Destiny - a novel - 1. Initiation: Deja Vu & Chapter 1: The Shuffle Up

 

 

Destiny

A Novel

 

 

 

 

 

“Innocence shall make

false accusations blush,

and tyranny tremble

at patience."

The Winter's Tale, III, ii

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

by

AC Benus

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

for

LISA

It was her

skepticism on young love

that made this book inevitable

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

Contents

 

Initiation: Déjà vu

PART ONE: A Prodigal's Return

Chapter 1: The Shuffle Up

Chapter 2: Struggle

Chapter 3: Thanksgiving Day

Chapter 4: Totems of Caring

Chapter 5: Settling In

Chapter 6: Trappings

Chapter 7: Doubt

Chapter 8: Excursion

Chapter 9: Christmas Day

Chapter 10: New Years Eve

 

PART TWO: A Winter's Tale

Chapter 11: Making Statements

Chapter 12: Letting Go

Chapter 13: "When you know, you know"

Chapter 14: Shame

Chapter 15: Faith

Chapter 16: Humiliation

Chapter 17: Valentine's Day

Chapter 18: Converted

Chapter 19: All My Heroes

Chapter 20: A Perfect Day

 

 

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Initiation: Déjà vu

 

It is another perfect day. The window is open; birdsong and soft breezes waft in to tease my mom's yellow drapes.

The shower runs, and I stand before the sink of the bathroom on the second floor of my home in Cincinnati. From the kitchen drift up the inviting twin smells of freshly-brewed coffee and sizzling bacon.

I sweep aside some steam frosting the surface of the mirror. In reflection, I can see my blue-green hair is gone. In its place, I have a shorter cut to admire in my natural color. My bangs are gone, but I smile and cock my head this way and that. I look kinda good.

Also in reflection, and although the shower curtain is drawn, I know who is behind it. In my mind's eye I can see Linc with his perfect jock body, soapy and slick. My lips part in deep admiration and love. He looks different now, it's – I don’t know – that he seems not exactly 'older,' but more mature, and even more confident and self-settled, if that's possible for him.

My beautiful Lincoln Oliver raises his arms with bent elbows, and puts his hands on his head. He steps beneath the showerhead, completely wets his hair, and then arches his back so the stream of water glides down his chest and front. In my imagination, he slicks back his blond hair and holds his mysteriously beautiful violet eyes on mine. He then proceeds to smile at me in that perfect way of his.

Oh God, I do so love him.

I put my hands on the sink and lean over it a bit. I bend my head and wrack my brain for a moment to think what it is I am doing here.

Tired and confused is all my poor brain has to offer me right now.

I try to remember a sequence of events that could have led me here. But I'm cloudy; what are we doing back in Ohio? How could we have possibly gotten to this place?

Letting my head pivot away from my baffled features, my gaze re-settles past the ruffling edge of my mom's window curtains. Outside, the soft green leaves of an oak tree rustle in dappled pools of white sunlight; birds seem to ripple from branch to branch carrying their music with them as they go. This melody blends perfectly with the running water sound of Lincoln's shower.

But wait…haven't I experienced this perfect June day before..?

I don’t know what to think, so I gaze back to me again; gooseflesh rises all over my body as I recall the circumstances of last 'being here,' and 'doing this.'

My hands leave the reassuring support of the porcelain, and coming in close to the mirror and opening my mouth, I have a sickening feeling in my stomach. My mouth opens, and I use my index finger and thumb to reach in and tug at my upper front teeth.

They are not tender; they are not loose. So I come in a bit closer to the mirror and really pull at them.

They are firmly rooted.

My hands drop to my side while I stare at myself and feel very confused.

Some tune floats through my head as I inspect my new haircut, and I think that I somehow look slightly older than I remember. I suddenly recognize the music as Woodkid's new song, and some of the lyrics drift across my consciousness. In my mind, his crooning baritone of hurt and loss is there to explain his emotions towards his boyfriend.

 

"I feel with you like the prodigal son returned to his

feast.

I feel with you like the misanthrope boy about to be

released…"

 

I stop moving. I stop the song from playing in my head. The goose bumps rise again to nearly painful levels as I let myself come to grips with the moment. The last time I was 'here,' the last time I was 'doing this,' I died.

