Title: THE FOURTEEN DAYS OF VALENTINE'S DAY: THE BEGINNING

Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)

Pairing: Donald and Timothy

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 50,192

References/Spoilers: Some to the guys' pasts and family history.

Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.

Author's Note: When universes collide! You may remember the Fourteen Days of Valentine's Day series from 2011 - as Donald and Timothy in the present time celebrated their anniversary over the two weeks leading up to Valentine's Day. In that universe, they were married on Valentine's Day and honeymooned in Hawaii. Not coincidentally, that matches with their history in the One Night Series. So, here is the origin of Don's tradition of romancing Timmy for the Fourteen Days of Valentine's Day, set in the One Night Series universe. (You don't need to have read the Fourteen Days of Valentine's Day Series to read this one.)

Summary: After Christmas, the guys explore their future in Long Island, and close a chapter in their lives in Albany. Donald grapples a bit with the change in his career. Timmy tries his hand at detective work, and the boys celebrate their first anniversary. Sequel to "Christmas Waltz" in the One Night Series.

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THE FOURTEEN DAYS OF VALENTINE'S DAY: THE BEGINNING

Day One: February 1

I took another drink of coffee and scrolled farther down the list of job openings on my laptop screen. There were a few that looked like possibilities, so I made notes on those and jotted down a few things to tweak on my resume to make myself sound irresistible as a candidate.

"Am I late yet?" Don asked, staggering into the kitchen, hair sticking every which way, eyes squinty at the morning sun that was streaming in the kitchen window.

"What time do you have to be there?" I asked.

"Too fucking early," he said, surprising me when he sat in my lap. "Good morning." He proceeded to give me a big sloppy kiss, complete with whisker stubble. In just his robe and underwear, he was soft and warm and cuddly. So I did what any sensible man would do. I cuddled him, kissed him breathless, and held him close, treasuring the moment. His new job had him working almost around the clock between training and actually working. I knew he was up to the challenge, but I hated having him gone so much, and I never like seeing him so tired. "What're you doing up so early?" he asked, when I gave him a chance to talk.

"I couldn't sleep anymore, and I didn't want to wake you since you weren't just sleeping, you were in a coma," I joked, and he laughed. "I was looking at some online job listings."

"Anything good?"

"Well, this one sounds kind of interesting. It's a Media Relations Manager for Seaside College. The pay is less than what I was making with Sean, but it's not bad, and it sounds like a good fit for me."

"Go for it. We can afford for you to make a little less for a while."

"Well, I'll apply. Doesn't mean I'll get it anyway."

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said, pulling something out of the front of his robe. He'd had it tucked in there against his chest.

"Don, it's beautiful," I said, taking the cashmere scarf. It was a subtle plaid in soft shades of blue and gray. "But Valentine's Day isn't for two weeks, honey," I added, kissing him.

"It's our anniversary, too," he added, kissing me. Then he settled himself in my arms, his head on my shoulder. My leg was going to sleep, but my heart melted. I held him and stroked his hair. He was so tired I could tell he was close to dozing off there.

"I remember that, my love," I said, kissing his cheek.

"One day isn't enough for that. I wanna celebrate for a while," he replied with a little grin. And then a huge yawn. "You've heard of the Twelve Days of Christmas, right?"

"Sure."

"Okay, then. This is the Fourteen Days of Valentine's Day."

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"I know. Otherwise you would have kicked me off your lap by now."

"It's seven-thirty," I said.

"Shit."

"You have to get ready for work?"

"Yes, damn it."

"You're working more hours than when you were in the PI business," I said, rubbing his back.

"Getting paid more, too."

"You still need sleep."

"Tell me about it," he replied through another big yawn. "Things'll settle down once the training stuff is over."

"Do you like what you're doing?"

"It'll be fine once it gets rolling."

"Because if you don't like it, we're not out anything but the U-Haul rental fee. We can rent another one, pack up our stuff, and move."

"You're the best, sweetheart. But I'll be okay."

"I love my scarf. Thank you. I'll wear it today."

"You've got an interview."

"Yes, with that PR firm Graham referred me to."

"They're nuts if they don't hire you."

"Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

"A few minutes ago, I think. I love you, too, by the way."

"You show me all the time, but I never get tired of hearing it," I said honestly, wishing I could hold him for hours instead of just a few minutes.

"What would you think of spending Valentine's Day on the town in New York City?"

"Donald, that sounds wonderful!"

"I'm supposed to go shadow that guy who works for John running one of the fancy malls there. Come with me and we can spend our anniversary having a big night on the town."

"I was kind of dreading you being gone all that time."

"Well, we can't have that," he said, smiling at me. "And I'd eat my own foot before I'd be away from you on our first anniversary."

"Good God, let's avoid that happening." I laughed, hugging him. He put the scarf around my neck and kissed me.

"You're beautiful."

"I haven't shaved or showered yet, and I'm wearing a plaid scarf with a different colored plaid robe."

"What a coincidence! I haven't showered either. You think we should do something about that?"

"Probably should conserve water, keep the utility bills down while we're here."

"I'm all for conservation," I agreed.

With that we scrambled for the stairs, giggling and groping after each other like a couple of horny teenagers. We're so blessed that, even all these years later, we haven't outgrown that passion and excitement in our romance. And what a sweet, sentimental, wonderful romance it is.

********

Day Two: February 2

There were reasons I didn't pursue a career in corporate America when I was younger. Meetings, bosses, training programs, and regimented schedules were among them. When it was the price I paid for a career in military intelligence? Well, that made all the red tape and bullshit seem more worthwhile.

Still, I knew I had to keep an open mind. This was a hell of an opportunity, a good salary, we had phenomenal accommodations for close to a year, rent-free, and I could provide for both Timmy and myself, so he didn't have to panic about being out of work for a while. He could afford the luxury of looking for something he liked, maybe even taking a job that was a bit lower paying than what he'd had. I couldn't have been happier to be able to do that for him. Timothy is brilliant, capable, and successful, so I don't get a lot of chances to support him and take care of him. I didn't enjoy the fact he was out of work, and I know that stressed him out, but I did enjoy being able to make it easier on him, making him feel safe and cared for and relaxed about his job search.

