One More Time Read online

  I opened the door, and standing on the doorstep was Donald’s best friend, George Crenshaw. They were lifelong friends even though Donald had been gay and George straight. George was on his third wife, I thought.

  George’s once brown curly hair was now sprinkled liberally with gray, but he was tall, handsome, and muscular and prided himself on being in excellent shape. Like Donald. They’d worked out together in a nearby gym several days a week for the entire time I’d been with Donald.

  “George?”

  “Hello, Dane. May I come in?”

  “Yes, of course.” I stepped away from the door and allowed him inside, looking past him to the driveway. What was I looking for? That he’d come with the police or Donald’s attorney?

  I closed the door firmly and turned back to George. “I was just making myself coffee. Would you like some?”

  “Thank you.”

  George followed me into the kitchen, and as I stopped at the fridge to get cream for my coffee, I noticed he wore black jeans and a black shirt as though in mourning. I supposed he was.

  “Go ahead and choose the kind you like,” I said, pointing to the display of individual flavors for the single-cup coffeemaker.

  “How are you, Dane?” he asked softly, choosing what he wanted and placing it in the machine as I set out a mug for him.

  “Terrible,” I admitted. There was no sense lying. I knew I looked like shit. “And you?”

  “The same, pretty much. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  I nodded, feeling the sting in my eyes again. I sipped my coffee.

  “I wanted to see if you needed anything,” George said, adding cream and sugar to his coffee. “Donald would have wanted me to check on you.”

  “Would he?”

  George frowned. “Yes. Why?”

  Fidgeting with my cup, I shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Dane?” George touched my arm. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  Instead of answering directly, I asked, “George, who are Chris and Bobby?”

  “Chris?” He blinked, but he had a lost a little bit of color. George obviously did know the answer. It was written all over his face. “I don’t know, Dane.”

  I sighed. “Don’t lie, George. I can see you do. Did he…did Donald meet someone else?”

  “What? You mean like a lover?”

  I winced but nodded. I couldn’t get any words out, but my chest felt like maybe it would explode.

  George laughed. It was a startled laugh, but a laugh nevertheless. “No. You were his only lover.”

  I wanted to believe that. I had believed it until recently. But I looked away, unable to meet George’s gaze.

  “Dane, I’m not lying about that,” he said gently. “Donald worshipped you. You meant the world to him.”

  I whispered, “Then who are they?”

  George’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m not the one who was supposed to tell you.”

  “Who was?”

  “Donald. He was going to tell you about them.”

  “Well, he’s…he’s not here to tell me about them or anything, is he?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Dane.”

  “I know. Who. Are. They?”

  “Bobby is Donald’s son, not his lover.”

  I stared at George, wondering if he would sprout a second head. “His son? Donald doesn’t have a son.”

  George sighed and looked toward the large formal dining table. “Maybe we’d better sit down for this.”

  I never liked it when someone told me to sit down, because of course it was never something I wanted to hear. I was reeling. Donald had a son? And who was Chris then? I was so confused. It occurred to me as I lowered myself into one of the chairs at the table that this was where I’d sat when Donald thought I needed to sit down just before his death.

  How could he leave me? It was almost too much to bear.

  George sat in the chair next to me and glanced quickly at the coffee cup I clenched tightly in my hands. “Do you need more?”

  I shook my head. The coffee hadn’t settled well, and I could feel the heartburn beginning in my esophagus. “Just get to it, George. How could Donald have a son? I…I thought he’d been gay his whole life.”

  “Actually, no. Donald was bisexual.”

  “What? Since when?”

  George sighed. “All his life. Before he met you, Donald had a wife. In fact, when he met you, he had a wife.”

  If I thought I might be sick before, it was nothing compared to the queasy feeling in my stomach now. “A wife?”

  “Chris. Well, Christine. The marriage had been in trouble for a while, and Donald had filed divorce papers. Then Chris found out she was going to have Bobby, and she wanted to try to make their marriage work. And then Donald met you.”

  I had nothing to say to that. My mind was spinning a million miles an hour. All I could think was that our relationship had been built on lies.

  “At first,” George continued, “I think Donald thought you’d just be a fling, and he’d get it out of his system, but you became so much more than that to him. He really fell in love with you.”

  “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t he tell me any of this?”

  George shook his head. “I’m not sure. Like I said, I think he didn’t think being with you would turn so serious, so why tell you? And then, once it was, he was afraid he’d lose you if he told you everything.”

  I continued to clutch my coffee mug as though it could give me some kind of weird comfort. “Okay, but why didn’t he ever tell me about this? We’ve been together six years. For fuck’s sake, George, Donald had a wife, and he never told me this whole time.”

  “It had nothing to do with you, with his relationship with you, which he was completely committed to.”

  I wanted to believe that, and I wondered if George said it enough times, if it would have been true.

