Give Way

by Valentine Wheeler

  A NineStar Press Publication

  www.ninestarpress.com

  Give Way

  ISBN: 978-1-64890-183-6

  © 2020 Valentine Wheeler

  Cover Art © 2021 Natasha Snow

  Published in January, 2021 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at Contact@ninestarpress.com.

  WARNING:

  This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers, and internalized biphobia.

  Give Way

  Swanley Signs, Book Two

  Valentine Wheeler

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To the true folks in blue: the United States Postal Service. Wind, snow, sleet, silver foxes, fascism: we’ll deliver through it all.

  Chapter One

  Kevin McNamara was not having a good day.

  As he trudged up the street toward his block, his building loomed ahead, five stories of forbidding concrete. His kids kept telling him he had to find a nicer apartment–he’d only meant for this one to be a stopping place after the divorce, but here he was fifteen years later, solidly into his retirement, still crammed into his tiny two-bedroom. It was fine. He didn’t have to mow a lawn, and most of the other residents were older people or divorced dads, so he fit right in. A few kids visited their fathers on weekends and livened things up, and it was close enough to downtown that he could walk to get whatever he needed. On less soggy, snowy days, a stroll home was appealing, but not after a four hour transit meeting in Boston and with gray slush soaking into his loafers.

  As he pulled his keys from his pocket in the vestibule, ready to open the door to the lobby, tires crunched on the asphalt outside and he turned to see a mail truck pulling up. He pushed open the vestibule door and got ready to greet Doris–she’d been his mail lady for ten years, so she deserved a smile even if Kevin’s toes were numb. But instead of his compact, South Asian mail lady, he was surprised to see a man in a postal uniform standing on the sidewalk, tall, dark, and–well, attractive. He was staring at the front of the building, glancing down at the mail in his hands and back up again.

  “Hi,” said the man. “This is 210 Washakum Avenue, right?”

  Kevin nodded. “Yes, the two fell off the sign last week and nobody’s been by to fix it.” He wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to explain and wished he hadn’t.

  The man grinned, showing very white, very even teeth. They looked even brighter against his short beard and light brown skin, which even in December was a few shades warmer than Kevin’s ever got. “Great. I’ve got a couple packages here, and I really didn’t want to leave them out in all this wet.”

  “Yeah,” said Kevin. “Um.” He glanced behind him at the door to his building’s lobby, feeling unaccountably flustered. “Doris usually leaves them inside. Is she not in today?”

  The man nodded. “She took the day off, so I’m helping out. I can’t believe they approved the time. December’s usually a no-go for leave, you know? Busiest season for Santas like me and Doris.”

  “I bet.” Kevin pushed the door open. “Here, I won’t let the door lock you out.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Doris left me a key somewhere,” said the man. “Don’t want to hold you up. I’m helping deliver packages for my overtime, and I’m still learning the town.” He paused. “I’m Awais, by the way.”

  “Kevin,” said Kevin. “And it’s fine. I’m happy to hold the door. I’m in no rush.”

  “McNamara? Kevin McNamara, is that right?” asked Awais.

  “How did you guess?”

  Awais grinned again, this time showing a dimple in one cheek, barely visible under his close-trimmed beard. “You’ve got a package, man.”

  Kevin swallowed as Awais gathered a tub of packages in his arms and brushed past him into the lobby. The door wasn’t wide and neither was the lobby. He set the tub on the floor and knelt beside it. His slacks hugged his thighs: they seemed tighter than the usual postal cut as he bent over. And was the foyer suddenly warm?

  “Let’s see.” Awais dug in the tub, setting a few packages aside. Kevin stood awkwardly, still holding the door. Dropping it would be rude, and it would trap them together in the small space, but he’d been holding it open for what felt like a long time. “Okay. Here we go!” He pulled out a large manila envelope, stacked the rest of the packages back in the tub, and rose to his feet gracefully. He was slender, Kevin noticed, but his shoulders were broad enough that the small space was awkward with both of their nearly six foot frames crowding it. “Here,” said Awais, holding it out.

  Kevin took it. His fingers brushed Awais’s, shockingly warm against his own chilled ones. “Thanks,” he said, putting a bit of his usual charm in his smile. He knew the effect it had on people, and maybe it would counteract the incredibly weird impression this guy was getting of him.

  Awais smiled back. “No problem. Gift for the wife?”

  Kevin blinked. “Um, no,” he said, flummoxed. “I’m single.” Divorced, he’d meant to say. But it was too late to correct himself without drawing attention to it.

  Awais’s eyes widened for the briefest moment, then his smile stretched even further. He winked. “Well, the ladies are missing out then.” He slung his satchel back over his shoulder, brushing past Kevin again where he was standing, still holding the door like a chump. He smelled like snow and woods and a little bit of sweat. Kevin decided to pretend he hadn’t just smelled the guy. He couldn’t help it in the hot, steamy foyer.

  Through the glass, Awais climbed back in his truck, slid the door closed, waved, and pulled away.

  Kevin looked down at the envelope. He didn’t even remember what he’d ordered. He took a step backward and winced at the squelch. He’d completely forgotten about his soaked shoes.

