August 1987
Didn’t matter whether Tom moved enough to cause a slight breeze or sat still. Sweat continued to creep from his hairline, making his face itch. The back of his neck was a grease trap, and he was pretty sure his hair was clinging to his scalp like a wet rag.
The sun had set about an hour ago. It shouldn’t be this hot.
Down on the patio, two stories below, kids splashed in the lit-up pool. Tom wasn’t the best swimmer, but now that he could touch his toes to the bottom, he didn’t mind the pool. He liked the creek better. The water was colder, crisper. It smelled good too. Like air and leaves and summer. And now that he and Frank had finished shifting the boulders that formed the edge of what could be a small pool, they had a spot to wallow in without the current threatening to drag them all the way to Stroudsburg.
A scuff higher up drew Tom’s attention to the slope of the roof where it joined the flat part over the second-floor balcony. Frank was pushing a wrapped bundle over the lip. Tom crawled over to meet him, pulling on the wadded-up towels. They were probably full of Tupperware. Frank couldn’t go anywhere without a snack.
“It’s hot up here,” Tom said. “Want to go to the creek instead?”
“And break my ankle again in the dark? No, thank you. Besides, now that Matty is gone, we’ve got the roof all to ourselves.”
“He’s been gone for five years.”
“And not likely to come back. Did I tell you his wife was pregnant?”
“All right, Matty!” Of all the people to settle down and start a family, Frank’s older brother would have been Tom’s last pick. But he could see it. Beneath the weed-smoking, prank-playing façade, Matt had always been the practical sort. Hell, he was going to be a doctor just like his dad.
A light depression pressed down on Tom’s shoulders. Matt had gone off to be a doctor. Frank’s sister, Annabelle, was teaching, and Frank would be leaving for college tomorrow, where he’d no doubt get his degree in journalism and go on to shape the world through his words. Would he want to take their notebook with him? Would Frank alone be the one to achieve their dreams?
Probably, because Tom would be staying here in Pennsylvania. He was grateful for his partial scholarship to Marywood up in Scranton, but knew that’d be as far from home as he was likely to get, and only for a few hours a day. In between his studies and the commute, Tom had to work. Keep working. Some folk had exciting futures. Some didn’t.
The second bundle of towel clanked oddly. Tom unwrapped it to reveal two six-packs of beer. He didn’t really drink and neither did Frank, but tonight they’d both make an exception. It was going to be the last bit of time they had together for a while. He yanked a can out of the plastic loop and had it open before he’d even settled back onto the roof.
“Take one of the towels,” Frank said.
Tom raised his can in a toast. “I’m good.”
Frank fussed a bit more, laying out the towels and snacks, and then he helped himself to a beer and sat next to Tom. Knocking their cans together, he said, “Cheers.”
Tom grunted and swigged. The beer was warm. “Where did you get this?”
“From Matty’s stash in the cellar. His tackle box was down there too. Should I have brought that up as well?”
“Nah, this is fine.” Neither of them smoked. Next year, that might change. Frank would have all sorts of adventures in the city. “All packed?”
“Yeah.”
“What time are you leaving?”
“Not until late. Won’t be much traffic on a Sunday and it’s only eighty miles.”
Eighty-eight, actually, from Bossen Hill to Columbia University. It could be worse—he could have headed west like Matty had.
Frank elbowed him gently. “I’ll be home on weekends.”
“No, you won’t.”
“You can come to the city.”
Tom gave him a flat look, which probably failed under the vague light of the moon.
Frank sipped his beer. “This is disgusting.”
“It’s beer.”
“Let’s drink up, then. I don’t want our last night to be swallowed by melancholy.”
“Better to drink warm beer, make plans we won’t keep, and then vomit up the memories.”
“Aren’t you feeling jolly?”
“Sorry.” Tom drained his first can, crushed it, and stopped just before he pitched it over the roof. There were still guests in the pool, and throwing beer cans from the roof was more a sixteen-year-old thing. He grabbed another beer and popped it open. Frank finished his first with a loud burp. Tom passed the open can over and pulled another from the rings.
