David, Renewed

by Diana Copland

  “It looks almost like a gang tag,” he said as he crouched low, studying it.

  “There was something similar on my truck,” Jackson said, and David looked at him, startled.

  “I remember,” Mitchell said, straightening slowly. “This is clearer, probably because yours was done in spray paint and this is….” He reached out and rubbed his finger over the paint. When he applied his nail, it scratched right off. “Huh. Must be some kind of temporary paint marker.” He glanced at David. “I hate to say whoever did this showed any consideration, but this is a lucky thing, Mr. Snyder. This way it should come right off and not necessitate you having to have your car painted.”

  “I feel like I should tell you,” David finally worked up the courage to say. “I’m having issues with my ex.”

  “The guy really is an ass,” Jackson provided. “He didn’t know where David moved, so he tailed him home last night.”

  Mitchell withdrew a small notepad. “And what’s his name?”

  David gave him the pertinent information, including the fact he’d turned up in David’s office and the multiple text messages. He felt torn. If it had been Trevor, he wanted him stopped. But if it hadn’t been, having the police come to question him to question him might make him angrier.

  The detective finally left, and David called Michael, telling him he probably wouldn’t be able to make it in, but that he would explain later. He called his insurance company and arranged for his agent to meet him downtown at the Toyota dealership. Moments after he’d finished the call, Jackson appeared with a small tub of something he’d fished from the toolbox in the back of his truck. He knelt next to the door and opened the lid, then began to apply the thick paste to the door with a large sponge in brisk, scrubbing motions. After a few swipes of the paste, the letters began to disappear.

  “Oh my God, Jackson. Thank you.” David had resigned himself to driving through town with “faggot” scrawled on his door, but he was relieved he didn’t have to. “What is that?”

  “Turtle Wax,” Jackson replied as he used a small hand towel to remove the wax. All the temporary paint came with it, and relief filled David’s chest. He put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder.

  Jackson looked up at him, and for a moment all David could do was stare at him. “Thank you,” he finally managed. “For everything.”

  Jackson gave him a small smile, and David was sure he saw pink on his tanned cheeks. “You’re welcome.” He stood up and walked briskly back to his truck. When he pulled out his tool belt and strapped it around his hips, David figured that was his cue to go.

  ONE OF the things his dad had always drilled into David, along with how to make a fire, was to carry sufficient car insurance in case of emergency. As a result, he only had to pay his deductible for the replacement window, and as his car was practically brand-new, the dealership had it in stock. He sat and chatted with his insurance agent, the same man who had been his dad’s agent and still handled his mom’s policy, while the window was replaced.

  When he got back home, it was nearly three and the shadows stretched long across the front yard, an indication of the earlier fall sunsets. David flipped up the collar on his coat against the chill before stepping out of his car. Jackson was perched on a ladder in the open garage and climbed down as David exited his car.

  “Window all fixed?”

  “Yeah, it is. Relatively painlessly too.”

  “That’s a good thing. There was enough pain this morning. You didn’t need any more.”

  David gave him a weak smile, aware Jackson was studying him. “Are you okay?” he asked finally, and David shrugged.

  “I’m okay. Mostly it seems like something that happened to someone else.”

  “I understand.”

  Of everyone he knew, Jackson actually did.

  “But hey, I have some good news.” Jackson grinned at him and picked up something from the bench along one wall, then walked outside to join David. “You’re here in time for me to test it.”

  Jackson held a remote, and he pointed it at the garage door and pressed a button. Instantly the door slid closed almost silently. He pressed the button again and it slid easily open.

  “Jackson,” David gasped.

  “Now you can park your car inside.” He handed David the controller.

  David didn’t know what to say. He looked at Jackson, his heart in his throat. Finally he managed a strangled sounding “thank you.”

  “One less thing for you to worry about.” Jackson rubbed his hands over his hips, as if he felt awkward. After a moment he took a step back. “I need to go home and shower before I take you over to Gil’s. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  David watched him go, resolved not to sigh like a twelve-year-old girl.

