He could hear Patrick’s voice on the wind, screaming his name—he called back. Help! Patrick! Help me! Right? That was out loud? Aidan looked down—huge mistake—to where the flowers had disappeared in the churning water. He didn’t want to fall. God help him, he didn’t want to fall.
The box he’d just thrown back on the road tumbled past him as the wind pushed it over the edge.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, he was going to fall. Please no.
And then the nightmarish impossibility happened and Aidan’s grip on the slick bridge slipped and he went tumbling away from the edge. He turned in mid-air. The wind pressed against his stomach and chest, taking his breath away. His eyes dried and blurred. He tried to cry out, but air whipped away his words. And the last thing he thought he saw was his sister, her arms open wide, a look of deep, awful sadness on her pretty face. Then he hit the freezing water.
<<< >>>
Aidan—in quiet contemplation—was having real trouble believing this place was the fabled heaven. True, there was no pain here and it was very peaceful and quiet. But in his mind heaven was supposed to look a lot less like the downtown Fun Boy. And that’s where he was now, seated in the very back booth, playing with the salt and pepper shakers.
The Fun Boy wasn’t exactly hell either, though. No demons, no fire, nothing. There was no one there. No one at the tables around him, no one on the sidewalk outside the window, no one working the register or the grill. It was bright, but the lights weren’t on and something kept him rooted to the cushion. It wasn’t heaven, it wasn’t hell, it just was.
“Hello.” The word dropped from his lips like a statement and the silence immediately absorbed it. He hadn’t been raised Catholic, but he knew enough to wonder if perhaps this was purgatory. The void, the in-between. But the Fun Boy was something, even if it was empty. Wouldn’t purgatory be nothing? Not even blackness? He shook his head slowly, but still could not get up to explore.
And then the bell above the door rang, which was odd since it had been broken for as long as he’d been eating there, and he saw his sister weave her way around the napkin dispenser and the empty salad bar. She was wearing her embroidered wedding dress, except the mysterious overhead light made it look almost orange.
She took the seat across the table and folded her hands neatly on the top. He pushed the salt and pepper shakers toward her, but she just shook her head. “This must be heaven, then,” he concluded aloud, because where else would Nadia be? If there was an afterlife, she would be there. She deserved nothing less. So then, what was he doing here? Maybe he was here to be judged by her and cast below or popped out of any plane of existence whatsoever. But still Aidan wasn’t frightened; just so happy to see her face again. He began to cry. “I’ve missed you.”
She did not speak, but she let him grab her hand. He squeezed and she squeezed back.
“Na-Na, I’ve missed you so much.”
He dropped his head to the table and held onto her, afraid she would pull away and he would be alone again. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He wanted his twin back. He wanted peace. Even if it meant spending eternity in the empty Fun Boy.
He felt her gentle hand on in his hair, petting him, comforting him, and slowly he raised blurry eyes to her.
“I’m sorry.” He meant to cover the entire spread of his crimes, everything he’d ever done to her, every way he’d been the lesser twin. Her gentle look did not change. “I’m sorry you died… I’m sorry I… I’m sorry I went to Ms. Ashmore’s apartment. I’m sorry that when I’m with him…” No, he wanted to beg, don’t make me admit it. But there were no lies in the Fun Boy. “When I’m with him, I don’t hurt as much. And if I’m not hurting as much, it feels like I’m betraying you.”
Weren’t there supposed to be no tears in heaven? Was that biblical? Or something he’d read on a calendar? Maybe he was dreaming.
He stared hard at the tabletop which was now splattered with his tears. “I love Patrick with my whole heart, Nadia. I don’t know what to do. Loving him feels like letting go of you. He can’t replace you, I know he can’t replace you, but…Na-Na, I think…I have…to say goodbye to you.”
He was shocked that the look on her face—that serene contentment—had not changed in the least. She looked patient and wistful, not the least bit angry.
“Please tell me what to do. Please say something.”
But she just slowly shook her head.
