When Memory Fails

by D. W. Marchwell

  “Oh, right!” Scott gave Kari a quick kiss on the cheek and headed back to the kitchen, stopping just short and turning to look at his sister-in-law. “One thing is for sure,” he said as he looked first at Kari and then at Brian. “When you two have this baby, he or she is going to be absolutely gorgeous!” Scott watched as his brother and sister-in-law shared a glance, his own eyes moving to see how pleased Hank was with the comment.

  “And spoiled rotten by a certain uncle,” Brian observed as he deposited the last piece of silverware and took Scott’s vacated spot on the arm of the chair, kissing his wife quickly on the forehead.

  “I’ll try to keep him in line,” Scott said, waggling a finger at Hank.

  “It’ll be hard, I know,” Hank said, his expression impassive as he let Scott have his fun. “I’ll try to control myself.” Hank put an arm around his lover’s waist. “I might need to be physically restrained, though.”

  Scott laughed at the stupid grin on Hank’s face and looked over to see Kari smiling and Brian just shaking his head.

  “Great,” Brian harrumphed through a smile. “Now there’s two of you who’ll teach my kid all about innuendo.”

  “And this coming from the man for whom everything is a reference to penis size!” Scott barked, a peal of laughter following. “I’d think you were compensating for something, but I know better.”

  “Kari?” Hank let go of his lover and made his way back to the family room. “How about you and I run off and raise the kid, give him a fighting chance.”

  Kari laughed, her voice light and crystal clear. I wonder if she can sing? Scott wondered to himself, imagining that Kari would probably be a high soprano. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, swatting her husband. “But I think we’re doomed before we’ve begun. This baby is already half Alan.”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Scott said as he pulled the chicken out of the oven and, after placing it on the butcher-block cutting board on the counter, walked over to where his brother stood. “If he’s anything like his old man, he’ll be sweet and charming and kind and considerate and….” Scott backed away a few steps and finally added, “Have a really annoying, high-pitched laugh.” Scott was far enough away to avoid Brian’s hand but had failed to notice that he’d moved a little too close to Hank. “Ow!” Scott bellowed when he felt the sting of his lover’s hand on the back of one thigh. “See?” he protested, motioning between his brother and his lover when he saw them exchange congratulatory looks. “If you two are just going to gang up on me all the time, I’m moving back to Toronto.”

  “Right,” Hank rejoined and got up to help Scott finish putting all of the food on the table. “Uncle Scrappy!” he said as he took the last platter.

  Chapter 3

  UNCLE HANK. Hank sat back in his chair, the two words seeming to have invaded most of his thoughts for the past two days. Hank was already an uncle four times over, but this one seemed a little different. He had chosen to be part of this particular family, and the idea of a little niece or nephew made him giddy with possibilities. He probably could have experienced the same feelings, he supposed, with the sons and daughters of his own sisters, but that would have entailed Hank never having moved to Vancouver Island, which would have meant enduring the endless questions about marriage and children and carrying on the family name. His father didn’t drink very often, but when he did, he seemed to get far bolder with his questions and accusations than when he was sober. Even when Mom is there to try and act as the buffer, Hank thought to himself, picking up the sheets of paper he would need today and placing them on the clipboard.

  It wasn’t as if Hank had tried to make his father angry, but Hank had never wanted what his father obviously thought he should. He’d never had any desire to go into insurance like his father or into the medical field like his mother and two sisters. He’d wanted something more adventurous, more exciting than checking patients or reminding people why they needed insurance. Hank had always been more attracted to being the person who needed reminding. He’d tried firefighting, and while there was a lot of adventure and excitement involved, there had also been the downtime, the times when he checked equipment or took more training or—and this was the worst part—when he had to see the devastation and loss people suffered whenever there was a fire. He’d realized within the first few years that he would never get used to the sounds of someone who’d lost a loved one in a fire. He’d also realized he didn’t want to stay a firefighter long enough to want to get used to it.

  And so he’d cleaned house. He’d moved far enough away from his family to keep the questions at bay and close enough to be where the logging was. Well, the kind of logging he wanted to do, anyway. He could have gone farther north onto the mainland, but he hadn’t wished to be that far away from civilization and the big cities. Living in Duncan was perfect. He could take off anytime he wanted and head west to the other side of the island. He smiled as he looked at the photograph of him and Scott at French Beach. They’d taken it during their second trip, the one just after Hank had gotten released from the hospital and just after Scott had moved all of his stuff from Toronto to Hank’s townhouse. It’s ironic, he found himself thinking, that I always thought of this town as the starting point for every journey I would take. But after the whirlwind journey that was Scott, he’d been pleasantly surprised to realize that the desire for any other journey was gone. He’d been home all along and merely waiting for someone who wanted to share it with him.

