Page 34 of Second Story

“No.”

But without Josh as a constant mirror, I had to face myself. Had to confront my mistakes on my own, then try to fix them.

“Yes.”

Now I scrub one-handed at my face.

“It’s complicated.”

“I bet,” Charles says with feeling. “Now these two have got great big, complicated feelings racing around their teeny-tiny noggins with no way to express them. Apart from yelling at me, that is. Hopefully, they’ll process it overnight and wake up happy. Such a shame you’re seeing them like this. Milly and Tilly really are a perfect pair of little sweethearts, just like their lovely mummy.”

He jiggles one unhappy baby before popping her into a pram. “Walking them to sleep is the only way I’ll get some quiet time with Adam this evening.” He crouches, and a break in the crying means I hear this quieter murmur to his toddler. “Then we’ll have a chat about what happened at playgroup. No it wasn’t kind of that little girl to poke you. She was interested, that’s all, like people are interested when they first see Daddy.” He kisses the pad of his thumb and presses it above his toddler’s top lip, kissing better the faint pink line of a healed incision. “You’re both impossibly handsome, but I’m sorry I didn’t notice right away that she was bothering you.”

Here’s something else I can help with.

I nudge at the cuff of my shirt to show off the lesser of what acid gifted. “People want to touch my scars sometimes, Adam.”

He peels himself from Charles, and I crouch too, baby pressed to my shoulder as Adam takes a good long look. “I can’tstop people from staring. That’s what you’re doing right now, because you’re interested, right? Maybe wondering if it hurts me? That’s called concern, and it’s okay. I can say no to touching if I want to. It’s always okay to do that too.” It really is, and being honest pays off—Adam stops clinging when we escape the Rectory.

“Thank you,” Charles says quietly as Adam holds my hand to take an unconventional detour. I add following a toddler around a graveyard at twilight to my mental scorecard of this increasingly weird and wonderful Cornish visit. “I don’t even think about his repair.” Charles touches his own top lip. “So it catches me out when people act like it means something is wrong with him, you know? That little line through his lip means everything is right with Adam. Same with Hugo. I’m grateful someone sewed them back together.”

It’s another of those different perspectives his husband mentioned.

I don’t have much time to ponder—Adam keeps me busy by handing me dandelions and daisies that are a vivid yellow and white against the deepening dusk. Then I hand them back one by one as he deposits a flower at each gravestone.

“He likes to say goodnight to everybody, which isn’t at all spooky. Nighty night.” Charles echoes his son, and there’s just enough light left to see that he’s about as worn out as I last saw Isaac.

That’s who is on my mind when we leave the graveyard behind and follow a path down to the car park where Charles says, “Come back anytime. There’s always room at our inn. Just bring gin!” He also calls a warning. “Adam, don’t run?—”

Too late.

Adam takes off, and I run after him to see that he hasn’t only found the car park. He’s found Isaac.

Thankfully, he’s alone, and even more thankfully, Charles reads the lay of the land as soon as Isaac turns from his van.

My noggin must be as teeny-tiny as those babies. It takes me way too long to process that a surprised smile flickers like the fairy lights around this car park, but that first reaction must be telling to Charles. He gathers up Adam and leaves me to put my foot straight in my mouth with my first question.

“Where’s Lenny?”

A different smile flickers across Isaac’s face then, and it’s been so long since I saw real humour from him that it takes me way too long to hear that he’s teasing. “I dunno, Joe. Playing in traffic or stealing a car, maybe? I bet he’s fucked off down to the beach for a skinny dip all on his own. I hear that’s what all the really tough Wintergreen kids do?—”

I hold up both hands, but not in a fighting stance. “Okay, okay. I just didn’t want to upset him, that’s all, like you said.”

“Oh.” Isaac still wears a suit and tie. He yanks at the knot as if it has tightened, and just like that, I stop hanging back and join him.

He doesn’t bat away my hand, doesn’t stop me from loosening what I last tightened for him yesterday. Silky fabric slips through my fingers. I can’t let him do the same, so I hold the very ends instead of letting go completely. “How is he?”

“Good. Settled. Already asleep.” His snort is soft. “It’s the second time I haven’t been needed for a bedtime story.” He tilts his head at the pathway. “Ruth did it for me. Said she’d ring if he woke.” Isaac still checks his phone. He slips it back into his pocket, his eyes averted, and him focussing on anything but me is a sign I should back off. I can’t when he all but whispers, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For today. For yesterday. For before then.” He still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know what to do now.”

He said that to me the day his mother was arrested.

Tonight, he isn’t talking about his family.

“About you, Joe.” The lowering sun shows confusion. And the softness I never forgot wars with a seriousness I can’t look away from. Silk wraps my fists the same way Dad used to wrap my and Josh’s knuckles for sparring matches where I always disappointed. Now I use that necktie to draw Isaac close enough to hear his whisper.

---