by Liz Crowe
“A hand-written letter, looks like it’s from Dan’s mom. A CD that says ‘To Nick, from Dan’.” She rustled around some more, and he heard them. The distinctive clink of metal on metal. He put his head on the table. She took his hand and put them in it. He closed his fingers around Dan’s dog tags, felt their sharp edges cut into his skin. “And one more thing,” she whispered. He sat up, held out his other hand and clutched the fabric of what must be a folded American flag to his chest. His chest constricted. “Nick,” Hannah said. “Honey,” she put her hand on his face. “Take a breath.”
He did, but it made a noise, and he realized it was a sob. He sat, gripping his dead lover’s dog tags and the flag they’d draped over his coffin, crying like a fucking girl. Hannah came around behind him and put her arms around his neck. They stayed like this a while, until he got control. “Read it to me.”
She sat. Nick heard the rustling of paper, and that same strange, almost sub-radar blipping noise, but the sound of Hannah’s voice drowned it out.
“Dear Nicholas,
My name is Janice Anderson. Daniel was my son. My only child. I hope you can understand and forgive me for taking so long to do this but I was only able just this past month to go into his room and open up the box of his stuff that the Marines sent me. I feel terrible about keeping this from you, but please know it wasn’t intentional. I knew my son well. He was smart, talented in the kitchen, athletic, loving, and gay. And I was proud of him.”
Hannah sucked in a breath and continued. Nick’s eyes burned but his heart was starting to release a small fraction of the agony he’d lugged around since coming home, blind and alone.
“He had a package of stuff with your name on it, including this photo of him with a handsome, blond man sitting on a beach who I assume is you and this disk. I didn’t listen to it because it had your name on it and not mine. He left one for me, too. He recited his favorite recipes to me, told me how much he loved me and his father, who died not long after Dan’s accident. He read us some passages from a few of my favorite books—The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men, Pride and Prejudice. And sang me a song—my favorite Rolling Stones tune, actually. I have listened to it so many times I get angry at myself for waiting this long to find it.
“It’s obvious to me that he loved you. He said so on his recording. Told me about how you met, how smart you were, although you tended toward being an overbearing asshole, pardon my French. And how right you were for him. I don’t know if you realize this Nicholas, but you were Dan’s first boyfriend. His first real sexual experience. I didn’t know that until he told me on the recording, and part of me wishes I still didn’t. Some things are better left private even between parents and children. But there it is. He somehow knew he would not be coming home from that horrible place. So, he wanted me to know everything.
“So, I am giving you as much of him as I can and ask that you forgive a lonely woman’s tardiness, her inability to face reality and go through her dead son’s things in hopes of finding something special – which I did. You.
Yours sincerely,
Janice
Nick shook all over. His head pounded. He stood, bumping his legs against the table then sat, still clutching the dog tags and flag like a little kid with his blankie. His mind was blank, dark, on fire, and frozen all at once.
Hannah touched his hand. “Do you want to listen to the CD? I can put it on and leave you with it. So you can have some privacy.”
“No!” he croaked out. “Please don’t leave. If you don’t mind listening with me, I mean.”
“Sure thing,” she said. He heard her put the disk into the player. “Come, sit by me.”
The dog led him to the couch. He dropped onto it, still hanging onto the tags for dear life; he let her put her arm around him but sat frozen and terrified. Until the rich sounds of Dan’s voice floated out from his expensive speakers, he was singing, accompanying himself on the guitar, picking out the tune in his typical semi-half-assed way. Alan Jackson. Fuck.
Nick sucked in a breath, Hannah held his hand and they listened, the lyrics rolling through him like waves, making his head pound at first, then somehow, relaxing him. But once Dan got to the third verse, he couldn’t breathe. “Turn it off…” he choked out grabbing Hannah’s hand hard. “God.”
But Dan’s voice kept coming. He read passages from his favorite books. Catcher in the Rye, The Old Man and the Sea, The Stand, even some non-fiction stuff Nick liked like The Tipping Point and The Blind Side. Long stretches of nothing but reading, bringing the man back to him as if he had never left. Nick kept a death grip on Hannah’s arm, mesmerized.
