by Kim Fielding
AFTERWARD PARKER told everyone he heard Morrison drive past on Belmont, even though the door was shut against the early March chill and Lena Horne was crooning over the sound system. Nobody believed him except John, who was eccentric in his own right, and Wes, when he later heard the story. Although Wes might have only been humoring him. But Parker did hear Morrison, and he froze as he counted out change to one of Jeremy’s park rangers.
“Uh, sorry,” Parker said, handing over the bills. “Dina will have your latte ready in a sec.”
The ranger dropped the coins into the tip jar. “Thanks.”
Wes must be bringing more of his small treasures, which was what Rhoda called them. Exquisite little jewelry boxes, fanciful phone recharging stands, exotic-looking plant stands. His first vanful sold almost as quickly as Rhoda could put the pieces out, and even after Wes insisted she take a commission, she was able to send him an impressive payment. Rhoda was thrilled, Wes was richer, and Parker was happy because Wes had spent the night after delivering his first batch. They’d snuggled in Parker’s captain’s bed, trying to keep their lovemaking quiet.
Parker hoped Wes would stay over again tonight. And maybe tomorrow too? Parker had tomorrow off, and they could make a day of it. A few hours in a Powell’s bookstore, perhaps, followed by a walk through Forest Park and a nice dinner out. That might be enough to keep him from pining for a while. But it probably wouldn’t last until he finally finished getting his head straight.
When Wes entered P-Town a few minutes later, Parker ran over and swooped him into a kiss. It got most of the customers clapping and cheering and made Wes drop the paper grocery bag he’d been carrying.
“Hi,” Wes said when he was again steady on his feet.
“Hi yourself.” Parker felt like a kid on his birthday—and boy, did he want to unwrap this present.
Wes simply stood there, head tilted a little, as if he were trying to discern a secret message in Parker’s face. Then he nodded, apparently to himself. “We have things to discuss.”
Parker’s heart beat faster. “Good things?”
“I hope. But I have something else to take care of first.” Wes picked up his bag and strode to the table where Rhoda sat with Jeremy, Nevin, and Qay. Parker trailed along.
Of course everyone at the table had been watching Wes since he’d entered—they probably clapped at the kiss—and now they all greeted him. “I hope you have more treasures,” Rhoda said.
“Yep. I’ll get ’em in a bit.” Then, to everyone’s surprise, he addressed Nevin. “I need to say this.”
“Yeah?” Nevin stood up with his legs slightly spread and his arms crossed.
“Thank you.”
Seeing Nevin speechless was a rare thing indeed, but there he was. Gaping.
So Wes continued. “You saved my life. And then you drove Parker to see me and got us both everything we needed to get by for a few days. I know you did these things because Parker’s your friend, but I’m deeply grateful. Parker is really fortunate to have you in his life.”
After Nevin blinked a few times, his shoulders slumped. “Fuck,” he growled. Then he gave Wes a quick hard hug followed by a punch to his shoulder. The one that hadn’t been shot.
Wes was grinning like a loon. “I brought you a little present,” he said, handing over the bag.
Nevin took it carefully, as if it might contain live cobras. But after he reached inside, all he pulled out was a large, nonvenomous wicker basket. He set the basket on the table and began pulling out items: A small plaster version of the Grants Pass Caveman statue. A large pump bottle of a cleaning product called Ballwash and coordinating bottle of something called Sack Spray. Those items made everyone at the table hoot with laughter while Nevin attempted to scowl. Yet when he held the final item, a bottle of whiskey, even Nevin whistled his appreciation. “Expensive stuff,” he said.
“I thought you’d be someone who appreciates it.”
Nevin gave him a warm, genuine smile without a hint of snark or leer. “Let’s pour some together, sometime soon.”
“I’d like that,” Wes said.
And Parker didn’t bawl, which he counted as a major win.
“Excuse me,” Wes said. “Parker and I need a few minutes.”
Rhoda clearly tried to hide a smile behind her hand, but Parker could see it in her eyes. What did that mean? Did she have suspicions about what Wes wanted to discuss? Parker himself had no clue.
