by Rick R. Reed
“I said heartless. Did you hear me before? Your mom is in serious condition. I hate to alarm you, but I think we’re facing a very real possibility she might not make it. Your work can wait. Your daughter will get over her flu. But you might be looking at a decision you could regret for the rest of your life if you don’t get your ass up here and see your mom. Do you really want the next time you see her face to be in a coffin?” Okay. Maybe I went too far. But damn it, these kids are unbelievable. I had no idea. And Dee is such a sweetheart. She doesn’t deserve this.
“Look, Mr. Bowersox, you don’t know me. You don’t know my sister. And you sure as hell don’t know our history. You want to know where this attitude of mine comes from? Why neither me nor my sister can muster up much feeling for someone it hurts my mouth to use the word ‘mom’ for?”
Mac didn’t know if he did. Number one, Mac believed that people, underneath it all, were connected, all part of the same spirit, if you will. So good or bad, we all shared common ground; we were all part of the same thing at our core. So it followed that how you behaved, whether you raised others up with compassion, kindness, and hope or tore them down with judgment and despair, had an impact on the future, on everyone. Still, he realized how much he loved the old woman with whom he shared a home, and he didn’t want to see her in an ugly light.
“Our mother was never there for us.”
Things grew quiet again. Mac could hear the hurt in Frank’s voice, even in that simple declarative sentence. He couldn’t say anything.
“I don’t know what she’s told you about her younger years. But I’ll give you my perspective in a nutshell.”
Please don’t, Mac wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. He thought maybe Frank needed to get this out, as much as he didn’t want to hear it.
“Ah!” Frank sighed. “How do I put this politely? When we were kids, Mom was a drunk and a whore. I know that sounds harsh, but sometimes the truth is harsh. I don’t think even she would argue with the terms—the shoe fits. Usually in families, it’s often the father who’s out running around chasing sex, but at our house, it was dear old Mom. Our dad loved us, was there for us, took care of us.
“Mom eventually did come to her senses. I give her credit for that. When she lost us, as she deserved to, she cleaned herself up. Got sober. Cut out the partying and the men. My dad was kind enough to let her have the house we grew up in, even though he should have had it. The guy was a saint, and I think he loved her until the day he died, even though they’d been apart for years.
“She got us back, cleaned up, looking like a nun. And so we started spending time with her, never as much as with Dad, where our real home was. But we’d do weekends with Mom, one night a week for supper. If Dad went out of town for work, we stayed with her.”
Frank paused. His last words had come out a little shaky, and Mac wondered if he was crying. He snuffled a bit and went on.
“She wanted to be a good mom. I really do believe that. And she tried. I give her credit. But there was too much damage. And even if there wasn’t the damage, there was Dee. No matter how much she tried, she just wasn’t a mom. There was always a distance. Sometimes I think she replaced her demons with another, benign demon, but an addiction just the same.”
“I don’t understand.”
“AA. It became her new drug of choice, her new booze. I mean, that woman went to meetings every day while we were growing up. Just like she left us behind to go out to a bar down in Belltown, she left us for meetings. Meetings, meetings, meetings. And after she got sober, she mentored people. There were always ex-drunks hanging around the house, calling at all hours, and old Dee always had time for them, often at the expense of her own kids.
“So you might think Claire and I are assholes. That we have no feelings. But you’re wrong. It’s because we do have feelings that we’ve, um, hardened our hearts. It’s protection. We’re scarred, man. Do you get that?”
Mac couldn’t answer.
“Anyway, I appreciate your call. I do. But I just need some time to sort out my feelings, okay? I gotta go.”
And now Mac could hear the sobs waiting in the wings. Frank hung up before Mac could say anything further.
He sat down on the floor beside Barley and scratched his best friend behind the ears. Barley looked up at him with warm brown eyes, so full of love and trust. “Boy,” Mac sighed. “Families are rough. Sometimes I think the world would be a better place—maybe a hell of a lot less populated, sure—but better if people stuck with dogs rather than each other.”