I probably would have joined the Suffolk County Ballet Company to achieve that.

If I was struggling a bit with joining the ranks of eight-to-fiver's who actually worked 70 hour weeks in practice, I really hated the whole concept of spending two nights in Manhattan at a retail security conference without Timmy. I was thinking he'd come with me, since he wasn't working yet, and it was at a nice hotel, so he'd have a comfortable place to hang out until I could get free for us to go out for dinner, maybe a little dancing. Leave it to him to decide I should go alone, so I could focus on the seminars and attend the luncheons and "evening mixer" event.

I'd rather drink Drano and have a railroad spike driven through my eye than go to anything called a "mixer." I didn't go to them when I was 13, and I had no interest in going to one as a grown up.

I knew he was right, though. If he was there, I'd be looking for every opportunity to leave the conference and hang out with him. He also told me that the connections I could make at that kind of conference could help me build a network of other professionals in the field, which would be good since I was so new at it.

He was right about that, too, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

So I started out early the morning of the conference. I preferred getting up at five to start out rather than to spend an extra night in a hotel by myself. And, since I was being such a good boy and going to my conference and focusing on my work, Timothy did give me a very nice send-off that took us most of the evening and into the night. We were a bit more melodramatic in those days if we had to be apart a night or two - it required a lot of sex and romance, as if one of us was going off to sea for a few years. Truth is, I still hate it, Timmy doesn't like it much better, and we still invest a lot of sex in the effort of making ourselves feel better about it. By the time we're done, we usually are okay with having a couple nights off to rest up, and with the anticipation of all that great welcome home sex.

The whole day was split up into a bunch of sessions about loss prevention and "shrinkage." I'd heard the term before, but it still made me think of my dick shriveling up and falling off rather than the amount of merchandise stolen from a retail establishment. I admit I never would have thought to frisk a woman in a flowing skirt to discover a contraption under it that held stolen pairs of shoes. I was a bit surprised to learn that innocent-looking middle-aged women stole the most stuff, or that some of these thieves even lined their tote bags with aluminum foil to throw off the security sensors.

A lot of it was predictable - I mean, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's probably a shoplifter. In the late afternoon session about dealing with violent crime, the instructor got interested in my story about the robbery at Good Sports and had me go through the whole thing from start to finish, including how I spotted the clues that the four guys were not only up to something, but all working together. I wondered if they'd give Madison Enterprises a refund since I ended up almost teaching that session. It was a good confidence builder, though, because here I was, the youngest guy in the room with the least experience, fielding questions from all these other loss prevention and security managers about spotting the signals and dealing with violent criminals.

I suppose you can study a lifetime about that stuff and unless you end up on the wrong side of a gun or a robbery, you don't really know what it's like, or how it feels, or how to protect yourself and your staff. Sadly, there isn't one good way to do it. You can cooperate, do everything they say, and some fruitcake can still blow your head off if he's high or on edge, or isn't good at handling his weapon, or some combination of those. Or, you can risk your ass and get away with it, and thwart it. It's all in reading people and playing your instincts. You can learn some warning signs, and some indicators, but you can't learn instinct. I guess that drove home to me the whole point of why I got hired, of what Timmy told me when I felt unsure I was up for that challenge. John Madison wanted that instinct he couldn't teach someone.

The evening mixer wasn't all bad, either. It was a nice event with a lame, moronic title. There was plenty of decent booze flowing, expensive hot hors d'eouvres, and I did get to hear "war stories" from a lot of the veterans in the field. And, some of them had faced armed robberies, shoplifters who pulled knives or other weapons on them...one had even dealt with an employee's crazy ex-boyfriend showing up with a gun and threatening to kill everyone if she didn't get back with him. I found out a few of their tricks for spotting their sticky-fingered customers that I never would have thought of, and even learned that there were shoplifters bold enough to take a fucking rack of coats right out the exit of the store, throw it all in a van, and drive away. And get away with it. One of my fellow conference goers helped the cops bust a theft ring when he spotted his merchandise on an online auction site. This was actually starting to sound like fun.

The dinner was predictably some kind of chicken dressed up with a bunch of sauce and sprigs of green crap to make it look fancier than a bulk food chicken breast with leaves on it, but no one left hungry.

I was in my room by ten, sitting on the foot of my king size bed, and I was lonely as hell. I reached for the phone to call Timmy, and then I sat there, grinning like an idiot as inspiration hit. If I got my ass in gear, I could be holding a warm, naked Timothy in my arms by midnight. And just turn around and make the drive back in the morning. I could even be here in time for the breakfast "keynote speaker." If there's anything worse than a "mixer," dear God, it's a "keynote speaker."

Deciding that thinking about it was a waste of driving time, I grabbed my coat and my keys, left all my other crap there, since I was coming back the next day, and fled to my car.

********

It was almost eleven, and Don hadn't called yet. I thought that was kind of odd, since he was dreading the evening social event, and we hadn't talked all day. I didn't want to be the nagging spouse tracking him around the conference, or interrupting him if he was making some new contacts or enjoying some function there. I knew he'd call eventually, and I've always trusted Don to the point that worrying about him meeting someone else or doing something he shouldn't never crosses my mind. It didn't then, and it doesn't now. I know that kind of fidelity in a partner is a gift, and I don't take it lightly.

I was propped up in bed with a good book. It was a cold night, but I had a warm robe on and was surrounded by the most delightfully comfortable assortment of pillows and bedding. Still, my eyes were burning and I was getting tired. I laid the book aside and turned on the TV. I dozed off, because the next thing I knew, I jolted awake, unsure of what disturbed me.

It was a little after midnight, and I turned off the TV, trying to listen carefully to the sounds of the house. The heat was on, so the furnace was a bit audible, and it made the floorboards expand here and there, which sounded like footsteps if you let your imagination run wild.

Then one of the floorboards creaked in a way only a foot can make it creak. My heart started pounding. Some people must know the owners were out of town. What if someone had a robbery planned, and didn't know about house sitters being here? I swallowed, wondering if it could possibly not be audible, because it was so loud to me.

