Comfort and Joy (2 page)

The jet broke into a peaceful sky above the clouds, attaining its cruising altitude of twenty-two thousand feet, a flight time of forty-odd minutes, and in Raleigh-Durhamthe weather was clear and cold.

"Did youcallyour mom?"Ford asked.
"She called me. Earlythis morning."
"Does she believe I'mreallycoming?"
"I don't evenknow ifI believe it."Their faces, inthe dimcabin

light, were close. Ford's clean jaw and dark beard line, his perfect mouth with the fulllower lip and strong, straight nose. He said, "You're not worried are you, old man?"

"Don't callme old man."

 

"Your mom likes me, We've talked lots of times. You don't have to worryabout a thing."

 

"I'monly four years older than you are."Pause. "Your mother called, too."

"Did she?" The slight shift of Ford's expression signified his wariness. "Did she talk to you, or did she act like she didn't know who youwere?"

"She was actually rather pleasant. She asked how I was

"She was actually rather pleasant. She asked how I was doing, that kind ofthing. She's never done that."
"But she didn't sayanythingabout Christmas."
Dan leaned close this time, into the circle of Ford's seat. The balding gentleman on the opposite aisle quickly averted his eyes. "She did the best she could, I think. She said she guessed I had heard you wouldn't be coming home for Christmas." Ford's stillness became frozen. Dan went on. "I said I didn't think it was quite as simple as that."

Ford idly touched his cocktail glass to his lower lip. Dan went on. "Then she asked if I knew where you would be, and I said youwere cominghome withme."

Ford set down the glass and then the weight of his hand settled onto Dan's arm. "What did she say?"

"She didn't say anything. She pretended not to hear. She said she hoped youwould at least callonChristmas. Thenshe wished me a Merry Christmas and said the maid was calling her, and that was it."

The manacross the aisle was watching out ofthe corner ofhis eye. Ford said, "Serves her right to know. I wonder if she'll tell mydad."

The question did not require answer. His fingertip worried the cotton sleeve ofDan's sweater. Touching. Rarely did Ford touch him so freely in public. The boy within the man must be afraid. The boy who had always gone home to Savannah at Christmas must wonder who would take care ofhimnow.

But where to find the boy? Where to lay one's hands? Within so large a frame.
Ford reclined further, listening to the monotone keening of the jet turbines. Soon the captain announced their descent to the Raleigh-Durham airport. Ford glanced at his watch and said, "We don't have to drive far tonight, do we? We can just get the car and find a hotel."
"Whatever youwant."
"That's what I want." Ford turned on his side toward Dan.
"That's what I want." Ford turned on his side toward Dan. Dan thought,
This is my hiding place.
This wall of McKinney. But something about the thought made himuncomfortable. So he looked out the window, as the jetliner descended, and Ford said, "What was that?"
"What?"
"That last thought youhad. I didn't like it."
"Nothing,"Dansaid. "Generalanxiety."
"Save it for tomorrow."
Treetops, roofs risingtoward the window.
"Hey." Ford's voice close to his ear. Hungry. "I said, save it for tomorrow. Can't you? You don't have to be anxious tonight. Right?"
"Okay."
Breath on his cheek. In public. "How many of you are there? Right now?"
"One," Dan said, and looked Ford in the eye, as the flight attendant reached round Ford's sidewise bulk to collect their glasses. She was clearly startled by their intimacy. "Just one," Dan said. And thought,
Shelter. Not hiding place.
This wall of Ford was, would be, shelter. That was where the thought was wrong.

Leaning over from the passenger seat of the rental sedan, smelling new vinyl, Dan unlocked the driver-side door. Ford slid behind the steeringwheeland smoothed his hair. For the moment he was all discipline, averting his exhaustion. He reached into his shirt pocket and handed Dan folded paper. "Read this. We have a roomthere, wherever it is. Our friend the travel agent says it's onI-40 east betweenhere and Raleigh."

The drive was long enough for a sleepy speechlessness to settle over both men, which lasted till Ford parked the car in the hotel lot. Ford registered with the front desk while Dan carried the luggage down a lane of young magnolias into the lobby, a large, airy cage of glass and steel, hung with wreaths, red bows, and small white lights. The whole effect was adequate, even somewhat warm with its restrained Christmas finery. To reach the registration desk, one crossed an expanse of sectioned carpet, passing a fir trimmed in more white lights and golden balls. But Ford was already turning away from the desk, and coming toward him. "This place looks like Christmas in hell," he said, heftinghis share ofthe luggage.

Their room was large, peach-colored, with the usual assortment of chests, chairs, functional lamps, and a bed with what seemed like an acre ofmattress. Only one bed, Dan noted, and caught Ford watching him. Ford said, "I asked for what we needed. One king-size bed."

"I see."
"Are youproud ofme?"Smilingjust slightly.
"Yes." Moving forward, setting down his suitcases. The door

closed safely behind them. Dan slipped out of his overcoat and threw it across a chair. Ford touched the buttons of his own, still holding the roomkey, and watched while Dan hung the garment bag in the closet and opened all its straps, zippers, and snaps, unpacking what they would need for the night. Ford studied him straighteningthe jackets and shirts onhangers.

