by John Herrick
Ten minutes later, with both boxes in tow and the glossy, gold-embossed folder sticking out at the top, Hunter walked out the front door of the building and loaded the boxes into the trunk of his car.
He checked his watch.
11:48 a.m.
It wasn’t even afternoon, yet in the course of an hour, his entire day had emptied.
Hunter climbed into the front seat, where ordinary noises now sounded louder.
The slam of his car door. The squeak of driver’s seat. The click of his seatbelt.
Stopping short of turning on the ignition, Hunter placed his hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead at a giant tree whose trunk blocked his view.
So now what? Hunter asked himself.
CHAPTER 18
Turning onto Route 91 in Solon, where businesses and small shopping plazas dotted the periphery, Hunter noticed the street had started to grow busier with noontime traffic. He was a few blocks from his office—or, rather, his former office. Hunter couldn’t help but laugh at the depressing irony before him: A sea filled with drivers rushing around to return within an hour, while Hunter had nowhere to go.
Kara didn’t believe you could exist without thinking something. Like Hunter’s past girlfriends, she figured your mind is in a perpetual churn. And if it’s churning, then thoughts must be present. So when Kara or another girlfriend asked what was on his mind and Hunter would respond by saying, “Nothing,” they refused to believe him. He’d insist his mind was blank, perhaps in relaxation mode, and they would insist he was wrong.
But now, driving along Route 91, Hunter knew without a doubt that your mind could, in fact, be absent of thought, because his mind had drained. Hunter didn’t know what to think. At the same time, he sensed pressure mounting by the minute as cinder-block walls closed in around his brain and darkness crept in.
From behind his sunglasses, Hunter looked toward heaven.
“God, what am I supposed to do now?” he asked, one friend to another.
No matter how bad his circumstances had appeared in the past, he’d held peace that God would work out the details on his behalf. God had never disappointed him, and Hunter had confidence He would come through for him in this new phase of life.
Nonetheless, that confidence was a long-term assurance. It didn’t annihilate the cinder-block walls of the moment. And the truth was, it didn’t make him feel any less like an asphalt patch on the shoulder of Route 91.
He would need to tell Kara, but he didn’t want to feel weak before her any earlier than necessary. Besides, he didn’t want to get her concerned about his predicament before he himself knew how concerned he should be. She would want to stop by his house immediately after work, while he would want a few hours alone. He could call her in an hour, let her know what had unfolded, and she could swing by later that evening if she wished. She didn’t understand every aspect of how he operated, but she knew he held much inside. Maybe she would respect his need for time.
Yet, at the moment, he didn’t want to be alone, either. He craved proximity, someone who could be near him without trying to solve his problem or unleash a long list of questions to which Hunter didn’t have answers. Somebody who didn’t have a vested interest in whatever his next decision might entail. Someone who understood the value in just being there. No games, no façades, no walls.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have such relationships in his life. Everyone Hunter knew was accustomed to his holding everything inside.
Except one.
As he approached a traffic light at a familiar four-way intersection, Hunter decided where to go. Jerking his car into the left lane at the last second, he heard a quick screech from his tires. With a glance in his rearview mirror, he waved an apology to the driver behind him.
Hunter walked into Gabe’s clinic, scanned the reception area, and noticed a client paging through a magazine while she waited. She might be someone else’s client, Hunter figured. It was worth a try. Even if she was Gabe’s next client, Hunter could wait. He had all the time in the world today.
“Is Gabe available?” Hunter asked the same sunny receptionist.
With a furrowing of her eyebrows, she checked her computer monitor before returning her attention to him.
“Hello, Hunter. I’m sorry, were you scheduled for an appointment?”
“No, I … thought he might have a few minutes to talk, that’s all.” On second thought, Hunter started to turn around and added, “I can talk to him later.”
The receptionist rose and said, “I doubt that’s necessary. He’s finishing with a client now, but he should have a few minutes when he’s done. Have a seat.”
