Astounding! (8 page)

“Well,” Carter said, sliding his mug away, “I do have work. I have a final magazine to get out.” He stood and pushed his chair in.

John trailed him into the living room, where Carter picked up the manila envelope he’d left on the table the day before. He waved the envelope slightly. “Is this the story you want me to print?”

John’s answering smile was wide and beautiful. “You really do intend to print it.”

“I said I would.” Carter sighed. “Would’ve even if we hadn’t had sex.”

“I know. I trust you, Carter. I still just…. It’s hard to believe you’d do this for me. It’s hard to believe you drove all the way here just to talk to me, and you didn’t run away after I told you what I am.”

“I’m glad I came here. And not just because of the sex. You’re a good guy, John. You didn’t deserve that toxic letter I sent. And I still don’t buy that you’re from another planet, but if publishing the story means so much to you, I guess it’s something I can do. At least I know I’ll have one happy reader.”

They walked to the front door and John opened it, but Carter didn’t leave right away. Although he needed to get home, he found himself hesitant to leave. Besides, he wasn’t sure what to say.
Well, so long
didn’t seem to cover it.

Luckily John saved him from fatal indecision by cupping a large hand along Carter’s jaw. “I want you to know something. I don’t… I don’t do this often.”

“This?” asked Carter, even though he was fairly certain he knew what John meant.

“Spend time with someone. Have sex.”

“Ah. Well, I tend toward the hermity myself.”

John nodded. “But I wanted…. You’re special. I know you don’t believe me, but I can see things about people. Their true selves. Do you know what I mean?”

“Are you going to tell me I’m a werewolf, like the guy at the coffee place?”

“No,” John replied, chuckling. “You’re definitely human. What I see is that you’re soft.”

Carter glanced wryly down at his own midsection. “Doesn’t take alien eyes to see that, John.”

“No! I mean you tell yourself that you’re hardened and cynical. But you’re not. You’re somebody who dreams. You want to love and be loved, and you want to make the world better. You’re
good
, Carter.” John gave a small, sad smile. “It’s too bad you don’t believe in yourself any more than you believe in me.”

Carter’s throat felt thick and his eyes prickled. Dammit. He wasn’t an emotional man, and he didn’t want to be drawn in by the kind words of a sweet madman. “Gotta go,” he growled.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave on that note, so he leaned in and kissed John. Who didn’t taste like coffee, although he’d just been drinking it, but instead like eucalyptus and pine.

Carter drew away after a minute or so. “I really hope you get what you need,” he said.

“I’m wishing the same for you.”

Envelope clutched in his hand, Carter strode stiffly to his waiting Toyota, took a deep breath before turning the key in the ignition, and snuck a glance in the rearview mirror at John’s receding house.

D
URING
THE
entire drive home—and afterward, while Carter puttered
around his apartment and then edited a story—he could taste John on his tongue. Could feel him too—his plush lips, muscular body, corn silk hair. Carter should have been distracted, and yet he was oddly energized. He accomplished more during that one afternoon than he usually did in days. And he didn’t touch the booze in his cupboard.

After a night on John’s bed, his futon felt harder and more unforgiving than ever. But he woke up the next morning with that sense of purpose and focus still clear in his head. Instead of glowering over coffee and pastries at Perk Up, he opted for a scrambled egg and glass of water, then a morning run. He used to jog all the time but had given it up. This run was short, and he returned to his building with his face flushed, his lungs burning, and his muscles feeling like jelly. Nonetheless, he took the stairs instead of the elevator, and when he ran into a startled Mrs. Thurman in the fourth-floor corridor, he wheezed a cheery hello.

While in the shower, Carter solved a sticky editing issue concerning one of the stories
and
mentally composed a Note from the Editor that was only slightly bitter and despairing.

But it wasn’t until he sat down at his computer and booted it up that the epiphany hit him. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. He sat in stunned silence for a while, until the need to share overcame him. He picked up his phone and dialed Freddy.

