Nesting Habits Page 6

  “When is Phil coming over?”

  “Beck,” he whined.

  “He’s your boyfriend. He should come over when you need help.”

  “I don’t need help. I’m fine.”

  “I mean in the greenhouse.”

  He looked up, and she cocked her head and made a frustrated sound. He knew she didn’t think he was a doofus, but it still stung.

  “Maybe when my face is back to normal.” He made a wet snorting sound, and almost lost it again. “Do we have any Tylenol?”

  She brought the bottle. Lee shook three out, dry-swallowed them, and held onto the bottle.

  “Why doesn’t he want to come over, Lee? Did he stop liking you?”

  Lee froze in the middle of the kitchen floor. Just the thought of that happening was like another gut shot. Given the choice between the two, he would’ve taken a handful of punches first. A few seconds later, he shuffled out and up the stairs. He closed his bedroom door before falling across his bed. He’d been close to sleep before, but Becca’s question had stirred up enough fear and angst to keep his eyes open. The past week had been so busy he hadn’t even had time to check his phone, even if he had dared talk to Phil with his face swollen and bruised. He rolled onto his side and grabbed it off the nightstand, but the battery was dead. Lee thought about getting up and charging it, but fell asleep before he could manage it.

  HE WOKE up with a cool hand on his face and someone telling him to wake up. He expected Becca, but it was Mom.

  “Was it the same dream, sweetheart?”

  “No.” Lee rolled away and tried to pretend he wasn’t soaked in sweat and hadn’t been yelling in his sleep.

  “Please don’t lie to me.”

  He flopped onto his back, careful not to bump into her, and looked up into her eyes. They were clear and green; the painkiller haze she’d been wearing for the last week seemed to be gone. The sadness that sat there instead hurt worse than the Forrester brothers’ fists.

  “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She sighed. “Are you okay?”

  Lee nodded and hoped she’d leave soon so he could take more Tylenol. He was afraid to check the clock and see how long he’d been asleep, but it must’ve been a while because his whole body felt stiff and sore.

  “Maybe you should go back to Portland.”

  Lee sat up and gave her a gentle hug. She leaned against him, so he didn’t let her go. “No, it’s okay. I’ll help with the greenhouse until your shoulder is okay.”

  “Just please don’t go back into town. Kate told me what happened. Those two aren’t likely to get out until it’s their turn to go to prison, or worse, and I don’t want you hurt anymore.” She squeezed him with her good arm, and he shuddered. “You’re nothing like your father—”

  “Mom.”

  “Lee.” She copied his whine—but without dragging his name out to two syllables—to make him smile. She pulled back to see it, while keeping her hold on him. “You would never let your family down the way he did. You’re so much stronger than that, sweetheart. You always have been.”

  He pulled her back into the hug, wishing she could use both arms.

  “The next time Lenny comes out, I’ll have him do something about the car. For now, you can use my truck.”

  Phil

  IT HAD only been a few days—okay, eight—but Phil couldn’t stop obsessing over why he hadn’t heard from Lee. He’d left two voice mails, and even though it felt desperate, he couldn’t stop himself from texting every day.

  But then on Day Eight he stopped that too.

  He’d just started a new job, for a lawyer who had specialized in personal injury since the fifties, so it promised to be a big one. His workroom in the basement was full of Bankers Boxes, and that was only the first batch. The attorney was a kind man who wanted to pass the practice on to his grandson “as cleanly as possible.” His words.

  Scan; file; shred.

  Phil listened to Tool while he worked. Since the last time he saw Lee, he’d downloaded their entire discography and also bought a dozen romance novels. A Nook was en route so he didn’t have to read on the computer. His phone was just too small and reminded him that he still hadn’t heard a peep from Lee since their make-out session in the car.

  He reached for a document, then pulled his hand back slowly, empty. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him and buried his face in the crook of his left elbow. He should’ve invited Lee inside. He had wanted to, but when he’d opened his mouth to say the words, all that came out was good night.