Another floorboard creaked, and this wasn't the heat. Don has a second gun, but it's in a lock box, and I don't want to end up in the position of trying to shoot someone. I couldn't figure why the alarm hadn't gone off.

A moment before the culprit became visible, it all became too obvious.

"Don, is that you?" I called out, praying I'd hear something.

"What are you, part bloodhound? Could you smell me on the stairs?" he asked, coming through the bedroom door, holding a huge bouquet of roses, all different colors. I jumped off the bed and ran to him, throwing my arms around him.

"Thank God. I thought you were a prowler."

"Shit, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't even think about that. I wanted to surprise you."

"You did," I replied, laughing now that my life wasn't flashing before my eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Happy Valentine's Day Anniversary, beautiful," he said, handing me the big bunch of flowers. "I wanted all red, but the store where I stopped only had a few of each, so I just kind of stuck them all together."

"They're beautiful," I said, smelling them, then kissing him. "What about the conference?"

"It doesn't start up again until morning, and I figured, there's this hot, lonely man lying around in bed alone here, so why am I in Manhattan?"

"That's a long drive - "

"Not that long. Not long enough to keep me away from my baby," he said, sliding his arms around my waist. We kissed for a while, until I took a break to find a vase and water for my flowers.

"How's the conference?"

"Pretty good, actually. I hate to admit it, but you were right. I did meet some interesting people and hear some good stories at that social thing tonight." He toed off his shoes and started peeling his clothes off.

"Do you want anything to drink? Are you hungry?"

"I didn't come home for snacks," he said, stepping out of his boxers.

"I can see that," I said, grinning. He was already partially erect, and I hadn't even taken anything off yet. So I got down to business correcting that situation. The man had driven all the way there from Manhattan and presented me with about three dozen assorted roses, so he'd earned some action. And, being the self-sacrificing soul that I am, I was willing to oblige.

I reached in the night stand and tossed him the lube, then flopped on my belly on the bed. I was a little sensitive from the night before - not because Donald did anything rough to me, he never does - but we'd gone at it quite a while and with a lot of...spirit. I knew I'd feel every move, but I also knew he'd know just how to make it good for me. He did. He kissed my neck and my shoulders, he caressed every part of my back and my ass, he smelled my hair and whispered in my ear how much he loved me. His fingers in me were gentle but insistent, and when he entered me, it was like every nerve was alive and tingling.

"God, Timothy, I wanted you so much," he whispered hotly against my ear, rocking gently inside me, giving me just enough motion to satisfy me but not enough to make me uncomfortable. It was on the tip of my tongue to tease him for being insatiable, since he'd just had me, in multiple positions repeatedly the night before, but the admission was so genuine, and his emotions are so...naked with me that I never want to say anything that makes him self-conscious.

"Always want you, baby," I managed, though talking was low on my list of priorities.

I gripped the sheets, gasped and moaned, thrust my ass up to meet his movements. Sensing I was getting more excited and more into it, he sped things up a bit, making his thrusts a little deeper and harder. He sucked on the back of my neck on a particularly deep thrust and I was shouting, babbling about faster, harder, more, incoherent from the shockwaves coming from my prostate. My orgasm left me lying there like a wet noodle while he finished, but it was okay. I liked the feeling of him claiming me, taking the last waves of his pleasure, even if I was spent and couldn't do anything more about it.

He kissed all over me in the afterglow, while I was deciding if it was possible to be fucked to death, because I felt like all my energy, my bodily fluids, and my bone structure were totally depleted. He rubbed my ass and kissed my cheeks, rubbing over my sensitive hole with his finger, playing with me, just loving me for the sake of it. Then he crawled up next to me and we lay there on our bellies, kissing, not straining ourselves much. He reached down and stroked my ass, and I shivered.

"Why, Timothy, I do believe there's some life left there."

If I wanted to sit down the next day, I knew when to call it quits for a while. But then, Don's never minded taking one for the team, so I knew he was mine for the asking. That thought made my hand wander lower, rubbing that lovely ass of his, slipping my fingers between his cheeks. He groaned and shifted around a little.

"It appears I'm not the only one capable of a second wind here," I said, and he chuckled. I threw the blankets over both of us. We snuggled and rested by unspoken agreement. We fully intended to make this night worth his drive, but we weren't in a marathon sex contest. We had time to relax a while and build up the desire again.

********

I felt the bed dip a little and heard Timmy get up to use the bathroom. I hoped we hadn't slept too late for him to return the favor. He'd given me some mind-blowing sex in the last couple nights, and now the thought of reversing things was appealing to me. A lot. I shifted around so I was partway on my stomach and a little on my side, moving my leg up a bit, tossing the covers back, hoping my bare ass was positioned to look irresistible, so he'd jump me and fuck me into the mattress.

"Donald!"

Based on the tone of his voice, he'd either grown a second dick or there was a giant sewer rat looking up at him from the toilet bowl. In any event, I got up and hurried to the bathroom.

"Look!" he said, pointing out the window. It was a small window covered with wood shutters, and high enough in the wall that only our heads and shoulders were visible when we looked out. It was still dark, but it was snowing like a son of a bitch.

"Fuck. What time is it?" I asked.

"Four," he said.

"Even if I start out right now, the way that's coming down..."

"You could get stuck, and the roads will be awful."

"Shit. John's going to fucking kill me."

"The weather said one to three inches last night," he said.

"Yeah, well, they were about six inches off, weren't they?" I retorted. "Maybe it'll let up and the plows will get rolling...I could get back there by mid-morning."

"If it stops pretty soon."

"Yeah, if it stops," I echoed. I was waiting for a good scolding for my irresponsibility in coming home when I should have stayed where I was. I should know by now that Timmy often lets me off the hook when I deserve to have my ass handed to me.

"We should think of something to do while we're waiting for the weather to change," he said, taking me in his arms. His hand slid down to squeeze my ass. I didn't want to dull the moment, but I had to know.