Linc's voice calls calmly to me from underneath the showerhead. "Are you ready, Jack? You know, you don’t have much time."

'So…' I stare at myself, thinking, 'How did I get from my hospital bed in L.A. to this place? I wonder if I did not make it again.'

 

 

 

 

---

 

PART ONE: A Prodigal's Return

Chapter 1: The Shuffle Up

 

I feel tense.

There is a certain smell on airplanes I have never liked. A sort of dried-out adhesive and rotting foam rubber odor that does not make me feel very much at home. But fuck it, Jack is sitting by my side and we are getting ready to go the next step – to love fully, and to fight for his life.

A woman smacks the back of my head with her bag. I turn around to discover she's older, more than a little 'plump,' and still threatening me with the corner of her roller case; the wheels are dangling dangerously close to my noggin.

"Do you need help with that?" I offer.

"I can manage." And good to her word, she applies some middle-class flabby muscle power and sends her pink-plaid suitcase into the overhead bin with a thud.

This flight is packed, as I suppose it should be on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, but the sun beating down on LAX is making the air-conditioning pump overtime to compensate. It's driving the outside temperature to soar near 80-degrees, and I guess it's going to be another drought winter for California.

I turn my attention back to Jack, who I discover has been staring at me with a devilish little grin besmirching his lips.

"What?" I ask.

He shrugs – like he's 'innocent' – and slips his hand in mine.

Still, I'm glad I gave him the window seat, as he looks tired. "It's just four hours to Cincy, and then you can rest, baby."

"Phew! – More like five hours, but I hear ya."

Some annoying Bim-Bom rings out overhead. Apparently a restless somebody is already bossing the flight attendants around. I glance with quick distraction through the cabin and see most folks have settled themselves in seats. This visual is confirmed by the sound of seatbelt-clicking pinging off the rounded walls to my right and left.

Jack grabs my attention again. "And then I can rest? That's very ironic, Lincoln, considering I have to see Dr. Kimball first thing in the morning."

I swallow down an involuntary lump; I feel like shit, and regret settles on my diaphragm like a stone. Glancing around nervously again, I see Dawn and Mrs. Shaw are seated two rows behind us. I make brief eye contact with Jack's mom.

"I didn't mean to – "

Jack cuts me off. "It's ok, Linc. I know this is hard, but please don’t be so uneasy. All I meant to say is that I intend to enjoy myself. Enjoy my time with you, and savor today as the last day of my pre-treatment bliss."

I silently wish Jack's mom and best friend were sitting closer, not that I don't value this 'alone' time with the boy I love – I do – but I don’t want him to feel like he doesn't have support from all of us. However, getting four seats next to one another proved to be impossible on this busiest travel day of the year. In fact, our four seats were 'taken' for us by the airline because of Jack's medical emergency.

"Hey," I joke. "Stop thinkin' you're all that. If you were in real trouble, they would have bumped four first class seats, not these nose-bleed, El-Cheapo folding chairs."

Jack smiles and I feel like I've done my job.

The random call buttons continue to sound, but no more passengers roam the aisles like lost ducklings through a mud puddle. We'll pull away from the gate soon.

A warm hand settles on my right shoulder from behind; it's Mrs. S.

"How are you, Jack? Everything all right?"

I divide my attention for a moment between mother and son. Her look is affectionate and beaming; his is shy. It's as if her mere presence has raised discomfort in him.

His mom leans over me to press Jack's flight attendant button. Bim-Bom rings out loudly above our heads.

The boy's ticked off. "Mom?!"

"Making sure you're all set," she informs us absentmindedly, as she immediately starts scanning down the aisle.

"I was telling Jack, Mrs. Shaw, that four and a half hours will go by quickly."

"Yes..." She smiles at us. "We'll be home by nine o'clock, and Hamish and Christie will be there…"

Now it seems the mere mention of Jack's brother and sister reinforces Jack's uncomfortable state.

With anxious concern creeping over her face, one that eventually pivots a radiantly glowing beam of attention on me, his mom continues, "We'll all be together for Thanksgiving, and I'm so pleased you will be with us as well, Lincoln."