  PHIL HAD been up for almost forty-six hours—scan; file; shred; Dew—when his phone vibrated. He was relieved for about 2/800ths of a second but then saw it was a text from Lee and not the call he’d been hoping for.

  How’s it going?

  Phil was stunned. After being incommunicado for so long, that’s what Lee sent? He shot back with: I’m calling.

  Lee broke the text speed record with his reply. Not a good time.

  Where are you?

  Mom’s.

  I’m coming over.

  His phone rang then—the tone that said it was Lee calling—but he let it go to voicemail. Whatever was going on, he needed to see it for himself. Lee was too good a talker to resist. Given half a chance, Lee would persuade him not to come over, and then what if he never really knew what had caused Lee to stop answering his calls and texts?

  The drive went by so fast, Phil was almost surprised to find himself turning off the rural highway to get to Lee’s mom’s place. Maybe I need to pay more attention to the road.

  He’d had to argue with the GPS to find a route taking him to the little farm without having to drive through town. Parts of the road were barely one lane, but it was worth it.

  He started to get second thoughts when the house came into view, but by then, it was too late. His headlights stabbed through the darkness, announcing his arrival as soon as he turned onto the road. And he didn’t really want to turn back anyway. He stopped the car in front of the porch and left it there, not bothering to pull into the driveway or make sure he hadn’t blocked anyone in, and strode to the front door. The porch light stayed off, and the door barely opened enough to let Lee squeeze out.

  “How’s it going?” Phil grabbed for Lee, but it wasn’t easy to see him—the only light was filtered through the sheers over the front window. He got a handful of solid biceps and his mind stuttered a moment. “If you’re going to blow me off, at least d-do it and don’t drag it out. I wouldn’t blame you, I—”

  Lee cut him off with a kiss, and when Phil thought it would deepen or Lee would touch him—maybe even pull him into his arms—Lee stopped and stepped away instead.

  “I’m not blowing you off, but you should leave.”

  “Why?”

  Lee sighed and it was such an un-Lee-like sound, Phil yanked the front door open. He gasped when the light spilled out over the porch.

  “What happened to you?”

  Lee frowned and slowly closed the door.

  A sweaty hand slid into his, and Lee guided him to the porch swing. Phil had spent more than a couple of hours staring at the ceiling over his bed and thinking about that swing, about how it would feel to sit on it with Lee.

  But now that you have the chance you’re afraid?

  Lee sat, and when Phil didn’t sit beside him, sighed again and released his hand.

  “It’s nothing. Just some guy I went to school with wasn’t happy to see me back in town. I don’t live here anymore, so it’s no big deal.”

  Phil wasn’t sure how to respond. He should be hyperventilating, sweating, shaking—panicking. But he wasn’t.

  He sat on the swing, not touching Lee but close enough to feel he was there.

  “I didn’t want you to see it.”

  “Why? If it’s n-no big deal….”

  Lee wiped his palms on his jeans and the swing moved. Phil wished he could stop it but, as always, he fell a little bit short.

  “B
ecause of what happened before, when I just mentioned a black eye. I didn’t want to freak you out again.”

  Phil hugged himself and his elbow brushed against Lee’s arm. That started him shaking.

  “I know you’re not comfortable being touched, but I really want to touch you, Phil.” Lee’s voice was a little rough. He means it. “I want to make you feel good. And make it so you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

  They sat in the dark for a long time, not speaking or moving. Phil barely breathed.

  Phil leaned against Lee, just to see how it would feel. Lee’s body was warm and solid, and when Phil rested his weight there, Lee kept his hands on his own thighs. Lee was completely relaxed—a very Lee-like state of being—and after a while, Phil’s tense muscles loosened. He rested his head on Lee’s shoulder and heard a different kind of sigh as Lee’s head gently came to rest against his. Phil tried to picture how it looked—his dark brown hair mingling with Lee’s dark blond—and before he realized he’d closed his eyes, the sun was coming up.

