Spirit

by John Inman

  Sam said exactly what I knew he would say. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “Nice try,” I said. “But frankly, you’d be doing me a favor. Maybe I can even take a nap without worrying about the kid shaving the dog bald.”

  Timmy’s eyes popped open wide, like that was the best idea he had heard in weeks. He leaned over the edge of his chair to peer into the living room, where Thumper was snoring like a diesel engine in among the sofa cushions.

  I narrowed my eyes and reached across the table to tap Timmy on the head with a fork. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Sam laughed. Then he offered me a very handsome, very sincere look of pure gratitude. It was so handsome and so sincere that for some reason I felt my dick stir in my pants. Good grief, that was unexpected.

  He laid his hand over mine atop the table, and my dick gave another tiny lurch. “I would love to stay,” he said softly. “And I won’t just be getting to know Timmy. I’ll be getting to know you too. We’re practically related after all.”

  I raised a finger and wagged it in front of his face. “But we’re not.”

  He grinned and his face reddened. “No, Jason. We’re not.” Then he gently added, “Thank you for doing this.”

  My poor dick was confused. Was I putting the moves on the guy or simply being hospitable? Even I wasn’t sure anymore.

  “It’s settled, then,” I said.

  “Settled,” Sam echoed.

  Timmy plucked the green beans out of his ears and poked them both into his mouth with the other one, chewing them all into a pulp. “Yay!” he sputtered, spitting green beans down the front of his shirt by accident. Then he looked down at himself and groaned. “Oops.”

  Sam was about to say something, but once again I waggled my finger in his face before he had a chance.

  “Too late to back out now. You already said yes.”

  He blinked and smiled. His big warm hand still rested over mine, and I was really digging the way it felt.

  “That I did,” he said.

  “You better watch out,” Timmy said, licking the green beans off his shirt. “Uncle Jason likes boys.”

  Sam gave Timmy a fond smile. “Yeah,” he said, “but so do I, so your warning is invalid.” He then cast a devious glance in my direction, which took me by surprise and made me jump in my seat like someone had poked me with a needle. But it was the ensuing friendly wink that caused my heart to skip a couple of beats. Was I imagining things, or were there all kinds of possibilities in that wink?

  Timmy stared at Sam and me eyeing each other like he was watching a Woody Woodpecker cartoon, then he buried his face in his little hands and silently giggled. For the longest time, he simply sat there shaking his head, chewing his green beans, and giggling without a sound. It was actually quite astonishing. I had never seen the kid muted by circumstances before.

  As a matter of fact, I was muted too. Couldn’t have strung three words together if someone had put a gun to my head.

  All I could do was stare at Sam, who was now attacking his salmon like he was starved. Lord, the man was beautiful.

  Chapter 4

  I SETTLED Sam and his one tiny suitcase in the spare bedroom past Timmy’s. After putting his few clothes away, he gently closed the bedroom door for a little privacy and spent some time on his cell phone, presumably pertaining to that business he mentioned earlier, whatever it was. With his call complete, he and Timmy went out to explore the backyard while I parked myself in the sunroom in front of my computer and my quad monitor setup and worked on God of the Sun, my latest video game creation, which seemed to have more bugs in it than a frigging ant hill.

  I watched Timmy and Sam giggling and chasing each other through my cedar trees. Later I saw them sprawled side by side on my hammock, and shortly after that, I spotted them crawling through the grass with their noses to the ground like bloodhounds. When they caught me spying on them through the window, they both popped up on their knees and waved hello, excited as puppies.

  I laughed and waved back, seeing the pleasure on both their faces when I did. Timmy had a new friend, and that made me happy. Sam was connecting with his long-lost nephew, and that made me even happier. I thought it quite possible that before Sam’s visit was over, I might make a new friend as well. I hoped so anyway. Aside from Sam being gorgeous and sexy and apparently kind, he was also secure enough in his own skin to crawl around on the ground with a four-year-old and not have his masculinity threatened.

  How could you not be attracted to a guy like that?

