Sky Full of Mysteries

by Rick R. Reed

  Should he go up and knock? He shook his head. Something kept his feet rooted to the sidewalk below, as though an invisible force pressed him into place. He waited and waited for the door to open again—to see, maybe, Rory standing in the open door, smiling and beckoning as if all those years hadn’t passed.

  The door didn’t open, and at last Cole’s common sense, his logical brain, took over. Despite the coincidence of the house and the young man who looked exactly like Rory, he told himself the man couldn’t be Rory. It wasn’t possible because he was far too young.

  He wanted, wished so hard, that it were true. But it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

  After much deliberation, he found the will to move his feet again and head back west, toward the little downtown.

  He was no longer hungry. He would mount his bike and ride home, hoping that, by the time he got there, things would fall into place. That his memory of the young man would supersede the reality of him and Cole would realize that he looked nothing like Rory.

  That, Cole thought, would be a blessing.

  Chapter 18

  RORY SLAMMED the door behind him, locked it, and then leaned against it as though he were holding back a horde of zombies. He was trembling, gasping for air. Stars danced in his vision. His scalp prickled.

  He’d dreamed of the moment almost from the time he’d returned—once he’d sorted out that two decades and not two days had passed. He’d imagined their reunion over and over. On good days, it would be a happy one where Cole had waited for him. On the worst days, Cole would see him and barely recall their association.

  It was this latter part that scared Rory so much, scared him enough to let days pass without looking, for fear he’d find Cole was with someone else or he was far away or even that he’d died. Any of those things was possible.

  But he was here. Close by! The shock of it made Rory go cold.

  Greta glanced up from the couch, where she was perched with her legs folded beneath her, Kindle clutched in her hand. Her pince-nez glasses, for a moment, flashed when she looked up, from the sunlight pouring in through the picture window. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Rory couldn’t answer. He wasn’t ready.

  Just so she wouldn’t carp too much, he held up a placating finger, indicating she should wait for a second. He went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. He drank it down in one long swallow. Filled it again, did the same. It felt like his whole body was vibrating. In spite of the water, his mouth was dry. For a moment he stared out the window over the kitchen sink, as though he expected to see Cole lurking among the pots of asters.

  But there was nothing going on back there save for Minnie stretched out on her side, asleep in a shaft of sunlight on the flagstone patio.

  He set the glass down and hurried back to the living room. He crept to the front door again and peered out through the trio of windows at the top. The sidewalk in front of the house was now empty. A couple of leaves, brown and gold, pirouetted gracefully down to the sidewalk. A black Volvo sped by.

  Maybe he was never there. Maybe I just imagined it.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Greta had risen and walked over to him. She stood on tiptoes to look over Rory’s shoulder out those same windows. “What? I don’t see anything. Was someone following you?”

  “No. I mean, yes.” Rory put a hand to his forehead. Nausea welled up in his gut. He looked at his mother, her concerned features. “Can we sit down?”

  Greta nodded and resumed her place on the couch. Rory took a chair kitty-corner to her at the end of the coffee table. He tried to slow his racing pulse with a few deep breaths with dubious success. Finally, when he thought the suspense was just about to kill his mom, he said, “I saw him.”

  “Who?”

  “Cole.” As though she might not remember, he supplied Cole’s last name. “Weston. Cole Weston.” He licked his lips nervously. “Swear to God, he was just outside. He followed me home.”

  “Really? Are you sure it was him?”

  Rory nodded. “He’s older—of course. But I’d know those eyes anywhere.”

  “Did you talk to him?” Her voice had a slight tremor, and Rory knew it was because she was afraid he had.

  “Talk to him? No! No, I was too shocked. I think he was too.”

  Greta let out a little sigh that sounded like relief. “That’s probably for the best.” She toyed with the shut-down Kindle on the coffee table, as though she wanted to pick up her reading where she’d left off.

