Let It Snow

by Heidi Cullinan

  Was he really that scared? Was he really not living his life?

  “You were happy whenever you called me from Logan,” Josh said. “That first day you were a little nervous, but even then there was an excitement in your voice, like you were well and truly alive. After that it was only ever good. You always had a story of something that had happened. You worried about missing work, but that was almost like a gnat in your hair. You love Marcus. You love him and you miss him, and I don’t know why the hell you aren’t going back to him.”

  Right then, full of Sam Adams and Josh’s astute observations, Frankie didn’t know why either. “It was just a fluke thing because of the storm. Life wouldn’t be like that if I always lived up there.”

  “You’ll never know that’s true until you try to prove otherwise.”

  Frankie gave Josh a withering look. “Seriously? You’re telling me based on one week during a snowstorm I should quit the job it took me years to get, give up the chair I rent that has a waitlist four miles long, and go live in the middle of nowhere because I had sex with a hot guy and played with old ladies’ hair?”

  Josh looked Frankie dead in the eye and said, “Yeah. I do. I really do.”

  It was crazy. Josh was crazy, and Frankie knew it, and there was no way he could or should ever do something as insane as what he’d suggested. Yet the rest of the night, through the rest of the pitcher and all the way along their drunken stumble back to the apartment, Josh’s idea gnawed at Frankie’s brain like a fast-moving cancer. Quit his job and move to Logan? With no job lined up? Without even knowing if Marcus was still mad at him? Madness. It was nothing but madness, and yet the more Frankie let the thought live inside his head, the deeper it rooted itself into his psyche.

  He could see it. He could more than see it, he could taste the possibility of life back in Logan: the cold air and snow, the smell of a wood fire as he knocked on the cabin door. He saw himself knocking on that door, saw Marcus answer, saw him pull Frankie tight into his arms. He could imagine the bright smiles of the women at the care center as he walked through the door to do their hair, Patty’s warm hug as he came into the café, Arthur and Paul grinning and winking at him and teasing him about how loud he was during sex.

  Life. His life, the one he’d stumbled into in a small town in the middle of a snowstorm, the place that had made him feel good and right and centered for no reason except that somehow it simply had.

  “You’re thinking about it.” Josh grinned and poked Frankie drunkenly in the arm. “You’re totally thinking about it. God, Frankie, you gotta do it.”

  “I can’t,” Frankie said, but it was a reflexive response. He couldn’t, no. But he wanted to.

  “You can. You will.” Josh grinned harder and walked backward on the sidewalk so he could point his swaying finger at Frankie. “Oh, it’s so on, baby. We’re going to get you back to your lumberjack. We’re going to stay up late tonight and figure it out. We’re going to give you back your life, honey, and it’s going to be—”

  Frankie’s only warning was Josh’s abrupt halt and the expression of shock, then cold fear on his face, and then the hard butt of something pushed insistently into Frankie’s side.

  “Don’t move,” a rough male voice growled in his ear. “Just reach back nice and slow, fag-boy, and give me your wallet.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  FRANKIE MOVED AS if in a dream. He put up his hands, then at a nudge and another prompt from the thief reached into his front jeans pocket for his wallet, then his coat for his phone. When his attacker saw that it wasn’t a smartphone but a cheap pay-as-you-go, he tossed it into the gutter and jerked his head at Josh. Josh repeated Frankie’s performance in the same careful but hurried gestures, his eyes never leaving the gun poking into Frankie’s side.

  Frankie’s attention was fixated on that too. Death, his brain kept whispering, part reminder, part attempt to process. He holds your death in his index finger. One movement and you’re gone. He pulls that trigger, and you can’t quit your job and move to Logan. You can’t keep your job and mope around the apartment. You can’t call your mother ever again. You can’t do anything, anything at all, because you’ll be dead, and whether or not Josh is right, you’ll never know, because you won’t be having any kind of life anymore, any at all.

