Crossing Borders
Page 23
“Hey, green wood,” said Ron. “I’m wondering if you might actually like me someday.”
“Yep,” said Tristan. “I’m wondering if I like you already, you shit.” He blew his nose, and Ron laughed.
“Maybe I deserve that.”
“Ron?” Tristan said quietly. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“What, leave? It’s not forever. There are other cities. Michael could work someplace they don’t know him.”
“No,” sighed Tristan. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to marry the job.”
“Shit,” said Ron, as he began to comprehend what Tristan was saying. He took a sip of his coffee. “Michael know you feel that way?”
“Oh, hell, no, what was I going to do? Tell him when he was in the hospital? Say, ‘Sorry ‑‑ the job that almost got you killed? I hate it.’”
To his credit, Ron remained silent.
“I lost my dad two years ago. Never mind how I felt about that, I watched my mom die with him. I feel like I’m up to here with grief, and I finally, finally find someone…”
“Sparky,” began Ron, but Tristan wasn’t finished.
“I love him. Every cell in my body is screaming his name. But then it hits me, like I’m gagging on an ice cube, and I feel nothing but cold, blind terror.”
“Oh, Sparky,” breathed Ron. “This will kill him.”
“Shut up!” Tristan raked a hand through his hair. “You’ve got no right to judge me.”
“I’m not judging you ‑‑ I swear I’m not.” Ron put a warm hand over Tristan’s. “I get what you’re saying. I know it’s hard.”
“Help me move the boxes back out,” Tristan said. “I’m not saying I’m not moving in, I’m just…I’m going to wait until I can think of something besides how close Michael came to being…not alive.”
“Pussy. Can’t even say it, can you?”
“Can’t even think it,” said Tristan, getting up.
“That makes two of us,” Ron murmured as he followed Tristan to the office and started helping him load boxes.
By the time they had all the boxes in the truck, Tristan realized all he had to say to Michael was that he didn’t feel he could leave his mom right then and get his mom to understand and back him up. Ron left him with a coffee in a Styrofoam cup and a sad smile.
Tristan sat quietly in the suddenly too-silent house. He had decorated every inch of it for Christmas, inside and out, making a special effort to keep in mind Michael’s love of the house and using mostly natural elements, clove-studded citrus fruits and fresh greenery. He’d kept the colors muted, earthy, and real. He’d done the tree with Emma and his family, putting up Michael’s own German bubble lights and Christmas ornaments, purchasing a few of his own, and hanging elegant black velvet Christmas stockings on the mantle. Our first Christmas together. Emma had reassured him that Michael would be thrilled that he’d taken the time, even if he wasn’t home by Christmas.
In the week after finals, Tristan had alternated his time between the hospital, decorating the house for the holidays, and baking enough tea loaves and cookies to fill not only Michael’s freezer, but Emma’s and his own family’s as well. As the boredom became crushing, the only thought that saved him was that he was going to share his first holiday with Michael.
Now, sitting in the kitchen in the wake of Ron’s visit, he let himself go and cried.
Hours later, Tristan drove the truck back to his mom’s house and emptied his things back into his old room. He called his mom and told her he wasn’t going to be moving for a while, and that he’d explain some other time, but that she shouldn’t worry, everything was fine.
Emma was waiting when he arrived at the hospital that afternoon, smiling so fiercely with her eyes shining that he knew something must be up.
“They’re going to let us take him home tomorrow,” she said in a rush as he got off the elevator. “We can spring him for Christmas Eve; isn’t that just the best news?” She hugged him tightly around the waist, and they walked together to Michael’s room. “They say he’ll just need to take it easy for a while and that he needs someone to stay with him. He can’t drive for four more weeks, can you imagine? He’ll be beside himself.”
“That he will,” said Tristan, heartened by the news. “Is it really all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “They’ve been gradually giving him water and food, to make sure everything goes where it’s supposed to, and the doctor says his body is beginning to function normally. He’s passing things properly, and they expect him to continue recovering as long as he rests at home.”
“Look, Emma, I didn’t get a chance to tell you. I didn’t move into Michael’s today.” He looked at her apprehensively.
“What?” She seemed shocked. “Why not?”
“I guess I…didn’t think it completely through. It’s a huge step, and everything’s so crazy right now. I need a chance to think, some time when I’m not scared to death.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s been a shock.”
“Emma, I love him,” he said sincerely. “It’s just that this is huge, and I’m not ready.”
“It’s okay to feel that way,” said Emma, squeezing his hand. “If you need to wait till you’re ready, I understand and so will Michael.” Privately, Tristan thought Michael would never understand until he understood it himself.
Emma opened the door to Michael’s room. “Which lazy policeman do we get to take home and spoil rotten for Christmas?” she asked, grinning like a lunatic.
“Did you hear that, Michael?” asked Tristan, seeing him smile. “You get to go home!”
“And rest!” emphasized Emma. “We will look the word up when we get home to refresh your memory, but I’m already certain there are no power tools involved.”
“I plan on staying in bed for a month,” said Michael, looking at Tristan, who pinked right up.