  “What? Why do you say that? I loved him once, Mom.” Rory looked down at the Persian rug, cream and blue, at his feet. “I still do.” He moved the Kindle away from her so she’d be forced to peer into his eyes. “I thought we were a forever thing, you know, like you and Dad. I really believed we’d grow old together, maybe end up in rocking chairs facing the mountains in Palm Springs, tan and shriveled but still holding hands.”

  Greta gave him a smile he knew was intended to be kind. “That’s sweet.”

  “I need to talk to him, Mom. I need to see him.”

  “It’s not a good idea. He wouldn’t understand. How could he? I don’t even understand.” She pulled her Kindle away from him and held it in her lap. Rory knew the book she was reading, The Grays by Whitley Strieber. He didn’t want to ask her about why she chose that particular book.

  Rory stared at her. She looked so worried, so concerned. He’d been living here, a secret, practically a prisoner with a very benign jailer, for two months now. Greta told him that, until they could figure out how to explain him, they should simply avoid contact with anyone who’d known Rory before his disappearance. Her reasoning was shaky, Rory thought, but he abided by it—to a point—because he felt a deep-seated guilt for shaking her up as he’d done, even if he was in no way responsible, even if he was as stymied about things as she. But still, his return was akin to someone coming back from the dead. And Rory couldn’t imagine how that must feel. Nor could he imagine how others might deal with it.

  And the truth was, he’d tried to look for Cole—in secret, when he could get out from under his mother’s watchful eye. Many days, he’d simply hop on the “L” and wander around their old neighborhood in Rogers Park, hoping against hope he’d run into him in one of their old haunts. But the bar they favored, Charmers, was now gone—and so, apparently was Cole. The café on Sheridan Road they liked was filled now with Loyola students, not one of them nearly the age Cole would now be. None of the directories in the Wilmette library listed him. And the few feeble searches he’d done furtively online had also yielded nothing.

  But until they could figure out an explanation for his presence? He didn’t believe that day would ever come. He wondered daily about what that explanation would look like. In his mind there was only an empty gray mist where nothing moved. Sometimes, at night, he dreamed of weird stuff, stars, great moving clouds that looked alive, and most curiously, a sparse white-tiled room with stainless-steel fixtures. He didn’t recall much about the room upon waking but felt an ineffable peace, a kind of embracing warmth.

  So he felt he had no choice but to go along with her notion of keeping things quiet. To not let relatives and neighbors know. When, after a couple of weeks of feeling claustrophobic in the house, he demanded that he at least be allowed outside for walks, for fresh air, and to see human faces other than his mother’s, grudgingly, she relented.

  “And if you run into any of the neighbors,” she told him, “who knew you from before, you just tell them you’re my nephew, visiting me from Seattle while you check out colleges. You’re thinking of Northwestern.”

  “You’re crazy, Mom. We don’t need that much of a backstory. Besides, haven’t most of them moved, anyway?”

  “I suppose you’re right. But just be careful. Things are different now in the world. It’s not as friendly, with everyone plugged into their phones or iPads or whatever. It’s more dangerous. And I just don’t know how people
would react to seeing you, if they knew. They’d think it was some kind of resurrection. And I don’t have a clue how on earth we’d spin that!”

  Rory cut her some slack because, even though she’d never admit it, he suspected he knew the real reason for her wanting to keep him close, keep him all to herself—she was terrified of losing him again. It made sense. He had disappeared without warning, without a trace before. Who was to say it couldn’t or wouldn’t happen again, just like that?

  He knew there was nothing to counter her fear. It wasn’t irrational. And sometimes, late at night, as he gazed out the windows at the stars, the same fear crept up on him, as if an invisible presence had tiptoed behind him and placed an ice-cold hand on the base of his spine.

  So he couldn’t fault her for being afraid, for worrying that she’d lose him once more. He knew how much she loved him and how lonely she’d been, losing first him and then her husband, the only man she’d ever loved.

