by Tamara Allen
"You can't do anything. I can't do anything." Sutton lowered his head to his hands. "I knew--and I forgot."
"Forgot?" Jack was at a loss. "Forgot what?"
The answer, so faint, carried a disquieting weight. "He's dead."
- Forty-Two -
Jack shivered. "Did you dream someone died?"
"He was right beside me." Sutton's every word, low and muffled, seemed an effort. "The shell went off and it just--threw us around. I don't remember--and when I woke on the stretcher, I told them--go back. I wanted them to go back for Paul and they wouldn't answer. They knew and wouldn't tell me."
No one had come away from the war with wounds only to the flesh. "You were hurt," Jack said when he'd recovered enough to speak. "You can't beat up on yourself for losing memories." Especially such a goddamned awful one.
Sutton raised his head, the gleam of fresh tears in his eyes. "When I woke in the hospital, I still didn't--" He caught his breath. "I never tried to find him, to write him--"
"You didn't forget him. In your head, you knew. It was just too much to remember right then. You see?" Jack scooted closer and kissed him. "You never forgot."
Sutton drooped against him. "Paul made it bearable. Day after day he'd assure us it would be over soon and we'd come out safe. As if we could." His hand found Jack's and held on. "Why?" he whispered.
"I've asked that plenty. Still don't know. I remember thinking before I went over that it was just some excitement. Something different from the routine." Some excitement it had been, until he'd gotten close enough to see he was trying to kill ordinary fellows like himself, fellows who might've been his pals in saner circumstances. Fellows who, after the first bombs fell, didn't want to be there any more than he did.
He didn't like to remember how nightmarishly different from the routine it had been. He didn't want to think about anything much, except how he could draw Sutton away from the memories that had jarred him out of sleep. "I can make some tea," he offered with a comforting kiss. "No gin. I swear it."
Sutton's mouth turned up, not too steadily, but it was enough. "I'd almost rather have the gin." He let out a long breath. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Jack drew him down to the pillow and lay beside him, hoping Sutton could go back to sleep. But after an hour of desultory chatter, they were both still awake. "Pills?" Jack whispered and Sutton grimaced.
"I'd rather not. It's only a dull ache and the pills--" He put a hand to his stomach and Jack nodded.
"You hungry?" He rose and Sutton followed, pushing up one-handed to scoot to the edge of the mattress as Jack fished around in the clothes they'd left lumped in the chair.
"Jack, as much as I enjoy exploring New York with you at two in the morning, I don't think I can face it right now."
Jack grinned at him. "We'll eat here. Just need something warm to wear." He unearthed dressing gowns and tossed one to Sutton.
As he headed for the kitchen, Sutton trailed after. "There's nothing here to eat except oatmeal and I don't think I can face that, either..." He paused as Jack opened the icebox. "How did you conjure up all that?"
"A crabby, cigar-smoking elf left it for us." Jack hauled out the basket. "Roast beef, I think. Potatoes and pie. Good old Es." He put the basket on the table and pushed a chair over to the stove. "Sit here, where it'll be warm--" He lit the gas. "And I'll set up supper in fine style."
When he had the beef and potatoes tucked into the oven, he uncapped a soda for Sutton. "How's that for self-sufficiency?"
"Well done." Sutton saluted with the bottle. "You might consider giving up novelties for a lunch wagon of your own."
"Funny. I could whip up something better than Ida, anyway."
"Jack, you can't even cook a decent bowl of oatmeal." Sutton caught a handful of Jack's dressing gown. "Come here," he said softly and pulled him toward the chair.
Jack resisted. "Your shoulder--"
"Is just fine. Come and sit." He patted the cushion. "You know what they say. Room for two."
Jack tried to squeeze in beside him. "I don't think they meant two fellows."
