Seb’s Summer by K.C. Wells

Chapter Three

 

Marcus Gilbert poured himself a cup of coffee and walked into the living room to gaze out at the yard. All was peaceful, apart from the squirrels who were darting here and there, and the birds singing their hearts out in the trees surrounding the house on three sides. Marcus’s day always began the same way—sitting in the big armchair facing a wall of glass, a cup of coffee in one hand, taking the opportunity to breathe in the peace. And by late afternoon, he returned to the same spot to enjoy the sunlight.

His phone vibrated, and Marcus sighed. So much for enjoying the quiet. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and glanced at the screen. It was a text from Nick.

Well, what do you think? Do you like it?

Nick wasn’t usually this cryptic. Marcus composed a reply. Do I like what? And good afternoon to you too.

Seconds later Nick pinged back a response. My package.

Marcus almost sprayed the window with coffee. He put down his cup, and clicked Call. “Does your husband know you’re asking guys their opinion of your package?”

Nick guffawed. “Okay. I guess I didn’t phrase that very well. The package I sent. Did you like it?”

“What package?”

Nick made an impatient noise. “The one I got a text about yesterday? Saying it’s been delivered?”

It was then Marcus realized he hadn’t checked the mailbox for a couple of days. “Oops. Let me go see.” He got up from his chair, went through the house and out of the front door. It may have been June, but the air still had a chill to it, despite the hour. The mailbox was open, and several items could be seen sticking out of it.

Thank God for law-abiding neighbors. Not that Marcus expected anything less in Cape Porpoise. He hurried over to retrieve the envelopes, and found one fat brown cardboard package stuffed into the black metal box. When he got back inside the house, he picked up his phone from the kitchen countertop where he’d left it.

“Oh. Looks like I have mail,” he joked. At first glance, the rest was stuff for his parents, or leaflets that would be filed in the trash can. Hey, dude. There’s this thing called recycling, remember?

Nick laughed. “Gee. I wonder who it’s from?”

The package bore the word Fragile. “Oh God. What have you sent me?” He pulled the tab to open it. A bubble-wrapped shape came out, along with a smaller package also wrapped in plastic. Marcus put the phone on speaker, grabbed a knife from the block, and sliced through the wrapping. He stared at the items, perplexed. “Nick, why are you sending me aromatherapy oils and an oil burner?” It was a very pretty oil burner, made from what resembled soapstone, with a cut-out design that he guessed would produce a nice effect when a tea light burned inside it.

“Hey, I chose those five oils very carefully. Lavender is to relieve stress, sandalwood calms the nerves and helps you focus, rose reduces anxiety, chamomile improves mood and relaxation, and jasmine just… lifts you.”

“I’m sensing a theme here.” Marcus was touched. “Thank you.”

“So… How are you?”

“I’m good.” When silence met his response, he sighed. “No, really, I’m good. I’ve been meaning to call to thank you.”

“What did I do?”

“You convinced me I needed to break the cycle. That I couldn’t stay in New York and expect things to change.” And when Marcus hadn’t listened, Nick had persisted, because that was what good friends did. I thought I had a lot of those.

Marcus could count his good friends on one hand now.

“I’m glad.” Nick’s voice was warm. “Juan was worried sick. And I know I said call if you need anything, but when you didn’t… I guess you didn’t need anything.”

“I’m sorry.” He had meant to call, but it had slipped his mind. I was too busy getting my shit together. Which was a piss-poor excuse, seeing as it was thanks to Nick’s intervention that he was in his present—vastly improved—state.

Marcus picked up his cup and wandered back to the living room. He had to smile at the sight of a squirrel gazing through the window. As Marcus drew closer to retake his seat, the squirrel shot back into the woods.

“So what are you doing with yourself up there in Maine?”

Marcus settled back against the seat cushion. “The first month, I didn’t do anything apart from sleep. Oh, and walk. I walked my ass off.” He figured he’d covered every inch of Cape Porpoise on foot during April and May. It was amazing what there was to see when not viewed from a car window.

“Hey, if you need to sleep… Sounds like my gift is useless. Just listening to you, you seem way more relaxed.”

“Like I said, I’m in a good place.” The house had provided exactly what Marcus had needed—a calm safe space to regroup his thoughts, recharge his batteries, renew…

“So what’s it like? The house, I mean.”

“I suppose you could describe it as quirky.” That was always how it had struck Marcus. “It started out simple, but various bits got added on over the years. It’s quiet here, though.” He gazed out at the back yard. “All I can see right now are trees.” Exchanging Manhattan’s noise and… temptations for the tranquility of Cape Porpoise had been the right thing to do.

“Can I come visit?”

