Taming the Beast

by Andrew Grey

  Beau grinned. “A man will do just about anything to keep his belly full.” He leaned close, and Dante kissed him gently before stepping away. “Why don’t you lead me to this kitchen so I can put down these groceries and learn where everything is.”

  Dante closed the door and guided him through to the back of the house and into what could only be described as a gourmet paradise. The counters were granite, with professional stainless-steel appliances and work surfaces. Beau set down the grocery bags and slowly opened each of the cupboards. The kitchen was impeccably organized, with everything exactly where it was needed.

  “What are we having?” Dante peered into one of the bags.

  “I thought some pasta with pesto and chicken, a Caesar salad, and fruit for dessert. Nothing fancy or too messy, but something we can make ourselves.” Beau got out a pot to boil water for the pasta and put the lettuce and salad things on the cutting board. He figured Dante could help with the salad without making too much fuss. Beau found a bowl and placed it near the cutting board, along with a knife.

  “Is this what you want me to do?”

  “Can you cut the lettuce and talk at the same time?” Beau teased.

  Dante didn’t smile as Beau made room for him, unpacked the rest of the ingredients, and got out a pan to cook off the chicken. He remained quiet, hoping Dante would want to fill the silence.

  “I think I told you that I knew Allison for a long time. She was my best friend for a while and knew I was gay.” Dante made a few cuts through the lettuce and then his knife stilled. “She was, like, one of the first people I ever told. And things were good. I was in college, Dartmouth, and Allison stayed here in town. She went to a local college, and I saw her whenever I came home.” He kept halting and would cut the lettuce a little more and then stop. The faraway look told Beau that Dante was remembering old times, good ones, at the moment.

  “When I came home from college after graduating, the plan was for me to work in the business. I’d done that growing up, and now Dad wanted to groom me to take over for him. That had always been the plan, but he had decided that he wanted me to get married. He wasn’t going to let me inherit until I did.” Dante brought the knife down hard, splitting the romaine with a solid blow. “Dad never could get used to the fact that I wasn’t going to marry a woman and have children. He wanted the line to continue, and that meant I had to get married.” Dante’s hand shook, and Beau gently reached over, took the knife away, and set it on the side of the cutting board. Maybe sharp implements weren’t such a good idea right now.

  “I’m fine.” Dante picked up the knife once again and returned to his talk while Beau seasoned the chicken and put it in the pan.

  “You don’t look fine,” Beau commented gently. He was concerned, especially by the way Dante gripped the knife so hard, his knuckles turned white.

  “I wanted my inheritance because I had ideas for the factory. I wanted to restart the artist line. My grandfather had discontinued it, but I knew there was a market for high-quality items as long as they had a more modern feel to them, and I was right.” Dante returned to the lettuce, and Beau turned the chicken, letting it continue to brown. He also got the pot of water on for the pasta. “There was no one I wanted to marry. I’m gay and I knew it. So I approached Allison. She hadn’t dated anyone in a while, and I knew we got along. She was also struggling under her student loan debt. I figured we’d get married, I could take care of her debts, and after a few years, we’d divorce and move on. I never promised her undying love, but I loved her. She was the closest friend I had at that time, and I thought we’d get along.”

  Beau had stopped what he was doing to watch Dante raptly.

  “I was rather surprised when she told me yes.” Dante set down the knife, leaning on the counter.

  “She agreed to marry you, knowing you were gay?” Beau asked, checking on the chicken and turning it off to finish cooking through.

  “Yeah. She wanted to get away from her mother and father, who had been putting a lot of pressure on her to go to law school. It wasn’t something she really wanted, but did to please them, and her family was thrilled at the prospect of the two of us getting married. I didn’t tout my sexual orientation, but they all probably thought I’d changed and Allison didn’t tell them differently.” Dante hung his head. “Looking back, that decision was probably the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life. It cost me my best friend, and I’ll never get her back.” He gripped the edge of the counter, closing his eyes.

