by Elle Keaton
The secretary for the English department was housed on the third floor in a cramped office barely large enough fit a large desk, a chair, and the person sitting in it. Across from which lurked an uncomfortable-looking couch. The walls were covered with notifications and reminders of both past and upcoming events. A youngish woman looked up from her typing when he peeked in the doorway.
“May I help you?” He was clearly interrupting her work, and she was not pleased, one red eyebrow raised impatiently. There was a paper taped to the back of the computer monitor: “Disturb the dragon at your own risk.”
“Seth Culver. I’m here to visit Professor Garrison? It’s a long story, but during some construction work I found some items that I think may belong to him.” Seth turned on his charm; it wasn’t often he was refused things when he really turned it on.
She looked skeptical; who wouldn’t? “I’m Jane, the one you talked to. Professor Garrison is quite elderly, but still sharp as a tack. When he found out someone had been asking about him, he was adamant I reach out.”
Seth pulled the envelope with the photo and postcards out of his bag. “I know this is a long shot,” he said, handing her the picture, “but do you think the shorter man could be him?”
Jane looked at the picture, tapping it with a multicolored fingernail. “It’s possible. He spent a lot of his youth traveling around the area. He talks about it quite a bit, and I know it informed his poetry. What else do you have?”
Seth felt protective of the postcards; after being hidden for so long, they deserved a little privacy. “Some letters, but they’re personal. I would rather give them directly to him.”
Jane scrutinized him, obviously trying to make some sort of decision. She sighed, then picked up the phone and dialed a number. With her hand covering the receiver, she asked, “Do you mind stepping into the hall for a moment?”
From the hallway he could hear her talking quietly. Instead of eavesdropping Seth wandered the length of the hallway examining various billboards, awards, and notifications. Class must have ended, because soon a flood of humanity jammed the hallways, chattering and shuffling papers, heading toward more classes or out for the day. Sunlight streamed in through large windows lining the outer wall. The clouds had given way to afternoon sunshine, and everything—flowers, trees, even the lawn—seemed to glow in the aftereffects of the earlier rain.
“Are you ready?”
Seth started; he hadn’t heard Jane come up next to him. “Uh, yeah. Where am I going?”
Jane went with him. She was Theodore Garrison’s self-appointed watchdog, and she wasn’t letting him face Seth alone. But, she said, he’d been insistent that he meet Seth and see the documents.
Theodore lived in a pleasant retirement community near Green Lake, about twenty minutes from campus. He used a walker to get around, but was by no means slow. He led Seth and Jane to a little courtyard shaded by Japanese maple and tall potted bamboo. It was pleasant. Seth wondered that a professor could afford such a nice retirement.
“May I see the photograph Jane told me about?” Theodore asked without preamble. “No point in pussyfooting around with small talk; I’m too old for that nonsense.” Jane snorted and rolled her eyes at his manners.
They sat along two benches that were positioned beside a small pond filled with koi and lilies. The colorful fish swam hopefully to the top of the water. Seth handed the entire envelope over, watching as the old man tenderly opened it, his hands trembling, and took out the contents. He thumbed gently through the postcards before stopping to stare at the photograph for a long time, tracing a thumb along Owen Penn’s face. If Seth had any doubts, they were gone. This was the Theodore they had been looking for. And not so far away from Skagit, either. He wished he’d waited for Sacha.
“He saved these?” Theodore asked no one in particular. “I stopped writing when my letters were returned with no forwarding address. Tell me how you found them?”
Seth found himself relating the story of meeting Sacha and kind of inviting himself to help with the Warrick renovations. How Sacha had found the boxes in the wall and they had both gone to Winthrop and then Wenatchee, following the trail of Owen Penn. He told him about Pearl, that she was still alive. About Owen Addison, who, it seemed, was more than a namesake to his great-uncle.
Hardest was relating what Pearl believed, that Theodore had been paid to leave Owen. That Owen had died miserable and alone. Tears rolled unchecked down the old man’s face, dripping into the intricate pattern of wrinkles formed from a long life. Jane went to his side, putting an arm around him for comfort.
