Too Soon For Love (13 page)

“Why the hell does everybody keep asking me that? I’m fine.

Okay? I just need to go home.” Michael thrust his arms into the sleeves of his jacket then jerked up the zipper.

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“Okay.” Frankie paused. “Do you want to find Jane before—”

“No. She knows I’m going.” He didn’t think twice about the lie. “Let’s just get out of here, please?”

✧ ✦ ✧

“What a cute dog. Where’d you get him?” Tommy crouched down in the middle of Alan’s living room floor and gave Oscar a brisk rub behind his ears. Oscar groaned and flopped over, exposing his belly for the same treatment which Tommy obligingly provided. “Man, he’s cute.”

“Good thing, too.”

“Why?” Tommy sprawled next to the dog and grabbed him by the thick fur around his neck. “Grrrrr!”

They rolled over, play wrestling. Oscar wagged and wriggled then grabbed Tommy’s sleeve with his teeth.

“Don’t let him chew on your shirt.”

“Why not? He’s a puppy. He’s just playing. He’s not trying to bite me or anything.”

Alan walked over to an upholstered rocker in the corner of his living room and tugged off the throw he had tossed over it. A huge bite-shaped chunk was missing from the seat cushion. Alan pointed. “That’s why not, among other reasons.”

Tommy laughed. “Shit. Did he really do that?” He addressed Oscar. “Did you do that, pretty boy? Did you eat a big chunk of daddy’s favorite chair? Did you?”

Tommy was grinning like a lunatic and Alan felt his own grin beginning to break across his face which made it very hard to hang on to his mad.

“Don’t be nice to him. He’s on punishment. He was bad.”

“Punishment, huh? He looks like he’s really suffering there, bro.”

Alan looked down at Oscar, lying on his side amid a scattering of chew toys and squeaky stuffed animals. All he could do was shake his head.

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“I guess I’m just not cut out for puppy raising. Not this puppy anyway.”

“What do you mean? He’s not yours?”

“I’m raising him for Guy and Rosie until he’s ready to be trained as a guide dog. They lost a puppy raiser and they needed somebody so…”

“So you said you’d do it.” Tommy laughed. “You’re such a sucker, Alan. I know you, you’re not going to want to give him back when the time comes.”

Alan snorted. “Hell, I’d give him back right now if I could.

Before he chews me out of house and home.”

“Yeah, right.” Tommy gave Oscar’s belly another rub before getting to his feet. “So when can I start moving my shit into the spare room?”

“Danny will be out by the thirty-first, maybe a day or two before.” Alan pulled keys from his pocket and held them out.

“Good deal.” Tommy took the keys and shoved them into his pocket. “Hey, you never said what happened with the laptop guy.

What did he say when he saw those pics?”

“He hasn’t seen them.”

“Why not? You returned the laptop, didn’t you?”

Alan nodded. “The guy’s blind, Tom.”

His brother’s eyes widened. “He’s blind, huh? You never said that. Total?”

Alan nodded again. “He’s not ever going to see those pictures.

Hell, he might never even know they’re there.”

“Unless somebody tells him.”

“Unless somebody does.”

Tommy blew out a breath and raked his fingers through his hair. “So when are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe never.” Alan walked over to the refrigerator. “Want a beer?”

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“Sure.” Tommy sat on the arm of the couch. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“What’s the point?” Alan open two bottles of Sam Adams and passed one to his brother. “His partner’s dead. Whatever was going on isn’t going on anymore. So what’s the point in telling him?”

Tommy shrugged, tipped back his head and drank deeply.

Wiping the back of one hand across his mouth he asked,

“Wouldn’t you want to know if it was you? I know I would.”

Alan paused with his own beer halfway to his lips. “Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t want to spend time grieving for some asshole who was cheating on me, that’s why. Hell, the guy could be getting on with his life, finding somebody else, rather than spending time on some dick who couldn’t keep it zipped.”

Alan leaned against the refrigerator, sipped his beer and said nothing. It tasted bitter.

