Between These Walls (35 page)

Gabe held up two blu-ray discs:
National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation
and
A Christmas Carol
with George C. Scott.

“Maybe God has a sense of humor,” Hunter said.

“Whatever.” Gabe gave him a playful punch on the arm. “I love the gift. Thank you.”

“You can return them if you want to.”

Gabe held them against his chest in mock protest. “Not at all! They’re a piece of you. Straight from your heart—especially the Chevy Chase movie, that’s particularly touching,” he said with a wink. Grabbing the remaining gift from under the tree, he passed it to Hunter. “Your turn. Hope you like
Gilmore Girls.
”

“How’d you guess?” Hunter joked back. The gift wasn’t much larger than the one he’d given Gabe, but it felt heavier. He noticed slight flexibility when he tried bending it at the edges. He felt Gabe watching him as he tore back the paper with care.

When Hunter discovered what Gabe had placed inside, a sweet ache hit his heart.

Hunter fanned the ivory-colored pages, each one lined and empty, awaiting his input. The journal had a leather cover the color of mocha. But what touched Hunter’s heart wasn’t the gift or its binding, but the word Gabe had embossed on the cover in sturdy, gold letters:

S A F E

“Safe?” Hunter said.

“It’s a journal,” Gabe explained. “When you don’t want to bottle things up, you can put them into words on paper. It stays between you and God, but you get to release the pressure by getting the words out of you. It’s a safe place.” He gave Hunter a look of evaluation, then added, “I also wanted you to think of me whenever you look at the journal. You’re safe with me. I wanted you to know that.”

“I ... I don’t know what to say.”

Hunter stared at the item, held it in his hands, ran his thumbs along its textured, leather surface. If he could sum up Gabe’s impact on his life, he would use this gift as a symbol. With this gift, somehow Gabe had peered into Hunter’s soul, past all the complexities, and boiled it down to who Hunter truly was. Who Hunter truly wanted to be.

All Hunter had ever wanted was to feel safe.

And as he considered this gift once more, Hunter knew, without a doubt, Gabe had accepted him for who he was.

Hunter shook himself from his daze and managed a hug for Gabe. Emotion overwhelmed his heart but he held steady.

“I needed this,” Hunter said, referring to everything about the gift
except
the leather and paper. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a minute, neither knowing what to say next. Hunter gazed at the fireplace, listened to snaps and crackles as the flames waved in all directions. Hunter and Gabe’s shadows flickered on the carpeted floor.

“What’s going through your mind right now?” Gabe whispered.

Hunter grew enraptured with the tiny white lights strung upon the Christmas tree. From his close proximity, their glow caused his skin to tingle. Though he couldn’t find words to express what ran through his heart, those lights captured the essence of the comfort he felt, the relief and security.

“I was just thinking,” he replied at last.

Sitting cross-legged, Gabe scooted closer so they sat eye to eye. Their knees touched. “Thinking about what?”

Hunter sought for the words but wound up short. He shrugged, wanting to speak yet holding back. Gabe gave him a gentle nudge with his arm.

“I was thinking that this feels right. Thinking about how good it feels to finally,
finally
have someone I can talk to who ... who understands me,” Hunter said. “I’m not used to being free that way. I’m not used to talking about what I feel inside. So I was thinking of how good it is to find somebody you can be honest with and not need to hide, where there’s no need to put on a mask or be on guard.”

Gabe listened, staring into Hunter’s eyes with that familiar compassion Hunter found so comforting. His smile welcomed Hunter to say more. It told Hunter he
wanted
to hear more.

“It’s different from how I’ve ever allowed myself to live,” Hunter continued, “and it’s such a relief.” He felt tears well up in his eyes and savored the respite he felt in knowing he didn’t need to wipe them away, didn’t need to feel ashamed of his feelings. Not in this individual’s presence. Not with Gabe. Hunter sensed boldness arise as he peered into the depths of Gabe’s eyes. “It’s been so many years of private heartache and secret struggle. And tonight, sitting here with you, it hit me: To whatever extent, the torment is finally over. The seclusion is gone ... and I’m no longer alone.

