Chapter Seventeen
Cold. No matter how fast he walked—even when sprinting up a hill so fast it left him dizzy—Tim was cold. With no sense of time, he didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but now he was sure he’d been close to town when he wrecked the snowmobile. Judging from the way the snowmobile tracks weaved back and forth, he was drunker than he thought, probably since breakfast had been his last meal.
Something else was wrong. Tim’s right arm was soaked, the inside of his sleeve drenched, but not in sweat. He was sure he was bleeding from his wound, but didn’t dare strip off his jacket to check lest more of winter’s death touch his skin. Snow brings silence, and as Tim slipped and fell more and more often, he was sure that silence was coming for him.
Reaching the valley nearest the cabin, Tim picked up the pace, his breath shallow, hardly showing in the air as heat anymore. When he crested another hill and saw the cabin, he made a joyous croaking noise, feeling like his mother had finally noticed him crying with a scuffed knee and picked him up. Tim fought off a wave of exhaustion, his thoughts barely making sense anymore. All he knew was that he needed to get inside the place of light and warmth.
Tim hit the door in a panic to get it open, terrified that he would be locked out. The door opened and he stumbled inside, struggling with choices. Fireplace. Hot tub. Sauna. Shower. That last one sounded the best. Tim stripped as he walked toward the bathroom, every part of him numb except his arm, which screamed with pain. He glanced at it once his jacket was off and saw a mess of dried and fresh blood, but he refused to look further. Not until he was warm and the blood was washed away.
The shower water felt hot to his frozen skin, even when he first turned it on, but as soon as he saw steam he stepped beneath the flow. He ached as sensation returned, blood flowing again and his arm stinging because of the open wound. He tried to keep it sheltered from the water’s direct impact while he cleaned it. The wound was worse than he had imagined. The stick hadn’t just punctured him; it had left a five inch tear in his skin. Even as water washed away the blood, more was still flowing.
Tim felt dizzy, on the threshold of passing out. He pressed against the shower wall until he was steady again. Then he shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and barely patted himself dry before wrapping it tightly around his upper arm to slow the bleeding.
Please let there be a first aid kit! Tim had seen a freaking apple corer in the kitchen. If they had that, then surely they also kept bandages or something here. He checked the medicine cabinet, which was empty, then under the sink, where a white plastic box with a red cross on it became the world’s most valuable treasure. He grabbed it and shifted through the contents, finding antiseptic. How infectious could a tree be? Instead he went for the gauze, covering the wound with every bit before wrapping it around with cloth bandage. He made sure this was tight to stop the blood flow before he taped it.
Tim stared at the bandages, waiting for red to seep through. When it didn’t, he looked in the mirror and nearly flinched at his reflection. His nose was puffy and swollen, blood and dirt still crusting the edges. Hell, he felt like each nostril was stuffed full of that combination, but he was too tired to wash anymore. Heading for the nearest bedroom, Tim slipped beneath the down comforter. Toasty. Warm. Safe.
When he woke, the day was bright and the birds were chirping their pretty little heads off. Tim was shivering, but the comforter was still wrapped around him. Despite the chill, he was sweating, his head burning hot. His throat felt like he had swallowed hot powdered glass, so he forced himself from bed to get a drink. Shoulder and arm throbbing, he glanced blearily at the bandages which were dark now. He had probably slept on it and made it bleed again, but he was sure the dressings were tight enough to stop the blood flow.
Tim cupped his hands under the bathroom faucet and managed four handfuls before he decided he wasn’t done sleeping. Just a little more rest, and he would get up and pull himself together. He probably needed to eat, but the thought of food turned his stomach. Crawling back into bed, he covered his head with the extra pillow to shut out the light. When he opened his eyes again, the pillow was gone and the room was dark. The birds had fallen silent.
Night already? But Tim had bigger concerns. His entire body felt like it was on fire. He threw off the blanket and started shivering, his arm throbbing like it had a heart of its own.
“I’m so fucked up,” he said to the room, but he couldn’t hear anything except the television downstairs, still on after, what? A day? His mind reeled in confusion. Was Travis sitting down there watching TV? Tim nearly called out when events caught up to him. He lay in bed, his breath labored as he tried to make sense of his situation. The cabin had seemed a sanctuary when they first arrived, warm and full of potential. Now the room around him had grown dark and alien.
He would die here if he didn’t get help. Tim felt sure of it. If he could get downstairs to his phone, he could call someone, but first he needed to build up his strength. Tim braced himself to get out of bed but instead dozed off again. When he jerked awake, outside was still just as dark, but he heard tires on the gravel drive.
Travis had come back! Sorry for their fight, sorry for the things he had said, Travis had turned around and come back. Tim would forgive him, give him another chance, do anything he could to make it right, and this sickness would flee his body to be replaced by love.
