by Rick R. Reed
Billy wanted to pause and hit rewind on the words. He watched as Milt’s face reddened and his smile vanished. Milt looked down at the Plexiglas tabletop, beneath which were ads for local businesses, as though he were searching desperately for a plumber or new nightclub hangout.
“Ah, damn it, man. I’m sorry. I have a way about me that often ends with my foot in my mouth. Too blunt by half. Never mind. Let’s talk about something else.”
Milt didn’t say anything for a long while. Long enough, in fact, that Billy began to be worried that this would be like one of those painful first dates, where pulling a word out of your partner was almost impossible. Long enough that Billy began to fear an offended Milt might simply get up from the table and walk home. It was a bit of a hike, but still only three miles or so, so the trek wouldn’t be out of the question.
And Billy wouldn’t blame him.
But then Trixie arrived, balancing their plates artfully. She set them down correctly, refilled coffee mugs. “Everything look okay? Get you anything else? Hot sauce?”
If Trixie was wise to the tension hanging just above the surface of the table—Billy visualized it as a noxious black cloud—she didn’t say anything. Her smile didn’t even waver. When neither asked for hot sauce, card tricks, or for Trixie to stand on her head, she left.
Billy got busy drowning his pancakes in syrup, knowing he’d need to ask for more. Sugar, in any form, was one indulgence he allowed himself these days. He wasn’t sure he actually heard Milt speak when he did, or if his mind was playing wishful thinking tricks on him.
“It’s a fair question.”
Billy looked up and met Milt’s gaze. Milt was busy buttering his toast. When he glanced up, he smiled at Billy. “Yeah, fair. You live right behind me, probably have been seeing me every day. It’s only natural to wonder.”
Yeah. I noticed you from the very start. I wanted to get to know you—badly. I hoped and hoped and hoped for—one, a sign that you were gay, and two, a sign that you might be interested in me. I was disappointed every single fucking time.
Milt went on. “And you’re right, hard as it is for me to hear it. Most folks, when they land in a new place, want to meet the people who live around them. They want to get to know their neighbors. It’s normal. And maybe I’m one of those folks who’s just not—normal.” He snickered. “Ha! If you only knew….”
Billy still felt bad. “You shouldn’t feel any need to explain yourself to me.”
Milt chewed, swallowed. “And yet I do. Feel compelled. I want you to know me. I want to know you. So yeah, I haven’t been the most outgoing neighbor. I haven’t wanted to reach out. To paraphrase Greta Garbo, I wanted to be alone.”
Milt looked away for a moment. “Corky dying shook me to my core.”
Billy couldn’t help it. He felt a paradoxical mix of sympathy and a baser instinct, one he wasn’t proud of—jealousy. Just a twinge, but it was there. He tried to swallow the lower of his two impulses. He reached out and covered Milt’s hand with his own, forced Milt to meet his gaze.
After a moment Milt looked away, moved his hand, and got busy with his food. As he cut up his eggs and then mixed them in with the hash, he talked. “Corky was gone, in a way, long before that final hour when he drew his last breath. Alzheimer’s is rough—especially on the ones who are left to pick up the pieces. It sounds awful to say this, but Corky was pretty much unaware of any pain or embarrassment toward the end. He was too out of it. In his own little world. But I suffered. I remembered my strong man. The guy who did the New York Times crossword puzzle in ink on a Sunday morning. The one who could make me feel safe from any ill the world had to offer just by wrapping his arms around me.”
Billy felt the twinge of jealousy again, like something cutting into his heart. He hated himself for it, because here was a fellow human being taking a chance and pouring out his grief, and he was making it all about himself. Still, jealousy wasn’t an emotion one controlled, and it certainly wasn’t something that had any logic. By its very nature, jealousy was selfish.
“That’s so sweet. You must have a big heart, Milt.”
