Page 55 of Blue Umbrella Sky
“Dane would say that we should slow down. He’d say ‘act in haste, repent at leisure.’ He’d say that we should take our time and get to know each other before jumping into living together.”
“Living together? Is that what we’re doing?” Billy asked, mock wonder in his tone.
Milt tweaked his nipple. “You know we are. It’s only a matter of time before you give up that Airstream over there.”
“You think so, huh? Think you’re my forever guy? Because I got to tell you, Milt, I wouldn’t live with someone unless I believed he was my forever guy.”
Milt had been quiet for a long while in reaction, Billy thought, to his words about forever. Finally Milt sighed. “Yeah. I know this is something, what we have here. I know it not in my head so much, but in my heart. My head tells me all the things Dane would say. But my heart knows. The heart always knows what it wants, what it needs.” Milt turned a little to look into Billy’s eyes. “Whoit needs. What matters.”
Those words had started their second, slow round of lovemaking. And when Billy had awakened from a long second sleep, he knew he was there to stay. The logistics only needed to be worked out.
Would he have taken this trip with Milt if he hadn’t been sure they were solid?
Yesterday morning they’d flown from Palm Springs to Pittsburgh, ostensibly so Milt could show Billy from where he came, but really to have the meeting they were having right now, this impossibly cold and snowy afternoon in early March.
They stood in front of a dark granite tombstone, polished, simple, rectangular. On it were the words Cornelius “Corky” Abbott, 1959-2017. Next to Corky’s name and dates were Milt’s: Milton Grabaur 1976- and a blank space.
Dark, bruised slate-gray clouds hung low on the horizon, promising more snow than the flakes already dancing in the wind. The tree-covered hills, naked, reached up to a dappled sky, hungry for the patches of sun that would occasionally appear, taunting.
“Does it bother you that I’ll be buried here? Next to Corky?”
Billy looked over at Milt, who hadn’t moved his gaze from the tombstone as he posed his question. Billy witnessed the tears standing in Milt’s eyes, waiting to fall. Or maybe they were frozen in place—it was cold enough.
And Billy wondered if itdidbother him. He processed awhile before answering. “Honestly, a part of me thinks that it should. But it doesn’t. Corky was part of your history. Corky made you the kind, gentle, and caring man I’ve come to love. So I thank him. And the least I can do is let you lie next to him when your time comes. No, Milt, I’m not jealous. You loved him.”
“I love you.” Milt quickly glanced over at Billy.
“I know. And your being laid to rest here someday doesn’t change that, not one bit.” Deep in his heart, Billy never believed in things like final resting places and tombstones anyway. Those things were for the shells of stuff left behind. If there was an afterlife, there were no physical bodies, only the energy, light, and love that animated us.
Milt nodded but seemed uncertain.
A harsh wind, icy, blew out of the north, making them shiver. Billy had grown so used to the weather of the desert and Southern California that he’d forgotten how biting and bone-chilling temperatures like this could be. The cold actually hurt. He’d quickly revised his notion of hell from blistering, fiery heat to cold like this for eternity. He rubbed his arms up and down, trying to stimulate warmth, circulation. “Can we go? I’m freezing. You said there was a diner downtown that served french fries with gravy. That sounds awesome.” Billy was trying not to plead.
“Sure. Can you just give me a moment here alone? You can go back to the rental, crank up the heat, check your Facebook.” Milt smiled.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’d like a moment here.” Milt’s gaze went back to the tombstone, yet it was faraway, as though he was seeing something that wasn’t there.
“Okay.” Billy bit his tongue to prevent himself from exhorting Milt not to take too long. Not because he was jealous, but because it was so cold. Frostbite and hypothermia were real things. And neither of them had appropriate outerwear for this. Billy wore only a hoodie, over which he’d added a denim jacket. He had no gloves, hat, or scarf.
He trudged back up the hill, passing tombstones and markers and looking down over one shoulder at the little town of Summitville below him. Chimneys belched smoke. Traffic moved slowly on the main arteries, taking care. The Ohio River curved just beyond the edge of the town, brown/green and glinting now and then when the sun deigned to put in an appearance. On its banks bare-limbed trees reached up to the sky, their branches skeletal fingers.
He got in the rental, a black Hyundai Sonata, started it up, and cranked the heat to high, even though all that accomplished at the moment was for the fan to blow even more cold air on him.
Ah well, Billy had learned to be both patient and to live in hope.
As the car gradually, too slowly in Billy’s humble opinion, heated up, he turned to watch Milt at the grave. His broad shoulders tested the seams of the long black coat he wore. Even though his back was to Billy, Billy could detect the movement of his jaw.He’s talking to Corky. I wonder what he’s saying. Is he talking about me?Billy laughed to himself at the absurdity and selfishness of his thoughts.
Billy knew that whatever Milt was saying was none of his business. Milt had a history. So did Billy. And what lay in those former days and years made them the men they were now. Billy wouldn’t have had it any other way.
He brought his iPhone to life, checked to see if he had internet, and opened his browser. The closest AA meeting was late afternoon, near Pittsburgh. Billy would have to get himself there. It had been a long time since he’d been to a meeting anywhere other than Palm Springs, so it might be a little weird, but probably not. Wherever you went, Billy thought, there you were. And meetings were the same everywhere, although peopled by different characters. Essentially they were about folks who’d discovered a miracle generously sharing it with others with the same affliction. Nah, it wouldn’t be weird at all.
He had not let sobriety lose its priority. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He wanted to be his best self not only for Milt but also for himself.
He set the phone in his lap, reclined the seat, and closed his eyes as heat, blessed heat, washed over him.
Chapter 21
