Let It Snow

by Heidi Cullinan

  Now Frankie was downright melting. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. My grandmother on my mom’s side just passed away from that. How far is your mom into her disease?”

  “Ten years. She’s only in the moderate stage, riding the line between stage five and stage six, which they say is a miracle. She varies a lot, sometimes having really good days, sometimes not even knowing who I am, let alone anything else. Mostly though she thinks I’m still living in the Cities, practicing law.” He hesitated, then went with the rest of it. “These past few weeks she’s having a hard time keeping control of her bladder. She has to wear a diaper, but sometimes she forgets why she has to have one and argues. A lot of time she tries to go to work. Just the other day she wanted to have her hair done.”

  That made Frankie smile. “Too bad we’re not closer to town, or I could set her up with something sharp.”

  The very idea of that made Marcus’s heart lift. “We could get you over there on the snowmobile once things settle down. You’ll want to have your car towed and tuned up, so we could do it then.”

  “I’d love to.” All uneasiness over Marcus’s former occupation was gone now, replaced with plotting. “Do you have a current photo of her, plus one of what she looked like before she got sick? Maybe we could find her a few nicer outfits too, if there’s somewhere in town we can do that. Or I could help you online.”

  It’d be online, but Marcus loved this idea. He pulled out his phone and swiped through his photos. “Here, this is one we took last week at Thanksgiving.”

  Frankie smiled down at the image. “Oh, she’s beautiful. But frizzy. Who cuts her hair now? I’m sorry, but that’s a butcher job.”

  “They have somebody in the nurse’s station, I think. There’s a beauty shop on-site, but they never use it anymore.”

  Frankie didn’t like that at all, that was clear. “That’s awful. Especially for the women, they need to look pretty. What else do they have? Their bodies and minds are fading, but we live in a world of cosmetics and product that can work miracles. It doesn’t even have to be expensive.”

  “Well, we don’t exactly have a line of stylists beating down the door to work in a care facility in the backwoods of Minnesota.”

  Marcus could tell he’d gotten big points for using the word stylist instead of hairdresser. “I suppose you’re right. Still, you should talk to salons in Duluth and nearby Cities. Get them to come up and do charity cuts. They can promote it on their websites and write it off, or charge cost only. It’d be great PR.”

  The odds of local hairstylists having websites was pretty low, Marcus wanted to say, but then he’d never looked to find them, had he? “I’ll mention it to the director. It’s worth doing.”

  “I’d absolutely come up the next time I’m in Duluth.” He frowned. “How far north are we from there, anyway? I mean, I wandered around getting lost, so I really can’t be sure.”

  “About an hour.”

  “Oh, that’s not so bad.” He screwed up his face as he did some mental math. “So…another two hours to Minneapolis—three hours if I brought people up from Oasis. Well, that’d be a hard sell, but I’ll work on Robbie, the owner. This is exactly his sort of thing.”

  The idea of Frankie coming up to Logan on a regular basis was exciting and terrifying at once. He sipped his coffee rather than commenting, but it had grown cold. Reaching around Frankie, he refilled it again.

  Frankie leaned against the counter, watching him, looking more at ease, but when he spoke it was clear he fought off nerves. “Sorry I reacted badly about you being a lawyer, especially since I know you didn’t want to tell me. It’s just—well, my mom’s a lawyer too, and my dad’s a mathematics professor. My aunt is a marine biologist, and my uncle’s a pharmacist. When I left college during my senior year to go to cosmetology school—beauty classes as my mom called it—I got a lot of flack.” He sighed. “It’s not that I wasn’t doing well in a Bachelor of Arts degree either. But they were already mad that I chose English—what are you going to do with that, they always said—and really, I’d only done it at all because they gave me so much pressure. I’d started doing hair out of my dorm room, and I made so much money because I was so good that I could pay for my own first semester of stylist courses. So I did it. They got over it, but I know my mom in particular is still pissed off about it.”