"Are you sore, honey?" I kissed him. I knew it had been a bit selfish to go at it again on the heels of so much fun the night before.

"Not sore. Kind of sensitive, like I can really feel there was something big moving in and out of there a while ago," he said, and those words paired with his sultry voice almost made me come right there.

"I wouldn't feel right about going back to Manhattan without returning the favor," I said, kissing him, deciding to put off the inevitable reality that I probably couldn't get back to Manhattan and my new boss was probably going to rip me a new asshole. Of course, if he did, I'm sure Timothy and I could make good use of it.

We went back to bed and took our time making out, kissing, caressing, nibbling, licking...all the things you want to do to the naked body of the person who turns you on most in the world. When that's also the person you love most, that you're married to? Makes you kind of wonder if anybody deserves to be that happy.

Timmy got me ready, stretching and slicking me up good. Then my legs were up on his shoulders and he was inside me, making love to me, looking down at me like there was no way possible he could love me any more than he did. He took his time, and he drew things out, building a slow burn, not giving me quite the workout that would push me over the edge too fast.

He knows I approach being on the receiving end kind of like shoving chocolates into my mouth as fast as I can, rather than savoring them one by one. I can do slow and easy with Timmy because he likes it, but typically I'm goading him to do it faster and harder when I'm playing catcher, because I'm greedy for the pleasure and the intensity of feeling like my prostate is going to blow up and screaming because the pleasure is so acute it borders on suffering.

It was very apparent Timmy was in the driver's seat this time, and he was giving it to me slow and deep. Thrusts that went so deep in me that I thought he'd nudge my tonsils out of place, but at a slow pace so I felt every one, and was impatient for the next. He kissed me and licked my tits, and then started stroking me as he picked up the pace. Fuck, I just about die when he does that. I'm not typically a screamer unless he's doing that. Deep, firm, and slow, and working my cock at the same time. He milked me for every drop, through every shudder, coming somewhere in the middle of where I was coming, barely pulling out of me before we fell in a heap on the bed, sweaty and panting.

He held me in his arms, kissed all over my face, making me smile. He patted my ass playfully. Even that made me squirm a little, though I didn't really have anything else to give for a while. He left his hand there, just kind of caressing me. If I'd died right then, I'd have gone out happy.

An hour later, we turned on the morning news, cuddled up together in our completely destroyed bed with its come-stained sheets. The jet stream had done something strange, and instead of us getting a couple inches of snow, we had ten and counting. With wind. There was no fucking way I could get back to that conference, because it was still falling. So, after we finally got up and took a shower to prevent bedsores, Timmy went downstairs to start breakfast while I bit the bullet and called the hotel to ask them to hold my room an extra night and bill it to my credit card, instead of Madison Enterprises, because I had to go back and get my stuff once the roads cleared. That was nothing compared to calling John Madison and explaining to him why I wasn't at the conference.

"Looks like you'll be snowed in there a day or two," he said, still sounding cheerful. He thought I was on my cell phone from the hotel.

"Yeah, looks that way. The thing is, John, I'm at the house."

"You're where?"

"At the house. I decided to drive home last night, and then I was going back this morning, but the storm came..."

"Why did you go home last night?"

"Timothy didn't go with me to the conference. We figured it would be better for me to focus on the seminars and events there. So I thought I'd go home and spend the night with him and then drive back in the morning. They were only predicting a few inches of snow, so I didn't think it would be any big deal."

"You couldn't last two nights to make it through a convention?"

"I could have. I was just bored sitting around the hotel, and I wanted to see my partner, so I went home. I planned on driving back there this morning. I could give you a lame excuse, but that's the truth."

"What do you want me to say, Don? We're trying to get some pretty intensive training done in a short span of time. This is bullshit," he said frankly. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. You can't get back there for the rest of it. Get a hold of somebody down there and see if you can get whatever materials they're covering, or if there's some way to make this up. If there is, it's out of your own pocket on your own time."

"Fine, fair enough. I didn't plan on missing today. I was going to be on the road in time to get back there for breakfast."

"It's about priorities, Don. I don't have any problems with you taking your partner along when you go out of town for business or training. This, I got a problem with. In my company, from my top people, I don't wanna hear 'I didn't plan on that' or 'I was going to do whatever'. If it's fucked up and it isn't done, well, that's the bottom line, and that's how you lose money." He paused, and I didn't say anything. I was getting a little pissed - both because I can't control the weather, and because there was a grain of truth in what he was saying. I missed Timmy and I wanted to go home and make love to him and romance him and give him flowers, so I put that ahead of being where I was supposed to be.

Chalk it up to being young and stupid, and in love. And, to not really being used to answering to a boss for where I went and when I got there. I was used to clicking my heels together and saluting in the Army, but not in my civilian life. Not for a long time. While I missed a lot of things about my lost career at times, I hadn't missed that one bit.

"For what it's worth, John, I'm sorry about this. I was actually enjoying the conference, and it wasn't my plan to play hooky from it."

"Just follow up on it and see what you can do. You're still on schedule to go out to New York in a few days, I assume?"

"Yes, that's all set."

"Fine. Any other issues with the hiring process I need to know about?" he asked, referring to the screening of resumes and interviews I was scheduling to hire the security staff for the new mall.

"Nope, we're on schedule."

"Good. Talk to you later." And with that, he hung up.

I went downstairs, a little deflated, until I saw Timmy puttering around in the big kitchen, making us breakfast, and thought about a whole day on the couch with him watching old movies. We'd seen way too little of each other lately.

So there it is. Timmy is my silver lining, so I went and collected a kiss from him and joined him putting our breakfast together. As long as I've got him, the rest is just...details.

********

Day Three: February 3

I was sorry that Don had gotten his ears pinned back by his boss for doing it, but at the same time, I have to admit that if he had to be snowed in somewhere, I was selfishly glad it was with me. We spent most of that day on the couch, snacking, making out a little, and watching old movies and bad daytime television. Don spent a while on the phone right after breakfast, and located one of the other conference attendees from the New York City area who agreed to meet with him while we were there and go over the highlights of the rest of the conference.