  And his dad? What a shock to learn of his death. Rory was still trying to believe it was true. Coping with that reality was another whole issue—dealing with his grief and shock over the loss. His death was as fresh to Rory as if it had happened yesterday. Rory still expected to see him eating bacon and eggs when he came downstairs in the morning, that day’s Tribune folded neatly into a quarter before him. Every time he saw his mother alone, fussing over Minnie, his heart clenched with longing for his dad.

  Not that he didn’t grieve for the loss of Cole. His dad was different, though. Dad was truly gone—Rory had visited his grave. Cole was out there somewhere. Rory could feel it in his bones—Cole was alive. He might have moved on, might have even forgotten Rory, but he knew he was still among the living. Rory wasn’t ready to let go of that hope yet. And so he had yet to feel grief at Cole’s loss. Where there was hope, Rory thought, there was less room for grieving.

  He’d gotten used to his hidden-away existence. Sometimes, with the blackest of humor, he’d refer to himself as a latter-day Anne Frank.

  The other issues Greta raised—how he would explain his appearance should he ever want to do anything practical like get a job, open a bank account, drive a car—made some degree of sense, but Rory knew this limbo would have to end at some point.

  Maybe he’d shave his head and grow a beard to try to look older—though passing for fortysomething was a stretch. Could plastic surgeons add crow’s feet and laugh lines, maybe a bit of a jowl? Would a hairdresser be willing to add a touch of gray to his thick auburn hair?

  Maybe folks would come to accept him as the world’s youngest-looking forty-three-year-old?

  And these thoughts of aging brought him back to the present. Because Cole, the Cole whom he’d just seen, was now in his forties. Though still very attractive, he looked his age. Rory couldn’t really be certain it was him. But that was only for a second. We know people when we see them. It’s almost instinctive. It’s certainly intuitive. And it’s always right.

  He looked levelly at his mom and repeated what he’d said before, knowing his wish had the potential to instill terror in her, to motivate impassioned protest. But she needed to hear it, and more, she needed to understand.

  “I have to see him. I have to talk to him.”

  “Oh, why?” She couldn’t keep the annoyance and frustration out of the short query. Her eyebrows came together in concern. She sat up straighter, placing both feet on the floor. “It’s been such a long time, Rory. Even if that was Cole, which I doubt, he’s moved on, sweetheart. Don’t you think he has someone else by now? Don’t you think he’s made a life for himself without you? He could be married. Maybe he even has children. What good would it do to upset that particular applecart? You’ll just open yourself up to heartache. And God knows what it would do to his life!”

  The thought of Cole with someone else made Rory feel sick. It caused tears to spring to his eyes. Twenty years might have somehow mysteriously passed, but it didn’t feel like it. He felt like he and Cole were still a couple, like the last time they’d laughed together, made love, shared a pizza on the couch, was days ago instead of years. “That’s mean, Mom. Don’t you know I really love him?”

  Her features softened. “Which is exactly why you should leave him alone, son.” She leaned forward so she could reach out and grasp his knee for a moment, squeeze it. “Twenty years, sweetie. Two decades. So much has had to have happened for him. No one—” And she cut herself off to let out a sharp bark of bitter laughter. “No one, save for you, stays the same for that long. Everyone changes. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. However you want to look at it, people change. Even their chemical composition is completely different. We slough off those old cells and replace them with new ones until we’re someone else entirely.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I learned that in biology freshman year at New Trier.”

  “My point is—no good can come of you getting in touch with Cole, even if that was him you saw. What? You think you’ll just pick up where you left off?” She shrugged, and her lips came together to make a little trembling frown. The expression telegraphed how much she ached for Rory. She leaned back into the couch cushions, her gaze down. After a moment she said, “I should let Minnie in. I’ve never seen a dog that loves the sun so much. She’d roast herself if I’d allow it.”

  “Quit changing the subject. I need to talk to him. I need to let him know that I’m not still missing, or dead, or whatever he thinks happened to me. I owe him that. As much as I loved, love him, I know he felt the same for me. He must have been out of his mind with worry when I went away.”

