Waiting for Rain (35 page)

“What’s that?” I managed to get out through a mouthful of cotton shirt. I knew the answer, of course. I just wanted to hear it from his lips. I didn’t know you could feel a grin through the warmth of a manly chest, but I swear I did.

“Me” was his simple reply. “So, stop all this drama-queen stuff and sit up, kiss me, and then we’ll talk about what you want to do about all this.”

I huffed and sat up, rubbing my eyes. He watched me with amusement, and I already felt better just by having him near me. But despite his gentle teasing, I saw the concern in his eyes.

“I don’t think I want to kiss someone who just told me to shut the fuck up and called me a drama queen,” I muttered moodily. “That was a little rude.”

He ignored me and pulled me closer for a kiss anyway. It was gentle and caring, and I lost myself in it. Then he let me go, licking his lips. “You taste salty,” he murmured.

“Yeah? Well, you taste of chicken. What the hell have you been eating? Ugh.” I licked my lips in distaste, and he chuckled.

“I was feeling peckish earlier, so Lucas bought me a chicken sub.” He grinned. “You’re lucky it wasn’t the one with extra onions.” His face grew serious. “Toby, you don’t have to do anything about this whole thing. You can tell BAAF that you don’t want to meet anyone who says he’s your father.”

I looked at him. “I know I can. But honestly, Rain, a man is dying and wants to see someone who he thinks is his son. What kind of person would I be if I refused—as long as he is my father, of course, and that still remains to be proven.”

Rain’s eyes were tender as he looked at me. “Spoken like a true Toby. Then call her back, tell her you’ll meet her to verify this man is your family. Then we can decide what to do from there.” He hugged me fiercely, and I felt a surge of relief that I wasn’t alone in this.

Four days later we sat at HM Prison Woodhill in Milton Keynes, waiting to see my father. We’d driven down from Stamford in Rain’s Civic, leaving very early that morning. It had been a whirlwind week. Due to the fact that the man I was sitting here to visit, Vincent Michael Prentiss, was terminally ill and had been transferred to the medical wing of this institution to die, time was of the essence. Rain and I had been to meet Celeste Muir from BAAF, and she’d been instrumental in guiding me through the process of determining whether I was indeed his son. We’d sat in her small office in the middle of town while she’d shown me the original birth certificate, letters from my mother to Vincent in prison, baby photos of me that I recognized, and they’d even taken a blood test to prove paternity once and for all. The results wouldn’t be back in time for me to be absolutely convinced, but what she had was proof enough.

“Vincent Prentiss went into prison three months before you were born,” she’d said quietly. “He was serving time for grand larceny and car theft. Someone was badly injured in the theft, and he got a fairly hefty sentence of ten years. He’s been in and out of prison since he was twenty-three years old for various offenses.” She smiled sadly. “And the one he’s currently in will be the one he’ll never leave.”

I felt numb. Vincent was only fifty-three years old now and had spent most of his life behind bars. I still couldn’t bring myself to call him my father.

Celeste had assured me that Vincent had only been told that I’d been in foster care and nothing about the violent incidents in my past. Her words were that the man had been through enough, and there was no point telling him things that might make him feel even guiltier. She’d also said those were my stories to tell if I wanted him to know.

Rain reached over, placing his warm hand on mine as we waited for the doctor to appear and take me to the man who’d asked for me. He’d been very attentive, rubbing my back, hugging me, planting soft kisses on my lips and cheek, making sure I was prepared to face what I was going to do. I was a bundle of nerves. I hadn’t eaten properly for days, despite Rain’s efforts, and my stomach was churning.

“Are you okay, Toby?” he asked quietly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

I glared at him. “No. I told you, Rain, the man’s bloody dying. The last thing he needs to know is that his son is a homosexual. Let the man go in peace thinking he had a normal son.” I knew my words would strike a chord with him. It had been something we’d argued about before coming down to Kent. He’d wanted to be with me when I saw Vincent and said gently if it made me feel better I could just tell my father I was his “friend.” I was having none of that either. Rain was not just my friend, and I wouldn’t denigrate our relationship that way.

