Deck squinted, and Naim laughed. “Actually, she was a little…unbalanced.” He sighed. “I think that’s why I made so much sense to her. She was with the Maquis—the French Underground—for the first few years of the war, then she joined the OSS. She was a spy throughout the war, and I think she saw some things…did some things…” His voice trailed off and his eyes faded slightly, thinking of the small, thin old woman who had nothing fragile in her and always understood Naim more than he’d been comfortable with.
Deck thought it best to change the subject. “So how did you get that good to take the test?”
Naim took a breath, put the fork down, and drank. “Étienne,” he said, and Deck tried not to grimace. So much for changing the subject.
“His mother was English. He’d gone to Eton for a while, actually.”
“What, like the queen’s school?”
Naim chuckled. “Yeah. That one. Only—” He stopped, then laughed, thinking. “Yeah…actually. From what he told me, it was definitely a school for queens.” He snorted, and Deck grinned. Maybe this could get easier.
“He made me speak English most of the time, so I would learn.” Naim rummaged around until he found a large pan, still learning Deck’s home. Deck took the pan from him with a suspicious eye and leaned back on the counter. “He actually used to get me high, then make me speak English. Those were my exams.” He stared at the floor. “He was a bit strange.” He lost himself a little in memory, the shame and loss he felt over Étienne always attached to him like conjoined grief.
Deck blinked away his sadness and discomfort, not loving the thought of an older boy giving Naim drugs but understanding how broken they both had been, and thankful for Étienne and what he had done for Naim. He stopped chopping when a thought occurred to him.
“You talk to him. Étienne.” He turned and looked at Naim, suddenly wanting to hold him hard. He stayed still. “Don’t you?”
Naim looked back at Deck, his face sad but loving, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly, mirroring Deck’s words back to him. “A lot.”
Deck did move then. He wrapped an arm around Naim and cupped his face, looking into deep, grieving black eyes. “I wish you didn’t feel… I can’t tell you not to feel guilty. I can’t tell you that. It would make me a hypocrite, no matter what I know about you. But I think…I think he’d be really fucking proud of you. And maybe…” He kissed Naim’s forehead, suddenly and desperately needing comfort of his own. “Maybe if we both believe that…that they’re somewhere…” He closed his eyes and pictured Adam, goofy and grinning and mocking Deck relentlessly. Tears came fast and easy, and Naim held him close, understanding too much. “Maybe they can point and laugh at us together.” He laughed softly and choked, laying his cheek on Naim’s head, and they stood, holding each other, giving and taking comfort and understanding of the intricacies of guilt and grief and regret.
Naim held Deck tightly to him. “Thank you, Deck,” he said in a husky voice. “I know we both…maybe what we’ve lost can be easier to deal with if that’s true. Maybe if I can really believe that Étienne doesn’t have to be alone anymore I can live with it. But thank you.”
“For what, though?”
“For not denying my culpability in his death.”
“Naim—”
“We both feel it Deck. We both do and we both live with it. But what you said…”
After a minute, he slid his hand into Deck’s hair and nudged his head back, his own eyes wet, his stomach and chest too full of feeling. “That…” He cleared his throat. “That makes me feel better.” He smiled, still sad but for the first time in ten years, feeling a slight fraction of a lightening of the black part of his heart. “To think…” It was silly, yet there was something deeply meaningful in the thought. “To think that Étienne and Adam could know each other…and call us stupid assholes together.”
Deck laughed hoarsely. “Yeah. Yeah, Adam…he called me a lot of names.”
Naim grinned, finding that very easy to believe. Deck pulled back and wiped at his eyes, sniffling.
Kissing the tattoo on Deck’s bare shoulder, Naim leaned back against the counter and watched and listened. Deck turned the stove on and dropped a generous helping of butter into the pan. “He liked to see how many different ways he could call me a fruit.” He chuckled gruffly.
“What?” Naim laughed.
“Yeah. That was his thing.” Deck looked at Naim carefully. “He didn’t care, ya know. It wasn’t like that.”