  Frankie wept, a silent trail of tears that slid down his cheeks and onto his lips, his chin, splattering against his red coat. His mind began to race, trying to find a way out, briefly considering trying to run, or striking out, or even bargaining, but that was just a blip before he routed all his focus on being still and quiet and obedient, which he managed except that he could not stop crying. Not for fear of what would happen but because he wanted, more than he ever had, to live.

  As Josh handed his phone and wallet over, as the thief pocketed their belongings and ordered them both to their bellies, Frankie’s yearning for life swelled inside him until he thought he’d burst with it. Live. Yes, Frankie wanted to live. Not just to keep breathing and eating and farting and sleeping and occasionally having sex. He wanted to live. He wanted to shop in seven new stores and try that spicy Indian dish Josh was always trying to get him to order at Delhi Palace. He wanted to get in his car and drive all over Minneapolis, even if he got hopelessly lost. He wanted to go to the stupid Mall of America and IKEA and hate on the crowds and lose Josh and Andy and find them again at the food court. He wanted to get a smartphone. He wanted to get a credit card. He wanted to get a ridiculously expensive car for no real reason except that he could. He wanted to buy that overpriced pomade he’d been telling himself he couldn’t afford. He wanted to take a vacation to Key West and San Francisco and see if the gay meccas really were all that. He wanted to go back to the BDSM club Josh had taken him to before, to see what it was like without a veil of fear.

  He wanted to call Marcus. He wanted to demand Robbie let him keep his vacation time at Christmas, and he wanted to go back to Logan and see if he could make life there work, if Marcus could forgive him for running away, if the care center salon truly was a job he could do day after day.

  Frankie Nelson Blackburn wanted to live. He didn’t care if he got his head smashed in or gang raped or run over by a car—he was going to cling to life until they tore it out of his hands, and he was going to recover and get back out there and never, ever, ever let fear keep him from missing a moment of life again.

  He didn’t get his head smashed in, or raped—as soon as he and Josh kissed the icy sidewalk, their attacker tore off into the night without another word. Outside of some paperwork, phone calls, and a visit to the DMV, Frankie’s life remained his own.

  Thank you, he telegraphed silently to his attacker, his relief deeper than simply being spared. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  “Frankie?” Josh’s hand closed over Frankie’s wrist. His voice was tight and shaking. “Frankie, are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Frankie turned his wrist so he could squeeze back, and he let out a deep breath, surprised to find it wasn’t unsteady at all. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “We need to call the police.” Josh pushed to his knees, but his whole body was shaking, and he stumbled twice as he tried to right himself. “Oh God. Oh God, Frankie, we were mugged. He had a gun, and he held it against you, and you could have died.”

  “I’m okay.” Frankie climbed to his feet, helped Josh the rest of the way up, then went to the gutter to find his phone. It still worked, so he dialed 911 and listened to himself as he calmly reported to the woman who answered that they’d been mugged. She kept him on the line until the squad car arrived, and after that he took Josh’s hand, holding it tight as a team of officers came closer to them, flashlights bright and cutting through the cold night air.

  Frankie kept hold of Josh’s hand all the way into the back of the squad car, and he kept telling his roommate they were okay as the policemen drove them back to the station. Josh gave a description of their attacker. Frankie nodded when the man explained it was unlikely they’d find
their attacker or that they’d ever see any of their possessions again. Frankie didn’t care. He was still alive. He was safe. Nothing really mattered beyond that.

  When the officers dropped them off at their apartment building a few hours later, Andy was waiting for them at the door, white-faced and even more terrified than Josh, who as they entered the apartment burst into tears and sat on the couch with Andy, collapsing against him and spilling the whole story rapid-fire. Frankie listened, but he put a kettle on for tea while he did so, and when it was done he brought a tray of three steaming mugs over and set it on the table between them.

  Andy shook his head and looked at Frankie as if he’d lost his mind. “Are you in shock or something? How are you so calm?”

