Dreamspinner Press Year Four Greatest Hits

by Felicia Watson

  Nick bit his lip as he mulled over Logan’s report. “Do you feel better now?”

  There was no immediate answer forthcoming. Logan’s crinkled brow showed he was giving the matter some thought. He gulped more beer before replying, “Yeah, I do. It really cleared the air between us. Felt good, but there’s more.” A weary sigh escaped from Logan as he put the bottle back to his lips.

  “More what?”

  Logan ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair, answering, “More I gotta tell her….”

  “Meaning you didn’t tell her ’bout bein’ gay, huh?” ventured Nick.

  “Nope.”

  “That’s okay,” Nick offered, along with a firm pat on the arm. “You can’t do it all at once. Or all by yourself. Even I finally figured that out.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means that this weekend, I decided Trudy was right. I need…,” Nick sighed but forced himself to say it out loud, “to see someone.”

  “What?!”

  Nick was momentarily confounded by Logan’s burst of indignation, until it clicked and he hastened to explain. “A counselor, Logan. I’ve decided to see a counselor and talk out all that stuff about my mom and… my dad. I’ve had that all walled away too long. Now I need to deal with it.”

  “But… you know all that stuff, right? You are a counselor,” Logan stated firmly.

  After releasing a slight snort at Logan’s confidence in him, Nick clarified, “It doesn’t work that way. You gotta talk these things out with what we call ‘a disinterested party’.”

  After considering that justification for a few seconds, Logan said, “This is hard stuff. Fixin’ your life.” He turned solemn eyes on Nick. “Ain’t it?”

  Nick’s laugh this time was obvious. “Sure is.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh,” Nick shrugged as he said, “I was thinking of this joke we used to tell in grad school.” Sheepishly, he turned to Logan and asked, “How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?”

  Logan cocked his head at Nick, his expression almost suspicious. “I don’t know, how many?”

  “Just one—but the light bulb really has to wanta change.”

  With furrowed brows, Logan answered, “Huh?”

  “It’s what we always say about our patients. They can only change if they really want to. There’s no magic to it, just a lotta hard work.”

  Logan seemed to take a moment to ponder that pronouncement. Then he speared Nick with an intent gaze. “I know what you mean. I’ve changed a lot since the thing with Linda, and it sure was hard work. Hardest stuff I’ve ever done.” Nick nodded in agreement, though Logan’s statement hung heavy in the air, and he evidently felt the need to resolutely add, “Not that I was ever really… a bad guy or anything. I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m like Alex… or your dad. I ain’t.”

  It nearly killed Nick to speak his mind on that point, but this was one wound that had to be bled out. He finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the floor. “I know you aren’t… but you were. Even if it was only for a moment, you were on that day.”

  A sullen frown clouded Logan’s face as he pulled back and glared at Nick. “So that’s it for you, huh? I’m never gonna be anythin’ but the guy who hurt his wife. Case closed.”

  Rather than offering more ire in return, Nick calmly asserted, “That ain’t what I’m sayin’. You can be the guy who’d never do anythin’ like that again—”

  “Of course I wouldn’t!” Logan polished off his own beer and slammed the empty down on the nightstand for emphasis.

  “Why?”

  Logan stared at Nick uncomprehendingly. “Why what?”

  “Why won’t you? More to the point, why did you?” Logan turned away in palpable anger, but Nick held him back with a firm hand. “No, you can’t run away from this. We gotta talk it out.”

  There was a long minute as Logan stared at the wall, obviously ready to bolt any second. Nick held his breath until his lover turned back, saying, “Okay. Guess you’re right.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “But I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

  “A long time ago, I asked why you did it, and you didn’t give me an answer. Now I gotta know. I’ve gotta understand what drove you to that.”