  I slogged away for a while honing the soundtrack for the big finale of the game. Unfortunately, what was supposed to sound like a volcanic eruption in truth sounded more like a dyspeptic choo-choo train, and after twenty minutes of tweaking, the choo-choo train had morphed into a god-awful belching sound like maybe a rhinoceros would cough up after eating a porkypine. Beaten for the time being, I switched over to work on the mechanics of the game instead, the JUMP command in particular. The sound equipment I had used before was now set to blast out show tunes. How gay is that?

  I happily cocooned myself in a thundering bubble of voice and orchestra and the staccato clatter of countless tap shoes. Eyes glued to the bank of monitors, I adjusted and coaxed and tweaked for all I was worth. Gradually, the JUMP command appeared to be improving, so I moved along to the SPIN command just for a change of pace. Lost in my own little world, I had little sensation of the passing of time. Only when the golden light of sunset began to stretch across the yard outside did it snag my attention long enough to make me realize the day was almost over.

  I had not seen Timmy or Sam for hours. And poor Thumper needed to be taken out too.

  I powered down my equipment, groaned my way to my feet, and set off in search of my nephew and houseguest, feeling guilty about ignoring them both for so long. Still, there was a spring in my step because I had moved God of the Sun a little farther along toward completion. Of course, the spring in my step only made me feel guiltier about being a crappy host and dog owner. So to make it up to everyone, I decided to take the lot of us out to dinner. Or have it delivered in. Then I was struck by a fresh bout of guilt wondering if I was actually being nice or was I simply reaffirming the fact that I was too lazy to cook?

  The house was silent and empty—no brown-eyed hunky uncles, no four-year-old terrors, no geriatric canines anywhere. Then I found a handwritten note stuck to the refrigerator door.

  OUT TO COLLECT DINNER. GOT THE KID AND THE DOG WITH ME. BE BACK SOON. SAM

  My first reaction was the blessed relief of feeling my guilt melt away like the condensation of breath on a windowpane. Everything was taken care of after all. My second reaction, which rather surprised me, was to be a teeny bit annoyed. Timmy was in my care. Hell, so was the dog. The least Sam could have done was ask before he drove off with them. Then I decided he was probably being nice, not wanting to disturb me as I plied my trade. Rather than being annoyed, I should be thankful he gave me time to work while taking over the brunt of caring for all my charges.

  Before I could stew over it long, I heard the rattle of the front door opening and tiny thundering footsteps tearing through the house, room by room by room, undoubtedly searching for me.

  Timmy peeked around a doorway, spotted me standing there, and came racing into my arms. To my amazement, as if Timmy’s devotion wasn’t enough to warm my heart, I was also fairly astounded to find Thumper doing her level best to scamper along in Timmy’s wake. Still hugging Timmy, I knelt to give her a pat, and she plopped onto her side, exhausted, pleading for a belly rub. So I gave her one.

  And suddenly there was Sam, his face alight with excitement, standing in the doorway clutching two brown paper bags. The smell of Chinese food that instantly filled the house left little doubt as to what the bags contained.

  Sam gazed down at the three of us in our little lovefest and grinned. Looking up at him, I grinned back.

  “Let’s eat,” he said, holding the bags high for my approval.
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  And to my utter delight, Thumper awkwardly pulled herself to her feet and gave a feeble bark. One happy little yip. Her vow of silence had apparently ended. I scooped her into my arms and gave her a peck on the head. Looking over her, I watched Sam carry the bags into the kitchen. Timmy and his horrific haircut pranced along at his heels.

  With Thumper tucked under my chin, I felt a smile creep across my face as I followed the gang into the kitchen.

  IT WAS dark outside, and I had just gone around the living room switching on lights. Sam and I sat in the wingback chairs by the unlit fireplace, sipping at beers and speaking softly together because Timmy and Thumper were conked out on the couch. Timmy was using Thumper for a pillow just as I sometimes did. Thumper was flat on her back, loving it, her snores ruffling Timmy’s hair. What little hair Timmy had left.