  His mother looked pensive. “He was. We searched for you together. I remember talking, comforting each other in the weeks and months after….” Her voice trailed off. “He was devastated.” She gnawed at her lower lip. “We stayed in touch for a while, but gradually that petered out. Christmas cards. And then nothing.” She let out a small shuddering sigh. “I don’t know where he is anymore.” She looked at Rory with hope. “Maybe he moved away?”

  “I told you, Mom, I just saw him. I don’t doubt it. I’m going to find him.” Of course this wasn’t the first time the idea of finding Cole had occurred to Rory. He’d pored through lots of resources online to locate Cole Weston, but he didn’t show up, not anywhere, which made Rory worry that he was not simply off the grid, but dead.

  But he couldn’t be. He’d been outside. And Rory could just kick himself for not speaking to him when he’d had the chance. But if that was Cole, and Rory knew in his heart of hearts that it was, he could be found. Even if Rory had to hire a private investigator, he could find him.

  “I don’t know what will come of my finding him,” Rory told Greta. “You’re right—I’m sure he has his own life and we won’t ‘pick up where we left off.’ But don’t you think he deserves to know I’m alive? That I’m okay?”

  Greta nodded. “I suppose so. In spite of all the mystery around you, I’m so glad you came home to me.” She blurted the last of the words out in a little burst of a sob. She gathered herself up pretty quickly, reaching beneath the lenses of her glasses to dab the tears away. “But how will you explain you haven’t aged?”

  Rory felt compelled to joke, “You think he’ll mind? Most fortysomething guys fantasize about attracting twentysomethings, right?”

  “Oh, Rory.” His mother shook her head. “That’s not funny.”

  “No. I suppose it isn’t. I guess we’ll deal with that issue when we come to it. How did you and I know how to deal with it? How do we deal with it every day? Say it, Mom.”

  And she smiled a little, taking her cue. “It’s a mystery.”

  Rory nodded. “And a miracle. Don’t forget a miracle.” And if he was a miracle, maybe Cole would be too. Maybe the real miracle would be that Cole was still alone and pining for him. Maybe Cole, in the absence of verification with something like a body, had hung on, waiting for him. And maybe, just maybe, they could pick up where they left off. And wouldn’t that be a wonderful miracle?

  Stranger t
hings had certainly happened.

  “Will you help me, Mother? Will you help me find him?”

  She nodded, and in her exhalation, Rory heard defeat. “I don’t think I have any choice. You’re going to go down this road no matter what I think or say anyway. And besides, I spent most of my life as a librarian. Finding information comes second nature to me.”

  Rory stood. “Can we start right now?”

  Chapter 19

  COLE PEERED out the window at the courtyard. The first flakes of winter were falling, gentle, fluffy things, melting as soon as they hit the ground. The sky was an expanse of drama, bright blue here, dark gray and ominous there. Even though it was only November, it looked cold out there, and the fluffy snow could morph into a storm. Anyone who’d lived in Chicago for any length of time knew that.

  It was eleven o’clock on a Thursday morning, and the condo was curiously silent. No TV on. No music playing. Tommy had left via Uber that morning for O’Hare to catch an 8:00 a.m. flight to Los Angeles, where he was the keynote speaker at a popular fan convention, built around new adult and young adult fiction. He’d be gone until Monday.

  Cole, once such an extrovert, had, over the years, narrowed his world down almost exclusively to this one person, his husband. Sure, they had friends, mostly made by Tommy through his connection with Dora—straight suburban couples they’d have dinner with once a month or so. Otherwise their life together was pretty insulated. Tommy sometimes joked that, if one looked up the term “homebodies,” there would be a picture of him and Cole. Cole would laugh and describe the scene—Tommy in the leather recliner, his iPad open on his lap, and Cole on the couch, remote in hand, scrolling through the latest offerings on Netflix. Once he found something suitable on which to binge, he’d pick up his phone and tap the UberEats app and order dinner. What with restaurant and food deliveries, the latest movies on Amazon Prime and Netflix, downloadable music and books, what reason, other than a medical emergency, did they have to leave the house?