Waiting for Patrick

by Brynn Stein

  Ben leans over and kisses his mother. “We’ll be careful, Ma.”

  A younger boy, a carbon copy of Ben, bounces between him and Elliot. “Still don’t know why I can’t come. I like fishing too.”

  “Martin,” Ben’s mother chides. “We’ve been through this. Your brother is a man now. Men need some man time every once in a while.” Then she looks toward Elliot. “You two boys have fun.”

  Elliot could feel a goofy smile on his face at the image, but the mirage vanished when the electrician called Elliot’s name.

  “Mr. Graham. Your timing is perfect. I just finished up the wiring. You can have the electric company turn on the electricity any time you want. Everything is up to code now.” Elliot nodded, eyes following the man’s pointing hand as the electrician continued. “I put in extra outlets in each room and the extra light switches we talked about.”

  “That’s fine,” Elliot finally responded, still somewhat depressed over the loss of the illusion. It had been nice imagining Ben alive and with his family. Even if it was pure conjecture. “I’ll go over everything tomorrow and let you know if I want anything else done. Of course, leave me your bill and I’ll take care of that immediately.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Graham.” The electrician shook his hand and turned toward the small living room, presumably to gather up the rest of his equipment.

  Elliot had asked everyone to call him by his first name, but no one seemed inclined to do so, and he just didn’t care enough to argue with them about it. He nodded his acknowledgment as he passed a few stray workers and strode back outside, off the porch and completely around the house to see how far the carpenters had gotten.

  As it turned out, not as far as he’d like. But what they had finished was exquisite.

  “I like it,” Elliot told the men putting the finishing touches on the big front window he had added. It looked out onto the wooded area where Patrick and Ben had built their fort. Elliot looked wistfully off into the woods. “When you get finished with the house itself, I have another job for you.”

  “What’s that, Mr. Graham?” the foreman, Terry Simmons, asked.

  Elliot noted the time, decided they had enough light for him to show the man what he wanted, and said, “Come with me.”

  He led him out of the little yard and down the overgrown path in the woods.

  “My men can cut all this back for you too, if you want,” Terry said helpfully from behind Elliot as the two batted at tree limbs that reached toward them longingly. Vines crept across the ground, stalking their ankles. Elliot kicked at them and stepped on them in turns. The vines didn’t seem to appreciate this and began to strike in earnest the farther they got into the woods.

  Elliot had thought he’d cut it back himself, but he could virtually hear his fan club now if they knew he was wielding an ax day in and day out to take out all this brush, which included quite a number of small trees. Elliot kicked at a particularly persistent creeper and looked back at Terry. “I have a very specific image in my mind of what I want it to look like,” he said.

  “If you can tell us, we can do it,” Terry said confidently, coming to a halt just behind him. When he saw Elliot was losing his struggle with the plant, he knelt down and disentangled Elliot’s foot.

  “I can probably come out and rope it off.” Elliot finally decided when his ankle wasn’t in imminent danger of strangulation. He led them farther down the path with no further entanglement with vicious undergrowth. When they got to the ancient oak tree, he pointed up. “What I really want done, though, is for that to be restored.”

  “What? That old tree house?” Terry squinted, probably trying to see what Elliot saw and to understand why it was worth saving. “I didn’t know you had kids.” Terry was still looking up, so he wouldn’t have seen Elliot shake his head, but he didn’t stop talking long enough to acknowledge it anyway. “But wouldn’t it be easier to tear the whole thing down and start over?”

  “Well, as rotten as the wood is, that is probably what we will have to do,” Elliot agreed with him, looking up into the leaves. “But I want you to take detailed measurements and pictures and put it back up exactly the way it is.”

  “We could make it a lot prettier, Mr. Graham.” Terry touched the nearest piece of wood nailed to the tree as a makeshift ladder. “And probably a lot more sound. This looks like it was built by kids with whatever wood they could find.”