For a while they did nothing but sit and drink. The first six-pack disappeared, but the snacks stayed untouched, which was unusual. Frank was always eating—unless he was nervous.
“Are you worried about school?” Tom asked.
“What?”
“You’re not eating.”
“Oh.”
“You’re going to do great.” Tom willed a smile into being and found he didn’t have to try hard to sustain it. Thoughts of Frank’s future made him happy, even if he knew he wouldn’t be a part of it. Not the way they’d planned. Frank had a generous soul and it showed in his writing—even when he thought he was being witty. He liked people and he liked telling their stories. He was going to make it big, and that made Tom proud.
“We’re both going to do great, Tommy. The world had better watch out.”
Beer swimming happy laps in his blood stream, Tom found it easy to agree. Maybe they would. Tucking an arm beneath his head, he reclined onto the towel Frank had laid out behind him and gazed up at the stars. He’d tried photographing the night sky, with little success. He had worked the problem over in his mind, though. What he needed was a longer exposure and a way to stabilize his camera so it didn’t move. Something kept knocking his tripod on previous attempts. Wild animals, probably. Raccoons out hunting for a midnight snack.
Frank settled beside him, the warmth of his shoulder welcome despite the sweat still dampening Tom’s skin. He rolled his head to the side. Frankie was looking at him with a half-drunk smile. Jeez, he’d miss that smile. He’d miss Frankie. He’d become just Frank at school, no doubt. Someone other than this freckle-cheeked, ginger-haired man-boy who was still smiling at him.
“What’cha thinking about?” Frankie asked.
“Your name.”
“How’s that?”
“Will you go by Frankie or Frank at school?”
“Why not Franklin? I’ll want to begin as I intend to continue.”
Franklin. Tom snorted.
“What?”
“You don’t look like a Franklin.”
“What do I look like?”
Mine. “You’ll always be Frankie to me.”
“And you’ll always be Tommy to me.”
“Tom.”
Frank grinned. “Tommy.”
“Tom!”
Frank made to grab him, apparently forgetting he had a beer can in his hand. Liquid sloshed over the lip, some catching Tom in the eye. Squeezing it shut, he massaged the lid as if that would make a difference.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just blinking beer out of my eye.” He opened his eye and peered through the blurry darkness. “Frankie? You there?”
“Can you see?”
“No!” Tom injected as much panic into his voice as he could. “How’m I going to take pictures with only one eye?”
“Oh, Jesus.” Frank was flipping through his snack collection. “I think I’ve got some water here. Hold on. Keep blinking. Or . . . don’t. Shit. I don’t know what to do with an eye injury.”
Tom sat up, legs folding up at the knee, and bent forward, rubbing at his temple. “It stings, Frankie!” It was hard not to laugh.
Then Frankie was kneeling in front of him, a tin cup in his hand. “From the Thermos.”
“You’re going to wash my eye out with hot chocolate?”
“No. It’s hot water. I brought tea bags up.” Of course he had. “Let me see.”
Tom moved his hands away from his face and blinked a few times. His eye should be nice and bloodshot from the beer and all the rubbing. Unfortunately, his mouth wouldn’t stay in a grim line.
“Are you— Oh, you little shit.”
Frankie dropped his cup and wrestled Tom backward, down to the roof. Tom rolled them, digging his fingers into Frankie’s ribs while fending off the hand burrowing into his armpit. The bulk of Frank beneath him brought other thoughts to mind. Of skin instead of damp cotton. Frankie’s beery breath called into question the probable taste of his mouth. The powerful thighs beneath him hid who knew what treasures. And, oh, to feel those arms around him in an embrace instead of a tussle.
It’d been a while since they’d wrestled and this was why. Tom couldn’t think straight when he was this entwined with Frank. Couldn’t keep to the promise he’d made himself and the one he’d extracted from his best friend. They weren’t allowed to do this. They weren’t allowed to be in love, or to explore each other this way. It wouldn’t end well. Couldn’t.
Tom’s blood plunged south in a dizzying rush, and an invisible band tightened around his lungs. Still, he dug his fingers into Frank’s side as though pretending this was all in innocence would save him.
