The Wish (28 page)

P
AUL
ventured down the hallway to his old room for the first time since Alfred’s passing, and the place didn’t seem nearly as inviting as it used to. Unable to help himself, he eased open the door to his uncle and Alfred’s shared room, memories playing through his mind of running in and bouncing on the massive bed in days gone by, waking them up early on a Saturday morning. Even before realizing he was gay, it seemed perfectly natural to find the two men sleeping spooned together.

He entered the deserted room with quiet reverence, half expecting to hear the booming voice of his uncle or the more cultured tones of Alfred bidding him welcome. Only then did he recall being awakened the night of Alfred’s heart attack, and his eyes darted toward the towering bookcases on the far wall. Alfred’s massive book collection sat stacked neatly on the shelves, and he bet not a single volume was out of place. Bernard would have attended to it himself, despite William’s, or anyone else’s, protests.

His gaze fell on the pictures huddled together on a dresser, and he couldn’t help smiling in spite of his grief. The images were carefully arranged in chronological procession, a lasting monument of a happy life.

The first picture showed two men, one young, one fast approaching middle years, dining together at a seaside cantina. Paul knew the photo well. A waiter snapped the shot during Alfred and his Uncle Byron’s first vacation together in Cancun. No matter how many times his uncle told the story, Paul never grew tired of hearing it. He considered the trip to be the couple’s honeymoon.

Though they were also the stars of another favorite photo, the two parka-clad figures could have been anyone. The familiar men were completely hidden from view beneath layers of warm clothing. His uncle mentioned in passing how he’d always wanted to visit Alaska, and it didn’t matter that it was early January, Alfred had insisted, “There’s no time like the present,” taking him north.

Beside the numerous framed images, Paul found a stack of photo albums. He reached out and petted one massive tome, labeled “Alex,” exactly as his uncle left it, no doubt, waiting for its owner’s return.

On impulse he opened the cover, finding more snapshots carefully arranged on the first page. A smiling blond baby stared out from the first—an infant Alex. The lovely but ill-fated Victoria held him in her arms. There were many more photos of the two, page after page, each showing Alex a little older. In every one, the boy’s face glowed with good humor. Paul turned the next leaf and found a stark contrast to the smiling faces of the previous pages.

In this picture, Alex neither smiled nor appeared happy. Dressed in a navy suit, he seemed sad and lost, bearing little resemblance to joyful youngster of the earlier images. The years continued to pass with the turning of the book’s pages. Occasionally, Alex appeared smiling, but the dim expression paled in comparison to the earlier pictures.

Finally, Paul reached a recent picture of a brooding Alex, taken no more than a few years ago, and suddenly understood why the man behaved as he did… or the way he used to. For a brief time before Alfred’s death, Alex began to resemble more and more the cheerful child he used to be, the one Byron once described as carefree and mischievous. Paul only hoped the loss of his uncle wouldn’t cause a setback. He quite liked the man Alex was becoming.

Knowing he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer, Paul finally closed the album and left the room, making his way across the hall to view the disk that would forever change his life.

He placed the video in the player and sat back on his bed, watching Alfred appear exactly how he existed in Paul’s memory—behind his desk in the office down the hall. Dressed simply in a blue lightweight sweater, to those unfamiliar with the circumstances he probably seemed in perfect health for a man of his years. Paul knew better. The hollows in his cheeks were more a product of grieving and fading health than the result of high cheekbones, and his sky-blue eyes, from which his burning intelligence still shone, were somewhat distant and faded.

Paul had kept himself deep in denial for far too long. Watching the video instead of being face to face with Alfred forced him to acknowledge what had been before his eyes the whole time. Alfred Anderson had been dying, and no amount of love or well-wishing could have saved him. Torn between despair at Alfred’s passing and relief that he hadn’t suffered long, Paul settled back more comfortably to have one last conversation, albeit a one-sided one, with the man who’d played an all-important role in his life.

“If you’re watching this, it means I’m gone,” Alfred began, and Paul noticed his forceful, commanding voice had begun to waver. It still carried the same air of authority, but now it cracked when he talked, his tone husky. Alfred winked at the camera. “I’ll give your love to your uncle.”

Paul’s eyes filled with tears as he recalled Alex’s words, how the lovers were now together again, dismayed that his first thought upon hearing of Alfred’s death had been for his own loneliness, while Alex, uncharacteristically, had focused on others.

Even in death Alfred proved how well he’d known Paul, saying, “You’re probably thinking your heart’s going to break about now. I’m sorry you had to go through this, but I’m not sorry you were in our lives. Byron and I both love you very much, Paul. You and Alex are our pride and joy, though we may not have told you often enough.”

Paul disagreed. Never in his life had Alfred and his Uncle Byron failed to show their pride, and he again felt the stirrings of guilt at how he’d rebuffed their every gift.

“Paul,” Alfred continued, “I know how you feel about the money, you’ve made it perfectly clear. Now listen to me; we want you to have it. Byron and I worked hard all our lives, made sound investments, and lived a good life. It’s time to pass the torch.

“I don’t know if you fully understood the working dynamic the two of us shared. The business deals were my domain, while charities and running the household were Byron’s. Without your realizing, all these years when he took you to gallery openings and charity events were grooming for the role we hoped you’d one day fill. Alex, like yourself, was also being discreetly taught his place.

“You see, we wanted you to be a team and eventually take over from us. In our arrogance, we thought we had years before we’d need you to fill those roles. How horribly wrong we were.” Though Paul believed it a trick of the lighting and camera angle, Alfred’s penetrating blue eyes seemed to stare straight through him. “I hope you’ll forgive our presumptions, but we want the two of you to continue the work we started.

