Art House

by Charley Descoteaux

  “Back in April I started work on a portrait.” Jeez, when the dam opens, it really opens.

  “Of who?”

  “Of him.”

  Paulie narrowed his eyes. “I thought that superstition only applied to tattoos.”

  It felt good to laugh and mean it. Chase favored Paulie with a grateful smile before he answered. The answer to the question Paulie didn’t quite ask sobered him considerably. “He’ll see it for what it was and feel bad. Not angry.” Chase shrugged. “Probably not angry.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something I can keep.”

  “Oh honey. You’re keeping Garrett. I’ll talk to him.”

  “No. Please don’t.”

  Paulie raised one eyebrow and then slowly patted Chase’s leg. “I’ll let that one go, dear.”

  “Well… we’re supposed to be doing more talking. He and I. It’s not working out as well as I’d hoped so far, but I bet we’ll be talking about that portrait.”

  “That’s a good idea. I know you can figure out how to make things better, easier. The love is there. Everyone can see it. I know it’s hard—man, do I know. It took how many years for Nathan and me to finally wake up and really see each other? Learn from my mistake, honey. Talk to him soon. It’s scary but so worth it. But first come downstairs and have some breakfast. Before you fade away into nothing.”

  “I’m keeping the sunglasses.”

  “As you should. They look gorgeous on you. But everything does.”

  Chase leaned close enough to rest his head on Paulie’s shoulder. “You mean all that, right? I mean, sorry, that’s—”

  “Of course I mean it.” Paulie hugged him so tightly he had trouble breathing. Almost tightly enough to give him the strength to go downstairs. “You’ll do it, I know you will. Because you’re smart enough to figure out how.”

  After a long moment, Paulie stood and smiled down at Chase. His eyes were a little red, but he seemed as happy as always.

  “Oh.” Paulie’s face turned into an honest expression of surprise. “Before I forget, again, I need to apologize for last summer. Nathan thought it would be a nice idea to invite your dad to the parents’ party. He didn’t know, and I missed it, or I would have uninvited him right back.”

  Chase tried to wave that off, but as fast as Paulie had mentioned that disastrous party, the cloak of depression had settled on Chase’s shoulders again. Paulie sat back down, facing him.

  “I don’t understand why you ever gave him the time of day after you left home, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”

  “He’s my dad.” Chase hated the whine in his voice. Until Paulie embraced him again.

  “He’s poison to you. The man blames you for his own failures. You don’t do that to a child, especially not your own. But I guess I see your point. People can change if they really want to. You just disappeared from that party, though, and I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

  “It’s okay.” By okay Chase meant one of the worst days of the twenty-first century, but it wasn’t Paulie’s fault.

  “Come down and have something to eat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wear the sunglasses. Everyone will think you’re hung over. Just be careful not to let Derek corner you. He’s so healthy lately he’ll probably try and make you drink something to cleanse your system.” Paulie stood and smiled down at Chase. “See you soon.”

  “Wait. I don’t trust myself to leave this room on my own.”

  Paulie rested a hand on Chase’s shoulder and applied gentle pressure. “I do. I trust you, Chase. What would you say to Garrett if he said that, about not trusting himself? Come on. Aloud.”

  Chase smiled despite himself. “Okay. I’d say to trust himself and not to hide away because it’s hard. To let me—us—help him feel better.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better.” Paulie kissed Chase’s cheek and headed for the door. “I’ll see you soon, honey.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  GARRETT WAITED for Chase to come down but finally had to get outside before he went up and badgered him. He took the sketch pad he’d swiped from Chase’s bag and sat at the table at the bottom of the wheelchair ramp. When he realized he’d sat there hoping Shane St. Cloud would come and sit with him, he blushed. The whole crew had been working for hours, so while the prospect made him a little giddy, it wasn’t likely to happen.