I grip Jack's fingers a little more securely. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Just then a very haggard-looking flight attendant arrives with an apparent chip on her shoulder for Mrs. S.

"You'll have to go back to your seat, mad – "

"This is Jack Shaw…" his mom says, waving her hand in front of her boy. "He's traveling under priority one medical orders."

"I know who he is, madam."

The young Asian woman from the seat in front of me props her hand on the back of the seat and raises Kilroy eyes to glance back at Jack.

"Please get him an extra blanket, and we'll fix it so his seatbelt is secured over the top." Mrs. Shaw is magnificent. Her tone is all-business, through which not a glimmer of power-hungry attitude or demand shows. She glances at her watch. "Now, as soon as you are able, bring Jack orange juice. He'll need to take his meds by then, and they make him quite thirsty, so I'm trusting you to keep him hydrated."

The flight attendant's self-importance deflates like a strategically punctured balloon.

"Actually, I prefer Gatorade – if you have it."

"Orange juice." Mrs. Shaw closes out the subject.

The woman turns on her heels, and heads to one of the overhead bins near the front. I see her open it and fish around for a blanket.

Mrs. S. tilts her upper body over me, flattening her palm to press it against her son's forehead with stunning precision.

Jack inhales deeply, like he also wants to roll his eyes at me, but he refrains.

I guess satisfied that he's not running too high a temperature, she pulls back her hand and rights herself – just in time for the flight attendant to come back and hand her a pair of blankets.

The woman's grip suddenly takes ahold of Mrs. Shaw's lower arm. "I have two teens at home. We all wish you and Jack the best of luck." Her eyes are tender, and about to tear over.

"Thank you," Jack's mom says, patting the top of the attendant's hand.

"Now, if you'll please take your seat and fasten up, we can push back from the gate, madam."

"Yes, of course." Mrs. Shaw places the blankets in my lap. "Lincoln, please loosen Jack's belt and thread these between him and the strap."

"Okay. I know what to do."

She nods and moves back to her seat.

The plane is quiet now, except for the mechanical whir of the cargo doors raising and clicking into place.

"Do you want these?" I ask Jack.

"Yeah, one of them."

I unlatch my own seat buckle so it will be quicker, and then undo Jack's – this too will be quicker than the way his mom suggested. I snuggle a blanket so two corners are on top of his shoulders and tucked under his chin. I let it drape to settle against his chest, tummy and lap. Only then do I notice it only covers about half of his thighs. So I decide Mrs. Shaw and me outvote Jack and nestle the second blanket around his waist and let the length come down to drape over the top of his legs before heading to the floor.

As I arrange his blankets, I think 'priority one medical orders.' It's true, but Jack is doing so much better after his hospital stay in L.A. The docs told us two things: he was weak mainly from dehydration, which they fixed by giving him plenty of intravenous fluids. 'Orange juice and water,' they said to his mom. 'Keep him away from the colored sugar syrups known as Gatorade.' Secondly, when they asked me what meds we had given him at home, I said 'Advil.' 'The regular Advil?' they had asked. I did not know there was a difference, but once I described the pill as a fat oval gel cap in dark blue, they told me that was the incorrect one. We had been giving him the sleeping pill form of pain reliever, and that had kept him weak and a bit spacey. I feel bad for giving him the wrong kind, but anyway, now Jack is much more alert and doing a lot better than he was.

I re-snap his seatbelt and then mine as we start to pull away from the gate.

"What?" I ask, once I look over and see the mischievous grin is firmly nestled back on Jack's face.

"Phew – you gonna take care of me..?"

I kiss his lips, my hand smoothly finding and supporting his left cheek. "You know it, kid."

"You gonna side with my mom all the time..?"

I can't hide my own amusement. "When she's right, I'm gonna be on her side, and we're both gonna be on your side, even if you don’t recognize it at that precise moment."

Jack shrugs. "Ok, just checking."

I kiss him one more time for good measure and settle back into my seat.

"But seriously, Linc, I apologize for her behavior."

The plane is taxiing through the maze of LAX tarmac, and taking all the curves at a good clip. I'm hoping we're going to lift off on schedule.

