The Magic in Your Touch (30 page)

 

Nate raised a brow. “You drove all the way here just to bring barbeque?”

 

Mike pulled him into a rough bear hug. “And to beg for forgiveness. Don’t forget that.” He patted Nate on the back and started out the door. “I’m glad we worked it out. You are Amy’s only friend, after all.”

 

Amy said, “I heard that, Mike Vaughn. You are so not getting any tonight.”

 

Mike laughed. “Like I said, frigid.” His voice dropped to a loud whisper. “Don’t worry, though. My dick has a defrost setting.” He left before Amy could get to him.

 

* * *

By five o’clock, Nate was beginning to wonder why he insisted on coming back to work in the first place. It seemed like everybody in the greater Reed area had come in today. He wanted more than anything to head home and fall into that big ole’ bathtub, but the mountain of paperwork on his desk canceled that out. Amy came in looking as ragged as he felt.

She collapsed in one of Nate’s chairs and put her feet up on the desk. “Tell me again why we became doctors?”

 

“I can’t remember. Something about helping people, healing the sick, that kinda stuff.”

 

“Does that include being kicked by four-year-olds when you try to give them their booster shots?” She rubbed a spot just below her knee. “Damn. That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

 

“Occupational hazard, my friend. At least you didn’t have to explain to a horny waiter why you couldn’t give him a one handed prostate exam.”

 

“Ah, yes, the sexy Shane. Did he really try to get you to give him an exam?”

 

“Afraid so. Seems he hadn’t heard about my engagement, yet.”

 

“I take it you set him straight.”

 

Nate grinned. “I figured I’d better, or else Brandon would.”

“Good call. Listen, thanks for making things so easy on Mike. You could have made him crawl, but you didn’t. You’re a class act, buddy.”
“You love the guy, and I love you. I didn’t have any choice. Besides, Mike’s my friend. If you can’t forgive your friends when they go nuts, what good are you anyway?”

“Like I said, you’re a class act.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Why don’t you call Brandon to come and get you and go on home? You’re still not one-hundred percent yet. I can finish up these charts.”

“No way. I’m not leaving until all this is done. Besides, everyone else has gone for the day. I’m not leaving you here by yourself all night.”

 

“Okay, but one of us has to make a quick run for Chinese food. If you can drive one handed, I vote you do it. I have more charts to finish than you do, and that’ll give me a head start.”

 

“Let me call Howard and tell him the plan.” He whipped out his cell phone and pressed the button Brandon had programmed into memory. Howard answered on the first ring.

 

“Howard, here.”

 

“Hi, Rex. It’s Nate.”

 

“Oh, hey, Doc. What can I do for you?”

 

“Amy and I are working late. I’m gonna make a Chinese food run if you think it’s okay.”

 

“I don’t see why not. We’ve got your office covered. What kind of car will you be driving?”

 

“A red Saturn, last year’s model.”

 

“I’ll have one of my guys follow you to and from, Doc.”

 

“Thanks, Howard.” Nate disconnected and turned back to Amy. “Moo-shoo pork and egg drop soup sound okay to you?”

 

“Yeah, but pick up some crab-meat and cheese wantons, too. Oh, and don’t forget the fortune cookies.” She tossed him her keys.

Nate slipped out the back door and headed to Amy’s car. There was no moon, and it was already dark. Nate had to feel his way out to the car. Paradise Gardens was the closest Chinese place to the office, so he headed there. He decided to run in rather than brave the long line of cars at the drive thru, thinking it would be quicker. It probably would have if Mrs. Chin hadn’t stopped him on his way out to ask about the best treatment for sciatica. By the time Nate was finished, it was almost six o’clock. He loaded all the food into the Saturn and headed back towards the office. A couple of times he caught a brief glimpse of a large black sedan in his rearview mirror, but otherwise, Howard’s men kept out of sight.

Nate parked in the front lot this time, rather than the private one he and Amy usually used. The walk was shorter, and he was going to have a hard enough time juggling all that food as it was. He scooped up the first bag and looped the handles of the second one over his cast. He started towards the front of the office. He put his right foot on the first step, and felt a slight shift in the wind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood and his skin tingled. He looked around, but saw no one. Discounting his reaction as nine parts exhaustion and ten parts paranoia, he slid his key into the deadbolt and turned the tumbler. He would later remember hearing no sound as the office exploded in a swirl of fire and timber. His only memory was of being thrown backwards twenty-feet by the force of the blast. After that, nothing.