Milt waved the compliment away. “Bigger than the Grinch’s, anyway. Before it grew. But I’d actually like to think my heart’s the same size as everyone else’s. I’d like to think everything I did for the man I love is what anyone would do if they were in my shoes and really cared about the person they shared their lives with.” Milt looked up from his food and at Billy. “Wouldn’t you?”
The question caught him off guard. Would he? He’d like to think that of course he would. Most of us want to believe that when the chips were down, we’d rise up to be our highest and best selves. But Billy suddenly felt very young. He hadn’t been called upon to take care of someone else as Milt had.
“I’d like to believe I would,” Billy said, and he confessed to Milt that he’d never been put in a position where he was responsible for someone’s life.
Milt cocked his head. “Not even your own?”
Wow. Billy thought for a moment. It seemed to be his morning for being caught short by personal questions. All he’d wanted to do was introduce his neighbor to a place he thought was cool. Himself? The question actually chilled him more than the air-conditioning in this joint, which was working its figurative fingers to the bone to beat the three-digit temperature outside. Billy said quietly, “Yeah. There’s a history of that. But I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Why’s it so hard to get to know another human being? Why do we have to make ourselves so vulnerable? Why can’t we just skip ahead to something warm and comfortable like a pair of old fleece-lined slippers? God make me patient—right now. Billy snorted with laughter at his last thought.
“What?”
“Nothin’. Tell me about Corky.”
And Milt did. He went on and on, regaling Billy with how they’d met—in a bar when they were both on vacation in Chicago. A leather bar, of all things, that wasn’t there anymore, called the Cell Block, on Halsted. His face reddened as he spoke about their first meeting, and Billy caught on that was because they’d hooked up in the bar’s dark back room. For shame! He talked about their love of travel, how Kauai was a favorite Hawaiian island, how they both adored Rome over almost any other place on the planet, how they never got to see their dream of an Alaskan cruise realized. He told of lazy nights making spaghetti, of summer days sunning on the pebbled banks of the Ohio River, of birthdays and Christmases together, of their shared desire for a kid that never came true, despite a real attempt to adopt. And logically, of the parade of much-loved and spoiled mutts that passed through their lives over the years.
Billy was touched by the memories. He both wanted and didn’t want to hear more. How could he ever live up to the legacy Milt’s husband had left? Why was he even thinking of living up to it when Milt hadn’t given him even the smallest clue he wanted him to? He couldn’t help himself from asking, “Do you think you’ll ever love again?”
Milt rolled his eyes. “Really? You’re asking me this?” He didn’t seem angry or even offended by what Billy swiftly knew was an insensitive question.
Milt shrugged and then said something that caused Billy’s heart to drop. “Nah. Once you’ve had a great love like I did with Corky, how can you think of someone else? He’s all I ever wanted.” He smiled at Billy, and there was something winsome and young in the smile. It made Billy think of a little boy—and that image, he thought, was one that really made him fear he was truly falling for this guy. “And he’s all I ever will want.”
Billy nodded slowly. I wish you hadn’t said that. I wish you’d given me just a little kernel of hope. “Well,” Billy said, sighing. “We should be getting back. See what the damages are at your place, what you’ll need to get yourself fixed back up.” At some point during their conversation, Trixie had put their check on the table. Myron’s was the kind of place where you took the check to the register as you were leaving. Billy snatched it up. He shook his head when Milt
reached for his wallet. “Put that away. It’s on me.”
Milt frowned. “Come on! I owe you—for all you’ve done for me. Let me pay.” He leaned forward to try to snatch the check out of Billy’s hand.
Billy pulled back, grinning. “No way. My treat.” He winked. “You can pay next time.”
Just as Billy stood, Milt reached out a hand to stop him. “Sit down for a second. I want to say something else.”
Billy sat, expectant. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to thank you. For reaching out to help when you didn’t have to. But my gratitude goes further than that. I also wanted to thank you for pulling me out of my shell. Yes, I wanted to be alone, as I joked earlier. I needed time to grieve, time to kind of try and figure out who I was. Milt alone. I’d been Corky-and-Milt for so long, I almost felt like I didn’t have my own identity anymore. So there was that. But after a time I kind of wanted folks to talk to me, and they didn’t. See, I think I’d cocooned myself for so long and so successfully, they sort of just gave up and left me to my own devices. Thought that’s what I wanted, so I don’t blame them. But I’d walk around the park with Ruby, and I started to feel like I wasn’t even there.”
