The Little Library

by Kim Fielding

  What he should have done next—what he’d originally planned to do—was work on an article he’d begun some months before about Tito’s efforts as a leader of the Non-Aligned Movement. But all those Serbo-Croatian words seemed to squiggle before his eyes, and he suddenly found himself completely disinterested in the topic. “I don’t care about the Declaration of Brijuni,” he said out loud. Let someone else dig around in those documents.

  As Elliott sat in front of his laptop and closed his eyes, he didn’t see a stout Slavic man in a military uniform. Instead, he saw a tall, bearded man with dark hair and a bright smile. He wore a dark nineteenth-century suit—well-worn and not fancy—with a wide-brimmed hat. He held a pickax and shovel. Another man stood next to him, lighter complected, slightly shorter and considerably more slender, dressed similarly but with a book in one hand. The closeness of their bodies and the angles of their stances suggested they were more than just acquaintances or business partners. A dirt road ran beneath their boots, while a white clapboard bungalow stood behind them, its wide porch holding a pair of rocking chairs.

  “What would it have been like?” he mused out loud. Those same streets he and Simon had walked in Sacramento and Columbia—what if they’d walked them a hundred fifty years earlier? Even today, well into the twenty-first century, finding and maintaining a loving relationship was a struggle. Could they have managed it back then?

  Abandoning Tito to his fate—a long life into his late eighties and an important place in history—Elliott began to delve into works about homosexuality during the gold rush.

  At least at first glance, he couldn’t find much. But he knew something was out there. After all, gay people hadn’t magically burst into fabulous existence a few decades before Elliott was born. When Walt Whitman published Leaves of Grass in 1855, Columbia was at its peak and critics back East were spreading rumors about Whitman’s sexual orientation. So people knew about gay men back then and even wrote occasionally on the topic. The hard part was unearthing those little nuggets of truth from the bedrock of history. He was going to have to do some prospecting of his own.

  Again, Elliott found his entire academic trajectory shifting, but this time it was his own choice. He smiled as he worked.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elliott ended up working well past midnight, a rarity for him. And he’d forgotten to eat, so when he finally stood up from his laptop to stretch his cramped muscles, he was ravenous. He ate canned soup and a sandwich while hovering over the kitchen counter. He stumbled to bed and fell asleep almost immediately, haunted by fragmented dreams he couldn’t quite remember in the morning.

  When he checked his phone, Elliott discovered a series of texts from Simon, most of them sent after he’d gone to bed the night before. Nothing urgent. Just sweet little comments about things they’d seen in Sacramento and ideas for movies they could watch together. The final text made Elliott grin.

  Text STOP if these messages are getting too stalkery. Usual messaging fees will apply.

  Elliott sent a reply:

  Don’t stop. Not stalkery. Any movie is good as long as you’re here. His pesky autocorrect tried to change stalkery to stalkers.

  Under still-overcast skies, Elliott took a long run and then settled to work in front of the living room window. Melanie the Girl Scout came by with her mother and, judging from the look of delight on the girl’s face, was thrilled to discover the recently added volumes of Magic Tree House and Captain Underpants. She waved toward the house and, although he wasn’t sure whether she could see him through the window, he waved in return.

  He was just settling back into reading an article when his phone buzzed with a new text.

  Don’t kill me.

  Shit. Elliott swallowed bitter disappointment. We can reschedule, he wrote back. He didn’t think Simon would give a flimsy excuse and ditch him; something must have come up.

  I’m still coming over. With dinner. And a surprise.

  Elliott let out a relieved breath. Then why would I want to kill you?

  Wait till you see the surprise.

  Well. That wasn’t infuriatingly intriguing, was it? Elliott sent a few more messages, trying to get Simon to explain, but Simon only answered with smiley-face emojis. Elliott finally texted a teeny-tiny skull, but Simon just sent back a police car emoji and then went silent.

