Duncan Montpelier flicked a
nonexistent bit of lint from his deep rose shirt cuff and straightened the
fiber
The ivory parchment envelope was
addressed to his companion, Jarrett Grayling, in a fine spidery script.
Why would the past—a past so
painful Jarrett seldom mentioned it—be reaching out now? Duncan could see no
good coming of it. Perhaps he should discard the letter before Jarrett arrived
home.
But no. It had taken five long
years before Jarrett was able to trust him. Could he ever look Jarrett in the
eye again if he destroyed this letter?
If this were to develop into some
sort of crisis, they would face it together. That’s how committed partners
faced difficulties in life.
Duncan paced restlessly to the
window and peered at the street far below. Tonight was Jarrett’s night to
provide dinner. They alternated. Jarrett was late. Since he knew that Duncan
had to return to the gallery where he worked for an opening tonight, Jarrett
must have decided to stop at a take out shop. One could only hope a gourmet
take out shop.
Jarrett’s job as an auditor with
the city was boring and stressful at the same time. Duncan was grateful for the
trust fund that had permitted him to choose a job he enjoyed managing an art
gallery. He could not have kept it if he had to depend upon the income. He had
offered to cover their basic bills, but Jarrett had insisted upon paying his
portion. Duncan had never revealed the extent of their bills, just asked
Jarrett for a set amount each month.
The alternating dinner
arrangement might be unfair. Jarrett, already unnerved by his job, had
unrealistic standards for himself whenever it was his turn to fix the meal. A curdled
sauce or a fallen soufflé could bring him to tears.
Perhaps Duncan could once more
suggest hiring a cook for weeknights.
The elevator whirred to a stop at
their private foyer. Duncan heard Jarrett’s light footsteps on the marble
floor. He hurried to open the door. He was met by the familiar aroma of
Givenchy Pour Homme cologne.
Looking flustered, Jarrett
bundled in with his arms full of bags with the logo of “Gourmet for Everyday”
emblazoned on them. He turned a clean-shaven cheek to Duncan for a quick kiss.
“I was so going to cook tonight.”
He hurried into the kitchen deposited the bags on the stainless steel counter. “I
had planned to stop and get a lovely piece of beef to broil! But I was running
late, and I knew you had to go to an opening tonight. So I stopped and got
cordon bleu. I know it’s nothing special, darling. I do hope you’ll forgive
me!”
“Nothing to forgive,” Duncan
replied. “A perfectly presentable dinner. Shall I fix us cocktails, or would
you prefer I just open a bottle of wine?”
“Whichever you think is best. You’re
the one with the deadline!” Jarrett swept into the dining room. He began
assembling embroidered placements, thin porcelain plates, silver cutlery,
crystal stemware and arranging it on the polished dark surface of the dining
table.
Duncan took a bottle of wine from
the cooler and opened it.
“I got some of those dreamy au
gratin potatoes,” Jarrett said. “And the asparagus rolls; I do hope they didn’t
crumble on the way home. Chocolate mousse for dessert. And, of course, a salad
and a loaf of the seven grain French bread. We do have butter, don’t we?”
Duncan smiled indulgently at
Jarrett. “You’re babbling,” he said. “Everything will be fine. A lovely dinner.
The excellent company would have made a much less impressive dinner a charming
experience. Relax!”
Jarrett stopped his frenetic
motion and smiled back at Duncan. “You do see through the non-essentials and put
things into perspective. You are so good for me.”
“And you for me, my dear. Here’s
to us!” Duncan held his glass aloft.
After dinner, Duncan ground beans
for coffee while Jarrett cleared the dishes to the kitchen. Duncan poured Navan
Vanilla Cognac, and they sat on the sleek grey couches, the city spread out
before their window. The chocolate mousse in the refrigerator was forgotten. Duncan
gazed fondly on Jarrett’s slight form. How fortunate he was. Many people went
an entire lifetime without finding a partner like Jarrett. So kind, so loving,
so grateful for the care and guidance Duncan could provide. And so attractive,
with his flowing brown curls, his delicate bone structure and his deep, dark
eyes. Even the thin, crooked nose was charming. Duncan felt he could gather him
in his arms and shield him from the world forever.
But the letter.
“Jarrett,” he said, rolling the
snifter in his palms to warm the cognac. “You have a letter. I left in on the
hall table. It’s from Middle Falls.”
