Chasing Forever

by Kelly Jensen

  A few of them exchanged nods. Others appeared totally disinterested. Still others hid what they were thinking. Mal had seen it all before. What he did get, though, was that his offer would be appreciated by those who needed it.

  He could do his grading and lesson plans here instead of at home. Lois would be fine on her own for a couple more hours every day. Maybe Rachel could help out on occasion. She’d definitely be an asset when it came to figuring out if he was even allowed to offer such a thing. Then again . . .

  Think later. Do now.

  “Okay, speaking of Winterfest, where are we at?”

  “We need an ice sculpture.”

  Mal wrote that down. Where the heck was he supposed to get an ice sculpture? He tapped his pen against the pad. Maybe Leo’s husband could be persuaded to donate something? Could painters sculpt?

  “Okay, what else?”

  Satan’s helper was back. Amanda of the casual indifference to pain. If she ever decided to quit being a physical therapist, she could take a job with the CIA in interrogation. State secrets could be gained at the bending of every knee.

  “Stop!”

  She stopped trying to break his knee and let him stretch it to the almost flat he’d managed to achieve about a week ago. At least he hadn’t lost that.

  “Did you feel something tear? Snap?” Her expression didn’t hold the concern her questions warranted.

  “No, it just hurt. A lot.”

  “Are you still experiencing a lot of pain? On a scale of one to ten—”

  “Seven.” Not quite put-me-out-of-my-misery, but talking wasn’t his favorite thing right now.

  “According to my notes, you had an eighty-seven-degree flex last week.”

  “It didn’t feel like it was going to snap last week.”

  “Have you been on your feet a lot?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I’ve been trying to walk without the crutches.”

  “Let’s see you walk.”

  Oh, sure. Break my leg and then make me walk on it.

  Mal reached for the brace, but Amanda waved him off. “Let’s do a walk without it, then one with. You need to be working on your gait. You don’t want to develop a limp.”

  Develop a limp? Hadn’t that happened the minute a car hit his legs?

  Mal got down from the table and stood on two legs. Pain shot through the left, the same ache he’d been dealing with for a while now without being able to tell if it was a new pain or just more of the same. He pushed off the edge of the bench and walked the line Amanda indicated.

  Her brow creased as she watched him. “You’re favoring your left leg.”

  “It’s been aching.”

  “On a scale—”

  “It’s a three, if that. It doesn’t hurt if I don’t think about it. I figured it was the cold or the weather.” It was one of those not-cold, not-warm days, where damp air hovered over old snow, turning the world an indistinct shade of gray. It made his left leg ache.

  “You suffered a pretty catastrophic break,” Amanda murmured, studying her notes. “Let’s see if we can get in an X-ray.”

  “Now?”

  “If you have the time.”

  Unease slithered through Mal’s middle. “Okay.”

  The X-ray was about as uncomfortable as trying to walk, arranging his legs at varying angles while the machine burped overhead. Then came the wait. Mal pulled out his phone and surfed Facebook, not taking in anything until the receptionist called his name. He looked up to find his surgeon standing near the desk wearing a serious expression.

  The unease snapped rather than slithered as Mal struggled up out of his chair and followed Dr. Chimo to his office.

  Once they were comfortable, Mal perched atop another bench, Chimo in a chair in front of him, the surgeon angled his laptop screen toward Mal. It was one of his X-rays and the sight of his bones bristling with pins had his stomach clenching. Chimo traced a faint line high on his left thigh. “This is a hairline fracture.”

  “A . . . what?”

  “It’s not uncommon in your situation. We knew your left leg was going to be vulnerable during this recovery. It could have been a knock, or simply you spending too much time on your feet.”

  Mal thought about the long walk to his classroom and the fact he’d actually taken pride in being able to complete it without crutches this week, despite the nagging pain. “What does this mean?”

  “Well, a few things.” As the surgeon began to detail those few things, a buzz started up somewhere around the back of Mal’s skull. He wanted to interrupt with questions, but he also didn’t want to ask anything in case he didn’t like the answers he got.

  What he really wanted to know was: Am I going to run again? He figured marathons were out. Participating competitively in any sort of fun run was out. He could maybe walk or jog a 5K in a couple of years. But would he ever get back to running the Path? To being able to run in the evening—every step distancing him from the stress of his day, settling his thoughts, insulating him against . . .

  “Am I going to run again?” he asked, wincing as his voice cracked.

  Chimo arranged his features into an expression of professional sympathy. “You were fit before this happened. Strong. For older folks, injuries like this can mean the loss of a lot of mobility, a lot of what they had, because . . .” He worked one hand through the air in a vaguely circular motion. “They didn’t have much to begin with. You’re, what? Forty?”

  “Fifty.”

  “You’re doing great for fifty. We’re not going to recommend contact sports, or stressful activities like skiing—”

  “I just want to run.”

  “It’s going to be some time and even then . . . It’s too early to tell, Mal. I’d like to do some bone-density tests.”

  “What about hiking? Can I hike? I’ve been sectioning the Appalachian for about fifteen years.”

  The surgeon shrugged.

  “And my knee?”

