Astounding! (19 page)

They sat in the restaurant for a long time, sharing desserts and then nursing drinks. By the time they left, the young families had all gone home and the decibel level became more bearable. Keith still occasionally eyed a stack of high chairs.

Eventually they strolled back across the nearly empty parking lot. Carter wondered what it was like to live in this town. What did people do for a living? Was it cheaper than Seattle? Could a guy find magic and happiness if he looked hard enough? Or would it be better to stay on the road? The freeway was very close. He couldn’t quite see it past the buildings, but he could hear the traffic speeding by, tires whirring on asphalt and engines laboring. A guy could keep moving his whole life, drifting from place to place, scratching out a living somehow. Maybe that wasn’t a bad fate. Carter hadn’t seen much of the world.

Back at the motel, they rode the elevator together but separated when they reached their rooms. “Good night,” Keith said. “Keep the volume down.” And he winked at them.

They weren’t noisy, though. They undressed quietly and slid into bed—it was a lot more comfortable than the one in the RV. They scooched up close but didn’t have sex of either the human or extraterrestrial variety. They didn’t fall asleep either. Carter wasn’t especially tired, and John seemed content to play with Carter’s chest hair.

“You could tell them you want to stay,” Carter said into the darkness. “If you want to, I mean. Or maybe you don’t.”

“I do want to. I want
you
. But they won’t let me.”

“Why not?”

John’s sigh tickled Carter’s chest. “None of you are supposed to know what I am. You’re not supposed to know my people exist. If I tell them I’ve changed my mind because I’ve met you… they wouldn’t be happy.”

Pissed-off aliens. Great. Carter wondered if they were as scary as bill collectors or temperamental authors.

“I wish I’d never made you publish that story,” John said with another sigh.

“But if you hadn’t been so persistent about it, we’d never have met. And that would have been awful, John. Worse than anything.”

Even in the dark room, Carter could see John’s face when he raised his head. “Really? What if I’ve ruined everything for you?”

Carter sat up so he could scowl more effectively. “What the hell do you think you’ve ruined? My life was shit long before we met. I was poor. The mag was dying. I drank way too much, I was lonely, and I was fucking miserable.”

John sat too, and he rolled the edge of the blanket between his fingers. He hadn’t gelled his hair after their shower, and now the honey-colored waves hung down, obscuring his face. Carter tucked a lock behind John’s ear, but it immediately fell free.

“That thing that happened tonight. In the bathtub. I really don’t think I caused it, Carter. And if it was you….”

“I don’t care who it was. It was a marvel. A genuine goddamned miracle.”

After a long moment, John turned his head slightly toward Carter. “All right.”

He didn’t say anything else for a long time, but he was obviously thinking about something, so Carter kept his trap shut. The bathtub thing was a mystery, but Carter was in no mood to question it.

Moving slowly, John pushed the covers aside and got out of bed. He padded across the room, giving Carter a fine view of his broad back and magnificent ass. When John reached his duffel bag, he picked it up and carried it to the bed. He rummaged in a pocket before pulling out a set of keys.

“This is my house key. And my car keys.”

“Okay,” Carter said uneasily.

“The car’s mine, of course, and my rent’s paid through the end of the year. I always pay the full year up front. Less complicated. Inside the drawers of my desk are several boxes full of cash. Over eighty thousand dollars.”

“John—”

“I have more in bank accounts and investments, and there’s a safe deposit box… I don’t know how to give you access to those. But I suppose some of my furniture and things are worth a little money. They’re vintage.” He grinned weakly.

“John, please—”

John held up a hand to stop him. “Take them. Take it all. Please? Because if you don’t, I guess it’ll just go to the government or something, and I really want to do this for you. It will make me happy when I’m gone, thinking of you. Knowing I’ve helped you a little.”

Maybe Carter should have put up a fight. But John was right—if he disappeared, his belongings would default to the city or the state, and Carter needed them a lot more than Oregon did. Besides, John looked so sincere as he held out his keys like a child offering a gift. Carter could not disappoint him.

“All right,” Carter said. “Thank you.”

John grinned hugely. “I’m going to call my landlady right now and tell her you have my permission to live there.”

Carter took the keys and tucked them back into the bag. “Sure. Use my phone—I think the hotel will probably charge you if you use theirs.” He waved toward the desk.

John trotted over and picked up the phone, which was plugged into the wall. But when he tried to use it, he frowned and looked over at Carter. “I can’t turn it on. You’d better do it. I don’t want to break it.”

So Carter got out of bed and took the phone from John. But the screen remained stubbornly blank no matter what he did. The phone had been dead when they arrived at the motel, but that was no surprise since Carter hadn’t charged it since Seattle. He hadn’t needed to. Now he checked the cord, but couldn’t find anything obviously wrong with it.

“I ruined your phone too,” John said mournfully.

“You did not. You barely touched it. It’s a piece of crap anyway. The battery’s probably given up the ghost.” He unplugged it, frowned, and tossed the whole useless mess in his suitcase, which lay open nearby. “Use the landline, I guess.”

John shrugged and started to dial. While he conversed with his landlady—who was evidently a night owl—Carter moved the duffel bag off the mattress and climbed under the blankets. He watched John, trying to memorize the lines of his long legs, the way he moved his free hand as he talked on the phone, the small movements of his muscles as he stood.

It was a short phone call. John hung up and smiled at Carter. “She says it’s fine. She’s a nice lady. She’s owned the place for a while. I think lately she’s begun to notice that I’m not aging.”

“Could you age? If you wanted to, I mean.”

“Sure. But it hasn’t seemed worth the effort.” He returned to the bed and snuggled up against Carter. “If I could stay here, I’d want to age with you.”

