Cumulonimbus - 1. Cumulonimbus

Cumulonimbus

Cumulonimbus, from the Latin cumulus ("heap") and nimbus ("rainstorm", "storm cloud"), is a dense towering vertical cloud associated with thunderstorms and atmospheric instability, forming from water vapor carried by powerful upward air currents.

(Source: Wikipedia)

Mark squinted through the rain, his fingers tapping the steering wheel in a rapid beat, willing the red light to turn green,

Now! Now! Now!

He briefly entertained the thought of how it would be if he could change the light with his 'secret superpowers', then he scoffed at himself.

Yeah, right. When did I turn into a geek?

From the moment his phone had woken him with The Whistler instead of Juli and his ex's smiling face had greeted him on its screen, he knew it would be one of those days. He had been so right. Someone high above had obviously decided it was time to punish him, and choosing his ex's birthday, of all days, he knew exactly why.

And now I'm turning into an old wife.

A cancelled early-morning appointment jettisoned everything they had worked on, because the client finally couldn't evade the fact any longer that he had cheated on his wife, courtesy of a P.I. and a series of brilliant, detailed photos. After that, Mark had sat at his desk lost in thought instead of getting ready for a meeting with one of the partners. He had been in such a hurry he'd forgotten a file and had to call his assistant to bring it for him.

Mr. Harris hadn't been happy about that at all.

Then, because of an impromptu conference call, he hadn't had time for lunch. With a fickle blood-sugar level, he needed to eat regularly, which was proven, once again, when he'd growled at Mr. Parker's assistant for messing with his PowerPoint presentation.

Way to go, Mark: upsetting two out of three partners in one day.

As if that hadn't been enough, the picture of Sam blowing out the candles on his birthday cake kept popping up into his mind at the most inconvenient moments.

The storm, being early, is just the icing on the cake. Cake! Arrgh! Only a bad day, nothing else.

At home, he would crawl into his bed, preferably after having pasta with fresh homemade pesto from his favorite Italian place and a nice bottle of Verdicchio dei Castelli dei Jesi.

The windshield wipers were barely able to manage the water pelting down on the car. The truck in front of him was a mere blur. Then, as if someone had briefly turned a switch, he could see its rear bright and clear, including the license plate.

Sam's truck!

Mark followed it without thinking. He knew from his attorney that Sam had bought one of the lakeside properties after they had sold the house. His ex finally had the place he'd always wanted – by the lake, away from the city.

Focusing on the red taillights in front of him, Mark knew he should have talked to Sam months ago. He needed to apologize, to explain… and then it hit him with sudden clarity… he needed to try to reconcile.

Jolted back to the here and now by a hard bump in the road, he grabbed the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, realizing that neither he nor his car was suited to these kinds of roads.

When Sam's truck finally stopped and its lights went off, Mark was drenched with sweat. He closed his eyes. The moment he had imagined so many times in the last months was finally here.

With his heart beating in his throat, he watched Sam rounding the truck to let out a beautiful dog, a Collie/German Shepherd mix. Mark opened the door and ran out into the pouring rain before he lost courage. He skidded on the muddy ground, and the unhelpful thought that his loafers were just as ill-suited for this as his car briefly zipped through his mind.

"Sam!"

Sam turned around, his eyes widening.

"Mark?"

When Mark reached him he had to hold onto his ex's shoulders so he wouldn’t fall. The dog obviously saw that as a threat and growled deeply in its throat.

"I-I… Happy birthday. I… Sam, I've been an idiot, I- please can we talk?"

Sam looked at him, utterly bewildered. Mark could see the exact moment Sam comprehended what he had said when Sam clenched his jaws and shook his head.

"I don't think so, Mark. You need to go to your car and drive back before the weather gets worse. They will probably close the roads soon."

"Please, Sam…"

This was his chance to explain, to make up for what he had done. Emotions tied Mark's throat up; words didn't come. He opened his mouth, and all that came out was a croak, a whimper, and before he knew it, he found himself down on his knees, Armani suit and all, pressing his head into Sam's stomach, inhaling deeply.

Home.

This was what he wanted, what he needed.

When Sam's hand touched his hair and even petted him, he smiled.

Everything will be okay again.

Mark didn't care that the cold seeped slowly through his knees into his body; he was where he should be.

Sam's grip tightened in his hair.

Did he just yell something at me?