“And rest!” Emma reiterated.
“I can assure you, I’m not good for much else.”
“Don’t be a baby. You can knit scarves for orphans or something,” said Tristan.
“See?” said Emma. “He’ll keep you plenty busy.”
Michael fairly leered, but Emma was busy digging a phone list and a cell phone out of her pocket.
“I have to phone all these people. There have been so many people who have called and e-mailed. I’m going to let them know the good news, and maybe they’ll bring casseroles so we don’t have to cook too much the first few days,” she said. “I don’t know. Do people still do that?”
“Yes,” said Tristan. “My mom does. Tell them we’re good to go for desserts.”
“Will do,” said Emma, waving on her way out the door.
When the door closed behind her, Tristan took Michael’s hand in his. “I’m going to bring the Beemer to pick you up tomorrow. I’m thinking it will be hard for you to get up into the truck. Still the Beemer’s kind of small. I feel like Goldilocks. This one’s too big…”
“Yeah,” said Michael. “But it’s just a short drive. Small is okay. Did you get your things moved in yet?”
“No, I didn’t. I’ve been Christmas shopping, helping Mom out, taking the kids to get stuff, and on top of that, I have this gorgeous man I have to daydream about all day. Who has time?”
Michael worried his lower lip a little. “Didn’t your mom get Lily a car yet?”
“No, not yet. We’re going car shopping between Christmas and New Year’s when my mom has the time off.”
“Oh,” said Michael, looking a little sad. “I guess I was thinking that when I got home it would be our home, you know?”
“It is our home,” said Tristan. “Even if I don’t live there. You’re my home, Michael. I live here.” He placed his hand carefully over Michael’s heart. “The rest is just stuff.”
Michael smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess.” Tristan leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips, their tongues touching briefly.
“I love you so much,” said Tri
stan. He heard the door open and jumped away, startled. Michael looked surprised, but turned to the newcomer.
“Hey, Doc,” said Michael. “I guess time’s up, and you can’t hold me any longer without charging me with a crime.”
“That’s right,” said the doctor, shaking his hand. “We seem to have fixed you, and tomorrow is Christmas Eve, after all.” He winked at Tristan.
“I still have all the lights to put up and the tree to buy and decorate,” Michael joked. “Can’t I go today? There’s all that last minute shopping to do. And there’s the baking. Where does the time go?”
“Are you trying to get me to rescind the order letting you leave?”
“No!” said both Tristan and Michael at the same time.
“Good, then you behave, or I’ll come to your house and bring you back here myself. I have spies everywhere. Try not to forget that.” The doctor left the room.
“I did want to do one thing,” said Michael. “But now it’s out of the question for a while.”
“What, baby?”
“I wanted to go ring shopping before Christmas.” He took Tristan’s hand in his. “I was hoping…”
“Let’s just get you home,” said Tristan gently. “I think you just need to get well.”
“Yeah,” said Michael. He looked tired again. “That’s right. I’m sure to have more energy soon. They still wake me up at all hours, and it’s cold in here sometimes.”
“Well, when you get home, I’ll wait on you hand and foot. I’ll keep you warm, I’ll compose epic poetry to the dimples in your buttocks, and I’ll take care of your every need,” said Tristan. “You just wait.”
“Don’t want to wait, Sparky,” said Michael, drifting off to sleep. “Can’t sleep well unless you’re with me. I’m sure that’s why I always feel so tired.”
“I’m sure,” said Tristan, stroking his hair. “Love you,” he murmured, blinking back tears.
“Love you. Gonna get matching rings and tell the whole world. Won’t be lonely anymore…” Michael drifted off.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tristan pulled his BMW around to the patient loading zone and saw that Michael was not the only person in a wheelchair waiting to be picked up. He was chatting amiably with a woman who was holding a brand-new infant in her arms, waiting to be picked up, presumably by the baby’s father. The nurses who held their wheelchairs were also smiling and talking. The air was cold and crisp, the sun shining. It was a beautiful, clear Southern California kind of Christmas Eve, the kind where Santa shows up in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and shades, flashing a peace sign with one hand and sipping a Corona with the other.
Tristan’s heart was pounding hard in his chest as he and the nurse, whose name was Tammy, helped Michael into the front seat of the Beemer. It was obvious that Michael still had plenty of healing to do. The pain when he moved was etched on his face. Several of the other nurses had drifted down from his floor to say good-bye. It wasn’t hard for Tristan to imagine that they were all half in love with him. Everyone was. Tristan most of all, and he was sure he would explode with it the minute they were finally alone, causing chunks of himself to fly all over like so much lovesick shrapnel to ruin all his hard work decorating the house.
Once Tristan was behind the wheel, the nurses said their final good-byes and closed the car door, leaving them alone for the first time in weeks.
“I can’t wait to go home, Sparky,” murmured Michael, who was maneuvering the seat around trying to get comfortable. “I want to be alone with you in our house.”
Tristan smiled. “I’ll bet it will have to wait. I think everyone and their little green dog will be coming this afternoon to welcome you back. Are you up to lying on the couch?”