Milt looked away for a second, and Billy bore witness to the pain on his features. He was quiet for a while, and Billy felt a stab of guilt for not trying harder to get to know this man, this neighbor whom he’d been lusting after since he first moved in. Mentally, Billy shrugged. He was like everyone else and assumed Milt was a loner, so why not give him his space.
Thank God for the storm!
“I really want to say thanks for making me feel visible, for making me seen. It’s a greater gift than you know.”
Billy thought briefly of how, when he was in the depths of his alcoholism and all the bad shit that went with it, people stopped seeing him because, he supposed, they couldn’t bear to look at him—or worse, they were embarrassed to look at him. “Oh, I know. And I give you that gift freely, man, and with a great deal of pleasure.”
“Okay,” Milt said after a while, grinning, “breakfast is on me next time. And again, it’ll be wherever you want to go.”
“Okay. We’ll go to Norma’s next time.” Billy smiled innocently, not mentioning that Norma’s, in the Parker Meridian, had probably the most expensive breakfast in Palm Springs.
“Sounds good. Another Marilyn Monroe tribute joint?”
“Not really.” Billy stood. He was glad they’d have another “date.” And he’d have another chance, despite Milt’s profession of undying love for Corky.
He had one thing over Corky, he thought, heading to the cash register with Milt behind him.
He was alive.
Chapter 7
MILT AWAKENED knowing something was different.
The house was dark and quiet. The old deco marble clock Corky had given him on their first anniversary made its soft whirring noise that Milt no longer noticed, save for in the quiet time of the early morning, when it seemed like the whole world was sleeping. He turned on his side, still missing Corky, even though they’d determined months ago that it was better that he sleep downstairs in the converted den so their night nurse, a guy named Ev, could keep a better eye on him.
The heat clicked on. This gentle blowing sound usually gave Milt a sense of security, and often, on nights like these, would send him back to sleep.
But not tonight. Tonight, for some reason, his senses were on high alert.
Milt reached out and touched Corky’s old pillow, believing it still held traces of the Old Spice aftershave Corky wore. It didn’t, of course, but Milt liked to believe it did.
He sat up in bed suddenly, his heart throbbing.
Something was wrong. Something was off.
Although he had no logical reason to believe this, the notion was there, real and firmly implanted. He exhaled and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His slippers, parked there when he retired the night before, waited for him. He slid his feet into them.
He shivered. They turned the heat down to sixty-eight at night, and it felt even colder than that. Milt reached for his battered but loved plaid flannel robe at the foot of the bed and shrugged into it.
He crept down the wooden staircase, knowing each groan and creak by heart. When he got to the midway point, he shut his eyes and whispered, “Shit.”
The door to the den stood open.
He and Ev always made sure to close it at night. Ev had recommended a lock on the door, because Corky did have a tendency to wander, especially at night, but Milt wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m not locking him in like a prisoner,” he’d told Ev.
Ev shrugged and quietly explained that it was for Corky’s own protection. “It’s not a punishment.” Milt knew Ev, deep down, had zero hope of convincing Milt to see things his way, the sensible way, thus the soft tone and lack of conviction in his words.
Milt thought it was enough that Ev was there overnight. He stayed in the living room, which was right across from the den, so he could keep an eye on Corky.
Right?
Milt got to the bottom of the stairs and poked his head around the archway leading into the living room. Ev, in his jeans and blue surgical scrub top, snored softly on the couch, his head thrown back. On the TV, a braided and blonde little Patty McCormack was asking someone what they’d give her for a “basket of kisses.”
Milt turned his head to peer in the other direction. Even though the den was dark, he could see the bedclothes on the floor, along with Corky’s flannel pajamas.