As Hunter waited, reality began to hit home. He had no immediate answers. By this time tomorrow, where would he be? What would he be doing? He could call a handful of contacts tomorrow, but beyond that, he didn’t have a plan.
Emotion rose inside, a powerful wave of grief, and Hunter detested how vulnerable it made him feel. He gritted his teeth and squelched the sadness, forced it down. His stomach quivered, but he feigned a steady countenance. Only in private did he let emotions seep out. Behind the walls of his house, where no one else could see.
A few minutes later, Hunter heard the click of a door and he raised his eyes. A middle-aged woman departed Gabe’s appointment room, waved to the receptionist, and walked out the front door. Hunter’s palms grew moist.
The next door swung open, and through the doorway, Hunter caught a glimpse of a small office. When Gabe emerged and saw Hunter sitting in the reception area, his eyebrows furrowed to match the receptionist’s initial reaction. In Gabe’s reaction, however, Hunter caught not only confusion, but a hint of welcome surprise.
“Hey, Hunter,” Gabe said, “did I forget about an appointment?”
Rising from his seat, Hunter forced a smile. “No, you didn’t. I just—do you have a few minutes to chat? Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Waving Hunter into the appointment room, Gabe said, “My office is tiny and cramped. Want to meet in here instead?”
Hunter nodded and followed Gabe inside, closing the door behind him.
“That was my last appointment before lunch,” Gabe said with a gesture of his thumb toward the reception area. He removed the sheet from the massage table, leaving its surface bare. “I was gonna change the sheets and clean up, then eat lunch in my office. But I can do that later.”
Hunter sat on the massage table—at least that familiarity remained in his life—and forced a smile. He believed he hid his grief well until Gabe gave him a second glance and leaned toward him, studying Hunter’s expression. Hesitating at first, as though deciding what his next action should be, Gabe bit his lower lip with determination and took a seat beside Hunter on the table. At that, Hunter knew Gabe had picked up on his need for proximity. He’d figured he would. Gabe was a rare breed that way.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gabe asked. “You look shaken.”
“I thought I’d hidden it well.”
“Your face looks red, like you’re flustered. Is it because of what you wanted to talk about?”
“Yeah.”
“Is Kara in town?”
“She’s at work. I can’t talk to her right now,” Hunter said, fixing his gaze on his knees and his dark dress pants. He had bought this suit two weeks ago. The credit card bill hadn’t even had time to arrive. Had he known what would develop today, he wouldn’t have made the purchase. “I need to talk to somebody I can be myself with. I mean, let my guard down or whatever.”
“That’s fine.” Gabe’s voice was muted, the murmur of a close listener. “What happened? Are you on your lunch hour?”
“I lost it,” Hunter said.
“Lost what?”
“I lost my job.”
Gabe grew wide-eyed. “What? When?”
Hunter checked his watch. “I left the office twenty minutes ago. My stuff is in the trunk of my car.”
Gabe’s shoulder’s grew limp, deflated. “Oh man,
I hate to hear that.” He waited a few seconds, then said, “I thought you talked to your boss.”
“I did, last week. He tried to convince me I was in good shape.” Hunter’s eyes felt heavy, as if a day’s worth of energy had drained out of them in the last hour. His eyes met Gabe’s before Hunter returned his focus to his knees. “He looked at me and knew this was coming, but let me believe he didn’t have a clue—encouraged me that I was doing everything I could do, the whole bit. Then he left town, and they made cutbacks today.” Hunter increased the pressure of his palms against the table, dug his fingers into it, tried to release his tension and frustration while holding himself together. “I knew he was holding back, like I told you later. He said things like, ‘The company hasn’t made any cutbacks.’ And I thought, ‘Well, no, not yet.’ I tried to dance around the present tense and future tense, but he kept his mouth sealed about the future. He had to have known this was coming down the pipeline. He would have chosen who to let go. He’d probably already submitted his names to Human Resources before I walked into his office that day.” Hunter’s chest grew heavier. He could feel his ribs along its surface. “Man, I’m so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“Stupid, gullible, whatever. How could I have trusted my boss?”