When Seth finished, the three of them sat in silence for a long time. Birds chirped, bamboo rustled with the breeze, a dog barked and someone shushed it, the fish continued swimming around hoping for a treat. Seth didn’t know what to do. He sat listening to the sounds of the neighborhood and waited for Theodore to compose himself.
“I was a young fool. Pearl, bless her, isn’t far from wrong. Their father did give me money to leave Owen alone. To leave. I was so young, both in body and spirit. When I met Owen I was merely fifteen, but I told Owen I was twenty. He was so beautiful.”
His eyes were either still teary or watery; Seth was betting teary at this point. “His father accused me of seducing Owen away from God and his family. I did. At least from his family. I’d never seen anyone like him before. He was magical in form and thought. Kind beyond words. It was both soothing and the crackle of an electric storm when we were together. We finished each other’s sentences, had similar dreams. He would read poetry to me; his voice alone…” He trailed off.
“I’d forgotten about this photo. Someone from one of the Forest Service camps took it with my camera. I had worked my way west cooking and doing odd jobs in the camps. Or being a hobo. It was quite a romantic adventure for a young man.”
He waved a hand. “None of it matters now. I took the money Father Penn gave me and went back to the east coast. I’d run away, you see, and the money meant I could go home with my head held high. Why this was important, I don’t remember. Owen begged me not to go. Begged me to stay. Promised we would find a way to be together, but in the end, it was me who didn’t believe.”
The unadulterated anguish flowing from Theodore was almost too much for Seth to bear. The sorrow he felt for two men who clearly had been happy together but were torn apart by fear and expectation.
“May I keep this?” Theodore’s voice surprised Seth from his gloomy thoughts. “I don’t have much time left on this earth; it would be nice to be able to look at Owen’s face again.” He snorted, finally wiping his face. “I really have no business being upset after all these years. But I put him out of my mind, assuming that he’d married and gone on to live the life his father wanted.” Jane hugged him tightly again. Seth shrugged. There was no good reply.
“You can keep it all. There are books as well, old mysteries and a book of poetry,” Seth told him.
Because the gods hated him, or were feeling particularly mischievous, traffic was complete hell heading north that evening. Between an RV fire and several multicar collisions, traffic was backed up for miles. Seth briefly debated between sitting in traffic or stopping and having dinner. Sitting in traffic or eating first, then driving, would still get him home at the same, much later hour than he’d intended.
Plus, he didn’t feel like driving yet. All he could think about was Owen slowly killing himself with alcohol while he grieved for the boy who had left him. By the time Theodore moved back to the west coast, Owen had been dead for twenty years, and Theodore had been afraid to look for him anyway. Afraid he would find him married to a woman, surrounded by a happy family. Theodore himself never married, using his students instead as proxy family, Jane the most recent and the last.
She’d tearfully embraced Seth when he dropped her back at campus. He left her one of his brochures with his phone number and email before leaving.
Thirty-Three
Seth: the following June
&nb
sp; The two of them lay on their backs with sleeping bags as a cushion, under the starry June night sky. They’d driven Sacha’s huge truck off the highway onto a Forest Service road to make their own campground. Seth was planning some outdoor man-sex; they did not need an audience.
Sacha didn’t need an audience; Seth wasn’t opposed.
Seth couldn’t believe Sacha had never been camping for fun before. Sure, he’d slept in the rough when he was in basic training, but he’d never built a campfire for s’mores or spent hours making the perfect tarp enclosure. There really had been no need for tarps, as the chance of rain was zero, but Seth crafted one anyway, getting a lot of unsolicited advice from Sacha. If it did rain, they were prepared.
“This is nice,” Sacha said, making it clear he was surprised.
Seth chuckled, rolling so he could put his head on Sacha’s chest. “It is nice. Thank you for coming.”
There was a quiet snort. “Somebody needs to keep their eye on you. I nominate myself.”