Then a new sound, a second voice. Nick’s. Laughing while he taught the hapless kid to play poker. Or tried to anyway. He gulped remembering how that session ended. Dan stopped recording before their arguments about the statistical unlikelihood of having two royal flushes in one game ended in loud, energetic sex in a hotel room on shore leave.
“Oh, Nick,” Hannah held him close, rocked with him back and forth. Then, Dan spoke after reading a few more snippets from books, recited the sports stats of his favorite baseball team—the Reds, which Nick had almost forgiven him for—and his favorite football team—Ohio State, which Nick would never forgive him for. He said simply: “Nicholas. I love you. Now go and live your life. Because I know you’re not—you’re holding back something, probably from someone who loves you as much as I do. I release you. I want you to be happy.”
Nick identified it then—the unmistakable sound of a small fluttery heartbeat. Same as when he figured out his sister was pregnant. He dropped the dog tags and the flag, turned to Hannah and gripped her arms hard. “You didn’t do it, did you?”
She stayed quiet, sniffling.
“Answer me, damn you.” He heard her sharp intake of breath. “Oh, please, Hannah, please tell me I’m not hearing things.” His voice sounded strong to his own ear, reflecting a strength he literally just retrieved, thanks to Dan’s recording. Finally, he knew what he wanted. She stood, drawing his ear to her stomach. And he held onto her, listening, gripping her so she would never leave him again, then spoke. “I knew he was a virgin. He was…a lot younger than me and so fucking amazing.” Hannah ran her hands through his hair, soothing, calming. He let her and then he sensed it again – his baby’s heartbeat. “I love you,” he muttered as he stood, holding her close and kissing her so hard he didn’t know where his lips ended and hers began.
She broke away. “I’m so scared, Nick. Ian is…wait, did you say you loved me?”
“Shh…” he put his fingers to her lips, ran them across her cheeks, nose and eyes, brushed away her tears. “We’ll get him back. It will be fine. And yes, I did.”
Both of their phones rang within seconds of each other. He pulled his out of his pocket. It was Alyssa’s tone.
“Gavin’s calling me,” Hannah said. Nick felt a lick of dread in his gut as he answered.
He listened to his sister’s voice and then hung up without a sound. He heard Hannah’s gasp, felt the dog dancing around his ankles. The dog that wasn’t Brutus, because he had killed that dog as surely as if he had put a gun to its head when he wouldn’t or couldn’t find his way out of the burning kitchen. By the time the fire department found him, Brutus had sucked in too much smoke and was still lying next to him his hand gripped in his huge jaws. Nick gritted his teeth and let Daisy’s softer, less aggressive presence soothe him. She was a licker, which was something Frank had tried to break her of, but Nick didn’t mind. She got nervous, or thought he was, and she licked his hand until he told her to stop, but usually not until he actually did feel better for it.
“It’s Jamie,” he said. He heard her phone hit the floor.
“God, Nick,” her heartbeat pounded in his ears. He grabbed her arm.
“Get your keys. Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Hannah raced into town from Nick’s new neighborhood, cursing and running red lights while Daisy barked enthusiastica
lly. Nick white knuckled the armrest. “Jesus, Hannah.”
She ignored him. Her heart was racing so fast it hurt. Her eyes burned. She had gotten one of her men back and was ready to work on the other one. But Jamie, he was…. “Oh, shit,” she hit her brakes and screeched to a halt at the one red light before the hospital, nearly hyperventilating.
Nick put a cool hand on her arm. She started to shake him off but something about his touch calmed her. He peeled her fingers from the steering wheel and kissed them. “It’s okay. It will be fine. It has to be.” He let go of her and faced ahead again. “I mean if you don’t fucking kill us and my new dog getting there.”
“Don’t be a back seat driver. It’s unbecoming.” She scratched away from the signal, jerked the wheel to the left and was jumping out of the car at the emergency room nearly before she had the thing in park.
Nick followed on her heels as they skidded to a stop at the security check. Hannah tried to relay that it wasn’t her or the blind man with her who needed help. They were there to find a boy. “My nephew,” Nick piped up, gripping the dog. “James Donovan.”