Rain’s voice was dangerously quiet when he spoke. Only the glint in his eyes told me he was pissed off with me. “Toby, you
are
normal, for God’s sake. Hell, you can be such a stubborn bastard.” He huffed and sat back, clearly irritated. I think he thought I might have had a change of heart after all the attention he’d been giving me. But I wasn’t ready to tell my dying father I was gay. I knew it was irrational, but it was how I felt. We sat in uneasy silence.

The white-coated doctor appeared a few minutes later, and I stood up. He motioned me to go with him. “The nurse got him settled, and he seems fairly coherent. The painkillers make him drowsy and confused. I doubt you’ll be able to talk too long, but it should be enough to say what you two have to say.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry you both had to meet under such circumstances. It can’t be easy for you.”

I kept silent as I followed him down the corridor to a small, dimly lit room on the left side. He entered, and again I followed. He went over to the bed, gently shaking the shoulder of the man that lay there. My throat closed up, and I wanted to bolt, run out of this room back into Rain’s arms and never look back. Instead I clenched my hands against my sides and stood firm.

“Vince? There’s a young man here to see you, the one you’ve wanted to see.” There was a muttered grunt as the doctor leaned over and adjusted something behind the man. Then the doctor walked over to me.

“Take a seat, Mr. Prentiss. Vince doesn’t look his best, but don’t be scared. Just talk, say what you have to say, and if you feel it gets too much for you, come out and find me. I’ll be at the nurses’ station outside.”

I nodded numbly, and he placed a strong hand on my shoulder, squeezed it, then left the room. I stood there for a while, not wanting to approach the thin stick figure in the bed. The bedclothes hardly looked as if they had anyone under them.

“Are you going to stand there like a statue, boy? Come on over. I don’t bite. Not anymore.” The strangled tones of the man in the bed echoed amongst the quiet beeping of life-support machines. I walked over to the bed and sat down in an easy chair. I imagined they were provided for visitors to stay a little more comfortable while they waited for their loved ones to die. The thought made my breathing quicken as I remembered the last hours of my mother’s illness. I’d sat with her too until she took her last breath.

The figure in the bed made a small sound. I think it was supposed to be a laugh. “You look like your mother. You have the same fine features and that blonde hair. But you have my jawline.” My heart slammed against my chest. I’d been told the same thing when I was a boy.

For the first time since arriving here I took a good look at the man. He was long-limbed, with gnarled hands resting on the bedclothes, hands that were plugged with various drips and tubes. The face regarding me carefully was white, like greaseproof paper, with the same oily sheen. His eyes were green, like mine, only dulled and unfocused. The skin on his cheeks sunk into his face and he looked like a man near the end. I took a deep breath.

“Why did you ask to see me after all this time? Do you want closure on it, or is there another reason?” The room was uncommonly warm, and I was sweating beneath my shirt and jersey.

Vincent Prentiss coughed, his face twisting in pain. I stood up, reaching for the glass of water by the bed. He nodded feebly as I held the back of his frail head and helped him drink. His skull felt like a baby bird’s, no substance, feeling as if with one firm grip of my hand I could crush it in my fingers. He waved a hand to indicate he’d had enough. I sat back down.

He gave a long, deep sigh. “You’re definitely like your mother, straight to the point. I guess I owe you an explanation.”

Vincent lay back and closed his eyes, looking exhausted, as I waited for him to speak. His eyes opened, and he stared at me with some of the fire I imagined he might have had when he was a young man.

“I was a fucking idiot. I landed in prison just before you were born. I knew I wasn’t getting out anytime soon. Your mother had enough of me messing up. She said she was leaving and taking you somewhere else. I wasn’t going to argue.”

I leaned over, closer to him. “So, you gave us both up, just like that?” I could feel the anger in my soul, directed toward a dying and helpless man. I felt ashamed.

“It was for the best, Toby.” Hearing my name come out of his cracked lips was a shock. “Did you know that was my father’s name? We’d always wanted to call you Toby. I’m glad she kept that promise, at least. I’m sorry to hear she died. And I’m sorry you didn’t have a proper family.”

Vincent was so quiet then, I thought he’d gone to sleep or worse. I was about to go out and call the nurse when he spoke again.

“Neither of you deserved me in your lives. I knew I’d mess up again. After a while, I got so used to it, it didn’t matter anymore. Then I got sick.”