  The bedroom was silent except for the faint background noises of the neighborhood drifting in from the windows until Logan grunted, “I was mad.” He paused for a moment, then added, “All the time.” Nick nodded encouragingly, and he continued. “Mad at myself, mainly, for bein’… bein’ gay.” Logan stared down at the bed covers, the tension in his jaw clipping his words. “It was hard, hiding all the time—from everyone, even me. And underneath that, I was scared all the time, too. Scared someone would figure it out and I’d end up….”

  “Like Jerry?”

  “Yeah. The only place I ever felt like I could relax was my garage.”

  “And Linda took that away from you,” Nick ventured.

  Logan nodded, saying, “Yeah, that made me mad at her, too, but I couldn’t tell her—too afraid she’d figure somethin’ out.” A sad sigh escaped as Logan explained, “And it wasn’t just giving up my garage. It was coming up here, too, where there’s always people around. Always watchin’ me, pryin’ and pokin’ at me.” In a choked voice, he said, “The mill was the worst, havin’ to shower with all them guys every day, and they was always throwin’ around words like ‘faggot’ and ‘cocksucker’.”

  “Yeah,” Nick snarled. “I remember.”

  “That’s right,” Logan exclaimed in surprise. “You know what it’s like. I was so fuckin’ glad to get out of there, but Linda wouldn’t let it go. She was wild for me to get back in and make that good money again. She sure never let me forget how I let the family down losin’ that job—that’s what she was doin’ when I lost it. But I couldn’t go back there. I knew for sure if I did I was ’ventually gonna get found out and….”

  “And end up beat up—or worse.”

  “Yep.” Logan’s jaw was clenched, and he was back to staring at the blanket.

  “I think I understand now. You were like a powder keg, Logan. If only you’d have done something—anything—about it, then you wouldn’t’ve ended up hurting someone who loved you.”

  There were unshed tears in Logan’s eyes as he said, “I’d give anything to take it back. Anything. But I can’t. For the rest of my life, I gotta live with knowin’ how bad I hurt Linda—and my daughters.”

  Nick tried to pull a resistant Logan into his arms. He persevered until the other man relented, though the body he held was still poker-stiff. Nick murmured, “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry you made me tell you?” Logan spat.

  “No… I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, all those years.” Logan relaxed against him fractionally, and Nick whispered in his ear, “Are you still mad about bein’ gay? Still afraid?”

  Nick’s hands were tracing soothing whorls over Logan’s chest as he waited for an answer. The tension gradually seeped out of Logan, and he settled back firmly against Nick, answering, “Every day less and less.”

  “Because of…?”

  Logan shook his head as if that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard, though his answer was imbued with keen affection. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe ’cause of you, ya idiot.”

  “Good.” Nick turned Logan around until he could kiss him long and deep. “That’s why—that’s why you’re the man who won’t ever do anything like that again. You’re not fighting alone anymore.” Another kiss, and Nick could admit, “And neither am I.”

  His heart swelled almost to bursting when Logan pulled back and gave him a shaky smile. “When I’m with you, I ain’t afraid and I ain’t mad. In fact I’m….” He let the words trail off, choosing to tell the rest of his piece by ravishing Nick’s mouth.

  Nick was glad to celebrate their successful talk with another bout of lovemaking. This time the sex was slower, sweeter, each man
seeming determined to draw it out as long as possible. Before they both drifted off to sleep again, Nick clasped Logan to him and avowed, “I’m happy when I’m with you, too. Happier than I’ve ever been before.”

  AS SOON as Nick walked into the North Hills restaurant, Willow, he spotted Trudy at a table near the window. An exuberant young waitress promptly seated him across from her and gave him a menu while efficiently reciting the specials. After she went off to get Nick a Coke, he looked around, saying, “This place is pretty busy for a Monday, huh?”

  Trudy sipped her ice water before answering, “There aren’t too many nice places to have lunch around here.”

  Nick turned back to face his boss. At least he hoped she was still his boss. “Any particular reason you wanted it to be a nice place? You’re not trying to soften the blow, are you?”

  He found her response of rolled eyes oddly reassuring, especially since she followed that up by saying, “If you’re asking if you still have a job, the answer is of course you do. I never took your resignation seriously. Not for a second.”