“Sure. Just pick your dates carefully. The family is going to descend on the Fourth. Everyone will be here—and I do mean everyone. My brother, his two kids who are home from college, my sister, her son, also home from college, my cousins Lisa and Rob, their kids, Lisa’s grandkids—and of course, my parents.”

“Holy fuck. How big is that place?”

“There are four bedrooms, the attic room, and the summerhouse. And a lot of sofa beds.” Having the family there would be like stepping back into his childhood.

Marcus couldn’t decide whether the prospect excited or terrified him.

“Are you ready for that big a gathering?”

He blinked at the coincidental question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Do any of them know what’s been going on?”

Of course they don’t. Why the fuck would Marcus share that? He forced himself to take a calming breath. “All my parents know is, I needed a change of scenery, and a break from New York. That was why they suggested the house.” They had no idea what led up to that, and it was going to stay that way. “And I’ll be fine.” Thank God he got along with his family.

“So I’m okay before the Fourth… What about after?”

Marcus laughed. “They’ll stay a while. Some of them will be here until August, I imagine.”

“I’ll talk to Juan, see if we can work something out, but I’m not hopeful.”

Marcus’s heartbeat picked up speed. “I could visit you.” His mouth was suddenly dry. He drained the last of his coffee, then headed into the kitchen to pour himself another cup.

There was a pause. “Will you come back here to live, do you think?”

It was a question Marcus had asked himself a lot in recent weeks.

“No clue, not yet. Let me get through the summer first.” He hesitated, then plunged ahead, his heart racing. “I started writing a book.”

He caught Nick’s sharp intake of breath. “Seriously? Am I in it?”

Marcus laughed. “You will be—when I get to that part. But it’s not that kind of book. It’s more of a… self-help guide. Something along the lines of ‘This is what Marcus did. Don’t be like Marcus.’”

There was a pause. “I read your article.”

“Oh.” There was a tightness in his chest, and his mouth dried up again.

“So did a lot of your friends.”

“Oh.” What friends? Marcus was dying to ask what had been said, but he didn’t dare. He had a fair idea anyway.

“Let’s just say… opinion is divided into three camps. There’s the Who-gives-a-fuck? camp, the Good-for-him camp, and—”

“Let me guess. The He’s-fucking-delusional camp.”

“Pretty much.”

Just as he’d suspected. “And which camp are you in?” When Nick didn’t reply, Marcus’s chest constricted even further. “I see. You haven’t believed a word I’ve said, have you?”

“Hey, you said you haven’t got a problem,” Nick retorted. “In fact, back in New York you were telling me you didn’t have a problem before I even opened my mouth.”

“I told you. I’m doing okay.”

“I’m sure you are. All I’m saying is, I’ve seen some fine men fall prey to it, men who thought they could handle it. Hell, if the events of my life had happened in a different order, there but by the grace of God…”

Marcus’s stomach churned. “You’re talking about the past.”

“Yeah. And let’s remember something here. I saw what a sorry state you were in. I told you to make a break. I was surprised as fuck when you did. But if you think I’m going to believe you can just walk away from all that?” There was silence for a moment. “Sorry, Marcus. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that when you didn’t call…”

“You concluded it was a case of same shit, different location, is that it?”

Another pause.

Marcus couldn’t contain his ire a second longer. “You know what? It is possible for someone to say, ‘Hey, I’m done with this.’ Because if it wasn’t, what the fucking use is a twelve-step program, or AA, or anything like that?”

“Can we change the subject?”

“Fine by me.” He was this close to disconnecting.

“How far have you got with the book?”

“I’ve written about seventy thousand words so far.”

“Jesus, that’s huge. Wow.”

Marcus strove to breathe evenly. “Before you get lost in admiration, it’s seventy thousand words of a mess. It needs sorting out, chunks cutting, rewriting…” And rewriting. And more rewriting.

“Are you gonna publish it?”

Marcus hadn’t gotten past the cathartic exercise writing afforded him. “We’ll see when it’s done.” It was only then he realized the good place he’d been in had vanished from under his feet like quicksand. His stomach was clenched, his throat tight.

This is not helping.

“Sorry, Nick, but I’m going to have to cut the conversation short. I just realized I need to go to the store before it closes.” He wasn’t lying. He really did need to go shopping—just not right then.

Nick’s voice was quiet. “I’ve upset you, haven’t I?”

No shit.

“You just made me think about things I haven’t thought about for a while. And before you say it, that’s not because I’ve been avoiding them. I really had left them behind.”

Yeah right.

“I don’t think they’re all that easy to walk away from. Christ, I’m sorry. Maybe it’s not such a good idea Juan and I coming to see you.”

Aw fuck. But before Marcus could tell him he’d be welcome anytime, Nick plowed ahead.

“I’ll leave you to your groceries. Enjoy the oils. I hope they help in those moments when you might need them.” Nick disconnected.