"Give me your coat," Dan called from the closet. But then he walked over to Ford and unbuttoned the coat and eased it off Ford's shoulders. Ford all but held his breath. Dan's slim hands brushed his shoulders, the sides of his arms, the heavy coat slipped across his back. Ford said, "There's a restaurant downstairs, and a bar that serves sandwiches. I saw a Waffle House further up the exit ramp, ifthat suits youbetter."

"I canfind somethinginthe restaurant, ifyoucan." "That's what I thought."

 

Dan slid the tie through the white collar. Ford unbuttoned the top buttonofhis shirt.

 

"Do youneed to callthe hospital?"

 

"Not this minute," Ford said. He reached his arms to the top ofthe door jamb.

Danranhis hands alongthe contours ofFord's chest, knowing now that the boy was in there. To be found. Ford moved closer. "Who's this?"he asked.

"DannyCrell."
"Nice guy," Ford said. Then said nothing. Lowered his arms around Dan's waist. Dan had wondered whether Ford would kiss tonight—there had been nights when he seemed reluctant, even after two years—but tonight he was willing. Dan could feel the ache in Ford then, all the way to the bottom of him, pouring out of him but unrelieved. He touched Ford's face, fingertips to cheeks, alonghis neck.
"I laid some clothes on the bed. So you can stop looking like a doctor."
Ford refused, for a moment, to release Dan. He held their faces close. Then, walking to the bed, he stood over the folded sweatshirt. Turning, hands rising to the buttons of his shirt, he watched the floor, as if he had gotten lost in the turn from the bed. He unbuttoned the shirt slowly. His body was powerful, the product of much labor, the muscles of shoulder, chest, and abdomen moving beneath the white cotton T-shirt. He stretched his arms and stood there. Laughing softly, his mouth just open. His heart beating. Across the room, the sight of his body quickened Dan's pulse.
Once, Dan had found this terrain to be terrifying, this iteration of the McKinney genetics, out of its clothing. Even now he was transfixed, touching the bare chest. Watching the movement within movement of Ford's strong arms. He felt a rush of ease; the fleshwelcomed him.
Their closeness had been a struggle from the start. Now as theystood, chest to chest, theyfound peace inalltheir territories, theystood, chest to chest, theyfound peace inalltheir territories, unexpected. To stand so near, to allow touch, to love with the fingertips, were victories. "No T-shirt," Ford whispered, "in this weather," taking off Dan's shirt. Dan's laughter blew against the soft of Ford's neck. Dan felt Ford's hands low on his back, sliding inside his pants, caressing. The two were one weight standing, one balance, and in due order, like blossoming, one face opened to the other.
Easing off after the first long phrase, they opened their eyes. Everything said,
Go slow, you are in another kind of time.
"Oh," Dan said softly, breath stirring the black hair of Ford's chest, "you've beenpracticingthat withsomebody"
"Yeah,"Ford said, "and it's a good thingtoo, don't youthink?" He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. "Do we have condoms?"
"Youknow we do."
Laughing softly, Ford stepped past a suitcase. Gray eyes on Dan. They were facing each other, Dan touching fingertips to Ford's shoulders, tracing the full curves of his chest, the flatness ofhis abdomen, downto the coolbuckle ofhis belt.

Ford cradled himself against Dan's chest, and for a long time laythere drowsing. He started awake. Stretching, he leaned over Dan. "IfI don't turnonthis light, I'llfallasleep."

"I bet that restaurant is closed bynow."
"It's not that late,"Ford said, "it just feels that way."

Reluctant to untangle their limbs, they lay quietly until Ford said, "I need to call the hospital." Dan could feel his search for words. Pulling Dan close, Ford continued, "We did the right thingthis year. About Christmas."

"I think so, too."
"I think so, too."
The shower was good. As he toweled himself dry, he could

hear Ford discussingmedicationwithhis friend RussellCohen. A crisp conversation about incisions and drainage. Tomorrow the child would have a second session of computed tomography to determine the size of the swelling somewhere in the head. Ford hung up the receiver. "I'm glad Cohen's the on-call. The kid's doing okay. Not great, at the moment. But okay." Then, moving awayfromthe phone, "I'msorry, I shouldn't be talkingabout it."

"Whynot? I don't mind."

"That's all my dad ever did with Mom. Review cases." Ford found the black jeans and put them on, but simply held the sweatshirt inhis hand. "Did youbringmysilk sweater?"

This had been a gift from Dan. Ford slipped the pale blue sweater over his bare skin. "What did youdo withthe cats?" "Took themto board at the vet."

 

Ford sat down to tie his sneakers. "I don't see why you couldn't just leave some food out."

Had it not been for these same cats, Dan might have moved into Ford's house six months sooner, or so Ford always claimed. "They'llbe safer at the vet."

"How muchdoes that cost?"Ford asked, findinghis wallet. "Not much."A slight edge to his tone. "I canafford it." Silence. Ford, coming up behind, put his arms around Dan

and said, inhis ear, "I canafford it too. That's not what I meant."

The warmth of the body surrounding Dan reminded him that he was, by agreement, safe. "Ten bucks a night," Dan said. "Theystayinthe same cage."

The lone waitress scanned the empty rows of tables, inviting them to choose their own vantage. Ford selected a table by the window, where wind pressed against the broad glass pane, whipping real and reflected treetops. Below, in the gulf of highway, traffic moved in slow ribbons. "We must be close to Raleigh,"Dansaid.

"Right outside." Ford sat back, rubbing his stomach. "How longdoes it take to get to your mom's fromhere?"