Frank rolled them the other way, pinning Tom to the roof. Tom groaned as he felt the weight of another man against his hips and the telltale hardness nudging his thigh. If Frank brought his hips down, the game would be up. He’d feel what Tom wanted to hide. Frank caught one of Tom’s hands and raised it over his head, pressing it to the warm tile. Tom slid his fingers under Frank’s T-shirt, skating across his ribs. Frank gasped. His hips bucked forward and he gasped again, more purposefully this time.
The pressure against Tom’s cock was wonderful and awful. Mostly awful. No, mostly . . . Shit.
Frank pushed his hips down, mashing their thighs and erections together. “Tom,” he whispered.
“We can’t.” Swallowing a moan, Tom willed his fingers to remain still. To stop tracing over Frank’s sides.
Frank leaned down and kissed him, the softest brush of lips. “Why not?”
Tom closed his eyes. Felt his mouth change shape as he sought another kiss. As he kissed Frank back. Frank’s groan reverberated through his body, making Tom’s skin tingle and his chest ache. He arched and Frank was right there, moving into him. Their lips parted on the same note and their tongues touched. An invisible spark leaped between them, tingling at the lip and buzzing by the time it struck Tom’s chest. The world seemed to quake.
Oh God.
No.
Tom rolled them to the side, all the while trying to find the will to pull his mouth from Frank’s. They couldn’t do this. Shouldn’t. Couldn’t. Frank was preparing to leave him. College in New York City would only be the beginning of Frank’s new life. A better life—everything Frank had ever wanted.
Could he take just one more kiss before Frank left? Just one. It already hurt, as though Frank was halfway to the city. Tom leaned in instead of away, diving his now free hand into Frank’s hair, tugging at orange curls. A last kiss and it set his heart on fire. He was going to explode from the heat of it. As if not directed by him, his other hand was drifting lower to the hardness tenting Frank’s shorts. He felt something bounce off his foot, but paid it no mind. The struggle between his head and heart had all his attention. He had to let go. He didn’t want to let go!
Then there was a shout. Several shouts. Heart pounding, Tom reared back, away from Frank. He panted into the darkness, listening. Had that been his subconscious warning him away from the thing he wanted most in the world? Reminding him of why he couldn’t have it?
No, it was people down by the pool. Talking, yelling.
“I think we knocked a can off the roof,” Frank said. Smiling, he leaned forward, lips already pursed for another kiss.
Something inside Tom’s head clicked, and his hand, the one at Frank’s waist, came up and back. His fingers curled. He tried to stop it, but it was as though he’d lost control of his limbs. No, he’d lost his grip on the world. Frank’s kisses were as dangerous as he’d known they would be.
Suddenly Frank was reeling away from him, hands cupped over his nose. Tom’s knuckles hurt. He looked down, mystified, to find he’d made a fist. Oh shit.
“Frankie?”
“What the fuck. Why did you hit me?”
Swallowing tightly, Tom eased himself backward across the roof. He should apologize. No . . . No, it was best to leave it this way. It’d be easier all round if Frank thought he’d meant to hit him. He had meant to, hadn’t he? It was the only way to stop what was happening. To halt the headlong flight into a complication neither of them was prepared for. Into everything they couldn’t have. Frank was leaving. Tom couldn’t. It’d been naïve to pretend that he might.
But Frank had to go. He was too bright to stay cooped up in this small town, hampered by the weight of love. Frank had to be the one who fulfilled their promises for both of them. He had to be the one to go out there and see the world.
“Because you promised.” Tom tried to keep the desperate note out of his voice. “You promised we wouldn’t do this.”
“You kissed me back!” Frank’s voice was muffled and nasally. Jeez, was that blood?
What had he done? Oh God. He’d broken them. He’d broken everything.
Go! Go now. “You promised!”
Heart pounding hard enough to leave a bruise on the inside of his chest cavity, Tom crawled to the edge of the roof and slid down the slope toward the window.
“Tommy. Stop. Let’s talk about this. Tommy. Fuck! Tommy!”
Ignoring Frank’s broken cries, he slid inside the window and disappeared.