"Maybe you are just a bit too close to see how nice a mom you have."

Jack appears worried that he's possibly upset me. "I guess you are right," he tells me sheepishly.

The plane slows, makes that broad 160-degree turn it does as it gets set at the end of its launch way. Then it comes to a dramatic and full stop.

"I love you, Lincoln Oliver."

"And I love you, Jack Shaw."

The jet engines begin to roar, sending shuddering vibrations up through the floor and directly along my spinal column. Jack and I are thrown against the back of our seats as the drone of the tires running themselves nearly flat through centrifugal force make a grinding sort of noise. Jack's hand finds mine; we hold on, and in another minute, the nose of the aircraft pivots up. Part of the rumble dissipates. The moment after that, the big tires lift off of Californian soil, and all is smooth as we sail through the air.

We eventually level off a bit, continuing to climb rapidly, while the sun starts streaming in from the other side of the plane. We're turning east.

Jack pulls my left hand and arm out with his right one – the ones we have been holding. He nestles our touching forearms over the gray denim of my upper thigh, and scrunches down as far as he can go in his seat. He leans over to rest his head on my shoulder. My right hand instantly goes up to brush his blue-green hair, have him settle on me in a way that's comfortable for him, and allow his low voice to reach my ear.

"Wo – I can't believe it, Lincoln. Twenty-four hours ago I thought I was going to die; I just ran out of Daddy's house without a plan, with no hope – "

"Shush, baby. Entire worlds can change in less than twenty-four hours."

"Yeah, they can. Can’t they?"

"Yes, and they do. I didn’t know a day ago I'd be heading to Cleveland."

Jack pinches my inner thigh. "Don’t even pretend – "

"We're going to Idaho, right?!" I play dumb.

"Jerk. You know damn well where we're going."

"Yeah, I know – Cincinnati in November. Yippeee!"

Jack snuggles on my chest a little more, and I sense how much he wants to sleep. Soon we'll be at altitude, and Jack can take his meds and we'll nap the rest of the way.

In that thought I get lost in a little pool of memory. It was about 7:30 when our friend and housemate Dau entered Jack's hospital room last night. We were alone, as Dawn and Mrs. Shaw had gone to eat and bring me back something.

I had called Dau and told him we found Jack. Dau then volunteered to pack our things – both for me and Jack – and drop them off.

"Um, Sean, you ok?" Dau asked as he leaned over Jack's bedside.

"It's Jack. That's my real name, Dau. Sorry to have been a shit roommate."

"Holy Shit! What you talkin' 'bout Willis? Hell, you're the best dude I ever lived with." Dau turned to me, "And Lincoln, Daddy has a message for you."

I got upset. "That fucker better not say I owe him a penny – "

"Nah, Linc. He says he's sorry for ever thinking that Jack was on meth. He says you were right all along, wishes you the best…" He returned his attention to Jack. "…Wishes the best to both of you."

After their tearful goodbye, it was hard to look at our bags and not think this could be the last time Jack would see his friend again.

It sucks to lose those who you know will have your back, no matter what.

Now on the plane, as it approaches cruising altitude, Jack mumbles something.

I have to ask, "What'd you say?"

"I said, that by your tone earlier, I guess your mom is a bit different than mine."

"You could say that."

"Why don’t you tell me then? You've never really talked about your family."

I feel a flush of heat rise, but I'll go on and tell him, because it seems only fair. "I have a brother. He's cool, two years younger than me. He's the artistic type – into manga and drawing and photography. He has both a great imagination for storytelling and the eye to bring his vision to life. He's gotten so good at art, it's amazing – he sends me pix of his work from time to time, and he's always posting his latest photos on his social media sites. Someday you'll meet him and like him – I know it."

"Cool. What's your dad like?"

I can't stop myself from drawing in a big mouthful of stale airplane air. It's dry and hard on the throat; do I really want to contemplate him here and now..? I let out my held-in breath, deciding Jack does not need any sugarcoating of the truth, not at this stage.

"My dad is a real bastard. That's why I ran away from my rents and from Berkeley two years ago. A lot of times with intimidating jerks, the women in their lives seem to be shell-shocked and timid, but our mom is no cowering weakling. Those two are made for each other, always exchanging hard-skinned banter."