Shit.

What cut him to the quick was that one remark. I’ve seen some fine men fall prey to it, men who thought they could handle it.

It didn’t take a genius to work out he was talking about Marcus.

He doesn’t believe me. Did I really expect anything different? Why should he go against the tide of popular opinion? But that was what hurt. He had expected Nick to be different.

The lure of a stroll was stronger than ever, if only to clear his head and settle his stomach.

Marcus got up and went into the kitchen to compose a list. The store was about fifteen minutes away on foot. He grabbed his wallet, then raided the net hanging from a hook in the closet where Mom kept neatly folded plastic bags. He put on his leather jacket and stuffed the bags into his pockets, one on each side.

When he reached the end of the driveway, he turned right onto Land’s End Road. He maintained an easy stroll as he ambled along the dirt verge that lined the road. Not a sidewalk to be seen, just houses scattered here and there, and shady spots where lush green trees met in graceful arches above the road, providing cool relief from the late afternoon sun’s glare. There was little traffic, and that made the birdsong around him all the more noticeable.

As he approached the intersection with Wildes District Road, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and the thought briefly crossed his mind that it was Nick.

I don’t want to talk to him. His stomach roiled. But if it wasn’t for Nick, I wouldn’t be where I am now. He pulled out his phone, and his anxiety crumpled at the sight of Jess’s name. “Hey, sis.”

“Mom said you’re at the house in Cape Porpoise.”

“Yeah, they said I could stay here a while.” Except he figured there would come a point when he’d have to leave, and despite his insistence to Nick that all was well, he wasn’t ready just yet.

“Damn. I bet it’s great up there right now.” That wistful catch in her voice tugged at his heart.

“Sounds quieter than Boston does.” He could hear the dull roar of traffic in the background.

“Are you okay? Thought I’d ask, since you missed my birthday. You know, the big one.”

“I sent you a gift, didn’t I?” For the second time in less than an hour, his chest tightened. He’d been in no state to attend her family party, not in April. Apart from a bottle of champagne, he’d sent her a mug with the words I am 39+ on it, plus a drawing of someone giving the finger.

She snorted. “You should’ve seen Mom’s face when she saw it.” There was a pause. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

Damn that sixth sense Jess always seemed to possess when it came to his moods.

“I’m fine. You still coming here on the Fourth?”

“Yeah.”

Despite her obvious yearning to be where he was, she didn’t sound all that enthusiastic. He turned right onto Main Street, and suddenly there was more traffic, sidewalks, and properties. Boats sat in front yards wherever he looked. “What’s wrong?”

She huffed. “Never could hide anything from you, or Chris, for that matter.” Another pause. “I’m worried about Jake.”

“There’s nothing wrong, is there?” His nephew had just finished college.

“He’s gotten real quiet lately.”

“Isn’t he home now? I know graduation is next month. Maybe he’s thinking about the future. Does he know what he wants to do next?”

Jess sighed. “I don’t think it’s that. Every time I ask him what’s going on, or if he’s worried about something, it’s as if he can’t get away from me fast enough. Whatever it is, he won’t talk to me about it. Maybe… maybe he needs a guy around… To talk to…”

Marcus got the feeling he knew where this was going. “He has got two uncles, right? Chris is older than me, wiser…” And not such a fuck-up.

“Chris is dealing with his own issues.”

Yet more guilt flushed through him. I’ve been a selfish bastard. It seemed his siblings were struggling, and he was MIA.

“This vacation might be what we all need, you know,” Jess remarked. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.”

“I’m fine, I promise.” A little white lie, but hey, he was getting there, right? “And I’ll tell you what. If Jake wants to talk, then fine, we’ll talk. But I’m not going to push.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was warm. “It’s at times like this I wish I hadn’t made such a mess of my life. Maybe then he’d have a dad.”

Marcus knew how often Jess kicked herself about Jake’s origins. He’d been the product of a drunken encounter at a party, and the guy concerned did not want to know. Nor had he been interested in whether Jess did or didn’t keep the baby.

Fuck him. She was better off without him.

“Are you dating at all?”

She snorted again. “What—and risk the Gilbert curse come crashing down on my head?”

He laughed. “That’s just Chris being an ass. There’s no such thing.”

“Oh yeah? Name me one relationship in our family that stayed the course.”

“Easy. Mom and Dad. It’s their golden wedding anniversary this year. That sounds pretty curse-proof to me. And Aunt Carol.”

“Uncle Jon died!”

“Sure—when he was seventy-seven. They almost made it to sixty years of marriage.”

“And what about Rob? Susan divorced him. Lisa? David divorced her. Chris? Rachel left him.”

“What about me?” he fired back. “Haven’t seen any sign of the curse in my life, have you?”