  At that, Frankie laughed. “I’m not calm.” He sipped at his tea, feeling the truth of that statement, the way his blood seemed to be made of fire inside his veins, the way his brain kept ping-ponging around inside his skull. “It was scary. It was awful. It’s not something I’m ever going to forget.”

  “But you’re the scared one,” Andy said. “You’re the one always worried about this sort of thing, and now it’s actually happened to you.”

  “Yes,” Frankie agreed, the memory of that moment when he knew he could die ringing like a bell inside him. “It did. And I made it through.” He sipped at his tea again, but his hand shook.

  Josh left Andy and climbed onto the loveseat beside Frankie, taking his tea away and hugging him tight, so tight that it hurt. “I thought you were dead. I thought I was going to watch him kill you, I knew he was going to kill you and I had to watch, and it was the most horrible, awful thing that has ever happened to me and I don’t ever, ever want to feel that way again.”

  Frankie hugged him back, drew a deep breath and said, “I’m going to do it.”

  “Do what?” Josh asked.

  The certainty of his decision pounded inside Frankie, giving him new terror, but it was a delicious fear, full of life and light and possibility. “I’m going to quit my job. Or at least talk to Robbie about an extended leave around Christmas to go explore employment in Logan. Or maybe in Duluth, if it doesn’t work out there, if Marcus really is pissed and doesn’t want to talk to me.” He considered that a moment and shook his head. “No. I’m going to go back to Logan, and I’m going to find a job, and I’m going to move there and live there, and I’m going to work like hell to make things right.”

  Josh looked at him like he’d grown an extra head. “I can’t believe you’re thinking about that at a time like this.”

  Funny, because Frankie didn’t see how he could think of anything else. He slipped out of Josh’s hold and picked up his tea, but he didn’t drink it, just held the mug in his hands, absorbing the heat, letting it fuel him as his determination turned into a plan that unfurled slowly inside his mind.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ON CHRISTMAS EVE, the Pine Valley-Logan elementary choir had a concert at the Lutheran church, and since it was a good day for his mom, Marcus went, taking Mimi with him.

  It started to snow as he drove across town, which annoyed him because they’d already had seven more inches on top of the post-Thanksgiving storm, and Marcus was sick to death of it. The snow delighted Mimi though, and she smiled and watched it fall as they made their way down the road to the church.

  “It’s always nice to have snow on Christmas,” she said.

  “We have enough snow for ten Christmases,” Marcus replied, but without heat because he couldn’t stop the soft burn of pleasure at the knowledge that she was here, truly here with him on this their last Christmas. He reached across the seat and took her hand. “It’s nice to have you for Christmas, Mom.”

  She squeezed his hand back and drew it to her mouth for a quick kiss. “It’s sad Steve couldn’t make it though. I would have liked to have him do my hair before the pageant.” She sighed and patted Marcus’s hand. “I daresay you’d like to have him around for you.”

  Marcus said nothing to that, only kept his focus on the road. This had become Mimi’s new thing, merging Steve and Frankie and wishing, almost constantly, that he were there. Often it was for her own selfish beauty purposes, but sometimes, like tonight, she yearned for him for Marcus’s sake. When she wanted her hair done, Marcus usually said he’d find a nurse to help her out, but when she was sad for him, he never knew what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all.

  Mimi settled deeper into her seat. “Now, remind me, Marcus. You live here in Logan now? You aren’t just visiting?”

  “I live on Main Street, in the apartment above what was the florist shop. I bought the building last week.”

  She nodded, looking chagrined. “That’s right. I forgot, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t mind reminding you.” He turned on the wipers because the snow was starting to come down fast. “I’m going to start practicing law again. I’m still doing some logging until I get things squared away, but I’ll probably be pretty busy during tax season. There isn’t even an accountant in town anymore.”

  His mother clucked her tongue. “You’re more than an accountant.”

  “True, but tax law has always been my thing. Tax and real estate. Good money in that work.” He smiled. “It was always my favorite part of law.”