"Well, that sounds cool."

"It ain't, because me and my brother were never invited to join in. One misplaced word, and either one of our folks could explode."

I feel Jack's jaw against my chest move as he does some serious swallowing. My boyfriend asks me as if he expects the worst, "Explode? You mean erupt into hitting?"

I reassure him with an easy tone and a slow caress on his head. "Nah, babe. But sometimes words hurt a lot worse than an actual wallop. The pain of a bruise can go away in time, the other… I did run away for a reason, you know."

Jack strokes my cheek…and then…some odd movement in front of us catches my eye.

That Kilroy Asian lady from before is slowly raising her phone.

In the screen I can see she's aiming it so her grinning face is scrunched down in the lowest corner, while the tilted field is leaning backwards to capture me and Jack holding hands and leaning on each other.

Snap – her device makes a sound, and a flash comes back to blind my boy and me.

I sit upright, angry. Jack must know that, because, just as I'm about to hate-slap the flight attendant button, he stops me.

"Didn't you know, babe," he chuckles softly. "You're traveling with someone famous?"

"She should not be using electronic devices during takeoff…" I know I sound like a total geek, but I cannot help it. "…She's putting all of us at risk!"

"Lincoln."

His soft tone has just called out all my bullshit.

"Why can't they leave us alone, Jack?"

"They will. In a week or so, they'll never remember who the 'Leukemia Kid' was."

"Oh, yes they will." I try not to cry, but I feel like it.

I guess Jack doesn't really want to go on talking about it, so he closes his eyes, and snuggles in close to my heart. "Do you want to hear a bit about my family?"

"Yes, Jack."

"My sister Christie is two years older than me, and she looks up to our oldest brother for almost everything – always has." His tone changes to one of astounded disbelief. "I just realized, she'll graduate in the spring. Fuk – how time flies."

"And your brother, what's he like?"

"Hamish is five years older than me, goes to Virginia Tech, and is studying mechanical engineering. I guess he's gonna graduate next spring. Christie is considering going there too, so I guess they can have one college year together."

"They do sound close."

"They are. You should see the family pictures of when Hamish was 4 and 5 – he'd cradle baby Christie and watch over her as she tried to take her first steps."

I feel a sly grin wash over my entire lower face. "Sounds like there's video evidence too."

"What do you mean..?" Jack asks with suspicion-raised hackles.

"I mean that one or two choicely placed words to Mrs. S. and I bet out will come a whole video library of 'Baby Jack' memories."

He pushes hard on my chest; his face goes blank glaring up at me. "You wouldn't dare."

I let my eyebrows flare a couple of times. "That's between me and your mom."

"Bastard," he mumbles under his breath as he pretends to be engaged with something out the window.

I peek too – there is just the monotony of cloud cover to be seen far below the airplane's 'feet.'

A slight sigh escapes and I extend my left arm across the back of his shoulders as both apology and invitation. It works, for Jack turns towards me as I gently increase my pull. He re-settles his head against my chest.

"Sorry, Jack. Of course I won't ask her until you're ready for me to see them."

He chuckles. "I'm probably ready for you to see them, but I don’t know if I can take them – them and my mom going on endlessly about what I did when I was two-point-five."

"That's cute, just like I bet little two-point-five Jack was."

His tone turns dry and crisp like the cabin air. "Hamish and Christie had it hard growing up in a 'sick' household. I don’t blame them for never feeling close to me, but still, it does make me sad sometimes."

"Jack..."

"Look Linc, Hamish is smart, but can be a major Grade-A prick. Please play it cool with him, ok?"

I feel myself smirk, glad he can't see it. "Babe, you know I'm always super chill. And, everybody loves me!"

"Phew! I know – that's part of why I love you so much."

"So, you do love me, huh?"

"More than life, Lincoln Oliver." He blissfully strokes my legs.

"If you're tired, Jack, you should sleep. Later on I can pull out my phone and we can listen to some tunes."

Jack sounds very drowsy. "That sounds heavenly, Linc. I think I'll just shut my eyes for a while now."

"Yeah, Jack. You do that."

My boy chuckles groggily, "Wake me when my champagne and caviar arrive."