“Nick,” she heard Alyssa’s voice, saw the woman’s tired eyes as she rounded the corner. “I just came down to find you. They moved him upstairs to the pediatric intensive care unit.”
“Fucking-A, Alyssa, what happened to him?”
“Anaphylactic shock. Turns out he is allergic to cashews.”
They got in the elevator. Hannah held onto Nick’s hand as Alyssa gave them the details. Jamie had been having a reaction for the better part of an hour they believed, having been given a trail mix fruit and nut bar by one of his friends’ moms. He’d been itchy, the boys claimed, his eyes kept watering but he’d been playing in the pool and the sand so they figured he was just over heated, with eyes full of pool water. By the time the kid’s mom had figured out something was wrong he’d had a grand mal seizure and stopped breathing. That’s when Ian found him.
“Oh, God,” Hannah put a hand over her mouth. Nick tightened his grip on her other hand. “Is he…I mean….”
“He’s still out. The problem is even after they got him breathing again, he wouldn’t, he won’t wake up. They aren’t a hundred percent sure how long he was without oxygen.” Alyssa sucked in a breath, rested her hands on the elevator rails. “Ian is catatonic. He won’t talk to anyone, not even Gavin. Well, except when he’s roaring and tearing the medical staff new assholes because they won’t let him hold Jamie.”
Hannah’s heart clenched. Ian and Jamie’s bond was special she knew, had observed it first-hand. This was the worst possible thing that could happen to him. She leaned back, waiting for the elevator doors to open. Alyssa turned to them both. “Listen to me,” she said, her green eyes snapping. “Get your fucking shit together. He needs you.”
“Our shit is fine sister dear.” Nick said, putting Hannah’s hand to his lips then touching her stomach. “All of it.”
“Good.”
The doors opened and Hannah rushed out, her need to see Jamie for herself so great she nearly tripped over Gavin as he sat crouched down on his ankles outside a door. He stood, pointed to the glass window. Hannah peered in, saw the boy’s small form dwarfed by the bed, all sorts of bleeping monitors surrounding him. “Jamie” she whispered, touching the glass. As if he heard her, Ian looked up, still clutching his son’s hand. His face was hard, set, angry. She bit her lip. The self-loathing and fury hovered around him like a dark cloud. “Can I go in?”
“No,” some bossy nurse said, as she read the computerized file without even looking up to see who spoke.
“I’m….” she nearly burst into tears.
“This is the boy’s mother,” Nick said, shoving her in the door. “Thank you, very much.” Hannah looked over her shoulder. “Go. It’s okay.” He whispered to her.
She made her way over to the bed, terrified, horrified, and sick to her stomach. Jamie’s face was gaunt, his chest rose and fell on its own but his eyelids weren’t moving. She touched Ian’s shoulder. He didn’t look up, kept his gaze trained on the boy, a small hand clutched in his large ones. They stood together, watching Jamie breathe for nearly an hour in complete silence.
“You didn’t do it, did you?” Ian’s voice was raw, rough, when he finally spoke.
“No. I didn’t.” She knew what he meant. “I love you, Ian. I love what we had. And I want it back.”
He glared up at her then resumed is visual vigil. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why?” she put her hand on his neck, hoping to dispel some of his tension. “You love me too. I know you do.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” His voice broke as he put his head on the bed.
“I know enough.” She said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Can he come in? If you tell them, and I go….”
“Good luck with that.”
She backed out of the room, motioned for Daisy to bring Nick forward. He put a hand on her face. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. And if you spend the next seven months asking me that every minute we are going to have an issue. You go in…,” she opened the door. “Hurry before Nurse Ratchet gets back.”
Ian’s eyes ached but he would not take them off Jamie. As if by watching him he could force the kid back, make him wake up with the sheer force of his will. He heard the door open and close again but ignored it. Hannah’s honeyed scent lingered. He clutched his son’s hand, and tried like hell not to yell and throw shit. How in the fuck had he not known? This was his only son and he’d failed him. Let him eat something that almost killed him.
“Hey,” Nick’s low voice made him shiver.
“How did you get in here?”