“When this year started, I never would have pictured myself saying these things. I didn’t go looking for this. Yet tonight, I feel like I’ve received a gift—a
valuable
gift, one I’ve awaited for decades but never thought I would find. And what I’ve finally come to terms with is ...”

Hunter allowed his thought to linger. He turned his head toward the Christmas lights again, focusing on their glow. Such a tiny glow, yet so bright. Gabe gazed at him with expectancy, a look by which Hunter found the strength to unlock the rusty deadbolt of his heart.

“Yes?” Gabe whispered. “What did you finally come to—”

Hunter turned his head back toward Gabe, and before Gabe could finish asking, Hunter said, “... that I love you.”

Gabe blinked twice. His eyes widened, and for a moment, Hunter feared he had scared him away.

But Hunter knew better.

“I love you, Gabe,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I do.”

A look of subdued rapture overcame Gabe’s face. The corners of his mouth turned upward into a smile. And without a word, Hunter knew Gabe felt the same way.

Hunter had simply spoken first.

The logs in the fireplace continued to snap. Firelight lit Gabe’s countenance and danced in his irises. He reached forward and wiped away another tear from Hunter’s eye.

Gabe leaned forward. Hunter met him halfway. And when Gabe’s lips met his, Hunter’s body filled with warmth and security, an anchor to steady a ship that had finally found its way home.

CHAPTER 32

Gabe’s mother looked nothing like Hunter had pictured. She didn’t make a negative impression upon him; rather, Hunter had expected her to look like Gabe. To Hunter’s surprise, Gabe looked like his mother had
adopted
him. Instead of Gabe’s Scandinavian skin tone, reddish-blond hair, or icy blue eyes, Mrs. Hellman’s features possessed a South American quality with her mocha skin and a rich tone to her brown eyes. Gabe must have looked a lot like his father.

“So this is Gabe’s friend Hunter!” she said when she opened the door to her home on Christmas Day. The term
friend
sparked within Hunter a mixed reaction: He felt the safety of a secret intact, yet the inaccuracy of the word
friend
left him with a feeling of imbalance, the sense you get when something has fallen short of the goal. Clearly, Gabe hadn’t said a word to
his
parent, either.

Mrs. Hellman exhibited Gabe’s confidence but not his subdued manner. In fact, she struck Hunter as a downright extrovert.

Hunter and Gabe removed their shoes so they wouldn’t track moisture into the house. Mrs. Hellman took their coats and left the foyer to hang them in a closet. Upon stepping through the front door, Hunter felt the normal awkwardness of entering a stranger’s home for the first time, but within minutes, he felt at ease. For that matter, already he felt more at home here than he did at his own parents’ house, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

Gabe waved Hunter into the dining room, where they stood beside a table prepared for dinner. Hunter’s attention rested on a honey-baked ham, which he had smelled all the way from the foyer. The sight of it made his mouth water with anticipation. A pineapple ring rested atop the entrée. Side dishes rounded out the table, which Mrs. Hellman had covered with a festive tablecloth and place settings.

“I felt so bad when I heard you would be alone for the holiday,” came Mrs. Hellman’s voice from the kitchen.

“Don’t feel bad,” Hunter called back. “I could have gone with them to Boston. I didn’t feel like a big family reunion, answering questions while I’m between jobs, trying to make sense of things myself.”

“Well, you’re always welcome here.” Mrs. Hellman walked into the dining room holding a square present in her hands. She had wrapped it in cherry-red paper and tied a white ribbon around it. “This is for you.”

She took hold of Hunter’s hands and placed the box into them. Hunter kicked himself. How could he have forgotten to bring her a gift!

“No, please,” he said, “somehow it slipped my mind to bring a gift.”

Gabe’s mother threw back her head and emitted a staccato laugh. “Don’t be silly, Hunter. It’s a gift, not a reward. Besides, it’s not impressive, so don’t expect to find a Rolex inside.”

“It’s a deal,” Hunter said as he unwrapped the package. He opened the box and pulled from it a latte mug decorated with earthy, coffeehouse hues. The mug had a masculine appearance, and on its face, he read a Scripture engraved in block letters: “
The LORD’s lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.
— Lamentations 3:22-23.”

The comforting words of a lamenting prophet. And the promise that, regardless of Hunter’s own shortcomings, God’s mercy continued to await him.