“Tim?”
The voice wasn’t right. When it called out again, he realized he hadn’t answered and shouted a reply, his throat aching. Footsteps on the stairs, a light in the hallway. A silhouette filled the door before the lamp above him switched on. Then he saw the face he wanted to see most, the one who could make everything right again.
Eric.
“Are you okay?” Eric pressed a hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up!”
“I’ve felt better.”
“Can you sit up?”
Tim nodded and grunted with effort, the blanket slipping off his chest and exposing his arm. Eric’s face registered shock, and when Tim followed his gaze, he saw the black cherry color beneath the bandages and the crust of blood surrounding them.
“What happened to you?”
Tim smacked his lips, mouth like sandpaper. “I had an accident with the snowmobile. I think I’m sick.”
Eric’s laugh was manic. “We need to get you to a hospital! Can you make it to the car?”
Tim thought so. Now that Eric was here, his head felt clearer and he realized how fucked up he was. Taking a walk through the cold, even getting cut, that didn’t make a person sick. Not like this.
“Tim?”
“Huh? Yeah. I can make it. But stay by me.”
Tim managed to stand. Eric left the room when he saw Tim was nude and returned with a bathrobe and slippers. As soon as Tim was covered, Eric put an arm around him and walked him down the stairs. Tim was doing okay. He could stand on his own. He just felt like complete shit.
“I’ll bring the car around to the door,” Eric said, seating Tim on the shoe bench in the entryway.
Tim leaned back and closed his eyes, flinching in surprise when Eric touched him to help him up and outside. The cold was a nightmare, even though Tim was fevered, but soon he was in the warmth of a car that smelled like a rental. Music was on low, Christmas carols coming from the glow of the radio.
Eric opened the driver’s side door and hopped in, putting the car in gear and taking them away from there. “You’re going to be okay,” he said.
Tim closed his eyes again, comforted by a feeling of home he had long since thought lost.
* * * * *
Warmth. Not the overbearing heat of a fever or the chilling bite of cold. Just warmth in perfect balance, inside and out. Tim’s head hummed with a familiar sensation, the blissful kiss of opiates. He hadn’t felt this high since Ben jacked up his ankle.
Tim opened his eyes, expecting to see his foot in a cast and Ben sitting next to the hospital bed, jangling the keys of his 3000GT. He was nearly right. The person seated there was about the same size but a good deal older, calmly reading a newspaper folded in half.
Tim’s memory was muddled. He remembered Eric taking him to the hospital and not having to wait in the emergency room for once. A nurse, or maybe it was a doctor, gave Tim something that chased away the pain. And consciousness. Then there were brief flashes of waking up to see Eric’s concerned face, much like now, his brow crinkled up even as he read.
“Hey,” Tim said.
Eric moved the newspaper to his lap, looking somewhat relieved. “Hey! How are you?”
“Good.” Tim raised his head to look himself over. He was wearing a horrible hospital robe. He started to lift the sleeve so he could check out his arm when he noticed the tube stuck into his hand. “Oh, man! These things creep me out!”
“That’s how they fed you breakfast,” Eric teased. “Lunch too.”
Tim’s head swam. “Have I been out that long? What day is it?”
“The twenty-eighth.” Eric checked his watch. “Almost four in the afternoon.”
“Well, that’s three days of my life gone.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t more.” Eric moved the chair closer to the bed, turning it so he was facing Tim. “What happened to you? I got your call about Travis and kept calling you back. When you still weren’t answering the next day, I caught the next flight.”
“Sorry,” Tim said. “Once Travis left I made some stupid decisions. I feel bad making you come all this way.”
Eric shook his head as if it didn’t matter. “On the phone you said you had a fight with Travis and he left. Sounds serious.”
“Permanent,” Tim corrected. “Travis chose fear. I don’t think there’s any hope at this point. I really don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Eric leaned back, glancing out the window where two birds swooped through the air, chasing each other. “Do you love him?”
Tim swallowed. “No. I don’t think so. But I could have, you know? He’s the first person since Ben who could have meant something. I thought I understood where he was coming from, but I guess not.”
Eric, to his credit, didn’t lecture Tim about other fish in the sea. Instead he nodded at Tim’s upper arm. “What happened there? The doctor pulled out a lot of splinters.”
Tim remembered the injury and checked it out. The area was clean now, purple from bruising, and stitched up with black thread. He was going to have one hell of a scar. He pulled the robe sleeve over the injury and found Eric still waiting for an answer. “I sort of downed a bottle of wine and thought I’d take one of the snowmobiles through the woods to town. It’s still out there somewhere. Trashed.”
Eric closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I’ll pay for the damages,” Tim said quickly.
“I don’t care about the snowmobile,” Eric said with a glare. “You could have killed yourself!”