My big bright bouquet of roses was on a table in the rec room where we were camped out, and I finally had to tell Donald just how much I loved seeing him the night before, how much the romance of the gesture, of coming home all that way, of stopping at some weird hour at a store and gathering up flowers...how much his sense of romance really meant to me. So, while he was sitting there on the couch with his hand in our popcorn bowl, and his head on my shoulder, I kissed the top of his head.

"I'm really glad you're snowed in with me, honey," I said, my hand lingering in his hair. "I love my roses, and I love you." He smiled up at me, still munching.

"I love you, too, beautiful. It was a little hard for me to apologize for leaving the conference, because if I'd known I was gonna get snowed in there, I probably would've done the same thing so I could be snowed in here instead."

"You know you're the best husband in the world, right?" I asked him, and I felt kind of choked up telling him, for some reason. I can't put into words how much I love him, or what he means to me, or the way he lights up my life just by being in it. I set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table so I could hug him without dumping it on both of us. Donald never turns down a good hug, so he cuddled up against me and held on, and I wrapped him up in a big hug, kissing his cheek. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

"Nope. That's me. But you can have second place."

"Then it's a tie, because we're both so wonderful," I said, and he laughed. I love the way his eyes light up when he laughs.

"Okay, it's a deal." He pulled away a little and took an envelope out from behind one of the sofa pillows. "Happy Valentine's Day Anniversary," he said, handing it to me. It was a business envelope, and inside it was a sheet of plain white paper with his handwriting on it. "It's kind of corny, I know," he said.

"Why do you think it's corny?" I asked, unfolding the paper. It was so sweet. He'd taken my name and written something for every letter. "Donald, it's sweet."

"And corny," he said, snorting a little laugh.

I read it quietly, because I had a feeling he'd be embarrassed if I read it out loud.

T is for trust, because I know you're always there for me, no matter what.

I is for intimacy, because there's nothing I can't share with you and you love me anyway.

M is for movie night, and making out on the couch.

O is for one and only. You're the only one I ever loved like this, and the only one I ever want. Period.

T is for thank you for all the things you do for me all the time and all the times you do things even when it's my turn to do them, but you do them anyway because of my suck-ass schedule.

I laughed at that, and he smiled, his head still on my shoulder. "I like doing things for you, honey," I said, nudging his chin up so I could kiss his sweet lips. "Because you're so good to me and I love you." I went back to reading the rest of the letter.

H is for home. Wherever you are is home. It doesn't matter where or what it's like, because I'd rather live in a crappy one-room studio with you than in this swanky house we're in with anybody else.

Y is for you. You're my whole life, Timmy, and I just hope I can always be the kind of husband you deserve. You're my reason for...everything. When I fuck up, you forgive me, and that makes me want to fuck up a lot less.

That was so Donald that I found my eyes filling up reading it.

"Donald, it's not corny. It's the sweetest thing I have, and I'll always treasure it."

"I was going to do 'Tim', but it only filled up a third of the page," he said, and I laughed out loud at that. It was such a sweet, genuine admission. That's so much of what I love about Donald. With me, he's so open and honest, and unguarded. When I finally found out just how much he'd been hurt in his life, especially in love, that grew to mean even more to me, although it's hard to picture anything meaning more to me than his love and his honesty did at that moment.

"I hope you never stop loving me like you do, because your love is the best thing that ever happened to me," I said, kissing him.

"You're stuck with me as long as I have a couple breaths left in my wheezing old carcass."

"I'll love your old carcass, even when it's wheezing," I pledged, and he laughed.

"Ah, romance is a wonderful thing," he quipped.

"Yeah, isn't it?" I agreed.

"So's popcorn," he said, eyeing the bowl.

"Oh, right." I picked it up and set it in my lap again, and his hand was in it instantly. "Wait a minute," I said, grabbing his hand and licking a little butter and salt off his fingers. "I forgot napkins."

"I'm all about hygiene," he replied, and then did the same thing to my fingers as soon as I took some out of the bowl and ate it.

Leave it to us to find a way to swap body fluids fully dressed on the couch with food involved. Ah, romance, indeed.

********

Day Four: February 4

Don and I had enjoyed a lovely day cuddled up on the couch, but reality was back full force as soon as the roads were cleared, and he had a packed schedule starting, as he lovingly called it, at the "ass crack of dawn." The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon as I had my second cup of coffee and turned on the morning news. I planned to send out more resumes, and go into town for groceries, and just look around and get more familiar with the area. I'd visited the Hamptons a few times with my parents, but I wasn't exactly well-versed on the streets and business districts and other things you should know about the place you live.

Needless to say, it was a surprise to hear my father's voice coming from the television, and when I looked up, there he was on the big screen TV, larger than life, looming over me. If that wasn't a metaphor for our relationship throughout most of my youth, I'm not sure what would be. They were talking about Medicare reform, that subcommittee he was on. He'd drawn bipartisan praise for his work on that project. It was one of the few things we didn't tear pieces out of each other about when we discussed the issues. He believed in trimming outlandish charges, provider responsibility, and making sure seniors were going to remain covered in the long term, and not have the plan fizzle out by the time people like Don and me were counting on it. Not that he ever tied it in to us.

I don't know why, when talk turned to other social issues, I expected anything different from him than what I was hearing and seeing. Donald says I see the best in people, that I expect too much from them sometimes, that I think they're going to be as decent and honest and good as I am. I tell him he makes me sound way too saintly. I suppose I do expect others to act in good faith, and that does lead me down some disappointing roads at times, but often, people rise to your expectations, or conversely, lower themselves to meet them.

Anyway, they were having some kind of round table discussion about issues, and the moderator saw fit to bring up domestic partnerships and same sex marriage. The two Democrats at the table were reasonably quick to argue in favor of marriage rights, though one was more lukewarm, leaning toward "domestic partnerships."

Well, fuck that. Don didn't say, "will you be my domestic partner?" He said, "will you marry me?" and I said "yes." And we had a wedding, not a contract signing ceremony. We weren't some kind of legal corporation. We were a married couple. And until the rest of the world wanted to acknowledge that, they could take their "domestic partnership" and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. It might be seen as some form of progress, but it falls woefully short of where we need to be.