  Sam was being effusive in his praise for the boy. “I’m having the time of my life being with him, Jason. Thanks for letting me stay with you for a few days. I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

  “He really likes you,” I said, glancing at Timmy, then back to Sam. “He probably needs a few more men in his life, what with—” I wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. In fact, I was pretty darned disappointed with myself for having started the sentence at all.

  Sam didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was an insensitive clod. He even went so far as to finish the sentence for me. “What with his father gone, you mean.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sorry. I knew we would probably end up talking about that, but I was hoping to broach the subject a little more gracefully. I don’t suppose your family has heard from Paul.”

  Sam held his beer bottle to his mouth, frozen in midsip. He blinked a couple of times, studying my face. Finally, he finished his drink. Tucking the beer bottle between his legs, he too glanced at Timmy before speaking. When his eyes came back to me, they were hooded. Purposely benign. But the muscles in his jaw were clenched. His thoughts obviously were not benign at all. I was taken aback by the emotion he couldn’t quite hide from his voice. Nor had I missed the initial look of incredulity that flashed in Sam’s eyes before he managed to bury it.

  A word popped into my head. Conflicted. Sam looked conflicted.

  When he spoke his voice was solemn, not much more than a whisper. “No, I haven’t heard from Paul. I suspect I never will.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. I didn’t want to cast aspersions on Sam’s brother, but I found it hard to talk about Paul without showing how much I detested the way he had simply walked away from his wife and son, apparently never once looking back. “It must be hard on your parents,” I added, and once again I rather regretted saying that too. I seemed unable to keep my foot out of my mouth.

  This time Sam didn’t seem to mind so much. Nor did he deny it. “Yes. Paul’s disappearance has torn our family apart. It’s hard enough losing a brother. I’m sure it’s even harder losing a son.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said. Again I glanced at Timmy, snuggled up to Thumper, the two of them snoring softly. Aside from my own heartbeat thumping in my ears, theirs was the only sound in the room. I was floored by the sudden realization of how much I loved the boy. I shouldn’t have been, but I was. “It must be terrible not—”

  “Knowing?” Sam asked. “Yes. That’s the worst part.”

  He stared into the cold fireplace as if remembering the last fire that burned there. Which of course he couldn’t because he had never been in the house before.

  “I’m sure you’ll hear from Paul someday. Don’t you think? He must miss his family too. Maybe not Timmy or Sally, I suppose, but he must wonder about your folks. His mom and dad. No one can be that—”

  “Cold,” Sam said. “The word you’re looking for is cold.”

  I couldn’t deny it. That was exactly the word I was looking for. “Yes,” I said. “Cold.” I tried to speak the word kindly, maybe even understandingly, but once again I found the anger I felt for Paul standing in the way of courtesy.

  Sam’s warm brown eyes studied me. “You hate my brother.”

  I dragged my chair a little closer and reached out to lay my hand on Sam’s knee. “No,” I said. “I don’t hate him. I always liked Paul. But—”

  “But?”

  “But I can’t deny I hate what he did.”

  “Leaving, you mean.”

  “Yes. Leaving. I simply can’t understand why he would do that. He loved Timmy. I know he did. I even thought he loved my sister. He seemed happy with his marriage, with his life, but if he was happy and if he loved them, how could he just walk out the door and never come back? How could he do that?”

  Sam ran a finger along the condensation on the side of his beer bottle. There was a furrow of concentration between his eyes as he stared at the bottle. He watched the movement of his finger as if it belonged to someone else. He was obviously deep in thought.

  Then he lifted his eyes to gaze at me. “Sometimes when people leave, it isn’t their fault.”

  “Yes, I know but—”

  “I don’t think we should pass judgment on Paul until we learn his reasons for doing what he did.”

  I was having a really hard time taking Paul’s side in the argument. I didn’t want to anger Sam, but I couldn’t lie either. I just couldn’t. Too many people had been hurt by Paul’s actions. Rather than stir the pot of discontent any further, I tried to back away. Let the matter go.

