Full Circle (7 page)

For a while I worried that maybe he wasn't really gay. Maybe his feeling safe with me was warping his sexual responses. Then one day we were following an attractive couple down the street. She was a blonde, hair down to her butt and tits so big I figured her plastic surgeon deserved hazard pay. He was a redhead with a body-builder physique. At the next block, they stood arguing as we drew near and then crossed the street.

"What do you think of those two?" I asked, about to comment on the size double-Es.

"Way too much muscle," Toller said. "I don't like guys who look so top-heavy they might tip over. Although the little jazz beard was cute."

"The blonde was kind of pretty," I said mildly.

"I guess. I didn't really notice."

I grinned to myself and put that worry away. My boy was gay, all right.

September and the check-in dates for the dorms rushed toward me at light speed. Toller was booked on the train five days before Labor Day. I spent that last week watching him, while trying to pretend I wasn't. He was busy, finishing up at his jobs, saying goodbye to the friends he had made the past year. One other boy was headed to New York although to a different school, and they'd made arrangements to meet up at the train station.

That last night, we made love in the bed for the first time. It was some kind of mutual consent. We'd already gone two rounds on the couch, sucking each other off and then him fucking me into the cushions. Now we were spooned together in our usual position, his front to my back. He rocked against me gently, and I could feel he was hard again. Without discussion, I leaned back into him, lifted a leg back over his hip, and guided him against me. He pushed inside, my ass ready and wet and finally done clenching in aftershocks.

It was slow and painfully sweet. I never got hard, never cared. He rocked against me, pressed in just right so he stroked over me a little with every move. I came from just the feel of him inside, deep ripples of climax that had me leaking a little without true ejaculation. No matter. It was glorious and hot and hurt deep, like I'd never hurt before. When he was done, he slid out and pulled me in tight. His chin pressed into my shoulder. Everything he owned was packed in two big duffle bags by the door. This was all that remained.

"I'll write a lot," he said. "All the time. I'll call you, tell you all the shit I've been up to."

"No," I said. "Don't."

He tensed. "What?"

"Don't write. Don't call."

"I don't get it. You don't...want me?"

He would have let go of me and turned us around but I gripped his arms, digging my fingers in to keep them locked around me. I couldn't say this face to face. "Toller, you're eighteen and going off to college. Your life is just starting now. You don't need to be looking back at me. You need to move ahead."

"But I like looking back at you." He laughed softly. "You're not exactly a father or a brother, but something like that. You're family. The only one I have."

"I know." I lifted one of his hands to my mouth, kissed it and wrapped it back around me. "But you're not my family."

"I'm not?" There was a world of hurt starting in his voice.

I just said it. "Toller, you're the second person in this life that I have loved with all my heart."

"Oh? Oh." The first word was happy again. The second quieter.

"Yeah. I wasn't going to tell you, was going to play the fuck-buddy back home who's glad to hear all about your adventures in the big city. But I can't. I'm just not that strong."

"I love you, too." God, I'd wanted to hear that, but not in that tentative voice. "I don't have to, I don't know, meet new guys or hook up. If it bothers you."

"That's exactly what I mean. No. You go on to New York, and you don't write, and you don't call. Because I want you to have a glorious new life. I want you to love your classes and study hard, and I also want you to meet nice young men and enjoy them." I pinched his hand. "Safely, of course." I'd put three boxes of condoms in his luggage. "But I can't stand to hear about it, and I don't want to hold you back. So this is goodbye. Just this, tonight."

"You could come with me." He sounded scared now. "You don't have any real ties here. You could come to New York and I could just fuck you."

"Even worse. I'm not gonna cock block you from a distance, and I'm certainly not going to come to New York and do it. Not unless you can say from your heart, truthfully, that I'm the love of your life and you have no interest in anyone else."

There was a long silence. "I want to."

"You're too honest. Toller, I've seen you looking at young guys and thinking ahead to when I turn you loose. You love me, baby, but you're not in love with me."

"And you are. And still you're going to make me go."

"I'll survive. I've lost people before, and I'm getting better at it."

"Jesus, now I'm scared to go. When you lost Henri you fell into a bottle for two years."

"I'm stronger now. And you're moving to New York, which is only a little bit like dying. Seriously, I promise, Toller. I swear on Henri's grave that I will keep living and stay sober and find some kind of meaningful work to do. I swear."

"I don't know."

"Trust me, baby."

He slumped against me in acquiescence. "Okay. I do trust you. But how can I make this easier for you?"

"Just go. No long goodbyes. We can't make love better than that last round. Hold me tonight, and in the morning just get up and get dressed and go. Don't call. Don't write. Don't come back. Make me proud."