  *

  Awais pulled away from 210 Washakum Avenue, giving in to the urge to glance back at the silver fox he’d left standing in the foyer. When he’d moved back to Swanley after thirty years in Providence, he’d wondered if small-town life would be boring. So far, not so much.

  When Awais’s transfer had gotten approved so quickly, he’d been surprised. Transfers usually took months, or even years, and he’d been prepared to find an apartment somewhere around Pawtucket or Attleboro and spend a lot of time in the car between work, home, and his grandmother’s house. But then he’d gotten his transfer letter, and when Aunt Fatima had offered her spare room, things had come together a lot more quickly than he’d expected.

  Awais pulled up next to the public works building, riffling through the tray on the shelf beside the driver’s seat. He didn’t mind package deliveries–he didn’t know the town anymore, and without a route of his own, it gave him a chance to learn the broad outlines of the streets and routes. Half of them were his regular routes, the ones he was supposed to substitute on, but since all the regular carriers came in on their days off for overtime, he was kind of at loose ends and sent out on whatever management needed him to do. He’d only delivered a regular route a few times si
nce he’d been in Swanley.

  The rest of the packages took him another hour, landing him back in the office around five. He pulled in beside Maurice, flashing his lights in greeting. Maurice wasn’t a full-time regular yet, still a temporary assistant, but he was a powerhouse of a carrier already. He’d shown Awais the ropes when he’d first transferred in and given him a run-through of all the routes. Awais had bought him a drink to thank him, and he liked to think they’d become friends in the weeks since.

  Maurice waved, sliding from his seat and hopping down. “Was that the last of it?” he asked. “See, I’m hoping to take a girl out tonight, and I got to make myself look my best before I pick her up.”

  “What, the sweaty public servant look doesn’t do it for the ladies?” Awais hefted his satchel. “I would have thought they’d love a man in uniform.”

  Maurice laughed. “You know, I’ve never gotten more numbers at a job. Since I started here, whew, my social life has been wild. This town is thirsty.”

  Awais grinned. Maurice was cute, young, and extroverted, with twinkling eyes and deep brown skin. A year of carrying mail had gotten him in phenomenal shape. He wasn’t surprised the good people of Swanley were into him. Ten years ago, he might have tried to make a move on him. “I haven’t had that experience yet, I must admit. Maybe when I was your age, but I honestly don’t remember.”

  Maurice gave him a look. “Seriously, man, you should be getting more numbers than I am. They don’t know you yet. But you wear those blues well.”

  “You’re a little young for me, Maurice,” said Awais, laughing. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”

  “Gross. I don’t date coworkers. You know how bad that turns out.”

  Awais did. He’d made that mistake a few times, though he wasn’t going to admit that to this kid. “Is it just me, though, or is this town really gay? I grew up here, but I don’t remember it being this way back then.”

  Maurice shrugged as he followed Awais through the parking lot toward the post office building. “It’s not just you. I guess Swanley’s been this way a few decades at least. I’m from Framingham, so I don’t really know all the history. It surprised me too when I got here. But there’s a lot of towns like this around Massachusetts. A small queer community starts up, and folks move in because they know it’s safe. It’s why I asked to be assigned here even though there were openings in my home office, you know?”

  “Makes sense,” said Awais, holding the door for Maurice. “I’m not complaining. Definitely nice to ask guys out and have a pretty good chance they might be interested.”

  “Amen to that.” Maurice peered around the corner of the hallway. “Thank fuck, no packages by the desk. Probably means I’m safe to clock out, right?”

  “Well, I’d still ask Antonio if you’re good to go, but I’m guessing, yeah.” Awais shook his head. “Kid, I hate to sound a thousand years old, but work those overtime hours while you can. I’m already slowing down, and I’m not even fifty.”

  Maurice raised an eyebrow. “You’re faster than most of the kids here, A. And besides, I got a girl to show a good time tonight, so I’m out.” He clapped Awais on the shoulder and went on the hunt for the postmaster.

  Awais watched him go, chuckling. In the nearly two months he’d been there, Maurice had gone on at least three dates every week with various men, women, and others. He didn’t know when the kid slept, let alone had time for the night classes he claimed to be taking. He’d be a good social worker someday, though, if he ever finished and learned to slow down.

  He passed his scanner and keys to Kay at the registry–he’d taken them home by mistake once when he’d first started, and now he made sure that was his first stop when he finished delivering.

  “Everything go okay out there?” she asked. “I know some neighborhoods around here are pretty confusing.”

  He shrugged. “I grew up in Swanley, a long time ago, so I can usually figure it out.” He paused. “Hey, question.”

  “Yeah?” She looked up from where she was sorting gas receipts. “What’s up?”

  “Is there a good bar around these days? I’m off tomorrow and Saturday and could use a break from staying with my family.”

  Kay smiled, but there was a slight air of something wary in her eyes. “There’s the Lucky Dog, over on Tremont, if you want fancier cocktails. And there’s PJ’s over by Quincy Park if you just want a beer and to watch a game.”

  “Quincy Park? That’s right by my aunt’s house,” he said. “Thanks, Kay. You got big plans tonight?”

