by Andrew Grey
“Just a little indigestion.” He burped loudly to accentuate his point, and Jonathon rolled his eyes.
“Proof wasn’t necessary, dear.”
They both laughed and then settled into a quiet conversation for the last hour. Pulling into their drive, Jonathon hit the opener and pulled into the garage. “Go on, open the house. I’ll bring in the bags,” Greg said as he opened his door.
“Okay.” Grabbing the cooler from the back seat, Jonathon unlocked the door, dropping the cooler on the counter before opening the patio doors and sliding open windows to let the sea breeze air out the house. After unpacking the cooler into the refrigerator, he put it in the closet before wandering back outside to see what, or more likely who, was keeping Greg.
Walking between the cars in the garage, he saw the open trunk and wandered to the back of the car. He found Greg slumped over the back of the car, his head and torso resting on the suitcases in the trunk. “Greg!” Jonathon shook a shoulder but got no response. Lowering him to the pavement, he realized he wasn’t breathing and began CPR.
“Mr. Pfister, is he okay?”
Jonathon glanced up for a second and saw Joshua, the seven-year-old from next door, standing wide-eyed on the lawn that separated their driveways. “Have your mom dial 9-1-1.” Tears streamed down his face as he continued chest compressions, followed by mouth-to-mouth. “You can’t die, you just can’t die,” he chanted under his breath. Other people rushed over, and Herbert, an orthopedic surgeon from across the street, took charge, relieving him, while his wife, Sheila, took over the breathing. Stumbling back, Jonathon leaned against the car, hand over his mouth, repeating for Greg not to leave him as sirens howled in the distance, becoming louder and louder.
Paramedics arrived and Jonathon backed away farther, getting out of the way, but not so far that he couldn’t see his love. Herbert began barking orders almost before the truck stopped. Needles appeared, and Greg’s shirt was cut open. Herbert raised a huge needle, and Jonathon turned away, unable to watch. He felt almost invisible until one of the neighbor ladies stood next to him, taking his hand in her wrinkled one, talking to him softly. He couldn’t hear what she said, but her tone told him she understood.
Someone yelled, “Clear!” and he saw Greg’s body jump and flop on the ground. Herbert listened and then shook his head. Jonathon walked to Greg, pushing by the paramedics and around the equipment and supplies scattered on the ground. Dropping to his knees, he clenched his eyes closed, willing Greg to wake up and the scene to change. Opening his eyes, it looked the same. Greg was still on the ground, unmoving, and Jonathon knew his love would never move again. Lifting Greg’s hand from the concrete, Jonathon held it to his cheek, weeping softly until someone led him away.
Chapter 2
Ten months later
STARING at the bronze urn as though it were the Holy Grail, Jonathon sat, unmoving, in Greg’s chair in the living room of the Raquette Lake cabin, a blanket wrapped around him against the morning chill. At least this time he’d remembered the blanket. Tears welled in his eyes, falling silently down his cheeks, staining the blanket where they dropped. He’d long stopped trying to dry them; it didn’t work anyway. The only time he’d been able to keep them at bay was when he’d been at work. His third-graders had been like a balm of life for him when he was teaching, but other than that, he was a mess. He knew it, and he just didn’t give a damn. Pulling the blanket tighter, he brought the fabric to his nose, breathing deeply, Greg’s scent faint but still there, making the tears fall faster.
In his will, Greg had asked Jonathon to scatter his ashes on the lake, but he hadn’t had the heart to do it, so they sat on the mantel where he could look at them. In fact, they were never very far away from him. At home, he kept them in the bedroom on the dresser. Here, he’d placed them on the mantel as soon as he’d arrived a week ago, and he’d barely managed to take his eyes off them.
Hours later, a low rumble reached Jonathon’s ears, but he ignored it, still sitting in the chair, lost to the world and to himself as he wallowed in grief that showed no sign of ending. Not that he wanted it to; his grief was all he had left of Greg now—that and the urn. The sound got louder, and Jonathon’s brain processed it as a boat motor, dismissing it as he had the others that passed by. But this one got louder still. Standing up, he walked to the screen door, looking out as the boat he didn’t recognize pulled up to his dock. Turning away, he closed the thick pine door and retreated back to his chair, having no intention of talking to anyone. He ignored the knock a few minutes later that turned to pounding.