  “As long as you’re happy,” Mimi said. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you’re happy.”

  Happy. Marcus smiled sadly to himself as he turned into the church parking lot. No, he wasn’t happy, not yet. He still missed Frankie. It was a dull ache now, a soft sorrow he was learning to live with. Maybe he’d do something about it someday, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe someone else would wander into his life, or maybe he’d be the weird gay bachelor on Main Street who did taxes and title opinions. From now on, whatever happened, he was taking it one day at a time, so long as those steps were toward happiness. He’d been in the new apartment for a week now, and it wasn’t quite so lonely anymore, especially because Arthur and Paul stopped over almost every night before they headed home after work. Even when he was alone, though, it felt good. It felt like moving forward. It felt like he wasn’t doing what other people wanted or spinning his wheels or hiding or just getting by.

  He was living his life, maybe for the first time. Alone, under those circumstances, was okay.

  They’d arrived at the church, so he helped his mother out of the car, lending his arm as he led her across the parking lot to the front door. They’d arrived just as the bell started ringing to alert everyone the service was about to start—that had always been his favorite part of church as a boy, hearing the great iron bell as it rang, feeling it reverberate in his chest. He’d beg his dad or his uncle to let him help pull the big cord that hung in the vestibule by the sixty-year-old cubbyholes that held bulletins. Their family slot, V GARDNER, had never changed after his father’s death nor been updated since Marcus had returned, and tonight the narrow space held the half-folded green page, featuring a child’s illustration of a Christmas tree with a manger underneath it.

  Clutching the bulletin in his hand, Marcus led his mother down the aisle to their pew.

  The church was full, overflowing with young families and children, many of them noisy and rambunctious, all of them dressed up in their holiday finest. Everyone was here with someone, and the few people who had come in alone were snuggled up against families, so alone was a very relative term. There was an air of excitement, a feeling of family and faith and hope that stirred something deep in Marcus’s heart, carrying him home.

  As they sat down, Marcus took in the wafts of cologne and perfume, the perfectly done hair and makeup on the women. It made him think of Frankie, and it made Marcus miss him.

  The service started shortly after they were seated. The children sang and put on full nativity-scene gear for “Away in a Manger”. The audience stood and joined in on “Joy to the World”, and Marcus sang with feeling, his lungs buzzing when the verses were finished. He tuned out the sermon, floating on good feelings all the way to the f
inal hymn. It was, of course, “Silent Night”, complete with the return of the nativity cast and the obligatory passing out of short white candles with cardboard drip guards. They lit each other’s candles, the chain begun by an acolyte up front and brought to each pew by an usher. When all the candles were lit, the organist left her station, turned down the lights and conducted them through an a cappella round for the final verse.

  The service was sentimental and traditional and small town, and it filled Marcus’s heart with hope and light and love. He smiled as he helped his mother back down the aisle, as he handed his extinguished candle to an usher and wished him a merry Christmas.

  He still smiled when he led his mother around a cluster of gossiping women, heading back toward the coatroom, where Frankie stood waiting.

  There he was, tall and slight and blond and absolutely beautiful, his hair slicked and styled, his red coat undone to reveal a smart sweater with a collared shirt underneath. He wore his Fleet Farm boots. He clutched his gloves tight in hand, and he looked right at Marcus, his eyes bright and hopeful, but hesitant too.

  He was here. He was truly here, Marcus realized, and the sheer joy and shock held him firmly in place, lest he move and make this magic moment go away.

  Mimi had no such compulsion. “Steve!” she cried, and opened her arms as she let go of Marcus and shuffled forward to envelop Frankie in a hug. She laughed, and she hugged him, and then she pulled back to swat him playfully on the shoulder. “You should have been here earlier. I would have made you do my hair.”

  Frankie smiled at her. “I wanted to, but I got lost. Twice.” His gaze shifted back to Marcus, but some of his smile faded. “I hope it’s okay that I came.”