“You have a good heart. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, trusted him to be straightforward with you. Some people take advantage of that.”
Hunter paused. “Now it’s all over. The months of failure, the humiliation of having to admit I lost deal after deal, finally came to an end.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Gabe’s steady gaze remained focused on him, and Hunter couldn’t find words to express his gratitude for a listening ear that didn’t judge him, for another human being who wouldn’t give him odd looks because he laid his honesty on the table.
“After all this time, I’m just plain worn down, the way you feel when you’ve fought hard and finally achieved your goal. But this isn’t exactly an achievement to be proud of.” Hunter rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know how else to explain it, but I’m not used to defeat. I’m a competitive person; I’m not used to feeling like I’ve lost. I wasn’t raised to lose, I—”
Hunter stopped short when he heard his own voice quake. All at once, a list of failures arose in his heart and flashed in a slideshow through the recesses of his memory: his job … his failed relationships … the way he fell far short of the type of Christian he so desired to be … and the gender attraction he found so hard to resist. Suddenly, all the hurt he’d suppressed on his way to this building reached the surface and broke through.
A tear spilled from Hunter’s eye.
Embarrassed, immediately Hunter wiped his eye with his thumb, angry at himself for allowing that tear to escape, but it had come before he could block it.
He glanced at Gabe, then drew his own shoulders inward.
“I never let anyone see me cry,” Hunter said.
Hunter sniffed, then pursed his lips and let out a long breath through his mouth.
Hunter said nothing. Gabe said nothing.
Silence hung in the air between them, which Hunter considered a relief. He didn’t need anyone to speak empty words. He needed to know someone cared enough to be there for him, just for who he was, not for who he could be for them.
The next minute stretched to triple its length. He heard the muted sound of traffic through the window.
Finally, Hunter broke the silence.
“I don’t know what to do next. I can’t even see far enough ahead to think.”
Another beat passed, then Gabe patted Hunter’s knee.
“It’s going to work out, I promise,” Gabe whispered. “I believe in you.”
It’s going to work out. I believe in you.
Those were the two things Hunter had wanted to hear since childhood, the whole time he had buried his horrible secret.
When he turned to Gabe, he found him gazing back at him. Gabe held his countenance steady but without expression, intent on supporting Hunter. And once again, Hunter recognized the compassion in Gabe’s eyes, that unceasing quality with which he had grown so familiar.
But now, as time slowed, Hunter perceived a depth in Gabe’s eyes he’d never noticed. Hunter squinted, focused on those eyes, found himself drawing nearer by the millimeter. The movement would have been imperceptible to anyone who might have watched it unfold, but Hunter felt the pull. Their eyes remained locked.
In retrospect, Hunter would reconsider that episode for years to come. He would ponder what had happened between Gabe and him, and what might not have happened had the moment ended one second sooner.
Perhaps they had focused on each other a split second too long. But that extra tick in time—one frame on a film reel—proved enough to cement something between them.
Hunter couldn’t put his finger on what caused it to happen, but a deadbolt unlocked inside his heart.
Before he could catch himself, before his defenses took control, Hunter flinched. Leaned closer. Just an inch.
Gabe leaned an inch closer, too.
And before he knew it, before he could register what would transpire at 12:37 p.m., Hunter closed his eyes. Gabe’s lips brushed against his. The sensation bubbled in Hunter’s fibers the way saltwater foamed along the Atlantic shoreline.
Hunter’s hands found their way to Gabe’s biceps and lingered there.
And for the next few moments, Hunter breathed deeply, peacefully, as he melted into the most tender, satisfying, electric kiss he’d experienced in his life.