“No. Of course not.” Naim was still laughing.
“He was just an asshole. Like me.” Deck snorted. “The best though…” He laughed again. “My favorite was when he tried to tell our grandmother—” He chuckled hard, thinking. “What an asshole.”
Naim was already giggling. “What?”
“Dad’s mother was from Holland, right? Her English wasn’t all that great, and she was pretty traditional.”
Naim nodded like he already knew this. It never occurred to him that Deck’s family were immigrants. Something about the information warmed him.
“So this asshole is talking to her, trying to explain why I didn’t have a girlfriend. Dad didn’t really want her to know. He thought it would bother her. So naturally Adam jumps at the chance, ’cause, ya know…”
“He’s an asshole,” Naim finished for him.
“Right.” Deck was smiling and nodding over the pan of eggs. “So her English sucks and his Dutch sucks and I’m just sitting there glaring at him, and he’s all pointing at me saying, ‘Hij is een…een…framboos. Is de framboos.’” His Dutch accent was pristine.
Naim tried not to let beer come out of his nose as he choked and gasped, roaring with laughter. Deck just chuckled away, tending to his omelet. “De framboos?” Naim coughed out. “That’s…that’s like French. That’s a bloody raspberry.”
“Yeah. I know.” Deck closed his eyes, and he face-palmed at the memory. “It was awesome. She didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, and he got pissed because he couldn’t figure out how to say ‘fucks dudes’ in Dutch.”
Naim still laughed as he realized he missed a man he’d never met. “Wow…that’s…genius.”
“Yeah. Totally.” Deck added a pile of vegetables and ham to one half of the eggs, laid cheese slices on top, and Naim’s mouth watered. “At least it fucking was until Freya heard about it. She grew up with us, so she understood Nana. So then there’s Sunday dinner and fucking Nana, asking Freya, ‘Waarom is je neef en framboos?’ and shit just went downhill from there.”
Naim howled all over again as he located plates and passed them to Deck. “Oh God…Freya.”
“Yup. I opened my locker at work the next day, and the fuckers filled it with fucking boxes of berries. They were goddamn everywhere.”
Naim nodded, still laughing as Deck folded the omelet onto one of the plates. “Keller?”
“Fucking all of them.” Deck groused as he split the eggs down the middle with his spatula and scooped the bigger half onto the second plate. He glanced at Naim, handing him the bigger half. “Fuckers called me ‘boos’ for years. In fact, when Nana died, Freya tried to get the newspaper to put that as my name in the obituary.” He twisted his face and glared at the memory as Naim took his plate with a bark of laughter, then went hunting for forks and put their beers on the table.
Deck followed with his plate, and they sat across from each other, when Naim had a thought. “So, when you go back to work…?”
Deck looked at him suspiciously as Naim grinned. “What?”
“Will you bring me back a cupcake?”
Deck glared. “Asshole.”
Sue trotted into the kitchen and jumped onto Naim’s lap. Deck gave the cat a withering look, shaking his head. “Asshole.”
Naim laughed, eating with one hand and scratching the tabby’s ears with the other.
Deck was right, of course. The omelet was yummy, and both Naim and Sue ate their fill. Naim went to do the dishes, but Deck was havin
g none of it. Instead Naim got the best head of his entire life right there on the kitchen floor before Deck decided to send him to China.
Naim shakily tried to pull him to the bedroom, a little shy about expressing his concerns when Deck groaned heavily, Naim’s fist wrapped firmly around his cock, and eased his mind by explaining that one of the first things he did upon leaving the hospital was make sure there was lube in every room in the house.
That night, Deck dreamed of Vivienne. Because it was a dream, he knew her, and in his mind, she looked something like Naim: too young, and dark and sweetly pretty with giant eyes. He dreamed in Dutch and saw soldiers and fire and fear. He saw a town by the water, and all the buildings burned, hundreds of people trapped inside of them as the soldiers stood by and laughed.
Vivienne watched too, standing with him, doing nothing. Helpless and expressionless.
