Blue Umbrella Sky

by Rick R. Reed

  Who said there was a competition? And even if there was, why did it matter who won? You’re making this into something it’s not. Surrender. Serenity. Let go and let God. Blah, blah, blah.

  Billy glanced down at his phone. Milt had texted and called dozens of times. Billy felt a twinge of guilt. He also felt a twinge of shame and embarrassment. He was being silly. He was thinking little of himself.

  If Milt was so wrapped up in this hunky guy at his place, would he have been texting and calling Billy over and over again? Was that really the behavior of an infatuated man? Maybe the infatuation is for you, dumbass. Just look at your damn phone to see the proof.

  But he couldn’t talk to Milt. Whether the man sitting in his yard right now was a relative, a friend, a one-night stand who didn’t know when to leave, or a new boyfriend didn’t matter. Billy wasn’t ready—emotionally—to have it out with Milt. Not yet. He wasn’t prepared for the truth, no matter what it turned out to be.

  So he shut off his phone and threw it on the kitchen counter next to the toaster.

  He grabbed a little can of V8 from his minifridge, and then sat down at his breakfast nook to stare out the window. This side of the trailer faced west toward San Jacinto. Billy gazed up at its gray/brown peaks, capped with pine trees and other desert vegetation, and simply let their immortal Zen-like strength seep into him. The mountains had a kind of power, Billy believed, that couldn’t be put into words. But sometimes he could feel that power, when he loosened up his monkey mind and his ego to let it seep in.

  Now was one of those times, and Billy kind of drifted as he imagined the top of the mountain. He’d gone up via the Palm Springs aerial tramway many times, hiked around its shady forest and reveled in its coolness and stunning panoramas.

  When at last he descended from his mental journey, he finished off the V8 and got himself a pen and a pad of paper he kept in one of the kitchen drawers. He used these only for grocery store lists, but today he thought he’d do something out of the ordinary—write a letter. Who wrote letters these days? Practically no one. But Billy felt the occasion called for something more solid than the ephemera of an email.

  Dear Milt,

  I care about you. I care a lot. You came into my life in the summer, and I watched as you struggled to move in, to get settled. I watched as you brought Ruby home and saw your joy in your new companion. That joy floated over and filled me up too, even if I was a little jealous of her and all the attention you showered on her. I wanted some too! LOL.

  I watched and waited, hoping for a chance to meet. I made eye contact. I said hello dozens of times. Remember? I tried to chat with you about the weather, about the temperature of the pool, the big pothole near the entrance, where you were from.

  But you were having none of it.

  I couldn’t get even a little close until the day of that summer storm. The flood! Oh God, it was terrible, wasn’t it?

  Except it wasn’t. I look at that rare windy deluge as a blessing because it was my entree into your life. One thing I learned, big lesson, in AA was that we have to give in order to receive. Reaching out to you that day, I know I made a friend.

  And maybe that’s all I made, despite my wishes to the contrary. I’m just going to lay my truth out here on the line, Milt. I’ve always been, I think, a bit of an empath. It’s my gift and my curse. But it lets me know, right away, before I have any logical reason for knowing, who’s right for me and who’s not. That feeling is pretty much infallible.

  And I knew you were right for me.

  You are right for me. I can say that with certainty. Whether I’m right for you is a question only you can answer. When you know. When you’re ready. And I surrender to the thought that you may decide you’re never ready for me, not in the way I dream of.

  I wish I could say that’s okay. For the best part of me, the spirit side of me, it is okay. But I wear this suit of human clothes around, and it’s tattered and worn-out at the elbows and knees. It clings to fantasies like true love and soul mates.

  Ah, I’m going off on a tangent here. I just wanted you to know that I care.

  And that I hurt.

  I saw you with that guy. You know the guy. The big lug in your kitchen, the one you were hugging and making breakfast for. It’s none of my business—it pains me to say that.