Then Sam was on his knees, too, and Mark grabbed his face with both hands, pressed his mouth to Sam's, pushed his tongue against closed lips and licked and nipped until Sam finally opened up.

To tell me off?

He pushed that thought away and thrust his tongue into Sam's mouth, groaning.

Sam.

But then Sam shoved him back by his shoulders so hard he almost fell on his back. The dog circled them, panting and barking, and Sam yelled at Mark, he could barely hear him over the din.

"…into the house…getting worse…"

Mark felt a sharp sting and involuntarily reached up to touch his right ear, but Sam didn't let him. He grabbed Mark's hand and dragged him to the house. The dog ran ahead, barking the whole time, and Mark lost his right shoe.

Sam closed the door with a thud. Inside the house it was warm, and Mark could smell fresh-cooked food.

He has someone else. I'm too late.

Sam's bright smile confirmed Mark's greatest fear.

"Paul?"

Seeing Sam hurrying to get out of his muddy boots so that he could go looking for Paul made Mark feel like an idiot. Not once had he considered that Sam could have a new man in his life.

He shivered. Standing in a puddle of mud and water, watching Sam disappearing through a door at the end of the hall, he felt only cold. Slowly Mark peeled himself out of his dripping, muddy coat, hung it on the coatrack beside the door and slipped out of his one shoe. His ear still stung, and he lifted his hand to find out why. When he looked at his fingers, they were stained with blood. Some debris flying around outside must have nicked his ear. He wiped his hand clean using his coat sleeve – the coat was ruined anyway – before he took out a tissue and pressed it against his ear. After that, he followed Sam, leaving wet, muddy footprints on the floor.

The room at the end of the hall turned out to be the kitchen. Sam was bending over the oven top, lifting lids of pots and pans. The small table by the window was set – for one? – with a white tablecloth, linen napkin, crystal glasses, and a silver candleholder.

Without looking at him, Sam said, "You better get out of those wet clothes and take a hot shower. I don't know how much longer we'll have power. Guestroom is upstairs to the left. It has its own bathroom."

Mark nodded before he angled for a chair with his foot, when something hard hit the windowpane. Both men jumped. The dog came running into the kitchen barking and growling.

"Shhh, Merlin. Good boy. Everything's okay." Sam petted him soothingly before he checked for damage.

"I better shutter the windows. I’ll come up afterwards and find you something to wear, then we'll eat; it looks like someone has cooked me a birthday dinner." On his way out he muttered, "And don't use up all the hot water."

Like you usually do, Mark.

Mark could almost hear the words, and then he remembered Sam's frowning over the muddy footprints on the kitchen floor. To not anger him further, he wrestled his numb, ice-cold feet out of the socks. When he finally had them off, he balled them up in his hand and went looking for the guestroom.

***

Mark came back into the kitchen wearing Sam's sweat pants, t-shirt, dark-green hoodie, and thick socks. Sam was stirring one of the pans, his dark-brown hair still damp from his own shower. The table was set for two now; it was almost like in the past.

"Sit down. What do you want to drink? I have beer, wine, juice, and water." Mark saw the bottle in Sam's hand; it was an excellent red wine.

"Wine, please."

Everything was fine until Mark made the mistake to ask, "Who cooked this? It's fantastic."

Sam went rigid before he answered curtly, "A friend."

Mark wondered if this ‘friend’ was the mysterious Paul, but he knew better than to ask.

Sam was collecting their dishes when he suddenly dropped a fork onto one of the plates with a loud clatter and stared at the shuttered window.

"Shit! He must have seen us from here. That's why–"

Then he turned around, and Mark watched him ripping open the back door and storming outside, only to stand in the rain for minutes.

"Sam?"

On his way back inside, Sam suddenly stopped to bend down and free something that was wedged into the doorjamb. He held it out for Mark to see. It was the crushed flower head of a red rose.

"Why did you have to come here? And you kissed me, asshole!" He slammed the rose on the table so hard the dishes jumped.

Pacing around the kitchen, muttering some more expletives, Sam fished in the pocket of his jeans for his phone. He dialed and pressed it against his ear, but nobody answered. Without another word, he ran into the hall. Mark followed him, and seeing Sam was slipping on one of his boots he said, "Sam, you can't go out there; it's too dangerous!"