  And then there was that. Home. And family. Hank had never felt so loved and wanted as he did when he was with Scott and Brian and Kari. But it wasn’t his own family. He’d wanted to call his sisters so often and try to reconnect, but he always had difficulty dismissing that voice in the back of his head that told him they would all—his father especially—cast him aside, cast his love for Scott aside. And that would leave him with no family of his own. It’s almost easier if we all ignore each other than it is for me to find out that they don’t want me in their lives ever again. When he thought about what his family might say or do, Hank couldn’t help but agree with that old adage that ignorance is bliss. If he never put himself out there, he would never have to know the truth of their feelings, never have to let go of the hope he’d been clinging to ever since he realized that being with Scrappy was more important than carrying on the family name just to make his father proud. In those darker moments, when he was out checking the progress of the jobs they did have, like he would be later on today, his thoughts would also sometimes turn to whether he wanted to put Scott through any of the drama that his family might bring.

  Hank knew Scott pretty well, and despite the zest for life, that indomitable spirit, and the enviable ability to overcome any obstacle, Hank also knew that he could never knowingly put Scott in harm’s way. He wished it weren’t so, but he was very certain that if his father said or did anything to hurt his Scrappy, it wouldn’t matter that the man was his father. Hank would have no problems pummeling him to within an inch of his life. Which led Hank to realize, inevitably, that it was best to stay out of his family’s lives completely. Scott had always seen something in Hank that even he himself had never seen. And since the potential to lose control was too great and the loss of Scott’s respect and love far too much to bear, to the point that it made Hank physically ill, Hank usually gave up any hope of any kind of reconciliation.

  Scott was proud of him, loved him with everything he was and had, shared everything with him with no thought of himself. There was no way that Hank would ever ruin that, not for his father, not for his sisters, not even for his mother. Resigned once again to the inevitable conclusion of all of these thoughts about family, that he would have to let his family come to him, Hank smiled at the picture of Scott that sat on his makeshift desk, picked up his clipboard, and headed for his truck. He would be early to the site, but that was the way he wanted it. He would be heading out to the site where Roddy and Hughy were completing some windfirming, and if he got there early enough
to see that they hadn’t arrived on time, well, that would be something else to smile about today.

  SCOTT stared down at the piece of paper in his hand and then shifted his eyes to the phone. Why is it that I make these promises to myself, full of conviction and fortitude the night before, only to chicken out when it actually comes time to do something? He dropped the phone on the sofa cushion beside him, his hands playing idly with the piece of paper while he thought of the ride home last night.

  It should have been a time of celebration and happiness, and it had been, for the most part. But Scott couldn’t help but see the shift in Hank’s demeanor. He’d been just as elated as the rest of them when Kari and Brian finally made the announcement, but as the evening progressed, Scott had noticed how quiet and introspective Hank had become, and no one needed to explain the reason to Scott.

  Despite his conviction never to tell Hank that none of his family had called to check on him, let alone come to visit him, during his hospital stay two years ago—the hospital stay that could just as easily have ended with Hank suffering much more severe consequences than the scar on his right side—he’d finally had no choice, one night when Hank had asked him about it.

  “Not even Sandra?”

  Scott had been sitting on the sofa, Hank’s head in his lap, while he combed his fingers through the soft chestnut waves, looking down into those beautiful but sad green eyes. It was at that moment that Scott realized how much Hank had given up for him. If Hank had continued his carousing with women, he might eventually have settled down and regained his family. Perhaps, then, his father would have been able to show some pride and approval for his only son. But Scott feared that Hank might one day regret losing his family for good.

  They’d had many conversations, albeit indirectly, about the possibility of Hank reconnecting with his family, but each of those conversations had ended the same way: Hank did not want to learn what his family would honestly think of the life he’d made for himself in Duncan, did not want to see the looks on their faces when he introduced them to the man who’d given him everything. I’d rather not know what they think than have to stand there and watch you get hurt.

  Despite Scott’s protests to the contrary, Hank was quite convinced that it was his responsibility to take care of the younger man. I know what they can be like, Scott, and I won’t knowingly let them hurt you. It was usually Scott’s cue to stop pushing, to stop trying to reassure his lover that he could handle anything, that they could handle anything, and show how grateful he was to have found Hank.

  And so he sat staring at the phone, his hands still folding and unfolding the piece of paper, and wondered yet again where all of his resolve from the previous evening had gone. No one would ever accuse Scott of being analytical, by any means. He was much more of an impulsive, go-with-the-gut kind of person, especially when it came to Hank. Meeting and falling in love with Hank had knocked Scott on his ass, had upended his entire life, literally and figuratively. He’d moved back home, and with last night’s announcement, he was glad that he had, since it would mean being so much closer to his niece or nephew, not to mention his brother and new sister-in-law.

  But didn’t it also mean that he had a responsibility to help Hank? What was the use of being here with Hank if he couldn’t help his partner and friend? Was he just supposed to sit around and do nothing while Hank was hurting?

  Frustrated as he always was with never knowing the answers to those questions, Scott tossed the piece of paper on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen to find something to eat. He’d been sitting on the sofa, phone and paper in hand, for almost two hours, and his growling stomach had reminded him that he’d not eaten since breakfast.