Eager to get it straight from Wes, Parker grabbed his arm and dragged him out onto the sidewalk. It wasn’t raining, and neither of them would freeze if this didn’t take too long.
“This is where we first saw each other,” Wes observed.
“Yeah. That was a hell of a day for both of us. Yet not nearly the most traumatic one that month.”
Wes lifted his chin. “Are you sorry it happened?”
“I’m really sad that Logan was murdered. I wish to God those fuckwads hadn’t hurt you. But I’m not sorry at all about the rest. Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Ditto.” Wes looked down and scraped his foot along the sidewalk, clearly collecting his thoughts. His hair had grown out, and although it wasn’t nearly long enough yet for a ponytail, there was plenty for Parker to run his fingers through. It would be soft and would smell of wood and pine sap and coffee. Parker could drown in that scent.
Finally Wes caught Parker’s gaze again. “I’ve been thinking about your analogy. The IKEA one. I think I understand. And I’m offering you an epiphany in exchange—one I had just last night.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
“Okay.” Deep breath. “You told me that you just float around. But that’s not exactly true. Yes, you move around a lot. Sometimes without much planning.”
“Any planning,” Parker interjected.
“Whatever. But wherever you float to, you always end up back here—in Portland. At P-Town.”
“’Cause I’m too useless to cut the cord.”
“No! That’s not it at all. You float because of the cord. You’re a free spirit, Parker, the kind of unique, wonderful soul who doesn’t fit in any preset slots. And you have the confidence to be that person—to be true to who you are—because you know you can always return home. Here’s my analogy: you’re like an acrobat, leaping and spinning high in the air, knowing that net is there below you. And who’d want to be an office drone when he can be an acrobat?”
Parker let those words sink in while traffic rumbled down the street and two of the cat ladies appeared around the corner. They waved at Parker before entering P-Town.
An acrobat. It sounded ridiculous at first, but the more Parker thought about it, the better sense it made. He’d never been truly unhappy with his directionless life—only with the sense that he was a disappointment to Rhoda and the world at large. But what if he wasn’t disappointing anyone? After all, Rhoda never nagged him to do something more specific with his life, and it wasn’t as if she was reticent about expressing her opinions.
“I think I like floating,” Parker said quietly.
“Yes!” Wes gave him a fast embrace. “Maybe someday you’ll decide to settle on the ground for a while, and maybe not. As long as you’re being authentic to yourself, it doesn’t matter.”
Parker nodded. He felt shaky, almost in shock, and yet also wonderfully free. As if he really might float up into the sky at any moment. He clutched Wes’s arm just in case. He didn’t want to fly away right now.
“The other thing you need to know, Parker, is that however far you float, you’re always right there when people need you. You’re Rhoda’s right hand—without you, she’d never give herself a break. You didn’t let Logan’s death just slip away unnoticed. And when I needed you in the hospital and after, you never left my side.”
“Because I love you,” Parker whispered.
“I know.” Wes’s eyes appeared suspiciously moist, but he was smiling. “And there’s more to the epiphany. See, I’m your opposit
e. I’ve rooted myself firmly in place because I’m afraid if I let myself fly a little, I’ll lose everything.”
“You haven’t had a net,” Parker said solemnly.
“Exactly. I want to do more, I really do. I want to go places and… experiment a little. But I’ve been too chickenshit. I mean, look at me! I live in a bus that can’t drive anywhere, and isn’t that an even better metaphor than your Swedish tables?”
Wes’s voice had risen enough to make passersby stare, but neither he nor Parker cared. Parker grasped Wes’s other arm and looked steadily into his eyes. “What if you had a net? What if I was your net?”
“Then I think I could do anything.”
They hugged again, this one so long and fierce that it was hard to breathe. And they each sobbed a little into the other’s shoulder yet laughed at the same time. Parker could fly—and he could bring Wes along with him. And when they felt like it, they could touch down together.
They stood outside for a while, never quite breaking contact. They made some promises and a few plans. And even though Parker had begun to shiver, deep inside, he was toasty warm.