Sam pushed aside the excited dog, ignoring Mark. He reached for the second boot when a loud screeching outside made him freeze mid-motion. For a moment, it was eerily silent, then they heard a loud crashing and snapping, followed by a dull thump, shattering glass and bending metal.

"What was that?" Mark rounded Sam and cracked the door open.

Sam grabbed his arm. "Stop! A tree must have just barely missed the house."

Mark peered through the gap and saw that Sam was right. A big tree blocked the road. It miraculously had missed Sam's truck, but his own car was smashed.

"Oh shit, Sam. You could be buried under that tree now if you had gone out only a minute earlier… Oh, my God."

Sam stared at him, one boot still in his hand. "Shit!"

"My bag is in there; I have important files in that car. Harris will kill me if I lose them."

"We can look once the weather calms down. Better Harris kills you than the storm; at least the asshole would have to go to jail for that." Mark grinned; Sam could never stand Harris.

They threw themselves against the door, pushing out branches with their hands until they were able to close it again.

Then the power went out, and they stood in the dark. Twigs of the fallen tree scratched against the door. The storm howled and tore at the house. Mark felt as if it was triumphing, and suddenly the idea that some greater force was out there for him today didn't seem so far-fetched anymore.

Sam rummaged in the hall closet until he came out with two flashlights. "I have to look at the generator. There are candles on the mantelpiece in the living room. Maybe you could light them while I search for more in the kitchen."

After lighting the candles, Mark sat down in one of the easy chairs flanking the fireplace and waited for Sam. When he finally came into the room, Sam set some more tea lights on the coffee table between them before he took the other chair. Together they listened to the rain hitting roof and walls, the candles flickering in the draft. Mark heard the clicking of Merlin's nails on the hardwood floor in the hall. The dog came over, threw himself beside Sam's chair with a loud thump, and watched Mark. As did Sam.

"It looks like you have what you always wanted now, huh? A house outside the city, by the lake, and a dog."

"Mark, why are you here?"

The time for small talk was over. Mark closed his eyes. He had played the what-do-I-do-when-I-accidentally-run-into-Sam situation many times in his head, so why couldn't he open his mouth and say it. Wasn't he known for being a smooth talker in every situation?

"I saw your truck and followed you."

"Why?"

Merlin pushed his head into Sam's dangling hand, demanding to be petted.

"Because it's your birthday."

Sam's eyes narrowed. He leaned back in his chair, waiting for Mark to continue.

"And because I’ve wanted to talk to you." Mark paused. "For a long time."

Scraping at a small flaw in the fabric of his sweat pants, he waited for Sam to say something; he didn't.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry for handling our… my… everything so poorly. I should have waited for you, talked to you, not move out and cowardly disappear. I… God." He looked down and stared at his lap.

When he glanced up, Sam was watching him and still didn't say a word, and Mark finally realized Sam wasn't going to help him out. Mark couldn't blame him; he'd barged in here, and he had to finish it on his own.

"I changed my alarm to Juli…, a trio I'm listening to since… well, since last year. David Orlowski Trio." When Sam lifted an eyebrow questioningly, Mark said, "The trio…I'm listening to…David Orlowski Trio." Mark knew he was making no sense, that he was rambling; he couldn't help it, though.

Sam waited. That was new. In the past he would have helped him eventually, he would have anticipated what Mark wanted to say, and Mark wouldn't have to spell it out word for word. Sam would have known. Maybe Sam knew now, too, but wanted Mark to say it anyway. And he could do that. Right?

"This morning, I woke with The Whistler. Is it still one of your favorite songs?"

No reaction. Mark tried not to let it discourage him.

"You remember last year, when I took the picture of you blowing out the candles on your birthday cake?"

He got a 'hmm'.

Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?

"I gave you a phone for your birthday, the same one I have. I used mine to show you how it worked, how to program contacts, and how to set the alarm and the reminders. To practice, we programmed each other’s birthdays–"

"I deleted that."

Mark swallowed; of course, Sam did. He must have been furious, coming home from a weeklong business trip to a half-empty house and his partner of over two years gone, only leaving an impersonal letter from an attorney. Sam probably deleted everything 'Mark'.

"You've been smarter than me, then." He shrugged. "What's new?"

Another 'hmm'. Outside, the storm still raged; rain drummed against the roof, and the house groaned as if someone wanted to tear it apart.

