When Memory Fails

by D. W. Marchwell

  And as his mind remembered the indescribable sensation of his bare skin against his Scrappy’s bare skin, Hank closed his eyes, gritted his teeth against the intensity of the orgasm, and breathed Scott over and over again against his lover’s smooth, moist chest. He felt the hair being brushed out of his eyes and looked down to see Scott’s smiling face.

  “And to think I didn’t want to get that movie,” Hank said with a grin, rolling onto his back and pulling Scott on top of him.

  Chapter 5

  IF HANK smoked, he would probably have finished an entire pack in the half hour he’d been pacing outside of the office building that housed Brian’s company. But he didn’t smoke, and so he placed yet another red Twizzler in his mouth and let it hang as he pondered and chewed little by little, the end of the sweet candy inching closer and closer to his mouth as it bounced up and down, as if it was trying its best to stave off its eventual demise. He’d gone over the arguments in his mind a thousand times and was prepared to go over them another thousand times if it would eventually save him and Scott some awkwardness and heartache. He’d not yet even spoken to Sandra, and he wouldn’t until he could settle his mind from asking some of the same questions over and over again.

  Assuming Scott was right in his recounting of the conversation with Hank’s youngest sister, she’d said that she was glad Scott had contacted her, that she’d thought many times of contacting her only brother, and that even her husband, whose name escaped Hank at that moment, had been pestering her to reconnect. But if Hank believed all of that to be the absolute truth, then Sandra’s hesitation to actually follow through could have been caused by one of two events, neither of which was terribly reassuring to Hank: either Sandra knew that their father had not changed and figured it was best to leave sleeping dogs lie, or Sandra had no real interest in contacting him and only said as much to placate her husband and Scott. Hank was leaning toward the latter—not that the former didn’t have its own merits—because Sandra had always had a very difficult time saying no to people, especially people she cared about. Hank could remember more than one family drama having erupted because Sandra had promised to help Mom, forgotten, and then promised to help Kathy, one of the women always ending up abandoned and pissed.

  Hank dug his hand into his pocket, the one with the slip of paper on which was written Sandra’s cell number, and sighed, bringing the paper out under the midday sun. He reached absent-mindedly into his back pocket for another Twizzler and found the package empty. He decided to take it as a sign, and before his mind could begin the same circular journey around the argument as to whether their father could have really changed and whether Sandra’s not actually calling could be tied directly to that, Hank closed his eyes and punched in the ten digits. He wasn’t sure if the sharp trills of the phone ringing or the insistent thumping of his heart was making the louder noise, and as he heard his baby sister’s voice for the first time in more than five years, he was filled with relief that he was finally going to find out—one way or the other—if his family wanted him back.

  “IT’S a very clear image. Would you like to know the sex?”

  The ultrasound technician was looking at Brian and Kari. Scott stifled a laugh, thinking that his brother would keel over any second now. Scott had figured that he would have to wait outside during the appointment, but Brian had clung to his younger brother for dear life, pulling him along, leaving the gathering nurses and attendants, Scott figured, amused and wondering what this expectant father would be like when it came time for the actual delivery.

  “You can tell already?” The pale and bemused expression that had heretofore been on Brian’s face was quickly replaced by a slow smile. He turned to look at his wife, her smile announcing that her moist eyes were due to happiness.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go out and paint the room just yet, but it’s as clear as any I’ve seen at twenty weeks,” the technician said as she pointed to the screen, both Kari and Brian squinting. “I would concentrate more on finding just the right boy’s name.”

  “A son?”

  Scott found himself leaning closer to his brother and giggled. “Hey, dad, can I have the car?”

  “Girls ask that too,” the technician groaned. “Trust me.”

  “Ah, I want a niece now,” Scott moaned. “Can you two have another one right away?”

  “A son,” Brian said again, oblivious to Scott’s attempts to tease. Scott stood back, watching the look that his brother gave Kari. The tears were streaming freely from Kari’s beautiful eyes now, and she reached out to caress her husband’s cheeks as she accepted his gentle kisses.

