only person I could talk to who might understand.

  At the time, right after Jon’s death, he’d had the support of his family, but it had ended when he’d packed up and moved out here, rather than going home to Oregon to let them baby him, as he’d thought of it. They care about me, I know, but they’ve never seen someone they love die in front of their eyes. They think I should have gotten past it. He sighed. Maybe they’re right.

  He looked around the apartment—the very Spartan apartment as Mark had called it. Is it time to move on with my life, instead of hiding away? He knew the answer. All he had to do was convince himself it was possible.

  The first step, is talking to Mark.

  * * * *

  Saturday was crazy busy since it was just over a week until Mardi Gras. Almost as bad as Halloween, in Mark’s opinion, without the luxury of having the temps there to help out.

  By the time he got home, he was ready to fall on his face. So when he heard the buzzer, he muttered, “Who the hell is bothering me at this hour of the evening?” The only person he could think of, if it wasn’t some idiot who’d pressed the wrong button, was Austin. It was, so he let him in, wondering why he was there.

  As soon as he opened the door, Austin said, “I’d have called to see if you were busy but I don’t have your number.”

  “No problem,” Mark replied, stepping aside to let him in.

  “You look beat,” Austin commented. “Is now a bad time?”

  “Not really. I was going to fix something to eat. If you want, I can make enough for two.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “It’s okay,” Mark said. “It’ll be something simple, like burgers.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Austin hesitated, seeming unsure of himself. “Can we…talk, I guess, afterward?”

  Mark had the feeling he meant about what had happened when the man he’d loved had died. “We can talk now. I’m not that hungry.” He gestured to the sofa.

  “If you’re sure.”

  Instead of answering, Mark took a seat at one end of the sofa, waiting for Austin to join him.

  “This is hard,” Austin said, staring down at the floor once he was seated. “You were right. I keep going over it, in my mind, in my heart. I thought I was getting better. I was finally at the point where I was beginning to remember the wonderful man I loved, not his death. Then, about three weeks ago…” He gripped his hands together. “I was coming back from getting coffee, which I didn’t, because the place was closed. It was the night of your party. Not that it matters. I was almost home when two cars ran into each other.” He took a shuddering breath.

  Mark remembered the crash, and the look of horror on Austin’s face when it happened. Even though he hadn’t known him as anyone other than the man on the balcony at that point, he had wondered why he’d reacted so forcefully, and he’d felt sorry for him.

  “It brought it all back,” Mark said softly.

  Austin nodded. “We were so happy,” he said, barely above a whisper. “We were moving to our new house. I was driving the rental truck with all our furniture. Jon was ahead of me in the car, with the small stuff. He’d just started across the intersection when a van sped through the red light, hitting his car broadside on the driver’s side. Jon…” He bit down hard on his lip. “Jon was killed—almost instantly, according to what the police told me later. The other guy was barely injured. I…I tried to get to him, to save him. Jon, I mean. It was too late. He died right before my eyes and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing! Nothing but watch him die.” He buried his face in his hands, jerking away when Mark put his hand on his shoulder in sympathy. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

  Mark withdrew his hand, saying, “I can’t even imagine how horrible it was.”

  Austin looked at him, tears glimmering in his eyes. “For weeks after it happened, I relived it in my dreams, my nightmares. It sounds…strange, maybe, but I couldn’t look at cars in traffic without seeing our car, him, the accident. My folks came out to help me bury him, then to sell the b
usiness, and the house we’d just bought. They tried to understand why I wasn’t coming to grips with everything, but I pushed them away rather than talking about it, the same way I did with you. To talk about it hurt—soul deep.”

  “Then you came out here to escape, I suspect,” Mark said. “A new job, hiding away from everyone and everything you knew—and your memories. You almost succeeded, until you saw the car crash.”

  “Yes,” Austin replied sadly. “It was working, too, until that happened. And then there was you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You know I watched you. Window peeping as you put it, although it wasn’t. Not really. I was, I suppose, living your life vicariously. Seeing you with Todd, how obvious it was you weren’t happy with him the way he thought you should be. Then there was the party. I questioned why I was standing there, watching other people living their own lives, so I went for a walk, instead. Big mistake, but…Anyway, a couple of days later, when I followed you to the coffee shop…I don’t know what I planned on doing, other than I wanted to meet you.” He smiled briefly. “‘Mr. Cute’, as I’d taken to calling you.”

  Mark snorted out a laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. After all, I didn’t know your name, and you are cute, so…” Austin shrugged. “I found out I liked you. I also remembered, for some reason, the promise Jon and I had made each other—that if anything happened to one of us, the other one would move on with their life. Which I hadn’t done. Not really. I wondered if maybe it was time. If, perhaps, you and I could become friends.”

  “So you came to my rescue.” Mark smiled at him. “That’s one way to start a friendship.”

  “One I almost destroyed as soon as it began, because I wouldn’t let go of the past.”

  “You’re on your way to doing it now, I think.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  Mark nodded. “Remember one thing; you’ll never stop loving him. He’ll always be a part of your life, and your heart. Don’t try to—” He searched for the right words. “To forget him and bury the memories of the love you shared, thinking it will make coming to terms with his death easier. Real, true love never dies.”