  Marcus shook his head, smiling. “My parents saved every dime to get me to go to college, and I wanted so hard to please them that I went pre-law right off the bat. My mom’s brother left Logan to be a lawyer in the Cities, and he promised me an internship as soon as I was out. I did English too, and added philosophy as a double major because I’d read that looked impressive on a law-school application. When I graduated and passed the bar, I worked at my uncle’s firm because everyone expected me to. I kept going back for secondary ed so I could move up the ranks. Then my dad died of a heart attack and my mom came down with Alzheimer’s.” He ran his thumb around the edge of his mug. “I think I was moving so fast it took me four years of practicing law to realize how much I hated it, that it was never what I’d wanted to do. So you sorted yourself out sooner than I did. Worst part? I didn’t get the courage to quit until Dad died and Mom got really sick. Now I only have a little time left before she doesn’t remember me at all. I could have been here, but I wasted time doing what I thought I was supposed to do.” He grimaced and raised his coffee to Frankie. “Here’s to cosmetology.”

  Frankie’s face had gone all soft again, and his voice was gentle as he met Marcus’s mug with his own in toast. “And to logging.”

  They drank and settled back against the counter.

  “So,” Frankie began after a few minutes, “is this what we’re going to do until the storm ends? Play cribbage? Drink coffee and tea?”

  “Give Arthur another half hour and he’ll have us drinking something stronger than tea.” Give Arthur and Paul a six pack and three hours and he and Paul would be doing Olympic fucking up in the loft as well.

  It occurred to Marcus that he might be fucking this time too. A glance at Frankie confirmed this was a thought they shared, that they were both excited and nervous about the prospect at the same time. Marcus glanced out the window as he drank his coffee, pondering how many days they had left to ride out.

  That was sure time for a lot of fucking. For the first time in a long while, it sounded like a damn fine idea.

  Chapter Seven

  FRANKIE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND exactly how making out in the barn had made everything better between him and Marcus, but apparently it had, and he couldn’t say he minded in the least. For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Marcus wasn’t cranky except for a few times when Arthur teased him. He still kept himself at something of a distance from the others until dinner, but after more chili, when Paul volunteered to do the dishes, Marcus didn’t fight him and came to join Arthur and Frankie in a round of cards.

  “Dare I hope we’re ready to pull out a roast and make beef stew?” Paul asked as Arthur dealt the first hand.

  “Not even close. Plenty of chili left.” Marcus picked up his cards and began to sort them. “Figured we’d fire up the grill tomorrow for variety.” He paused, glanced at Frankie and added, “Maybe we can do some pork chops too.”

  That morning Frankie would have taken Marcus’s tone differently, but even before Marcus quirked up the corner of his mouth, Frankie felt warm and cared for, not like he was getting ready to be singled out. When he borrowed Paul’s phone and nipped up to the loft to give his roommates an update on his situation, he felt light and happy and good. Unsurprisingly, Josh loved the fact that Frankie was getting some, and Andy flipped out.

  “You should be more careful. Aren’t you stranded in the middle of nowhere with complete strangers?” he demanded.

  “Give it up, Andy.” Josh’s voice echoed in the speakerphone. “So tell us all about it. Was it epic? Once you go lumberjack, you never go back?”

  “It was just a hand job,” Frankie pointed out. “
But yeah. It was good.”

  Josh laughed and applauded while Andy murmured, “It’s not funny.”

  Frankie decided a change of subject was in order. “They’re really nice. Apparently they’ve all been friends since high school.”

  “You said they’re all gay?” Andy asked, his voice full of suspicion.

  “Yeah, they are. Two of them are sort of a couple. I think Marcus’s moving in was supposed to be temporary, but he’s been on the couch for half a year as far as I can tell, so who knows.”

  “They’re going to date rape you, Frankie. Be careful. Watch your drinks.”

  Frankie couldn’t help it, he laughed. God, they hadn’t nicknamed Andy Eeyore for nothing. “Since I’m not dating anyone here, I think I’m safe.” Well, he hoped not perfectly. Frankie sure hoped tonight brought more of that kissing and cock-wrestling.

  “Usually you’re more cautious.” Andy believed cautious and smart were synonyms.

  “Don’t be so cautious,” Josh countered from a distance, probably the kitchen.