"Not very farsighted of them." Sutton's good arm came around him, and tender lips wore down his resistance. He eased away to spare Sutton's shoulder, only to be cornered and kissed again. He laughed and, reclining the chair, drew Sutton down with him. Forsaking their usual rough and tumble effort to crawl under each other's skin left him self-conscious, but that yielded to wonder at the way Sutton's whisper of his name reached down inside him. He heard the meaning behind each soft exhalation and felt the need in Sutton's touch. The arms that held him, the strength in them when Sutton clutched his shoulders in a rush of release--all seemed a revelation.
As his breathing calmed, and transient sounds faded back into the hum of the oven and intermittent clank of the radiator, he paid mind to the way Sutton stayed close. When he stirred, Sutton, half-asleep, comforted with drowsy kisses. Jack laid his hand gently over Sutton's, interlacing their fingers. It was a good fit, better than any he'd known. He wanted to sleep, too, but the smell of warm potatoes and the thought that he should change Sutton's dressing before they did go back to bed roused him from the chair.
"Supper," he whispered at Sutton's soft protest.
Famished, they supped side by side, sharing the occasional flushed, sleepy-eyed smile. When they crawled into bed, Jack was ready for slumber.
"Jack?"
"Hmm?"
"How long were you in the hospital last year?"
Jack smiled in the darkness. "Not long."
"You were shot?"
"Not bad. Not as bad as some."
"What happened?"
It was a question he'd been expecting from Sutton sooner or later. "Nothing so interesting."
"My brother told me of a doctor overseas who recommends talking things out. Facing the memories, to free yourself of them."
"The docs I've seen say different."
"All the same, it appears to be doing a few fellows some good."
"They just talk about it and they're cured?"
"I don't know. They're better, I think. Able to sleep." Sutton slipped an arm around him. "How were you hurt?"
Jack laughed. "Putting up an aerial. That was always the tricky part, because I was out in the open to set it up, and then back out again every time someone shot it down. Got a bullet through the calf--right through. You can't even see the scar unless you look for it. I'd only just patched it up when a shell hit near enough to send everyone flying."
He turned his head, resting a cheek against Sutton's hair. "Guess you know how that felt. I wasn't down more than a minute. When I came to, it was quiet. For a second, I thought I'd died. Was a good likeness of Hell, anyway." He let out a breath. That was more than he'd told Harry or Ox. Maybe because it was late, or dark, or that it was Sutton he was telling it to, it came easier. "Some fellows had already gone west. No doubt about that. I tried to patch up the others, the ones I could find. Fire kept bursting and I figured they were hoping to finish off whoever might still be crawling around..."
"What did you do?"
"What I could do. I fixed the damned set and kept sending messages till help came through."
"You must've saved some fellows."
Jack shrugged. "Funny, how I can see it all just so clear, after all this time. I thought I'd never come home."
"You are home," Sutton whispered and kissed him.
- Forty-Three -
At Ida's the next morning, Sutton was quiet and Jack knew why. Ignoring the other diners, he snuck a hand across the table and clasped Sutton's. Somber eyes rose to his and lightened, the trace of a smile forming. "Hanging on to me in public?"
"I guess a friend can comfort a friend."
With ghosts of his own tugging at his coat-tails the past couple of days, Jack couldn't settle down to work, despite the swarm of customers making for a busy morning. At eleven, he finally wandered into the office. "Harry, I've got to run an errand."
Harry's penci
l kept moving. "A little early for lunch, ain't it?"
"Not to lunch." Jack sat on the edge of the desk and leaned over to pluck at Harry's tie. "I want to go out to Green-Wood for a while." Harry looked at him then, sharp as tacks, and Jack smiled. "It's all right, isn't it?"
Harry sputtered, "Sure, of course." He stood. "We can close for the rest of the day--"
"No." Jack waved him back into the chair. "You don't have to close."
"It's no trip to take on your own, kid. Not the first time."
It wasn't the visit but the long ride out that Jack wasn't keen on. He looked at Sutton, absorbed in notations. "Want another go on the subway? I swear I'll be good this time."
"Since you promise," Sutton said, rising for hat and coat.