  “Nothing to do with me? He kept this whole other life secret from me.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t answer all your questions, Dane. Once he realized his feelings for you were becoming deeper, he told Chris that he’d pay child support for Bobby, but that it was over between them. I think she figured ultimately, Donald would go back to her and their son. It made sense to her that he’d choose his wife over his gay lover. When the divorce went through, she and the boy moved out of state to be closer to her parents.” George finished his own coffee, then drummed his fingers on the dining room table. “She kept wanting more money for Bobby. And alimony for her. Especially after Donald inherited his mother’s estate.”

  I rested my head in my hand, feeling the beginnings of a bitch of a headache. “Okay, so then why now? If he thought he could keep all this from me forever, why decide to tell me now after all this time?”

  “The two of you had been talking about getting domestic partnership papers. Making it official.”

  I nodded. That much was true. I had brought it up, but Donald had seemed to think it was a good idea. It would offer us some protections as a couple.

  “He knew if you were going to take such a big step, he should come clean about Chris and Bobby,” George said. “Donald knew you’d be hurt by the whole thing, and I think he wanted to wait until the two you had everything legal between the two of you.”

  Thinking about all Donald kept from me, I remembered once, a few years earlier, when Donald and I had been on a trip to the wine country, the subject of children had somehow come up between us. Donald had asked me if I thought I’d ever want a child.

  “A child? God, no. I can’t imagine ever having to raise one of those snotty-nosed little brats,” I’d said with a dramatic shudder.

  As I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat, my headache got worse and the stinging in my eyes nearly unbearable. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell me he had a child. I’d been twenty-two or twenty-three at the time and hadn’t given it a lot of thought other than to voice my distaste over the idea. But still…to keep so much from me seemed so hurtfu
l.

  “Dane?”

  “Thanks, George, for telling me this. Finally.” It was so much to process, I could barely take it all in.

  George reached over and gave my arm an awkward pat. “I need to be going. I’ve got some appointments to take care of today. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.” He rose from his chair, and I got up too.

  I followed him to the front doors, my mind racing with unanswered questions and memories of my life with Donald.

  George opened the front doors and then turned to me. “Dane, Donald loved you. You have to believe that, in spite of everything else.”

  I let out a heavy breath. “Okay. Thanks, George.”

  He hovered on the step for a few seconds more, looking like he wanted to say something else, but wasn’t sure if he should.

  “Donald’s gone now. Don’t dwell on his past with Chris and let it ruin the love you guys had, all right?”

  He was right, I guessed. I couldn’t know why Donald couldn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth about his entire life. I had never imagined in a million years that Donald had been anything but gay and completely committed to me. Now, I felt like I didn’t know much of anything.

  I’d already thanked George, so I nodded, and then to my surprise he came back and gave me a tight bear hug. A tear slid down my cheek, but my throat was too clogged to say anything else.

  George released me and then without another word, walked down the driveway to his car. I closed the front doors and sagged against them.

  I was alone again in this big, empty house.

  Chapter 2

  It was kind of amazing how much stuff people accumulate over time. Donald and I hadn’t lived in the big house more than a couple of years since his mother had died, yet he’d managed to buy a lot of stuff he hadn’t had in his bungalow.

  I spent the next several days going through his older and newer things. Donald being much larger and more muscular than my slighter, shorter frame, I packed away his clothes to be given to charity. When the time came. I wasn’t sure I was really ready to part with his stuff just yet. Even the freshly laundered clothes still carried his scent, and I couldn’t help sleeping with a few of my favorite items of his clothing.

  The dreaded eviction from the house never came. A few days after Donald’s funeral, I received a call from his attorney advising me that Donald had changed his will before his death. It made me wonder if Donald hadn’t had some sort of premonition of his heart attack. I wasn’t particularly spiritual, but it was a little strange.

  Perhaps Donald had even had some chest pains he’d ignored before that horrible day.

  Anyway, Donald’s attorney had advised me that Donald’s ex-wife and son would be getting twenty-five percent of his estate, but I remained his beneficiary of the rest, including his financial accounts, house, and life insurance of several hundred thousand dollars. I literally wouldn’t need to work again. Ever.

  I supposed I’d have to find a financial manager to handle everything, or use the one Donald had, and the attorney had already offered to remain my legal advisor.

  And Emily, of course, hadn’t given up her pursuit of me to come to Vermont.

  I’d actually grown up in Vermont. All of our family had. I was the youngest of four children, Emily being the next one up from me. I’d spent my first sixteen years in Northfield, Vermont, and Em still lived there with her family. I’d moved with our mother after her divorce from our father. She wanted to move to California, and I, her only minor child, went with her.

  It had been a good move for both of us. She wanted to get away from my father and the nosy people there, so she said, and I wanted to get away…well, from other things. I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready to go back there, even ten years later. Even for only a visit. I never had in the ten years since I’d left. Emily and her family came out once to visit, and one of my brothers stopped by to see me for an hour on his way to Hawaii.

  But I didn’t exactly want to stay here with my memories of Donald either. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.

  Three weeks after Donald’s death, I was going through the computer he kept in his office, looking at the digital photos he’d stored there. My cheeks were wet with the tears I couldn’t seem to stop as I went through photo after photo. One of the projects Donald had been working on was scanning his family’s old slides, so many of the pictures I was browsing through were from when Donald had been a child, a teenager, and a young adult.

