The bedroom door opened and John Millstone came out. “I think it looks worse than it is. He might have a cracked rib or two, and I think he should go in for x-rays just in case there’s more. But his blood pressure’s good and his chest sounds fine. He could probably use some stitches in his face. He has agreed to go to Hitchcock, so I’ll radio for the ambulance.”
Cassie pulled away from Grant and started toward the bedroom door before he could stop her. Millstone put out his hand. “I don’t think he’s in the mood to see you right now,” he said solemnly. “He needs some privacy.”
Cassie rubbed the tears from her cheeks as she looked at him. “Do you think they’ll keep him overnight?”
“Probably. For observation. I think you should just stay here, and I’ll call you when we know what’s happening, okay?”
Cassie nodded reluctantly, then turned to Grant. “Can you stay? There’s a guest room right there. I really don’t want to be alone now.” Then, without waiting for his answer, she went into her room and locked the door.
Grant looked at John Millstone. “Gay?”
Millstone nodded, then reached for his two-way radio and called for an ambulance.
Chapter Ten
Shelby was ready to come home to Chatham. She called on the Thursday after Shane’s return and said she would be at her sister’s in Newton on Sunday. Shane and Grant had already discussed that possibility, and Grant had offered to make the trip if she called. Shane told her he had fallen on the ice and hurt his back, but that Grant would be there to bring her home. She offered to wait another week, but Shane couldn’t guarantee he’d be any better then, so she agreed to have Grant come as long as she could reimburse him for the trip.
“By the way,” Shane said, as he and Grant sat together in the living room after her call, “she’s terrified of riding in a car.”
“Is she going to be even more terrified because it’s me and not you?”
“Probably.”
“Then why don’t you come along? I’ll go inside so you don’t have to let her parents see you, and you can wait in the car. Maybe that will help her.”
“Her parents always come out to the car and make a big fuss of seeing her off. It won’t work. She’ll be all right. She has to be. She has no choice.”
“Do you think Cassie would help?”
“Keep her from being nervous? I doubt it.” A small smile came to Shane’s face. “Of course, if you want to take her along anyway, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt.”
Grant smiled back at him. Since Shane’s trip to the hospital, Grant had been living at the farm, occupying the guest bedroom and helping to take care of Shane. The sheer willpower that had brought Shane home from Boston Sunday afternoon had given way to complete collapse. His cracked ribs and badly bruised torso made it nearly impossible for him to get in and out of bed without help. Eventually, he had moved to Shelby’s hospital bed, which allowed him to raise the top half as needed to help him ease himself in and out. In the evenings, they had had many long talks after Cassie went upstairs to bed. Shane had been distrustful of Grant at first, afraid of what his motives might be. But in time he came to realize that Grant knew the truth but didn’t seem to care; that he was keeping it to himself because he believed that was the right thing to do. He had opened up to Grant’s friendship then and seemed grateful for the opportunity to talk. In less than a week, they had built a strong foundation for a growing friendship.
Shane told him he was a native of Providence, Rhode Island, and had lived there all of his life until he went to Boston University. He had always been interested in music and had started writing songs when he was in high school but never performed in public until he needed money while in college. He managed to get some gigs at small restaurants playing mood music on his acoustic guitar, and eventually worked his way into performing at clubs. When he graduated from BU, he found there was little he could do with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy, so he took odd jobs where he could find them and concentrated on making his music pay. One of his jobs was working with a man who made harpsichords. Although Shane had never had an opportunity to do woodworking before, he found he was a natural at it and that he took great pleasure in producing something that was not only a musical instrument but beautiful to look at as well. When the man decided to move his workshop to Portland, Maine, Shane followed him, for he was also tired of living in Boston and was ready for a move. But the two eventually had a falling out – he did not say over what, but Grant had his suspicions – and Shane decided to make musical instruments on his own. But the cost of starting such a business was high, and so he dabbled at it part time and found a job in a music store to add to his money from gigs. He was living in Portland when he met Shelby.
He had gone to help harvest blueberries for a friend who owned a small blueberry farm in Maine, a guy he had known from Providence who married a girl he met in college. Every August Shane went up for two weeks, a welcome change from life in the city. A group of Mike’s friends raked blueberries all day, swam in a pond, ate good food, and sat around singing songs at night. Hashish was the strongest drug they used, and they used it liberally, but it was the camaraderie that made the whole thing special.
