Candy Man (11 page)

Gonzo reached out with a paw and patted the big dog’s nose. Adam had a sudden “Finn” thought, about how they probably had a friendship going on since they were alone in the house a lot when the humans were not.

The thought was gone quickly, and Adam set the cat on the corner of the couch, wrapped in a towel and tried to dribble a little bit of medicine in his mouth. Poor thing just let the medicine drip to the other side, falling on the towel, before he licked at his palate to maybe get the taste away.

Oh. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Adam managed to make himself a lettuce wrap of leftovers, which he ate while doing a perfunctory walk around the block, making sure Clopper did what he had to do. For his part, Clopper didn’t need any encouragement or extra blocks like he usually did; Adam could only be grateful.

He and Clopper eased quietly back inside, and Gonzo hadn’t changed. He lay sprawled on his towel inelegantly, his chest rising and falling, seemingly slower with every breath.

Oh God. Adam had a horrible thought. He could take the cat outside, lay him down under a bush, and he could die right there. Adam reached down and picked up the little nightmare, and that limp weight rested trustingly in his arms.

With a sigh, he sat down, the cat on his lap. Clopper did what he usually did—sat on the ground and rested his head on the couch while Adam petted the cat gently and reached for the remote control. He found a program in reruns and thought,
Oh yeah, I like this one!
and then he put down the remote control and continued petting the cat.

When he woke up an hour later, he had a crick in his neck, the program was over, the news was on, and Gonzo the cat had breathed his last.

Adam continued to stroke that still body for a good ten minutes, his eyes burning, the breath coming short in his chest.

Finn would make this feel better.

Finn needs to be nowhere near me.

When he finally rewrapped the cat in the towel and took him out to the back flowerbed with a flashlight, he still didn’t have an idea which voice won.

But he knew he sobbed his heart out over that stupid furry terrorist. Goddammit, Adam still had scratches on his face and his back from the awful animal—how was he supposed to go in the ground?

There weren’t any answers to that one either. But as Adam laid Gonzo the cat to rest in the apartment burial ground at eleven o’clock on a moonless November night, Adam did know one thing.

Nothing he’d learned in the past two years had done him any good. He was as alone as alone could be.

T
HE
NEXT
morning he woke up to his phone chirping merrily on the charger next to the lamp.

Hey—missed you last night. Did you survive the rush?

Oh God.

Yeah.

That’s it? Yeah? Did you miss me?

Oh geez. He couldn’t even lie to Finn by text.

Yeah. But I need to get used to that.

Why?

Okay. Deep breath.

And his phone rang.

“Why?” Finn’s voice didn’t sound “just woken up” at all. God, he must have been up for hours.

“Finn? Look, you and me, I mean, it’s great for me but not so good for you, so maybe you should not count on me, okay?”

“No, not okay—where’s this coming from? This is
not
where we were on Thursday night!”

“Well I hadn’t killed the fucking cat on Thursday night!” Adam exploded. “But the fucking cat is dead now, and if I can’t keep him alive, how am I supposed to keep you and me together? So maybe it’s just me alone because that’s the way it should be. I’ve never needed anybody before now. I gotta learn….” Oh God. That was a
sob
. He’d sobbed. His voice had cracked and he’d
sobbed
. Like, cried. Like a baby.

“The cat died?” Finn asked, his voice absurdly gentle.

“Finn, I gotta go. I… all the shit inside me is stupid and ugly, and I don’t need you to see it, okay? Just… just pretend the last two weeks never happened.”

And he hung up, buried his face in his pillow, and howled.

Personal Things

H
E
LOOKED
like shit again at work, but he did his job and did it competently, and didn’t give anybody any crap.

And when the friendly neighborhood sandwich guy showed up, Adam heard his tread on the boardwalk, sort of a happy tripping sound, and ran for the loft before anybody knew where he was to start with.

He heard Finn’s distraught voice and Darrin’s soothing tones, probably calming him down. It didn’t seem to work, though, because Finn’s shouted “
Coward
!” echoed through the store before he stomped away, the happy tripping all gone.