He was crying softly against my neck when he said, "Okay." It was the last thing he said to me. Eventually he fell asleep. I needed to get up, clean up, but no stickiness or ache could make me unwind his arms from around me. I stayed awake the whole night through, storing each breath and each touch to remember.

I felt it when he woke. He drew breath as if to speak and then stopped. He slid out of the bed. I stayed curled up, facing the wall. He pulled the covers up around me, tucking them in tenderly. He showered and dressed. Every sound was familiar. He hesitated over the coffee pot and then left it untouched. He walked to the door. I heard him grunt as he picked up his bags. They were pretty heavy. The door snicked open.

On the threshold he paused. I waited, every muscle locked so tight I wanted to scream. But this wasn't some fictional romance where he dropped his bags and ran to hold me and tell me how he couldn't live without me. After a long, long pause, he stepped out the door and it closed behind him.

My windows looked out on the street. When I had planned this, every time I had pictured it, I had sworn I would stay in bed and let him go. But I found myself at the window, gripping the sash with blanched white fingers. He appeared on the street below. For a moment he paused. He set one bag down and slung the other higher on his shoulder. Then he hefted the other bag in his hand and headed out. He never looked up. His head was high and proud, and I think he was whistling.

* * * *

Heath stirred on the couch but didn't wake when I reached for his pants, dropped in a heap on the floor. The phone was in his back pocket. I took it to the bedroom.

For a long time I just stared at the redial button. Two in the morning. That made it three in New York. Somehow I thought Toller would be awake. I pressed the button.

"Jamie?" His voice was soft.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Wait a minute, I'll go in the other room." I heard a soft muffle of voices and then some rustling. Then he came back on the line. "Okay, we're good."

"Sorry to wake you up."

"I wasn't sleeping." He chuckled. "I thought about this for so long. Figures it would be that stubborn brat of mine that took the plunge."

"He knew where to find me?" I let my voice make it a question.

"I kept track. You didn't want me to contact you, but that didn't mean I didn't care. I kept track of you, best as I could. I knew when you moved. I knew about the office job and when you got that position as assistant director of the free clinic. And director now. Congratulations."

"Thank you. I did swear I would do something worthwhile."

"You also swore you would stay out of bars, Jamie."

"I swore I wouldn't drink." I sighed. "Yeah, it's kind of stupid. I've been, I don't know, bored maybe. And it's hard to meet anyone if you're staying with alcohol-free venues. But I swear, I only drink Coke."

"As long as you're not slipping."

"Won't. I promise." Not now. Not with Toller's voice alive and well in my ear, and that boy out on the couch.

"You never found someone else," he said.

"No. A few fuck-buddies. I haven't been celibate. But I had real love twice in my life, and that's more than most people get, even if it was short. I'm not complaining."

"I'm sorry, Jamie." His voice thickened. "Walking away from your place was the hardest thing I've ever done. I cried halfway to New York, had to tell Andy I had a horrible cold on the train. God, I almost turned around a dozen times."

"I'm glad you didn't," I managed to say.

"Me too, eventually."

"And now you're married."

"Almost married. We'll do that as soon as we can, now that New York has come to its senses."

"Tell me about him. This Tris guy. Is he good enough for you?"

Toller laughed. "His name is Tristan Franke. He's also a doctor. You do know I became a pediatrician?"

"I might have looked you up once or twice."

"Tristan's an obstetrician. He's amazing. He's stuck with me through a lot of my craziness. After we'd been together about a year, he dragged my ass to a therapist. Said I didn't have to rip open old wounds to him, but I needed to talk to someone. And it helped finish the job you started on me. And Tris is gorgeous and sweet and great with kids and he makes me laugh. Although he doesn't cook. But then nobody's perfect." There was a sound in the background and then Toller said, "Here. Mr. Not Perfect wants to talk to you."

A deep voice said, "Dr. Seavers?"

"I'm not a doctor." I coughed. "Call me Jamison."

"I'm Tristan. I just wanted to say thank you. Toller hasn't told me everything about his past. In fact, he's a secretive bastard. But he told me enough to know you saved him and put him back together. So I know everything we have here, this home and this family, is thanks to you."

"I didn't create Toller. I just cut him loose."

"You healed him first. That's the part I'm grateful for. Oh, and the cutting him loose part. You could have kept him and you didn't. So I owe you big time, anything you need."

My throat closed a little. "Just take care of him for me."

"Always."

There was some fumbling and then Toller was back on the line. "I sent the big lug back to bed. He's got two women about ready to pop. Better than even odds he'll get paged tonight."