Tommy studied him over the neck of the bottle. He said nothing, but then again his twin never really had needed words to make his point.

“What?”

Tommy shrugged. “Nothing. I was just wondering if …”

“Wondering what?”

“Are you and this guy like, fucking? Is that why you don’t want to tell him about the pictures?” He paused, studied his brother then shook his head. “No, you’re not, but you want to be fucking him, don’t you?”

Alan opened his mouth, closed it. What was he supposed to say to that? “I don’t see where that’s relevant.”

Tommy laughed. “Oh, c’mon, get a reality check, bro.” He rolled the bottle back and forth across his forehead. “Look, if you’re not fucking, and you want to be, it’s in your best interest to hurry the grieving process along. The best way to do that is to tell the guy that his beloved partner had a twink on the side.”

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“That’s pretty self-serving, don’t you think?” But he found himself seriously considering it nevertheless.

Alan knew in his gut the sex between Michael and him would be incredible. And not only would the sex be good, but the rest would be as well. Michael was smart and funny and sexy as hell. He enjoyed the man’s company, even without sex he liked spending time with Michael. So how much better would it all be if they were lovers too?

“I can see the wheels turning,” Tommy said. Downing the rest of his beer, he set the empty bottle on the end-table. “So, is he hot?”

“Is who hot?”

“The guy. The one you aren’t fucking. Is he hot or what?”

Alan laughed. “You’re something else. Yeah, he’s hot. He’s amazingly hot. Smokin’, in fact.” He went on to describe Michael for his brother in some detail.

When he finally finished, Tommy let out a low whistle. “Whoa, you really are gone on this guy, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Or maybe a lot.” Tommy clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well, there’s no question then, you got to tell him.”

He wanted to, sure. Not tell Michael about the pictures, not that. He just wanted Michael to somehow know. For someone else to break that distasteful news and, as his brother said, to hurry the grieving process along and open the way for Michael to begin to feel something for someone other than Phillip. Like him maybe.

“I don’t know, Tom.”

“Look at it this way.” His brother picked up his jacket and pulled it on. “If you don’t tell him, and those pics are still on the computer, someone else may see them and tell him. Is that how you want him to find out? Wouldn’t it be better coming from you?”

Would it? He just didn’t know.

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“I brought a copy of the will with me, though I guess that really wasn’t necessary, was it?” Michael opened his briefcase, took out the sheaf of papers he’d gotten from the files at home and laid them on the lawyer’s desk.

“I do have a copy, but that’s fine.” Jeanine took the papers and Michael heard her flipping through them. “Oh, this isn’t—”

“What? Did I give you the wrong thing?” He felt the heat rising to his cheeks. Damn it. He’d double and triple checked the last time Alan was over, even placing the will in a separate folder inside his briefcase, and still he’d managed to screw it up.

“No, it’s the will.” More turning of pages. “But this is the previous version, the one from five years ago.”

Michael leaned forward in the leather visitor’s chair. “What do you mean, previous version?”

“Phillip revised his will, maybe two months ago? Hold on.”

Papers shuffled. “Okay, here it is. It was just after Thanksgiving.

He came in and made some changes. That’s the will I have on file. This one is no longer valid.” She slid the sheaf of pages back across the desk. “You probably have a more recent one in your files at home. But as you said, it doesn’t really matter. You’ll be getting a copy of the new will in any case.”

Phillip had changed his will and hadn’t told him. Why would he do that?

“Could we go over the new will, just so I know what it says?”

“Of course, I was just getting to that. It’s not very complicated.

He left everything to you.”

Michael shook his head. “You must be mistaken. What about his family? His sisters and his brother, his nieces and nephews—

he wouldn’t have left them out.”

“He didn’t leave them out exactly. He left each of them a
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nominal amount.” Jeanine was silent for a long moment. Michael could feel her eyes on him. “I’m sorry, Michael. I can see from your expression that you didn’t know. I hope this won’t cause problems with Phillip’s family.”

Was she kidding?

“I don’t know what he was thinking. We didn’t talk about it.”

