The Letter Read online

  “Please. Don’t go.”

  Luke lost it then, whether out of shock or simply being at the end of his tether, he couldn’t tell. His hips froze in their thrusting, and buried deep inside Brandon he spilled his load of hot seed, pulse after pulse being milked out of him. Beneath his stomach, he felt a matching heated wetness and he heard Brandon crying out to all the saints for mercy as he came hard.

  Breathing in great puffs, the two held position for a moment. When Luke pulled out of Brandon, he kept their eye-lock ever so briefly, then rolled over onto his back and reached for Brandon’s hand. He found it with ease, then laced their fingers together.

  Silence reigned for a long space of time.

  “Why did you have to say that?” Luke asked at last.

  Brandon shook his head. “I don’t know. Heat of the moment? I know—I mean, I’m well aware—you’re going. It’s all been decided.”

  “You don’t sound too sure.”

  “Well, what do you want me to be?”

  Luke sensed Brandon turning his head on the pillow and turned his own, gazing back into the man’s eyes again. “What?”

  “Well, should I cling to you like a doll and beg you not to go away? Neither of us wants that. We’ve made our bed, we’ve lain in it, and now it’s time to move on.”

  “Not this way. Not speakin’ angry and all that.”

  “No.” Brandon made a clear effort to control himself. “You’re right. I’m not going to be so much of a child as I might want to be. We’re grown men going our separate ways with no hard feelings, just as we agreed.” He smiled, the expression almost instantly going rueful. “If you don’t mind, though, I’m going to go take a quick shower.”

  As Brandon got up from the bed, Luke reflected that not so long ago he would have followed his lover under that hot water, reaching for a bar of soap to slick across that beautiful pale skin. He might have even gone down on his knees once Brandon was clean and taken the man’s cock into his mouth, sucking him off as a special present in thanks for the fuck they’d just shared.

  Now, though, Luke made do with a handful of tissues to clean himself off. The smell of blackberries was suddenly cloying, choking his nose and throat. Luke coughed as he sat up and lifted away from the bed. He stopped to straighten the quilt, and then walked over to his own clothes to get dressed again.

  So. They’d had their last round of sex. He had to stay unemotional, had to stay detached. Call it one more thing checked off the list.

  Even if that left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Luke shook his head to clear it. The last thing he had to do was go up to the attic and get down the things of his he’d put up there for storage, including his luggage. He’d need all four of those pieces for his clothes to take with him, along with a few things he’d never tell Brandon about, like a photo album he’d put together of the good times they’d shared.

  He might have been going up to New York alone, but he’d have his memories of this place and of Brandon, damn it.

  As the water ran, Luke headed for the utility room and grabbed the pull cord that would open the trapdoor and send the steps coming down toward him. The thing creaked and groaned as he hauled it open, protesting the movement. Luke couldn’t blame the poor old door. It’d had years of resting time. Hell, he was surprised he could open it by himself.

  With the ladder down he climbed into the attic, fumbling around for the pull chain that would illuminate the dusty room. Generations of the same clan had lived in this house, forebears of some old family in all their various branches, and although there had to be a wealth of things stored away, he’d never fully explored the old place. There had always been better things to do. Now, though, he had the oddest urge to look around.

  There were some curiosities stored up there, no doubt about the fact. Old dolls lined up in a row on a shelf, a kids’ hobby horse, a box with faded paint declaring that it held “TOYS”. A rack with a row of women’s dresses on it, mostly moth-eaten, the styles running a gamut of generations. A low wooden table that had probably once held a phone, like the one Slate and Ash still used.

  And by the window, underneath a layer of dust, a small chest that had been so beautifully carved that Luke couldn’t stop himself—he had to go and take a look. He could have just grabbed his luggage and gone, but something inside his heart made him move forward, going down on his knees in front of the box. The thing had once been locked, but the cheap clasp had fallen away ages ago. Luke lifted the lid carefully, coughing at the dust, and then stared down inside.

  Letters. Almost a hundred of them, looked like, packed in tight as sardines. Each one had been opened neatly with a slit along the edge. Luke ran his fingers across the top of them, and then, unable to help himself, pulled out the first one and opened it.

  The paper was yellowed and brittle but the ink still readable, and he began to scan it with his eyes. He hadn’t finished yet when he heard Brandon calling to him from down below. “Luke? Are you all right up there?”

  Luke scanned the page again, not quite able to believe what he was seeing.

  “Brandon, come on up here, man. There’s something you’ve gotta see.”

  He listened to Brandon’s steps ascending the ladder. “Nothing but dust and old bric-a-brac, I’d wager,” Brandon grumbled. “Luke, your cases are right here by the entrance. What is it that I’ve got to look at?”

  Luke waved the paper carefully. “Just come here,” was all he could say.