“You don’t count.”

He let out a dramatic gasp. “Excuse me?”

“Hello? The curse requires that you’re in a relationship? Not sure if you’ve ever come across one of those.” That sounded more like his sister.

The last thing on his mind was a relationship. Bradbury’s was ahead on the right. “Okay, I’m at the store. If I keep talking to you I’ll be home by the time I realize I’ve forgotten something.”

“Then I’ll let you get on with it. I’ll see you on the Fourth.”

“I will talk to Jake, okay? If you think it’ll do any good.”

“Thank you.” Another pause. “Hey, Marcus? If I need to come up there before the Fourth… just me… would that be okay?”

“Why would it not be okay?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, having me around might cramp your style.”

He laughed. “No style to cramp. All I’m doing is walking and writing.” Besides, the only people he saw on a regular basis were the people who ran the store, and the mailman, who had to be at least sixty years old.

Never mind a relationship—the last thing I need right now is a distraction. And guys definitely came under that heading.

“Sounds perfect. I might see you soon then. Love you.” She disconnected.

Marcus went into the store, removed his list from his pocket, and grabbed a cart. He liked the place: there was everything from the basics to craft beers, wine and liquor, pastries to tempt anyone from the straight and narrow path of healthy eating, and a deli that catered to all tastes. Plus, the folks who ran it were always polite: he got a smile and a greeting every time he went in there.

He headed for the produce section, where he picked up a bag of apples and another of grapes, before going to check out the bananas.

“So what’s the deal with green bananas?”

It took a second or two for him to register the guy standing next to him was addressing Marcus. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, with wavy brown hair that strayed into gorgeous pale blue eyes, a lean kind of guy who wouldn’t have seemed out of place on a surfboard. He had to be a summer visitor: Marcus didn’t recall seeing him before at the store. Because fuck, I’d have noticed. He wore a T-shirt, and whatever was printed on it was obscured by his denim jacket.

Marcus resisted the urge to lower his gaze.

He gave the guy a polite smile. “Are you talking to me?”

The guy pointed to the bananas. “So, is the deal you take ’em home and wait for them to ripen? Is it a good idea to buy some green and some yellow? That way, you can eat some right away and the others will be ready by the time you need ’em.”

Marcus resisted the urge to say “whatever.” He reached past the guy, grabbed a bunch of bananas, placed them in his cart, and hurried away.

Why do some people feel the need to start conversations with strangers? It wasn’t something Marcus had ever done—except when he was hooking up with guys in gay bars, of course. But this wasn’t a gay bar, it was a grocery store, and the guy didn’t know Marcus from Adam.

Not that Marcus would have minded knowing him. If he’d run across him in a bar in New York, it would have taken him less than a nanosecond to react with a sexy line. And it would have been no time after that before one of them had a dick between their lips.

He went over to the magazine rack, and peered at the covers. On the front of one magazine there was a guy fishing with a line, and he had to smile. Lord, how old was I the last time I did that? Going out in Dad’s boat, spending all afternoon trying to catch a fish, just him, Dad and Chris on an idyllic hot summer’s day during the long summer vacation.

Maybe I should take it up. Marcus was sure he could rent a boat somewhere in Cape Porpoise. There were boats everywhere, and he’d bet even money there was fishing gear lurking in a closet back at the house.

“Wouldn’t you know it? The one magazine I want, they don’t have.”

Marcus sighed inwardly. Maybe ignoring this guy wasn’t the way to go. “Which magazine are you looking for?”

“Out.”

Marcus blinked. Then he noticed the guy had taken off his jacket, revealing his T-shirt. Across his chest were the words Yes, I am, and no, you can’t watch. Then he caught sight of the rainbow enamel pin on the jacket the guy clutched in his hand.

Fuck, he’s not exactly subtle, is he?

Marcus cleared his throat. “Ask them to get it for you. They’ll order it if they can.” He could have added that he didn’t think for one second the store would have a gay magazine on their shelves, but that would have given the game away. Marcus was too long in the tooth to fall for the guy’s ploy.

Not going to give him the satisfaction.

He walked away, heading for the cash register. He didn’t have everything on his list, but there was no way he was going to hang around, just in case the hot dude decided to strike up another conversation.

Because fuck yeah, he was hot. It was a delicious thought to look at that barely-there beard and mustache, and imagine their owner rubbing them against Marcus’s—

No. No. No. Do not pass go. Do not hook up with hot guy.

There were limits to Marcus’s willpower, and it had been months since he’d gotten laid. But sex was a distraction he could do without.

One of those oils Nick sent is supposed to help with focus. That was what Marcus needed. He did not need the sexy lean frame and gorgeous blue eyes of the guy who seemed determined to check him out.