  The day was already warm but still early enough that Garrett felt safe sitting on the bright side of the table. For a few minutes, he watched the trees at the edge of the backyard sway gently in the breeze, catching glimpses of the sand beyond. Occasionally he saw a flash of light bouncing off the water. The sound of male voices rose from the camp building and then faded, and a dog barked on the beach, but otherwise the only sounds came from the rustling leaves, the shush of the wind, and the distant sound of the surf.

  His coffee had gone lukewarm, but he didn’t want to get up for more, so he swallowed most of it in one long gulp before opening the pad. He felt a little dumb for not bringing one himself, but he’d been preoccupied lately and decided to let that one thing go.

  I’m getting better at letting things go.

  Hopefully not too good….

  Garrett flipped the pad upside down and opened it backward. He sketched an idea for the poster on the last page, which led to two more. Not wanting to use all of the remaining pages, he stopped and closed the pad. And stared at it as though seeing it for the first time. It felt invasive—it was a violation of Chase’s privacy, even if he didn’t usually keep his works in progress a secret—but he didn’t feel the least bit guilty as he turned the first few pages, looking at Chase’s sketches. Chase didn’t do a lot of work before turning to a canvas, not on paper. He planned paintings in his head, a skill Garrett was jealous of. Chase’s process didn’t leave him with a mess of studies—some of them embarrassingly horrible—before he’d even started a project.

  Garrett had learned a lot from Chase’s sketches, especially in the beginning. Their methodical nature made Garrett feel like he’d been in a class, studying under a master. Which was purely guesswork on his part, since he’d never taken an art class. Still, the careful way Chase distilled a complex subject into separate parts, capturing the reality of an object before allowing it to twist against his own brand of surrealism, made Garrett’s heart race.

  The things Chase chose to sketch said a lot about him as a man as well. At least that’s what Garrett had always thought. Chase only sketched the things he wasn’t sure about or had never painted before. Which was why it felt like a sledgehammer to the head to see his own face staring back at him from that sketchpad. Quickly he paged through the next few drawings and saw his own profile, the top third of his face in a three-quarter turn to the left, and finally a very rough sketch of his own smiling face. Slowly, carefully, Garrett closed the pad and placed it on the table.

  Unwilling to delve too deeply into why Chase had started working on a portrait of him—if indeed that’s what the studies were for—Garrett leaned back in his chair and looked up into the trees. The table sat on a deck large enough for four or five people in wheelchairs to sit around it comfortably, with four chairs nearby for others to join them. Garrett crossed his bare feet on the chair in front of him and stared into space, trying not to think about anything at all.

  He did pretty well at that, so when footsteps approached, he startled. But he didn’t turn to look until someone stepped up to the table beside him. Garrett wasn’t interested in conversation, but wasn’t going to be rude either, so he turned and found Eric with a coffee carafe and a small plate of sourdough cinnamon monkey bread that must have been left over from breakfast.

  “You’ve been out here a while, so I thought you could use a refill.” Eric smiled and filled Garrett’s cup.

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to come all the way out here just for me.”

  Eric shook his head and smiled again. “You didn’t eat much at breakfast. Are you hungry?�
� He pushed the plate closer but didn’t bump it into the sketchpad. His gaze did linger on the pad a few seconds longer than anywhere else. “Are you working on the poster?”

  “Sort of.” Garrett sipped his coffee and pulled himself upright in the chair, planting both feet on the warm wood of the deck. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Eric blushed lightly, but Garrett didn’t think much of it. Eric blushed more than anyone he’d ever met, and as long as he wasn’t nervous or upset, it was cute. With a gesture, he asked if he could join him, and when Garrett smiled, he sat.

  “Did the St. Clouds name their protagonist after you?”

  Eric’s blush deepened, and he looked away for a second. Toward the sketchpad. “Yes. The four of us—Shane, Sean, Tim, and I—we stayed up talking out here a few times during the filming of This Pretty Life. Bisexuality came up, more than once, and they asked if I would mind reading a script and giving them feedback.”

  “Did you know they wanted to name the character after you?”

