The Drifter: A Valentine’s Day Short Story

by A. M. Arthur

  The whole drive, none of us discussed how Eric would get from Leesburg to Lovettsville. I half-expected Kyle to offer him a ride, because it was only about twenty miles farther north, so I was a bit shocked when Kyle made the turn onto our road. We’d purchased an older home, so it was a bit of a fixer-upper, compared to other neighborhoods, but we had a small garage and a little bit of yard—plus it was ours.

  Home.

  Home was that house, but home was also with Kyle.

  Eric seemed uncertain when Kyle pulled into the short driveway in front of the garage, and then shut off the engine. “Home sweet home,” Kyle said. “Eric, do you want to come in for a few minutes?”

  “Uh, sure,” Eric replied. “Gotta take a whiz, anyway. You know, before I hit the road.”

  If Kyle caught Eric’s silent question, he made no indication. Eric cast me a curious look as we got out, but I shrugged. I had no idea what was going on in Kyle’s head right now. It was late afternoon, edging into early evening, so maybe Kyle was going to invite Eric to stay for dinner before moving on?

  The interior air was chilly, so I headed for the thermostat to kick on the heat. Kyle pointed out the downstairs bathroom, and Eric disappeared into it with his canvas bag—something I’d yet to see him actually put down in my presence. Then again, his entire life was in that bag. If I was Eric, I’d protect it, too.

  Kyle dumped his duffel on the living room couch, then stood there, staring at the mantle. An assortment of photos decorated it, mostly family candids of us with my parents, or with my sister, or just me and Kyle. I watched him from the foyer, unsure what to say or do now that we were home.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked.

  “A lot of things.” He turned, serious now, but a light still shined in his eyes. “The car isn’t evil. Frank Swallow was evil, but not the car.”

  “Yeah.” I walked to him and looped an arm around his waist. “Frank was evil, and now he’s burning in hell with all his sins. You’re free to live your life and do anything you want. With you, with the car, with whatever.”

  “And you’ll support my decision?”

  “I mean, as long as you don’t decide to do something illegal, sure.” I kissed his temple. “I support you.”

  We stood like that for a few minutes, until Eric stepped into the living room, tentative but smiling.

  Kyle grinned when he spotted the younger man. “Hey,” Kyle said. “If I give you directions, do you think you’re okay to drive to your cousins’ house?”

  “Um, I guess,” Eric replied. “But I guess, um, a taxi or whatever could find it.”

  “You don’t have to pay for a taxi, because I’m giving you the Charger.”

  Shocked jolted down my spine.

  Eric’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” Kyle crossed the room to stand in front of Eric, and I moved closer to witness this moment. “I didn’t buy the car, I inherited it, and I thought I wanted to destroy it. But wrecking the car won’t change my memories of it. It won’t really make a difference. Giving it to someone who has nothing, who’s trying to start his life over again? That makes a difference in how I remember the car. I want you to have it.”

  “I…” Eric’s dark eyes glistened. “That is the most generous thing anyone’s ever done for me. I wish I was selfless enough to refuse, but I’m not. Thank you, Kyle. This is so much more than I deserve.”

  “You deserve a safe and happy life, Eric.”

  The way Kyle’s brother Eric didn’t have a safe and happy life. My heart squeezed with love and gratitude, and I couldn’t help a teasing quip. “You can drive stick, right?” I asked.

  Eric chuckled. “Yeah, I learned on my dad’s pickup. I still can’t believe you’re giving me the car.” To me, he asked, “Are you okay with this?”

  I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s Kyle’s car, Kyle’s call. I support whatever he wants to do. And I think passing the car along to someone starting over is a healthy decision.”

  “Isn’t there, like, paperwork or something we need to do?”

  “We can take care of that another time,” Kyle replied. “You aren’t going that far away.”

  I gave Eric one of my business cards. “Call me and we can meet you at the MVA sometime next week. Get it all straightened out.”

  “That sounds amazing.” He launched himself at Kyle, and the pair hugged for a long time. I couldn’t be sure, but I wondered if Kyle wasn’t pretending this was his Eric, all grown up, and not a near-stranger who happened to resemble the brother he’d lost.

  Eric hugged me, too, but not as hard, or for as long. We followed him outside, where Kyle handed him the key and its rabbit’s foot keychain. Eric eyeballed the foot, and then laughed. “Thank you, guys, for taking a chance and picking me up on the side of the road.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “And thank you, Eric. Me and Kyle worked through some stuff on this trip, and having you around…” I wasn’t sure what to say without revealing Kyle’s private past and the brother he lost. “You gave us a kick in the pants.”

  “Whatever I did, I’m glad I helped. And I truly hope things work out for you two. I can tell you love each other. Hold onto that.”

  The wise words from someone so young sent my heart into my throat and tears into my eyes. Kyle curled his hand around mine and squeezed. “We will,” Kyle replied.

  Eric cast us each a bright smile, before climbing into the Charger’s front seat and starting the engine. Kyle and I stood in the driveway, hand in hand, and watched him back out. The car’s sleek black body soon disappeared down the street and was gone.

  “I’m so proud of you for doing that,” I said. “You have no idea.”