“No,” said Freddy as soon as he answered.

“I’m not calling to ask you for another story. Or a loan.”

“I know you’re not. If you were asking for those things, I’d say yes. You’re calling with some lame-ass excuse about why you can’t go on vacation with us, and
I
am rejecting your excuse even before I hear it.”

“Actually, I was calling to say I’d love to go, as long as you wait until I get this issue out.”

A speechless Freddy was a rare thing. Carter smiled in triumph.

Finally Freddy said, “Really? This isn’t some kind of passive-aggressive stunt where you’re going to pull out at the last second?”

“No pulling out, I promise. I’m going to go. I
want
to go.”

Freddy snorted. “Why the change of heart? Wait. You haven’t been replaced by an extraterrestrial plant, have you? Are you a pod person, Carter?”

The topic of extraterrestrials hit a little too close to home, and Carter winced. But he kept his voice upbeat because he truly was excited about the proposed trip. “I am the genuine article. You can test my DNA if you want. I just…. Look. In a couple of months, I’m gonna be screwed no matter what. And I haven’t been anywhere in a long time.” Except an overnight visit to Portland, which he didn’t mention. “So I figure I can hang out with you guys, have a little fun, and maybe I’ll get my act together. Maybe I’ll figure out what to do next.” That had been his epiphany—he had nothing to lose, so why not go for it? The last time he’d given in to impulse had been in John’s hallway, and that had turned out well enough.

“I’m really glad to hear this,” Freddy said. “It’s what you need. Get out of that shitty apartment and get some perspective. Besides, maybe Keith and I can help you plan your next move.”

“Sure,” said Carter, although he didn’t know whether he liked the idea. Advice was fine, but a couple of guys who lived in a house with ocean-view terraces and a goddamn infinity pool might not have the faintest clue what someone like Carter could do. Yeah, Freddy had once been as miserably poor as Carter was now, but that was a long time ago. And Freddy never had to see his dreams die.

“So. Three weeks?” Freddy asked. “Will you be ready then?”

Carter did a quick calculation in his head. “Yeah, that ought to do it. Where will we go?”

“Dunno. You pick. Keith and I aren’t on any kind of timeline. I can write anywhere. You decide what you want to see first.”

“Okay. And Freddy? Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being a good friend.”

After a brief pause, Freddy chuckled. “Jesus. Now I’m really beginning to think you’re a pod person. Get to work. We’ll see you soon.”

Carter hung up the phone and then did exactly what Freddy had ordered. He found his place in the onscreen manuscript and got back to work.

C
ARTER
GOT
through the first round of edits on all the stories except one. Usually he sent the stories out to contract editors for a second or even third round, but that wasn’t going to happen this time because he had no way to pay them. Luckily all the manuscripts had come in very clean, and he just had to hope he’d done well enough. He didn’t want the final issue of
Astounding!
to suck, and he truly wanted to do justice to some fine authors.

But as he waited for those authors to respond to his edits—hoping none of them would throw tantrums over his comma insertions or passive voice corrections—the final story loomed over him. John’s, of course. And not only was Carter going to have to do hard-copy edits, which he hated, but he also knew that all the red ink in the world couldn’t improve “The Vynsmak of Hoolaty.”

Carter remembered violet eyes and the smell of lavender, and he figured he’d do the best he could.

In the end, he didn’t actually mark up the text very much. From a technical standpoint, the story was a gem. None of the participles dangled and all the modifiers were neatly in their proper places. Semicolons, em dashes, and apostrophes all knew their roles. But the descriptions were flat and the plot held about as much excitement and tension as an Ikea manual. Aside from proper grammar and punctuation, the only thing the tale really had going for it was a strangely sympathetic protagonist—the Vynsmak, of course—who just wanted to go home.