“Go away!” he called to the door, not even vaguely interested in who was behind it.
“Jonathon.” He knew that voice. “Open the door.”
Getting up, he walked to the door, pulling it open before slamming it shut again. “What part of ‘go away’ don’t you understand?” Without further comment, he walked back to his chair.
The door opened slowly, “Fuck,” Jonathon swore. “I knew I should have locked the goddamn thing.” He didn’t even turn to look. “What do you want, Marty?”
“Jonathon,” he answered softly, “you have to come back.”
“I don’t have to do anything!” he yelled to the walls.
“Yes, you do,” Marty replied as he stepped closer. “You need to come back. The hearing is tomorrow, and you have to be there.”
“I can’t do this,” Jonathon whispered as he pulled the blanket higher, hoping it would just make him disappear.
“Jonathon,” Marty snapped harshly, making him turn his head, “you have to.” A chair scraped across the floor. “I’ve been Greg’s friend for over forty years. Hell, the only reason I made it through law school was because of him. He was the best man I ever knew, and I won’t let anyone disparage his memory or his legacy. I loved him almost as much as you do, and there’s no way you can let Doreen and those boys try to break his will and go against his wishes. He was very clear about what he wanted, and he spelled it out for you and the rest of the world. You have to do this.”
“I don’t think I can.” Jonathon turned toward Marty and felt the older man hug him tightly. The last of Jonathon’s tenuous hold on his emotions broke, and he sobbed against the man’s shoulder. “I don’t want to go on without him.”
“You have to, Jonathon,” he heard Marty whisper softly in his ear. “Greg wouldn’t want you to feel this way. You know that. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy. It would break his heart to see you like this.” Marty let go and settled back in his chair.
Jonathon wiped his eyes, hanging his head. “I don’t have the strength.”
“Yes, you do,” Marty corrected forcefully. “Because if you don’t, then everything Greg worked for, worked so hard to give you and help provide for you, will ultimately end up under the control of his shrew of an ex-wife.” Marty stood up, and Jonathon saw him looking around the room. “God, don’t you pick up after yourself?” Marty bent down and began gathering things off the floor. “And when was the last time you shaved?” Marty crinkled his nose. “Or bathed, for that matter?”
Jonathon didn’t want to think about it, so he just sat there, hoping all this would go away.
“Up!” Marty tilted the chair forward, practically dumping him on the floor. “I’m not going to allow this, and I’ll kick your butt all the way back to Long Island if I have to. So get your ass moving.” Marty grabbed the blanket, pulling it off Jonathon’s shoulders. “Go get showered and cleaned up. We’re leaving in an hour. You can come back and wallow in self-pity after the hearing, but right now, you have someone I care very much about to take care of.”
Jonathon found himself walking toward the bedroom, stopping in the doorway. “I know you really loved him too.”
“I wasn’t talking about Greg.” Marty stopped what he was doing, standing still. “I was talking about you.”
That stopped Jonathon in his tracks and almost had him hugging the man again, but he didn’t have the energy. Closing the door be
hind him, he stripped off the clothes he’d been wearing for God knew how long, leaving them in a pile on the floor before walking into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, he actually took a step back when he saw himself: eyes puffy and red, face sallow and unshaven, hair uneven and tangled. He looked old—hell, he felt old. Rummaging in one of the drawers, he found some shaving cream.
An hour later, showered, shaved, and dressed, Jonathon opened the bedroom door. “Well, look who rejoined the land of the living,” Marty commented in a sort of singsongy way. “Does this mean you’ll go back with me?”
“Yeah, I’ll go back, but once it’s over, I’m coming back here.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s quiet, and I can think.”
“More like wallow.” Marty threw up his hands when Jonathon started to turn around again. “Okay, okay, if that’s what you want to do, I won’t stop you… not that I could.”