Then it changed, and he found himself in a cramped, moldy cellar, still surrounded by faceless soldiers, laughing and shouting obscenities at the floor.
They were beating Vivienne brutally, but Deck couldn’t move, frozen and straining in his sleep. No one but Vivienne seemed to see him. It was as though he wasn’t there, but she looked right at him, her face defiant, but her giant eyes were full of fear and grief, and they begged him to help. He watched the soldiers beat her with truncheons and fists and kick at her, and he knew she’d already been raped. They laughed harder as she fell from her knees onto the filthy floor, and she looked up, bloody and made of raw meat, and she tried to reach out to him.
In English she choked out, “Can’t you see me? Please.” She choked on blood and hopelessness. “I know you can see me.”
He tried to move, but his terror overwhelmed him.
Chapter Fourteen
“I can’t sign this.” Dr. Glover shook her head, and the beads tipping her black and silver braids clicked. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dekker, but if you worked in an office or something less strenuous, it would be a different matter. But the form is very clear on what the physical requirements are, and you don’t meet them.”
Deck opened his mouth.
“Yet.” She amended and put a hand on his arm. “You are healing, and I do see significant improvement. Just not as much as I would have expected by now.” She looked back at his chart, then up at the X-ray films on the screen above the desk. “Have you been engaging in any kind of strenuous activities?”
Deck shifted in the blue plastic chair. “Um. No?” He thought about early that morning and the strenuous activities up against the wall of Naim’s shower.
Dr. Glover sighed and looked at him severely. “Mr. Dekker. The two upper ribs and most of the cartilage are simply not repaired, and there are still scapular fractures. Furthermore, the muscle hasn’t healed enough to allow for appropriate support of the bone.”
Deck’s head fell back. “Well, I can’t just do nothing.”
“Of course not. But lifting? Carrying heavy objects? That sort of thing will only set you further and further back.” She crossed her legs and folded her hands. “Look. You’re a healthy young man. I understand that.” She looked him in the eye, and he squirmed. Whose grandmother was she, anyways? “You just need to be a little more careful.”
Deck sighed.
“Come back in two weeks. In the meantime…” Deck stood, and she handed him back his medical clearance papers. “In the meantime, maybe use a little more…creativity.” She peered over her glasses at him. He mumbled a thank-you and scurried out of the exam room.
He found Naim in the staff lounge on the surgical floor, bickering with Marie about gender roles in politics. The hell? Eli looked up from the floor and greeted him, looking worn-out.
“Hey, man.” Deck nodded and looked at Naim, trying not to pout. Eli smiled at him, and Marie instinctively twirled her hair.
“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Naim didn’t stand, and Deck read it as PDA reluctance, so he stayed his distance.
“I saw Jen. She said you were just finishing up a…something or other.”
“A ventriculostomy,” Marie offered helpfully. Deck blinked, startled and beginning to feel something he didn’t like.
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you. Big, important surgery and all.” He still stood near the counter, feeling enormous and awkward.
Naim scooted back. “Come. Sit.” He looked at the empty chair between him and Eli.
Deck hesitated but crossed the room and sat. Naim turned toward him looking concerned. “You okay? What did Glover say?”
Deck sighed. “At least two more weeks.”
“What? Really?” Naim frowned. Marie stood and poured herself more coffee, muttering something about pantsuits and Hillary Clinton.
Naim glared at her. “That is entirely irrelevant.”
“Coffee, Deck?” she asked sweetly, ignoring Naim.
“Huh?” He looked up. “Oh, no, thanks.” He turned back to Naim. “Um…she said something about scapula fractures and the muscle not helping the bone healing.”
“Yeah, those scapular fractures are a bitch.” Eli told the floor. “Look at them cross-eyed and they don’t heal.”
Naim frowned and thought for a minute. “Ahh…right. Yeah, I can see…” He grimaced, thinking through the anatomy and body mechanics. “That would be…” He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
Eli snorted, and Marie turned from the counter, ready to say something. Naim didn’t even look at her. “Shut. It.”
She giggled. “Told you.”