PART 2
TRUSTFAC ADE
CHAPTER 19
That evening, Hunter pulled a frozen Hawaiian pizza from the freezer, unwrapped it, and set it on a baking tray while the oven preheated.
Were the event at Gabe’s clinic not etched into his brain, he could have dismissed it as a dream, a figment of his imagination. The problem was, the experience had included a tangible aspect, which had left concrete reference points in its wake. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the brush of Gabe’s upper lip against his.
But that kiss boded worse for Hunter because the experience had unleashed another event, one that frightened him even more.
It had blown Hunter’s disguise. Somebody else knew his secret.
The kiss replayed itself on his mental movie screen, over and over, in an endless loop. He couldn’t stop it. And as the reiterations played, a range of emotions coursed through him.
Confusion about whether he understood all facets of his identity.
Nervousness, wondering how he could look Gabe in the eye again.
Concern about what this meant for Kara and him, and whether one kiss—with no long-term viability—meant he should end his relationship with her.
Anger at allowing vulnerability to creep in, poison his judgment, and reveal what hid beneath the mask he’d perfected.
But most of all, Hunter felt scared.
Scared because, in the darkest corner of his heart, Hunter knew he’d enjoyed that kiss.
Following the kiss, Hunter could hear the tick of every timepiece in Gabe’s clinic—the clock on the wall; Hunter’s watch; the beat of the music that, due to the silence in the appointment room, he could hear from the reception area on the other side of the door.
And yet, time had screeched to a standstill in Gabe’s clinic.
At first, Hunter had felt too stunned to react. At the end of the kiss, he’d sat there, wincing, his shoulders still inclined halfway toward Gabe, not wanting to open his eyes. When he’d drawn back and opened his eyes, he’d discovered Gabe had reacted in a similar fashion. The familiar compassion had fled Gabe’s eyes, and Hunter could read the shock and hesitation that had skulked in, their shadows lurking.
In Gabe’s eyes, Hunter recognized the fear was mutual.
Neither one said a word after the kiss. Each man had dropped his gaze, each trying to catch a glimpse of the other in his peripheral vision. Each trying to gauge the ot
her’s reaction and see whether the other possessed the same awareness—and the same guilt—of having fulfilled a desire, one which neither felt prepared to face.
The longer the knowledge dripped between them, the more awkward the scenario felt.
Hunter, as if by reflex, had slid from the table and planted his feet on the floor.
“I need to go,” Hunter had said, avoiding eye contact with a fervor he wished he’d engaged before the whole mess erupted.
With that, he’d hurried out of the room. And Gabe hadn’t stopped him.
The oven beeped. When Hunter opened its door, a 425-degree blast hit his face and made his eyes water. For an instant, Hunter wondered how hot hell is, but brushed away the thought before it could take root.
Overwhelmed, he shoved the pizza into the oven, then took a seat at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands. When he raised his head again, he noticed a CD sitting at the corner of the table, the corner closest to his back door. As preoccupied as he’d been when he’d arrived home, Hunter hadn’t noticed it earlier. He saw a note sticking out from underneath the CD.
He retrieved the note and recognized the paper from a stack he kept in a kitchen drawer. Before reading a word, he recognized Kara’s penmanship. Upon leaving Gabe’s clinic, he had given her a call and relayed the news about his job, if for no other reason than to get his mind off of what had occurred with Gabe.
In her note, Kara had reiterated how sorry she was to hear the news. As it turned out, at the last minute that morning, she and her boss had booked a flight to Chicago. Kara had taken two hours that afternoon to race home, pack an overnight bag, and head to the airport. On her way home, however, she had picked up the CD—Moondance by Van Morrison, an album Hunter loved but had never bought—as a surprise to help lift his spirits. She noted she had let herself in and hoped he didn’t mind.
That incident left Hunter conflicted. On one hand, her effort to cheer him up was a sweet gesture. Despite her limited time, she had gone out of her way to give him a boost.