  Finding an apple, he leaned against the counter and stared off into space as he munched. If I do this, if I do get ahold of Sandra and she’s not interested, and Hank finds out, it could be enough to lead to our first real fight. Scott had no illusions that there hadn’t been disagreements, but they’d never actually fought about anything, not the kind of fighting that involved yelling and slamming doors and hours of silence. Of course, he was also more than willing to admit that he hadn’t had any real frame of reference when it came to how a relationship should work, besides his own family and Brian’s marriage to Jennifer.

  Hank had never shown any kind of unwillingness to discuss things, had never lashed out in anger, and had never given Scott the silent treatment. Not once. But then, they’d never really had anything of this magnitude to deal with. The most contentious disagreement that they’d had up until this point was over whether Hank could deal with being kept, as he’d called it, while Scott paid for everything, so that they could both help Brian’s business. At first, Hank had balked at the idea, trying to make Scott see that it could wound Brian at the most basic level of the male ego. What I’m trying to tell you, Scott, Hank had tried explaining finally, when he realized his lover just wasn’t getting the point, is that a man needs to feel that he can provide for his family, that he’s a good provider, a capable provider. No man wants to feel as if he’s a failure.

  Of course, Hank had been able to understand Scott’s side as well. Scott had patiently explained that sitting around and watching the business fail would do nothing to squash those same feelings, that the only difference between helping and not helping Brian and his business would be that Scott had allowed himself to sit around and watch as his brother suffered, even though Scott had plenty of money in the bank and therefore the means to prevent not only the failure of the business, but the suffering of his only brother. Hank had professed to have no real opinion on the matter, explaining finally that he would support Scott regardless of his decision. But Scott had been able to see the understanding and compassion in Hank when the older man had finally agreed to forgo cashing his paychecks.

  It was this understanding and compassion, this almost instant adopting of Scott’s family as his own, that made Scott want to reach out to Hank’s family. Scott wanted, more than anything, to give Hank what he wanted. Scott knew that Hank often tried to downplay the importance of reuniting with his family, but he also knew how guarded Hank could be.

  In the past two years, Scott had been able to discern that there were really two different Hanks: the one who had promised Brian that he would take care of Scott and never hurt him, and the other Hank, a son, a brother, an uncle, all to family members who didn’t seem to care about him. Scott always chose to ignore the fact that Hank had probably done his share of ignoring as well and concentrate solely on the need that must still burn inside of this other Hank, the need to feel as if he hadn’t been so easy to forget.

  As he looked down at the fruit, his absent-minded chewing having consumed almost the entire apple, core and all, Scott knew that he would make the call. Tossing the remains of the apple in the trash can, he headed back to the living room and picked up the phone, dialing the number he now knew from memory, since he’d stared at it for so long. He brought one hand to rest near his armpit, clamping it between his other arm and rib cage so that he wouldn’t chicken out, and dismissed the little voice in his head telling him to use the hand holding the phone to hang up. Right now!

  After three rings, Scott heard the familiar voice of Sandra asking for a message. Scott pulled his hand free, hit the end button, and tossed the phone on the sofa. He’d not thought far enough ahead to consider any kind of message he might leave. Of course, people might not answer the phone, but Scott had only considered, albeit foolishly, the possibility of speaking with Sandra. He had not given any thought to what he might say in a message. Feeling appropriately chastised, he walked back to the kitchen and filled a plastic tumbler with some cool water. He let the refreshing liquid calm his nerves and thoughts.

  Twenty minutes later and another apple eaten, Scott marched purposefully to the living room, retrieved the phone, and punched in the number. He was thrown for another loop when, this time, he heard the voice of a child on the other end.

  “My name is Scott Al
an,” he began, speaking very slowly and clearly. “Is your mommy there?” Scott held the receiver away from his ear as the little girl screamed for her mother, bringing it back quickly when he heard a familiar adult voice.

  “Heather, honey, how many times has Mommy told you not to answer her phone?” The voice was getting louder, until—“Hello?”

  “Hello, Sandra?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “This is Scott Alan, I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

  “I’ve already spoken with Christine and told her that I’m not interested in the upcoming reunion, so is there any way you could just take me off the list?”

  “Uh,” Scott stammered, wondering if he shouldn’t just agree and hang up. “I’m sorry, but I’m not with any reunion committee. I called you about two years ago, when Hank was in the hospital?”

  “Oh, oh!” Scott waited for any kind of reaction. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve been getting calls for…. Anyway, uh, yes, yes, now I remember.”

  “I was just calling to see if you and your family might be interested in coming out to visit, spend an afternoon, maybe have a picnic or something?” As the words tumbled out of his mouth, Scott realized how inanely casual he sounded and was anticipating a curt rebuttal followed by a dial tone. Hank is going to kill me! Scott thought as he brought a fist to his forehead.

  “Well,” Sandra started, and the ensuing seconds felt like hours to Scott. “Why isn’t Hank calling me himself?” Scott opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Sandra’s next question: “Does he know you’re calling me?”

  “No.” Scott closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

  “Shouldn’t he be the one to call me?” Scott heard a sigh, barely audible through the phone line. “I mean, if he’s actually interested in patching things up, he should really be the one to call, right?”