by J. P. Bowie
“They’re flying into John Wayne.”
“D’you want me to come with you?”
“That’s okay—but thanks, anyway. I’ll take them to their hotel first, then on to the hospital. The doctors don’t think there’s much time left.” He stopped, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “Jesus, Jeff—I can’t believe this is happening. A week ago he was so full of life, enjoying that damned boat so much. I can see him running about the deck like a teenager. He couldn’t wait to get on his jet ski. He was having a ball—and now, he’s dying Jeff. Eric is dying because of my fucking stupidity.”
“Nick, don’t do this to yourself.” Jeff got up from his desk and went to his partner’s side. “You can’t spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”
Nick looked up at him, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Oh, but I do, Jeff. I do blame myself, and I always will. And when his folks hear what happened, they’ll blame me too. They’ll hold me accountable for their son’s death. How am I going to live with that?”
“Nick, for God’s sake…” Jeff put his hand on Nick’s good arm. “They’re not going to blame you. What happened—no one could have foreseen. Even the FBI thought the son-of-a-bitch had left the country. How could you have prevented what happened?”
“Because I knew he was a clever bastard and I knew he’d never give up. Deep inside, I knew it. I just didn’t want our lives to be put on hold because of maybes and what ifs…and I didn’t want Eric to think I was worried about it. But I knew, somehow I knew, Jeff.” He leaned back in his chair and stared beyond Jeff to the open window.
“All this week, answering the countless questions that the cops and the FBI were firing at me, I knew I should have never let my guard down. No one had talked to him, no one had seen him—yet he managed to know exactly when and where Eric and I were. How did he do it, Jeff? What the hell uncanny way did he have of knowing?”
Jeff shook his head. “He got lucky, is all. He didn’t have any supernatural abilities, if that’s what you’re thinking. And he’s dead, Nick. He can’t bother you again.”
“No. But he’s taken away the most precious thing I was ever given!”
“Nick, listen to me.” Jeff sat on the edge of Nick’s desk and looked at his friend with sympathetic eyes. “Eric is not dead. Yes, he’s in really bad shape but he’s not dead. Don’t give up yet.” He paused for a moment then said, “You know, this is kind of like history repeating itself. Peter was at death’s door too. The doctors wanted to shut off the life support but his mom wouldn’t let them—and he came through, despite all the naysayers. The same thing could happen for Eric. Doctors can be wrong.”
For a fleeting moment, a flicker of hope shone in Nick’s eyes, then it died as he looked away from Jeff. “If he’d woken up when they stopped feeding him those drugs to keep him comatose, I might have believed that. But when he didn’t, that little bit of hope I had kept inside me, kinda died. I’ve sat by his bedside every night, asking him—begging him to live.” His face twisted with grief. “Jesus, Jeff. Why am I laying all this on you?”
“Because you can,” Jeff told him gently. “You are my friend. We’ve been through some pretty rough times together, but there have been good times too. And there will be again. Don’t give up hope.”
Nick gave a long shuddering sigh. “He just looks so bad. His folks are gonna freak when they see him. God, I’m dreading that…” He paused, then glancing at his watch, sighed with resignation and stood up. “I almost forgot. I have to meet Norman before I go to the airport. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He looked at Jeff gravely. “Thanks again, my friend, for all you try to do for me. I know I’m not easy to be around.”
Jeff put his arms around him, carefully avoiding Nick’s bad arm, and hugged him tight. “Remember we once told you we’re the kind of friends who are there for the duration. We’ll get through this together. It’ll get better, just give it time.”
Nick nodded, holding Jeff close, tears stinging his eyes. “Yeah…” He stepped back, the semblance of a smile flitting across his face. “Thanks, Jeff. I’ll call you later.”
Norman was already seated in the restaurant when Nick arrived. Smiling, he waved to attract Nick’s attention. As he walked to the table, Nick could not help but reflect that here was one person who looked a whole lot better than when they had last met. Norman, trying hard not to look too pleased with himself, met Nick’s eyes with a sympathetic gaze.
“How are you?” he asked, taking Nick’s hand.
“I’ve been better.” Nick sat opposite Norman. “You look mighty chipper.”
“Forget about me, right now. How’s Eric?”
Nick looked away from Norman’s gentle expression. This was hardly the topic for lunch, but for the life of him, he couldn’t fake any light heartedness just for appearances sake.
“I was at the hospital first thing this morning…” His breath caught in his throat as he remembered the conversation he’d had with the attending doctor. “It’s not good, Norman. They give him only a little more time.”
“Oh Nick, I’m so sorry.”
“He just lost too much blood. It caused enormous trauma to his entire system. They said anyone else in lesser shape than he was, would have died within the first few hours.” He put a clenched fist to his mouth to stop his lip from trembling. “Jesus, Norman—I’m sorry.”
Norman stood up and took Nick’s arm in a firm grasp. “Let’s get out of here. I think food is the last thing on our minds right now.” He led Nick out of the restaurant and into the cool, fresh air. “We can walk on the beach if you’d like.”