  As Brandon joined him, hunkering down on his heels, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the letters packed in tight, Luke handed his newly ex-partner the one he’d taken out.

  “Read this.” He knew he sounded hoarse. “Go ahead. Tell me I’m not dreamin’ this.”

  Brandon carefully took the sheet of paper and unfolded it. “Dear Luke,” he began, his eyes, sharp now, cut up to Luke. “Is this a joke?”

  “Uh-uh.” Luke shook his head. “Look, that’s your handwriting.”

  “Almost. Not quite.”

  “No, it’s the exact same thing.”

  “It can’t be. From the looks of this, and the date—” Brandon checked “—it was written almost sixty years back. My branch of the family was still in England at the time.”

  “Go on and read a little further, then.” Brandon shook his head but continued, aloud. “Dear Luke. When I saw you today standing by the rock garden in Asheville’s town square, I thought that I had seen a vision straight from heaven. Then, when you turned and smiled at me, I knew it for sure.” He let the letter drop.

  “This is exactly how you and I met. But the letters…so old…how can this be?”

  “You tell me, babe. You tell me. And there’s a whole box of them.” Luke shook his head.

  “What do we do now?”

  Luke gave in to the impulse that had been building inside him. “We read them,” he said, making it a request. “Keep on going, Brandon. I want to find out what this is all about. Please?”

  Brandon gave him a sharp look, but nodded. “You realize this’ll keep you from packing.”

  “I need to know. For me.” Luke reached out and took Brandon’s free hand in his own.

  “All right, then.” Brandon lifted the letter and adjusted his glasses. “Luke, I will always remember the day that we met…”

  Chapter Two

  Phones are funny things, man. They can bring you sad news, or they can bring you joy. Sometimes, they can just bring you unending frustration.

  “Hello, New York Gateways, this is Tonja speaking, how may I help you?”

  “Thank God, a real live person.”

  “Sir, we are very busy and most of our customers’ questions can be answered using the automated menu.”

  “Einstein couldn’t work his way through that thing.”

  “Did you have a question for us, sir?”Luke heard a long, put-upon sigh.

  “Yeah. I’m scheduled on a flight leaving tonight, number 4839 leaving from Raleigh/Durham, but I’m not gon
na be able to make it. I was wondering if I could get that changed to a morning trip.”

  “Let me see.” There came the sound of over-long, probably highly manicured fingernails tapping on keys. “We do have a seat on a morning flight, number 3482, but it’s first-class only which will cost you a two hundred dollar upgrade, plus there will be an additional surcharge of seventy-five dollars for changing at the last minute.”

  “Wait a second. How much does that set me back?”

  “Two hundred and seventy-five dollars. Sir.”

  Luke held a hand to his forehead. He didn’t have that kind of money in his account, or at least he wouldn’t until he started getting paid at his new job. He could just about squeeze it out of his credit card, though… “Okay, put me down for the morning flight.”

  “Yes, sir. May I please have your card information?”

  As Luke gave her the numbers, he could hear her fingernails. They were beginning to get on his nerves as if they were scraping down a blackboard. Finally, there came another sigh. “You’re booked for the morning flight, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, Tonja, you have done enough. Thank you.” Luke added the last out of pure good manners.

  He appreciated that the lady probably had a rough job, but she could at least try not to act like this was the biggest hassle since her last coffee break.

  And she could cut those damn nails. Brrr.

  Luke hung up the phone and glanced over to see Brandon sitting at their—no, his—two-seater kitchen table with the chest full of letters. He had a cloth and some wood polish and was trying to clean the thing up. Even had newspapers spread underneath so he wouldn’t dirty up the table itself. A smile tugged at Luke’s mouth. That was Brandon, always so careful, down to the last detail. He wasn’t over-picky, though, and he could get down and dirty when he wanted to.

  Especially in bed.

  “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he offered as a way of breaking the sudden silence that had blanketed the room.

  “Better that we should breathe in all this dust?”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “I know.” Brandon sat a little back, gazing at the mostly cleaned box. “I suppose I just wanted something to do while you were on the phone. And it looks better now, don’t you think?”

  “What it looks to me is scary. A box full of letters with our names in them, written in what looks like your handwriting, dated sixty years ago? That’s the frightening stuff, man.” Luke joined Brandon at the table. He carefully lifted the box’s lid and gazed at the tightly packed letters. “I don’t know about all this.”

  “Could you live with yourself if you didn’t know?” Brandon asked. “We have to go through these and see what they’re all about. Either someone’s playing an elaborate game with us as the butts of the joke, or this is something…” He let his voice trail off. “I don’t know. But I mean to get to the bottom of it.”

  Glancing up, he said, “You didn’t have to change your flight, though. I could have done this on my own.”

  “We’re a team,” Luke replied automatically, then winced. “Damn. I’m sorry, Brandon. I didn’t think.”