  Beau walked to where he stood and slid his arms around his waist, resting gently against his back. “It’s all right.”

  Dante whipped around, and Beau nearly lost his balance. “No, it isn’t.”

  “Did you lie to her? Did you make promises you didn’t keep?” Beau asked, staring at Dante, who shook his head slowly. “Did you hold a gun to her head or hurt her physically? Did you murder her?” He had to use those words, harsh as they were, in order to get through to him.

  “Of course not,” Dante answered.

  “Then what happened and why do you think you’re responsible for her death?” Beau had to get to the bottom of this. The guilt had weighed on Dante long enough, and he needed to be able to deal with it in the open.

  “About a year after we were married…. No, I need to go back further. After we married, I tried my best to be a good husband to her. We traveled and saw a lot of the world. It was so much fun, and we laughed a lot. It seemed like we were going to be happy.”

  “But that didn’t last very long?” Beau asked, and Dante turned away.

  “No. We shared a bedroom and slept beside each other, but that was all. I didn’t touch her that way because I wasn’t interested, and I didn’t think she was interested in me that way. I liked having someone to sleep with and having company at night. But after a year or so, Allison grew quiet and began withdrawing. Then my dad passed away, and she grew more and more morose. I took her to a doctor, and they diagnosed her with depression and gave her medication for it. She seemed to get better for a little while after that.”

  “Did you ever talk to her about getting the divorce so you could each live your lives?”

  Dante took a deep breath. “No, I didn’t…. She was so down and depressed, and it got worse all the time. I didn’t want her to be alone, so I never brought it up. I had brought this mess into our lives, and I tried to do what I could to help her. She got quieter and often tried to initiate sex between the two of us. It wasn’t something I was interested in, but she kept trying, and eventually I moved to the room next door. I think that was some kind of last straw, because she got even quieter and more withdrawn. There were times when she’d stay in her room, in bed, for days at a time. Then she’d come out and act normal, and even happy, for a while, but then the depression would return once more.”

  “Did you get her help?”

  “Yes. I tried, but she fought me on it over and over again. I hired doctors and brought them to the house, but she’d often refuse to see them. My hands were tied, and all I wanted was to have my best friend back.”

  “Through all of this, you stuck by her?” Beau asked.

  “We rode this roller coaster for months, and then in the spring, I had gone away on business for a few days. I had to go. When I got back, she met me at the door, smiling, almost giddy, and said she had something to show me. There was excitement, maybe euphoria, in her eyes. The doctors had told me that the depression could come and go. I asked if she was bipolar, but they didn’t think so. She pulled me upstairs, to her room, and pushed me down on the bed. Allison was like a ravenous beast, determined to get what she wanted from me.

  “‘I want to have a baby,’ she told me, and it seemed that night she was determined to start the process. I wasn’t interested. After all I’d been through trying to help her, and our years of friendship, being with her… like that… wasn’t going to work.” Dante lifted his gaze, and his eyes radiated pain, deep and enduring. “I loved her, but not that way. And I
think my rejection sent her over the edge.”

  Beau took the knife from Dante’s fingers and placed it on the counter. He was shaking, and the strong man Beau had come to know seemed as vulnerable as one of the kids he worked with. But he wasn’t fooled. This door to Dante’s vulnerability wasn’t going to stay open for long. The walls were still there, just pushed aside. They’d snap back quickly.

  “What happened to her?” Beau asked just above a whisper, taking Dante’s hands. He needed to maintain as much of a connection with him as possible, as he could feel the resistance building. “Will you show me?”

  Dante hesitated, then moved out of the room. Beau held his hand, refusing to let go of him, as Dante led him through the dining room to the ballroom, which was the last place he expected to be taken. The furniture and chandeliers were still draped and the curtains drawn, casting the room with an eerie pall. Light filtered in from breaks in the curtains, illuminating dust motes in shades of red and sunset gold.