Seth didn’t bother pretending to be put off. “I think my days of picking up strange men and bringing them home are over.”
“Damn right.”
“Speaking of change, you didn’t swear once around Pearl.”
The wedding had been the day before, and true to his word, Owen Penn had escorted his great-aunt.
“I can actually control myself. Besides, I like her.”
“Me too.” Seth took a deep breath. “I wish it had turned out differently for Owen and Theodore.”
“Yeah. It turned out differently for us, though.”
“Mmm.”
“I never thought I could be happy. I certainly never thought I’d meet… some weirdo who would end up being everything I didn’t think I could have.”
Seth reached up to pinch Sacha’s nipple. “Nice.”
“Gimme a fucking break,” Sacha groused, wrapping his arms around Seth and holding him tight, “I’ve lived my whole life with my head down.” Seth started to protest. Sacha squeezed him hard enough to make him squeak. “Then you showed up. You didn’t let me scare you off or intimidate you or—” He broke off, considering his words. “You found a part of me that I’d hidden for so long I’d forgotten it existed. You reminded me I didn’t simply have to survive; I could live.” He felt a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m saddened life didn’t end better for Owen and Theodore too, but… but maybe we can work together on living a better life out of respect for theirs? Does that make sense? Being free to lie here holding you in my arms, it’s a gift. Fuck, I am shit with words.”
“I think we’re doing pretty good.”
They were. In April they had officially moved in together. The caveat being that Sacha had wanted to move into a new place. Luck shone on them, and they found a little bungalow not far from Adam and Micah’s. They’d signed the rental papers and moved in a week later. Seth didn’t care about the house; the yard was a canvas waiting for him to build it into a masterpiece. And he would.
Sacha had opened the Warrick Studios to much acclaim and already had a waiting list of small business owners, artists, and other creative types who needed only a small amount of office space. Or only needed it a few times a month.
The Warrick was gorgeous now that it was finished. Sparkling white granite façade; floor-to-ceiling windows on the main floor that flooded the interior with natural light, making the hardwoods shine. Sacha had found an antique bannister and retrofitted it for the staircase. Seth surprised him with an ancient safe they placed under the stairs. Sacha took the door off and used the two shelves to display the dime-store novels they’d found in the wall so many months before.
“Our memorial to Owen,” Sacha commented. Jane had emailed Seth in March, informing him that Theodore Garrison had passed away in his sleep. Seth hoped Theodore found Owen waiting for him; they deserved some kind of cosmic happiness. She returned the book of poetry, saying Theodore had wanted Seth to have it. With reverence and sadness, Seth placed the small volume in the safe along with the garish penny-dreadfuls Owen had collected. A final resting place of sorts.
Thirty-Four
Sacha
Sacha stared up at the brilliant night sky, Seth quiet in his arms. A shooting star flashed across, followed by a second a moment later. He smiled. Wrapping a hand around the back of Seth’s neck, he pulled him in for a possessive kiss. Seth met him equally, lips open, wet and hot against each other, tongues tangling.
Touching like this under the stars was fucking amazing. Pushing harder, he rolled on top of Seth, reveling in the responsiveness of Seth’s strong body beneath his own, still unable to believe it was his to touch, caress, love.
Grinding his hips down, he thrust his erection against Seth. Both of them were wet, their cocks sliding easily against each other. Seth set everything off inside him, skin against skin, more than he’d ever dreamed of.
Because he couldn’t wait, Sacha reached between their bodies, grasping both of their cocks in his hand. Seth moaned against his mouth, rutting harder, fucking into Sacha’s hand and against his cock. He bit, mostly gently, at the base of Seth’s neck, having quickly learned that spot was a landmine of sensation for his lover. Sure enough, Seth’s hands, which had been at Sacha’s shoulders, moved down to grip Sacha’s ass, while his legs splayed wide, allowing Sacha more freedom to move his hips and his hand.