  A commotion on the porch woke him, and for a second Phil didn’t know where he was. But then he felt the warm, solid body beside him and he knew. Phil opened his eyes. He smiled when he saw Becca leaning against the railing in front of them. Her dress was red, and her hat had a matching bandana folded like a headband and tied around it.

  “Phil, you’re back.”

  “Good morning.”

  “You two sleepyheads should go wash up for breakfast. It’s almost ready. Me and Mom cooked eggs and sausages and potatoes because there’s a lot of work to do today.”

  “Okay, Beck.” Lee yawned, and it turned into a low groan. “We’ll be right in.”

  She looked at them each in turn and then smiled and went inside.

  Lee stood and leaned against the railing where Becca had been. His face was swollen, and a few bruises were that sickly greenish-yellow color they get after a few days. His smile overshadowed all of that, even if it didn’t last long. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Phil’s heart sped up.

  “Sorry I didn’t return your calls or texts. My mom slipped and fell and hurt her back and shoulder, so I’ve been staying here and keeping up the greenhouse.”

  Phil nodded. “How is she?”

  “She’s better. But she still can’t use her right arm, so I’m here for another couple of weeks.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Lee smiled. “We have it covered, thanks. Stay for breakfast?”

  Phil stood and after a long moment, rested a hand on Lee’s forearm. He remembered what Jerry had said and went as far as he could, which was to lean against Lee enough to reach up and kiss his cheek.

  They went inside and each took a bathroom to wash up so breakfast wouldn’t get cold. Phil felt stiff and strange from being up so long and then sleeping on the swing, but after a few minutes in the downstairs bathroom, he had almost made it to human again. He draped the washcloth and towel he’d used over the side of the tub so the hamper wouldn’t get musty, and before he went back to the kitchen, he parted the curtains and looked out the window. He almost didn’t, because what if Bruce the dog was out there? But he didn’t see one living thing, not even the evening grosbeaks he’d seen last time and wanted to photograph.

  Lee’s car sat beside a chain-link fence, and when Phil saw the way it had been defaced, he got angry. His heart raced and he balled his hands into fists so tightly they shook. He barely remembered the last time he’d gotten angry—he must’ve been thirteen or fourteen. It hadn’t ended well for him, but he wasn’t that little runt anymore. He took a few deep breaths and tried to let go of the feeling, but the mirror still showed an angry face he barely recognized.

  He managed to get through breakfast without embarrassing himself, and maybe not even embarrassing Lee, but he wasn’t any less angry by the time they’d eaten. Lee walked him to the front door.

  “Can I talk to you a minute?” Phil asked, and he thought he saw Lee blanch.

  “S-sure.” Lee followed him out and closed the door without a sound. Neither said a word until they reached the edge of the gravel turnaround.

  “Now that I’ve established I’m not going to freak out, will you tell me what happened? P-please?”

  “Nothing. It’s really no big deal.”

  Phil looked into Lee’s eyes until he squirmed and looked away, but then he felt bad. It wasn’t Lee he was angry with. Lee slumped against the side of the Jeep, and Phil leaned against it beside him.

  “You’re out here?” Phil slipped his hand into Lee’s and squeezed gently.

  “Yeah. I thought it would be cool, to come out and find out I wasn’t the only one….” Lee squeezed Phil’s hand back. “Only I was the only one. The only one dumb enough to do that.”

  Phil leaned against Lee’s side and curled his free hand around that amazing bicep. “That wasn’t dumb. It was brave.”

  Lee twisted to face him and might have winced. Phil probably wouldn’t have much luck inflicting pain on whoever had hurt Lee, but he could help Lee forget about it for a minute or two. Phil squeezed Lee’s arm and then slipped his hand up across Lee’s chest and behind his neck, and he didn’t have to apply much pressure before Lee’s lips were on his. Phil buried his hand in Lee’s hair and kissed him slowly, sweetly, savoring the feel of his lips and the warmth of his body. It wasn’t long, though, before he wanted more. Phil tightened his fingers in Lee’s hair and pulled Lee closer as he opened his mouth.