  “It was late in the day, and I was coming back from work. The house was quiet, silent, and I wondered if something was wrong. No one greeted me, which was strange. Roberts hadn’t come to work for me yet. My father’s man, Clifton, held that post. I climbed the first stairs to change and heard music that led me to the back of the house.” Dante walked almost silently through the room. “Allison was in here, wearing a dress I’d never seen before. It was like she was going to a ball herself. The lights were on and the room was filled with music. But when she looked at me, her eyes were vacant, as though she wasn’t really there.”

  Dante closed his eyes. “I asked her what was going on, and she said that she was having a party. Then she walked over, glass in hand. I wondered how much she’d been drinking. Her wine sloshed in the glass, and she drank what she had before extending her arm. It was like she thought she was handing the glass to someone. It fell to the floor, shattering, and I took Allison’s hand. ‘Let’s get you upstairs,’ I said. I led her out of the room.” Tears welled in Dante’s eyes as Beau let him lead him back into the hall. “I knew something was very wrong. I guided her up the stairs to put her to bed, but at the top, she started fighting me, thrashing and scratching like I was hurting her, but I barely touched her. She screamed at me that I had ruined her. That she loved me and that I had never loved her, not the way she should have been loved.” Dante’s breath came in gasps as his gaze lifted to the top of the staircase.

  “She fell, didn’t she?” Beau could almost see it, with Dante staring and shaking.

  “Yes. People in town think I pushed her, but I never did. I tried to save her. She hit me, and all I was trying to do was get her to bed. I was going to call the doctor. I lifted her off her feet to carry her to the bedroom, but she thrashed so much, I had to put her down. She screamed that I was going to rape her, hit me, and raced away. I swear she leaped the railing like a gazelle.” Tears streaked down Dante’s cheeks. “I don’t think she realized where she was until she screamed as she flew over the railing right there and knew it was too late. She landed on the floor near where we’re standing.”

  “You never pushed her and only tried to help her,” Beau said.

  “Of course I did.” Dante’s voice echoed sharply in the large room. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t the cause of her death. I should have told my father to go to hell. Instead, I married her and made her miserable.” Dante pulled away from him. “What happened was my fault. I should have given her what she needed. I should have….” He waved his hand helplessly.

  “What should you have done?” Beau looked up at the spot Allison had fallen from. “Not married her, probably. But she knew the arrangement before you got married. Right?”

  “Yes. I never lied to her.”

  “And when you realized there was something wrong, you tried to get help. You even stayed by her when she became withdrawn and erratic.” Beau sighed. He’d seen those signs so many times. “Allison was mentally ill. She had a disease. Depression isn’t bad moods or being grumpy. It’s a medical condition that neither of you could help. It’s a disease, the same as cancer or the flu. It isn’t a moral failing or something Allison brought on herself. It also isn’t anything you did to her or could have saved her from.” Beau gently stroked Dante’s cheek. Alcohol was also a depressant, and that could very well have made things worse for Allison.

  “But I brought this all on.”

  Beau shook his head. “No, you didn’t. She most likely had clinical depression before you were ever married. She was ill. Did the two of you make decisions that might have been bad for her? Probably. But you aren’t responsible for her death. The police cleared you, and you let everyone in town think you had hurt her.”

  “I did. I hurt Allison badly.” Dante blinked the tears out of his eyes and slowly stood up a little straighter. “I have to live with that for the rest of my life. I was selfish and did what my father wanted, and it ultimately cost Allison her life. I can never change that, no matter how much I might want to.”

  Beau took Dante’s hand, drawing him out of the hallway and slowly through the rooms to the kitchen. He’d seen the shadows of this in Dante’s behavior and knew there had been something very traumatic in his past. As a substance-abuse counselor, he knew the signs of families of addicts, but he also knew that the families of those with mental illness went through many of the same challenges. And God knew Dante had been through a lot, compounded by guilt—piles of guilt.