  “I am being cautious. I promise,” Frankie said.

  Andy sighed. “The thing is, you said this was a small town, and you and I both had bad experiences there. And this is up north. They’re total throwbacks up there.”

  “I’m a lot safer than I was in my car.” Andy’s Eeyore, though, was getting to Frankie, his stomach knotting as his mind refreshed its spin of bad townie scenarios. Frankie leaned back on Arthur’s bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Look, I don’t want to burn up their minutes. The storm is pretty bad, and it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting out of here for a few days. I gave Josh their numbers since I lost my phone, so call me if you need to, but otherwise just know everything’s okay.”

  “I don’t like this,” Andy said.

  “I do,” Josh called.

  Frankie could almost see Andy standing in the middle of their living room, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and pushing his glasses higher up his nose while Josh bustled about in the kitchen, unconcerned as usual. He smiled, missing them more than a little. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “Don’t drink anything,” Andy told him, and Frankie hung up.

  FRANKIE DID INDEED drink something—shortly after he came back downstairs, Arthur brought out a bottle of whiskey, pouring each of them a few fingers’ worth in a glass. Frankie couldn’t stomach the stuff very well, so he only sipped politely at his while he played cards, though he watched the others get looser as they drained their glasses and took refills from the bottle. While they became drunk, slapping each other on the back and guffawing, ribbing Frankie as well, it occurred to him how removed this sort of thing was from his usual experience.

  They were such men. Josh would have bristled at that comment, but it was true. Arthur and Paul and Marcus were not the metrosexual, stylized wits of Frankie’s school, work, or social experience in the Cities. They had thick muscles and beards and knew how to wrangle generators and drive snowmobiles. They could fix wood stoves and fell trees and drank whiskey straight from the bottle. The three bears were gay, but they were the manliest of men.

  They were men, and they accepted Frankie. It moved him more than he could say.

  He’d had enough whiskey that by the time Paul and Arthur went upstairs, Frankie confessed his gratitude at their acceptance to Marcus, who gave him an odd, confused look.

  “What do you mean, we accept you? Why wouldn’t we?”

  Frankie tried to find the words to explain, but Wild Turkey wasn’t helping his cause. “Because you’re men. You fit in. You’re like the rest of them, except you sleep with each other. Even with that, they accept you. I saw it myself.” He sloshed the glass he held, the last of his whiskey watered down. “In town, they thought Paul and I were fucking because they could tell I was gay by looking at me, and they treated me like I was the girl. Subtly, but they did. They always do.” He waved a hand because he’d gone off course. “My point is, I like that you don’t treat me like a girl.”

  Marcus settled into the couch, which hadn’t yet been turned into their bed, and he pulled Frankie down to sit beside him. “I take it you were bullied a lot in school.”

  Frankie nodded, leaning in to Marcus’s shoulder when Marcus draped an arm around him. “I mean, it wasn’t anything horrible. I wasn’t beat up. There was lots of little stuff though, and the threat of being beat up was almost worse. I mean—obviously not really, but…well, part of me is still waiting for it to happen, I think.”

  Marcus said nothing, only stroked Frankie’s arm idly, the gesture reassuring. The buzz of alcohol and the promise of sex made Frankie’s body hum with low-grade pleasure. From upstairs came the murmurs of Paul and Arthur talking, the sound soft and lulling, allowing Frankie some space to think. So he and Marcus had gotten off to a rocky start—that was over now, and they’d spend the rest of the snowstorm making out. Sounded good to Frankie.

  Except the kiss, the shift into making out, didn’t happen. After a few minutes of waiting, Frankie lifted his head and looked up at Marcus, who was frowning into the fireplace.

  “Is something wrong?” Frankie asked.

  The question startled Marcus out of his reverie, but the frown didn’t entirely go away. “No.” He removed his arm from Frankie’s shoulders.

  Frankie paused, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” Marcus rubbed his beard, looking tired and a little wrung out. “Sorry. It’s just been a long time since I did this.”