  “Tease,” Elliott grumbled. But even though he was annoyed and apprehensive, he was also amused. And even a little bit pleased, because nobody had ever bothered to taunt him this way before. It was nice. It made him feel like he was a member of the in-crowd, even if it was only a crowd of two.

  Elliott was in the bedroom later, double-checking his stash of rubbers and lube just in case things grew hot and heavy with Simon. He really, really hoped he’d be needing them. When the doorbell rang five minutes early, Elliott hurried to the door.

  “Hey, Si, so what did you—”

  Simon stood on the porch, a smile stretching from ear to ear, and he carried a large paper bag in one hand. It was fragrant with the scent of spices and grilled meat. In his other hand was a nylon leash . . . attached to a large dog. The beast had short reddish fur, floppy ears, and a big grin.

  “I had to go to Target today,” Simon said.

  “Okay.”

  “And there’s a pet-supply store a couple doors down, so I went in there.”

  Elliott remained in the doorway. “You don’t need pet supplies.” He’d seen the entire downstairs of Simon’s house, which didn’t even contain a goldfish. “Unless you’re trying to bribe the alleged wildlife on your second floor.”

  “Nope. They can fend for themselves.” Simon shrugged. “I just like to look around in there sometimes. It’s fun.”

  “Okay,” Elliott repeated.

  “And it’s Saturday, so they were having a pet adoption event.”

  “And you adopted a dog.”

  Simon’s smile was blinding. “Nope. You did. Can we come in? My leg’s gonna give.”

  What else could Elliott do? He stepped aside.

  As soon as Simon entered, he let go of the leash and hobbled over to the coffee table to set down the bag. The dog, however, went straight to Elliott and leaned against his legs, clearly expecting to be petted. Elliott discovered it had very soft ears.

  “Um, Simon?”

  “Hang on. I’m gonna grab plates and stuff, okay?” Not waiting for an answer, Simon went into the kitchen and clattered around in the cupboards and drawers while Elliott rubbed the top of the dog’s head. Simon soon returned with dishes and cutlery, which he set beside the food.

  “Simon?” Yes, Elliott sounded plaintive.

  “I’ve got her stuff in my truck—I couldn’t carry it all. We can get it after we eat.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Dog dishes, a comfy collar for when you run, a brush, a bag of kibble, a big-ass dog bed. And a bunch of toys. The Humane Society gives you a bag of toys when you adopt.”

  It was a lot of words, and Elliott’s brain got caught on the earlier bit. “When we run?”

  “Yeah! The adoption guy said she’s mostly Rhodesian ridgeback. See that line of backward hair along her spine? Isn’t that cool? This breed is especially suited for long runs in hot weather. There’s probably a couple other breeds mixed in there too, but that shouldn’t matter. The guy said she loves to run.”

  “But . . . a dog.” Despite his confusion and protests, Elliott hadn’t stopped stroking her. She was leaning most of her weight against him and seemed in no mood to do anything else.

  “They had cats too. But you can’t run with a cat, of course. The guy said she gets along with ’em, so you’re good if you want a cat too.”

  “Too?”

  “In addition to the dog.” As if that were completely obvious. Then he started removing foam containers from the bag and spooning food onto dishes. The dog sniffed the air with interest but didn’t move away from Elliott.

  “Why did you bring me a dog?”

  Simon loo
ked up from a container of hummus. “She needed a home. Look at her! She’s the sweetest thing on four legs. The guy said she’d been up for adoption for six months because everyone wants puppies and little dogs—she’s four, by the way—and you could tell that she really needed to settle down with someone. I can’t take her because I can’t give her the exercise she needs.” He pointed with a fork. “But you can.”

  Elliott needed to sit down. He walked to the couch, and the dog followed so closely that he nearly tripped on her. As soon he sat, she collapsed onto the floor and rested her chin on his feet, amber-colored eyes trained on his face.

  “I don’t need a dog,” Elliott said.