  And then my cell phone chirped to life, literally playing the sounds of sparrows singing madly. I decided I needed to change my ringtone back to its original one as I looked to see who was calling.

  “Hey, Emily.”

  “How are you doing, sweetie?” All our calls lately started this way. I knew why she asked, of course, but it had gotten mildly annoying.

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  Well, of course I didn’t. I’d just been crying.

  “What’s up?” I asked instead of answering her.

  “I’m calling about you coming to Vermont.”

  “That again?”

  She sniffed. “You said you’d think about it.”

  I sighed and leaned back into Donald’s chair, letting it envelope me like his arms used to do. “I have. Sort of.”

  “I’m not asking you to move back to Northfield. Just come for a long visit.”

  “How long?”

  “Open-ended.”

  Glancing out the window to the backyard, I frowned. “Oh, I’m sure Hank would love that.”

  “He doesn’t have a problem with it. You can’t use Hank as your excuse.” She paused, and I heard the clatter of pots and pans in the background. “The time away will do you some good. Clear your head.”

  “I don’t need to clear my head of memories of Donald, Em.” I hadn’t told her about Donald being married and having a son. I wasn’t sure I was going to tell her. Maybe I needed her to believe that Donald was the perfect partner. Or maybe I needed to believe that.

  “That’s not what I meant, Dane. I wouldn’t ask you to forget Donald. I know you loved him.”

  I closed my eyes as my throat tightened, and I nodded, though she couldn’t see me.

  “Sweetie, all you can think about is missing him. All you’re focused on is constant pain and grief. That’s all. You told me yourself Marty is still in Europe. You should be surrounded by family and love right now. “

  She was right about that, I guessed.

  Before I could say anything, she continued, “We can buy you the ticket.”

  I snorted. “Em, the last thing I need is for you or anyone to buy me a ticket. I have plenty of money.”

  “I just meant if it’s too stressful for you right now.”

  “It’s not.” I straightened and stood and went to the window to lean my forehead on the glass, staring out at the Donald’s now somewhat neglected garden. I should hire someone to tend it. “Okay, I’ll come next week. But it’s not going to be open-ended. I’ll pick a return date. I need to decide what to do about this house.”

  “Okay, sweetie, whatever you want,” Emily said. “Call me with the details, and we’ll come pick you up from the airport.”

  “Yeah. Bye, Em.”

  * * * *

  Burlington Airport was some thirty miles from Northfield, Vermont, but it was the closest airport to my former hometown. I arrived just before one o’clock a week later.

  I decided, as I stepped off the plane and down the long passenger ramp leading into the airport, that agreeing to return to Vermont had been a mistake.

  You can’t go home again.

  Or you shouldn’t anyway. I shouldn’t. My stomach had turned queasy, and I was pretty sure I might throw up. Although maybe I was overreacting. Chances that the same people I’d known in Northfield as a boy still lived there had to be pretty small. And one particular resident probably even less of a chance. Or that’s what I told myself.
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  Still, I eyed the garbage cans in the airport as I followed the BAGGAGE CLAIM signs. And then I had a moment where I just froze as I was about to get on the escalator down to the baggage area.

  Just go back.

  I didn’t belong in Vermont. I lived in California now, and that was where I wanted to be with Donald. Only that future had been taken from me.

  I could still go to the ticket agent and fly back to Los Angeles. I could call Emily right now and tell her I’d missed my plane, so I decided not to come to Vermont after all.

  But Emily was waiting below for me. I might as well see it through. I didn’t have to stay a whole month like my return ticket said.

  “Move it or lose it,” an old man said crossly, pushing past me on to the escalator. I scooted out of the way just in time.

  Grow up, Dane.

  Nodding to myself, I stepped onto the escalator and rode it down to the bottom floor. Turning right, I saw the luggage carousels. And next to the third one down, I spotted Emily. And Hank. And their twins, Alex and Annie. They hadn’t spotted me yet, as they seemed to be chatting rather animatedly with each other.

  I walked toward them, almost in slow motion. What the hell was the matter with me? This was my family, no one to feel trepidation with. I walked a little faster then, and Hank turned and saw me. He touched Emily’s arm to get her attention, and suddenly they were all on me at once.

  “Oh my God, you look so skinny,” Emily exclaimed, pulling me so tight against her I swear my ribs popped.

  Then the kids were seizing me. They were six years old now, and I hadn’t seen them since they were toddlers and they’d all visited me and Donald. And then Hank clapped me hard on the back.

  “Jeez, Hank, don’t break him,” Emily admonished. She slung her arm around me. “Are you hungry? You must be starved.”

  “Well, no, but I could probably eat.”

  “Good, we’ll stop on the way home for some supper,” she said it in a tone that defied argument. “Oh, here come the bags now. Which one is yours, Dane?”

  And so it went until we finally had my suitcase and they hustled me out to their minivan. I sat in the back with the twins, who chattered on about school and things six-year-olds found important. I was glad no one had brought up Donald’s death. I seemed to be forever on the brink of a breakdown whenever Donald came up. I hoped that would get better someday.