I digress.

One of the Democrats apparently felt compelled to poke my father, who had just stated that he believed what people did in the privacy of their homes, or their bedrooms, was their business, but that legal marriage was between a man and a woman. Typical Republican party line. In other words, you can screw each other and we won't arrest you for sodomy, but you can't be married. And then we're going to criticize you for your sinful lifestyle and lack of monogamy. Yes, that makes perfect sense.

"Is that what you tell your son? I understand he's quite a vocal activist for gay rights, and very well entrenched in the Democratic party."

"I haven't controlled my son's choice of politics, or...dates since he was a teenager living at home. Unfortunately, I can't dictate his choices or control his behavior."

I'm not sure why that hurt the way it did. I guess I had hoped for him to say he was proud of me, even if we didn't agree...or something like that. Fool that I am, that's how I felt about him. I didn't always agree with his politics, but he was an ethical legislator who worked hard for his constituents and did what he thought was right. He cared about people, and though he was a Republican and they're often about as sensitive as Marie Antoinette was when she suggested the starving peasants eat cake if they had no bread, he was never one to overlook the needy or the elderly.

Bottom line, I was never ashamed of my father or disapproving of him, I just disagreed with his politics. But what he said, and how he said it? It sounded as if he was ashamed of me, of my choices, of my life, of the man I loved and committed my life to, of my passion for causes I believed in...he made it sound like I was a juvenile delinquent he unfortunately couldn't control.

Maybe it wasn't so odd that it pierced me like it did, because even the other politician who brought it up to throw him off seemed put off by it.

"No need to get into family politics this morning," the moderator said, smiling uneasily. Okay, that did it. It was as bad as I thought it was.

I turned off the TV and sat there, then I stared at my big bouquet of roses Don had brought me. It's not that I need my father's approval to be who I am and love the man I love, but it still hurt to know he had such...disgust for me, that he couldn't even muster up a little word of fatherly pride. I was one of the youngest, maybe the youngest, chiefs of staff in the business at that time. Most people thought I was a rising star in politics in the Albany area and, when it came to gay rights, I'd gained some notoriety on a state level serving as a spokesman for a couple of groups, having addressed state legislators and represented one group at a national conference.

My father couldn't find anything in that to be proud of? On the few occasions I'd been asked about my father, I'd given him credit where credit was due when it came to setting an example as a good public servant.

I'm not sure how long I sat there stewing, but I know that I wished Don was there, or selfishly wished one of his little Valentine surprises was around somewhere to cheer me up.

********

"I think we've got a good start so far," Roger said, summing up our first three hires for security guards. Roger was the one in charge of all the technical security measures - alarms, lighting, locks, safety glass standards, you name it - anything that was a gadget or building material relevant to loss prevention, Roger was the guy. He was in his mid-fifties, chunky, balding, and an ex-cop who'd gone back to college for an engineering degree. I know he looked at me with a bit of a fish-eye because of my age and lack of experience, but all in all, we were getting along all right.

Our office suite inside the mall was mostly finished. There was a desk for a secretary who hadn't been hired yet, and an office for me and one for Roger. The rest of the security offices were still under construction, like everything else. It seemed like the sound of construction equipment was permanently etched in my brain by the end of each unending day.

"Three down, 27 to go," I said, leaning back in my chair. We were in my office, and it was getting near lunch time.

"You want to go get subs?" he suggested.

"Sure, why not? Give me a few minutes. I want to call my partner."

He looked at me, confused. I'd told Roger I was married, and that we'd been together almost a year. It occurred to me then that I'd never had a reason to mention Timmy's gender. It wasn't a secret, but it just hadn't come up. He said he was married and had two grown sons, and I said I'd just gotten married last year. We weren't really buddies, even though we occasionally ate lunch together when we were busy and it was sort of logical. We'd only been working together a couple weeks, and it had been a pretty relentless schedule of planning and interviewing.

As if summoned by my thoughts, or dropped from the heavens (yes, like an angel, and I'm that sappy over him...was then, am now, live with it), Timmy walked in with a tidy mid-sized shopping bag in his hand. I was almost positive it had food in it.

"Hey, honey," I said, out of my chair instantly, greeting him with a quick kiss.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said. Roger was standing now, easing toward the door, almost stealthily, as if he were trying to escape from an armed perp unnoticed.

"I was just leaving," Roger said.

"Roger, this is my partner, Tim Callahan," I introduced. "Tim, this is Roger Morris. He's in charge of all the security technology for this place," I said. Timmy gave him one of his usual beautiful smiles and extended his hand. There was a slight hesitation before Roger shook it.

"That must be a challenging job for a complex like this," Timmy said.

"Yeah, it's got its moments," he said, withdrawing his hand, looking glad to have it back. "I gotta go."

"I brought lunch. There's certainly enough here for three if you'd like to join us," Tim said. "Unless you two had plans?"

"No, we were just talking about it," I said.

"You two go ahead. I have to run some errands anyway."

"Nice meeting you," Timmy said, smiling.

"Yeah, you, too," he said, but it wasn't terribly heartfelt. I hadn't really seen Roger flee from a room before, but that's what he did.

"I'm sorry, Don. It looks like I messed up your plans." He took off his coat and I took it from him, laying it over a chair. He was wearing soft jeans that nicely fit his legs and his...uh...well, they fit real good. He had on a dark blue sweater over a pale blue shirt, which just brought out his eyes even more.

"There's no possible way you showing up could mess up anything for me," I said, taking one of his hands. "So what'd you bring?" I asked, looking in the top of the bag he'd brought. It looked like homemade stuff in containers and wrapped in aluminum foil. God, this was getting better by the moment. The only thing close to as good as sex with Timothy is eating something he made. He was awfully quiet, and when I looked up at him, he looked so...sad. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" I asked, and he just hugged me and held on for a few moments.