  “Not at first. He was just ‘MC’ in the script I saw.”

  They sipped in silence for a moment. Garrett expected Eric to get up and go inside, but he stayed.

  “Did Tim ever have a problem with you being bi?”

  Eric seemed surprised at the question, even though he also seemed to be waiting for something, but he didn’t answer right away. “Not really. He was curious but didn’t feel like it had anything to do with him, with us. Not any more than the fact that he has a nuclear family and mine is created.”

  “Oh. That’s good.”

  “You’re not saying Chase has a problem with bisexuality, are you?”

  “No. Not really. He doesn’t understand it, but he tries.”

  “I hope he succeeds more often than not. He’s always been so hard on himself.”

  Garrett turned in his chair so he faced Eric head-on. “What do you mean?”

  The next time Eric cut a glance toward the sketchpad, Garrett helped himself to some monkey bread. It wasn’t easy, but he managed not to moan out loud when he took a bite.

  “I’m sure you know. He feels like he needs to be perfect all the time. If he’s not the best at everything, he sees it as a failure, as proof of an innate deficiency of character, and he expects to be severely reprimanded. Perhaps exiled from the family. It’s heartbreaking.”

  Before Eric could go on, maybe expect a response of some kind, Garrett placed the sketchpad in front of him. He also slid the plate in front of himself and pulled another sticky cinnamon piece off the bread. He felt like he might be winding up a little, but the food was so delicious he decided to swing his focus onto it instead of his own emotional state. Maybe it will help.

  Eric looked over with a question on his face, and when Garrett nodded, he smiled and opened the pad. He didn’t linger over the opening pages, but stopped with a soft oh when he reached the first picture of Garrett. He turned the next few pages slowly and then looked up. Eric’s face had a faraway quality, and Garrett thought he wasn’t seeing the backyard or the trees or anything that was literally in front of him.

  “Chase did these, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Eric swung his attention to Garrett and looked like he might cry. “They’re gorgeous. Is he going to paint your portrait?”

  “I hope not, because I don’t look like that.”

  “Yes, you do.” Eric frowned and swept his gaze over Garrett’s face and down his body. “I didn’t know he painted portraits.” The pensive look on his face told Garrett that Eric knew there was more to it than a canvas.

  Not surprising. He’s got more empathy than he knows what to do with.

  “He has, but they’re not his favorite.”

  Eric reached out and touched Garrett’s shoulder. Tentatively at first, but soon he rubbed a little, and when his hand came to a stop he didn’t remove it. “He would do his least favorite thing for you, without hesitation or regret.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t sound happy about that.”

  “It’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  Garrett wasn’t sure why he wanted to open up to Eric like this. They’d never been especially close, even being the only two bisexual men in their group. Or maybe that’s why.

  “Seeing those… I’m not sure what to do with that. He doesn’t like painting portraits, but those are obviously studies to prep for one.” Garrett stared into his coffee cup, swirled the dark liquid, and watched the patterns it made on the inside of the white cup. “It looks like he was hurt or depressed when he drew them.”

  “So you’re feeling guilty. Maybe you should talk to him. Maybe it’s not what you think.”

  “It is, though. I left for a while in April. I….” Garrett shook his head. This is a bad idea. He started thinking of ways to leave the table without hurting Eric’s feelings.

  Eric squeezed his shoulder, and he found himself looking up into Eric’s eyes. “But you’re here now.”

  “But he’s still worried. Why else would he bring this?” When Eric didn’t answer, Garrett dropped his gaze. Eric still clasped his shoulder, though, and Garrett was grateful for the contact, even if it resulted in a cascade of honesty he hadn’t been prepared for.

  “Maybe he just grabbed the first sketchpad he saw. Maybe he’ll be surprised that you found these.”

  Garrett nodded and chewed more slowly so his excuse to remain silent would last longer.

  “He’s easily distracted.” Eric’s arm jerked, and he went on faster. “That’s not a judgment, only a fact. Creative people are like that. Sometimes.”

