Brick by Brick (29 page)

Gage laughed. “You look good to me.”

Cynthia said, “You belong in bed.”

“Too hot. Long story, Cyn, but there’s no air in there. Nights it’s okay, days it’s an oven. The couch is fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Gage said promptly and rolled his eyes at me.

“What?” James said.

“Your birthday,” I filled in. “Or did it come back to you?”

“Nope. I lost everything after dinner.”

“Gage and I thought we’d just do it over, except takeout, not the restaurant.”

“And not the accident,” Gage added. “Although if we did eat out, I’m not the one who’d draw stares for a change.”

“I need to wrap your presents again,” I said, “so you can’t go in there.”

“What makes the most sense,” Cynthia said, “is for James to come home with me, just for the day. What time should I deliver him for dinner?”

“How’s six thirty?” Gage said. “Probably smack in the middle of your dinner. Or not, since you and Doug are invited.”

“Oh, we couldn’t intrude.”

“No intrusion,” I said. “Please say you’ll come. Just dinner, cake, and presents. An early night.”

“All right. I’ll have to run it by Doug, but he’ll agree so long as he doesn’t have to socialize with strangers in suits.”

“I’m stranger than most people,” Gage said.

“Jeans or shorts is fine,” I told her.

“I want my own pants,” James said, moving toward the bedroom.

“Sweetie, just grab what you want to change into. Your busy schedule includes a hot shower, a long nap, the Jacuzzi, and maybe just a little TV.”

“Grab a swimsuit,” I called to him.

“He can go naked,” Cynthia said. “It’s private. Besides, it’s not fair for me to see Gage’s fanny and not James’s, right?”

“What?” Gage said.

“I’ve paid plenty to see your tushy on the big screen,” she said with a voice that winked, “but I meant in the yard. Natalie had the covers.”

“Oh.” Gage blushed.

“Relax, it’s nothing. Except sunburned. Not as pink as your arm.”

Gage pressed a finger to his forearm. The ruddy skin stayed white for too long. “Damn. That’s gonna hurt later, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” I said, peering closer. “But I don’t think you’ll blister. No more sleeping in the yard for you.”

“Right,” he said, pressing again. “How long were we out there? What time is it, anyway?”

“A little after eleven,” Cynthia said.

James returned, a gym bag in his hand and beaded sweat on his upper lip and forehead. He moved slowly, obviously hurting.

“Do you have pain meds?” Cynthia’s concern showed.

“I have a prescription.” He patted his scrub pants and found no pockets. “Had. It must be in your car.”

“We’ll fill it. Grab your wallet, James. Or I can get it.”

I handed her the wallet and his keys. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

“I’m glad to have a chance to mother somebody again, even if it’s just for the afternoon. Don’t worry about a thing, Natalie. Gage, get some lotion on that arm and your tushy. Come on, James. We’re getting you to bed.”

I kissed Jamie carefully before they left, but I think it hurt nevertheless. Gage looked on with longing eyes.

“It’s like you kissed him too,” I assured him. “He knows.”

* * * *

Gage worked the phone like the actor I often forgot he was. He paced the house, disappearing into whatever room I wasn’t in, so I rarely heard more than a sentence or two. His performance astonished me: one role warmly friendly, the next cold and demanding, one coolly professional, one blasé and bored, one flirtatious. I had no idea who he was calling or about what.

His calls were none of my business. He had a career to see to, I reminded myself, and food to order, a gift to buy, a truck to return or sell.

I rewrapped gifts and made the house presentable for company. As I’d grown more accustomed to Gage’s daily presence, I’d slid back to my previous standards for clean, not awful but not good enough for guests. As usual, I started with the bathroom, silently cursing men and their anatomy. It was always a relief to have that job behind me.

In the dining room, the vacuum sucked up a chunk of glass. I knew the sound as it clattered around the roller brush for several seconds before thunking up the hose to the canister. I’d had no idea any glass had jumped so far, or I’d have been wearing shoes. I stood in place, vacuuming thoroughly all around the place I stood. Another piece of glass clacked its way to the canister.

Grandma’s crystal, shattered. Old enough to be revered when she brought it from Italy. How many “greats” could I add to the grandfather or grandmother who’d first drunk wedding champagne from it? Maybe Gage was right, and I should look for replacement pieces online. He’d pay and never miss it. Although those would only be just like the ones Grandma Felluca had brought on the boat, not the actual items.