  “Unless he comes back, I guess we’ll never know.”

  Sam didn’t say anything to that. He merely watched my face. Then after a while, he once again turned his sad eyes to the fireplace. I took the opportunity to go grab us a couple more beers.

  While I was in the kitchen, I turned and found Sam leaning in the doorway, watching me. I gave him a smile, hoping our friendship was still intact. When he smiled back, I assumed it was. For that I was grateful.

  “Have you heard from Sally?” he asked. “I would have thought she’d call to see how Timmy is doing by now.”

  I handed Sam a full beer and plucked the empty one from his hand. “She said she might not call for a few days, give the kid time to settle in. Plus I think she needs some time on her own. She’s getting her life back in order. Found a man she loves, trying to move on.”

  Sam smiled, but the smile never quite reached his eyes, although I didn’t think too much about it. Maybe he blamed Sally for Paul’s leaving. And for all I knew, maybe he was right. Who knows what goes on in someone else’s marriage?

  “You don’t like him,” Sam said, forcing up a chuckle. “The boyfriend. You kind of tensed up when you mentioned the guy.”

  “Did I? Yeah, well, you’re right. I don’t like him. His name is Jack. As in Jack-off.” Now it was my turn to chuckle. “I’m afraid Sally will have to do better than Jack before she finds someone I like as well as I liked your brother.”

  Sam’s lips turned in a gentle smile. “Thank you for saying that.”

  I nodded. “It’s true. I was crazy about Paul. I’m just so sorry everything turned out the way it did. I wish we could get to the bottom of it all. I just wish I understood why he did what he did.”

  Sam wiped the top of the beer bottle on the heel of his hand before taking a long pull. He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. I had a sudden overpowering urge to step forward and press my lips to his throat. I closed my eyes to make the urge go away.

  “Maybe someday we’ll learn what really happened,” he said. “Find out the truth, I mean.”

  I nodded, watching him once again, still trying to ignore my hunger for him, knowing it was out of place. Unacceptable. I studied his face, the sadness in his eyes. “I guess that’s the only way we’ll ever get any closure on it,” I said. “For the longest time, I kept hoping Paul had simply woken up one day to find himself in the clutches of some sort of midlife crisis or mental breakdown and had to get away for a while, or thought he did. But he was too young for a midlife crisis. And after all this time, well—three years is too l
ong. I don’t—”

  I let my words trail away. I knew what I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to hear the words spoken aloud for fear it would give them a ring of truth—the semblance of a fate already decided.

  But Sam had no such compunctions. He knew exactly what I was afraid to say. And he didn’t fear the words at all.

  “You don’t think he’s coming back at all.”

  I pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, motioning for Sam to join me. He did.

  When we were situated, I let my eyes wander around the room until I had the nerve to once again center them on Sam’s face.

  “No,” I said. “Not now. Too much time has passed. I don’t think he’s coming back. I don’t think he’ll ever come back.”

  Sam reached out and patted my hand. “Neither do I, Jason. In fact—”

  “What” I asked. “In fact, what?”

  Sam heaved a sigh and locked his eyes on mine. “I don’t think he can. I don’t think he can come back.”

  I pondered the fierce certainty in Sam’s words. The cold clarity of understanding in those warm brown eyes of his. I knew without a doubt he believed his words were truth. Absolute, unalterable truth. But they weren’t. They were just his opinion. Even if I believed them as strongly as he did, they were still just opinion. And our opinions didn’t mean anything. I knew that, even if he didn’t.

  Before I could speak, before I could try to explain that to him, he gathered the loose strings of his thoughts together and presented them to me like a bouquet of battered flowers. And as he spoke, he became more agitated. More animated. “I loved my brother, Jason. I did. I loved him, and I knew him. I knew what sort of man he was. I knew what made him tick. I knew how he felt about his family. Not only his married family, but us too. Me, my parents, our cousins and aunts, and the whole damn lot. He was a good person, and he understood loyalty. He understood devotion. Paul wasn’t a taker, he was a giver. Even as a kid, he was a giver.”