“I wasn’t trying to,” Tim said. “I mean, I’m not suicidal or anything.”
“No, you’re just young. And stupid.” Eric exhaled his worry and took Tim’s hand. “Don’t worry. Love, or even just infatuation, has a diminishing effect on intelligence. It’s lucky you still remember how to speak.”
Tim made some ape noises to show how far gone he was. Eric laughed.
“Next time I plan a romantic get-away,” Tim said, “I’m taking you with me instead. Forget the stupid frat boys.” He didn’t care how Eric took this. He wasn’t even sure what he meant. Tim just knew there was one person in his life most worthy of spending time with, which he intended to do.
“I’m flattered,” Eric said, comically fanning himself with his newspaper as if he were overheating. “If you insist on courting me, you can start by inviting me to dinner. I understand this establishment has won Michelin Stars for its phenomenal Jell-O a la carte!”
Tim grinned at him. “It’s a deal.”
* * * * *
The doctor insisted on keeping Tim another day, rambling on about aspiration pneumonia and intravenous antibiotics to silence any protests. Apparently Tim had sucked some nasty stuff into his lungs during the wreck—probably the dirt and blood that also clogged his nose—and was lucky not to have infected lungs drowning in pus, or something like that. Rather than suffer more nauseating details, Tim agreed to treatment.
Soon Tim was bored out of his mind, especially after Eric left to stay at the cabin for the night. Television, Tim’s only distraction, was turning his mind to soup when Eric returned with a Mylar balloon tied to a teddy bear.
“This is embarrassing,” Tim said, scowling at the bear but secretly loving it. He just couldn’t imagine bringing it back to the frat house.
“Well, maybe you’ll like this better.” Eric handed him a book on Japanese sports cars. “I also bought myself something to read.”
“You don’t have to stick around here all day,” Tim said, not meaning it.
“What else am I going to do?” Eric settled down into the chair by his bed. “I already straightened up the cabin. Shame about the lasagna.”
“Travis,” Tim said, happy to shift the blame. “Sorry it went to waste.”
“Not a problem. I spoke to Robert, the owner of the cabin, and told him about the snowmobile. Do you think you can give him a rough idea where you left it?”
“Sort of.” Tim’s face flushed. “I’ll pay for everything. I still have some of Marcello’s money left.”
“It’ll be fine,” Eric said.
“How much does a snowmobile cost?”
“Oh, around eight thousand I think.”
Tim let his head thump back on the pillow. “Think I can still model with a big ugly scar running down my arm?”
Eric chuckled. “I hope not. Once was enough.”
“True.”
They chatted for a while, Tim happy for a sympathetic ear. Then they settled down like an old married couple and read together. Tim flipped through his book, but his eyes kept returning to the cover of Eric’s. The painting on the front was of a woman sitting on a bed and looking out a window. The subject matter wasn’t the most interesting, but the way daylight flooded into the room made it exceptional.
“What is that?” Tim asked, setting down his book.
“Edward Hopper,” Eric replied. “You probably know the—”
“Café painting, yeah. I never really liked that one, but the painting on the front… Can I see it?”
Eric handed him the book, waiting patiently while Tim browsed. Inside were more paintings like the one on the cover—simple, clean, and almost always featuring light bathing a wall or pressing against the night’s darkness. Tim lost himself in the book, embarrassed when he finally came back to find Eric still watching him.
“He’s good, isn’t he?”
Tim laughed. “He’s brilliant!”
“I’d love to own one of his paintings,” Eric said wistfully.
“Why don’t you?”
“Because they cost quite a bit more than your average snowmobile.” Eric winked. “You really like art, don’t you? Have you ever tried?”
“Painting?” Tim licked his lips. Why not? Without Eric, he might have croaked in that cabin all miserable and alone. “Yeah. I paint.”
“Really?” Eric sat up straight. “Are you any good?”
Tim just laughed.
“Regardless, I’d like to see,” Eric said. “If you don’t mind.”
Tim did mind. Sharing his paintings was a huge deal to him, but he thought he could trust Eric. “They’re all at my parents’ house. I haven’t painted in ages. A frat house isn’t the most inspirational environment. And I’m sort of private about the whole thing.”
“Oh.”
Eric sounded disappointed, so Tim was quick to add, “Next time I visit my folks, I’ll grab a few of the less embarrassing ones to show you.”
“That would be nice.”
The nurse barged in to the room with Tim’s lunch, and Eric headed to the cafeteria to fend for himself. In the afternoon, the doctor came in and finally cleared Tim for takeoff. Eric dialed a number on his cell phone and conjured up some plane tickets to get them home that evening. Tim felt even more in his debt, not that Eric seemed to expect the slightest hint of gratitude for what he was doing. But Tim would find a way to pay him back. If not financially, then somehow.