Jarrett’s slender hands rose in
an alarmed flutter. “I hope nothing has happened to my Aunt Agnes!” he
exclaimed.
“Your Aunt Agnes?” Duncan
frowned. He had not heard much about Middle Falls, and he certainly hadn’t
heard about an Aunt Agnes.
“Yes. My Aunt Agnes. She’s my
only living relative!” Jarrett’s nervous hands trembled, suspended in the air. “Unless
something’s happened…”
Duncan arose and got the letter. He
handed it to his partner.
“This is Aunt Agnes’s
stationery.” Jarrett stroked the parchment. “She always said a lady should keep
a good supply of quality stationery.”
“I have to go to work soon,”
Duncan reminded him. “Would you rather wait to open it until I am gone?”
“No!” Jarrett loosened the flap
of the envelope. “I wonder why she is writing after all these years.”
“How did she get the address?”
Duncan asked.
“I get a lovely birthday card for
her every year,” Jarrett said. “And a Christmas card. I used one of those
wonderful winter scene ones you had made up last year. I don’t imagine she gets
much mail these days.”
Duncan raised his bushy eyebrows.
He felt his world spinning. What else did he not know about Jarrett? “I didn’t
know you kept in touch with any of your family.”
Jarrett looked stricken. “I never
tried to hide it from you. It just never came up.”
“I thought your family had
disowned you.” Duncan moved stiffly across the room.
“Mostly.” Jarrett paused before
he took the folded sheets from the envelope. “I don’t know if Aunt Agnes had
much choice. She’s a spinster lady. She was always dependent upon my
grandfather, who was very strict. She’s my father’s sister, much older than him.
When I was a child, Aunt Agnes often took care of me. She’s the one who
convinced my father to send me away to boarding school. She said I was too
‘delicate’ to go to the local public school.” Tears formed in Jarrett’s eyes. “I
don’t know that I would have ever survived Middle Falls High.”
Duncan placed a comforting hand
on Jarrett’s shoulder. “Let’s see what she wants.”
Jarrett skimmed the pages. “She
is inviting us for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Us?” Duncan asked.
“Yes. She definitely says ‘you
and your companion.’”
“You’re sure she knows our
situation?”
“Of course.” Jarrett turned the
page over. “She regrets not having made contact previously. She always felt my
father and grandfather were harsh. She thanks me for the cards.”
“You’re not considering actually going, are you?” Duncan asked.
“I’m not sure.” Jarrett looked
thoughtful. “I will have to think it over. But she is my aunt, and I have no
other family.”
Duncan wanted to shout, “You have
me!” but that would just upset Jarrett further. Instead he said, “I have to go.
We can discuss it tomorrow.”
***
By the next day, Jarrett had made
up his mind. “I would very much like to go, Duncan,” he said. “And I would very
much like to have you come with me. But I will understand if you don’t want
to.”
Duncan sighed. A recipe for
disaster. Still, Jarrett’s desire to see his aunt was understandable.
He would probably fret for the
rest of his life if he turned down this invitation. Much worse than having a
disaster of a holiday weekend. He was so vulnerable; Duncan couldn’t let him go
alone. “Shall we rent a car?” Duncan asked.
“We could take the train. I
looked up Amtrak; it still stops in Middle River. Get there Wednesday night,
leave Friday morning. The old hotel across the street is still operating; we
can stay there. It was quite elegant in its day.”
“Good idea.” No point in having
any awkwardness about whether they would share a room or not. “Will you call to
tell her?”
“She says her phone isn’t
working, so I will write. I’ll suggest that we take her out to Thanksgiving
dinner at the hotel; I appreciate her invitation, but she must be nearing ninety.
I don’t think we should expect her to cook.”
Duncan knew she would insist upon
cooking.
***
Two weeks later the impatient
passenger train paused just long enough at the Middle Falls station for Duncan
Wind whistled across the
platform. Duncan tapped his fedora more firmly onto his head. He should have
opted for a more practical hat; tomorrow they would have to walk to the
ancestral Grayling home. He looked around for a porter. There were none. The
only other person was a disheveled man—he looked like a bum—huddled against the
wall of the now-closed station.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jarrett
said, drawing black kid gloves over his delicate white hands. “I enjoy a train
trip, although around holiday time it can be crowded! Infinitely beats traveling
to an airport, going through security, waiting, finding transportation from the
airport….”