"I just missed you, that's all," he said, stepping back, smiling. "I made sub sandwiches and that pasta salad you like. I got some cookies at a bakery I found along the way - "

"Timothy, I've only been here since this morning. You couldn't have missed me that much, that fast. What's wrong?"

"It's stupid." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I'm overreacting. If you need to do something else, I can go."

I walked past him and closed my door, and guided him toward the couch that sat along one of the white, undecorated walls.

"Don, this office is awful. You know it needs decorating, right? You aren't going to leave it like this?"

"Nope. I'm going to turn my partner loose on it with his amazingly beautiful taste as soon as the construction is done and whatever nice things he picks out for my walls won't fall off from the vibrations." I took his hands in mine. Holding hands with him sends me. God, I'm a goner. "Talk to me."

"My dad was on some morning news talk show."

"Good old Dad. Always a day brightener."

"They were doing this discussion group with a couple Republicans and a couple Democrats, and something came up about same sex marriage and domestic partnerships, and one of the Democrats there had to needle him about me. I don't know what I expected, but I kind of thought he'd stick up for me a little. Not that he'd suddenly embrace gay marriage and wear a rainbow lapel pin for the cause, but that maybe he'd say he was proud of me, or mention any of my accomplishments, or at least maybe just tell the other guy to leave his family out of it - "

Timmy was on overdrive, and if I didn't slow him down, I had a feeling he'd explode.

"He didn't do any of that, huh?" I asked, which was stupid, because if he had done that, Timmy wouldn't look so miserable. But it slowed him down and made him breathe a moment while I spoke.

"He said that he hadn't controlled who I dated since I was a teenager and that, unfortunately, he couldn't control my behavior or my choices now. Like I was...like...I don't know, but it was like who I am and what I do...there was nothing in it he was proud of...it was like you'd talk about your son if he was in jail or something," he concluded, his voice unsteady. "I just want him to be proud of me, and I know it shouldn't matter," he said, like he had to pre-empt me from saying the old man could go fuck himself with a sharp stick as far as I was concerned and that his opinion meant as much to me as that of any other half-witted bigot.

"It matters to you, so it matters to me," I said, and that was the truth. Steven Callahan couldn't hurt me, because you have to give a shit to be hurt by someone. But he could hurt Timmy, and anything that hurts him, hurts me, because seeing him unhappy makes me unhappy, and then makes me want to go punch the source of his unhappiness right in the chops, or better yet, kick him in the nuts until he sang soprano.

"I just wanted to see you, because seeing you always makes me feel better," he said, squeezing my hands. "I'm sorry I interrupted you. Roger didn't look too happy with me."

"Roger is an asshole. Forget him." And when I saw his chilly reaction to Timmy, and his obvious disdain and unease around us as soon as he knew we were a couple, I decided that's what he was. It's not like Timmy showed up in drag and I shoved him against the wall and felt him up. He came in like any other spouse might, brought me some lunch, and I kissed him hello like an old married man. No groping, no tongue.

"He's apparently not fond of gays," he said. "I guess I'm just spreading joy to everyone today."

"You're spreading joy to me, if I count," I said, hugging him. He returned the hug, and his breathing was a little shaky. "Do you think I give a flying fuck about Roger?" I rubbed his back. "I'm sorry your dad is such an SOB," I said, and it was genuine, but for some reason, it made Timmy laugh. That was worth everything.

"I knew you'd make me feel better," he said, pulling back, smiling at me and touching my face. How that beautiful man could not make anyone happy or proud or just plain glad to be alive because he loved them, is beyond me.

"Maybe a present will cheer you up."

"Don, you don't have to keep getting me things," he said.

"I know I don't have to. If I had to, it wouldn't be any fun." I dug around in the desk drawer and pulled out the square envelope. There was a mushy card in it and a CD with one song I'd burned on it for him.

He opened the card and read it, smiling and getting a little misty-eyed, but for a good reason. It was a store-bought verse this time (I figured he deserved one from the experts at Hallmark after what I'd done to him with that corny thing I wrote for the letters of his name). It talked about love and being best friends and everything in life being better because he was with me. They said it prettier, but that was the gist of it.

"It's beautiful," he said, kissing me. "What's on my CD?"

"You'll have to wait and play it on the way home."

"Don't you have a CD player around here somewhere?"

"We only have running water in one bathroom right now, so no, I don't have a CD player."

"We'll have to get you one. Some nice, soothing music will help you keep your stress under control."

"You think I'm stressed out?"

"Yes."

"Okay, guilty as charged. Now show me your goodies."

"Now?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"I meant lunch."

"Oh! Right, the food."

"I can lock the door if you're willing to show me those goodies while you're here."

"Or, you could leave it unlocked and let the shock kill Roger."

"I love it when you're bad," I said, laughing.

Timothy had made a couple of his masterpiece sandwiches, and the pasta salad was incredible. I ate like a pig, and loved every minute of having him with me. Sometimes I just sit and watch him doing something simple, like eating a sandwich, and it bowls me over how much I love him, how beautiful he is, how his face lights up when he catches me staring.

Unfortunately for me, I had interviews scheduled beginning again at two, and Roger would be ambling back in expecting to go over the applicants before we met with them. I had a couple things to go over with that ass wad before we worried about job applicants.

"I love my card," Timmy said, giving me one last big hug before I held his coat for him to slip into. "I love you," he added, kissing me goodbye.

"I love you, too, sweetheart. Thanks for lunch. It was great."

"My pleasure," he said, grinning.

"Maybe later."

"I'll wait up," he replied, giving me one more quick kiss before he headed for the door.

"Don't worry about your dickhead father. You're amazing, honey. If he doesn't see that, it's his problem."

"I'll keep working on drilling that into my head. Will you be late?"

"Probably mid-evening sometime. After the interviews, I'm supposed to meet with a couple of tenants to talk over some issues about their stores. Hopefully that'll wrap up at a reasonable time."

"Okay. Call me if you get time."

"I'll make time," I said, blowing him a kiss as he walked out. He blew one back and gave me a cute little wave. I stood there staring after him with a big stupid smile on my face.