  “It was. Exactly,” Elliot confirmed. “It took them years to complete it. But they were happy with the way it turned out, so I want it to look just like this. I don’t want it modernized, or improved upon, or changed in any way. I only want it repaired.” Elliot couldn’t explain to Terry why that was so important, because he didn’t really understand it himself. But that tree house was central to restoring the place for Ben, and he wanted it left exactly the way it was.

  Terry shook his head and patted the tree. “I don’t see why.” Then he turned back to Elliot. “But sure, we could do that.”

  “Great.” Elliot grinned and grasped the lowest step, looking up into the tree. “Give me an estimate and we’ll get started as soon as you think you can.”

  “Well, we just have a couple more days on the repairs to the house itself, then we’ll hop right on this job.”

  “Sounds good,” Elliot agreed. “You can go on back. I’m going to look around for a little while.” He loved it here. He wasn’t sure why. Having never had a tree house when he was young, he liked the thought of Patrick and Ben here, in a solitary world of their own making. He wished he’d known Ben while he was still alive. Of course, if he had, he would have had to compete with Patrick, and judging by Ben’s memories, there would have been no contest. They were two halves of the same whole. Nothing and no one could have gotten Ben to leave Patrick. Not then. Not even now. As much as Elliot knew that Ben loved him in his own way, he knew that if there was a way for Patrick to come back to Ben, he’d leave Elliot in a hot second.

  As it should be, really, Elliot thought. They were made for each other.

  Elliot tried to ignore the pain in his heart that had nothing to do with congestive heart failure.

  Elliot climbed the rickety pieces of wood nailed to the tree. Some of the pieces had been replaced over the years. Others were obviously rotted out, so Elliot had to reach awkwardly in places. When he finally got up to the top, he peeked his head in through what was now only a hole. Elliot knew from Ben’s memories that there used to be a hatch here during their teenaged years. Patrick had fashioned it out of an old cabinet door his mother had discarded. It was practically rotted even then, so Elliot wasn’t surprised that it was no longer there.

  “We don’t need it to be all that strong, Ben,” Patrick tells him. “We simply need it to be solid so people can’t see us.”

  Ben blushes. “Yeah? What are we gonna be doing that we don’t want people to see?”

  Patrick leans over and kisses his nose. “Um, you never know.”

  Ben turns as red as a beet.

  Elliot smiled. He wasn’t sure what there was about being here in Ben and Patrick’s world that was sparking his imagination, but he could almost see the teens here. He looked around, trying to see if he thought there’d be a way they could save any of it. But it was getting dark. He knew he should head back toward the house and then the hotel. He vowed to come back tomorrow.

  ELLIOT CHECKED out of the hotel early the next morning and went to the house. He spent the day searching for bedroom furniture. He found a quaint, old antique store that had odds and ends to choose from. They had a brass bed that would sort of fit the era, even though he wasn’t necessarily trying to stay true to the period in this house. He added a chest of drawers and a nightstand to his purchase and helped the proprietor wrestle everything into the back of the truck. He stopped at the grocery store to pick up supplies and a department store to buy sheets and a blanket, and then he headed home.

  “Here, let me help you with that.” Terry sauntered up to the truck as soon as Elliot
pulled in the driveway.

  “I’ll take all the help I can get.” Elliot got out of the truck and headed toward the tailgate. He was already feeling horribly fatigued.

  “Are you sure you want to move in so soon?” Terry fell into step with Elliot. “We still have another two days or so of work, counting today.”

  “I was wondering if you could get at least part of the crew to start on the tree house.” Elliot wrestled some of the nearest and lighter items off the truck and set them on the ground.

  “Sure,” Terry agreed, as he started pulling out parts of the bed, various boxes, and bags of supplies. “If you want us to.”

  “I do.” Elliot leaned against the tailgate. “Can we go out first thing tomorrow morning and look at it? I’ll get you to help me rope off the path, and I have a few other things I wanted to talk to you about before you start on it.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Terry kicked a piece of gravel. “But some of the crew will still be working in the house for another couple of days. Are you sure we won’t bother you?”