“Good.” Jonathon lowered his arms. “Let’s get things loaded in the boat, and on the way home you can tell me all about this hearing and what it is I need to do.”
“Okay.”
Now that he’d decided to go and get this settled, he found he had some energy. Getting the things he’d need together, Jonathon carried them to his boat. Sending Marty ahead, Jonathon looked around the cabin and then walked to the mantel, kissing his fingers and touching the outside of the warm bronze urn before turning and leaving the cabin.
“TOMORROW is just a hearing, not a trial,” Marty explained as he drove down the expressway. “I don’t think the judge is convinced that the suit Greg’s sons are bringing has much merit, and he doesn’t want to waste court time on something frivolous.”
Jonathon tried to relax but found it impossible. Now that he’d left the quiet of the cabin, he felt strangely disconnected from everything around him. “So what do I need to do?”
“Just be yourself,” Marty began. “As your lawyer and Greg’s best friend, I intend to show that Greg knew exactly what he was doing when he drew up his will and that his kids and you are bound by its terms. Their lawyer, quite frankly, is going to try to depict Greg as unbalanced and under someone else’s influence.”
“Mainly me.” Jonathon hated the sound of that. They were going to try to paint him as a gold digger. “Wonderful.”
“Actually, it’s not all that bad, because you haven’t behaved that way, and there are plenty of people who’re taking your side. But Greg did buy you a very expensive car, as well as the cabin, which alone is worth a small fortune.”
Jonathon struggled against the seatbelt, looking around. The car suddenly seemed so small and confining. “I loved him, and I never asked for the car. When we bought the cabin, it was Greg who insisted it be in my name.”
“I know that,” Marty said smoothly, “and I’ve never doubted it for a second. I’m not saying I think it’s true. I’m just telling you what the other side is going to be trying to prove.”
Jonathon felt like sinking through the floorboards of the car. “How do I stop them from reducing a seventeen-year-long, loving relationship to what sounds like a cheap, tawdry affair? He was the one person who loved me for me. In my entire life, he was the only one who loved me and didn’t expect anything in exchange, except a return of that love.” Jonathon stiffened, turning in the plush seat. “If they want everything, I’d give it to them if I could have Greg back. Every cent is meaningless without him.” Jonathon felt the tears threaten again.
“That’s how you prove it, by being honest and genuine. You know as well as I that this whole thing is because of Doreen. If nothing else, she’s hoping to get control of her children’s trust funds. And by the time those kids reach twenty-five, there won’t be a cent left, because she’ll have spent it all and those boys will have allowed it.” Marty clenched the steering wheel. “Don’t you see that even though you’re opposing them, you’re also doing what’s best for them? They may not see it now, or ever for that matter, but you’re giving them a chance their own mother wouldn’t. Greg knew that—why do you think he made you trustee? Because he trusted you more than anyone else in the world, and he knew he could rely on you. That’s love in my book.” Marty’s attention turned back to the road as they made their way around the city.
Darkness fell as they approached the house he and Greg had shared for much of their life together. “Thank you, Marty.” He turned to look at the man. “For everything.”
Marty turned into the driveway, stopping the car and shutting off the engine. “When Greg first told me he was divorcing Doreen to be with another man, I thought he was throwing his life and career away, but after seeing the two of you together all these years, I realize that he wasn’t throwing anything away. The day he chose you was the day he truly started to live.” Marty unhooked the seatbelt, drawing Jonathon into a hug. “Ruthie would kill me if I didn’t offer you a home-cooked meal and our guest room for the night.”
Jonathon found the ghost of a smile trying to form. “You tell Ruthie that I’ll take her up on that meal real soon. I was serious about going back to the cabin, but maybe you and Ruthie could come up for a weekend this summer.” He almost said that Greg thought it the best place on earth to think, but he couldn’t say the words as a huge lump formed in his throat. Jonathan had no idea how he was going to talk about Greg in front of strangers tomorrow, but he’d find the strength to do what Greg wanted.