"Ha-ha, you mean your Gatorade and CornNuts."

"Umm…salted nuts…"

"Bad boy. Whose nuts?"

"Only yours, babe."

"Okay, Robin Leach," I murmur, smoothly drawing my hand over his hair and temple. "Why don’t you close your eyes and rest? I'm not going anywhere."

He's already half-dreaming. "I know you're not, sexy beast. I just hope I'm not going anywhere – not anytime soon at least."

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

"We're home!"

It's dark outside – and cold – and Mrs. Shaw has just disappeared into a rectangle of light and warmth under a burning porch light.

Her greeting was quickly followed by the clickety-clack of her roller carry-on against parquet flooring.

Now Jack follows into the portal, supported from behind by Dawn who is shouldering her overstuffed backpack, and lastly I scoot along the pathway thinking I can't get inside quick enough.

I see my frozen dragon breath is impatient with the pair of duffle bags slung over my letterman jacket: one is mine, the other belongs to my boy. The one thing I know for sure is that I'm not going to venture out of that selfsame door without getting – or at least borrowing – a proper winter coat! To her credit, Mrs. S. warned me before we left the airport, but the Cincinnati Bengals outerwear in the terminal gift shop did not speak to my 49er's heart.

I turn my shoulders and maneuver my way past the white doorframe and into the pool of light and heat that is Jack's boyhood home.

I close the door behind me while Mrs. Shaw pulls off her gloves and cranes her head a little. "Hamish? Christie? Come say hello."

Glancing to my right, I see a large living room with a fireplace at one end and sofas and armchairs set in front of it.

A single table lamp is on in there.

Dawn begins to slump off her backpack so she can assist Jack with removing his coat – his original Universal Studios coat, which probably won't stick out like a sore thumb in Ohio like it does in L.A. Jack's best friend arranges it on a hook and removes her own to add to the family hall tree.

"Mom..?" A female voice calls from someplace in the house.

"Up here, Christie."

I tilt to my left a moment and invite Jack's gym bag to slip into my grasp. As I set it on the floor, I see a shadow moving at the top of the carpeted set of steps in front of me.

While I dip right and let my duffel bag slide carefully to the floor, a burly young dude begins to come downstairs.

He's six-foot at least, and massive thighs rippling beneath his Levi's, and the grip of his lower arm muscles holding a box to his abdomen, tell me he was probably a high school wrestler. Next thing I notice – past the top of the trophies filling the box in his arms – is how much his face resembles Jack's. Clearly he's older, and there is something perfectly guarded behind those features, but this guy is obviously a close match for my boyfriend.

"Hamish," says Mrs. S. "Look who's here." She indicates Jack, and the older Shaw boy only gives a head nod towards his long lost bro. Now I spot that this 'Hamish' is sporting chestnut-brown hair, but the color is somewhat masked by it being close-cropped into a 60s style buzz cut – the top of his skull fur stands straight up and is mowed off to be as level as any putting green.

This guy snarls, "Jack, what did you do to your hair?" He comes down all the way and stands there like he expects my boy to treat that question seriously.

I feel an instant flush of heat rise from my collarbone. I want to step in…

Their mom speaks up for Jack. "You never mind his hair. It can change, and so can yours."

Hamish's smirk immediately dims; there is hurt to be seen in it for the flashing moment he lets his guard down, and I suddenly can make out more than just Jack's resemblance in that slightly older face. In another moment, his mask goes back up, and Hamish seems all closed off and hidden, which strikes me as about the polar opposite of the young man I love.

He glares at me with open hostility.

Their mom explains to Dawn, Jack and me, "Hamish is moving his stuff to the basement. We discussed it on the phone, and we decided the best place for Jack during his treatment is upstairs. So, a switch up is in order." She forces the kind of chuckle mature ladies do when they know they wield godly power over the lives of their dependents, but hope to God no one notices. "It's much too cold," she concludes. "And much too damp in the basement, for Jack."

It's clear on his face, and the cold and damp glance he gives Jack, that Hamish sorely resents being pushed out.

The sound of someone climbing steps drifts out to us in our tense silence, and a pretty teenage girl rounds the corner behind the staircase down the hall.