  “First, you need a day or two off your feet. Elevate your legs and use some ice packs. They’ll help more with pain relief than anything I can prescribe. Then, we need to adjust your physical therapy regime. I’m also going to give you something for the swelling around your knee. It should have subsided by now.” Chimo leveled a considering look in his direction. “I’m going to be honest with you. You might not be able to run and you might not regain an even gait, but there will be a lot you can do. Hiking canes could get you onto a trail, and for longer walks around town and such, a sturdier cane. It will take some of the weight off your left leg and extend your upright time. Help you build strength in your new knee.”

  “A . . . a cane? Like a walking stick?”

  “You’re strong, Mal. Strong, fit, and you’re committed. Let’s do what we can, okay?”

  Mal wasn’t listening. All he could think was: A walking stick. Like the elderly used. He felt feeble and old and useless, and for the first time in a long time, very, very alone.

  It had been an odd week. Brian’s research had turned up exciting possibilities regarding the Colonial. Leo’s betrayal hadn’t dampened his enthusiasm for the project. Instead, it’d made him work harder. Delve deeper. Morristown might not want him, but before he left, he’d save this damn building. Having no one to share the project with got him down, though, and it wasn’t because he liked to talk about his work. He missed having someone to talk with, about the interesting and the mundane. He missed Mal.

  Wednesday night, tired, lonely, and wondering if winter would ever end, he parked outside his condo and sat in the cooling car. Spending the evening with Josh required another sort of energy, and he wasn’t sure he had enough of it. Seriously, how did people parent 24/7? Most folks started at the beginning, he supposed. Broke themselves in slowly. He’d always assumed babies meant sleepless nights and that the teenage years would be a vacation in comparison.

  His phone buzzed. Brian extracted it from the inside pocket of his coat and nearly dropped it. Ellen had texted him. Hallelu— What?<
br />
  Getting calls from truant officer. Need Josh back.

  Brian woke the screen to tap out a reply. I filed transfer paperwork with both districts. What’s your email addy?

  A horrible swirl of uncertainty toured his midsection. Send Josh back? No, he wasn’t going to do that. Josh wore him out, but he did like having his nephew around. He liked the idea of seeing Josh settled and happy and cared for. Loved even. Yeah, he could love the kid. They were blood, after all.

  Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Brian exited the car and stomped his way through the cold evening toward the kitchen door, where the replaced pane always caught his attention because it was shinier than the others. Inside, the kitchen smelled like popcorn. Smiling, Brian called out. “Josh!”

  “Here.”

  The answer had floated from somewhere else in the house. Probably the living room. Sure enough, he found Josh sprawled across half the sofa, phone in one hand, TV remote in the other. A messy pile of school books and notebook paper littered the coffee table.

  “Homework all done?” Brian asked.

  “Mostly. I’m trying to find this documentary on bees for my anatomy homework.”

  And that made no sense.

  “Need to use my laptop?”

  “Maybe.” Josh glanced up. “You look rough.”

  Brian scrubbed the stubble he’d let grow across his face all week. Sometimes he didn’t feel like shaving. “It’s winter. Beard season.”

  Josh flashed him a quick grin before glancing at his phone where he replied to a text. Absently, Brian noted his own phone had yet to buzz with a return text from Ellen. “Have you heard from your mom?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Who are you texting with?”

  “Just a friend.”

  “Is it Ethan?”

  “What’s up with you and Mr. M.? He kept watching the door on Monday. Yesterday and today, too.”

  Brian frowned. “Which door?”

  Josh finally glanced up from his phone. “The classroom. He’s doing extended hours now, so some of us in the club have somewhere to hang out after school.”

  “Huh.”

  “You didn’t know? I thought you were helping organize the club.”

  Brian scraped his palm over his scratchy cheek again. “I’ve been busy this week. Monday and Tuesday I was chasing down leads on the Colonial. I have nearly everything I need to put together a proposal for the new owners.” And he was telling the wrong person. Josh didn’t care about a divey old bar.

  Josh shrugged. “Okay. You coming to the meeting next week?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “What happened with you and Mal?”

  What happened to calling him Mr. M.? Though, Mal had invited the GSA kids to use his first name. “He, ah, I . . . It’s complicated.”

  “Adults always say that when they can’t figure out a way to explain something they think kids shouldn’t know.” With a look of studied nonchalance, Josh added, “You two not sexually compatible?”

  Brian gaped. “We . . .” What was the right thing to say here? “We were very compatible.”

  “‘Were’?”

  “It’s—”

  A hurt expression creased Josh’s forehead.

  Brian breathed out a sigh. “Fine. He found out I’d been in a long-term relationship with someone, which, you know, is stupid because I’m forty-eight years old. I’ve had time to do a couple of relationships. But I wasn’t good to Simon. My ex.” He scratched his face again. “And you know what? He wasn’t good to me, either. I don’t know why I’m only figuring that out now. I mean, I’m the one who cheated, but there had to be a reason for it, right?” Rather than think about Simon’s quiet words about not having had all of Brian, he focused on the extended advertisement for a set of copper pans currently playing on the TV. “I probably shouldn’t get into details.”