  “You won’t be working at night, will you?” Elliot smiled to take any possible sting out of the words. “And you’re finished in the bedroom. That’s all I really need. I want to start painting the rooms you’re finished working in. I can do that more easily if I don’t have to drive back and forth from a hotel.”

  Terry nodded. “I can see your point. Well, we’ll try not to disturb you.”

  Elliot grinned. Everyone here seemed to treat him with kid gloves for some reason. “Just do your work. The noise won’t disturb me.” He decided he had rested long enough, hopped up into the truck, and grabbed one end of the dresser. Terry grabbed the other, and together they wrangled the thing off the truck and started toward the door. Elliot found his footing on the gravel and helped heft the dresser the several steps it took for the rock to turn into manicured grass. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he probably should have gotten someone else to help Terry carry the piece of furniture that was gaining weight with every step until he started having trouble breathing.

  “Goddammit.” He cursed under his breath.

  Or at least he’d thought it was under his breath. Apparently it wasn’t soft enough for Terry not to hear. “Something the matter, Mr. Graham?” Terry instantly set his end down, which forced Elliot to do the same.

  “I’m not supposed to carry things like this. Heart condition.” He held out his arm to show Terry the medic-alert bracelet. He’d gotten away with helping the antique-store owner carry everything the short distance from the store to the truck, but more exercise so soon after that was unwise.

  “Oh geez. Why didn’t you say something?” Terry turned and called to one of his workers. “Barney? Hey, come and help me with this. Will you?”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Barney was there in a flash.

  “Do you need someone to stay with you?” Terry cast a concerned look toward Elliot, no doubt thinking he probably should have called two men to carry the furniture so Terry himself could supervise Elliot.

  Elliot didn’t become owner of his own architecture business by showing weakness. “No, I’m fine.” He waved Terry away. “Put that in the bedroom if you wouldn’t mind. I’m going to sit down for a moment.” Okay, so that was still showing weakness, but not as much as if he’d asked for a babysitter over being out of breath.

  The two men carried everything into the house, and Elliot felt humiliated. He fought to get his breathing under control, but he was starting to experience increasing pain in his chest.

  Okay, maybe I should have asked for someone to stay with me.

  It was farther to the porch than back to the truck, so Elliot chose the latter. Sitting in the driver’s seat with the door still open, he slipped a nitroglycerin pill under his tongue. That was where Terry found him when he came back for the rest of the things.

  “Doing okay, Mr. Graham? We’re a ways out from town here, but the ambulance can probably get here in about ten minutes. At least they boast that that’s their average response time across the whole county.”

  Elliot tried to smile but felt pretty sure it came out a pained grimace. “I’m fine. I took my meds. If the pain doesn’t subside in a while, I’ll get someone to drive me into the hospital. That is, if I could find someone who wouldn’t mind.”

  “I’ll drive you personally, if you need it. But no one here would mind, Mr. Graham. Anything you need, you just tell us.”

  Elliot nodded, but fortunately the pain went away and he didn’t need to take Terry up on his offer. Elliot arranged to meet him bright and early the next morning and go over the repairs needed to the tree house, and the carpenter and his crew started cleaning up to go home.

  “IT WAS nothing, Cher,” Elliot tried to explain on the phone later that evening. “I don’t know why I even told you about it. I knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment it was out of my mouth.” Elliot sat on the top step on the little porch, squinting at the pine trees at the edge of the wooded section as though if he just looked hard enough, he would see Ben’s tree house from there.

  “Don’t you dare keep things from me, Elle,” Sheri whined through the phone, and Elliot imaged that she had her hands on her hips in that “I’m the boss and don’t you forget it” way she had when she was ticked or worried. “It’s bad enough you’re up there all by yourself—”

  “I’m hardly by myself. The carpenters are in and out all day, and—”

  “And you know that’s not what I mean,” Sheri groused.