  DAVID FIDGETED with the hem of his heavy sweater, chewing on his lower lip and staring out through the passenger window of Jackson’s truck as he drove through the tree-lined streets. It was a huge vehicle, and the cab with its rear seat was easily twice as large as the interior of David’s Yaris. But sitting across from Jackson, smelling a faint hint of his spicy cologne, made the space feel too small. Jackson drove easily, his left hand on the steering wheel while his right wrist rested over the top, and David couldn’t help but shoot furtive glances at the tan skin of his forearm, below the rolled-up sleeve of his denim shirt. Or notice the way the muscles in his right thigh flexed every time he moved his foot from the gas to the brake. Fearful of being caught looking, David tried really, really hard not to be obvious. He was pretty sure he failed.

  “Gil’s dad’s place is around the corner.” Jackson flipped on the blinker.

  “Okay.”

  Jackson had told David about his friend Gil the night before as they shared a soda. Gil’s mom had died, and his dad was moved in to an assisted living center that specialized in treating patients with dementia, and Gil was left with a house full of furniture he didn’t know what to do with. David didn’t hold out a whole lot of hope he’d find something he liked; he knew he was a snob, but he had a vision for how he wanted to furnish the house. Looking at the empty rooms, he could imagine the Greene and Greene-style furniture, all rich wood and smooth, masculine lines to go with the style of the house. He wanted leather and rich upholstery, and was ready to wait in order to get what he wanted. Somehow he doubted he’d find what he was looking for in a little old man’s house. Now he was afraid he was going to look like an elitist ass in front of Jackson’s friend. Determined to find at least one piece he could use, even if it went in a room he rarely used, he studied the house when Jackson pulled in the driveway. There was already another truck parked there.

  “Is this one of Janic’s houses?”

  “It is.” Jackson put the truck in park and turned off the engine. “Earlier than yours, actually. Yours is 1921. This one was built in 1918.”

  David gave him a small smile. “You know a lot about these places, don’t you?”

  Jackson shrugged. “I admire his style. Craftsman houses were being built all over the country, but his have an attention to detail you don’t see a lot.” Jackson’s blush charmed David. “And yes,” he went on with an eye roll, “I am an architecture nerd.”

  David chuckled. “Well, I’m an interiors snob, so don’t feel bad. I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out a way to find something in your friend’s stuff and not look like a complete ass when I can’t.”

  Jackson’s smile widened. “It may surprise you.”

  They got out of the truck, David feeling like a bit of a princess when he couldn’t step down the way Jackson did. He had to hang on to the door until at least one of his feet was on the ground. He saw Jackson glance at his midriff and pulled down his sweater self-consciously; there wasn’t any six-pack on his stomach, and he’d bet there was on Jackson’s.

  The house resembled his quite a bit, and David studied the details as they climbed the steps. A porch light cast an amber glow over the thick planks that made up the wide porch and caught in the facete
d glass of the window in the heavy oak door.

  A porch swing hanging from heavy chains swayed slightly in the cool breeze. “I want one of those,” he said wistfully, sinking his hands into his pockets. The swing was gleaming hardwood, all graceful lines with a padded cushion on the seat. Jackson glanced at it as he rang the bell. It echoed through the house.

  “Gil might sell you that one.”

  “Really?” David asked brightly. Jackson nodded as footsteps approached inside the house.

  The door opened and a mountain of a man stood framed in the doorway, wearing a ribbed sweatshirt and khaki cargo pants. He was completely bald, head gleaming in the golden porch light, jaw square and narrowed eyes intimidating. A fissure of alarm slid down David’s spine at his stony expression. Until the man saw Jackson, and then he smiled and the difference in his expression was astonishing. When he smiled a dimple appeared in his cheek and his face brightened.

  “Hey, man.” He offered his hand and Jackson shook it.

  “Gil. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m good.”

