Page 39 of Blue Umbrella Sky
In casting Corky only in the golden light of memory, he’d obliterated most of his less endearing qualities. With each passing day without him, Milt made Corky more and more perfect in his mind until the man approached sainthood.
Now that the sensation had vanished, Milt questioned whether he’d actually felt it at all.Is my mind just playing tricks?
Or is something more going on here?
Billy put his hand on the doorknob, poised to open it. “I’ll come back. Eat your supper.”
In his reverie, Milt had almost forgotten he was there.
“Don’t go,” he blurted out. More than anything, he suddenly didn’t want Billy to leave. He sensed something vulnerable and precious in this moment and feared that if Billy left now, they could never recapture it.
Billy’s face, up until that moment a bit confused, relaxed. He smiled. “You sure? It’s no problem. You might have forgotten I live just behind you.”
“Don’t be silly. The potpie will reheat.” Milt had an idea. “Or I can heat one up for you. I’ve got more in the freezer. Chicken, turkey, beef—even a chili-filled one. I haven’t tried that variety yet, so no promises.”
Billy grimaced. “That’s okay. I already ate.”
“Liar.” Milt chuckled. “But please stay and let’s talk.”
An uncomfortable silence, lasting a full minute or two, followed.
Billy finally broke it by moving into the living room. He plopped down on the couch. “Okay,” he said on an exhalation. He stretched his long legs out before him.
Is there anything more beautiful than a man’s bare feet?Milt was surprised at the thought, having never had any particular fondness for that portion of a man’s anatomy, yet Billy’s feet suddenly made Milt feel he could almost write an ode to them.
Milt hovered by the breakfast bar, not wanting to give in to the irrational yet colorful urge to go all Mary Magdalene on Billy and get down on his knees and wash those sexy bare feet for him. He had to put a quick hand to his mouth to contain the laughter, aching to burst out.You, Milt Grabaur, are a crazy person.
“Are you gonna come in and sit down or what?” Billy asked. “You can eat that mess, excuse me, your dinner, while we talk.”
Suitably shamed, Milt picked up the bowl with the potpie and set it on the floor. Ruby leaped on it, and Milt thought he’d be sorry later. It took her all of one minute, maybe even slightly less, to get that whole potpie in her tummy.
“You didn’t even taste it.” Shaking his head, Milt sat in his recliner, across from Billy.
“So.” Billy eyed him.
“So,” Milt said, sitting too straight, muscles tensed.
“I feel bad about how things have been between us ever since you came to the meeting at Sunny Dunes.” Billy looked away, down at the floor, as he said, “But I felt a little like you invaded my privacy. If you wanted to come to one of my meetings, to see what they’re all about, you should have asked me. I would have taken you.”
Milt nodded. Part of him wanted to be defensive and ask, “Aren’t the meetings open to the public?” But he knew Billy was right. He’d been sneaky and deceptive. He should have at least asked how Billy might feel about his being there, especially since he was there for no other reason than to see Billy, even if it was to somehow know him better.
“I’m sorry, Billy. I don’t know why I followed you that night.” Now it was Milt’s turn to look down at the floor, abashed. “Well, that’s not true. I do know.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know you better, to see what this important part of your life was all about.” Milt looked at him, trying to ensure his smile was gentle. “I just want to know all sides of you—not just the whole parts, but the broken ones too. Lord knows, we all have them.” Had he revealed too much? “I’m sorry if you feel I invaded your privacy. But I’mnotsorry I went to the meeting. Your story, about the butterfly? It was beautiful. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
Billy shrugged. “It’s just my truth. I have to work hard on surrender. I have to take it to heart and remind myself that doing so isn’t about being weak. It’s about being strong. Becoming powerless can, paradoxically, make one powerful.”
“I got that.”
“It’s about not controlling.” Billy sighed, threw his hands in the air for a moment. “Yet here I am tonight, about to try to control something.” He laughed. “We are so imperfect. Us human beings. Don’t you find that to be so, Milt?”
“Oh yeah.” Milt regarded Billy and thought this moment felt good. They were two men acknowledgingnottheir weakness, as some might say, but their vulnerability, their humanity. “I want—” Milt began but couldn’t finish. Whatdidhe want, anyway? To be relieved of being a perpetual widower? To be delivered from his horrible fear it would make him somehow less than human? That it would make him selfish to desire new life and, even, just maybe, new love? Did he want to be made callous?
“What do you want, Milt?”
The words came without warning, without conscious thought. The words that came were unexpected, yet when Milt uttered them, they rang as true as anything he’d ever said in his life. “To be seen. Isn’t that all anyone wants?”