  She shrugged. “My son’s seeing a movie with friends, so I think it’s an early night on the couch with my husband.”

  Awais winced internally, realizing what his series of questions had sounded like. “That sounds like a good time,” he said. “Maybe there’ll be a tall, dark and handsome man waiting at the bar for me tomorrow. After hearing about Maurice’s big date tonight, I’m a little jealous.”

  Kay laughed, the wariness fading away as she realized he hadn’t been hitting on her. “Good luck in Swanley,” she said. “Small town means not a lot of single men. My sister’ll tell you all about the shortage. She says it’s almost enough to make her regret her divorce. Almost.”

  “Well, thanks for the recommendation,” he said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  *

  Retirement was a sham. Kevin couldn’t quite say he missed working full time, all the contracts and lectures at law schools and briefs and meetings, but after giving all that up he sometimes found himself at loose ends in the middle of the day. Used to be he would dive into his email and catch up on messages from community members, do some extra work on a case he’d neglected, or pick up the latest report from the state that he’d been putting off reading. Now, he sometimes had an hour when he had nothing to do.

  He glanced at his watch. He’d told Ray and Kathy he’d meet them at Masala at noon, and it was barely eleven fifteen. Still, he closed his laptop and shrugged on his overcoat, peering out the window. Janie would make fun of him for never using his weather app, but looking out the window worked fine for him, thank you. His kids were forever despairing of his technophobia, but Kevin believed there was no reason to do something complicated like pull out his phone to find an app when the thermometer outside his window worked just as well. Maybe for kids like Jacob, whose job kept him outside all day, knowing the whole day’s weather in detail was helpful. For him, not so much.

  Thinking about Jacob’s postal job reminded him suddenly of the package he’d gotten the day before, which he’d never opened. He grabbed it off the counter, tore the tape off, and pulled out a small, unlabeled brown box. Frowning, he opened it. Seeing the contents, he let out a quick huff of laughter. It was a tiny model commuter rail train, complete with a six-inch circle of track. A note from Anna, his oldest, was printed on a receipt in the bottom of the box: Hi Dad, I saw this online and knew you needed to have one. Love you, and I’m sorry I didn’t make it home for Hanukkah this year. I’ll try and fly out sometime in the spring!

  He arranged the train on its tracks on the small table inside his front door, so he’d see it first when he came home.

  The face of the mailman who’d brought the package flashed across his mind’s eye suddenly: broad smile and a neatly trimmed beard below sparkling, dark-brown eyes and heavy black brows.

  Kevin adjusted his coat, shaking his head a little. Just because it hadn’t been Doris, his brain was stuck on the interaction. Also, because he prided himself on being a smooth, not-awkward kind of guy. And he’d been tired, and it had been weird and embarrassing. He was almost sixty. Weird interactions shouldn’t make him feel that awkward.

  He made it to Masala ahead of Kathy and Ray, as expected, and got settled at the table, browsing the familiar menu as he waited. It still felt awkward to go out with couples as a single guy, fifteen years after the divorce. The four of them used to have double dates all the time. Not just with Kathy and Ray: after the kids were old enough to stay hom
e alone, he and Marianne had had half a dozen couples they’d meet up with a few times a year for lunch or dinner or drinks. Now he went out with their old friends alone while she did—whatever it was she did besides the bakery. Hung out with her employee. Talked to their kids, probably more than he did. Dated, probably, men and women. He’d seen her with the woman next door to her bakery; she was blossoming now that she’d finally shaken free of the remnants of their marriage.

  He’d always envied Marianne’s calm acceptance of herself. He’d never managed anything like it. He’d faked it well, but not well enough to fool himself.

  He thanked the waiter for pouring him water—not Charles, the son of the owner who was their usual waiter, but a man with a thick red beard he’d never seen at Masala before. Kevin watched him idly as he walked away, eyes skipping over his broad back. Marianne had so easily admitted to herself that she was attracted to women as well. At first he’d wondered if maybe that was the issue with their marriage: maybe Marianne was a lesbian, and it wasn’t his fault at all that she never seemed interested in him in the bedroom. But no, that wasn’t it, because she’d always said she was bi and it wasn’t his place to question that. It was apparently just him. He wondered if she and her neighbor Rana—if they ever worked through the crackling tension between them—would have the same problems, or if they would be more compatible in some fundamental way. Then he mentally slapped himself for letting his mind wander down that path. What his ex-wife got up to in bed was none of his business.

  Idly, he wondered who that mailman had been. He’d looked vaguely familiar, and Kevin couldn’t get those dimples out of his head.

  The waiter leaned down to pick up a tray from a low table, and Kevin blinked, peeling his eyes away from the man’s rear, its roundness accentuated by his slacks pulling tight. What was with him today? He didn’t usually drift off like this.

  He let his gaze wander. At the bar, Jo Almeida was laughing with Natasha Chanthavongsa, both of them staring at something on a phone between them. A few stools down, Bruce Oliviera and Andrea Silva leaned close together and were talking in low voices. A year ago he would have been there with them, enjoying an impromptu council meeting, but instead he was sitting alone, early for lunch, ogling a waiter.