  “It’s all right. We were a team.” The ghost of a grin touched Brandon’s face. “Perhaps, for one more night, we could pretend.”

  Luke relaxed. Brandon wasn’t going to hold the mistake against him. He should have known better, of course. Brandon never did hang on to grudges or blame people for honest accidents. “Cool.”

  “Very. Would you make us some sandwiches or something like that? I’ve got a feeling this will be a long night, and neither of us have eaten yet.”

  Glad for something to do—besides look at those letters—Luke jumped up. “You got it. We still have cold cuts, or do you want veggie?”

  “Veggie, I think. Tomato if we have it.”

  “BLT?”

  “No. Wait, yes. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “If we have bacon, no trouble at all. I could go for one of those myself.” Luke crossed to the refrigerator, opened it and busied himself rummaging amongst the shelves and bins. “Bingo! We have all the ingredients.”

  “You’ll want to use the cast-iron frying pan. It’s in the bottom of the stack.”

  “Where I last put it. Take it easy, Brandon. I still know where things are.”

  Brandon looked up over his glasses, his cheeks slightly pink. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I apologize.”

  Luke waved the recriminations away. “It’s okay. Cheese on yours?”

  “Cheese on a BLT?”

  “A BLT melt.”

  There, that got him an honest smile. “Well, I’ll try anything once. Cheese it is, then.”

  Luke paused with his hand on a block of mozzarella. “Yeah,” he said softly, memories of past adventures in and out of bed flashing through his mind, “you will. And you usually enjoy yourself.” He met Brandon’s eyes, and figured that Brandon was probably thinking much the same thing.

  “I’ll keep reading while you cook,” Brandon said at last, breaking the moment that had stretched out between them. One of those long moments that only a real couple had, where they were communicating without saying a single thing out loud. “Do you want to hear what they say, or shall I read silently?”

  Luke shook his head. “Frankly? Now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, this is creepy, man. I don’t know if I want to hear what’s in those letters. But I think I have to. So go ahead and read them to me.” He peeled off strips of bacon and laid them in the frying pan. “Don’t go through them one by one, though. Skip around a little bit.”

  “Very well.”

  Luke heard the rustling of papers, and then the slick sound of an envelope being drawn out. Something was thrust back in, probably a bookmark to show where it had been removed. His Brandon was always so careful about things like that.

  Damn. Luke knew he had to stop this. Brandon wasn’t his Brandon, not anymore, and he had to remember that. They’d said their goodbyes, right? This was just a delay in his traveling on. A pit stop on the road. Nothing more. He poked the frying bacon with a fork, breathed in the savory aroma of broiling pork, and said, “Okay, let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  “Dear Luke,” Brandon read. “Each day with you gets better and better. Our adventure today still makes me smile from ear to ear when I think of it, sitting alone here in this lonely old house. How I wish that you could come and live with me—but no, I know that’s an impossibility. What fun it would be, though! You and I, together all the time with no separations. Perhaps I can convince you one day.”

  He stopped. “It’s just like when you and I met,” he said quietly. “I wanted you more than anything, but you were Zillah’s brother, and I thought she would eat me alive if she thought I was dallying with her family. That woman is a force of nature.”

  “She doesn’t say much except when she’s upset, but yeah. And this is eerie, man.” Poke, poke at the bacon. The fat meat sizzled and popped at him. “Go on.”

  Brandon cleared his throat. “The inks are a bit faded. But here we are: I’ll never forget what we did. You and I walking down the stream that runs through the woods, following its path from one end to where it leads into the French Broad River. The way you walked in front of me, so careful to make sure I didn’t step on any glass from broken bottles or sharp rocks. I knew I had nothing to fear with you by my side, though. You wouldn’t let a thing hurt me if you could avoid it.” He put the letter down. “We’ve done that very thing.”

  “I know.” Luke turned the bacon over as it began to smoke. Damn. He had to pay closer attention to what he was doing. “I remember.”

  Brandon went on. “And then, when you slipped and accidentally brought me down with you, how we laughed as we were soaked in the water. I can still see the droplets sparkling on your face as you shook your head to dry it, and I can yet taste the sweetness of your lips when you kissed me as an apology
for getting me wet. Not that I minded, not one little bit. I was with you, and that was all that mattered. Perhaps we can do it again someday.”

  He closed the letter and coughed slightly. “We never did walk that stream again, you and I. We always meant to, but there was always something that came first.”

  Luke closed his eyes briefly. The memory was crystal-clear in his mind’s eye. It’d been a few years, but he remembered the events as if they’d happened yesterday.

  “When was that one dated?”

  He heard a rustle as Brandon checked. “June of 1948.”

  Luke shivered. “This can’t be happening, man. I mean, this can’t be real.”