  I don’t even know what he is to you. And my self-doubting, low-self-esteem self wants to make me believe he’s the light of the world, the answer to your prayers. My head tells me he could be nothing more than a cousin, a buddy from your past, or an online hookup that spilled over into the morning. That last part gives me a twinge that hurts as bad as you kicking me in the balls. And the bottom line really is: it’s none of my damn business.

  Not fair of me to lay this at your innocent feet, I know.

  And I don’t know where I’m going with this.

  Yeah, I do.

  And Billy stopped writing. He stared down at the letter, read it over once, twice. And then he picked it up and tore it into pieces. He dropped the scraps of paper into the trash can.

  He kind of believed and kind of didn’t that he set out with the intention that he’d never give Milt the letter, but part of him wanted to. Just so Milt could see what he was missing out on. So maybe Milt would feel bad for making him feel bad.

  Billy knew those motivations were simply him being childish. Being selfish. Self-seeking, as they said in the twelve-step rooms. See, giving Milt the letter would place a responsibility on him that didn’t belong to him. That responsibility was Billy’s and Billy’s alone.

  Billy knew what he had to do. He had to go over there and talk to Milt. And yes, he needed to apologize for not showing up when they’d made plans.

  It was the right thing, the decent thing to do.

  Billy hurried to shower, shave, and make himself presentable.

  And then he set off into the afternoon sun to make amends, whether the recipient of those amends knew he needed them or not. Billy needed to make them to try to set things right in his world again.

  But Milt wasn’t home. Or at least he wasn’t answering the door.

  The trailer was empty. Billy peered into the windows. Nobody home. No dog, no extra man, no Milt.

  Billy started back home. “Serves you right, you big fool. They probably went without you.”

  JUST AS he reached his door, he heard a car engine and turned to see Milt, Ruby, and that damn guy, Mr. Hunkalicious, pulling into Milt’s driveway. Even from this distance, he could see the quizzical look Milt gave him. Billy picked up on the telepathy quite readily. Milt was broadcasting “Where the hell were you?”

  Billy stood near his door, a little helpless, knowing the grin he shot back at Milt was sheepish. A part of him simply wanted to slip inside.

  But he forced himself to stay put, watching as the three of them emerged from the car. He knew all three were staring at him, but he didn’t allow it to bother him. If he was being honest, he’d have to admit this situation was actually kind of funny.

  Billy took in a deep breath and crossed the space that separated them. He had his priorities straight. First, he squatted down to give Ruby some love, because she was going nuts. Second, he straightened up, smiled at the big guy, and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Billy Blue. I live next door.” It took all his strength to not ask who the guy was. Again, it was none of his business. If Milt, or the guy himself, wanted to let him know, they would.

  The guy, as Billy expected, had a killer handshake. Billy had to refrain from saying “Ow” and shaking out his own hand afterward. Alpha-male posturing? He wondered.

  “I’m Dane Bernard.”

  Milt stepped up, eyeing Billy curiously. He patted Dane’s shoulder. “Dane’s one of my oldest and dearest friends from back in Ohio. He came out for a long weekend as a surprise to me.”

  Billy sighed with relief. Dane wasn’t a lover, a hookup, or anything of that order, but only a good friend. Billy also felt like kicking himself. Why didn’t he allow for th
at possibility first? Why had he let his mind cloud up with jealousy?

  Because you care. Give yourself a break.

  “It’s good to meet you, Dane.” Billy gave him a big smile, not only to welcome Dane, but also because he was now capable. The clouds had lifted, and the sky was once again a clear and sunny blue. Even though it wasn’t true, Billy added, “Milt’s told me all about you. He speaks very highly of you.”

  “I do?” Milt gave Dane a look, and they both burst into laughter.

  “You do,” Dane said. “Of course you do. What else could you say? Everyone speaks very highly of me.” He turned back to Billy. “And Milt speaks very highly of you too, Billy. In fact, I think he might have a little crush.” He winked at Milt. “So watch out.”

  It was a small delight to Billy to see the flush redden Milt’s cheeks. He glared at Dane, shaking his head.

