Something Like Winter

by Jay Bell

  Ben appeared puzzled. “Where is she, anyway?”

  “Running an errand for me.” They eyed each other for a moment, soaking up the details. “Hey, have you seen much of the paintings?”

  “A little,” Ben said, “but a tour from the artist himself would be very informative.”

  “All right, grand tour, but only if you promise to buy something.”

  Ben exhaled. “Do the postcards count?”

  “Those are free, and yes.”

  Tim led Ben from painting to painting, eager to show him the ones he hadn’t seen, dragging him this way and that. Occasionally people would overhear their conversation and ask Tim questions or make their own comments. That was fun, but the night wasn’t really about his art or this gallery. It was about Ben, so Tim spontaneously took his hand and led him toward the back exit.

  “There’s one more piece I’d like to show you,” Tim said. “Something really special to me.”

  He led them out to the parking lot, expecting Ben to stop him and demand an explanation, but so far he was rolling with it. Hopefully Allison had kept her part of the bargain. He walked Ben to the passenger side of his car, letting go of his hand.

  “Have any idea what sort of car this is?” Tim asked, opening the door for him.

  “Nope.”

  “Care to know?”

  “Not really.”

  Tim chuckled. “It’s a Bentley. I figured it was the next best thing to the real deal.”

  Ben smiled, which alone was worth the expensive price tag.

  Once Tim was in the car and driving, he glanced over to see Ben looking a lot less certain. He wanted to comfort him, to explain what was happening, but he also didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Most of all he wanted to tell Ben he was sorry about Jace, to find some words to make the pain disappear from his heart, but Allison had said not to broach the subject. Tonight was about the future, or so they hoped.

  “Won’t you be missed at the gallery?” Ben asked.

  “Me? No. We had one of those life-size cardboard cutouts printed of me that will go in the corner. No one will know the difference.”

  “What about me?” Ben said. “It’s only a matter of time before someone calls the police.”

  Tim shrugged. “They’ll have to pay the ransom if they want you back.”

  There was a heavy pause. “Where are we going?”

  “Trust me. We’re almost there.”

  Holy crap! How had any of this sounded like a good idea? Tim should have just called Ben and asked him out on a nice boring date. When he and Allison had planned this, it had all seemed so clever. Now…

  Tim pulled into a neighborhood. Beside him, Ben grew tense. This was where Ben lived. Tim had driven past his house every night last week, looking at lit windows and marveling that the man he loved was just behind them.

  “What are we doing here?” Ben asked when they pulled into his driveway.

  “I wanted to show you a special painting of mine.”

  Ben relaxed visibly. “You mean the one you gave me for my birthday.” He smirked. “You can’t have it back.”

  But Tim knew that the painting was no longer there.

  He followed Ben inside, feeling less and less certain. This was the house Ben and Jace had saved their money to buy, where they had shared their final years together. When Ben turned on the living room lights, Jace’s old cat Samson woke up, watching Tim curiously from the couch. Ben was looking at the cat too, no doubt thinking of his husband.

  “Jace—” Ben began.

  “—was a good man,” Tim finished for him. “The best, in fact. I would never dishonor his memory, and I will never, ever be able to replace him. No one could.”

  Samson hopped down and walked up to Tim, sniffing his leg and rubbing against him before doing the same to Ben. Then he returned to his place on the couch to continue his nap. Well, that was one vote in his favor. He turned to Ben, who was staring at a nearby wall. There, where the old painting had been before Allison took it, hung the one Tim had recently completed. The colors and spirit were the same as the painting from so long ago, but now the emotions flowed freely, no longer denied. Tim had poured all of those feelings on the canvas, choosing two hands instead of hearts, the fingers intertwined. One hand was clearly his own, the other what he remembered of Ben’s. Glancing down, he saw that his memory hadn’t failed him. Ben raised his hand as if seeing it for the first time, and Tim gently took hold of it, adjusting their fingers, weaving them together until they matched those of the painting.

  “I love you, Benjamin Bentley. I should have told you that twelve years ago. I’ve always loved you.”

  Tim looked into Ben’s eyes and saw uncertainty, maybe even fear. Once upon a time, it’s what Ben must have seen when looking into his own. Tim didn’t let it dissuade him. Ben had taught him how to bring a heart out of the dark. Tim could finally do the same for him.

  “What now?” Ben asked.

  “Now we start over.”

  Tim leaned forward for a kiss, only bridging half the distance. The rest was up to Ben—had to be his choice. Ben closed his eyes and leaned forward, their lips touching, and they were teenagers again. Time had granted them mercy, turned back the clock, and given them a second chance.

  “Wait,” Ben said, pulling away. His cheeks were flushed. “This is going so fast.”

  Tim chuckled. “Twelve years later and you think a kiss is too fast?” Tim leaned forward again, and this time the kiss lasted longer. But then Ben fell into him, clutching arms around his torso and hiding his face against Tim’s neck. He could feel tears against his skin.

  “I know,” Tim whispered, wrapping arms around him. “I mean, I don’t know, but I can imagine.”