Chapter 13

 

Gale poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from Brandon. “How long has he been like that?”

 

“Since the funeral.”

“He’s been in that room by himself for three weeks?” Gale sounded as outraged as Brandon felt, outraged because Bran knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do for Nate. He understood grief. Hell, he’d stood over the mutilated body of one of his closest friends. But even knowing that, even understanding it, didn’t take away the sense of lose he felt. He wanted his partner back. He missed the early morning smiles and the quiet nights of holding each other. He wanted Nate.

Brandon took a sip of his own coffee. It was cold, but he didn’t care. “He came out once after the funeral, when I insisted he go see one of the staff psychiatrists at Chicago General. I thought he might be suffering from post traumatic stress, but the guy says he isn’t. According to Dr. Carson, he’s grieving, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. So much for a degree in clinical psychology, huh.” Brandon took another swig of his bitter drink. “You know what the worst part is? He hasn’t even cried. Not one tear. Not for Amy, not for himself, and not even when I told him Howard’s men had arrested his father at the airport in Atlanta.”

Gale said, “How strong is the case against Calder, do you think?”

“Circumstantial. He was here when the rent receipt was planted, and he could have stolen the key and planted those bugs while he and Leda were in our house. Sasha was drugged with a generic form of valium, which Calder could have gotten from any one of his stores. We haven’t found a definite link between him and Wilson, but with his connections, he would have no problem tracking down and hiring a hit man. His hatred of homosexuals is clearly documented, and would explain the arsons and the attempts on Nate. The fact that he hired Patterson to break Seth’s heart doesn’t exactly make him a father-of-the-year candidate, either. A good prosecutor could sell it to a jury.”

Gale nodded. “Alicia said the same thing.” Gale studied Brandon’s face. “You just aren’t convinced, are you?”

 

“I hope it is Calder, but I have to tell you, I’ve got my doubts. Why would the man have Wilson plant that rental receipt? He had to know it would expose his relationship to Patterson.”

 

“Could Wilson have gotten mad at Calder and decided to get even?”

Brandon walked to the sink and dumped the dregs of his coffee. He folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, ankles crossed. “That’s the way the DA will spin it, and it could very well be true. Maybe I’m making too much out of nothing. God knows I’m rattled over everything that’s happening with Nate. Maybe my instincts are off.”
Gale nodded. “Mike’s behavior at the funeral didn’t help. I know the man is devastated by the loss of his wife, but that’s no excuse for the way he treated Nathan. He practically accused Nate of killing Amy.”

Brandon clenched his fists. “I should have arrested the little bastard when he made a dive for Nate at the graveside service. I would have if Nate hadn’t insisted I leave him alone. As it is, I wish Dad hadn’t held me back when I took a swing at the son-of-a-bitch.”

Dean came in from the living room and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I wanted to see you deck him just as much as you wanted to do it, believe me. But that wasn’t what Nate needed, and you know it.”

He did, but that didn’t make it any easier. Lashing out seemed the best way to rid himself of the frustration. “So just what does he need, Daddy? He doesn’t want me to touch him. He’s made that clear enough. He won’t talk to his mother, or to Seth. He even insisted they not come to the funeral. He doesn’t need food, doesn’t need sunlight. The psychiatrist can’t tell me what he needs. Nate won’t tell me what he needs. So maybe you can.” He was yelling by the time he finished.

He expected Dean to yell back, maybe even to swat him on the backside like he would have done a few years ago. He never expected Dean to wrap him in his arms and start rubbing his back. He certainly never expected himself to need it so much.

“I know it hurts, son, but you have to think about how much worse it could have been. At least Nate is still here. In time, he will get better. If he’d gotten back just a few minutes sooner, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

Brandon pulled away and went back to the table. He made no move to sit down. Instead, he stood with his hands braced on the back of a chair. “Don’t you think I know that? Not a day has gone by since that bomb went off that I don’t get down on my knees and thank God that Nate wasn’t in there. I’m sorry that Amy died. I wish things could have been different, but not if it meant Nate had to take her place. I may be a selfish bastard, but that’s the way it is.”