  Sighing with relief, Nick asked, “Then you’re treating me to lunch because…?”

  “Because I want to. And if you keep acting so suspicious of my good will, I might be tempted to withdraw the offer.”

  “Okay, okay,” Nick laughed. “Good to know I could still afford it if I had to, though.”

  They exchanged little more than idle chitchat as the waitress brought Nick’s beverage and took their lunch orders. But after he’d asked about the well-being of his clients and Larry, he felt it was high time to get to the root of this meeting. “So, come on, Trudy. What’s this all about?”

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing. After the funeral, I mean.”

  “Did you talk to Ciera?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  In the face of Nick’s skepticism, Trudy finally admitted, “She e-mailed me.”

  “Aha, so that’s what triggered this lunch.” When Trudy shrugged in response, Nick asked, “You didn’t have anything to do with her being there, did you?”

  “No,” she said, a slow smile creeping across her face. “I guess God really does work in mysterious ways.”

  Ignoring that salvo, Nick said, “What did her e-mail say that has you buying me lunch?”

  “She’s worried about you blaming yourself for Norah’s death. We both are.”

  “Maybe you two should worry about Norah, not me.”

  “Pray for the dead but fight like hell for the living.”

  “What?” Nick stared open-mouthed at Trudy’s apparent non sequitur.

  “One of my favorite quotes from Mother Jones.” When Nick sighed in frustration, Trudy explained, “I can’t do much for Norah anymore, but you, I can help. At least I hope so.” They were interrupted by the arrival of their food, but as soon as the waitress left the table, she continued, “I’m more convinced than ever that you need—”

  “Counseling,” Nick finished for her. He let Trudy glare at him for a second before innocently asking, “Know a good one?”

  It was Trudy’s turn to be surprised. “What? Do you mean….”

  “Yeah, I’m ready. I want to do it.”

  “Wow, I should have treated you to a nice lunch a long time ago.”

  Nick took a bite of his meal, saying, “The chicken’s good, but that wasn’t what changed my mind. I decided this weekend.”

  “Well… that’s wonderful news. And to answer your question, I know of several good people you could work with. When I get back to the office, I’ll send you a list.” They ate in silence for a second before Trudy asked, “Can I ask what happened this weekend that brought about this sudden change of mind?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it was… Ciera.”

  “What did she say?”

  “It wasn’t so much anything she said—though she said some good stuff, surprisingly enough. It was how glad I was to have her there, after telling myself—and everyone else—that I had to face Norah’s funeral alone.” Nick took a sip of Coke in an attempt to dislodge the lump in his throat before admitting, “I guess I realized that maybe I don’t have to do everything myself, handle everything myself, face everything alone. In fact I feel kind of stupid about how long it took me to see that.”

  “The lessons of childhood are hard to escape.” Nick looked up at his friend and mentor, seeking clarification. With a gentle smile, she explained, “The people you depended on most back then burnt you. Badly. Your father worst of all.”

  Nick was tempted to tell Trudy about his recent thoughts around the subject of his dad, but as she went on to say more about some counselors who might be right for Nick, he felt the moment had passed. Besides, as he’d told Logan, he didn’t have to do it all at once. If he was really going to start healing that scared, angry child inside of him, maybe it had to start with baby steps.

  He did, however, have something he could offer Trudy in exchange for lunch. At the next break in the conversation, he asked with deceptive airiness, “Guess what I spent the morning doing?”

  Trudy raised one eyebrow, answering with a laugh, “If you were with Logan, I really don’t want any details.”

  “I wasn’t with Logan,” Nick protested in equal good humor. He sobered slightly as he admitted, “But I was last night.”

  “I figured,” she returned, exuding nonchalance.

  “Oh, you’re always one jump ahead of me.”

  “Not really. I still haven’t guessed what you were doing this morning.”

  Nick flicked a slightly sheepish look her way before saying, “I started reading your book.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Trudy exhaled.