He coughed and waved a hand as I got to my feet with the water glass again. “I’m fine. Sit yourself down, son.”

I sat down, the unfamiliar endearment bringing a prickle of tears to my eyes. I tried to wipe them away surreptitiously, but despite his fragility, Vincent noticed.

“And that’s the reason I stayed out of your life. I didn’t want to be the cause of any heartache. I’m not a religious man, Toby. I’m leaving this earth soon, and I doubt I’ll be going into any afterlife, because I don’t believe in it.”

The tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I made no effort to stop them. No matter what, this was my father and he was dying.

“But the one thing I wanted to do is see what I was leaving behind. I guess we all want to think we live on somewhere. And now I can see that in you—you seem to have turned out all right.”

I wiped away the tears flooding my cheeks with tissue from the box. Vincent smiled at me, a ghost of a smile, but it was there. “I believe you have a boyfriend out there waiting for you?”

His words sent a shock through my body. “Boyfriend? Why would you say that?”

He chuckled tiredly. “Toby, the young nurse that was in here earlier told me all about my good-looking son and his very loving boyfriend who was all over him. I know the way the world turns, son. I’ve been in prison most of my life. So, go tell him to come in so I can see the man who’s taking care of my son.” His head leaned back on the pillow, and he closed his eyes. He looked even more exhausted than before.

My head was spinning, but I did what I was told. I moved out to the corridor and waved to Rain, who was pacing up and down the hallway. He was over like a shot.

“Toby? Is everything okay?” He wiped a tear off my cheek with his thumb, his face anxious.

I nodded. “He wants to meet you. Apparently one of the nurses spilled the beans about us anyway.” I pulled him into the ward to face my father. Rain came over and stood beside the bed, compassion for him etched all over his face.

“Sir, I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”

Vincent gestured feebly with his hand. “That’s life. You’re the man looking after my son? What’s your name?”

“Rain, sir. It’s short for something else. And yes, I love your son. I like to think we take care of each other.” He reached out and took my hand, holding it tight. I stood there, feeling pride in the man at my side and his quiet confidence, and grief that the man in the bed would never get to know either of us properly.

Vincent nodded. “You look like a good man, and if Toby loves you, then that’s good enough for me.” His eyes were closing now, and he was struggling to speak. I let go of Rain’s hand and reached out to gently touch my father’s forehead. It was warm and feverish. His eyes snapped open at my touch.

“You take care of each other, you hear me? Don’t be a fool like me.” His voice trailed off, and his eyes glazed over as he fell asleep. Spittle ran down the corner of his mouth, and I wiped it away gently with a tissue. We stood watching him for a while, but it was evident he wasn’t waking up soon. Rain took my hand, leading me out of the room into the brightly lit hallway. He pulled me close, and I buried my face in his neck, smelling his scent as I sobbed in full view of everyone walking past for what seemed like minutes. I could see the nurses and doctor watching me in sympathy. When I was done, Rain pulled me over into the bathroom.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood, really,” I tried to joke as he bundled me inside.

My lover laughed. “Don’t get too full of yourself. I want you to wash that face of yours.” One eyebrow rose suggestively. “Does that mean I can maybe get you in the mood?”

Despite my inner turmoil, I smiled. Rain had this uncanny knack of making me feel better no matter what.

“No, you arsehole.” I splashed water onto my face to minimize the swollen eyes and tearstained cheeks. I patted my face dry and turned to face him. “More presentable?” I inquired.

He smiled, a dazzling sight that turned my knees to jelly. “Toby, you are always presentable, honey. Now come on. Let’s say cheerio to the doctors and staff and get back home. You need your bed, and me, in that order.”

He gave a wicked smile, disappearing into the corridor. I took one last look at the man in the mirror, fair hair, green eyes, with a straight jawline apparently like my father’s. Then I followed my boyfriend out into the hallway.

Chapter 20

Rain

T
OBY
WAS
understandably subdued over the next couple of days. He was quiet and pensive, and I let him be. Tammy tried fussing over him, but it didn’t get her anywhere. Lucas was his usual laconic self, giving Toby the space he needed and not treating him any differently. I was on my own, just outside Lincoln, off-loading yet another small load of timber for a project when a call came in from Tammy.