“I can’t stand dishonoring your memory, Na-Na. But I’m so lonely and…I’m alive. I’m sorry that it’s me who’s living and not you. But since it is me, I think I should live. Don’t you?”
From the seat beside her, Nadia lifted one of the bouquets of lilies he’d thrown into the river. The petals and leaves were intact, and the ribbon was dry.
“I need your forgiveness.”
No, she shook her head.
“Do you hate me, sister?”
No.
“But…”
And she continued to slowly shake her head at him and pushed the flowers across the table.
“I bought those for you.”
No.
There was a card with her pretty scrawl. He reached for the card, eager to communicate with her again. She’d written him a message. Perhaps she’d explain why she wouldn’t forgive him? Or tell him how he could pay recompense to her? But as he lifted the card, the words slid away and it was blank again. He dropped it to demand an explanation, but his sister and the Fun Boy were gone and he could hear his name coming to him from far off. Everything was dark and then slowly light began to creep in through his closed eyelids.
“Aidan?” He definitely heard his name now and while his eyes remained heavily shut, he knew that he was awake. It was a bittersweet realization because it meant Nadia’s hand was just a dream. Patrick was speaking to him in low tones and as he lay wherever he was, he listened, gradually becoming aware of his boyfriend carrying on a rambling, disjointed one-sided conversation. He talked about things he’d read in the paper and a conversation he’d had with Seamus.
“…dy.”
He’d tried to get the “Pad—” out, but his throat was so dry that he could barely force any sound at all. There was silence then. Patrick had broken off in the middle of telling a story about Lily and Jill. Did he leave the room? Everything was so quiet, so still. Aidan didn’t think he could call out to him to bring him back. He began to panic and tried to open his eyelids, but they were still so heavy that they wouldn’t budge. “Pad…”
“Aidan?” Patrick’s voice was near now and he felt his hand being grabbed and held. It was warm and reminded him so much of Nadia. “Aidan? You said my name. Say it again, my love.”
He groaned a little because he didn’t know if he could muster the energy to repeat himself, but he squeezed Patrick’s hand as best he could so that he would know that it was not a fluke.
“Oh, God.” Patrick’s voice cracked and then he began to shudder. Patrick Williams was crying. Aidan worked hard then, trying to force his eyes open. He’d never seen Patrick openly cry before. Now, he was crying for Aidan.
“It’s okay…” Aidan assured him weakly. “Why…” He swallowed and let his eyes close back from the slits he’d managed to make of them. “Why are you crying, Patrick?”
He felt Patrick’s lips on his, wetting them with tears, kissing and kissing him. “I’m so glad you’re awake. So, so glad.”
“How long…?” he asked before being silenced by another desperate kiss. He managed the weakest smile when he realized that he’d reached Nadia. Even if it was just a dream, it had felt as real as ever. Then the smile faded as more came back to him. He’d fallen off the Switzer Bridge.
“It’s December fifteenth…”
“Two weeks?” His eyes, finding strength in shock, flew open. “It’s been two weeks?” He shook his head, which made him dizzy and he asked for water. His throat was so dry.
Patrick gently pulled back from him and went from the room.
He’
d lost two whole weeks? So why could he only remember that one short dream, sitting across from his sister in the Fun Boy? He tried to recall the details but it was fading quickly now. Every fragment that he grabbed at became nothing but a foggy impression.
There was one detail of the dream that he remembered with surprising clarity, though. Nadia would not forgive him. It was the culmination of his worst fears.
Patrick returned quickly with the glass of water. He was kind, holding it to Aidan’s lips, tilting it, patiently soaking it up with a towel as it spilled. It turned out that the simple act of drinking water was more than he could handle and it took several tries to get right. When the glass was drained (and spilled) of its contents, Patrick put it aside. Anger and pain, the likes of which Aidan had never seen from him, gradually replaced the gentle look on Patrick’s face.
“Do you miss her so much you want to die?”
Pain seized Aidan’s chest. Of course he missed Nadia—missed her more than he even understood. But he didn’t want to die. Especially not now. Gently Patrick reached over and smoothed the crease that had formed between Aidan’s brows.