  Oh, that was all? Frankie smiled. “Me too.” He touched Marcus’s leg. “I liked what happened in the shed. More of that without sub-zero temperatures would be fine by me.” When Marcus didn’t respond, Frankie sighed and pulled back his hand. “Or not.” He tried to laugh it off. “Just hanging out is fine with me too. I like talking with you, Marcus.”

  Marcus sighed and sank deeper into the sofa. “When I told you my other relationship didn’t end well, I wasn’t kidding. Arthur says I’ve let it get to me too much, and he’s probably right.”

  Frankie turned sideways and propped his head up with his hand against the back of the couch. “This is someone from when you lived in Minneapolis?”

  Marcus nodded. “His name was Steve. A woman at the firm fixed us up—he’s her cousin or brother’s friend or something like that. For a long time it was great, or at least it seemed that way to me.” He grimaced. “That’s part of my problem. I can’t tell anymore when it was good and when it was lies.”

  “How long did you date?”

  “Three years.”

  Frankie’s eyes widened. “Wow. I haven’t dated anyone longer than a few months. I mean, I always wanted to, but it never took. Sometimes I thought maybe if I worked at it, things would be okay. Turned out that wasn’t the case.”

  “Steve was the first guy I ever dated. The only guy I’ve dated. I’d been hooking up since college, but a real relationship sounded so scary. Enter Steve.” Marcus reached for his whiskey and took a healthy sip before continuing. “He was flirty and happy and open and made me feel good. He took me to parties and flattered me and—well, it turned out I liked being in a relationship a lot. I loved it when we moved in together. I loved having someone to sit with in the evenings. I even loved getting stressed out about taking too long at the office—I loved having to say I needed to get back because my boyfriend would get mad if I didn’t get home.”

  That made Frankie smile, albeit sadly. “I know exactly what you mean, because I’ve always wanted that too.”

  Marcus kept his gaze on the flames, and he kept his drink at the ready, his voice starting out gruff and ending up sad as he told his story. “Sometimes I think I was in love with the idea of being in a relationship more than I was in love with Steve. I think I did love him, but given the way things ended up—” He pressed his lips together a moment before the last of his confession spilled beyond the seal. “He cheated on me. Almost from the beginning, it turned out. Some guys were regular, but most were simply tricks.�
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  Frankie put his hand back on Marcus’s leg, heart breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He never told me he was unhappy. That’s what I don’t get.” Marcus looked hurt, hollowed out. “I wouldn’t have liked having an open relationship, but I’d have considered it if he’d come to me about it. He didn’t, though. He just went out and fucked whoever he liked. When I caught him, when I confronted him, he laughed.”

  “Laughed?”

  Marcus nodded. “I can’t tell you how badly that threw me. I was ready for hysterics, for pleas, even a list of reasons how his cheating was my fault. None of that happened. He laughed, told me I was a fool, and left. Like none of it mattered—three years, four vacations, endless declarations of love between us both, me staying in Minneapolis when more than once I wanted to go back home to be with my family. I sacrificed so much for him because I thought we were in love and it was important. Apparently that was all an act.”

  “Oh, Marcus.” Frankie leaned against him, hugging his big, burly shoulder. Then he stopped, stiffened, and lifted his head. “Wait. I reminded you of that asshole?”

  Marcus waved this objection away, his gesture a bit sloppy from drink. “Not that. How you look. The way you talk. Not just sound but the way you phrase things.”

  “How do I phrase things?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. It’s like you’re his ghost, except you’re the nice version. You’re not the same, because he was always sharper, sneakier. You’re soft, gentle, sweet.” He set his drink aside and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “I don’t know. Honestly, I think I’m broken for relationships. For anything. Always reading into everyone’s motives, tearing them down before they can live up to my worst expectations.” He winced. “Sorry. The booze is making me say more than I should.”

  Frankie didn’t think so, but he figured Marcus wouldn’t appreciate hearing that. He settled back into his corner of the sofa and offered some over-shares of his own. “I think I do that too—assume the worst. Josh says I’m way too self-protective. Which is probably true, but it’s like I’m a groundhog sticking my head up every so many months, letting my guard down to try, and it never works. Josh says, and Andy agrees, that I pick a stupid type of guy on purpose so it doesn’t work.”