The subway was crowded with people heading to an early lunch, but free of any stark Board of Health warnings. Hanging on to the strap with both hands, Jack set his chin in the crook of his arm and flashed Sutton a grin. "Having fun?"
"I'd rather it wasn't so jolting." Sutton had given up the sling but Jack saw the way he held his left arm cradled against his side. The cars lurched to a halt and Sutton grimaced. "I'm glad not to have any broken bones. How about a cab on the way back?"
"That'll cost a good handful of pennies. I'll pay for half."
"And lunch?"
Jack laughed. "Harry's right. I am a bad influence on you. But don't tell him I said so."
"I thought you were cultivating a reputation for wickedness."
"Among friends, sure." Jack slipped an unobtrusive arm around Sutton as the cars started up again. "Not that Harry isn't a friend--he's just more than that. Really, he sort of picked up where my folks left off."
"He's not as stern as a father."
"My dad wasn't stern or strict. Harry used to joke I could've benefited from a good walloping. Poor Harry. I nearly drove him to quit half a dozen times. But my dad never gave me a sermon or the back of his hand--though there was a time or two maybe he should have. When I got in trouble with Ned and his crowd, I didn't know how worried my folks were until I heard them talk about closing up shop and moving away. My dad was ready to start all over again somewhere else, just to keep me out of trouble."
"You kept yourself out, then."
"I knew what the shop meant to my dad. He wanted to travel but he never got to, so he brought the world to him. You can see why I can't just abandon it, close up shop. I'd be giving up everything that mattered to him."
Sutton smiled. "Don't you think you mattered most?"
Jack shrugged. "After I heard them talk--well, I couldn't let them start over because of me. I broke for good with Ned--which wasn't too hard, since he was locked up for stealing a car."
Sutton's eyebrows rose and Jack couldn't suppress a wry grin. "And it might've been me locked up with him. But I quit all that. Went to school most days, worked in the shop, minded my manners. I just couldn't give up radio--or boys," he finished quietly.
"Did your parents know?"
"Sure, though I made a good show of calling on girls now and then. They never talked about it but I know they didn't love me less for it. My mom couldn't, anyhow. My dad always said when it came to me, her heart ran over with love to spare." Jack made hasty use of his sleeve and knew he hadn't been so subtle about it when a hand slipped into his. "They'll kick us off," he whispered.
"I'm sorry," Sutton whispered back.
He wasn't apologizing for the handholding. "It's okay." And it was. He could talk about his folks and it didn't hurt as much as it had. He was glad to have Sutton with him, especially when they reached Green-Wood, immense and forested, where even the birds sang a subdued note. The wind had dressed row upon row of gray stone in damp gold leaves. A solemn official in a black suit led the way to a shady corner where a single flat stone marked the site of two graves. A lot of the folks taken by the flu hadn't even that much, and gratitude swept Jack. Harry had done right by them, probably spending his last dime. Jack wished he hadn't taken so long to see it for himself. He wrapped an arm over Sutton's shoulders. "I haven't introduced you. Mother, Dad--this is Sutton."
Sutton regarded the marker half-hidden in the grass with sober respect. "Do you think they would like me?"
"They'd be crazy over you." He pressed his face into Sutton's coat. Sutton slipped him a handkerchief, the one he'd given Sutton before. It bore his initials, J.H.B., but smelled clean and starched, like Sutton. After a few minutes, he could breathe without the ache in his chest and he noticed it was raining. He grabbed Sutton's hand and they ran to the shelter of a crypt. Huddled in a mossy corner, they delved into each other's pasts while they waited out the rain.
- - -
When the sun came out, they caught a cab for home, Jack musing along the way that if Sutton's family was anything like he'd described, Sutton coming to New York was a miracle. He remembered how he and Harry had joked about Albright Sr. having him arrested for corrupting Sutton. He couldn't laugh about it now. But what worried him more was the homesickness in Sutton's voice when he talked about the family and friends he had left behind.
"You all right?" Sutton sounded drowsy.