“I’m sure he meant to tell you. But when there’s an untimely death … Well, we don’t always get to have all the conversations we meant to, right?”

He nodded again. Christ, he felt like a damn bobble head doll.

But Jeanine didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss. Or if she did, she was too polite to comment. Good for her.

She prattled on, something about revocable trust, taxes and other expenses. It all started to sound like blah, blah, blah to him.

He couldn’t get past the idea Phillip had changed his will without telling him.

He searched his memory for a conversation, any hint at all, but there was nothing. He would have remembered a conversation like that. Wouldn’t he? Then something Jeanine said penetrated the fog.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, after it’s all said and done, you’ll be very comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Michael couldn’t help laughing. “What does that mean exactly?”

“It means you’re a rich man, Michael. I know it doesn’t help with the grief, but you won’t have any financial problems. That was very important to Phillip. He wanted you taken care of if something happen to him.”

“He said that to you?”

“More than once.”

“Well, you’re right. It doesn’t help with the grief.”

“I’m very sorry,” Jeanine said. “Can I have Marta get you anything? Coffee or tea?”

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“No, thank you. I’m okay.”

Sure he was. Although knowing that Phillip felt like he needed to be taken care of didn’t exactly make him feel great. Had he been a burden to Phillip because he didn’t have a regular nine to five job? That was an uncomfortable thought.

“Well, I suppose—”

“It’s all right, Jeanine. Really, I’m fine.” Michael dredged up a smile and pasted it on to show just how fine he was. “Maybe we could just get on with the paperwork?”

“Of course.” She sounded immensely relieved.

She shuffled papers, helped him sign and initial in the appropriate places. By the time the last sheet was signed Michael had a cramp in his hand and he was certain his signature was completely illegible.

“That’s it for now.” Jeanine took the papers. “Can I have Marta call someone for you?”

“If she could call me a cab, that would be great.” Michael stretched his fingers, trying to ease the stiffness in his hand from all the signing.

They both stood. She took his arm and guided him to the outer office to wait for his ride.

The wait turned out to be mercifully short. A good thing since the meeting had completely drained him.

Once he had given his address to the cab driver, he leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

So, he was going to be “very comfortable.” He still wasn’t sure exactly what that meant in terms of dollars in the bank. But he supposed he would soon find out. If nothing else, at least he wouldn’t lose the house because he couldn’t pay the taxes.

Jeanine had said something about financial planning. Phillip had a broker. What was his name? Gerry maybe? He and Phillip had gone to school together though Michael had never met the guy. Hell, he didn’t even know Gerry’s last name. Should he get a broker? Should he stay with Gerry What’s-His-Name? Did it
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matter?

His head was spinning. If only he had someone to talk to about all this. If only Phillip were here.

For the past twelve years, which at thirty-one made up most of his adult life, Phillip had always been there for him. When at nineteen he’d come out to his parents and they threw him out, Phillip was there. When Michael had to choose between graduate school and what seemed like his dream job, Phillip had not only helped him list the pros and cons of each choice, but promised to support him in whatever he decided. And when that same job had proven more nightmare than dream, it was Phillip who encouraged him to leave advertising and try his hand at writing fiction fulltime.

And now all that was lost to him. He was alone, really and truly, for the first time in his life.

Except for Alan.

“If you need anything you can call me,” Alan had said on the day of Phillip’s funeral.

He could call Alan now, just to talk things out. He couldn’t know for sure, but he thought Alan would be a good sounding board, maybe almost as good as Phillip.

He’d considered calling Alan to come with him to Jeanine’s office, had even picked up the phone and punched in half the digits before hanging up. The last thing he wanted was to appear too needy.

So he hadn’t called.

Then Jeanine had said that stuff about Phillip wanting him to be taken care of. What, he wondered, would Phillip think about his friendship with Alan?

Ten minutes later, Michael paid the driver and let himself into the house. As he opened the front door and stepped into the hallway, the phone began to ring. Maybe it was Alan. But why would Alan be calling him?