Page 67 of Pages of My Heart
Thomas turns his head sharply toward the doctor. “No, I’ll look after him.”
Doctor Sawyer frowns at Thomas. “The job is better suited to a woman. Someone who is at home and can help with dressing, washing, meals, and so forth.”
“My brother and I live together. I can do it. It’s no problem.”
Doctor Sawyer looks to Charlie. “Corporal, your mother, uh—” He consults the chart again. “Lorretta Miller. She’s listed here as your next of kin. I think you should consider moving back home with her if she is capable. Surely your brother will be at work most days, and you will need twenty-four-hour care over the coming weeks.”
“Thanks for the suggestion, Doc,” Charlie says curtly.
“Yes, well, I advise you take it. Good day, gentleman.” He nods at Charlie, then Thomas, then takes his leave.
The moment the doctor is gone, Charlie exhales deeply. “Do you think he . . .?”
“I think we’re okay. Michael and I hug each other sometimes, and I don’t think he would have heard me. I was whispering. Anyway, you’ll be discharged this week—that’s great!”
He tries to muster a smile but fears it may look more like a grimace. His mind is still replaying the offhanded manner in which the doctor suggested he won’t be able to return to work at the garage. Not to mention the fact that he’ll apparently need a twenty-four-hour babysitter.
“Tommy, sit and tell me all your news.”
Charlie does want to hear Thomas’s news, but more than anything he wants to avoid thinking or talking about himself, or answering those prying questions he knows Thomas will eventually start asking.
As Thomas begins talking, Charlie threads their fingers together and studies his husband carefully. He checks to see if everything is how he left it, eyes roaming over every inch of his face—from the vibrant red hair down to the sharp line of his jaw, from the spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose to his pink, bow-shaped lips. His eyes then trail down to Thomas’s Adam’s apple, then further to the bit of chest hair visible just above the first button of his shirt. Charlie’s mindstarts to drift, and he finds himself fantasizing about removing his husband’s clothes, feeling their naked bodies pressed together. He thinks about being held and being taken. And it feels good, and it feels right.
He tries to focus on that.
Thomas
Five days after being reunited, Thomas brings Charlie home. He’s taken seven days of unpaid leave, giving them a total of eleven days together, including two weekends. It would have been preferable to take more time, but after already having taken three weeks for his episode earlier in the year, he is hesitant to ask the school board for more.
Charlie doesn’t say much on the trip from the hospital, and he goes completely quiet once they enter the house. He wanders around refamiliarizing himself with each room, fingertips skimming the furniture as he goes. Thomas follows behind, nervous and unsure. Charlie’s moods have been unpredictable—one minute he’s cold and distant, the next loving and attentive. It makes Thomas apprehensive. This isn’t how he imagined it would be when Charlie returned. Maybe he was a fool to think things would snap right back into place.
Charlie stops in the kitchen, eyes cast over the backyard. “Everything looks exactly the same, and yet somehow, everything’s changed.”
“What do you mean? What’s changed?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
Charlie exits the kitchen and turns down the hallway toward the bedroom, his damaged arm hanging slack at his side. Thomas follows. It’s the first time they’ve been alone since Bloomington. He wants Charlie in his arms, in their bed, but he doesn’t want to pressure him. It’s not about sex, it’s about intimacy. Reconnecting. He fears Charlie will reject him—not that he knows how to broach the subject anyway.
Charlie’s eyes flitter around their bedroom and then land on Thomas, settling and seeming to focus. “I think I wanna have a bath.”
“Okay, I’ll run the water for you. Should I prepare dinner while you’re in the tub? I splurged a little and picked up some pork chops from that place on Halstead. Practically wanted an arm and a leg for them, but they’re nice and thick”—he’s rambling and he knows it, nerves getting the best of him—“and we’ve got string beans and potatoes, and I could cut up some mushrooms or even make a—”
Charlie steps forward and takes his hand. “No. Just—will you bathe with me?”
Thomas exhales in a rush, unaware he was holding his breath. “Of course, my darling, I’d love to.” He cups Charlie’s face and presses their lips together. It’s a tentative kiss, almost like when they first met. Not wanting to push too hard too soon, he pulls back. “I’ll get it started.”
Ten minutes later, they’re moving awkwardly around each other in the bathroom. Thomas strips out of his clothes first, blushing under Charlie’s attentive gaze and hardening from the sheer anticipation of Charlie’s body against his. Then, as carefully as possible, he removes Charlie’s shirt, getting his first proper look at his injured shoulder. There are a number of angry red surgery scars that still look tender, along with a scattering of smaller scars over Charlie’s chest that are fully healed. He’spainfully aware of Charlie watching him, gauging his reaction. It makes Thomas hesitant and fearful he will misstep and spoil this precious reunion. Without comment, he moves to Charlie’s trousers, removing them along with his briefs and socks. Thomas doesn’t yet touch, noting that Charlie is still soft and flaccid.
He steps into the bath, then supports Charlie as he joins him. They sit down, Thomas guiding Charlie’s hips as he lowers himself into the water, worried he will be unstable without the use of his arm.
“Not a fuckin’ invalid, Tom,” Charlie snaps.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think you are. I—I was just being cautious.”
They settle as Charlie’s hostility subsides, Thomas relaxing once Charlie’s back comes to rest against his chest. Grabbing the soap, he begins washing Charlie’s torso but finds he cannot focus with the feeling of Charlie’s skin pressed against his own.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, giving his apology almost as if under obligation rather than freely. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