  Simon handed him a plate heaped with food. “Of course you do. You’re lonely, right? Now you never have to be by yourself. She’ll follow you into the bathroom if you let her. But she’ll never complain or demand possession of the remote control or run up your credit card bills. And she sure as hell won’t try to hide you from her family or coworkers.”

  “Simon—”

  “She won’t. She will love you unconditionally. I think she’s already falling for you.”

  “I think that’s because I’m holding a plate full of beef kebab.”

  Simon laughed. “As is the case with many humans, the route to a dog’s heart is often through her stomach.” He ate a big spoonful of seasoned rice.

  Taken completely off guard, Elliott didn’t know how to manage this argument. The food did smell delicious, however, so he balanced the plate on his lap and began to eat. When he accidentally dropped a bit of meat, the dog gobbled it immediately and then returned her chin to his feet.

  “Shouldn’t feed her at the table,” Simon fake-pontificated. “Bad habit.”

  “We’re not at the table.”

  “Ah. Okay, then.” He tossed her a bit of bread, which she caught in midair.

  After a couple of minutes, Simon continued. “There are other reasons you need a dog. You keep yourself holed up in here too much.”

  “I run almost every day.”

  “Yeah, but do you interact with anyone while you do it? Nope—didn’t think so.”

  “I interacted with you,” Elliott pointed out.

  “Barely. I was standing there with lust in my heart, and you just kept on jogging. But with this dog, you’ll go out, and people will want to pet her. She’ll want that too—the guy said she’s a social butterfly. Loves everyone. Um, that might slow you down a little when you run, actually, but she’ll be worth it. Maybe you’ll even take her to the dog park so she can hang with the canine crowd. You’ll end up talking to actual live human beings. She can drag you out of that snail shell you were talking about.”

  Although his words were light, the earnestness in Simon’s tone was real, as was the warmth in his eyes. He had honestly taken this course of action with Elliott’s best interests in mind.

  “A dog,” said Elliott, as if that made a difference.

  “A dog.” Simon leaned in closer and his smile disappeared. “She’ll be there for you, El. If I fuck things up with you. If you move to Nebraska. If . . . whatever. If you really don’t want her, I’ll take her as soon as my leg’s healed. Or I’ll take her now, as long as you can exercise her. But I think you should keep her.”

  Elliott looked down at her hopeful face. Her brows were slightly wrinkled and her gaze steady, as if she were trying to communicate with him telepathically. Probably she was just hoping he’d drop more food. Elliott sighed, resigned. “What’s her name?”

  Simon whooped in triumph.

  ***

  Her name was Ishtar. At least that was what Simon claimed. Elliott was fairly certain she hadn’t been called that until Simon signed the adoption papers, but she answered to it, wagging her long tail and giving a doggy grin when Simon tried it out.

  “So you just happened to find a dog named after a Mesopotamian sex goddess?” Elliott asked skeptically.

  “Don’t worry. She’s spayed.”

  “Great.”

  But the truth was, now that the shock had receded, Elliott was finding her intriguing, if not entirely welcome. She’d been patient while they ate, watching with sad eyes but not actively begging, and when Elliott offered her a morsel, she took it delicately from his fingers. After the humans ate, Elliott brought her things in from Simon’s truck—with a token protest—and she downed her own dinner in his kitchen without making a mess. Then she’d walked to the back door as confidently as if she’d lived there for years, waited politely until Elliott let her out, and made a beeline for the lawn portion of his fenced backyard.

  “Housebroken,” Simon pointed out, rather unnecessarily.

  Elliott scowled.

  Now he and Simon were cuddled on the couch while Ishtar sprawled on her bed nearby. Sometimes she woke up long enough to glance at them and wag her tail before promptly falling back asleep.

  “She’s comfortable here,” said Simon as the end credits ran for O Brother, Where Art Thou? Elliott had chosen the movie and Simon hadn’t complained, possibly because he’d realized he was in no position to protest.

  “I’m not sure I want a dog.”

  “Why not? Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t have one.”