  Elliot knew better than to argue with her. He dropped his head in defeat. “Yeah, I do, Cher. But really. I’m fine.” He noticed a loose nail in the bottom step and used the toe of his shoe to probe at it. “I shouldn’t have been carrying the furniture. I know better now. I won’t do it again.” Elliot smiled even though Sheri couldn’t see him, then went one better and held up three fingers on his right hand as though he was swearing an oath. “Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never in the Scouts, Elliot.” Sheri’s terse voice answered, but he could hear the mischief in her voice and prepared himself for a teasing jab. “You? Taking orders and being a good little Scout? You would have taken over by the time you were out of Cub Scouts. By the time you hit Eagle Scout, you would have reshaped the whole organization.”

  She was warming to her subject, if the playful sneer Elliot heard in her voice was anything to go by.

  “There’d be badges for Assholery, Snarkiness, and Bending Others to Your Will.”

  “As well there should be,” Elliot interjected as her voice turned more serious.

  “And knowing you, there’d be one for Running Yourself into the Ground, and a silver medal award for Ignoring Friends Who Worry About You.”

  Elliot continued to kick at the nail in the step until he realized he was scuffing his shoes; then he glowered at it as if the nail had done that on purpose. “I’m not ignoring you, Cher. I just think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “You have a very real chance of having a heart attack if you don’t take care of yourself, you idiot.” All teasing in her voice was gone. “Or should I say another heart attack because seems to me we’ve already been there, done that.”

  Elliot had to get her off this topic before he blew up at her for coddling him, even though he understood she was just worried. “Speaking of ‘been,’ how is he?” He pulled both feet to the top step, still unhappy about having scuffed his shoes.

  “Don’t you think for a moment I don’t know what you’re doing, Elliot Graham.”

  Ouch. Whole name.

  If Elliot hadn’t known before that Sheri was pissed, he did now. “I’m onto your tricks, you know.” Elliot could hear how hard she was trying to lighten her tone. It wasn’t really working, but he appreciated the effort.

  He laughed. “Yeah. I know, Cher.” He paused just long enough to see if she was going to try to change the topic back to the one he was trying to avoid. When she didn’t he asked, “But really, how’s Ben?�
��

  Sheri huffed into the phone. “Did you seriously ask after the welfare of a ghost? He’s dead, Ellie. Just like you left him.”

  Elliot cringed. Still mad then.

  He leaned his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands, phone still at his ear. “I thought you liked Ben?”

  “I do like Ben.” Sheri didn’t really sound like she was calming down as much as Elliot would have hoped. “But he’s still a ghost. It’s not like he can get sick or have a bad day at work or have a fight with the neighbor. What am I supposed to answer when you ask ‘how’s Ben?’” She paused just a moment. “Besides, I haven’t been out there since you left.”

  “Not even to let him know I got here okay?” Elliot was incredulous and straightened up, as if preparing to stand and go tell Ben himself. “I don’t want him left all alone. And he’s got to be worried by now.”

  “You’ve been gone two days, Elle. I think he’ll deal.”

  “But….” He didn’t know how to respond to that. “Can you go out and tell him I’m okay at least?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try,” she answered dismissively, and Elliot was pretty sure she wasn’t going to do it.

  He turned his attention back to the wooded path just in front of the house.

  He talked to Sheri for a couple more minutes. More like listened to her talk, catching him up on what Malcolm and Daniel were doing, not that they could have gotten up to much in two days.

  When he finally hung up, Elliot felt compelled to go see the tree house at least one more time before Terry and the crew started working on it. He wasn’t sure why he wanted it restored. It almost felt like it was a piece of his childhood he was trying to recapture, but he had never had a tree house. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was trying to live a childhood he hadn’t had by vicariously enjoying Patrick’s and Ben’s. From what he could gather from Ben’s memories, they had always been close, even before they were closer. He would have loved to have had a friend like that growing up. His family moved around a lot and he never developed close ties. His friendship with Sheri was about the closest he’d ever had, and that didn’t compare to what he had felt in Ben’s memories.