  “I can see you guessed that I never read it before,” Nick said.

  “Yeah, I guessed.” She nodded and then tilted her head in a gesture of genuine curiosity. “So, what did you think?”

  “It’s good. Well researched and thought out….” Nick put his fork down and leaned forward, his voice earnest as he added, “I don’t agree with everything—”

  Trudy smiled wide, retorting, “Of course not.”

  “But you make some good points.”

  She raised her glass in a gesture of salute, saying, “I’m eager to hear your rebuttals.”

  “Good. Because you will,” Nick promised.

  “I never had any doubts.”

  From the warmth in her tone and eyes, Nick knew that Trudy was offering full confidence in him, personally, as well as his strong opinions. To let her know he understood, he said, “Thanks. For everything,” with all the quiet emotion he could muster.

  Chapter 18:

  Turn on the Light

  Fear grows in darkness; if you think there’s a bogeyman around, turn on the light.

  —Dorothy Thompson

  AT THREE minutes after six p.m., Nick careened into the asphalt lot in front of the non-descript office building on Duff Street located in the Penn Hills section of Pittsburgh. As he parked his Jeep in one of the back rows, he wished for the umpteenth time that he’d been able to find a counselor closer to work. Nick jammed his hands in his pockets, shielding them from the biting January cold, and sprinted to the front door, all the while figuring chances were good that his lack of punctuality wouldn’t be an issue, anyway.

  A few seconds later, he pushed through the heavy glass door of the corner suite on the third floor and smiled at the receptionist, Debbie Gill, sitting behind the front desk. “Is Dr. Kochmann running late tonight, by any chance?” Nick asked.

  “Of course,” came the tired-sounding reply, though her apparent exhaustion didn’t keep Debbie from offering kindly, “But only by about ten minutes today.”

  “Not too bad,” Nick murmured.

  By the time he’d hung his coat on the rack and checked the messages on his cell phone, Nick heard Dr. Eric Kochmann’s office door opening. He watched as the previous client exchanged a few parting words with his therapist, glad for the chance to study the man unobse
rved. Even after three months of working with Eric, Nick still found him something of an enigma.

  Though his academic reputation and credentials were both impeccable and impressive, he looked and acted—to Nick’s way of thinking—more like a high school wrestling coach than a counselor specializing in abuse victims. Eric barely came up to Nick’s shoulder, though he out-weighed him by a good thirty or forty pounds. Not that he was fat, far from it. The man was powerfully built, looking like an oversized fire hydrant. The resemblance was further enhanced by the fact that what hair hadn’t gone white was almost that same color red.

  Dr. Kochmann ushered Nick into his office with the usual apologies and asked him about his week. Nick settled into the comfortable leather guest chair and chatted extensively about the latest challenges at ACC. Eric listened attentively as Nick described his latest client—a woman who had moved into the shelter to escape her husband with whom she had a see-saw history of abuse and reconciliation.

  The stocky therapist offered a raised eyebrow as he observed, “Sounds like she might be another Norah in the making.”

  Nick still wasn’t used to speaking of Norah so casually and found that his counselor’s relatively mild statement nearly winded him. While he was scrambling for a response, he looked up to find Eric watching him expectantly. “You bastard,” Nick huffed. “You did that on purpose.”

  “So you admit she’s still a sore subject?”

  It occurred to Nick, not for the first time, how much better he liked this sort of conversation from the other side of the desk. Finally he grumbled, “Yeah, I guess so,” thereby rescinding his claim from last week that he was “pretty much over” Norah’s death.

  Eric’s tone softened considerably. “It’s okay, healing can be a slow process. It takes… whatever time it takes. You just have to start owning up to what you’re really feeling and stop claiming to be where you wish you already were.”

  “That’s what you think I do?”

  Rather than flipping the question back at him or extending a noncommittal answer, Eric bit off each word of his bald reply for emphasis. “All—the—goddamn—time.”