When Darrin came up the steps, Adam was sitting cross-legged between the same pallets he’d been sitting by two weeks before, when Finn had first sat on the floor and given him a hamburger.

“So the cat died,” Darrin said softly.

“Yeah.” Adam leaned his head against a big box of giant sour gumballs that were maybe one of his favorite things in the store.

“Wasn’t your fault. Finn said he was old.”

“It’s what Rico said.” Adam had texted Rico that morning, with maybe his thousandth “sorry” included.

Rico had texted back,
I’m sorry more. I didn’t mean to leave you this job to hurt you.

Adam didn’t have anything to say to that, because how do you tell someone that maybe you were just too hurt long before you even lost your car and your job and your school grant? Maybe you were too hurt years ago, hiding under the bed in the guest bedroom and listening to your mom and your grandma argue over whose fault it was that you were such a colossal pain in the ass and waste of effort.

“Then why is this such a big deal—I mean, besides the fact that I think you liked the animal. Why do you have to lose Finn too?”

Darrin sat down cross-legged next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Adam looked at him, trying to be grateful, but he found he didn’t even have that in him. “Man, why’s it matter so much? Finn is meant for people. He’s great with ’em. Maybe I was just supposed to be like the damned cat, you know? Maybe I’m supposed to just go lose myself and die cold and alone.”

“Oh, honey! Is that how the cat died?”

Adam couldn’t resist him anymore. He sighed and laid his head on Darrin’s shoulder. “No.”

“How did the cat die?”

“On my lap.”

“So you’re saying the cat had you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what difference that makes.”

“He came home to see you, Adam. It means you’re the human he most wanted to be with.”

“I was a poor replacement for Rico, who had to leave.”

“Maybe you were the better replacement—you ever think of that?”

Adam straightened and glared at him. “Why in the hell would I think of that?”

Darrin’s eyes were kind, even in the dim light of the loft, and he shook his hair back out of his face before he answered. “Because that’s who you are to Finn.”

“Augh!” Adam growled, because he’d exhausted all his good words.

Darrin pulled him close and kissed his temple, and Adam wondered what it was about these people—how did they know it was his comfort thing?

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“Finn told me about you and making the meals for the homeless people.”

Adam sighed, glad for the non sequitur. “So? It’s like, you know, the bread was going stale anyway.”

Darrin nodded. “Yeah. I do know. I know you’re a better boyfriend for Finn than his ex ever was, and I know you need some sleep and a chance to think to see it. Go home—”

“But I need the—”

“You got in a seven-hour shift. Go home. See how empty it is. Let the silence drive you bugshit. Candy Heaven will be here tomorrow.”

Adam scowled, but he had to admit, he was wrecked and done. “You sure?” he asked, and Darrin shook his head grimly.

“Have a sweet day,” he said, but it sounded more like a punishment than a benediction.

R
ICO
’
S
APARTMENT
was really boring. Yes, television and stereo, and Adam had the computer he’d used for school, but mostly it was off-white carpet, off-white furniture, and sort of white walls.

He needed pictures.

Adam sat at the table that night, Clopper’s head dejectedly on his knees, and drew. He drew the dumb cat—when it was alive—and the dumb dog taking off after a squirrel and dragging Adam behind him. He got out his pastels and added the tawny color to the cat’s fur and the silver highlights to the dog’s short, floppy ears.

He drew Candy Heaven—a picture for him and not for Darrin, where he captured the easy, human way that Darrin laughed and the way Joni smiled brightly at every child who walked through the door, no matter how bitchy she was to her coworkers. The way the dark wood floors and rainbow sugar seemed sort of like home.

He stared at the picture of Candy Heaven and sighed. There was one thing he hadn’t drawn yet. He really needed to draw it, because he needed to be able to
see
it, even if it was something he couldn’t have.

He turned the page in his sketchbook and there was no paper left.

Fuck.

Almost desperately, he flipped back to those preliminary sketches of Finn and thought about how badly they sucked. They weren’t good enough. His chin was squarer and his jaw was a little asymmetrical. His eyes were more almond shaped and less round, and his mouth wasn’t that wide unless he was smiling, and that big water spot wasn’t there on his forehead.