  “I have a small idea.” Kyle looped his arm around mine and leaned in, his head resting on my shoulder. Despite the cold, February air, we stood there, simply holding each other. He shivered once and shoved his free hand into his coat pocket. “What the?”

  “Hmm?”

  Kyle removed his hand from his pocket and held it out. A silver half-dollar rested on his palm. He released me and turned the half-dollar over, face-side up. A small chip was missing near Kennedy’s nose. Kyle stroked that chip, and his entire body trembled once.

  “Kyle?” I steadied his elbow, because I wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or not. “What’s wrong?”

  “This half-dollar. It’s from 1964, so it’s silver. Denver mint. And the chip.” He held the coin up, his eyes gleaming with tears. “I put this coin in Eric’s casket the day of his funeral, Thomas. This date, this chip. How did it get in my pocket?”

  I took the coin and turned it over several times, as if I’d find the answer written on its silver surface. There had to be thousands of 1964 half-dollars out there, in collections and out, but those coins weren’t easy to chip. “Did anyone know about the coin?”

  “Only me and my brother.” Kyle’s voice was strangled with unshed tears. “I won it in a dare only a few months before Eric died. There was this house in our neighborhood that everyone said was haunted. It was built in 1900 or so, and the top floor had burned down and killed three members of the family who owned it. Kids told stories about ghosts moving around, lights in the burned-out windows at night. Campfire stories, you know? Anyway, a kid in my class, a guy with money, he dared me to spend the night in exchange for the half-dollar. So I snuck out of the house after my aunt and uncle went to bed with a sleeping bag, and I stayed in that house until dawn.”

  “Did you see any ghosts?”

  “No, but I did scare myself silly and didn’t sleep all night. But I won the half-dollar fair and square. At first, I wanted to spend it, buy a treat for me and Eric, but he told me to keep it as a good luck charm. After he died…” Kyle sobbed. “I couldn’t…how did…?”

  I wrapped my arms around Kyle’s waist as tears tracked down his cheeks. “Do you believe in angels, babe?”

  Kyle held my gaze, his ears wet but clear. “I di
dn’t used to. I thought angels only visited people at Christmas?”

  “Maybe they visit when people need them most. Maybe our miracle was a Valentine’s hitchhiker sent at just the right time to keep us from losing each other.”

  “You think so?” Kyle glanced down the street and sighed. “He’s not calling, is he?”

  “I don’t think so. But I think you still got the better trade.” I curled his hand around the coin. “This for the car.”

  “I guess. I mean, I could always pawn it for the silver content and buy us coffee at Starbucks.”

  I laughed. “Or you can put it in your dresser drawer and whenever you start to doubt yourself, or doubt me, you can bring it out and remember today. Remember how happy we are together, here in our home, and how happy we’ll be for the rest of our lives.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Kyle leaned into my chest and rested his head on my shoulder. “It’s probably too late to get reservations anywhere decent at this point, but how about we do something to celebrate Valentine’s Day?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I say we crack a bottle of wine and go sit in the tub for a while. See where the night takes us?” He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

  “Sounds like a solid plan to me.”

  Kyle took my hand, the coin pressed between our joined palms, and led the way toward the house. On the stoop, he paused and turned to face me, a shy smile on his face. “Yes.”

  I blinked. “Yes, what?”

  “I know it’s a few months too late, but I’m ready now. Yes, Thomas Oliver Lewis, I’ll marry you.”

  “Really?”

  Kyle nodded. “Yes, really. I’m sorry for—”

  I silenced his apology with my mouth, sealing the deal with a kiss just in case I was dreaming. Just in case I’d fallen asleep on that airplane during the flight to Plano, and I’d wake up with me and Kyle at odds, about to break up, our beautiful life irrevocably broken. I kissed him into the house, upstairs, and into our bedroom, where we spent hours sealing the deal over and over.

  Eventually, we did the wine and the bath, which was sprinkles on an already amazing Valentine’s Day treat.

  Best. Valentine’s. Ever.

  For more information on A.M. Arthur’s books, please visit her website: https://amarthur.blogspot.com/p/my-books.html

  About the Author

  A.M. Arthur was born and raised in the same kind of small town that she likes to write about, a stone's throw from both beach resorts and generational farmland. She's been creating stories in her head since she was a child and scribbling them down nearly as long, in a losing battle to make the fictional voices stop. She credits an early fascination with male friendships (bromance hadn't been coined yet back then) with her later discovery of and subsequent love affair with m/m romance stories. A.M. Arthur's work is available from Carina Press, Dreamspinner Press, SMP Swerve, and Briggs-King Books.

  When not exorcising the voices in her head, she toils away in a retail job that tests her patience and gives her lots of story fodder. She can also be found in her kitchen, pretending she's an amateur chef and trying to not poison herself or others with her cuisine experiments.

  Contact her at am_arthur@yahoo.com with your cooking tips (or book comments). You can also find her online (http://amarthur.blogspot.com/), as well as on Twitter (http://twitter.com/am_arthur), Tumblr (http://www.tumblr.com/blog/am-arthur), and Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/A.M.Arthur.M.A ).