Gale shook her head. “You aren’t selfish, Brandon. You’re human. No one expects you to make a choice like that.”

Brandon ran his fingers through his hair. “Nate does. When I brought him back here after the funeral, he kept saying it should have been him instead of Amy. He wanted me to agree with him. We argued, I opened my big mouth, and all hell broke loose.”

Dean said, “Is that what landed you in the guest room?”

 

Brandon winced. “Partly. I told him he was being selfish, that Amy wouldn’t want him to stop living just because she died.”

 

Gale tilted her head and studied her son. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It wouldn’t have been if I’d stopped at that.” Brandon took a deep breath. “I told him that he should be grateful to be here. I told him that bitching and moaning that he was still alive was like killing Amy all over again.”

Dean swore. “Jesus Christ. I love you son, but you can be a real dumbass some times.” The back door opened and Brandon heard the electronic melody of the keypad being reprogrammed. Keith came through the mudroom and into the kitchen. He took one look at the serious expression on Brandon’s face and said, “What are we talking about in here?”

Brandon shook his head. “Nothing important. Just the fact that I’m a dumbass.”

 

Keith grinned. “Well hell, I knew that.”

 

Gale ignored him. “We were talking about the situation with Nate.”

 

“Still no change?”

 

Brandon turned to his brother. “Not unless you count moving from the bed to the chair.”

 

“How are the cuts on his chest from the impact of the blast?”

 

“How the hell should I know, Keith? He can’t stand to be touched.”

 

Keith nodded. “I know. Mother told me. That’s why I brought someone with me who can help.”

 

Grandma Taylor came out of the mudroom carrying a heavy brown shopping bag. “Was that my cue?”

“Grandma, no offense, but what are you doing here?” The last thing Nate needed right now was another lecture on the joys of butt-sex from an eighty-three-year-old woman. The fact that she was wearing a purple shirt-dress tied in the back with a giant pink bow did not bode well.

Abigail looked up at him with a patient smile. “I know you all think I’m dotty because I dress funny and say the first thing that comes to mind. Well, tough. I’m old and I can do whatever the hell I want to. Right now, I want to see my new grandson, and I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“Grandma—”

 

Keith interrupted. “Bran, just let her try, man. What have you got to loose?”

 

Brandon thought of all he’d already lost. Three weeks without Nate and he was in purgatory. He was desperate enough to try anything. He nodded and led the way upstairs.

Sasha lay outside the door to the master bedroom. She missed Nate as much as Brandon did. For three weeks, she’d kept an almost constant vigil. She scratched and whined and begged, but Nate refused to open the door. Like the rest of the world, he’d shut her out.

Brandon opened the door without knocking, shooing Sasha out of the way as he went. It was just past lunchtime on Sunday, but the bedroom was dark and stale. Nate had the shades pulled and the curtains drawn. He was sitting in a chair with his back to the door, staring at the wall. Brandon could barely see him, but his heart ached at just the sight of Nate’s unruly tuft of blonde hair sticking up over the back of the chair. He wanted to pull him out of the chair and hold him until he cried out all the bitterness and pain. Instead, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Nate watched with detachment as Abigail made her way over to him and turned the room’s other chair around until she was sitting next to him. She sat in silence for at least ten minutes. Finally, she said, “Are you planning on remodeling sometime soon? Personally, I think that’s a fine wall. The way you’re studying it has me thinking you might be ready to tear it down with your bare hands.”

Nate wanted to say something, anything to make her leave so he wouldn’t have to think. It didn’t hurt as bad when he didn’t think. When nothing came to mind, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the wall.

He expected Abigail to try and force him to talk, the way Brandon kept doing, but she didn’t. She seemed to be having a conversation all on her own.

“I’ve always liked this house. Brandon’s other grandmother, Emily, and I were friends long before she married Ed Nash. Went to grammar school together. When she told me she and Ed were buying this house from his father, I made her a quilt for this very room. Nothing fancy, just a simple Nine-patch made with fabric I bought with my trading stamps, but she loved that old quilt. Still has it, too. She took it with her when they moved to Florida. I don’t really know why. The whole purpose of moving to Florida is so you won’t need a quilt in the first place.” Nate could see her looking at him from the corner of his eye, but he gave her no response. If he stayed quiet he could pretend he was alone and he wouldn’t have to feel anything.