“No.”
“Then why would you try to leave? We have each other…why would you—?”
He thought of falling, of hitting the water, of “waking up” in the Fun Boy. No, Nadia had said when he asked for her forgiveness. No, she would not forgive him. Or could not. Or… He could see her so clearly then, that peaceful, beautiful look on her face never changed even as he begged for her forgiveness. Could she have possibly meant that she had nothing to forgive him for? It was inconceivable.
“Aidan…” Curiosity pushed away the accusations at hand, and Patrick searched his face for some answer, some meaning to the calm that must now be showing. He reached out and touched Aidan’s lips with his fingertips. “You’re smiling.”
Chapter Thirty-Two:
Gifts of Love
“Come on, Max, put your back into it, darlin’. We only have one more stair to go.” Patrick held up the weight of the eight-foot pine tree from below. His arms were aching and he was pinned to the wall by wayward branches.
“What part of ‘too damn big’ don’t you understand, my friend?” Maxine griped from the other side somewhere. He couldn’t see her but he could hear her muttering and grunting. The tree remained exactly where it was.
“Can you not tip it at an angle?” Patrick suggested.
“I could try. Or maybe I could just give it a push back your way.”
“Hey, can I do anything?” Aidan asked. Patrick couldn’t see him either, but could tell from the sound of his voice that he was standing next to Maxine, not lying on the sofa and keeping warm under the comforter. Luckily, Maxine was on the same page.
“Sure. You can instruct us from afar,” she said.
“But I feel okay,” Aidan protested.
“Scoot!”
“But—”
Suddenly the tree lurched away from Patrick, scraping the wall and thumping loudly as Max heaved it up and over the last step. She panted and poked her grinning face around the side.
“Did it!” she declared.
Patrick raised an eyebrow, glad she’d got the thing up into his apartment hallway without Aidan’s assistance, not so glad that he’d be needing to touch up the paint.
“Where d’ya want it?” Max asked.
“I don’t know yet. Aidan, my love, where did you say?”
“Over…here. I’ll just move the TV…over…a…”
Patrick quickly squeezed past the tree and darted across his apartment. “Oh no you won’t.” He stepped in between Aidan and the TV and they played a quick game of dodge, both laughing, but no way was Patrick going to allow Aidan to move the TV.
“Paddy!” Aidan appealed.
“Nope. Creative consultant on this one, so y’are.”
“Ha, you sound just like Seamus,” Aidan teased, making one last attempt to sneak past. Patrick caught him and pulled him in, locking his arms tight around Aidan’s shoulders and planting a light kiss on his forehead.
“Well, young Aidan, you’ll be wanting to do as I tell yer, so you will.”
“You done with me?” Maxine hollered from the hallway. “Because, you know, you look kind of…occupied. See ya.” And with that she was gone.
Aidan’s arms snaked around Patrick’s waist and they rubbed noses. “Can I help decorate it at least?”
“If you promise to be careful.” Patrick tried to make light, but he was still struggling. Why was it that every little thing he said and did took him back to Aidan’s accident? The god-awful terror of watching Aidan slip from the bridge into the icy waters below, seeing his still and seemingly lifeless body begin to drift with the current, I can’t reach him, he’s drifting away—
“I promise to be careful,” Aidan said. He locked his gaze on Patrick’s. “Always.” There must have been pain and doubt showing on Patrick’s face, because Aidan squeezed him, hard. “You know it’s the truth, don’t you?”
Patrick nodded. He was trying to believe Aidan, truly trying with all his heart. When Aidan first came to, Patrick had asked him if he’d wanted to die, and Aidan had answered with a very certain “no,” but he hadn’t answered right away. He’d thought about it, and if Aidan doubted, even for that one short moment…well, it was enough to keep the worry alive in Patrick’s mind.
“Talk to me,” Aidan said.
Patrick lifted a hand and smoothed Aidan’s cheek. “You’re looking pale. You’re tired.”