  This had to be weird. Ben had kissed Jace for years, had kissed him last, and maybe what he was doing now felt like betrayal. Or maybe it just felt strange, because it really was a lot to process, even for Tim.

  “We’ll take it slow,” Tim said. “There’s no need to rush into anything. I just want to spend time with you. Okay?”

  Ben’s head nodded against his neck, and when he pulled away, his smile was brave.

  “I love it,” Ben said, glancing at the painting. He took hold of Tim’s hand with firm determination. “I love seeing you again.”

  “Yeah, it feels good. Crazy and unreal, but good.”

  Ben sniffed, sighed, and composed himself. When he spoke again, he sounded like his old self. “Where’s the old painting? If you sold it at the gallery, I demand half the proceeds.”

  “You’ll have to ask Allison,” Tim said. “Maybe she’s planning to give it to Brian as a present.”

  “She better not!”

  Tim squeezed his hand. “She’s probably back at the gallery by now. We could return there if you want. I should probably be there since it’s my show.”

  “It’s your first exhibition, right?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t mean that as much as the gallery opening. I’m heading the Eric Conroy Foundation now.”

  Tim told him all about his work as they headed back to the gallery, glad he had something to report that he could feel proud of. No more spoiled rich boy wallowing in his own misery. Everything was different, and maybe this time it would be enough.

  The nightlife had poured into Austin’s streets, the vibe at the gallery more like a party now. Taking care of the visitors and maintaining order occupied most of Tim’s attention, but every time he searched the crowds he found Ben not far away. Their eyes would lock and they would smile. Definitely a promising start, but so much still needed to happen.

  At the end of the evening, Tim offered to drive Ben home. Allison complained teasingly, insisting that Ben was her date before winking and leaving them alone. The ride back to Ben’s house was quiet. Tim wasn’t sure of Ben’s thoughts, but he dreamt of spending the night together, even if they only stayed up talking. Regardless, he would keep his promise to move slowly.

  “Can I have you tomorrow?” Tim
asked as he pulled up to the curb.

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of words.”

  “I mean, do you have any plans?”

  Ben shook his head. “There’s a new play starting soon, but rehearsals aren’t until next week. What did you have in mind?”

  “I thought we’d go for a drive. Maybe head over to The Woodlands and chase after some old memories.”

  “Okay.”

  Tim shifted in his seat. “I don’t suppose a good night ki—”

  Ben’s lips were on his before he could finish the sentence, and of everything that had happened that night, the kiss was the most meaningful. A debut art exhibition and a successful gallery opening simply couldn’t compare.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The Woodlands had been many things to Tim over the years. At first the city had been a chance at a new beginning, a fresh start after the events in Kansas that now seemed small and distant. Like a sapling, Tim had sprung up out of the dirt only to find his pot was too small and cramped, that he wasn’t getting enough sun or water. Of course the metaphor fell apart right there, since the city wasn’t to blame for his stunted growth. Tim took full responsibility for that now, but in his mind, The Woodlands remained a place of failed potential.

  Not anymore. In the passenger seat next to him was Ben, and like a magic totem, Tim was rushing him back to the past to banish those clouds and bring back the sun. Together they could rewrite history, he felt. Of course it would help if Ben stopped looking at him like he was a total stranger.

  “So you’ll be running the gallery?” he was asking.

  “Yeah.” Tim checked his blind spot and cruised over to the fast lane. “I about flipped when I started working for the foundation. After all those years of having nothing to do, it felt good to have a purpose. Most applicants come around in the spring or summer. Besides that there’s only a fundraiser in the fall, so I still have a lot of free time.”

  “How terrible,” Ben interjected.

  Tim grinned. “I know, right? My life’s so hard. Anyway, I figure the gallery will keep my hands full the rest of the year by giving me a chance to help out other artists.” He glanced over, hoping to see Ben impressed, but instead that puzzled expression had resurfaced. “Am I not making sense?”

  “You are,” Ben said, turning his attention to the road. “That’s how speech therapy makes me feel.”

  “You’re still doing that?”

  “Yup. Sometimes I wish it was full-time, since it’s a lot more fulfilling than theater work. Being on stage is more self-indulgent than anything. An excuse to sing for an audience.”

  “I wouldn’t mind hearing you sing again,” Tim said.

  “The show coming up is just straight-up acting,” Ben said, not taking the hint. “I don’t like doing those as much, but Brian always gets Allison to talk me into them. I need the extra money anyway.”

  Tim resisted the urge to offer him everything he had. He would give it, if Ben asked, but he also worried about making everything feel weird. Instead he nodded at the highway sign. “Ten more miles and we’re there!”

  They exchanged looks that both said the same thing: Is this really a good idea? Then they laughed and scrutinized their surroundings, pointing out familiar landmarks as they entered the city limits.

  “Where to first?” Tim asked. “Want to see your parents?”

  Ben shook his head. “Not this time. I can only imagine all the questions they’ll have.”

  Tim had a few himself. They hadn’t shared any kisses today or any other sign that they were more than old friends. Their reunion might have been fueled by dwindling flames of nostalgia and nothing else. For Ben at least. What Tim felt was so much more.

  “I know where we’ll go,” he said, turning down the street.