  “Do I get to suggest baby names, as the kid’s only blood uncle, I mean?” Scott stepped forward and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  “Only living blood uncle,” Brian corrected, and Scott’s brow furrowed.

  “I had a brother, but he was killed in an auto accident when he was in high school.” Kari’s smile dimmed slightly, and Scott pinched his brother’s back.

  “Ow, what the hell?” Brian griped after Scott punched his shoulder.

  “You couldn’t have told me that?”

  “It’s okay, Scott,” Kari comforted. “It was a very long time ago.”

  “Still,” Scott said, staring at the back of his brother’s head. “I’m going to leave so I don’t ruin what’s left of this singular event in both your lives.” Scott headed toward the door, pretending not to notice the smile on the technician’s face.

  “Only mine,” Brian said faintly as Scott pushed back the curtain and reached for the door. “Kari’s been through this already.”

  “Not with you,” Scott countered and let the door shut behind him, wanting to run up and down the halls, telling everyone that he was going to be an uncle.

  “SANDRA?”

  “Yes?” The word was drawn out and filled with more recognition than uncertainty. “Hank? Is that you?”

  “Yes,” Hank said through a smile. “It’s me. How you doing, Freckles?”

  “My God,” Sandra laughed. “I haven’t heard that name in years.” Hank waited, trying to imagine if Sandra was as happy as she sounded. “I’m doing a lot better now, Inchy. Wow, I can’t believe this.”

  Hank opened his mouth but closed it when he heard the nickname his sisters had always called him. It was an oxymoron, since he was so tall. “Yeah,” Hank said. “It’s been a while.” He heard Sandra agree, thinking that Scott would probably love to find out that particular nickname and adopt it for his own use.

  Sandra cleared her throat. “Listen, I was actually going to come and see you when you were in the hospital, but the kids weren’t in school yet, and Jeff had been away on business, and—”

  “You don’t need to explain anything to me, Freckles.” Hank gripped the phone tighter in his hand and leaned against his truck. “Scott told me you’d tried but were real busy,” he lied, wondering if he should have just kept his mouth shut, since he didn’t really know what Sandra had said to Scott. The old instinct to protect his baby sister had never really left him, apparently.

  “I like him, Hank. I was glad that he called me, but…,” Sandra started, and Hank waited. “Well, I wasn’t sure of just how much he knew, and then—”

  “He knows almost everything, Freckles.” Hank switched the phone to his other hand, surprised to feel so much perspiration on his palms, even more streaming down his back in cooling rivulets. “Well, as much as I could remember, anyway.”

  “And you’re still together? I mean, I know he called two years ago, but—”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re still together. It was two years ago this spring,” Hank said as he brought one hand to scrub at his heated neck, his hand hot and moist against his sun-warmed skin. “It was a bit of surprise, falling in love with a man.”

  “I wasn’t,” Sandra said. “Surprised, I mean.”

  “Oh yeah?” Hank said, trying not to sound too bowled over by that revelation.

  “After what happened with Jane,
I just figured that there must be something much more complicated going on than you just not being able to find the right woman,” Sandra announced so matter-of-factly that Hank felt himself a fool and proud of his sister, both at the same time.

  “Would’ve been nice to let me in on the secret.” Hank was joking, but when Sandra didn’t answer right away, he thought he’d misspoken. He opened his mouth to offer an apology or an explanation, but then his sister started speaking again.

  “You weren’t really listening to much of anything we had to say back then, Hank.”

  “Yeah,” Hank said, recognizing the truth of that statement. “I was a little lost, I guess.”

  “Not now, it seems,” Sandra said, a brightness and levity coming back into her voice. “Ancient history. So, your man wanted to know if we’d be interested in a little get-together?”

  “Yeah,” Hank said, relieved that they weren’t going to rehash everything right now. “He’s a bit of a force of nature when he sets his mind to something.”