Jarrett’s voice trailed off as he
looked past Duncan’s shoulder.
Duncan turned to see the bum
approaching them. “Shall we go, Jarrett?” he said briskly, turning to leave.
Jarrett didn’t move. Duncan
reached over and took Jarrett by the elbow.
“Well, if it ain’t my old school
pal, Jarrett Grayling,” the bum said. “You’re not gonna leave before you say
hello to your buddy Benjamin, are you?”
Duncan could smell the unwashed
body, the cheap alcohol, the clothes that had not been changed in weeks.
“How do you do, Benjamin,”
Jarrett said, his shoulders rigid and his neck stiff.
“Fine, thank you, Jarrett. And
this is your—what’s the word—fancy man? Life partner? ‘Scuse me if I don’t know
the proper term.” Benjamin swayed slightly on his feet.
“We must be going,” Duncan said. Darkness
was gathering; the well lit hotel was right across the street.
“Ain’t you gonna give your old
buddy a couple of bucks, Jarrett? For old time’s sake?”
Jarrett fumbled with the buttons
on his overcoat, taking out his wallet. “Here, Benjamin,” he said. “Here’s five
dollars. Have a hamburger on me.”
A grimy hand with ragged
fingernails reached out and snagged the proffered bill.
“Good start, Jerkhead.” Benjamin’s
voice turned menacing. “But know how you used to give me all your lunch money? ‘Member
what happened if you didn’t? I’d get it anyhow. Let’s cough it all up.” He held
out his hand.
To his immense relief, Duncan saw
a uniformed policeman approaching them. He hoped gay bashing was not an
unofficially sanctioned pastime in this town. “Take what you’ve been given,” he
said “and leave us alone. You’ll only buy cheap wine with it anyhow.”
The cop had switched on his
flashlight, drawing Benjamin’s gaze. Benjamin laughed and dropped his hand. “You
always was a kidder, Jerkhead,” he said, his rank breath reaching them. “Imagine
your fellow faggot here’s the same way.”
“Not panhandling, I hope,
Benjamin?” the cop asked.
“No, officer,” Benjamin said. “Just
recognized an old classmate from school. Had to say ‘hi.’ Won’t say ‘old
friend,’ since I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about me and old Jerkhead
back in the day. Don’t swing that way. Never did.”
“We were just heading to the
hotel, officer,” Duncan said, giving Jarrett’s elbow a nudge. Jarrett’s face
was an unmoving mask, but unshed tears glistened in his eyes.
“Don’t want no trouble here
tonight,” the officer warned.
“You won’t get any from us,”
Duncan assured him. “We plan to eat in the hotel and stay in tonight.”
“Good plan.” The officer nodded, tapping his
long, heavy flashlight on his palm. “Never know what might happen at night.”
Duncan grabbed the handle of his
suitcase with one hand and used the other to propel Jarrett down the platform.
“Oh, Jerkhead,” Benjamin called
after them. “Tell your queer buddy there that I ain’t gonna buy no cheap wine. Gonna
buy bourbon. A man’s drink!” He laughed. “See you around!”
Duncan steered Jarrett toward the
brightly lit entrance to the hotel. As they paused for traffic to clear, he
noticed an elderly lady standing by the end of the station platform. She was
bundled up against the cold in a green tweed overcoat and her hand clutched a
two-wheeled wire shopping cart. She watched them closely.
Jarrett glanced in her direction.
“Oh, no! I think it’s my Aunt Agnes!” He
ducked his head and turned panicked eyes toward Duncan. “I can’t let her see me
like this!”
“Just keep going and pretend we didn’t notice
her,” Duncan urged. To his relief, the woman did not approach them.
Duncan got them into the hotel,
registered, and into their room. Jarrett collapsed on the bed without removing
his overcoat or shoes.
“Shall we get room service?”
Duncan asked. “Or would you rather go down to the dining room?”
“The dining room,” Jarrett said
from his prone position facing the wall. “Just give me a few minutes.”
“Certainly.” Duncan had been
afraid of something like this.
“I can’t hole up here forever and
not face the world.”
“Of course.” As if Middle Falls
were the entire world.
But for his early life, it had
been Jarrett’s entire world.
***
The old family house, a white
frame Victorian, was a short walk from the hotel, at the edge of the town’s
struggling business district.