“Told them that dog therapy was the best thing for situations like this.”
Ian glanced down and saw the yellow lab with the pink bow on her service dog harness. It all crashed in on him then. He stood, stumbled away from the bed. He’d lost his son. He’d been given one simple thing to nurture and he had fucking blown it. Nick stepped forward and let the dog sniff around the bed. Ian put his hands on his head, willed his heart to stop pounding and watched as the dog made concerned noises down in her throat.
Nick whispered something Ian couldn’t hear. His brain was starting to shut down. Jamie would never open his eyes, he just knew it. He’d never hear his delighted giggle or hear the “Yay, Daddy” words from his lips. He slid down the wall, his head on his arms. He felt tears form but could not let them fall.
A sudden noise made him look up. He gaped at the sight of the huge yellow dog, now up on the bed, whining and nosing at Jamie’s hand. Then amazingly, she stood over him and licked his cheek, still whining and snuffling around. “Nick, get her down.” He started to rise.
Nick held out a hand, his face still trained towards the bed. Ian took a step closer, threaded his fingers through Nick’s and watched as Jamie’s eyes flickered, moved under his eyelids. When they opened, their deep green was the most beautiful thing Ian had ever seen. The crazy nights of colic, the anger at the kid’s druggie mom, his early resentment at the whole fucking mess dispelled in his brain. All he saw, all he heard, all he felt was the pure unconditional love that the little boy threw his way every single day. “Jamie,” he whispered, still holding on to Nick’s hand.
The dog looked up, wagging her tail like mad, still perched on the bed. She licked the boy’s face again, softly, slowly until he looked right at her and smiled. “Yay Daddy! You got me a dog!” The boy sat and threw his arms around the animal’s neck. She sat, panting and grinning at the men.
“Yeah, buddy, we got you a dog,” Nick sat, put his arm around the boy and held him close while Jamie kept a death grip on the lab.
“What in the name of heaven is going on in here?” The nurse burst in, trailing a couple of doctors. “Shoo, shoo, get down.” She glared at the men. Nick started to let go of Ian’s hand, but he held tight, watching as the doctors checked out his son and the dog resumed her spot on the floor nex
t to Nick.
“Good girl,” Nick muttered.
“Amazing girl.” Ian said, looking up and catching Hannah’s eye. “I love you,” he said, looking at Hannah and speaking to Nick. And he knew he’d never spoken truer words in his life.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Ow!” Hannah lurched up from the couch, hand to her back. Daisy ran over and tried to put her slobbery dog mouth around Hannah’s palm. “No, no, I’m fine sweetie. Just getting too big for my own good.” The dog whined and licked her knee then went back over to Nick who sat nearby, plugged into his headphones, working.
Moira had jumped in with both feet and had convinced her to have her mother evaluated by a doctor. They’d discovered that she was suffering from early onset dementia, which would be tough to handle but at least she’d agreed to hire a live-in helper. “Go,” she’d whispered to Hannah. “Be with your men. And don’t you ever tell me again that two is not better than one.”
Hannah had blushed to the roots of her hair before holding her tiny, bird-like mother close.
She was in her sixth month, and really starting to feel her bones and muscles stretch and change to accommodate the baby. Ian came in, holding a tray of cheese, bread, and a six-pack of beer. She narrowed her eyes. “No fair. I can’t drink.”
“You’ll drink this. It won’t hurt the kid much, I promise.” He showed her the carrier. It was emblazoned with the Ypsi Brewing logo and woman’s head with long red hair who had a set of dog tags around her neck. “Honey Red,” Ian declared, “has just won a gold medal at the National Beer Fest, I’m told by my assistant brewer. Congrats.” He handed them each a glass, and they lifted them together.
“Holy shit dude, you can really do this, can’t you?” Hannah smacked her lips, staring into the red liquid. She frowned, stuck her finger in it, then sucked in a breath. “What the hell?” She grabbed Nick’s glass from him, under his loud protests and made him put his hand down it, guiding him to a small object at the bottom. She sat with Nick who had an adorable puzzled look on his face, staring at Ian and palming a small platinum ring. Ian plucked the glass from her, still half full.