Silly, really, to feel so wistful. It was just a thing, after all. Things didn’t matter, not really. People mattered. Love mattered. That I had.

I jumped when Gage tapped me on the shoulder.

“Going shopping,” he said loudly.

I turned off the vacuum.

“Thanks. I should be back, but the food’s supposed to come right about seven. Dinner for eight—I invited Rowan and Dave too, and he’s a big eater, judging from the looks of him. Anyway, it’s paid for, including a good tip, so don’t give them anything but a smile.”

“Am I allowed to say ‘thank you’?”

“Like I could stop you.”

“What are you getting James this time?”

He grinned. “Still a secret. But this time I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

The kitchen was pretty bad in the aftermath of Gage’s baking, but I still found the fact that he’d done it sweetly touching. The cake’s layers had cooled completely in their pans and refused to leave without tearing, but I’d made enough birthday cakes over the years to know exactly what to do. Plus I made a decent buttercream frosting. We only had a few birthday candles left, so I sunk a slim taper into the cake’s center instead. Surrounded with sprinkles, it was properly festive.

I put the leaf in the table and set it for seven, then showered and let myself nap on the sofa until six.

The food arrived before Gage, who was so recently bathed as to be damp. Our other guests were prompt and bore gifts.

It was a nice little party, quiet and low-key. James gamely played host and birthday boy, although he seemed subdued and took only the smallest obligatory sip if the wine Gage poured.

“Drug interaction. You all go ahead,” he said.

The rest of us did, except Rowan and Dave.

“Mormon,” he said.

“Junkie,” she said, and he hugged her shoulders.

“Apple juice and sparkling water in the fridge. Try the tangerine.” Once everyone had something in their wineglasses, we toasted James.

My husband liked his gifts all over again, including the unexpected small presents. “When did you have time to shop?” I asked, but Cynthia just smiled.

Gage presented a bottle of French wine. I recognized the label from our first night together. James did too. After all the gifts were opened and praised, that and the boots were the two items he touched, with a smile, as the party swirled around him.

Our guests were gone by nine thirty. I was a little buzzed and a lot relieved; in the last half hour James’s brows had tightened, and sometimes the lightning bolt showed clearly. He’d had enough.

“Make him go to bed,” Cynthia said at the door.

“If I have to drag him myself,” Gage agreed and vamped for an instant as a man in drag.

James got as far as the La-Z-Boy under his own power, reclining it and raising the footrest so he was practically lying down.

“How you doing, babe?” I set his sparkling water in reach.

“Tired. Sore. Glad to be home.”

Gage knelt beside the old chair and handed him a fist-sized box. “Nat said I could go last,” he said.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

He’d asked if he could give his “real” present in private. “I don’t want to embarrass anybody, and I spent more than I should. Don’t worry, not that much. When you think of something just right, you get it anyway, you know?”

Now James tore the paper off and lifted the lid, revealing two keys, each gaily beribboned. James pulled one out.

“That,” Gage said, bouncing curls of yellow ribbon with the flat of his hand, “is to your temporary truck, to use until the other one’s repaired.”

“The cop said I wrapped it around the pole pretty good,” James said. “It might be totaled.”

“We’ll call the insurance company tomorrow,” I promised. I should have done it today.

“This truck’s too big and fancy,” Gage said, “but it’ll do, short-term.”

“If it runs, it’s fine. What’s the other key?” James fished it out, blue ribbons dangling.

“It’s to your truck. I’m getting your body work done, the engine rebuilt, and the seat and dash reupholstered, and while we’re inside, new rubber on the floor. It’ll still be the same truck, just better. It’s going to start every time, for one thing.”

And the cab wouldn’t smell of James’s blood, real or imagined.

“Wow, that’s great! Thank you.” James beamed. “My dad gave me that truck.”

“Natalie told me.”

“I figured she must have, or you wouldn’t know it means a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to me,” Gage said simply. “You and Nat both.”

“I know.” James’s usual unease at emotional conversation showed. Or was it just that he was hurting?

“When do you take your next pill?”

“Never, I hope. I didn’t like being brainless all afternoon.”