Barley gave out a single woof. And Mac was glad he understood.
Chapter 12
BY THE time he got off work on Thursday, Flynn was jonesing for Barley.
And for Mac….
The fib he’d told Mac earlier in the week, that he was busy with a show opening, was something he’d come to regret. In fact, things at work were slower than usual, slow enough that Flynn found he was free to leave the office that afternoon around three.
And what a day to leave early! Flynn firmly believed that Pacific Northwest summers were the best in the world. Contrary to popular belief, there was little rain, and days were filled with temperatures in the upper seventies and low eighties with next to no humidity. Today Seattle was experiencing a relative heat wave, with the temperature climbing above ninety degrees. But it was comfortable because, again, little to no humidity accompanied the bright sunshine.
Flynn had taken the bus home, after begging off to Clara’s request for cocktails on Capitol Hill, and had changed into running gear, intending to head down the hill to the Burke-Gilman Trail. The route was one of his favorites, taking him along Lake Union, through Gas Works Park, into the University District and—if he was really energetic and motivated—into Ravenna Park.
He was halfheartedly stretching near the front door of his apartment when he found himself not looking forward to the run, but instead wondering what Mac and Barley were doing. When he’d let Mac keep Barley for the week, Flynn had patted himself on the back for being such a Good Samaritan, for being sensitive and kind, knowing the dog’s company would be good for Mac, balm for his pain.
But the self-congratulations soon turned to self-loathing when he realized what an awful mistake he’d made. He’d missed Barley so much when he lost him, and having him back home again had induced in Flynn a real feeling of joy. Waking up to Barley’s snores or to see him at the foot of Flynn’s platform bed with his leash in his mouth and his tail wagging had reminded Flynn of how happy he was to have the little guy around.
The apartment, all that week, had seemed extra lonely. Extra empty, even though it was small.
He stood up and looked out his window at the gorgeous late summer day. Traffic streamed by on Stone Way, and Flynn imagined everyone headed out to simply enjoy the glorious weather.
He wanted to be one of those people, with his dog. And maybe also with this guy he was crushing on.
The hell with a run. I can run anytime. Flynn knew that, besides having the company of his best friend and the man who was currently taking care of him, he craved ice cream. Molly Moon ice cream in particular. The little ice cream shop wasn’t far from his apartment, and Flynn knew that on an afternoon like this one, there were sure to be long lines for the place’s homemade delights that came in exotic flavors like balsamic strawberry, honey lavender, Earl Grey, and salted caramel, along with other standby flavors like vanilla bean and mint.
And no, it didn’t escape Flynn that going out for ice cream was the antithesis of heading out for a run. But he didn’t care. Sometimes, Flynn thought, we have to follow what our hearts tell us we want and need despite the fact that those wants and needs may go against healthier pursuits.
And wasn’t feeding one’s joy healthy?
Sure it was.
He picked up the phone and tapped the screen to call Mac.
Mac picked up right away. “Hey, you. What’s up?”
“What are you doing?” Flynn asked, hoping agai
nst hope Mac wouldn’t say he was at work or, worse, getting ready for a date.
“I’m at the hospital.”
Flynn heard, for some reason, animal hospital, and panic shot up in him like an alarm going off.
“What? Is Barley okay?”
“Barley?”
“Yeah, you said you were at the animal hospital.”
“I never said that. I’m at Swedish. My landlady, Dee? She had a heart attack on Tuesday.”
Flynn could have kicked himself for the relief he felt that it wasn’t Barley. But he remembered Dee and remembered that he liked her. Yes, I am an asshole. Guilty, party of one! Flynn plopped down on the edge of his bed and tried to get his priorities straight. “Is she okay? Wasn’t Tuesday the day we went over to Volunteer Park?”
“Right. And if you hadn’t brought me home when you did, I don’t know what would have happened. I found her on the kitchen floor, clutching her arm and barely breathing. Or I guess I should say Barley found her.”
“But she’s in the hospital now? And I hope things are looking up?”