  When Gil held out his hand to David, he took it, relieved that his wasn’t shaking. David’s hand felt like a little kid’s in the giant grip engulfing it. Absently he noticed there was white paint on the inside of Gil’s wrist and his sleeve.

  “This is David Snyder,” Jackson said. “He’s the man I told you about.”

  “Another member of the Andrej Janic fan club?” Gil gave him a crooked smile.

  “Recently converted.” David tried for a firm handshake even though he was afraid his palm was clammy and his grip weak.

  “Come on in.” Gil pushed the door wide and David stepped tentatively into a living room not unlike his own. Except it was furnished, and the furniture was exquisite.

  “Oh my God.” Drawn in by one of the most beautiful examples of a mission-style sofa he’d ever seen, David crossed to it. The arms were a rich, dark wood, gently sloping toward the back, slats down the sides. The cushions were thick, upholstered in deep brown leather, and when he touched them, David sighed. They were as soft as butter, and he ran his hand over them carefully. “This is gorgeous. Oh, man. So is this.”

  The coffee table matched the sofa except delicate carvings of branches with small blossoms ran across the top. It was covered with a sheet of glass, protecting the stunning craftsmanship. It was so beautiful David actually felt his throat grow tight. Then he noticed the simple but lovely rocking chair crafted in the same dark wood, the seat upholstered to match the couch. And there were matching end tables, lamps on top with golden, rectangular glass shades, one strip of red glass on each side to break up the amber glow. Even the large rug beneath it all was perfect, the design a muted Indian pattern in shades of burgundy and brown and black, and David knelt to test the nap. It felt thick and rich beneath his fingers.

  “This is all stunning,” he murmured, straightening.

  “Think you’ll be able to find something you like?” Jackson teased, and David shot him a narrow-eyed look.

  David turned to Gil. “I’m so sorry about your dad. Mine died a month ago, but he knew who we all were until the end. I can’t even imagine.” Gil dropped his huge hands into his back pockets.

  “It’s been hard.” His deep voice was solemn. “He hasn’t been the same since my mom died.”

  “Yeah, I worry about my mom for the same reason.” David and Gil shared a look of understanding. David returned his gaze to the furniture. “This stuff is beautiful, Gil. Are you sure you don’t want to keep it? I mean, I’d love to buy some of it, but you should know it’s worth a small fortune.”

  Gil shrugged. “It isn’t my style.”

  “He uses carved bears in his decorating,” Jackson quipped, then ducked aside when Gil swiped at him. It was as carefree as David had seen him, and it made him almost irresistible.

  “I actually like midcentury modern,” Gil said, “but this stuff was my parents’ pride and joy. They used to travel all over, picking up unique finds. After Dad retired, it’s what they did. This living room set came from Pennsylvania.” He eyed David with speculation. “More than anything, they’d want it to go to someone who would appreciate it. Why don’t we walk through, and you can let me know what you might be interested in?”

  David loved it all. There was a dining room set with a long table, six chairs, and a sideboard made of three different shades of wood that glowed in the soft overhead lighting. A rolltop desk with a swivel chair and several wooden file cabinets were in one room. In another a set with a bed, vanity, and highboy with inlaid wood that looked French provincial filled the space. It was a little feminine for David’s taste, but it was lovely. In another room an enameled brass bed with a white dresser and nightstands, also beautiful but not his style, gleamed in the overhead light. But in the last bedroom a complete suite of furniture, head- and footboard, two nightstands, and an armoire taller than he was, all in the stark yet beautiful craftsman-style that made David sigh, filled the room.

  “It’s perfect.” He ran his hand over the front of the armoire. “But I know there’s no way I can afford all of it.”

  Gil crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “I don’t really have any idea what to ask for it. How much do you think it’s worth?”

  David pursed his lips, calculating in his mind. He knew what antiques of this vintage and quality went for.

  “For everything? Conservatively you could get at least thirty grand for the craftsman-style stuff, and that’s not including the French provincial set or the brass bed. You could probably get more.”