“Sure. It’s comfortable, and I need to be lying down.” Michael got quiet for a long moment. “Sparky, I know you didn’t sign on to be my nurse. You don’t have to take care of me, you know. My mom…”
“Michael, just so you know, I’m going to be on you like white on rice until you’re well, so don’t even bother.” Tristan made the left onto Chapman. “I almost lost you. I can’t tell you what that did to me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Michael quietly.
“Not something you did on purpose, is it?” asked Tristan, but he was gritting his teeth. Tristan’s heart could beat at a steady pace now, while he was driving the tree-lined streets of Michael’s neighborhood, but it began a skittering, frantic tattoo when he thought about Michael getting well. Michael back on the job, and Michael leaving in the morning and maybe not making it back home at night. Tristan tried to put it away, to think about it later when he had more time.
“I drove these streets alone for days after your…when you were hurt, not really knowing whether we’d be here together again.” He stopped the car for a minute to let his roiling emotions settle. “I will thank God every minute of every day that you’re here with me. If you don’t let me take care of you now…” The thought made his stomach churn.
“I’m sorry, Tristan.” Michael reached out a hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Will you stop saying that?” Tristan wiped the tears from his eyes. He started up the car again, weaving through the familiar streets until he pulled into the driveway behind Michael’s truck.
“Home,” Michael said aloud.
Tristan gazed at it.
“Let’s go in. Will you make a fire?” said Michael, grinning.
“Yes,” said Tristan happily. “I’d love to.” He helped Michael to the front door, unlocking it and turning off the alarm. As soon as he got Michael settled on the couch, he started a nice, crackling blaze in the fireplace. Michael looked around curiously at the Christmas decorations everywhere.
“Somebody’s been busy,” he said, as Tristan brought him pillows and a warm quilt to make him comfortable. Tristan turned on the tree lights and began to light the candles, which glowed in the dimly lit room and warmed it almost as much as the fire did.
“I was running on a lot of adrenaline for a while.” He looked around and thought that maybe, yeah, he’d been a little over the top. “I had some help from my family and Emma.”
“I’ll bet,” said Michael. “Come here.” He patted the couch. Tristan kneeled on the floor in front of him, still too afraid of causing harm to get close.
Michael took his face between both his hands and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. “You are so special.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Special good, or special ed?”
“I love you, Tristan,” said Michael. “Always. I’m so glad to be able to say that to you today.”
“Love you too,” said Tristan, unwanted tears staining his cheeks. “Me too.” He wiped at them jerkily, clearing his throat. “Okay, enough of this. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Michael merely smiled tiredly and let Tristan fuss, allowing him to remove his clothes, make him comfortable, and push up a small table with water and fruit on it. He turned on music and then babbled on about what type was most conducive to healing. It was exhausting to watch, but Michael let him do it. About an hour later, the doorbell rang, and the first of the visitors arrived with food.
Tristan and Emma, who was among the first to arrive, ushered friends and family in and out of the living room. They kept the fire going and the conversation light, and quietly saw to it that Michael never had to ask for anything.
A short hour later, Michael was drifting off, and people came and went without his knowledge, filling the space under the tree with gifts and the refrigerator with casseroles. He had vague impressions of people, like Meghan and Jim from I.N.KD and Ron, who seemed to be talking with Tristan as though they were longtime friends.
Some of his fellow officers from work came, and at those times he noticed that Tristan seemed strained, coming and going from the living room and acting subdued, which he didn’t understand. Sometimes his boy allowed Emma to visit and play host, while he simply came and went silently with refreshments, like good domestic help.
Tristan turned out the porch light, but left the Christmas lights on, remarking out loud to no one in particular that he liked the way they looked through the front window. Tristan pulled the futon from the office and dragged it to the front of the fireplace, adding another large log to catch. He shucked his pants and shirt off and then his underwear, preferring to sleep nude in the warmth of the fire.
For a long time, he sat and watched Michael, taking in everything about him, his slow, even breathing, the way the light scintillated off his golden hair, his hands, so beautiful, curled up on his abdomen as if to protect himself where he’d been stabbed. Once again, Tristan thought that even if he had forever with this man it would not be enough. He leaned over and kissed Michael gently on the lips and folded himself into the futon to sleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night the slightest scuffling noise awoke Tristan, who jerked at the sound, trying to orient himself to it. He turned to see Michael, pulling the blanket back to rise from the couch with obvious difficulty.
“What is it, love?”
“Don’t worry,” said Michael, rising painfully to a sitting position. “I just have to pee, go back to sleep.”
“Not a chance.” Tristan rose quickly from the futon. “Here, I have this thing they gave me from the hospital,” he said, indicating a bag by the couch, which contained a plastic jug.
“Sparky, you don’t seriously expect me to pee in my living room, do you?” asked Michael, aghast.
“I expect you to do whatever the doctor told me you should do, and they told me you shouldn’t be walking around too much yet. This is a piece of cake. Think of yourself as a long-range trucker.” When Michael remained resolutely disinterested, he added, “Should I make water noises?”