  “You already told me you cheated. Does it get worse?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I never understood why I felt compelled to go after other guys, you know? It was dumb. Stupid. I liked the rush of being with someone new, but I always knew I’d go back to Simon. That I wanted to be with Simon. But . . . He’s pretty spare with the affection. An animal in the sack, but outside the bedroom?”

  For someone who didn’t want to talk about his own sex life, Josh was all fascination, now.

  Brian swallowed. “He could be so cold. No, not cold. Just . . . implacable.” Which Brian had recently decided he liked. His emotions were all over the place. “Sometimes the only way I could get him worked up was . . . Well.” Should he be discussing this with his nephew?

  “How does Mal fit into all of this?”

  “He thinks I was a lying, cheating bastard.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “That’s the complicated part. I was, but I’m also starting to realize I was in a relationship that didn’t fit.” Maybe it was this wholly Brian thing.

  Josh allowed a sober nod.

  “I wasn’t trying to put you off before, when I said it was complicated,” Brian continued. “It really was . . . complex. A relationship takes a lot of work and not everyone is cut out for it. For the commitment and for the emotional involvement.”

  “Is this your way of telling me I’m too young to know what I want?”

  Brian shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s my way of telling myself that I’m not a relationship guy.”

  Josh nodded again, and a quiet space opened up between them, broken only by the quiet oohs and ahs on the TV as an entirely too happy couple cooked all manner of things in their copper pans.

  Right as Brian was trying to figure out if he could adapt the berry cobbler recipe to one of his own pans, Josh said, “I think you are a relationship guy.”

  Brian glanced over to find his nephew studying him with a serious expression. “What makes you say that?”

  “You wouldn’t have spent as much time trying to get into Mr. M.’s pants if you didn’t want to date him.”

  “I could have just wanted to fu— Ah, get into his pants.”

  “Easier ways to scratch an itch. Are you on Grindr?”

  Brian made himself shudder. “No.”

  “Why not? I figured your lying, cheating ass would be all over that.” Josh’s smile took any sting out of his words.

  “It’s not the same. I know you kids think the whole world happens online, but I much prefer meeting someone in person. A dick pic doesn’t tell me how they smell, or what their smile looks like. If they’ve got any sensuality about them. If they can carry on a conversation past the opening line. What they like to drink. What makes them tick. Who they voted for and if they’re out, proud, or not. If they’re funny or boring. What sort of house they live in. What they do for a living and whether they enjoy it or not.”

  Josh was blinking at him.

  “What?” Brian asked.

  “And you think you’re not a relationship guy.”

  Brian’s phone buzzed, and he shrugged out of his coat while extracting it from his pocket. When he checked the screen, the warm fuzzy feeling he’d gained over the past half hour seeped in toward his soul and took hold, fingers digging in deep.

  Ellen’s email address. Josh was his to keep.

  He placed his phone on the coffee table and picked the remote up off the couch. “Let’s find that documentary. What did you say it was about?”

  “Bees.”

  “And how does that relate to anatomy?”

  “It doesn’t, but there’s this theory . . .”

  Brian didn’t get half of what Josh said, but he figured that didn’t matter. He listened and he asked questions. Josh had listened to him, after all. Had given him some valuable advice too. There was more to parenting than paperwork and truancy officers. So much more. And if he had to watch bees do their thing for an hour before working out what Josh wouldn’t eat that night, then that’s what he’d do.

  Fuck you, Ellen . . .

  “Stop, I think that
was it.”

  Brian pressed Play.

  Mal tucked his new cane into the shadow of Brian’s kitchen island and sat on the closest stool. As instructed, he’d taken yesterday off to elevate his leg and pack the affected area with ice. It had helped. Using the cane helped. He still wasn’t used to being the sort of guy who carried a walking stick, though. Or the sort of guy who showed up at someone’s house unannounced. But Josh had asked for a ride home and Mal and Brian really needed to talk. Well, Mal did.

  “Want me to make some coffee or something?” Josh asked.

  “No. I, ah—”

  Keys jangled outside before the kitchen door whooshed open with a rush of cold air. Brian stepped inside, gaze pointed down toward his shoes. Mal swallowed thickly, wondering if he’d made the right decision in stopping by.

  Brian looked up.

  “Hi.” Mal levered himself off the stool.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Not an auspicious beginning.

  “I gave Josh a ride home from school. I can go.”

  Brian’s brow wrinkled. “Can you stay a minute? I wanted to talk to you about Mondays.”

  “What about Mondays?”

  “The meetings. I think you should find another volunteer.”

  Oh. So that was how this conversation was going to go.

  “You’re quitting the GSA?” Josh asked.

  “Josh—”

  “No. You spent a whole weekend telling me how important that damn club was. Practically forced me to go. You can’t quit. I only went because you wanted me to.”

  “I wanted to go for you,” Brian said.

  Mal raised his hands. “Maybe I should—”

  “Wait. Please?” Brian stepped fully into the kitchen and braced his hand on the center island. “Josh, I talked you into it because I wish we’d had stuff like that when I was in school, and I genuinely thought it could be a good thing for you. Also, I didn’t want to go alone.”