“Let’s go in,” Wes finally said, holding Parker’s hand.
They must have been quite a sight as they marched to Rhoda’s table. Puffy eyes. Runny noses. Grins so wide their heads almost fell off.
Everyone at the table waited silently. Even Rhoda.
“Hey, Mom?” Well, that was the most pathetic attempt ever at nonchalance. “Can someone cover my shifts for… the foreseeable future?”
Only when your boss was also your mother would a question like that bring a smile in response. “Do you have plans, Gonzo?”
“Wes and I are going to do some traveling. Road trip.”
“Where to?”
They hadn’t decided that part, so Parker looked at Wes. And Wes smiled brightly enough to illuminate the entire city. “We’re going to Wyoming.”
Epilogue
New Orleans, Louisiana
October 2019
PARKER LAY back on the mattress, rubbed his stomach, and groaned. “Oh my God. I ate way too much. I’m going to die.” It was, however, a rather excellent way to go.
Wes was sitting at the motel room’s wobbly little table, gloating over the bag of treasures he’d accumulated that day. “I thought two dinners was a great idea, actually.”
“Two dinners, three bourbon punches, and, oh my God, bananas Foster.”
“I thought you liked bananas,” Wes said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“I get to make the stupid double entendres.” Parker considered throwing a pillow at Wes but decided it would take too much effort.
He watched as Wes, humming contentedly, took an item out of his bag and held it under the light. It was a piece of ironwork that, according to Wes, had probably been part of a fireplace screen. Round, about the size of a dessert plate, it was made to look like a spiderweb, complete with a fat spider in the middle. Wes would surely use it to create something amazing. It was a good thing they were leaving town in the morning, before Wes had a chance to empty every architectural salvage store in Louisiana. Morrison was already packed nearly full with his finds, large and small.
Oh, but to see the joy on Wes’s face! Not just over his purchases, but every time he had a new experience. Like when he first caught sight of the Mississippi. When they took a tour of the old cemetery. When they strolled around town, rubbernecking at the mansions. When they walked up Bourbon Street, pausing in doorways to listen to the music flowing out.
Tomorrow they’d begin the long drive back to Oregon. They’d take a more southerly route this time, crossing Texas and New Mexico before cutting north. And they already had their next trip planned: a late-winter cruise to Mexico. Wes had to get his passport first, and they needed to sell more furniture to bulk up the bank account, but that was fine. Parker was looking forward to some quiet months in Rogue Valley. He planned to watch Wes work, do most of the cooking and cleaning, and update Wes’s fledgling website.
He might put more thought into a vague idea that had been rolling around in his skull lately.
Wes’s grandfather’s old house had stood empty for years, making Wes a little sad every time they passed it. If Wes and Parker could rent or buy it for an affordable price, it might make a nice home for a nonprofit group. The region’s only LGBTQ+ resource center had closed its doors the previous year—maybe it was time to open a new one. Bright Hope could have a Rogue Valley location staffed by Parker. And in the evenings he and Wes would have their music and their books. And their bed.
“You have that gleam in your eyes,” Wes said.
“Do I?”
“I thought you were too full to move. I thought you were dying.”
“I’ve recovered. It’s a miracle. So put away your toys and join me instead.” Parker patted the mattress beside him.
Wes had just opened his mouth to answer when Parker’s phone made a familiar tone. He sighed theatrically.
“Go on,” Wes said. “Read it. She hasn’t texted you in over a week.”
“No, but she tagged me on Facebook two days ago.”
“Doesn’t count.”
Wes had turned into Rhoda’s biggest ally. Which might have happened anyway, but back in March, when they returned from Wyoming, Rhoda asked Wes to call her Mom, and that sealed the deal. And how could Parker begrudge any of it when Wes was so thrilled to have someone to call Mom?
Gonzo r u there?
Sigh. Hi Mom.
U boys having a good time?
Not at the moment—at least not as good as Parker had been planning. For one thing, they still had their clothes on.
NOLA is fantastic. We love it.
Good. Will u b here for Thanksgiving?