  “Kind of sounds like Dad, then,” Sandra announced, and Hank felt his relief fade a little bit. “Well, we won’t bring the kids, but Jeff and I discussed it, and we’d love to come out for dinner… catch up… meet Scott. Mom and Dad have volunteered to take the kids for a weekend, but Jeff and I won’t be staying over. We’ll just come out for an evening and then maybe spend a lazy Sunday being tourists in Victoria.”

  “Are you sure?” Hank was stunned to find himself about to offer the spare bedroom. “There’s plenty of room.”

  “Nah, I’m sure, thanks.”

  “Okay, well, I guess the ball’s in my court, then.” Hank pushed himself away from the side of the truck and nodded, forgetting that his sister couldn’t see him. “I’ll talk to Scott and then call you back, probably tonight sometime.”

  “Sounds great,” Sandra said, the smile evident in her voice.

  “What’s my cutoff?”

  “Kids go to bed at eight, so if you could try to call before then?” Sandra didn’t wait for a response before adding, “I always turn off my phone after eight, so if you call any later, just leave a message. Okay?”

  “Will do,” Hank said, nodding again. “Bye, Freckles.”

  “See you soon, Inchworm.”

  Hank flipped his phone shut and looked down at the dark sweat stain that ran down the center of his blue button-down, wondering how long he’d have to stay outside in the cool breeze before it disappeared. He walked back into the office building and down the hall to his office, completely unaware that he was still smiling broadly.

  SCOTT plunked away at the keys. The afternoon spent with his brother, his sister-in-law, and his nephew had stirred his creative juices. He pulled the pencil out of his mouth and scribbled the final notes to the song he’d been stressing over for almost two months. He wasn’t in need of any money, and he had no responsibility to finish a musical score. This was just his OCD kicking in, berating him until he finished what he’d started.

  He reached his hands above his head, straightening and stretching his back, then returned his fingers to the keyboard and sang along to the song for the first time, stopping occasionally to change a note here or there until he was completely satisfied with the song. He didn’t have any idea who might want to record the slow, sweet ballad. It wasn’t a power ballad by any means, the range being squarely in the range of any singer, spanning only three-quarters of an octave. As his fingers experimented with extemporaneous ornamentation, he tried to imagine who might be ideal for the song, coming up with only three possibilities.

  He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he jumped when his brain registered the faint scent. Hank was not one to wear cologne—or a scent of any kind, for that matter—yet he always seemed to smell of the outdoors and a unique muskiness that was redolent of an honest day’s labor. Scott tilted his head to the side slightly as he felt Hank’s heated breath caress the cool skin of his neck. As his lover’s lips made contact, Scott closed his eyes and melted into the embrace of the two strong arms encircling him from behind. He whimpered, the sound coming without conscious thought as Hank’s lips moved up to kiss his ear and then his temple.

  “I only caught the last few bars,” Hank mumbled against the skin of Scott’s temple. “Do you take requests for encores?”

  “No,” Scott teased. “But I can make an exception for you.”

  “It was beautiful,” Hank said as he pulled on Scott’s thighs to turn him so that they were facing each other. “Sad, but beautiful.”

  “Really? You thought it was sad?” Scott’s hands went instinctively to Hank’s blue button-down shirt and began unfastening the buttons.

  “The last little bit I heard, yeah.” Hank was on his knees now, his own hands petting and exploring. “What’s it about?”

  “I don’t remember where I got the words from,” Scott began to explain as he freed the tails of the shirt from Hank’s khaki trousers. “I think it might have been something that Marc gave to me once. You remember me talking about Marc, right? One of my roommates back in Toronto and one of the members of our jazz trio, Dragonfly?” He noticed Hank nod just once. Scott used his eager hands, skimming the shirt off the formidable shoulders, and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Hank’s neck, inhaling more of the scent that always made him so relaxed. His tongue crept out of his mouth and traced a path along his lover’s neck, stopping to nibble on the soft earlobe. “Salty,” he whispered against Hank’s ear. “Busy day?”

  “Not especially,” Hank answered. “Worked up quite a nervous sweat, though, when I was talking to Sandra.”