“I’m okay,” Aidan dismissed impatiently. “Tell me what’s wrong, Paddy. What’s bothering you?”
Patrick closed his eyes, thinking over what he wanted—needed—to say. Whether it caused another big falling out or not, he had to ask, and perhaps it was better now than to have it looming over them. He wanted Christmas to be special, and they had grand plans. If they could just clear the air first, it would be the most wonderful Christmas ever; their first together.
“All right, Aidan Degas, I have three questions for you, and I need you to answer them honestly, however much you think it will hurt me to hear the truth.”
“Tree questions?” Aidan repeated.
He knew Aidan was tormenting him, but Patrick was also aware that his accent was more pronounced when he was emotional, and he was feeling very emotional, so he may well have said “tree questions.”
Aidan continued, “If they’re tree questions, maybe you could ask them while we decorate the tree?”
“Aye, maybe that would be easier. Why don’t you make us a nice cup of cocoa and I’ll shift the tree over?”
Aidan shrugged and did as Patrick suggested, though he’d been trying to do far too much since he left the hospital. The doctor said he was to rest up awhile, but Aidan Degas was not the kind of man to follow doctors’ orders. Aidan Degas wasn’t so good at following anyone’s orders, but he could be cajoled with gentle persuasion. And kisses. Aye, they work a treat, Patrick chuckled to himself and got on with moving the TV to make room for the tree, which wasn’t too big, contrary to Max’s claim. With the high pitch of the ceiling, the tree was the perfect size: not too tall, and just wide enough to fill the corner of the room.
With the tree in position, Patrick went to see how Aidan was getting along with making the cocoa, and discovered he was going all out to impress. Patrick snuggled up behind him and nuzzled his neck.
“What you doin’ there?”
“Oh, nothing,” Aidan said lightly. “I just put a little of the cognac in. Is that okay?”
“It smells great.”
Aidan turned in Patrick’s arms and kissed him, his lips lingering against Patrick’s as he asked, “What’s your first question, Paddy?”
“You expect me to ask it, just like that?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Well, I need to know…” Patrick’s stomach churned. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth, if it was as he feared, but he did need to know, one way or the other. Ignorance would not
help him support Aidan. Please don’t say yes. Please… “Did you fall in the river on purpose?”
“What? No!”
The answer this time was without hesitation and the relief that swelled through Patrick was immense. He returned Aidan’s kiss, passionately, filling it with his love and gratitude that Aidan had survived his dice with death. Not on purpose. Thank God. Thank God. The hypothermia had kept Aidan alive long enough for doctors to treat the wound on his head from where he hit rocks on the riverbed. The induced coma had given him time to heal, physically. The rest? That’s what Patrick needed to address next.
They returned to the living room with their cocoa and spent a giddy moment sipping from each other’s cups, catching the dribbles of the sweet brown liquid as it trickled down their chins, and chasing it back up to lips tingling from the cognac, inhaling hot, alcoholic breath.
“Lights first?” Aidan suggested. Patrick nodded in agreement and set down their cups.
Together they draped the lights over the branches of the delicious-smelling Scotch pine. Patrick connected them to the power outlet to check all was well. Aidan adjusted a light here and there, then stood back and smiled.
“Yes! Perfect!” He took the string of silver bells Patrick offered him and reached up, hooking one end near the top of the tree. “Question two,” he said, continuing in a loopy, clockwise spiral.
Patrick found a set of silver musical instruments and started on the other side of the tree, focusing his attention on his actions for no other reason than the decorations were delicate and needed handling with care. Aidan hadn’t tried to end his life—it made the answer to question two almost irrelevant, and he was keen to get it out of the way so he could ask his third and final question.
“What made you smile when I asked you why you tried to leave?”
“We have each other.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but—”
“That’s what made me smile.” Aidan stepped past Patrick in their tree-decorating dance, lifting his arms so as not to tangle the bells and the instruments. “I love these decorations.”
Seeds of Tyrone Box Set Page 20