Ugh. As if there hadn’t been enough turkey-day disasters already.
Wouldn’t miss it, he texted.
Can u stay for the weekend & maybe several days after? Keep an eye on P-Town?
Sure. Planning another trip to Vegas?
It took a couple of minutes for her reply, probably because she was at work and something needed her attention. Hawaii.
Ooh. Swanky! He added a palm-tree emoji.
A honeymoon should b swanky, don’t u think?
Parker’s whoop of delight brought Wes out of his chair and to the bed, where he peered over Parker’s shoulder. When he read Rhoda’s last text, he laughed and clapped Parker’s back.
Congrats, Mom. We’re so happy for u. This time he sent a string of emojis: the congratulations horn, clapping hands, a piece of cake, and a bunch of hearts.
“That’s very eloquent,” Wes intoned.
You 2 will have to arrange tuxes. We’ll discuss when you get home. And maybe u should talk to the rabbi. This one does a beautiful ceremony. Doesn’t care if you’re diff religions & same gender.
“Oh my God,” Parker moaned. “I knew this was coming. She can’t help herself.”
Wes was staring at him. “Are you that opposed to the idea?”
“No.” Parker reached over to lightly stroke Wes’s cheek. “Not opposed. Is that a proposal?”
“I guess it is. Is that a yes?”
“I guess it is.”
Parker dropped the phone and gathered Wes in for a kiss.
He’d respond to Rhoda later. And on the drive home, he and Wes could work out some wedding plans of their own. Oh my God—he was going to be a married man! He’d need to warn Wes that getting hitched wouldn’t stop Rhoda. Next she’d be hinting about grandkids.
But for now Wes was in his bed, in his arms, in his heart, in his soul. For now both of them were exactly where they wanted to be.
More from Kim Fielding
A Love Can’t Novel
Bullied as a child in small-town Kansas, Jeremy Cox ultimately escaped to Portland, Oregon. Now in his forties, he’s an urban park ranger who does his best to rescue runaways and other street people. His ex-boyfriend, Donny—lost to drinking and drugs six years earlier—appe
ars on his doorstep and inadvertently drags Jeremy into danger. As if dealing with Donny’s issues doesn’t cause enough turmoil, Jeremy meets a fascinating but enigmatic man who carries more than his fair share of problems.
Qayin Hill has almost nothing but skeletons in his closet and demons in his head. A former addict who struggles with anxiety and depression, Qay doesn’t know which of his secrets to reveal to Jeremy—or how to react when Jeremy wants to save him from himself.
Despite the pasts that continue to haunt them, Jeremy and Qay find passion, friendship, and a tentative hope for the future. Now they need to decide whether love is truly a powerful thing or if, despite the old adage, love can’t conquer all.
A Love Can’t Novel
Small but mighty—that could be Detective Nevin Ng’s motto. Now a dedicated member of the Portland Police Bureau, he didn’t let a tough start in life stop him from protecting those in need. He doesn’t take crap from anyone, and he doesn’t do relationships. Until he responds to the severe beating of a senior citizen and meets the victim’s wealthy, bow-tied landlord.
Property manager and developer Colin Westwood grew up with all the things Nevin never had, like plenty of money and a supportive, loving family. Too supportive, perhaps, since his childhood illness has left his parents unwilling to admit he’s a strong, grown man. Colin does do relationships, but they never work out. Now he’s thinking maybe he won’t just go with the flow. Maybe it’s time to try something more exciting. But being a witness to a terrible crime—or two—was more than he bargained for.
Despite their differences, Colin and Nevin discover that the sparks fly when they’re together. But sparks are short-lived, dampened by the advent of brutal crimes, and Colin and Nevin have seemingly little in common. The question is whether they have the heart to build something lasting.
Born into poverty and orphaned young, Daveth Blyd had one chance for success when his fighting prowess earned him a place in the Tangye city guard—a place he lost to false accusations of theft. Now he scrapes out a living searching for wayward spouses and missing children. When a nobleman offers him a small fortune to find an entertainer who’s stolen a ring, Daveth takes the case.