  Scott pulled back quickly, noticing the cautious smile that pulled at Hank’s lips. “And?”

  “Told her I needed to check with my man when she suggested she and Jeff come out for dinner this weekend.” Hank’s hands found their way under Scott’s T-shirt, skimming over the warm skin, his eyes darting back and forth, focusing on one of Scott’s and then the other.

  “Of course it’s okay,” he protested. “It’s your home too.”

  “And yours,” Hank added. “You paid off the mortgage.”

  “Which was less than half,” Scott corrected. “And since you wouldn’t let me pay for exactly half, you own more than I do.”

  “Six of one, half a dozen….” Hank shrugged and licked his lips, leaning in for a kiss. Scott obliged him and pulled against the back of his lover’s neck, the kiss deepening until Hank pulled away in order to breathe. “You know I don’t care about that stuff.”

  “I don’t either,” Scott said quickly. “But I just don’t want you to think that what’s mine isn’t yours.”

  “I don’t,” Hank said with a smile, pulling against the small of Scott’s back until their torsos were pressed together. “So? What do you think?” Hank stole a quick kiss, his mood relaxed and happy. “You ready to start meeting the family?”

  “Of course,” Scott repeated. “What were you thinking in terms of plans?”

  Hank shrugged, his hands growing restless, his eyes looking longingly at Scott’s neck.

  “Picnic? Semi-formal dinner? Barbecue out on the deck?”

  “’S all good,” Hank mumbled before kissing and nipping at his lover’s earlobe.

  Scott pulled away from the full lips and talented tongue, chuckling to himself when he saw the befuddled expression on Hank’s face. “I’m just the cook for this one. You pick something and I’ll make sure it’s perfect.”

  “Now?” Hank sat back on his haunches, his hands landing with a thud on his own thighs.

  Scott got a smile when he slid off the chair and moved onto those muscular thighs. “Well, the sooner you decide, the sooner I can make sure everything is perfect.” He leaned forward and skimmed the shirt completely off Hank’s muscular frame, depositing it on the floor beside them. “If everything else if perfect, you’ll have fewer things to worry about and can concentrate on making things right with your sister.”

  Hank’s hands found their way undernea
th Scott’s T-shirt again, but this time he moved his hands up so that the T-shirt joined his button-down on the floor. “Thank you for calling her.”

  “You’re welcome, baby.” Scott’s hands lost themselves in the chestnut waves as their mouths came together in that slow, familiar manner that signaled an imminent session of prolonged foreplay and sensual lovemaking. Scott closed his eyes as he felt Hank’s head descend to lave at his nipples.

  “Which reminds me,” Hank murmured against one of Scott’s nipples. He brought his head up to look in his lover’s eyes, prepared to endure the teasing and the peals of uncontrolled laughter when he admitted what he would never be able to hide from Scott. “You might hear Sandra use a nickname instead of calling me Hank.” Hank shook his head and tried to suppress the smile that was threatening as he studied the unmitigated glee on his lover’s face.

  “Finally!” Scott said as he combed his fingers through the thick, silky waves. “I promise not to laugh.”

  Hank took a deep breath and sighed. “It’s one of those oxymoron nicknames,” he started to explain. “Because I’m so tall.”

  “Yeah, okay, what is it?”

  “Inchy.”

  “Itchy?” Scott raked his fingers back and forth gently over Hank’s scalp, as if to mime what one does to an itch.

  “No,” Hank said, his face registering annoyance and/or confusion—Scott couldn’t tell which. “Inchy, as in Inchworm, as in one inch, two-point-five centimeters… as in—”

  “Oxymoron is right,” Scott said, his voice muted and incredulous as his hand trailed down the thick muscles of Hank’s arms and began to undo the button and zipper of his khaki trousers. “Maybe Footy would have been more appropriate.” Scott’s hand found its prize, and he pushed his thumb in between the bulbous head and the foreskin. “As in many, many inches,” Scott began to explain, his words cut off by Hank’s eager lips.