"Never been better." He loosened his hold on Sutton's hand and settled back against the cab cushions, shoulder to shoulder. Sutton leaned against him, eyes closing, and Jack felt more than heard the contented sigh.
- Forty-Four -
Sutton put the receipt book on top of the piano and picked up the sheet music on the stand. A voice came quiet and close to his ear. "You have to forget about Friday. If you don't give yourself a chance to heal--"
"I'm playing Friday, even if I have to fake it."
Jack's snort was faint but affectionate. "As if you would. You can't play today, anyway. Let's get lunch."
Sutton inched closer to the piano bench. "I'm not hungry. Let me practice an hour."
"Sutton--"
"Thirty minutes."
"Would you quit it? At least wait until the bandage comes off."
"I can play in bandages."
Jack turned him around, putting them face to face. "One month. You'll play again, good as new. I won't let anything stop you." His lips curved but his gaze stayed serious and steadfast with the promise. "Not even you."
Jack understood. Assured, Sutton acquiesced. "One month, then. Except for Friday."
Jack groaned. "Please just forget about Friday? I'm begging you." He clutched at Sutton's hand and dropped to his knees. "Please?"
"Jack, for heaven's sake."
"I'm not getting up until you say yes."
Harry walked past. "Little soon for a proposal, ain't it?"
Jack let Sutton pull him to his feet and peeked into the box in Harry's arms. "Lunch? Sandwiches--oh, pie. Blueberry?"
"Apple," Harry said.
"Sutton, Esther packed apple just for you, so you'd better come and eat it." Jack steered him into the office and sat him down. "After lunch, you can supervise while we repaint the front glass."
"Make sure the letters don't come out crooked this time," Harry said, with an amused glance at Jack.
"What did you expect," Jack said. "Picasso I ain't. Any forks or spoons in there?"
Harry dug through the box. "Hell, I forgot them."
"We'll use our army forks." Jack scooped a piece of pie with his fingers and handed the box to Sutton.
The sound of someone tapping at piano keys made them jump. "Customers," Harry muttered around a mouthful of sandwich.
"I'll go," Jack said and lurched out of the chair, taking the pie with him.
"Harry, do mind if I ask you something?"
Harry handed Sutton a soda. "Jack will run on about everything under the sun without letting you in on much, if he can get away with it."
Sutton nodded. "He told me a little of his... experiences overseas."
"Doubt he'd tell you the whole story." Harry uncapped another soda. "Took me a while to pry it all out. They sent him home with wounds they couldn't do anything about. And then I had to goddamned ad
d to it with the news about his folks."
"You waited until he came home?"
"I had to." Harry picked at his sandwich, then tossed it onto the desk. "Sara died the same day Jackie got his papers to sail home. Jim made me swear I wouldn't break the news to Jack while he was overseas. I think he figured he'd tell Jack, himself--but he was bad off and losing Sara took all the fight out of him. He went to the hospital that night and didn't make it to morning." Harry sat back in his chair and let out a long breath. "It was left to me but--Jesus, how could I tell him in a letter? I thought he'd give up altogether--and that ain't no place to do it, in the middle of a war."
Sutton remembered the terrible secret Jack had confided. "You did the right thing. Never doubt it, Harry."
"You think so?" Harry didn't look as if he believed it. "Anyway--that's all you wanted to know?"
Sutton nodded. "He's been sleeping better. Not as restlessly..." Heat came over his face as he realized what he was saying. He cleared his throat and took a long swallow of soda. Harry didn't comment, but the trace of a smile was on his lips as he started back in on the sandwich. Fortunately, Jack returned, sparing them both.
"Ox is finishing up. Come and see."
They trooped out to find Ox dabbing white paint on the plate glass. Harry and Jack moved to the curb to take a look. "Damn sight better," Harry said.
"Better?" Jack said. "Hell, they could see that in Poughkeepsie."
Ox grinned and stuck his hands in the pockets of his paint-splattered trousers. "Not crooked?"
"Straight as an arrow." Harry scratched his chin, gaze traveling upward. "Makes those awnings look a little shabby, though."