"You're good together?"

"We're amazing." He lowered his voice. "Our second anniversary, I bottomed for him."

I closed my eyes. That was what I wanted. Toller, healed and happy, even if it wasn't with me. "How was it?"

"Hard the first time. But no longer impossible, and it got better. Now I sometimes ask for it because I need it, not just to please him."

"That's good. I'm glad. And you have a kid."

"And we have two kids."

"Two?"

"Heath's brother, Cody, is twelve. Sweet little dark-haired boy. They're nothing alike except that I would die to keep either of them safe. We adopted Cody when he was two. He had some abuse issues, but he's pretty much past it now. We got him out young, thank God."

"And now Heath wants to be a social worker."

"Yeah." Toller sighed. "I shot my mouth off, and then I didn't want to back down. It was just reflex. All those years hating what they did to me, and then I spent some time battling the system for the kids I treat. I know social workers are not all bad or sloppy. Just mostly overworked and burned out. I just don't want that for Heath."

"He's a big boy."

"Yeah." There was a long pause, and then Toller said softly, "Don't freak him out. Explain to him that I had bad experiences, but he doesn't need to know details. I don't know why I couldn't just explain that to him, instead of yelling and insisting he take my word for it."

"I'm told that raising a child is the toughest job there is."

"You should know. You raised me."

"You were never my child."

His voice was sleepy and young in my ear. "I was your boy though, wasn't I?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "You were mine."

For a while we just held the phones and breathed.

"You're happy?" I asked finally.

"I am." He sounded certain. "Not every minute of every day, but life is good. My job, Tristan, the kids; it's all worth getting up for in the mornings. The only thing that would make it better would be having you around sometimes. If you could handle it. I'd love to have you spend time with the kids and meet Tristan. It would be...you're still the only other family I have."

"What about your sister?"

"I lost track of her after her second divorce. Almost fifteen years ago now. She'll have to find me if she wants to."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. So. Will you at least talk to my wayward child? Tell him if he's dead set on social work he can go for it. I can always hope he'll change his mind. Tell him even dads can get bent out of shape to where they stop making sense. No, on second thought leave that part out. It would destroy my mystique."

"I'll talk to him."

"And maybe call me sometimes. Let me send you pictures of the kids."

"Maybe."

"Whatever you'll take. Whatever I can give you, Jamie. I do love you, you know."

I breathed through my nose. I was
not
going to cry. "I know. Go climb back in bed with your husband and spoon up to him. Get some sleep. Your boy is safe with me."

"That part I never doubted," Toller said. "As soon as I heard where he went, I knew he was safe."

"Good night, Toller."

I disconnected. Then I pressed the redial and carefully added the number to my own phone. After all, I was responsible for his teenager. It was important I be able to contact him.

Out in the living room, Heath had rolled over and stopped snoring. His feet hung off the edge of the couch. It wasn't quite long enough for him. He was half a head taller than his father. I bent and slid the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. His blond hair lay against the blue plaid of the couch. It was the same couch. It had moved with me three times.

I waited for a rush of pain, for the overwhelming nostalgia to roll me down. But what came were memories, faded and bittersweet. Toller laughing, his arm stuck through the rip in his old T-shirt as he missed the sleeve. Toller studying, squinting hard at the fine print in his math book, the end of a pencil between his teeth. Toller, a glint of mischief in his eyes, lolling back against the cushions with his legs spread wide in invitation, as I tried to finish cooking and ignore him. Three hundred days of memories out of a lifetime. They were precious, but they finally were over.

This boy lay sprawled and boneless. His hair was as fair as his father's had been dark. He looked younger than Toller ever had been, even in sleep. Tomorrow, I would show him the city, I decided. Chicago had lots to offer. I'd tell him a little, here and there. But no secrets. It wasn't necessary.

Your father was abused when he was a child. The social workers who should have protected him didn't. They sent him back to that abuse when he tried to escape. That's why he's not happy with your ambitions. But just because one person or several failed at a difficult job is no reason good people shouldn't attempt it. Maybe even more reason why they should. I'll talk to your father.

I would. I knew that now. I couldn't back then. Even fifteen years ago, I'd carefully found him, checked up on what he was doing, on all he had accomplished, and let him go, unknowing. But now those memories warmed me more than they hurt. The forty-two-year-old Toller would not be the bright, shining boy who walked out my door. He had his own life now. And he was inviting me back into it.

Family. Husband. Children. Two boys he'd rescued, taken in and raised as his own. Raised healthy and clean and safe, as he had never been. And he was inviting me to be a part of that. I thought now, finally, I might just take him up on that invitation.