“Will you be able to sleep without it?”

“Yeah. I haven’t done much all day except sleep, and I’m really tired. The nurses told me to expect that.”

I wished they’d told me.

They would have, if he’d been able to reach me to bring him home. It was silly to feel so guilty, but that didn’t stop it.

“Are you too tired for your other birthday present?” Gage leered to tell James what it was.

My husband’s smile was weak and obligatory. “Sorry, but I don’t have the energy. Can I get a rain check? All I’m capable of is lying in this chair.”

“Good, that’s exactly what you need to do.”

“We’ll see. But first, what really happened to your ass? That’s no sunburn.”

Oh boy. “We’d have to explain the whole evening, or most of it, for the truth to make any sense.”

“Not really,” Gage said. “We had an argument—you and me, not Natalie—and I said some nasty shit. Which I didn’t mean,” he added. “I was really mad and knew how to hurt you, so I did. I felt terrible about it right away, but you left. While I was waiting for you to come back so I could apologize, I got the brilliant idea of handing you that paddle.”

“Are you saying I did that?” James’s black-and-purple eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Yeah. We both thought it seemed right.”

“I sure as hell don’t now.”

“I didn’t then,” I said. “I left the house, mad as hell at both of you.” Rightfully so. Wasn’t Gage going to tell him about James forcing himself down his throat?

“As soon as we realized she was gone, we took your truck and went looking, to apologize. We were both pretty upset, and when we heard sirens… Anyway, she was at—Keenan’s, is it?—and she’d had a few, so you and I drove back.”

“Why was it just me in the truck? Were we still arguing?”

“No. We were coming home to talk through our differences,” I told him, “but you had to stop for gas, so I went with Gage.”

“What differences?”

I shook my head. “None. The accident erased them.”

“Kind of strips things down to the bare bones,” Gage said. “I’m ashamed of fighting about petty shit.”

“I still can’t believe I did that to you.” The black eyes and swelling only slightly distorted James’s wicked look. “Let me see it.”

Gage turned his back to James and undid his fly. As he pushed his pants down, his eyes went flinty.

Stuart had checked his handiwork too.

“James, I don’t think—”

“I’m sorry, and ashamed too, Gage. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Already done,” he said.

“Thank you.” James gripped the arms of the old La-Z-Boy, which groaned as he pushed himself up. “Anybody ever tell you you’ve got a great ass?”

Smile lines radiated from Gage’s eyes; the fitness regimen had stripped him of body fat everywhere. He shook his bared backside, then vamped a little, like a stripper who knows she’s got the goods.

James whistled painfully loud. “Take it off, honey! Take it all off!”

Gage obliged, with just a little peekaboo from the cover of his shirt, and a big finish that turned his rosy bottom toward James and bent as he wagged it, blowing kisses over his shoulder. We all laughed.

“God,” James said, wiping at his eyes while holding his ribs, “that hurts.”

“It sure did, sugar,” Gage lisped, then sobered. “I’m going to make you forget pain.” Gage reached for James’s fly.

My husband was half-erect already. Gage knelt next to the recliner and took James’s penis in his mouth without hesitation. James moaned.

Gage drew back. “Was that an ‘ow’ or an ‘ooh’?”

“Ooh.”

He smiled, first at James, then at me, before returning to his task. He bobbed his head rhythmically behind a cascade of dark hair, eliciting small contented sounds from Jamie. My husband’s relaxed mouth reminded me of the boyish man I’d lusted after when he rebuilt my aunt’s steps, and fallen for on our first date.

I hadn’t been sure James Bedwell liked me all that much. All evening he’d been too much the gentleman, catching himself when he swore and apologizing, touching only my hand or arm, seeming ill at ease but gamely trying to show me a good time. Then he’d kissed me with those soft, full lips.

My gratitude for that kiss edged toward arousal. James had pulled back and smiled, just like Gage, before giving me his mouth again, longer. By the end of the second kiss, I’d pressed my body to his shamelessly. He’d asked me out for the next night.

We’d seen each other every day after that, sometimes on dates, other times just sharing errand running, but we didn’t do anything more than make out for months. I could feel his erection through his clothes. Yet when I moved to unzip him, he always stopped me with a beat-up hand. He never attempted to explore under my clothes.