Mrs. Shaw turns a warm smile to her. "Ah, Christie. Look who's home!"

"Hello, Jack. You ok?"

Christie is also holding a box out in front of her. A couple of rolled up posters stick out of one corner.

"I'm ok, Christie. How 'bout you?"

She comes up to stand next to Hamish. "I'm ok too." Christie and the elder Shaw boy exchange glances and train their attentions on me.

"And who is this?" Hamish says to his mom with all the warmth of an accountant inquiring about an IRS adjustor.

"Ah!" Mrs. S. comes up to me, sidestepping the bags on the floor and resting her hand on my shoulder. But then her voice falters. "Um, this is Jack's…friend…Lincoln Oliver. They met in L.A."

My stunned vision catches Jack swallow down an intimidated lump, and I guess his desire to speak up is threatened by the expression on his mother's face – an expression I dare not even glance at.

She has no right to put us back into the closet, and heat again presses for attention as it crowds in between me and the collar of my shirt. I feel hurt – and I suppose Jack feels the same way – but then again, as a moment of calm reflection gets a grip on me and I concentrate on how Mrs. Shaw's hand slightly trembles on my shoulder, I suppose I understand that a total stranger is standing in her hallway. In that light, maybe it’s psychologically easiest for her to think of me as a mere 'friend' of her son's. After all, she has known and cared for Jack his whole life, whereas with me, she just discovered that I exist a couple of days ago. So, I suppose at this stage, her thinking of me as Jack's 'friend' is about the best I can hope for.

I blink, and realize everyone is staring at me. Mrs. Shaw's touch becomes a patting, then leaves my person.

"Well," she announces generally. "I imagine everyone is tired and hungry. You two…" her hand indicates Hamish and Christie "…finish setting up Jack's new room with his things, and I'll see about some food."

Jack's mom takes a step, reaches a hand in the nearly darkened void of the living room, and click, the lights come on in there.

"Dawn, you can leave your things by the door. You're staying for dinner, right?"

She glances at me and Jack before shrugging.

Mrs. S. comes back and gently ushers her youngest child by the elbow towards the living room. "Well, you're more than welcome to stay, dear. Let's all sit while Hamish and Christie finish up."

Dawn and I catch a glimpse of one another, then shrug and follow Mrs. S. and Jack towards the sofa. When we get there, we realize Jack's two siblings have not moved a muscle on the staircase. Both of them are still glaring at me.

Mrs. S. sounds impatient. "What?"

Hamish is amazed and disgusted at the same time. "And, where's he gonna be sleeping?" The question is accompanied by a dismissive head gesture.

"You mean Lincoln?" Mrs. Shaw's tone is full of motherly rebuke.

"Yeah," Christie pipes up, still clutching Jack's box of things in her arms.

"Never you mind," says Mrs. S., with shooing movements from her hands. "You two just focus on your task."

After another moment of inaction, their mother's tone grows deep. "Come on now, hurry it up, and no dawdling! Jack needs to get his rest for tomorrow."

The siblings finally break their hostile peering at me and expend a couple of furtive glances between Jack and each other. Christie shoulders past her brother and starts upstairs; Hamish walks past the living room opening and towards the basement door.

"And, Hamish…"

There is the sound of him pausing.

"…Lend Lincoln one of your warm coats, okay?" his mom asks in the form of a command. He grunts before trudging down his dungeon steps.

Mrs. Shaw turns to us and is obviously much relieved. I can almost read her mind: 'No one said this was going to be easy.'

"Sit down, sit down." She motions at the seat cushions. "Now, it's orange juice for Jack…" She heads towards the open doorway to the dining room, and to what I presume is the kitchen beyond. "Shall I order pizza?" Her voice fades as she disappears into the unseen heart of the house. A light goes on from somewhere to cast shadows onto the dining room table and chairs.

Jack comes and takes my hand. He has me sit in the corner of the couch and comes down to immediately nestle against my arm. Dawn sits next to him. We can hear a drawer with silverware rattle open and then the sound of paper flyers getting rustled.

"Hot chocolate: Dawn, Lincoln?"