They presented a bottle of this
year’s Beaujolais Nouveau and a box of Godiva chocolates. Aunt Agnes accepted
them gracefully, placing the wine on the table and finding a corkscrew after a
bit of rummaging in
Her eyes lit up at the box of
chocolates. She started to open them, but Jarrett said, “No, Aunt Agnes. We’ll
spoil our appetites for Thanksgiving dinner! Save them for later.” She needed
no more persuading to squirrel them away in the pantry.
Duncan had been dreading the
Thanksgiving dinner, but was pleasantly surprised. The food itself was
mediocre—the turkey was dry, the cranberry sauce a glistening cylinder shaped
by its can, the soup unremarkable. But Aunt Agnes tried her best to be
welcoming, and Jarrett positively glowed.
After dinner, Jarrett removed the
dishes to the old stone sink in the kitchen. Aunt Agnes brought out distinctly
inferior coffee and a homemade pumpkin pie. Delicate pie crusts took a
practiced hand. Aunt Agnes was out of practice.
Aunt Agnes reached out her frail,
withered hand and placed it over Jarrett’s equally frail but vibrant one. “It’s
been so many years, Jarrett,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I was so afraid you
wouldn’t want to come see me…”
“I’m glad you wrote.” Jarrett
smiled shyly.
A touching scene. Aunt Agnes was
elderly and eccentric, but Duncan had expected nothing different. He should
give them some time alone.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, rising
carefully from the fragile dining room chair, “I will go out back and smoke.” He
pulled a Cuban cigar from inside his jacket and brandished it.
“Certainly,” Aunt Agnes said. “The
sun should be pleasant on the back porch this time of day. I’m afraid there is
nowhere to sit, though.”
“I would prefer to stretch my
legs, thank you.” Duncan let himself out and stood in the brisk November air,
debating if he really needed to light the cigar.
Although the house had been
painted recently, Duncan wondered if anything had been updated since Jarrett
had lived here as a boy. He looked around the porch. It was well swept. A wire
shopping cart stood by the door to the kitchen. A damp green overcoat hung on a
hook. Perhaps it had been Aunt Agnes
they had seen the night before. Duncan fingered the rough tweed fabric.
He frowned. The coat was not
merely damp, it was soaked. After the weak winter sun set, it would freeze. How
could it have gotten so wet, and why would Aunt Agnes leave it outside?
Duncan looked around the porch
with new interest. A pair of wading boots, the waist-high kind used for
fishing, was draped over the porch railing. A shovel leaned against the wall. He
spied a garden hose coiled on the porch floor. Very late in the year to be
gardening. He hoped Aunt Agnes’s eccentricities were not running to senility.
After a decent amount of time,
Duncan reentered the dining room. Aunt Agnes and Jarrett were seated side by
side, their coffee and pie untouched. Jarrett bestirred himself.
“Aunt Agnes and I were just
talking about the house and all the memories it holds.” Jarrett’s face
flickered between pain and pleasure. “I am to inherit it.”
“The town wanted to tear it down
and make room for a commercial expansion,” Aunt Agnes said, “but I have managed
to head that off so Jarrett can have it one day.”
“I appreciate that,” Jarrett
said. “But I don’t think I could ever live here! Middle Falls isn’t a
comfortable place for people like Duncan and me. And our jobs.”
“You don’t have to make a
decision now.” Aunt Agnes’s face grew grim. “And if I have learned anything as
I have grown older, it’s that the world is not a comfortable place for anyone. I
have had to take affairs into my own hands more than once recently. You may
need to do the same.”
“We should be going soon,” Duncan
said. “I would prefer if we were not out walking after dark.”
Reluctantly, Jarrett got to his
feet. “Let us clean up for you, Aunt Agnes,” he said.
“No, no. My pleasure. And your
friend is right. You want to be back at the hotel before dark.”
“Perhaps your aunt will join us
at the hotel for breakfast?” Duncan suggested.
“Thank you, no,” Aunt Agnes said.
“I will always treasure this afternoon. I do hope you will come back. Perhaps
for Christmas?”
Duncan looked at the hope in Aunt
Agnes’s face and tried to keep the dismay from his own. “Christmas is a very
busy time. The gallery where I work will be hosting numerous events. And
Jarrett, of course, will have all the year-end accounting to handle. Perhaps
later in the spring?”