Or that other one on his cheek.

Adam shut the book abruptly before any more of those could happen, and then he clutched Clopper’s massive, patient head to his chest. It was too late to go get another sketchbook, but he got paid tomorrow. He could do it then.

For now it was a great idea to just sit on the couch and stare at the television. Clopper lay next to him where he wasn’t supposed to be, whining for the furry person who had disappeared from his life.

A
DAM
GOT
in from his run with the dog the next morning and found a steaming cup of Starbucks coffee and a muffin on his porch. The bag with the muffin had writing on it in ballpoint pen.
Miss me yet? Bet you do, right? Don’t deny it.

Adam had to
force
himself to not smile, and his stern expression didn’t last through the giant mocha and the banana muffin.

Yeah, Finn. I’m missing you. Just knowing you were here makes it better.

Work was actually a little slow that afternoon, which was good because it made dodging Finn that much easier when he came in with Darrin’s lunch. After Finn shouted, “You miss me! Admit it, you stupid-head!” and stomped out, Adam came down the stairs tentatively, like nobody in the store would know that was aimed at him if he pretended he’d never run into the loft in the first place.

Ravi, Anish, Joni, Darby, Miguel, and Darrin all glared at him as he slunk from the base of the stairs to the counter, where he had customers waiting.

He ignored them and rang up the customers, pretending he didn’t notice their curiosity and bemused smiles, and then he carefully wiped down the candy dish on the scale. Finally he could stand it no longer.

“What?” he demanded.

Darrin walked up to the counter and dropped one of their cellophane prewraps of six medium-sized jawbreakers on the shiny brown surface. “In case you forgot you had any,” he said, his eyes flinty as he glared at Adam.

“I got two,” Adam mumbled, embarrassed.

“Fine.” Darrin walked back to the jawbreaker barrels and came back with another cellophane wrapped bag—this one with two
giant
jawbreakers in it. “This is in case you need
bigger ones
.”

Adam glared at him and grabbed a Tootsie Roll from the go-back box, unwrapped it, and stuck two gumballs at the base. He held it upright, thinking it looked like an extended middle finger, and asked, “Does
this
remind you of anything?”

Darrin smirked. “Yes, darling, I had one of those last week, except a lot bigger!”

Adam gaped, and he felt a long-delayed blush traveling from his toes all the way up to the top of his head. “It was supposed to be… you know… the bird… flipping… I mean, not that I want to flip off the boss but… oh hell….”

Everybody broke into raucous laughter, including the two grandmotherly types buying the specialized
Star Wars
candy tins Adam had always thought were really cool.

Reluctantly, Adam felt another smile working on his face. His second of the day—it almost hurt.

But the smiling, the camaraderie, must have seeped in, softened the parts of his soul made brittle by pain, because as he was leaving into late-afternoon twilight, he didn’t run when the familiar happy-trippy tread on the boardwalk zipped up behind him.

“Don’t talk,” Finn said, grabbing his bicep and hauling him across the cobblestones and up into the tree-shaded walk.

“But—”

“No talking!”

Adam shut up and let himself be hauled across the street, then across the bridge to the wrought iron fence that marked the edge of the park. The two of them stood there for a minute, looking out across the river. The last of the sun shot out over the horizon, and Adam turned in time to see Finn, eyes closed, face illuminated by the thin gold light.

Fading freckles stood out on his cheeks, and his nose was almost absurdly small for a grown man.

Not perfect. No.

But so beautiful.

The sunlight disappeared and a burst of wind kicked off the river, making them both shiver. Finn opened his eyes and looked into Adam’s, the expression on his face simple and poignant. “This is real,” he said, and Adam knew what he was talking about. “The sun, the river, and us.”

Adam opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say, but Finn didn’t let him. He stood on his tiptoes instead and took advantage of Adam’s open mouth, pulling him into a sweet, lingering kiss. Adam let a moan slip out, warm for the first time in three days, and Finn deepened the kiss, not letting him back away. Adam had no choice. He wrapped his arms around Finn’s shoulders and clung, kissing him back,
needing
him.