Nick nodded. “Good idea. Not so many people around to see me making a fool of myself.”
“The hell with ’em,” Norman said as they walked down to the boardwalk at Main Beach. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Getting there,” Nick muttered. “They said I need physical therapy, so I told them I have a friend, Andrew, who can take care of that. I know for a fact he’s the best around.”
“Oh yes, the guy you met in New York.”
“Right. Remind me to tell you the story one of these days. You’ll meet him and his partner, David. Great guys.” They found a bench on the boardwalk and sat down. Nick was silent for a long time as he stared out over the ocean. Finally, he said, “So tell me about your date with Henry.”
“Dates, actually. We’ve seen each other three times this week.”
“Wow, that’s great, Norman.” Nick wanted to feel happy for his friend. “Didn’t take you long to get over me, now did it?” There was just a trace of humor in his expression.
“I know when I’m batting zero,” Norman said. “And Henry is…uh…very persuasive, in some ways.”
“Rod says he’s the best salesman he knows.”
Norman chuckled. “Well, let’s just say his pitch is perfect. He said to tell you hello and wondered if Eric is allowed visitors.”
Nick shook his head. “Negative.” He stared out at the horizon again. “Hard to believe that just last Saturday we were out there, laughing and being silly, and then suddenly fighting for our lives.”
Norman studied Nick’s profile for a moment, admiring the strong features, the determined line of his jaw, now clenched tightly in an effort to disguise the emotions that raged within him.
He put his hand on Nick’s arm. “You’re blaming yourself again, aren’t you?”
Nick’s expression was grim as he turned to look at Norman. “Please, no psychotherapy today, Doc. I’ve heard just about all the well meaning speechmaking that I can stand.”
Norman did not avert his eyes from Nick’s hard stare. “Maybe all these speechmakers are just trying to show their concern for you, and Eric. Don’t turn well meaning friends away, Nick. Sometimes, they are very hard to come by. If anyone needs that kind of support right now, it’s you.”
“I know, I know,” Nick sighed. “It’s just that I’ve always been kind o
f a loner, you know.”
Norman smiled. “I know, Nick. I listened to you for hours some years ago—remember? Now, will you to listen to me?” Without waiting for a reply, Norman continued. “You were a loner even when you and Martin were together. You were a lot younger and always liked having your own space. Martin respected that, you told me. But I think your relationship with Eric has changed something in you. You’re not the loner you think you are anymore. You say you are, you may even think you are, but I see a changed man from the one I talked with four years ago.”
Nick frowned. “Changed—in what way?”
“In fairly subtle ways you’ve become less aggressive, more calm, more mature.”
Nick allowed himself a smile. “Are you saying I was immature? Well, I’m almost thirty-six for Pete’s sake—it’s time I grew up!”
“Some people never grow up, Nick, they just grow older.”
“Now there’s a cliché if I ever heard one.”
“I prefer to call it a truism,” Norman said. “And this ‘new Nick,’ if you’ll excuse the expression, this ‘new Nick’ was in evidence the day I came apart in front of you. I couldn’t help but think later, that if I’d behaved as crassly four years ago, you’d have popped me one and told me to snap out of it, instead of trying to comfort me.”
Nick turned his head and laughed quietly. “You could be right about that.”
“So, what I’m trying to say, Nick, is that you have found in Eric an even greater love than what you felt for Martin. He has brought about these changes in you, whether you realize it or not—” He stopped as he heard the sob that was caught in Nick’s throat.
“Yeah, Doc…” Nick’s expression was one of anguish. “And now I’m losing him. Only, I’ll be the one who’ll be so damned lost.”
Chapter Ninteen
As Nick drove to the airport, he tried to rehearse in his mind the way he was going to tell Eric’s parents how this could have happened to their son. On the phone, after briefing them that there had been an “incident,” he had let Doctor Burton, the attending physician, explain the extent of Eric’s injury, and the extreme urgency with which they should plan on coming to see him. Nick had asked the doctor to not make it sound as if there was no hope of Eric’s recovery, and Burton had agreed to wait for them to arrive before giving them his final prognosis.
Nick had met Eric’s parents, Roger and Dorothy Jamieson, just once before when he and Eric went to Cincinnati for Thanksgiving. It had ultimately been a happy visit. They had been only slightly nervous of meeting their son’s new “boyfriend,” and had gone out of their way to make Nick feel very much at home. Nick had been touched on seeing the special bond Eric and Roger shared, in sharp contrast to the non-existent relationship he’d had with his own father. Eric had told him, early on in their relationship, that when he had come out to his parents his father had, at first, been less accepting than his mother. He had told Eric that he would always love him as his only son, but that he could not approve of the way he had chosen to spend his life.