“Oh no. Corky….” Milt sighed and went to the front door, which wasn’t fully closed. Milt shut his eyes again and shook his head. I’m never going to get a good night’s sleep again, am I? He called over his shoulder, “Ev! Wake up. He’s gone again.”
He listened as Ev grunted. The TV went off. In a second Ev, gray-bearded with a belly, was behind him, rubbing concerned brown eyes. “I swear, I just drifted off for a minute.”
“A minute’s all it takes,” Milt snapped. He bit his tongue not to add, “What are we paying you for, anyway?” He flung the front door open wide and peered into the darkness. He turned back to Ev. “He’s out there. Probably naked. Probably freezing. It’s the fucking end of October, Ev.”
The words made it all too real. Milt held back a sob, stuck in his throat.
“He’s okay,” Ev said, failing to hide how desperate he was. He stepped past Milt onto the front porch. Milt switched on the light, illuminating the wooden porch, with its swing and flower boxes, in golden light. The light spilled a bit onto the front lawn as well, and Milt could see the silvery frost that lay upon the grass.
He wanted to wail in despair. The yard, as far as his eyes could make out anyway, was empty. A cold breeze made him shiver and caused the branches in the maple near the porch to clack together, bereft of leaves.
“Where’s my Corky?” he whispered, as much to himself as to Ev.
Milt stepped forward, hugging himself in a vain attempt to ward off the night’s cold, and peered deeper into the gloom of their front yard. Will this be the night it happens? Will we find him somewhere, curled up and no longer shivering? Will he have made that final transition? Milt felt ashamed. In his darkest moments, when the caretaking had become almost more than he could bear and he was simply exhausted beyond any limit, he’d allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to be free of the shackles. It was for only a moment, a little fantasy, but Milt hated himself for even letting such a notion enter his conscious mind.
And now, with the horrible prospect facing him—a dark wish fulfillment—he hated himself even more. Wished he could banish that he’d thought, with relief, what life would be like without Corky for even a second. He whispered a fervent petition. “Please, please let him be okay.”
Milt stepped down off the porch and onto the damp lawn. Below him, a few lights still shone in the valley in the little town of Summitville. It made Milt jealous, imagining the normal lives taking place just below him, even though he
had no right to imagine anyone’s life was less troubled than his own.
The blank and black space beyond the village, Milt knew, was the curve of the Ohio River.
Did he manage to get all the way down to the river? It was possible, even naked. The distance was only about a mile, all downhill. In his mind’s eye, he could visualize Corky, muttering to himself as he made his descent down the cracked brick sidewalks leading to the river’s edge. In Corky’s mind he might be a boy again, off to do some fishing or to challenge the river’s currents and swim out to the little tree-covered island in the middle.
Is he floating in the cold, cold water, caught up on some low-hanging branch south of town? Milt shivered, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.
In his reverie he hadn’t noticed Ev moving behind him, but he did now.
“He’s in the garage,” Ev said, coming up to stand beside Milt.
Startled, Milt turned to him. “What?”
“He’s just in the garage. Sitting on that old redwood bench. I threw a blanket over him. He didn’t want to come with me, even though his teeth were chattering. I turned on the space heater you guys have out there too.” Ev’s dark eyes peered into Milt’s own as though he were looking for an answer to the question “What do I do next?” which was most likely true.
Milt touched Ev’s shoulder. “Thank you. Why don’t you go on back inside? Finish The Bad Seed?” He chuckled, but there was little mirth in it. “I can take things from here.”
Milt watched Ev as he headed back into the house. He felt guilty because he envied the guy a little. After all, for him there was an out from this nightmare. He’d finish his shift in the morning and could return to his normal life. As sweet, kind, and compassionate as Ev was, this was ultimately only a paycheck. When Corky passed one day, Ev would simply move on to the next person in need. Sure, he’d probably feel some sadness, some grief, but it would be nothing compared to the hole that would be left in the world for Milt.