  Gil looked startled. “Seriously?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “He’s an interior designer, Gil.” Jackson leaned against the wall. “He’d know.”

  “I should have fudged and told you it was worth a lot less, but I can’t do it.” David liked Gil. For all his imposing appearance, he seemed like someone he could be friends with.

  “Wow,” Gil huffed, rubbing his rough jaw. “Well, that’s a problem.”

  David frowned. “A problem? How?” He’d have thought it was wonderful. His own parents tended toward serviceable Sears particleboard stuff that wouldn’t be worth what it cost to haul it away.

  Gil sat on the foot of the bed and it creaked beneath his weight. He leaned forward, his hands linked loosely between his big square knees. “See, it’s like this. I’m the executor of my parents’ estate. I have two siblings, a brother and a sister, both younger, who know what the house is worth and are chomping at the bit to get their hands on the money. I, on the other hand, would like to limit what they get their hands on.”

  “Shouldn’t all of it go for your dad’s care?” David asked. “I mean, I know those places are really expensive.”

  “My dad was a very, very smart man. He bought long-term care insurance years ago, before anyone knew how valuable it would be. His care is paid for. Unfortunately, my siblings know that. Dad hadn’t been in assisted living five hours before they were talking about how they’d spend their share of his money.”

  “I’m sorry,” David murmured. “That’s lousy.”

  “I’ve always known they were spoiled, but….” He shook his head. “You want to find out who people really are? Wait until there’s money involved.” He exhaled heavily and looked around the room, his expression pensive.

  Once he’d gotten over Gil’s size, David saw a gentle giant, handsome in his own way. He had a ready smile, and his eyes were kind. His huge hands were careful as they touched the footboard.

  “My brother and sister aren’t going to have any more idea than I did of what this stuff is worth, and they don’t want any of it. As far as they’re concerned, it’s a bunch of old junk. They just want his money. And that’s the last thing I care about.” Gil looked around at the furniture. “I’ll sell you the lot for four grand.”

  David’s mouth dropped open. “All of it?” Gil nodded, his expression satisfied. “Gil, I can’t let you do that. It’s worth too much more.”

/>   Gil shrugged. “I don’t have the time to parse it out and sell it a piece at a time. And frankly, Jackson likes you. He says you’re a decent guy who needs furniture.” David looked over at Jackson, who pointedly looked the other way, his arms crossed over his chest. “So, what do you say, David? Want it?”

  David rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I can’t let you sell it to me for four thousand dollars. It’s not enough, Gil.”

  Gil rolled his eyes and shot a look at Jackson, who shrugged. “Fine. Five. But that’s my final offer. You take it, or it’s going to Goodwill.”

  David quickly reached out and shook Gil’s hand. “To save it from Goodwill, it’s a deal.”

  Gil grinned, and David’s heart began to beat quickly in excitement. The furniture was spectacular; it would be gorgeous in his house. Finally he’d have a home that reflected his taste. The thought sent a shaft of warmth through his core.

  Gil stood. “You available tomorrow, Jackson? I can bring the box truck and we can probably do it in one load.”

  “Wait, what?” David looked between them. “You don’t have to move it. I can take care of that.”

  “Listen, I want it out of here ASAP. That way I can get the Realtor to list the place.”

  “You don’t want to… wait?” The moment the words were out of his mouth, David regretted them, but Gil smiled sadly.

  “For what? He’s never coming back home, and if I sell the house I can at least get my idiot siblings off my back. Besides, why pay to have the furniture moved when we can do it for you?” He clapped Jackson on his shoulder. “You got other plans?”

  “No, I’m good.” Jackson led the way out of the bedroom.

  “I’ll get Manny too.”

  David saw Jackson pause and glance at Gil over his shoulder, his expression cautious. “You think Manny’s up for that?”

  Gil nodded. “He’s okay.”

  Jackson didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything more.