“They’re better. They moved her out of the ICU today, and she’s in a regular room.”
Mac chuckled, and the sound of his laughter warmed Flynn for many reasons.
“She’s bitching about the food, so I call that progress.”
Flynn bent down to take off his Asics and flung them across the room. He wondered if it would seem inappropriate to bring up ice cream now. Inappropriate and selfish. Well, maybe if he presented it as something he was contemplating but that was now out of the question, it would seem less insensitive. And who knew? Maybe Mac would suggest an alternate time? But Flynn really didn’t want to go on that run now. He really wanted to spend some time with Barley and Mac.
If things didn’t work out for the three of them to go on an ice cream run today, Flynn decided he’d go anyway and gorge himself on a double-decker in a waffle cone, salted caramel on the bottom, maple walnut on top.
And after, he’d head down the street to Dick’s for a cheeseburger and fries. A cheeseburger and fries for dessert after a dinner of ice cream? Why not? What good, Flynn wondered, was running twenty-five to thirty miles a week doing him if he couldn’t splurge on calories, sugar, and carbs once in a while?
Besides… it had been way too long since he’d had Dick’s.
“So, um, are you staying there with her? And by the way, it’s awesome that you’re there with her. I commend you.”
“It’s nothing. She means a lot to me. But actually I was headed home. Barley needs to go out, and I’m sure he’s wondering where his dinner is.” Mac paused and then asked, “Aren’t you at work?”
Flynn remembered how he’d told Mac about being swamped at his job. “Uh, actually no. We got a little ahead, and the boss said since it was such a nice day, we could all head out a little early.”
“Nice for you. It is beautiful out there.”
Say it. Say, “Why don’t you come over?” But all Mac said was, “I bet you’re gonna go out for a run. It’s the perfect day for it.”
“I thought about it, even had my shoes on. And then my mind turned to Molly Moon’s.”
“Ah… dear Molly? Who among us can deny being charmed by her and her sweet offerings. Oh God! They have the best ice cream.”
Thank you for the opening, Mr. Bowersox. “They do. They do indeed—”
Mac interrupted. “Have you ever tried the salt-licorice flavor? Not for the faint of heart, but I’m a black-licorice lover from way back, so I adore it. One lick and I just about come in my pants.”
Oh Lord! What do I do with that? “I don’t know if I’d like that—the flavor, I mean,” Flynn said. “But listen, I was wondering if you and Barley might like to join me for a cone?”
“Barley too?” Mac giggled.
“Definitely. Our guy likes his ice cream. You probably think this is gross, but I usually give him a lick or two from my cone. Probably not good for him, or me, but he loves it so.”
“I did the same.”
“So, what do you think?”
“That might be nice. It’s so gorgeous out. Maybe I could take the bus over and meet you there?”
Flynn shook his head, frowning. You still don’t get it, do you? I mean this to be a proper date. “I can pick you up.”
“But Molly Moon’s is so close to you, isn’t it? You’re in Wallingford, right? You could walk.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Mac paused for a bit.
“That is, if you’re done at the hospital.”
“I think I am. I brought her a new Nora Roberts and a book of crosswords, so I think she’s gonna be busy.” He stopped again. But then he said the words that made Flynn’s heart sing. “Yeah. Why not? When are you thinking?”
“I can leave now.”
“Would I be too much of an ass hat if I asked you to swing by First Hill and pick me up at Swedish? It would save me a long bus ride.”
“You’re not an ass hat.” But you do have a nice ass. “I’ll meet you out in front of the ER entrance in about twenty minutes, give or take with traffic.”
“Thanks! You’re a lifesaver.”
And Flynn, who couldn’t seem to get his mind out of the gutter, especially within the sound of Mac’s sexy voice, thought A lifesaver I hope you’ll want to suck on.
“I’m on my way,” Flynn said, and they hung up.
