Page 17 of Blue Umbrella Sky
“Yeah, I just wanted to thank you. For reaching out to help when you didn’t have to. But my gratitude goes further than that. I also wanted to thank you for pulling me out of my shell. Yes, I wanted to be alone, as I joked earlier. I needed time to grieve, time to kind of try and figure out who I was. Milt alone. I’d been Corky-and-Milt for so long, I almost felt like I didn’t have my own identity anymore. So there was that. But after a time I kind ofwantedfolks to talk to me, and they didn’t. See, I think I’d cocooned myself for so long and so successfully, they sort of just gave up and left me to my own devices. Thought that’s what I wanted, so I don’t blame them. But I’d walk around the park with Ruby, and I started to feel like I wasn’t even there.”
Milt looked away for a second, and Billy bore witness to the pain on his features. He was quiet for a while, and Billy felt a stab of guilt for not trying harder to get to know this man, this neighbor whom he’d been lusting after since he first moved in. Mentally, Billy shrugged. He was like everyone else and assumed Milt was a loner, so why not give him his space.
Thank God for the storm!
“I really want to say thanks for making me feel visible, for making meseen. It’s a greater gift than you know.”
Billy thought briefly of how, when he was in the depths of his alcoholism and all the bad shit that went with it, people stopped seeing him because, he supposed, they couldn’t bear to look at him—or worse, they were embarrassed to look at him. “Oh, I know. And I give you that gift freely, man, and with a great deal of pleasure.”
“Okay,” Milt said after a while, grinning, “breakfast is on me next time. And again, it’ll be wherever you want to go.”
“Okay. We’ll go to Norma’s next time.” Billy smiled innocently, not mentioning that Norma’s, in the Parker Meridian, had probably the most expensive breakfast in Palm Springs.
“Sounds good. Another Marilyn Monroe tribute joint?”
“Not really.” Billy stood. He was glad they’d have another “date.” And he’d have another chance, despite Milt’s profession of undying love for Corky.
He had one thing over Corky, he thought, heading to the cash register with Milt behind him.
He was alive.
Chapter 7
MILT AWAKENEDknowing something was different.
The house was dark and quiet. The old deco marble clock Corky had given him on their first anniversary made its soft whirring noise that Milt no longer noticed, save for in the quiet time of the early morning, when it seemed like the whole world was sleeping. He turned on his side, still missing Corky, even though they’d determined months ago that it was better that he sleep downstairs in the converted den so their night nurse, a guy named Ev, could keep a better eye on him.
The heat clicked on. This gentle blowing sound usually gave Milt a sense of security, and often, on nights like these, would send him back to sleep.
But not tonight. Tonight, for some reason, his senses were on high alert.
Milt reached out and touched Corky’s old pillow, believing it still held traces of the Old Spice aftershave Corky wore. It didn’t, of course, but Milt liked to believe it did.
He sat up in bed suddenly, his heart throbbing.
Something was wrong. Something was off.
Although he had no logical reason to believe this, the notion was there, real and firmly implanted. He exhaled and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His slippers, parked there when he retired the night before, waited for him. He slid his feet into them.
He shivered. They turned the heat down to sixty-eight at night, and it felt even colder than that. Milt reached for his battered but loved plaid flannel robe at the foot of the bed and shrugged into it.
He crept down the wooden staircase, knowing each groan and creak by heart. When he got to the midway point, he shut his eyes and whispered, “Shit.”
The door to the den stood open.
He and Ev always made sure to close it at night. Ev had recommended a lock on the door, because Corkydidhave a tendency to wander, especially at night, but Milt wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m not locking him in like a prisoner,” he’d told Ev.
Ev shrugged and quietly explained that it was for Corky’s own protection. “It’s not a punishment.” Milt knew Ev, deep down, had zero hope of convincing Milt to see things his way, the sensible way, thus the soft tone and lack of conviction in his words.
Milt thought it was enough that Ev was there overnight. He stayed in the living room, which was right across from the den, so he could keep an eye on Corky.
Right?
Milt got to the bottom of the stairs and poked his head around the archway leading into the living room. Ev, in his jeans and blue surgical scrub top, snored softly on the couch, his head thrown back. On the TV, a braided and blonde little Patty McCormack was asking someone what they’d give her for a “basket of kisses.”
Milt turned his head to peer in the other direction. Even though the den was dark, he could see the bedclothes on the floor, along with Corky’s flannel pajamas.
“Oh no. Corky….” Milt sighed and went to the front door, which wasn’t fully closed. Milt shut his eyes again and shook his head.I’m never going to get a good night’s sleep again, am I?He called over his shoulder, “Ev! Wake up. He’s gone again.”