  Well, that was a poser. Objectively, Elliott’s lifestyle was perfect for her—he owned his own house, he was home almost all the time, and he exercised religiously. She appeared well-mannered. And although money was a little tight, he could afford her food and vet bills.

  It’s a responsibility. He couldn’t say that out loud. It would make him sound like a spoiled child. But it was at least the shadow of the truth. He’d taken care of himself but never anyone else. What if he fucked it up as badly as he’d fucked up his life?

  “What if I want to spend time at your place?” Elliott finally asked.

  Simon scoffed. “Bring her with. I may even pay more attention to her than to you. I told you—I’d have adopted her in a second if it wasn’t for my leg.”

  Unless Elliott wanted to manufacture an allergy, he was out of excuses. As if on cue, Ishtar stood, stretched extravagantly, and wandered closer. She poked her head into their laps, smiling when they petted her, and then she sighed happily and lay down at their feet.

  “If she’s so great, how come nobody else wants her?”

  “I told you—she’s big and a little older. The guy told me her original owners moved and left her behind. Which totally sucks. It must have broken her heart to lose her family.”

  And somehow, those words were the deciding factor. Here was Simon, pressed up against Elliott, big and warm and comfortable, but with his injured leg sticking out as a reminder that his life had not gone as planned. Even if his knee healed completely, his future was uncertain, and he was stuck between denying his identity and alienating his parents. Elliott could do little to help Simon’s situation—but he could do something for Ishtar.

  “On a trial basis,” Elliott said.

  Simon’s smile was wide. “Sure.”

  Feeling slightly peevish, Elliott chose a documentary next. It was about the Klondike Gold Rush, which came almost fifty years later than the California version, but Elliott was in the mood. As it turned out, Simon grew interested too, so much so that they paused the movie several times so he could ask questions or they could chat about a detail. Ishtar dozed through the whole thing, thumping her tail on the ground whenever Elliott stroked her flank with his bare toes.

  “She’ll probably need obedience lessons,” Simon said after the documentary ended. “I think she knows a couple of basics, but that’s it. The guy recommended a place.”

  “He was a very helpful guy,” Elliott replied sourly.

  “Yes, yes he was. He also suggested agility.”

  “What?”

  “You know. Where dogs jump through hoops and do teeter-totters and stuff.”

  Elliott understood the words, but that was about it. “Why would I want to do that? Does Ishtar have dreams of joining the circus?”

 
; “You’ll have to ask her about career aspirations. But the guy said she’d enjoy it—she’s smart, and it would give her a challenge. It might be fun for you too.”

  “Is this part of your general scheme to socialize me?”

  “Maybe,” Simon replied with an impish grin.

  Elliott looked down at the remote control in his hands. “Another movie?”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “Oh. If you have to—”

  “Another movie and a sleepover?” That came with an eyebrow waggle. “And do you have popcorn?”

  “Yeah.” Elliott leaned over to plant a kiss on Simon’s temple.

  Apparently Ishtar had learned about popcorn during her past life, because as soon as the noises began, she charged into the kitchen to stare hopefully at the microwave. Elliott filled a big bowl and grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge, and Ishtar followed him back into the living room, prancing as if she were in a parade.

  “Can dogs eat this stuff?” Elliott asked as he plopped down beside Simon. Shit. He was going to have to learn all about canine care. He didn’t have a clue. Well, he could certainly find some guides on Amazon.

  “Sure.” Simon gave her a piece, which she gobbled. “You never had a dog?”

  “No. Ladd’s childhood allergies, remember? You?”

  “We had a couple when I was a kid. Little foo-foo things that my dad got for my mom. They were kind of yappy, but they were fun to play with.”

  They settled in comfortably again, Elliott nestled into the crook of Simon’s arm and the popcorn bowl on his lap, Ishtar with her chin resting on the couch cushion. She was probably drooling on the upholstery, but surprisingly, Elliott didn’t much care. He felt too good, hunkered down at home with, apparently, almost everything he’d ever wanted. Even the knowledge that none of it would last forever didn’t kill the joy.