“Fucking fuck,” Seth moaned as he came, the warm liquid spilling into Sacha’s hand, onto Seth’s abdomen. Slick and heat had Sacha losing what restraint he harbored. Quietly, he came too, groaning against Seth’s ear, shaking to his core with the intensity of his orgasm.
“I love you, Seth Culver.” If there was one thing in his life he was sure of, as sure as the sun rose every morning, he was sure of his love for Seth. It buoyed him up and carried him through each day.
He rolled onto his back, lumpy ground and rocks be damned. Seth followed, twining around him like a vine. The stars shone down, their brilliance breathtaking.
“I love you too,” Seth whispered back.
THE END
Postscript dedication:
As Sure as the Sun is dedicated in part to my great-great-uncle Owen. While he did not live exactly the life described here, he lived a great deal of it. Upon my grandmother’s death in 2001 (she would have been Pearl’s age), I found letters between her grandfather (Big Daddy) and her husband about Owen. Big Daddy was at wits’ end with his son by the end of the 1920s. He forced Owen to marry, and Owen had one son, but eventually the marriage fell apart after he continually lost jobs due to “drink and carousing,” and Big Daddy committed Owen into a sanitarium. Owen died alone, sometime in the 1940s. My grandmother loved him dearly and always referred to him with great affection. A woman before her time, she didn’t care that he was gay; she only remembered that he was a kind and generous soul. I want Owen to have had a better/happier life, and since I couldn’t make that happen, As Sure as the Sun was born.
EK
Extra Content:
Spoiler/content alert: This extra scene begins after Spring Break and ends the next spring during Buck and Joey’s wedding. I debated including this, but in the end decided readers would like to know Miguel a little better… and we’ve all made choices we regret.
Miguel wondered where he had gone wrong. He’d been waiting three years for the other shoe to drop and only recently had managed to force the underlying worry out of his mind. Looking back over the past few days, even weeks, he couldn’t think of anything specific that Buck would need to talk to him about. What had he fucked up now?
Nervously rubbing the scar along his palm, he paced the tiny office where Buck kept the shop records and gently informed customers that their beloved vehicle was bound for the scrap heap. Kevin peeked in. “You want lunch? Dom’s ordering from that new Thai place.” His cheeks held a faint blush. Miguel mentally rolled his eyes; the kid was cute, but even he had some standards, and taking advantage of a little crush was, well, against them. Kevin looked over his shoulder. �
��Oh, hey, Buck, sorry.” Kevin moved out of the doorway to be replaced by Buck.
Buck was Miguel’s best friend. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Buck had, quite literally, saved Miguel’s life. He owed Buck everything. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. Maybe he could explain.
If he knew what it was.
“Walk with me?” Buck was a quirky guy. When he wanted to talk, he always asked Miguel to walk with him. Maybe he’d been imagining things? Fuck, he hoped everything was okay with Joey. Joey was the light of Buck’s life; if he had done something… but they lived in the same house, and Miguel hadn’t heard any fighting or raised voices when Joey was over.
Taking a right out of the small graveled parking lot, they headed toward a tiny city park tucked in between an industrial complex and a couple fast-food joints. The park was as old as the city, and aside from the rose garden on Old Charter it had the biggest display of specialty roses in the area. Miguel thought it was funny that the park had been surrounded by a small industrial neighborhood. It was kind of a secret that locals knew about.
Buck broke the silence as they stepped from the hot dirty sidewalk to the grounds of the park. “You know you are my best friend?” Buck looked sideways at Miguel, so he nodded. “Okay, I, uh,” Buck’s voice broke and he stopped speaking.
Miguel took a good long look at his friend. Buck’s skin had a weird pallor to it; he was also sweating. “Are you feeling okay? I think maybe you need to sit down.” Grabbing Buck’s enormous biceps, he tried steering him to a nearby bench. Buck resisted the attempt.
“I’mgonnaskjoeytomarryme.”
“What? Slow down and say what again?” Miguel was pretty sure he had understood but needed to be perfectly clear.