He thanked Mrs. Hellman for the gift and realized that, for the next few hours, he had come home for the holiday.

* * *

After finishing dinner, the trio sat around the table drinking coffee and eating cranberry-apple pie. From a stereo shelf system, Bebe and Cece Winans’s
First Christmas
CD had completed its run, and now, a Vanessa Williams Christmas CD began with her rendition of “Do You Hear What I Hear.” Williams’s recording began with crystalline tones of simplicity; by the end, it morphed into an arrangement of vibrant, African-tinged inflections. Upon this first listen, Hunter added the song to his mental playlist of favorite Christmas recordings, a status he attributed to his current context as much as to the track itself.

“Maybe I’m growing senile,” said Gabe’s mother, “but I don’t recall hearing about you until recently, Hunter. Have you known Gabe long?”

Gabe swallowed with caution, his eyes glued to his plate. Hunter could tell he felt guilty and hoped this subject of conversation would fade fast.

“Not long,” Hunter said. “I worked in sales before my company downsized. I’d hit a hard season and had stress-related back pains, so a friend of mine recommended Gabe. He’s her massage therapist.”

Mrs. Hellman looked pleased, the way mothers do when they hear compliments about their kids. “Well, that explains it. I’ve heard more good things about my son’s work. He’s always made it his aim to take care of people. I lost count of how many times he made me breakfast in bed when he was a young boy.”

Hunter shot Gabe a knowing smirk. Gabe stuck a fork into his pie, but given the way he raised his eyebrows as he listened, the conversation must have amused him. Either that, or he could sense Hunter eyeing him.

“How do you think he got to be that way?” Hunter asked, delighting in the opportunity to talk about Gabe as if he weren’t sitting at the table with them. At the same time, though, Hunter had a genuine curiosity about Gabe and wanted to know more about him.

“When his dad died, I believe he grew up quickly, whether he needed to or not. He wanted to make sure I was safe. A little boy trying to fill the role of a man.” She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes to savor it. “Being mature for his age, he never fit in well with the boys around him.”

Gabe shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. But when Gabe lifted his coffee cup to his lips, Hunter noticed a change in Gabe’s eyes: Gabe had buried roots of ache yet unspoken. No doubt, now that the humor has passed, he felt weird being talked about as though he wasn’t in the room but didn’t have the heart to ask his mother to stop.

“I’ll tell you one thing about Gabe: He always had a heart for God, even as a little guy,” Mrs. Hellman said. “And when he told me he’d decided to start his own business, I wasn’t surprised. He’s the type to take initiative on almost anything.”

Gabe’s face turned a shade of pink from embarrassment. “Mom, I don’t think Hunter wants to hear all this.”

“Oh, you’re wrong,” Hunter teased, trying to reinstate the humorous aspect of the conversation, “I want to hear it all!”

“Good, because I’m enjoying this jaunt down memory lane!” said Mrs. Hellman. “Did you know when Gabe was in kindergarten, he’d dress up in his dad’s old military fatigues and pretend to lead a brigade of troops?”

Hunter couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. “I had no idea! Imagine Gabe hiding such a juicy detail about his life!”

Gabe rolled his eyes, shook his head, then scraped the top of his pie with the tongs of his fork. He shot his mother a kindhearted look, and she winked at him in return. Hunter found it obvious a bond existed between this mother and her son.

In the midst of the lightheartedness, a plume of smoke crept into Hunter’s conscience.

He took another look at Gabe’s mother, the joy that brought a gleam to her countenance, to this Christian woman who had welcomed him into her home. Regret sunk into his heart, the knowledge that both he and Gabe had engaged her in a charade. Not that they had lied, per se, but they had withheld the full truth.

Gabe’s mother had kind, trusting eyes. Unsuspecting eyes. Little did she know her son and his friend held a secret, one that might devastate the dreams she likely harbored regarding her son and how his future might unfold.

One day, this woman would learn their secret.

One day, she would look back on this Christmas Day in her home with a different perspective. She would know Hunter had looked her in the eye and lied to her—or withheld the truth—the first time he’d met her.

Why did his personal struggle need to hold devastating ramifications not only for himself, but for the innocent individuals in his life?