Mark had never experienced a storm outside the city; he flinched when he heard another sharp snapping noise. Rubbing his damp hands against his thighs repeatedly, he tried to calm himself. He needed to concentrate on Sam.

"My Oma always said, 'Wenn's dem Esel zu wohl geht, geht er auf's Eis tanzen und bricht sich ein Bein.' Which roughly translates into: 'The overconfident donkey steps on the ice to dance and breaks a leg.' I broke us," Mark said morosely.

"No, you didn't."

"But-"

Sam leaned forward, resting his right elbow on his thigh. "You sped it up, yes, you made it more painful, yes; you've been a coward, and I admit I was angry as hell, but in the end, the result would have been the same. We would have parted eventually; I know that now."

"No! I should have talked to you. I was too egotistical, too self-absorbed. You are not a people person; you don't like the whole small-talk-at-dinner-parties spiel, I knew that. Instead of complaining about you being unsocial, about you not having any interest in my career and all the other unimportant stuff, I should have concentrated on what we had in common. We could have compromised. Isn't that what people in relationships do? Compromise?"

"Yes, that's what they do – in working relationships. But we had already been going in different directions for months. We just didn't want to see it, Mark. What you just said – those were mere symptoms and not the reason why we were drifting apart. For you, this isn't unimportant stuff. We evolved and didn't fit anymore. This happens. If I had been more honest with myself and with you and had wanted to salvage something unsalvageable, maybe all this wouldn't have happened. We would still be friends."

"No. It's me. I'm never satisfied; I always want more. I do it on the job, and I did it with us. All I could see were the negative things; they piled up in my mind, and I let them fester. Then Joel started to work with me, and I thought I'd met the man of my dreams. I saw all the things I missed, that I wanted to have, and I blanked out the rest – a severe miscalculation of mine. Mind you, Joel is beautiful, and he knows what drives me. He loves socializing; he sees an advantage and grabs it with both hands, like I do. This time I was the advantage, and when he had what he wanted – my recommendation for a job – he moved on. Like I do and did many times in the past. That was when my eyes opened and I saw what I had with you, saw what I threw away. Sam, can you forgive me for being so blind?"

"So there had been someone else. I wondered…"

"Yes."

"D-did you bring him home when I was at the conference?"

"Yes."

Sam rubbed his forehead. "I admit the picture of you with someone else in our bed… still hurts. It's the same bed I still sleep in every night. I could never throw it out; I inherited it from my great-aunt."

"Sam, I'm so sorry… I-I didn't think. God, I'm such an asshole."

Sam snorted. "You don't swear. Ever. Remember?"

"I do, silently."

"Good to know." Sam ran his hand through his hair. "Look, Mark, we can't go back."

"You met someone: Paul."

Sam took one of the tea lights in his hand and played with its flame. "Maybe. I don't know anymore. He's not answering his phone, maybe I misinterpreted…"

Mark had to fight the urge to reach out and lay his hand on Sam's thigh. He knew it would not be welcome.

"Where did you meet him?" Mark couldn't believe he was asking this, pouring salt into his wounds.

Sam snorted. "At a reception."

"No way! You talked to someone at a reception? You must have said more than three words to connect with him. Were you drunk?"

"Oh no, he talked to me. I might have said 'yes' at some point or 'hmm', maybe, before I took a cookie and fled the room."

"You didn't."

"Oh yes, I did. A few weeks later he called me; he needed help with a database."

"Uh-huh, a database."

"Yes, it started as a business relationship, but later on we became friends. He helped me with the move and went to the shelter with me where I got Merlin."

"And then it became more."

"I thought so. I-I mean, I don't know."

"There was a red rose, Sam."

"Yes, but maybe it wasn't for me, maybe it was for his sister…"

"A red rose? For his sister?"

Mark still couldn't believe what he was doing. Here he sat trying to show his ex, whom he had wanted back minutes ago, that another man was in love with him.

"They love each other very much; they're twins. It's too early, anyway. I swore to myself I would wait, not rush into another relationship. I have to get to know him better, see if we fit." He nodded to himself. "Yes, I have to wait."

***

The next day the storm had calmed down, and Mark helped Sam cut down the fallen tree. He was able to salvage his satchel and laptop; the files were only a little bit damaged by the water. They had to wait another day before Sam could drive him back into the city.

Mark felt lighter. He was still sad because he knew Sam was lost to him, at least as a lover, but maybe not as a friend.