“THEY’RE OUT of the salted-licorice flavor.” Flynn returned to the line where he’d left Mac and Barley waiting so he could scope out what flavors were available. “I looked for something that might be close, but dude, seriously. What’s close to salted-licorice ice cream?”
Mac smiled and nodded. “I guess—salted licorice itself?”
“Well, you’re SOL if you had your heart set on that flavor.”
“It’s cool. Ice cream is ice cream. It’s like sex—even the flavor you like least is still good.”
Flynn narrowed his eyes. “I take it you’re not a vanilla kind of guy.”
“Are we talking about ice cream or sex?”
Flynn felt a little heat rise to his face and then more, embarrassed by the realization that he was blushing. “Um, I was talking ice cream, but I’m happy to discuss both.”
Mac cocked his head. “This line is so long, I guess we have plenty of time.”
“So… do tell, Mr. Bowersox. What flavor whets your appetite?” Flynn licked his lips and then hoped he wasn’t being too over-the-top with his innuendo. He reminded himself of Blanche Devereaux in The Golden Girls reruns he liked to watch late at night when he couldn’t sleep.
“Well, when it comes to ice cream, I’m not a big fan of vanilla, unless it’s on top of a slice of warm apple pie. Otherwise, I kind of find vanilla a little bland, even the really good ones. Me, I’m a chocolate kind of guy.”
“You like the dark stuff?” Flynn asked, teasing.
“I do. The darker the better.” He winked.
And then neither of them said anything for a couple of minutes, as the line in front of them diminished and the one behind them grew. Flynn wondered if they were both a little shy and embarrassed at what they were saying. It was all in fun, but he knew that buried within the joking and the entendre, there was more. And he liked the more because it meant they were flirting… taking baby steps toward talking about sex. Flynn could see what he hoped he correctly interpreted as hunger in Mac’s green eyes. There was that way he held his gaze for just slightly longer than normal….
“They have amazing chocolate here, if you haven’t had it. They use chocolate from Theo’s,” Flynn named the local chocolatier, over in the Fremont neighborhood, who had a justified reputation for making outstanding chocolate. He grinned. “I hear it’s orgasmic.”
“Better make sure to grab lots of napkins, then!”
They both chuckled. They were getting close—to the door.
“So,” Flynn ventured, “you still haven’t revealed whether you’re vanilla in the bedro
om or a little more, uh, how should I put it? Exotic?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out, mister.” Mac poked Flynn in the chest.
“Oh really? And am I gonna get the chance to do that?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not they run out of their ‘orgasmic’ chocolate before we get up to the counter to order. If they do, and I have to eat strawberry or something, I’ll go home disappointed. And so will you, you horndog. But if they have chocolate, oh, let’s just say chocolate can put me in the mood.”
“Really? Chocolate ice cream makes you horny?” Flynn asked, a little too desperately and a little too loudly. The woman in front of them, her dark hair in a long braid down her back and clutching a Yorkie to her chest in a designer bag, turned to gape at them. Flynn smiled, trying to communicate I can’t help myself, and fortunately she smiled back. But she did grab the arm of her husband, a hunk who bore a startling resemblance to Ryan Gosling, as though to demonstrate ownership.
Don’t worry, girlie, I got my own man. Or at least Flynn hoped he did.
“Everything makes me horny,” Mac whispered in Flynn’s ear. His breath was hot and a little damp, and that made Flynn immediately go hard.
Flynn pulled back to look Mac in the eye. “Really? Maybe we should skip the ice cream and go back to your place or my place or even find some bushes somewhere….”
Mac pushed him a little. “You dog! You’re not getting off, pun intended, that easily. I want my ice cream!” And Mac stamped his foot like a petulant child.
“My treat. Whatever you want.”
Flynn gazed at Mac for the longest time, their eyes forging a kind of electric connection. It wasn’t broken until the person behind them, a sixtyish guy with a potbelly and a Mariners baseball cap said, “You guys still in line?”
Flynn broke his gaze to see the line had advanced at least twenty feet without his knowledge. “Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly to the guy behind them and hurried to close the gap.