  Billy wanted to immediately quiz Milt. “A crush? Really? You do?” but he held all the queries inside. He could see Milt was embarrassed, bordering on humiliated. If he didn’t have such a stake in this game, he would have thought the situation laugh-out-loud funny.

  Instead, mercifully, he changed the subject. It was time to make amends. Billy drew in a breath and then just came out with it. He clasped Milt’s shoulder. “Hey, man, I’m really sorry I didn’t show this morning. I wish I had some good excuse to give, but I don’t, other than me being an ass. Therefore, I apologize. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Billy didn’t need to be an empath to read the hurt and confusion on Milt’s face. He knew Milt probably wondered why he’d stood him up without a good reason to explain it.

  “It’s so unlike you,” Milt said softly. “Is everything okay?”

  Billy eyed Dane, silently pleading for a moment alone. If he didn’t catch on in a second, Billy would break down and ask him for this small grace.

  But Dane, bless his heart, got why Billy was staring pointedly at him. Or at least that’s what Billy deduced.

  Dane said, “I need to go inside, boys.” He winked. “Come on, Ruby.” He tapped his thigh, and she dutifully followed. Once both man and beast had gone inside with the door closed behind them, Billy turned back to Milt and said, “Yeah, everything’s okay. Except I’m an idiot. A jealous fool. A dick.” Billy chuckled. Could I tell him the truth? Yes, I can. And I will. Remember the tenth step? When you’re wrong, buddy, you promptly admit it. So he spilled the beans, told Milt how he’d been a Peeping Tom that morning and got more than an eyeful. “An eyeful I of course completely misinterpreted.” Billy smiled. “I’m sorry.”

  “You were jealous?” Milt was grinning. “Really? Dane’s like my brother. Or my sister, if the mood’s right.” He chuckled. “If you saw anything even remotely sexual between us, you were way off. That would be like incest.” Milt rubbed the toe of his shoe in the dust at his feet. “But I have to admit—I’m flattered.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah, hell yeah. It’s been a long time since I inspired jealousy in anyone. I’ve been an old married guy for so long such stuff doesn’t even cross my mind.” He smiled. “You do an old man’s heart good.”

  “Shut up,” Billy said. “You’re hardly an old man. And I bet, even when you were married, you inspired lots of jealousy, whether you knew it or not.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. And I’m sorry for the confusion. If you’d just knocked on the door, we could have avoided all of it.”

  “Believe me, I know. I know. I have a child’s mind sometimes.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Milt said. “You’re only human.”

  Billy didn’t argue. He just nodded.

  Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Both turned to look as they heard the back door of the trailer opening.

  Milt said, “It’s just too bad. I was looking forward to our hike.”

  “So was I. Believe me. More than you know.”

  “Hey. I was gonna take Dane out for dinner. I was thinking Vietnamese. You want to join us?”

  And Billy did. More than anything. But he thought a little self-sacrifice was called for here, so he said, “No. That’s okay. You enjoy your friend. He’s only here for the weekend, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Billy held up a hand. “Don’t. It’s okay. I’m sure you guys have lots of catching up to do.” He didn’t say it, but he knew they’d most likely want to talk about Corky. “I’ll just let you guys do your thing. When Dane goes back, you’ll be in touch, I hope, and we can reschedule that hike. The trails aren’t going anywhere.”

  Milt looked at him curiously and then, Billy thought, with gratitude. “Okay. Talk soon.” And he leaned forward and planted a small kiss on Billy’s face. It landed just north of his upper lip. It should have been awkward, but what it was was wonderful. When he stepped back, Billy had the pleasure of seeing that ridge of rose emerge across Milt’s cheeks again.

  “Later, tater.”

  Billy watched him walk away.

  He waved a hand and went home.

  Chapter 17

  IT WAS the last night of Dane’s stay. He was due to get up early in the morning to catch his flight back to Pittsburgh. Since Dane would need to leave no later than 4:00 a.m., Milt had planned an early dinner in. He’d made his old reliable—baked ziti with meat sauce and ricotta. There was some garlic bread and a peppery salad of arugula and tomatoes in a lemon vinaigrette.