  At first when Lee pulled back, Phil thought he’d done something wrong, but then he remembered where they were. Lee smiled and looked the tiniest bit embarrassed. Or maybe he just felt as giddy as Phil.

  “I’ll have to be brave more often.”

  Lee

  TWO WEEKS and three days later, Lee called Phil and didn’t even give him the chance to say hello. Finally, he was free, and he planned to take full advantage of it. On Monday, Uncle Lenny expected him to be ready for work by nine, but that left four days to do whatever he could get away with. Lee walked down the back porch steps and headed across the field toward the river.

  He would’ve ran, but he wanted to hear every word, every inflection, so he’d know how far to go. He’d hear the roadmap in Phil’s voice, even over the phone, if he paid close enough attention. “So, what do you have planned for tomorrow?”

  “N-nothing. What about you?”

  “I have something to show you.”

  “Okay. Where is it?”

  He felt an urge to smack himself upside the head but restrained himself so Phil wouldn’t have to hear it. “At the coast.”

  “Okay. We can take the Jeep. Would you mind driving?”

  “Sure. Come to Mom’s and pick me up?” He tried to remember the last time he’d done any laundry and couldn’t, so he adjusted the timing a little. “Sometime after noon?”

  “See you at five after.”

  Lee’s phone went dark and he smiled, stretching both arms above his head while he thought about what he had planned. It was getting late, but he hadn’t been down to the river in a while, and it called to him just like it had when he was a kid. Only this time, when he reached the top of the bank, he didn’t sit on the boulder and… well, and cry. He walked south along the river, watching for birds, and almost felt like he was visiting his old kindergarten classroom—everything looked a little smaller than he remembered. Every familiar landmark deepened the feeling of tenderness that made him want to go back in time and hug his younger self—tell him to hang in there because eventually he’d be okay.

  A few feet up river, he came to the tree where Uncle Lenny had tied a rope for him and Kenny to swing out and drop into the water, and a little farther he came to the place where they’d built a “log cabin” in middle school. As he walked, he felt almost like he was saying good-bye to something but wasn’t exactly sure what that would be. Maybe the river itself. It should be way deeper at this time of year—it didn’t even come halfway up the slope.

 
When his stomach rumbled, he ran back to the house. He went through the rest of the evening as usual, except for the wicked grin he wore as he baked a brownie mix he found in the pantry. They’d need fuel. Yes they would.

  Phil

  THE NEXT day Phil turned onto the Redding place at four minutes after twelve and smiled. The Redding Place. He felt like a character in an old Western and idly wondered if anyone said things like that—The Old Redding Place—in Willston. He expected Lee to come out and meet him, but when the door didn’t open, he turned off the engine and went up to the porch to knock.

  “Hey. I forgot to tell you to bring your camera.”

  Lee’s smile almost blinded him. His own grew when he thought that if he could harness the energy in that smile, he’d never need a flash again. “I have it.”

  “Of course you do. Let’s roll.” Lee chuckled and hefted a cooler. “Oh, wait, check this out.”

  Lee put the cooler down on the porch and pulled the door closed behind him. When his hand came back around it wasn’t empty. Phil was busy noticing he hadn’t flinched and his heart seemed to be beating normally, so at first he didn’t realize Lee was holding something out to him.

  The front of the brochure was dominated by one of his favorite pictures of the greenhouse, taken from the path: a taste of the folk-art circus animals framed the door, but the riot of color inside was the focal point. He shivered a little and opened the brochure—most of the shots he was most proud of were there, along with enough text to be intriguing without going into a hard sell.

  “This turned out g-great.”

  When Lee didn’t say anything, Phil looked up.

  “Heidi isn’t always antisocial. She’s a graphic artist, but it doesn’t pay the bills yet, you know?”

  Lee grabbed the cooler, and Phil thought he heard something about compensation as they went down the porch steps.