All that changed after the Matthew Shepherd murder. The media blitz following that horrendous crime forced many parents to reevaluate their relationships with their gay children, and Roger Jamieson was one of them. He finally gave in to Dorothy’s requests that he accompany her to a PFLAG meeting and even sent a letter of condolence to Matthew Shepherd’s parents. The deep father-son bond that he and Eric had enjoyed prior to Eric’s coming out was reestablished and, in many ways, made even stronger.
As Roger said when he was asked to speak at a PFLAG meeting, “When I realized that my boy could be taken from me by mindless killers because of his sexual orientation, I knew then that for the rest of my life he would never again hear from me one word of disapproval. That I would strive to be what every parent should be, a support and encouragement in all that he undertook.”
Nick, walking from his parked car to the terminal, thought of how impressed he had been when Eric recounted to him the change in his father’s attitude. The memory of that, and of the warm way in which they had welcomed him into their home, made what he was about to tell them seem all the harder.
Now, as they approached Nick through the baggage claim area at John Wayne Airport, Eric’s mother held out her arms to him and, with a grateful sigh, he held her close and kissed her cheek. Roger’s gruff greeting was followed by a warm handshake, and the two men locked eyes for a long moment, their sorrow and understanding of it almost palpable.
“You look exhausted, son,” Roger said, looking at Nick with a worried expression.
“Haven’t been getting a lot of sleep,” Nick told him, touched that Eric’s father would be concerned for him.
“Is there any change?” Dorothy asked with her hand on Nick’s arm as they exited the terminal.
“I’m afraid not.” After he had stowed the bags in the trunk, he got them settled in the car. “I owe both of you an explanation as to how all this happened. This is all my fault—”
As he drove, he told them of the events that had led to his and Eric’s last encounter with Garcia on board The Getaway, the yacht they had rented for their vacation. He deliberately left out the more lurid aspects of Garcia’s behavior, but on several occasions, he heard both Roger and Dorothy gasp in amazement.
“So you see, all of this could have been avoided if I had just been more aware. I was the one telling the cops and the FBI that Garcia was a clever bastard—sorry—yet, I let myself be lulled into a feeling of false security, just because I listened to everyone saying he had to have left the country or he would have been spotted at some point or another. I messed up, and I can only tell you that I am sorry, so sorry, for letting Eric down and putting him in harm’s way.”
“But son,” Roger said. “You couldn’t have known that this madman would be on the boat. How could you? Not even the police suspected that.”
“Roger’s right, dear.” Dorothy gave his arm a pat. “You mustn’t blame yourself for this. We certainly don’t—and I know when Eric comes out of the coma, he won’t either.”
Nick felt unbidden tears well in his eyes. Jesus, he thought miserably, how can I tell them he’s not ever going to come out of that coma? That the doctors want their permission to turn off the life support machines that are just barely keeping him alive? That’s when they will blame me—when they realize that Eric, their only son, is going to die.
§ § § §
They stood, grouped around Eric’s bed in the intensive care unit, and Nick did not know what was harder to bear. Looking at Eric, lying there, so pale and waxen-like, hooked up to machines that wheezed and beeped with disturbing regularity—or at Eric’s parents, who appeared to have become paralyzed with shock as they stared at their son, the slow realization of how desperate his condition was finally dawning on them. His mother cupped her face in her hands, her unchecked tears spilling over her fingers. His father stood stoically by her, trying for his wife’s sake to betray little emotion, but Nick could see by the tic that pulsed repeatedly at the corner of Roger’s mouth that the man would not be able for much longer to hold back the pain he most surely felt.
Nick knew the worst was yet to come. Soon, the doctors would give their evaluation of Eric’s condition, the same one Nick had listened to only this morning, and they would advise Eric’s parents that the best course of action was to turn off all life support and let him die in peace. Mercifully, it was not going to happen right away. A nurse appeared in the doorway, signaling that Nick should step outside with her.
“Mr. Jamieson’s doctors have all gone,” she told him. “They won’t be back until tomorrow morning. I’ve scheduled an appointment for the parents at eleven. Is that all right?”
Nick nodded. “I’ll let them know,” he said. He stepped back inside the room and quietly informed Roger and Dorothy that the doctors wanted to see them tomorrow. “Why don’t we go have some dinner, then I’ll take you back to the hotel,” he suggested.
Roger inclined his head in
assent and, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders, guided her from the room.
“Would you give me just a moment with him?” Nick asked as they stood in the corridor. Tearfully, Dorothy nodded, then turned and buried her face in her husband’s chest.
Nick reentered the ICU and walked slowly toward Eric’s bed. Pulling up a chair, he sat down and gazed at his lover’s pale and seemingly lifeless face. He took Eric’s cool, dry hand in his own and raised it to his lips.
“Oh babe, I’m going to miss you so,” he whispered. “I want you to forgive me for letting this happen to you. I would have given my life to save you, but I blew it baby, I blew it.” His eyes searched Eric’s face for some form of recognition, some small flicker of his eyelids, the tiniest movement of his lips—but there was none. It was as if Eric’s vibrant life force had already taken flight, leaving only a shadow behind.
