Chapter 13

The morning sunlight bathed the world in its sweet golden rays. The light frost from the night before began to burn away from the grasses in the fields and melt. Above Lake Veronica, a wispy fog floated across the water’s surface, sending its smoky tendrils drifting up to disappear into the morning light; the water was warmer than the air.

Snuggled down in his white comforter, hair poking out, Hayden lay in the place between slumber and wakefulness. His new home was quiet and still. The only noise to be heard was the sound of birds calling to each other through the cracked window in his room.

Last night, prior to climbing into bed, he had put his groceries away, bathed, and changed into his pajamas. He’d poured himself a glass of wine and taken it, and Malcolm’s picture, upstairs to his room to unpack his boxes and to make his bed.

* * *

He inserted his iPod into the radio port and turned on some Adele. Grabbing a box, he ripped open the tape and began unpacking.

“So, what do you think, Malcolm? Should I put the heavy comforter on the bed now or wait till it gets colder?” The picture just smiled back at him, and he smirked. He started this ritual as a way to cope after Malcolm died. He didn’t do it around anyone else for fear they’d think he’d lost his mind; however, when he needed someone to talk to, he consulted the picture. He missed his husband so much.

The first few months were terrible. His world had been torn apart, and when it first happened, speaking to the photograph was all he had to cling on to. The hole inside him ached and felt ice cold. The part where Malcolm had touched, the part of him where Malcolm had taken up residence, now sat unoccupied. The panic attacks, which came often, began to subside as the world that he at first resented for continuing mercifully found ways to distract him.

The dreams were still very real. He still dreamed of him, about the love they had made, and the life they had shared. Simple dreams, tender dreams; dreams that would awake him with a throbbing in his loins and in his heart. He also dreamed of the day that Malcolm died, and those dreams were the worst. Sometimes they didn’t rely on the facts of what happened. Sometimes they were just a jumbled mess. But they all ended the same way. They ended with Malcolm going to a place that Hayden couldn’t follow, and those dreams would wake him up as he sobbed, clinging to his pillow.

He still wore his wedding band, a white gold ring with a ruby at the center. After watching a movie about the exploitations of diamond miners in South Africa, both he and Malcolm swore they would never buy diamonds. Malcolm was the first to make good on the promise when he proposed to him. It had been at another gathering of friends, almost a year later, and the happiest moment of Hayden’s life. Hayden bought him a matching ring in return.

After the personal items were put away, and the dressers were full of his clothes, he tore the boxes apart and left them in the corner near the door so he would remember to take them out in the morning. He was getting sleepy, but tonight, instead of lying in bed and talking to Malcolm, he gave him the grand tour. Clad in brightly colored pajama bottoms, a hoodie from his alma mater, and thick white athletic socks, Hayden walked the house with his picture frame and told Malcolm of his plans.

It was a habit that Malcolm had started when he was alive. He would call Hayden to meet him for lunch at a work site where he had been hired for his abilities. Hayden would rush over from the law office to walk the plaster-dust-covered floors and stare at new editions on a house or new stonework for a building. The work sites all looked the same before Malcolm was finished with them; scaffolding, hanging sheets of plastic, cement bags, nail guns, wooden planks over holes in the floors, and hardhats were ever present. Yet when the work was done, the employer was usually very satisfied with his work and would thank him and pay him generously.

As he walked through the rooms of his house now, Hayden remembered when, on some of their little tours, the construction workers had all disappeared for lunch, and they would be overcome with passion, ditching behind a wall of thick plastic, clothes discarded, sweaty, panting, and spent. There was a time or two when they were nearly busted, but they managed to never get caught, and when they both returned home for the evening, they would laugh and laugh and do it all over again.

As he climbed back into bed, his heart ached for Malcolm and he grabbed the pillow and shed the bitter tears, purging the poison from his soul, for the man who had been taken from his life way too soon.

* * *

Now the morning dawned, bright and beautiful, and Hayden stretched lazily under his blankets. His bladder was full and he could no longer resist nature’s call, so he threw the covers back and instantly regretted it. It was downright freezing in the room.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Glad we put the big blanket on last night,” he told the picture, laughing. He jumped out from under the covers and made a mad dash to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. His mind was clear, he felt wonderful and, after he drained his reservoir, he quickly showered, shaved, and got ready for his day. Hayden was slowly but surely putting the pieces of his life back together.