One August there was a new face at the gathering, and what a face. Mike had written that Carol’s college roommate would be there, that she had been in a terrible car accident the year before, and that she would not be pleasant to look at. But she lived with them now and she was willing to meet their friends, but she had a lot of emotional problems and Mike didn’t know how it would go. And, oh yes, she was blind as well, and don’t ask about husbands or babies as she’d lost both. Shane had been almost fearful of meeting her by then, and indeed, her raw scars were not easy to look at. But she kept to herself after initially meeting everyone, and little effort was made by anyone to draw her into their activities.
One day toward the end of the week, Shane came upon her sitting in her wheelchair, alone on the front porch. The rest of the group had gone down to the pond to swim, and he was on his way to join them. He said hello to her, and she smiled and said hello. She asked him his name and he told her, and she surprised him by commenting on how beautifully he sang. She could hear him from her room when they all gathered on the porch at night. He asked why she never joined them, and she smiled ruefully and shook her head. Then he asked her if she wanted to go down to the pond. When she said no, it was too difficult to get the wheelchair across the field, he offered to carry her. She laughed and said he’d be getting more than he bargained for. She was five foot nine and no lightweight. He picked her up from the wheelchair and held her in his arms, and suddenly she began to cry. He felt just like her husband, she said. Was he tall and thin? When he said yes, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and asked if she could give him a hug. His heart went out to her then and there as she held on to him for the longest time. She was the only woman he had ever loved or made love with.
Did she know he was gay, Grant had asked? Yes, she knew. She had guessed it herself even before he told her. But she loved him in return, and she chose to live with him anyway. It was only in the past six months that they had mutually decided to end their sexual relationship. And, although he knew he would have a hard time accepting it when it happened, he hoped for her sake that eventually she would find another man she could love.
When Grant left for Boston on Sunday, Cassie did not offer to go along. Grant was just as glad for he had come to realize that Shelby might have things to say that she would not want Cassie to hear. Shane had asked him to break the news to her gently about what had really happened to him, so she would not attempt to hug or kiss him too vigorously before he could tell her himself.
Grant found the house in Newton with the aid of Shane’s map. Shelby’s sister, older and shorter with strawberry blond hair, greeted him at the door and ushered him inside. Shelby was seated in the living room surrounded by several people including an older couple he took to be her parents. Shelby rose to gre
et him, standing with her walker, and held his hand while she introduced him to her family. She offered him a cup of coffee and something to eat, and for a moment Grant feared he would be expected to sit and visit. But when he declined and asked for just a glass of water and a chance at the restroom, Shelby almost looked relieved. Her younger sister guided him to where he wanted to go, and when he returned to the living room, Shelby and her suitcases were ready to leave.
He and her brother-in-law carried out the luggage while her parents helped her out to the car. They made the fuss over her that Shane had predicted, and then, finally, the last good-byes were said. Grant started the station wagon and pulled away from the curb and Shelby leaned back against the seat with a sigh.
“Thank god,” she said under her breath.
Grant smiled. “Quite a production.”
“Isn’t it? And they wonder why I live a hundred miles away.”
“Do they ever come to visit you?”
“My parents came to Portland once, but they had to stay in a motel because Shane’s apartment was so small, and the weather was rainy so they finally went home in disgust. Maybe this summer they’ll come to Vermont, but then at least I’ll be in my own territory.”
Grant did not answer for he was busy trying to negotiate his way onto the Massachusetts Turnpike. As he accelerated up the ramp, he saw Shelby make a white-knuckled fist. He slipped his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze.
“It’s going to be okay. There’s not much traffic.”
Shelby laughed in spite of her fear. “Grant, I have very good hearing. Those are not bushes zooming by.” She took a deep breath, then said, “How’s Shane?”
“Better.”
“What really happened to him?”
Grant was impressed with her perceptiveness. “Why do you ask?”
“Because he sounded funny on the phone. He was beaten up, wasn’t he?”
Her calm matter-of-fact statement caught him completely off-guard.
“How did you know?”
“Because I’ve always known this would happen someday. How bad?”
“A few cracked ribs. Bruises. Two black eyes. He’s got stitches in his lip and eyebrow.”
“Jeezum.”
Grant smiled. “You’ve been hanging around with Cassie too long. You’re starting to sound like her.”
“How is she? I missed her. I talked to her on the phone Friday, and she sounded good.”
“Fine. Getting bigger.” Grant felt a stirring in his jeans at the thought of Cassie’s body, and he was glad for the moment that Shelby couldn’t see.
Shelby crossed her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. They drove in silence for several miles, and Grant thought she was asleep. But a glance at her knuckles showed they were white once more, and he wondered what horrors were running through her mind.
“I understand you went to that other state university,” he said.