***
A light sleet fell on the
platform as Duncan and Jarrett awaited the Friday morning train to take them
back home. Duncan huddled deeper into his overcoat, but Jarrett was so animated
he seemed not to notice the tiny crystals of ice that cut into his face.
“Aunt Agnes says the will is all
set up!” he said. “Back to the way it was before my grandfather disowned me. The
income goes to Aunt Agnes as long as she needs it. And she has a life estate in
the house. But I will eventually inherit.”
“I’m surprised your aunt could
arrange for that,” Duncan said. “I would have thought your grandfather would
have established a very tight trust that excluded you completely.”
“He did,” Jarrett said. “But Aunt
Agnes said he always hoped I’d go straight and they left a clause in it I would
be reinstated if I established a ‘suitable family unit.’ Aunt Agnes told the
lawyer that she considered you to be a ‘suitable family unit.’ Besides, who
would challenge it?”
“Interesting. But you wouldn’t
want to actually move back into the house here, would you?”
“No. But Aunt Agnes would be
pleased if I were to donate it to the local historical society. They could use
it for offices; they might even be able to make part of it into a museum. Or I guess
I could sell it.”
“I wonder what it’s worth,”
Duncan mused aloud. He eyed a newspaper vending machine. “Perhaps the local
paper’s real estate ads would give us some idea.” He took a few coins from his
pocket and opened the box.
The approaching train whistled. Duncan
grabbed a paper and shoved it in his overcoat pocket.
The passenger car was near empty.
Neither commuters nor holiday travelers favored the Friday after Thanksgiving. They
stowed their luggage and sat across from each other.
“Duncan, thank you so much for
coming with me.” Jarrett said, unbuttoning his coat and removing his hat. “I
know the food wasn’t wonderful. But it meant so much to see Aunt Agnes.”
Duncan smiled indulgently. “We
didn’t come for the food. I’m glad we came. And I’m very glad you had a good
trip.”
“I do hope she’s all right living
there by herself.”
“She’s been living by herself for
years. She would be offended if you were to question the arrangement
now.”
“I suppose you’re right. Still, I
hope she isn’t turning to alcohol.”
“What would make you think that? She
had only one glass of that excellent wine with dinner.”
“True. But when I took the dishes
out to the kitchen, I saw half a bottle of Wild Turkey on the shelf. And
another empty one in the trash.”
Duncan frowned. “If your aunt
turned to drinking, I doubt she’d drink Wild Turkey. Perhaps she bought it
thinking it was an appropriate for Thanksgiving. Or perhaps she used it to
baste the turkey. I wouldn’t worry.”
“You’re right,” Jarrett agreed. “I
didn’t sleep well last night, with all the thoughts churning in my head. Do you
mind if I try to take a little nap?”
“You do that,” Duncan said.
Jarrett leaned his head back
against the seat and closed his eyes. In a few minutes, his breathing became
slow and regular.
Duncan pulled the newspaper from
his pocket and unfolded it. He stared at the headline.
“Homeless Man Beaten to Death” it
said.
The newspaper shook in his hands
as he read the article.
At 9 PM on Wednesday night, Benjamin
Baker, 42. Of no fixed address,
was found beaten to death in the alley behind
City Hall.
Officer James Igman found the body and
called for an ambulance, but Baker was pronounced dead on arrival at the
hospital.’
“An official cause of death will not be
released until we have the results
of an autopsy,” a spokesperson for the police
department stated.
“Baker had been reported drinking in
public less than two hours
before he was found. He may have been
unconscious
at the time of the attack. It appears that he
had been struck repeatedly
with a broad, flat object. This was a violent
crime, and the perpetrator
could not have avoided being splattered with
blood.
The investigation is continuing.
Duncan closed his eyes. Thank
goodness he and Jarrett had decided on a leisurely dinner in the hotel
restaurant. They had been seated in the restaurant by seven and had lingered
with coffee and brandy before a fire in the elegant lobby until after nine
thirty, in sight of hotel staff the entire time.
Perhaps Jarrett did need to be
shielded from some truths. Aunt Agnes, who was also very fond of him,
apparently felt that way. Duncan shoved the paper back into his pocket. He
would discard it at the earliest opportunity.
He wondered how Aunt Agnes knew
to offer Wild Turkey to Benjamin.
The
End