Naim threw her an evil look, then turned to Deck who, to Naim’s absolute shock, blushed and looked at the floor. “Marie,” he snapped.
Deck shifted, even more awkward.
Sighing, Naim stood. “Come on. It’s crowded in here.” He gave both of his friends a rude look as Deck stood, and he led Deck out of the room and down the hall.
Naim glanced at him but didn’t say anything as they headed for the lifts. He pressed the Down button and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry, Deck. I know you’re… I know you want to go back to work.” He wanted to touch Deck’s face but Deck seemed so uncomfortable, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for this setback. He wasn’t exactly discouraging when it came to Deck exerting himself.
Deck didn’t say anything, and Naim grew more distressed. This wasn’t like Deck at all, and he had no idea how to handle it. The lift doors opened, and they stepped inside. Naim greeted two nurses and an attending with a nod and polite, “Hello,” and they made small talk about a procedure they’d all observed the previous day. Naim wanted to go outside, but it was a frigid day and he was only in scrubs.
Stepping out on the second floor, the silence grew more distressing. Naim led Deck to the residents’ lounge, locked the door, leaned on it, and turned to Deck with his arms crossed, feeling vulnerable.
“Are you… I’m…” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Clearly Deck was not okay. It was a stupid question, so he wouldn’t finish it.
Deck stood in the middle of the room, dejected and dismal.
Naim took a deep breath and did the only thing he knew how to do. “Two weeks. It’s not so bad.” He realized that sounded like he was diminishing the news. “Not that, I mean I know it’s long, because it’s already been too long,” he rushed out. “But I can be better about helping you with the exercises you’re supposed to be doing outside of PT, and…” He sighed. He really couldn’t fix this.
Deck glanced up at him pitifully.
“Chèr, what can I do?”
“Is it…” Deck looked at the floor. Would it be okay if I hugged you or something?” He clenched his fists and looked like someone just shot Sue.
“God. Deck. Jesus.” Naim practically threw himself at him, and Deck wrapped around him hard, shoving his face in the crook of Naim’s neck. Naim breathed and chuckled into Deck’s neck. “What the hell was that? Why would you even…?” He laughed again and nuzzled.
“Well, you’re at work and y
ou were all weird, and I know how you get sometimes, so I didn’t want to embarrass you, and then you guys were saying things I don’t understand and you’re all smart and shit, and then you yelled at Marie, so I just didn’t want to…”
Naim laughed. “Idiot.” He pulled back. “I yelled at her because I thought you were embarrassed, and she was making it worse.”
Deck still looked unhappy, and Naim held Deck’s face in his hands. “What? Deck, what?” He brushed at his face with his fingertips, a little awestruck by his own feelings.
“Maybe I shouldn’t come around here anymore.”
Naim started and frowned.
“I mean I have to come back to see Dr. Glover, but…” Deck pulled away and backed up to the wall.
“Deck…” Naim had no idea what he was doing, and he suddenly thought he might have an idea how Deck had felt for so long, not really knowing or understanding Naim. He felt helpless and lost, and he just wanted to fix it.
“What the hell are you doing with me?”
Naim could not have been more startled if Deck had just told him he’d realized he was transsexual. “What?”
“Naim…shit…you’re like…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re like Darnell said that time. You’re fucking classy. And a fucking doctor. And I can’t even fucking remember words like misogynist and idiom or…or…fucking talk without saying fuck every other fucking word.” He slumped, and Naim just stared at him, more convinced than ever that Deck was mentally defective. “You know what’s appropriate and what’s not, and I’m just an asshole while you save people’s lives every day and shit, and you speak French and English and you traveled all over.” He looked up at Naim. “Fuck, man, I didn’t even go to fucking college. The fuck are you doing with me?”
Naim blinked, flabbergasted and silent as Deck stared at the floor. Finally, after a long moment, he spoke. “So. The only thing you said just now that makes any kind of sense at all is that you’re an asshole.”
Deck looked up at him with a pathetic scowl.
Smoke and Mirrors Page 28