  “Come on. I need you to finish up the salad so I can make the rest of dinner.” Beau turned on the heat under the water and got the pasta going once again, then cut up the chicken into bite-sized pieces.

  “What do I do now?” Dante asked. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “Unlike in the movies or on television, you don’t have some sort of epiphany and then the sun comes out and all is right with the world. It doesn’t happen like that. You confided what happened, and I can tell you that she took her own life.”

  “I know that. I’ve always known that. But it doesn’t mean I’m….” Dante huffed and finished with the lettuce, transferring it to a bowl. Beau pulled out the croutons and handed Dante a tomato and a small onion. “These don’t go in Caesar.”

  “I like them. Cut the onion up really fine, and the tomato is firm enough for small pieces. It adds a little something other than lettuce to the salad. I have some cheese too, and I brought some of my homemade dressing.” Beau pulled the jar out of the bag. “We don’t need to dress it until we’re ready to eat, though.”

  Dante went back to work while Beau put the pasta in to cook. “Her family doesn’t know…,” Dante said.

  Beau stirred the pasta and lifted his gaze. “Doesn’t know what?” he asked, a little confused.

  “That she took her own life. I doubt she planned it, but her family believes that suicide is a fast trip to hell, so they think it was an accident, which they still blame me for. I can live with that as long as they accept that Allison is at peace now. At least I hope she is.” Dante wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Beau wanted to help Dante so badly, but years of guilt weren’t going to be erased in a matter of hours. But the way Dante took responsibility and sheltered Allison’s family through this made Beau love him even more. Dante was willing to take whatever the town and even Allison’s family thought of him in order to protect Allison’s memory. That kind of man needed to be treasured, not vilified.

  Beau made up the pesto sauce with his own basil pesto, a little cream, and some pine nuts for crunch. Then he drained the pasta, sauced it, added the chicken, and stirred it all together. “Go ahead and mix everything in the bowl and add some of the Caesar dressing. Not too much—we can always add some more.” Beau finished up his dish and watched Dante. Then he found some plates and bowls and dished everything up before heading to the table near the window.

  “I never eat in here.”

  “It’s nice, and that dining room is fine for a dinner party of twelve, but not for just the two
of us.” He set down the plates and found some cutlery. Then he went in search of glasses before checking out the refrigerator. Wine wasn’t something either of them needed at the moment, but he found a pitcher of iced tea and poured two large glasses before bringing them to the table.

  “This is great,” Dante said around a mouthful of pasta. “You’ll have to tell Harriet how you made it.”

  “I bet she already knows what to do. This isn’t all that special. If you ask her for it, I’m sure she’ll make it for you any time.” Beau reached across the table to take Dante’s hand. “You need to relax.”

  “I keep thinking about Allison.”

  Beau blew out his breath between his teeth. “Guilt is a useless emotion. It changes nothing and keeps us locked in the past. You have to let it go.”

  “I don’t know how.” Dante took another bite, and Beau wished he could take away the pain Dante carried with him, but he wasn’t a miracle worker. “I try not to think about it all the time.”

  “Letting go isn’t forgetting what happened. It’s letting yourself realize that you weren’t responsible for Allison’s death. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and an accident is an accident. Life is such that someone isn’t responsible for everything. Sometimes shit happens.”

  Dante rolled his eyes. “You’re just full of platitudes tonight, aren’t you?”

  Beau swallowed a bite of salad. “It made you smile.”

  Dante shook his head. “Bastard.”

  “Come on. You don’t want to be miserable—I can tell. You want to let this go, but you’ve been hanging on to this guilt for so long, it’s become a part of you. But guilt and pain aren’t who you are. You also aren’t this Beast persona that others have labeled you with.”

  “Then who am I?” Dante asked the question with all seriousness.

  “You’re who you want to be. Your dad tried to foist his vision of you as his son off on the world and superimpose it on you. It’s what he did, and you allowed him to do it. Your dad is gone, and now you need to decide who you are. Not who the town thinks you are, or Allison’s family… anyone.”