  “How did you meet? I mean, how did Chase become a part of your family?”

  Eric frowned, just a little, as though the question confused him. A sad expression raced across his face and was gone by the time he answered. “It was at the bar. He and Nathan met first.” Eric squirmed a little but didn’t seem to be having too hard a time. Tim had definitely made him a stronger man—inside and out, if his grip on Garrett’s shoulder was due to muscles and not anxiety.

  Garrett couldn’t help but wonder if his gut was right and Chase and Nathan had done more than just hook up once. I’ll have to make peace with that, since I won’t be asking.

  “He just fit in our family.” The look Eric trained on Garrett took on a faint scolding quality for a second. Then he relaxed. “Chase did. Does. I wish I were better at putting things like that into words. I envy people who write well. Like you.”

  Since he hadn’t written anything in going on a year, that made Garrett feel horrible. Like a fraud. “Sometimes he makes comments about the way I look at women. I broke up with Jess to be with him.” Where did that come from?

  And why isn’t it winding me up? I just said something horrible—the worst kind of disloyal shit that only Eric would really understand—and I’m sitting here all fine and dandy.

  Anxiety makes no sense at all.

  “Oh. I see. But you’re all friends now.” Eric’s voice quavered the tiniest bit, but he didn’t back down. When Garrett glanced at him, Eric hadn’t dropped his gaze either. “Talk to him. Tell him in no uncertain terms that he has nothing to worry about. That you’re committed to him. He’ll see how much you mean it. Chase knows you love him, but it’s nice to hear it while you’re looking at it in your love’s eyes.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Eric.” Garrett’s smile felt strained, but the one Eric answered with gave it a little more strength. “The pictures you’re after are at the back.” Garrett closed the pad, turned it over, and opened it to reveal the drawings he’d made that morning.

  “Thank you for trusting me with the others, honey.” After a gentle squeeze, Eric removed his hand from Garrett’s shoulder and turned his attention to the pad.

  “The Burnside Bridge. A nice large canvas for the graffiti.” Eric shivered the tiniest bit, like he was so excited he couldn’t help it. He turned the pages slowly and looked through the others, stud
ies on which bridge would make the most interesting and dramatic statement. “Any one of these would make a lovely poster. I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.”

  “We’re going to do it together.”

  “Oh.”

  “What? Do you think that’s a bad idea?”

  “No. No, of course not. I just… it’s difficult to imagine your two styles in the same piece.”

  A warmth bloomed in Garrett’s chest as he thought about working with Chase, showing everyone the finished piece. Before he could speak, Eric blushed again and looked extremely uncomfortable.

  “I’m not an artist, though. I’m sure you’ll make it work. Don’t let me discourage you.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s already agreed to do it, and I can already see it.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Were you watching me?”

  “Yes. And I’m not going to apologize for it either. Something is going on with you two, something new, and we’re not just going to sit back and hope it ends well. Consider yourself warned.”

  Garrett did more than that. He considered himself lucky. Loved. He squeezed Eric in a quick hug—quick so he wouldn’t embarrass either of them by bursting into tears and dragging Eric along with him—and then turned his attention back to his plate. “Thanks. For all of it, the room and the talking, the coffee, and these.” Garrett held up the last morsel of monkey bread and then popped it into his mouth.

  “You’re welcome.” Eric stood, refreshed Garrett’s coffee again, and took a step away from the table. He didn’t leave, though, and a moment later turned back to Garrett. “You’ll always be welcome here, Garrett. No matter how things turn out.”

  Eric’s tone and expression made Garrett think he meant even if he and Chase weren’t together. The thought sent a shiver up his back. Eric hugged an arm around his shoulders for a second, kissed his cheek, and went back up the ramp to the kitchen.

  A while later, Garrett went inside and joined everyone in the dining room. Except Jess. She wasn’t around, and nobody seemed to know exactly where she’d gone. Nathan had seen her heading out toward the beach, but she didn’t answer a text.