  “No!” Ben laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Nope!” Tim pulled into the high school parking lot. “Memory lane!”

  “More like death row,” Ben said. “We’re not going in there, are we?”

  “Why not? If anyone stops us, we’ll just say we’re picking up our kid.”

  “We’re not that old! Besides, what’s the point? It’s not like you and I have many memories here. Not together, at least.”

  “True.” Tim considered the school. “Maybe I want to walk down the hallway with you, hand in hand, like I should have done a long time ago.”

  Ben’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I want to.”

  Their hands didn’t touch until they pushed open one of the doors and stepped into an empty hallway. Ben was right. The place didn’t hold a lot of memories for them. Tim had only attended this school his junior year, but the universal smell made it feel like every school he’d been in. Dingy lockers, cheap carpet, textbooks, and a touch of desperation. That was the smell of institutionalized education.

  Tim reached over, the side of his hand bumping Ben’s, whose fingers responded by tangling up with his own. “So, can I walk you to class?” Tim said.

  Ben laughed nervously. “We can leave now.”

  “Come on, just down to the end of the hall and back. We’ll be gone before anyone notices.”

  That seemed to be the case until they had started heading back. Then the bell rang. As much as Tim said he wanted to do this, when countless teenagers swarmed into the hall around him, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. Not really because of the gay thing—even though they heard plenty of laughs already—but because the students made him feel old while reminding him of how awkward those school days had been.

  He scanned the crowd as they walked, looking for the new Stacy Shelly or Bryce Hunter. And of course they received plenty of stares. Girls giggled and guys glared, but a few students they passed looked at them with a mad sort of hope in their eyes. Tim grinned at one of them, nudging Ben after they walked past him. Ben nodded, having seen him too.

  “Oh man!” Tim said, laughing with nervous relief when they were outside again. “Could you imagine two guys walking down the hall holding hands when we were in school? I would have freaked.”

  “I would have loved it!” Ben said. “Besides, it’s not so unusual anymore. One of my coworkers at the hospital, her son came out when he was fourteen and took his boyfriend to homecoming.”

  “Seriously?”

  “The times, they are a changin’!”

  “Would you have gone to prom with me?” Tim asked.

  Ben snorted. “Are you kidding? I would have followed you to the moon.”

  Their next destination was even less a part of their history than the school was. Tim had wanted to revisit the past with Ben, but he hadn’t realized until now how much of their relationship was restricted to their teenage bedrooms, hidden away from the world. Tim drove to their old neighborhood, parking near one of the bike trail entrances a few blocks over from either of their houses.

  “Go for a walk with me?” he said.

  Ben was quiet as they strolled into the trees, but he took Tim’s hand, gripping it tighter when they reached a small man-made lake. Walking around it, they took another path that led to a small playground. The scene had changed, the jungle gym and swings replaced by new equipment, but neither had forgotten what had happened here. The night the police had nearly caught them, quite literally, with their pants down.

  “Want to pick up where we left off?” Tim teased, but when he looked over, Ben wasn’t smiling. So maybe this wasn’t the best idea. They did have memories outside of their homes, but few of them were happy. Tim checked his watch. His parents would still be at work, probably. The den, or his old bedroom, those were happy places. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  During the walk, Ben’s posture relaxed a little. “It’s crazy. How many times do you think I snuck over to your house at night?”

  “Hm.” Tim pretended to do some mental calculations. “Once, maybe twice.”

  “More like one or two hundred times. I used to hide behind a tree
whenever I saw a car coming, like the cops were doing a sweep for forbidden lovers. It was always so quiet, especially in the winter when all you would hear was the wind or a few lonely leaves skittering along. Just me and the stars above, on my way to Tim Wyman’s house.”

  “And then you’d crawl into my bed with frozen hands,” Tim said. “You remember my technique for getting them warmed up?”

  Ben grinned sheepishly. “These days I can drive anywhere I want without anyone to stop me. I guess the lack of freedom back then made even the simplest thing seem special.”

  “It was more than just that,” Tim said. “Sneak over to my house in Austin one night and I’ll prove it.” He stopped on the sidewalk as they reached a driveway and stared. “There it is. Home, sweet home. It looks the same.”

  “You sound surprised,” Ben said.

  “It’s been a while.”

  How long exactly? More than a year, that was certain. Two, maybe? His mother called occasionally, and so did Tim, sometimes, but they didn’t want him to share much about his life. Anytime he mentioned a guy, even just Marcello, she got quiet, no doubt wondering if that person meant something more to him.

  At least the locks hadn’t been changed. Tim entered the house with Ben in tow, and after a few murmured jokes, they toured the downstairs in silence. Like in a museum, they walked carefully, not touching any of the exhibits, stopping and staring in silence at some of the same places. The corner of the living room where the Christmas tree had been. The dining room table where they had their candlelight dinner, or the den, which had been their whole world together for the first few weeks. Then they crept up the stairs as if it were another of winter’s midnights, but behind the bedroom door was now just an anonymous guestroom. Only the dresser against the wall was the same.

  “Too bad,” Ben said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I was hoping you had obsessive parents that keep the room a time capsule after their kid leaves.”