Chapter 4 – Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I stayed in bed the next morning through meditation or yoga or whatever I normally would have attended. I was too groggy, having ingested a bottle of wine and most of a bottle of vodka. I made a note to myself and stuck it on the refrigerator. "Address alcohol consumption. At some point. But not now."

I grabbed the coffee waiting for me and headed to the screened porch. I was under a throw and reading the Times before I checked my texts. There was one from Luke at 5:02 a.m.: "I will."

I decided to throw caution to the wind. I answered "I have a pool."

"I know. I saw it."

"I didn't know. It was dark."

"Not in the morning."

"True."

I re-filled my coffee and stared at my phone, waiting for a text or the little bubbles that suggested a text was coming. Nothing.

I laughed at myself. I had gone from ogling a stranger in an airport to hanging on his next syllable. I barely knew him, yet I couldn't stop thinking about him.

I checked my phone again. Nothing.

I dressed to go running, my phone hermetically sealed into my right hand as I did. Nothing.

I headed out on my run. As I had started doing when Jess died, I took my phone, just in case. I checked it during the run. Nothing.

I returned, soaked in sweat and vexed by Luke's silence. I put my phone down, stripped to my jock, and dove into the pool. I swam laps, my anxiety and uncertainty propelling me back and forth, back and forth.

When I was physically exhausted, I floated on my back. I wanted, I needed, to check my phone. But, I was too wary, fretful I'd find nothing and be wounded by it.

I was pickled by the time I made my way to the edge of the pool. All I had to do was pick up my phone and look, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I stared at the phone, and it stared back. It held both disappointment and promise. I finally forced myself to look. Nothing. Cussword (Jess thought profanity base, so she had cured me of it. Now, instead of "fuck" or "goddammit," I simply said "cussword").

I scrambled from the pool and headed inside. I put my phone on the charger, wrapped myself in my robe, and went to my office to work on my flow chart and my cases. When I was satisfied I had done enough for the day, I moved to the day bed under the window. I ran my right hand through my chest hair and down the trail that ran from the middle of my chest through my navel and into my shorts. I fell asleep with my hand inside the waistband, my fingertips resting in my unkempt pubic hair.

I was disoriented when I awoke. I did not know where I was or why. I had to shake my head to get my bearings. I felt like a dog, fresh from a bath or a swim.

I stretched and stood up. I looked down at my size thirteen feet. They looked like flippers. "No wonder I'm a good swimmer," I thought to myself.

I trudged down to the kitchen to start to get my daily drunk on. I peeked at my phone. Nothing. I felt an instant and unreasonable rage, so I opened the door and fired my phone into the pool. I felt like a fool when I realized what I had done, but it was too late. My phone was drowning.

I piddled the afternoon away. I grilled a pork chop for dinner. I ate it with asparagus and broccoli and a non-descript bottle of red. I finished the wine while I read "Becoming A Man" on the porch.

I fell asleep on the porch. When I awoke, I was too happy to move. I grabbed a throw, covered myself, and drifted back away.

I dreamed of Jess. In my dream, we were on a roller coaster, looking at each other and holding hands just before the first big plunge. Fear pierced her smile, and her side of the car plunged while mine stayed still. I tried to hold onto her hand, but could not. I awoke when I saw there was no track and her side of the car was falling to earth.

It was morning. I was soaked with sweat. My book had fallen to the floor of the porch, randomly creasing the pages.

Instinctively, I reached for my phone, before remembering it was at the bottom of the pool. I stood, stretched, and walked through the house in search of my iPad. When I found it, there was nothing from Luke. I was disappointed, but not so disappointed that I drowned my iPad, too. Instead, I went to yoga, searching for peace and — possibly — Alex. I found neither.

Back home, I fished my phone from the pool and dressed to take it in and get it replaced. Before I left, I checked my iPad again. Nothing.

At the Apple Store, I got the newest iPhone and re-established my account. As soon as I did, I saw that I had a voicemail from Luke and later a text. The text asked, "Get my msg?" I had not, as my phone was drowned by the time he left it. I also didn't get his text on my iPad, which meant either he did not have an iPhone or had not installed iMessage.

I walked outside to listen to the voicemail. Luke's voice sounded plaintive. "Sir, uh, James, if ain't too much to ask, can you come pick me up? Things ain't so good here."

I texted Luke back. "Sorry. Dropped phone in pool. Just got ur msg and ur text. Will be there ASAP."

He responded immediately. "Thx. Was worried I was asking to much."

"Not too much at all," I corrected, unable to stop myself. Years of Catholic school and diagramming sentences had turned me into a grammarian. Of course, I didn't know exactly what he was asking, but I was excited to see him again.

He and his bags were on the porch when I pulled up. I popped the trunk as he hurried to the car. He carelessly tossed his bags in the trunk and slid into the passenger seat.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey."

"What's going on?"

"They want me out. They don't believe I met you at the airport and that you're just a good person who thought I might need help. They think you're a queer. Heck, they probably think we did queer stuff together. Anyway, they told me I ain't changed, and I need to leave their house."

"Do you want me to go talk to them?"

"Nah. They won't listen to me. They sure won't listen to you."

"Did you tell them I was married? That my wife died? That I waited with you only because they weren't there to get you, like they should have been?"

"I told them all that. They didn't hear it, though. They were too busy prayin' for me and wailin' about abominations and queer hell."

Shaking my head that people allowed ignorance to destroy their families, I put the car in reverse and backed out of the gravel drive. "Where to?" I asked, not wanting to be presumptuous or assume that what appeared to be true was, in fact, true and that Luke had no one and no where.

"Well, that's the thing," Luke said. "I don't got nowhere to be or nowhere to go. I have a flight on the 21st. Until then, I'm stuck."

It was only the 16th, which meant there were more than a couple of days to fill. "I'll unstick you," I offered. "You are welcome to stay at my house."

"Thank you, Sir. I was hopin' it wasn't too much to ask."

"It's not. But, there is a condition. You can stay, but only if you stop calling me Sir. I'm James, Jam, or Jammer."

"Not Jimmy?"

"No, not Jimmy. Like I said, that was only for Jess."

I was unreasonably elated as we drove. Not because I thought I might seduce Luke in the days he'd be staying with me, although that thought did flit through my head and then got lodged there. But, because, for the first time in a long time, I'd be hanging out with someone who saw me other than as incomplete without Jess, who knew me only as me, not as Jess's husband or as her widower.

I explained my routine as we drove. I gave Luke permission to treat the house as his own. I also told him he could use Jess's Prius, if he wanted. He causally responded he had nowhere to go, but thanked me for trusting him to drive her car.

"I want you to feel at home," I offered.

Luke sat there before trotting out the hint of a sense of humor. "I hope I'm more welcome than that."

When I looked at him, he was grinning ear to ear, like he had been when I first noticed him but not since. Without thinking, I winked at him. To my suprise, he winked back.