“I don’t know if I can get Ruthie away from Wegman’s or Bloomingdale’s for more than three days,” Marty chuckled. “All kidding aside, I think that would be great.” Marty helped him get his things out of the car before pulling away, rolling down his window. “I’ll be by at eight to pick you up.” The window rose and, with a wave, Marty was gone.
Sighing deeply, Jonathon picked up the bags and walked down the now-scruffy walk, with shrubs and plants that he’d once tended by hand now overgrown and rambling. Ignoring them because he just didn’t have the energy, Jonathon unlocked the door and went inside the empty house. Carrying his bags to the laundry, he unloaded their contents into the washer and started it. Leaving the suitcases in the laundry room, he found himself wandering the house. Stopping in the living room, he picked up one of the pictures on the mantel, running his finger over Greg’s smiling face. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Jonathon whispered, staring down at the picture.
The buzz of the washer pulled him out of his daze. Without thinking, he transferred the clothes to the dryer and put in another load. Opening the empty refrigerator, he shook his head and closed the door once again. He knew part of the problem was that he didn’t have anything to do. The house was empty, the cabin was empty, and his life was empty.
Opening the patio doors, he stepped outside, listening to the sound of the ocean until the machines buzzed again. Finished with the laundry, he wandered into the bedroom, stripped and remade the bed, throwing the sheets in the washer before cleaning up and climbing under the covers.
This was the hardest part, and it had been for the last ten months. Most days he could function just fine, but the nights…. Jonathon turned onto his side, trying to calm his mind, but it just wouldn’t stop. Images of Greg with him in this bed, the touch of his hand…. “Stop,” he said to his own mind. Rolling over again, he curled his arms around Greg’s pillow, hugging it, willing his mind to stop whirring as he closed his eyes.
“Jonathon!”
He started awake, hearing footsteps.
“Jonathon, are you up?” Marty’s voice rang through the house.
“Give me a minute, Marty,” he called as he blinked and looked around the sun-drenched room. Before he could get up, the bedroom door opened and Marty raced inside.
“Good God, Jonathon. We have to be in court in less than an hour. You have five minutes to get ready or we’ll be late.”
“Okay, Marty, just give me a minute.” Jonathon pushed back the covers, feeling better than he had in months. “I dreamed of Greg last night.”
“What does…?”
Jona
thon held up his hand. “He told me he loved me. I’ve dreamed of him for months, but I always woke before he could say that. Last night he did.” Jonathon hurried toward the bathroom to get ready. If he was going to do battle for what Greg wanted, then he was going to look his best doing it.
JONATHON climbed the steps slowly, feeling dwarfed by the mammoth columns and no more than a face in the crowd as a steady stream of people filed into the neoclassical building, waiting to go through metal detectors and security. With Marty right behind him, fussing like a mother—he swore the man spit-rubbed his cowlick—Jonathon walked through the security section and into the courthouse.
“We’re on the second floor, room 205.”
“What am I supposed to do again?” Jonathon asked, getting nervous and a little excited at the energy and tension that buzzed around him.
“Shhh,” Marty responded, guiding them toward the elevator.
Jonathon got the message: no questions out here in the hallways where someone might interfere. Why, he had no idea. It wasn’t as though their case was something of national security, but he followed Marty’s guidance and used the opportunity to look around the imposingly massive building with its dark woodwork. Huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling, looking almost as though they were forged at the birth of the city, which of course was the illusion being projected. The elevator doors opened and humanity surged forward, filling the cars for the ride up.
In the hallway outside the closed doors of the courtroom, Jonathon saw Adam and Eric, with Doreen standing nearby, in what looked like a heated discussion with Jeana. The two boys turned away when they saw him coming. But Jeana smiled at him as she wrenched her arm away from her mother and walked over to him and Marty, throwing her arms around Jonathon’s neck. He and Jeana had always gotten along, but her display of affection still took him by surprise. “They’re such mama’s boys, they won’t fart unless she says it’s okay,” Jeana said as she glared at her mother.