It took a moment, but a grin slowly spread across her face. “Oh no, are you telling me you went to UVM?”
“What did you major in?”
“Medical technology. Lab work. How about you?”
“Mathematics. I thought I might teach, but it turned out I didn’t like it.”
“And now you’re a carpenter.”
“Yup.”
“Sort of like Shane with his degree in philosophy.”
“Pretty much.”
“My husband was a chemist. He was a year and a half away from getting his Ph.D.”
“At UNH?”
“Dartmouth.”
“So, you’ve lived here before.”
“For three years in Dartmouth housing. I worked at Mary Hitchcock.”
“Is that how you met your husband?”
“Yes. At Liver Rounds.”
“At what?”
“Liver Rounds. That’s what they called the parties the med school sponsored. You know how doctor’s make rounds? Well these were alcoholic, so they called them Liver Rounds.”
“Nice.”
Shelby laughed. “I guess it is a pretty odd name if you’re not used to it.”
They rode in silence for a while, and then Grant said, “I have a question for you, a medical question. Can a man be fertile for a while and then become infertile?”
Shelby sat quietly for a moment. “I suppose so, if he gets a disease or takes a medication that affects sperm production. Or if he gets radiation treatments or is exposed to certain chemicals.”
Grant pondered that for a while. Allen was a plumber and soldered a lot. And Grant really didn’t know anything about the man’s health.
“And even a man who’s considered infertile because of a low sperm count is just dealing with odds. It only takes one successful sperm to do the job.”
“But he might not be so lucky again?”
“That’s right. Otherwise, nature wouldn’t have the average man put out so many.”
“And you can do blood tests to see if a kid is yours?”
“To a point. Blood tests can never prove paternity, but they can disprove it. You can say ‘This guy couldn’t be the father’ or ‘This guy could be the father’ but you can never say ‘This guy is definitely the father.’ You can only figure the odds and say ‘There is a ninety-five percent chance—or whatever—that he is the father.’”
“But you could definitely rule someone out.”
“Usually. But if there are no distinguishing blood types involved, it’s still possible to have two men who could both be the father and not be able to rule out either one.”
“I see.” He waited for her to ask why he wanted to know, but the question never came. Instead she said, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Not really. I did once, years ago. But she married someone else.”
“And nobody since then?”
“Not really. Cassie and I have gone out a couple times.”
“Cassie? I thought Dawson was her boyfriend.”
“Not anymore.”
“Not at all?”
“Nope. Dawson’s pretty much gone off the deep end.”
Shelby looked startled. “What do you mean?”
Grant shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he hadn’t said that. “He’s been drinking a lot lately.”
He thought she might ask about Cassie’s reaction but instead she said, “Oh, no. Has he been working on the shed?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was going to convert the big storage shed into a place to live and move in as a live-in handyman.”
Grant shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that.” In fact, the news was astonishing to him in light of Dawson’s recent behavior and his falling-out with Cassie.
“Are he and Cassie enemies now?”
“I really don’t know. I guess you’ll have to ask one of them.”
Shelby seemed extremely distressed, and Grant was confused. Why did she need a live-in handyman, and why Dawson?
“Who’s been at the house with Cassie and Shane? I assume she hasn’t been taking care of him alone.” There was a coldness in her voice now, as if the thought of Cassie nursing Shane was irritating her.
“Me.”
“Oh, good. Thank you.”
“Actually, Shane and I have become rather good friends.”
“Oh?”
Grant glanced at her. “Platonic friends.”
Shelby’s face relaxed. “Then you know.”
“Of course I know.”
“Does Cassie?”
“Only if she’s figured it out for herself.”
“What about the other guys? The workers?”
“I don’t think so. They think he’s been in an accident. They haven’t seen him.”
“Even your partner? Larry?”
Especially Larry, Grant thought to himself, but all he said was, “I haven’t told him anything.”
Shelby leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
Grant said nothing. He wished
she would fall asleep now, for continuous conversation was foreign to him, and he was growing tired of making it. He was also tired of Boston traffic and was waiting anxiously to leave it behind.
“Will I be able to hug him?” she asked softly.
Grant smiled sadly at the question, remembering Shane’s story of their first hug. “Carefully.”
The traffic began to thin out the further north they went. They were in New Hampshire on I-93, and after Manchester and Concord the traffic would get thinner and thinner until they could conceivably be the only car on the road for miles. Shelby finally fell asleep, and Grant welcomed the silence that ensued. He liked the woman well enough and enjoyed her company, but he preferred the quiet nature of someone like Cassie.
Lonely Souls Page 13