  They’d drunk a lot of red wine, an exceptional California Syrah, with their meal, and now they sat at Milt’s little kitchen table, a little drowsy, maybe a little drunk. Conversation was drifting, as it sometimes does when liberated by the grape, toward the personal.

  Milt felt more introspective, and perhaps just a touch maudlin, than he had all weekend. He and Dane had done the usual touristy stuff—visiting downtown Palm Springs and checking out things like the art galleries, shops, and the Hollywood-style stars on the sidewalk. They’d hiked the Araby Trail and ogled Bob Hope’s futuristic-looking old mansion tucked into the side of the mountain. They’d driven out to Rancho Mirage and dined in the old-school kitschy elegance of Lord Fletcher’s.

  What they hadn’t done much of was talk—heart-to-heart.

  Milt gazed at Dane, his oldest and best friend, across the table, sad that in just a few hours he’d be on an eastbound plane, headed home to Seth and Summitville. Milt knew just the life he’d be returning to. In his mind’s eye, he could see the white brick high school at the top of the hill where both of them had worked together for so many years, commiserating over and celebrating both the failures and successes of their respective students. He reveled in the view of the foothills of the Appalachians, which surrounded their little town. That view, from above, also afforded him a peek at the Ohio River as it curved, serpentine, through the little town. For a moment Milt felt almost as though he were back there—he knew its streets so well.

  Milt found himself missing Dane already. Who knew when he’d come back? For a few days Dane brought the old connections alive. Milt realized those connections were based in the heart and not in geography, because when he was with Dane, it was as though no time at all had passed. That, Milt thought, was the measure of true friendship.

  Dane had brought a piece of home with him. He’d brought the peace of home with him, making Milt realize how much he’d missed home—as he still thought of Summitville.

  “I miss it.”

  Dane immediately caught on. “Home?” His face lit up. “You think you might want to come back?”

  Milt swirled the wine in his glass, staring down at its deep red hue, watching as the swirling slowed, leaving legs behind. For just a moment, perhaps, there was a pull toward Ohio. He could return. He could do anything he wanted, really, couldn’t he? It would wipe out what little money he had left, but he could do it. Really, it wouldn’t even be that much trouble.

  Returning to the little town on the banks of the Ohio River meant he could start right back up where he’d left off with his ol
d friends there. He could buy another house, probably smaller and with not as pretty of a view as the one he’d shared with Corky, but real estate back in Summitville was dirt cheap. A decent two-bedroom home in a perfectly acceptable neighborhood could be had for well under a hundred thousand dollars.

  He could find a job. Something—even a greeter at Walmart. Or maybe something would open up at the high school for him. His years of teaching there should count for something, right? Even if he was just a teacher’s assistant, it would be okay. Milt had never been proud.

  He had a quick glimpse of himself twenty or thirty years into the future, sitting on a porch swing, clutching a mug of beer. Dappled shadows would make patterns of late-afternoon summer light across his face. The newspaper, folded so he could do the crossword puzzle, would lay beside him. At his feet, a dog as old and tired as he was, curled up and snoring.

  It was comforting, in a way. And sad. Because, other than the dog, he was alone.

  Just like he was now.

  But at least here, in the desert, he had the potential of a new life, one that was more vibrant than sedate. Sometimes life was about embracing risk over comfort.

  Home, he’d revel in his memories—of Corky, of course, but also of his mother, passed from cancer seven years ago, and his poor dad, whom a heart attack had taken so early, at age fifty-five. He could walk the banks of the Ohio, recalling the days of his boyhood there, skipping stones and seeing what the river washed up. In the summer he’d swim covertly in its greenish-brown waters, avoiding the currents his mom always warned would surely drag him under.

  He could attend the Christmas parade downtown, the Fourth of July fireworks up the river near Pittsburgh, the school plays, and the summer carnivals.

  It would be easy. Like getting on a bicycle after not having ridden one for a long, long while.