That was a sweet thought. Carter kissed the top of his head. He’d never entertained the idea of growing old with someone. He had pictured himself growing increasingly grizzled, still stuck in a crappy apartment that had become choked with too many books and magazines. He’d be one of those weird old men with the beard, the belly, and the scraggly clothes, who sat in cafes all day and glared at the world. Maybe he’d still end up being that guy. But at least he’d have some terrific memories of his fling with his alien lover.

B
Y
THE
middle of the next morning, the repair shop had informed them that the RV computer was fried. They would get the parts the next day, but it would take them at least another day beyond that to get the thing running again. Also by midmorning, it was clear that the local sources of amusement were limited, especially for those without transportation.

But John and Carter had a nice long run past the orchards and dairies that began near the motel. Keith walked over to some of the neighboring stores—most notably the Target and the BevMo!—and returned with a video game console, a bagful of games, and a selection of imported beers. Freddy was content with a visit to Starbucks and then time with his laptop. Judging by the speed of his typing, he was busily slaughtering his characters.

It ended up being a pleasant, lazy day. Most of the time, they kept the door open between their rooms. John and Carter watched old movies on TV until their remote control broke, at which point they turned the set off and played cards instead. Everyone had burgers for lunch; then Carter and John took a late-afternoon run, this time through subdivisions of beige stucco houses. Dinner was sushi at the Japanese place across the street. And when they closed off their respective rooms and went to bed, Carter and John made love. It was like their interlude in the shower, only better—John’s cock entering Carter’s body, Carter’s consciousness entering John. By the time they climaxed and then collapsed, sweaty and panting, neither of them cared how they’d managed it.

Carter slept deeply and very well.

He woke up before dawn, but already he could hear traffic on the freeway. John was still asleep, still pressed up close as if trying to crawl into Carter’s skin. His body temperature was very warm, but Carter didn’t think he had a fever. He wasn’t sweating and his breathing was even. Sometimes he just ran hot. That would be nice on a cold winter night. Who needed down comforters or flannel sheets when you had your own personal energy being?

It had never occurred to Carter to wonder whether John dreamed. If so, did he dream of human things or alien? And when he was in his natural form, did he sleep at all? Did he have a home of some kind? How did he spend his time?

God, so many things still to learn about the amazing creature who shared his bed! And so pitifully little time left to learn them.

Maybe no time at all.

T
HAT
DAY
passed much like the previous one, the main difference being the places they ate. This time they did Hawaiian for lunch and barbecue for dinner. Keith bought more beer. When Keith discovered that a rerun from the previous season of the
Stonesfire Saga
was on, he, John, and Carter watched TV in Keith and Freddy’s room. But even though John sat as far away from the electronics as possible, the signal kept fading in and out. Keith finally shut it off in disgust.

“Just as well,” Freddy said from the desk, where he was typing away. “That was the episode where we learn that the general is gay. Keith hates that episode.”

“No, I don’t. I hate the
next
one, when he gets murdered. ’Cause here we have this interesting, powerful character who’s queer—and that actor is damn hot too—but next thing we know, someone’s slitting his throat. I think it’s clichéd and biased to kill off the gay guy. Why can’t he have a happy ending?”

“Honey, nobody has a happy ending in this series. Well, almost nobody.” Freddy cackled gleefully.

Keith rolled his eyes. “He won’t even tell me, the light of his life and the sparkle in his eye, what happens. The producers made him outline the final books in case he croaks before he finishes writing, but his lawyer has those outlines locked away in a safe or something. It’s all very James Bond.”

“I like happy endings,” John said mournfully.

Carter used to think happy endings were trite and banal. They belonged in fairy tales and romance novels, where silly children and overlooked housewives could feed their fantasies with literary whipped cream and sprinkles. But lately—very lately—he’d begun to think otherwise. Conflict and tension were all well and good, and you couldn’t have a good story without them. But at the end of the day, when the last page was turned, was there anything so awful about letting the characters have some joy together?

That night, he and John again made love. Entering John was easy now, and their lovemaking was even better than it had been the day before. When they climaxed in unison, Carter knew exactly how a star feels when it goes supernova. The only difference was that when a star went supernova, it released all its energy. But Carter felt wide-awake after coming, his skin still tingling with aftershocks. So he lay in bed and watched John sleep, which was more diverting than he would have imagined. Asleep, John was beautiful and youthful, his lips slightly parted and the skin of his eyelids as delicate as rice paper. Sometimes he twitched slightly or flexed a hand. Sometimes he let out a long, soft sigh.

T
HEY
BOTH
woke before the sun rose. They dressed in their running gear and slipped out of the motel. Although the temperature was still low, Carter wasn’t cold. And he’d heat up as soon as he began to run.

He let John lead the way out of the parking lot and down the street, under the freeway overpass where morning commuters already hurried to work, past a few restaurants and other businesses, and out among the farms. They ran by orchards with the trees in neat rows, the boughs hanging with what might be some kind of nuts. There were a few small vineyards and some fields of young corn. They passed a lot of cows, who watched them with interest, as well as several horses and a few goats. Dogs barked from behind fences. The farmhouses were modest stucco or wood structures, usually with an assortment of pickups and old cars nearby. Small weeds grew at the roadside, and magpies and jays squawked from tree branches.

Carter and John ran fast, and God, it felt good. It was hard to believe that not so long ago, Carter was trudging up a few flights of stairs, gasping and wheezing. Now, with John at his side, he flew. His muscles worked smoothly, and his heart and lungs kept a steady rhythm. He felt as if he could run all day. A part of him was tempted to do just that—just keep going, him and John, leaving all their troubles far behind. Ah, but trouble had a way of catching up.

Back at the motel, they showered. Without sex, although not without a certain amount of naughty touching, because all that bare skin was
there
and so needed to be stroked. Afterward they dressed.