After getting a confirming nod and smile from me, Dawn speaks loudly from her seat, raising herself up a little by pressing her knuckles into the cushions. "Yes – do you need any help?"

"No, no – you chat and unwind."

The noise of the drawer closes. We wait until we can hear Mrs. Shaw ordering the pizza on her phone. Then the three of us breathe a little more calmly. Yeah, I guess no one said this would be easy.

"That was quite a gauntlet we had to go through," I say, referring to how the police have cordoned the ends of Jack's block to keep the media wolves away from his door.

By Jack's sighs and increasing weight against my body I can tell he wants to sleep soon.

"You're telling me! I wasn't prepared for our greeting by cameras and reporters outside the airport." Dawn laughs: "I hope my hair was ok!"

"Ha," Jack chirps. "I'm sure all the cameras were focused on your shocking, autumn-colored locks."

"Dweeb." She smirks, then turns a genuine smile on me. "One thing's for sure, they wanted to know who the handsome stranger was with you."

"Yeah…" Jack strokes my chest. "They're all jealous."

That earns him a kiss.

Dawn's tone dips down to be a bit more serious. "Yeah, damn paparazzi. I'm just glad Mrs. Shaw is a steady driver and we didn't have one of those media-induced Princess Di moments."

Jack's mom reenters the room carrying a wooden tray. She sets it down on the coffee table as she glides into one of the armchairs. "There you go, Lincoln and Dawn – hot chocolate for you." She picks up a glass of O.J. for my boy. She places it in his hands while Dawn and I reach for our steaming mugs of marshmallow-topped goodness.

As I exhale my first cooling breath, and raise the cup up to my lips, I see Jack just sullenly staring at his juice. I don’t sip. I lower my mug and ask, "Mrs. Shaw, can't Jack have any cocoa?"

She appears to be on the verge of crying; I trace back her stunned look to Jack's hopeful eyes gazing at her. She sighs and tells me, "Well, Lincoln. There are some foods better suited to…to Jack's…position – "

My boyfriend cuts her off. "Tell him what will happen to me tomorrow, Mom."

"Jack…" she starts.

"Lincoln deserves to hear the truth, Mom."

"Well, in that case…" His mother stiffens her spine. "In the morning, Lincoln, Jack will receive what's called leukapheresis. He will sit in a chair, with catheters in both arms. One machine will draw his blood out, filter away all of the white blood cells – healthy and sick ones – and the other device will pump this sanitized blood back into his body."

My mug gets set on the coffee table, un-tasted. "Why?" I ask.

She glances out the darkened picture window for a second. "Because, in the afternoon he will get his first dose of chemotherapy, and the fewer white blood cells in his body, the more…effective…the…chemicals can be."

'Not easy…' runs helplessly through my head.

Jack squeezes my thigh questioningly, and I hug him as answer. He asks his best friend, "Dawn, you coming to the hospital with me tomorrow?"

"Yep," she answers with false brightness. "School doesn't start till Monday."

"Yeah, but you don’t have to waste it on – "

She cuts him off. "It's my time, I can 'waste' it as I see fit."

There is a funny, muffled noise. Dawn suddenly stands up and fishes her vibrating phone out of her pocket.

"It's a text from my dad; he's outside to take me home."

Jack gets up. They hug. "See you in the A.M., Jack."

"Phew… Ok."

"Mrs. Shaw, I'm going home now…" Her sight drifts momentarily towards the picture window. "Thanks for…everything."

"Come on, Dawn. I'll walk you out."

As the two get to the hall, I'm surprised to turn forward and find Jack climbing up on the sofa in front of me. He kneels with legs on either side of my thighs, places his hands on my shoulders, and sits in my lap close to my knees. The sad expression on his face makes me instantly latch onto his lower back to support him.

"Are you all right, Lincoln? It's all so much for anyone to take in, even someone as awesome as you."

"Ah, baby – you're worried about me at a time like this?"

"Yep. Especially at a time like this."

"Jack, how about you? How are you doing?"

He bites his lower lip and leans his upper body into me so that his chest is pressed against my face. "I'm scared, Linc." His delicate, clean smell is all around me.

I hug tightly and sway with him. "Shush, kid. You know I'm here."

 

 

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