“It’s my hope you’ll live in the house we built, even if it means frequent trips to Bishop to check on your own business. We could never ask you to give up something you’ve worked hard for. As you might have guessed, money won’t be a problem for you, and out of love for me and your uncle, it’s my wish that you’ll accept your inheritance graciously. You don’t have to change your life or even your spending habits. A great deal of good can be done with lots of money in the right hands.”

Alfred shook his head, heaving out a heavy sigh. “Already the vultures are probably circling, talons out to swipe whatever they can. Would you rather those greedy bastards have what Byron and I worked our whole lives for?” Alfred answered his own question. “Of course not.”

He paused to drain his teacup, and then a hand, possibly Bernard’s, reached out from off-camera and took the delicate china from him. After a moment, Alfred continued. “Now that we’re alone, I can tell you this. The full extent of what we’ve given you is on file with Richard. There’s one stipulation. Martha, Bernard, and Isaac are to be cared for. They each were given enough to live reasonably on, though you know as well as I do that’s not what I meant. I probably don’t need to say this because I know what kind of person you are—make sure those three people aren’t alone.”

As if Paul needed to be told to look after his family.

“Which brings me to my next topic,” Alfred said. “Alex. I know the two of you got off to a rocky start, and I admire the way you’ve managed to put your differences behind you. Please watch out for him for me, Paul. He’s walled himself off from emotional attachments. Although he may seem cold and aloof, that’s a façade. Deep down, he’s a good man and worth the effort of getting to know. He can also protect you, for he knows how to deal with the scavengers.

“Paul, don’t close your heart because one heartless soul hurt you. If someone special comes along, give him a chance. That’s all I ask of you. Take care of yourself, and if it’s possible, Byron and I will be watching over you. I love you, Paul, and I’m proud of you and your strong personal convictions. You’re a son of my heart, if not my body.”

Tears fell in steady streams now, from Paul’s eyes and from Alfred’s. With a long last look into the camera Alfred said, “I love you, son.” The image disappeared, leaving Paul alone in his darkened room with his misery.

A soft tapping on his door sounded a few moments later. Furiously wiping tears from his cheeks, he called, “Yes?”

The door slowly opened, and a tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. “Can I come in?”

In answer, Paul patted the bed next to him. Alex closed the door, crossed the distance in long strides, and climbed on the bed. Paul pulled him into a fierce embrace, and their choking sobs rocked both them and the bed as they shared their misery. When they calmed, Paul rubbed Alex’s trembling back and murmured soothing nonsense. Eventually Alex fell into a restless sleep, and Paul held him while he napped, studying Alex’s tear-streaked face. Surprise, surprise. It seemed Alex Martin did know how to love after all. That was good, because Paul decided he wanted Alex’s love for himself. If the man even dared trying to rebuild the “arrogant bastard” walls between them, well, Sinclairs were nothing if not persistent—what the uninitiated might call stubborn.

Another knock sounded later and Theresa announced dinner. Paul started to wake Alex, then noticed blue eyes, unnervingly reminiscent of Alfred’s, were open and watching him. “Let’s go eat,” Paul said.

Alex scrutinized him for another long moment before easing off the bed and holding out his hand. Paul reached out and Alex pulled him to his feet, enfolding him in a nearly painfully tight embrace. “Thanks,” Alex whispered. Just as softly, his mouth descended, delivering the most emotionally charged kiss of Paul’s life. Paul hoped there were plenty more where that came from. He could get used to them.

Epilogue

“
Y
OU
found the perfect place for the painting.” Paul and the newly named Alexander Anderson lay curled together in the big bed in the room now known as “their room.” Light jazz provided a tranquil backdrop to their recovery from another memorable round of getting acquainted. Across from them, the painting
Stormy Horizon
hung, having found a place, not in the front hall as originally planned, but in their bedroom, the former blue room, for the private enjoyment of the new masters of the house. By mutual agreement, they’d closed off the master bedroom for now, leaving their uncles’ sanctuary exactly as it had been when the two men shared it.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Alex sipped a martini and admired the painting; still occasionally plagued by illusions of lightning when he stared too long. Then, in the scant millisecond of imaginary brilliance, he saw them—two men walking hand and hand down the windswept beach. Though logically he blamed his overactive imagination, he wondered if Paul somehow witnessed the phantom images too. “I know our uncles are together now, I can almost see them walking down the shore, hand in hand.”

Paul smiled. “You know, I was thinking the same thing.”

Well, at least he hadn’t accused Alex of insanity. “Paul?” A curious gaze met Alex’s, and he tried to think of the right words to say, never having been in this position before. “You know everything’s going to be different now, right?”

“Different how?” Paul expressive features shaded with concern. “You’re not talking about the money, are you? Because I’d like to forget about that for now.”

Alex sighed. He needed to let Paul know how he felt; however, as badly as he wanted to, he couldn’t seem to come out and say the words. He tried another approach. “Actually, I meant us.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow. “There’s still going to be an ‘us’ when this is over? I’m not simply a calm port until the storm passes?”

Alex thought long and hard about the question. Given his past history, he understood why Paul might be skeptical. “I’d like there to be,” he admitted.

Paul smiled, one simple gesture telling Alex all he needed to know; that, and a mind-blowing kiss.

Snuggling contentedly into Alex’s chest, Paul fell asleep within minutes, leaving Alex to his musings. He had absolutely no experience with relationships, never having let anyone get close to him before. Terrified he’d lose what he’d been waiting a lifetime for, he swore to make their relationship work, for although the words hadn’t been said, he was pretty sure he wasn’t alone in how he felt.