Things went very quickly after that, and Carter got almost no sleep for the next couple of weeks. The art came in for the cover, and the edits came back from the authors. He’d mailed John his story without attaching a personal note, because he didn’t know what to say. John returned the revised manuscript Express Mail, and Carter typed it into the computer. He shelled out some of his last money to proofreaders while he fiddled with his production software. Eventually everything was ready except his editor’s note, which he’d already composed in his head.

Thank you for joining us on this adventure
, he wrote
. Thank you for reading. I wish you every happiness, and may all your journeys be good ones
.

He felt hollowed out when he sent it off for printing.

The next day he sorted through his belongings. He didn’t have much to show for three and a half decades of life. A lot of books and magazines. A dying desktop computer and a decent laptop. Cheap and fairly dowdy clothes, which fit poorly now that he’d been eating properly and exercising daily. Crappy kitchenware, crappy linens, crappy furniture. His phone, and a bewildering collection of chargers. Office supplies. A single photo album containing snapshots from his teens and early twenties. If he never returned from his trip with Freddy and Keith, or if his landlord seized all his belongings before chucking him onto the street, the only things Carter would mourn were the books and photos.

He went for an evening run, showered, and walked to Perk Up, where Cami greeted him warmly.

“I thought you worked mornings,” he said.

“I’m picking up some extra shifts. My girlfriend proposed to me and I want a bigass wedding.”

“Congratulations!” He stuffed a twenty he couldn’t afford into the tip jar and winked at her. “Can I have a bigass coffee?”

“Done.” She unearthed an enormous ceramic mug and filled it to the brim, glanced around quickly, and pulled a cookie from the bakery case. She held it out to him. “Lavender shortbread. Try it. It’ll rock your world.”

Naturally, the cookie reminded him of John. Carter nibbled slowly while sitting at his usual table, surfing the Web on his laptop.

Where did he want to go?

When he was growing up, his family had gone on a few road trips, probably more out of a sense of obligation and thriftiness on his parents’ part than a desire for togetherness and adventure. Twice they’d driven to eastern Washington to visit his mother’s parents, once they’d headed north to British Columbia, and once south to some godawful motel on the Oregon coast. None of the trips had been especially enjoyable for any of them. Everyone squabbled. The adults complained how expensive everything was. Carter’s half sister, Jennifer, got carsick and puked. Carter kept his nose stuck in a book as much as possible. Returning home had always been a relief for all of them.

But that had been a quarter century ago, and surely an excursion with a couple of friends would be a big improvement. The RV might be fun too. Carter had never ridden in one.

And now, apparently, it was up to him to choose a destination.

The cookie was long gone and the coffee cup drained by the time he made up his mind. “Yosemite,” he said out loud, testing it on his tongue. He’d never been there. Maybe he’d get a glimpse of Half Dome and decide he really wanted to be Ansel Adams when he grew up.

He pulled out his phone to text Freddy.
I know where we’re going
.

Freddy answered right away.
Care to enlighten?

Yosemite. Assuming you guys don’t mind heading back down to California.

We’ll survive. Yosemite sounds great. Maybe we’ll see bears.
Freddy surprised Carter into laughing out loud by adding an emoji of a brown bear’s head.

Monday?
Carter sent back. He didn’t know how to attach emojis. Maybe his phone was too old.

Ok. We’ll catch a flight & stay downtown. Dinner somewhere nice. Then we’ll roll out Tuesday morning.

I call shotgun.

Freddy sent him an emoji of a pistol.

T
RUE
TO
his word, Freddy called late Monday afternoon. “Come downtown and meet us for dinner in a couple of hours. Keith and I are going to take a nap first.”

Carter smiled as he tucked the phone under his ear and placed books into a box. “Nap as in get up close and personal before I invade your privacy?”

“Nap as in we almost missed our flight because there was a nasty accident on the 405 and then the security line was a million miles long and then the guy across the aisle almost gave Keith a concussion with his carry-on. We are feeling fraught. Give us some time to regain our composure.”