********

I felt a lot better after spending some time with Don, though I was sorry his colleague apparently was a homophobe. I knew it wouldn't take Donald long to show him the error of his ways for having been anything less than charming with me, and while I loved him for it, I hoped it didn't cause him more trouble in his job. I knew how much he loved me. He didn't have to keep throwing himself into the volcano to prove it.

We'd bought a used Subaru Forester for me to drive, since the house was off the public transportation route, and we could afford it with not paying rent. I couldn't stay shut up in the house all day every day while he was working and, when I got a job, I'd need to get back and forth to it.

I took the CD out of its sleeve. Don had written on it in black marker. "Happy Valentine's Day Anniversary, because you changed my life." I smiled, thinking about how sweet he is to me. I put it in the player and started driving toward the house. I'd expected something slow and sultry and romantic, but instead, the upbeat lead in to Stevie Wonder singing "For Once in my Life" boomed out of the speakers.

All the words sounded like so many things Donald had told me about how he felt for me, what I meant to him, that it was scary...as if this classic had been written by him just for me.

For once in my life I have someone who needs me
Someone I've needed so long
For once, unafraid, I can go where life leads me
And somehow I know I'll be strong

That was so true. He didn't seem to worry about where we went, or how successful either one of us was. We were in this thing together, and as long as I was there, he didn't seem afraid of the devil himself.

For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of
Long before I knew
Someone warm like you
Would make my dreams come true

It was odd to hear all this in a love song, and realize the man I loved told me these things, sometimes in pretty words or sometimes in that earthy, genuine way that is so Donald and so much more precious because of its genuine directness. I loved hearing the song he chose for me, but he didn't wait for love songs to let me know how he felt. He still doesn't, even though we've been together a long time now. We have that rare and precious gift of not leaving things left unsaid between us.

For once in my life I won't let sorrow hurt me
Not like it's hurt me before
For once, I have something I know won't desert me
I'm not alone anymore

Maybe that was the most striking message, because I know he'd been hurt before in ways he didn't tell me about for years. I didn't know the details then, but I knew he was emotionally scarred, and that he'd been through something bad. That was all I had to know, and I wanted to help heal that. Even though he was sweet and romantic and good to me from day one, I could see signs of Donald...blossoming, for lack of a better word, in the safety of our love and our marriage. I could see him relaxing with me, letting me in, and trusting me with all his heart and soul. I saw less darkness and fewer nightmares, I saw more of his playful, silly side...

If our love could do all that for him, it could certainly shake me out of my funk over some indirect slight from my father.

For once in my life, I won't let sorrow hurt me

Not like it's hurt me before...

Give it your best shot, Dad, I thought.

For once, unafraid, I can go where life leads me

Somehow I know I'll be strong...

********

Day Five: February 5

Antoher day dawned, and Don headed off to work, and I went back to my job search. I'd interviewed at the PR firm our neighbor had referred me to, and I found myself hoping they didn't call back. I'm sure I could have done the work, but my heart wouldn't have been in it. One of their present clients was a high-profile financier who was accused of raping his illegal immigrant teenaged maid. True, that was the most salacious case they had, but they often found themselves reconstructing the trashed reputations of people and companies who deserved to have trashed reputations. They had a large contingent of more traditional clients, too, and they had a reputation for some high profile cases, but I still felt like showering when I got home.

I'd applied for the job at the college, and I found a few more possibilities by just hanging around online and net searching until my eyes burned. Of course, it didn't help that my computer was state-of-the-art when the dinosaurs were still roaming the earth. While I found myself close to dozing as yet another graphics-intensive page loaded, I decided to get up and stretch my legs and work the kinks out of my back. I tidied up some newspapers and magazines that were lying around, and as I went to throw them in the trash can in the kitchen, a photograph fell out. I picked it up, frowning, turning it over. There was writing on the back.

Nathan, 9-15-86

I turned it over again and looked at the smiling boy in the photo. He was a cute kid, obviously a fashion plate for the time, with everything from the long, fluffy hair to the single earring - a white fang - to the funky-styled white jacket over a black t-shirt. This must be the missing boy Don had talked about, the one whose mother had stopped by and asked for his help re-opening her son's case. I wracked my brain a moment until their last name came to me: Drew. Nathan Drew. A gay teenager who was allegedly in love with Graham Hildebrandt's son, though that family, including the boy himself, claimed they were just buddies.

I didn't feel right throwing it out, but I wasn't exactly sure what to do with it, so I took it up to the library with me when I went back to work on the computer. On a fluke, I typed Nathan's name into a search engine, just to see if there were any articles on the case. It wasn't likely, given the age of the investigation. I was surprised to find a website dedicated to him called "FindNathanDrew.com". The webmaster was Natalie Drew-Richardson. Nathan and Natalie? Sounded like brother and sister to me.

Bored with the job search, I clicked on the link "The Investigation". A diet cola and a half a bag of pretzels later, I'd read the whole thing, and it was no small task. It read like a true crime thriller, and I was guessing Natalie was something of a writer. Once I got going on it, I couldn't stop until I'd read the whole thing. There was mystery, romance, intrigue, hints at corruption and undue influence of the rich over the police department. Of course, the Drews weren't exactly paupers, so it was a head-scratcher why the Hildebrandt's had more clout than they did.

The basic facts of the case weren't that complex. Nathan was an openly gay sixteen-year-old high school junior who disappeared one chilly November day in 1986. He left school, and never made it home. His car wasn't found, and the police insisted he was a runaway, that there was no evidence of foul play. Apparently, the fact he'd left without any of his clothing or personal possessions didn't sway their opinion.

Meanwhile, his family was convinced he was having a relationship with Graham Hildebrandt, Jr., also a student at the same high school, and a neighbor just a few doors down in their affluent neighborhood. Graham denied it.

The family always kept up some kind of effort to solicit leads on the case, offered rewards, and never stopped agitating the police to take the investigation seriously as a homicide investigation. It made no sense that he vanished into thin air and never contacted his family again when they were a very close-knit unit. Even his parents had been accepting of his orientation and supportive of him. He didn't show signs of depression, and he didn't have academic problems at school, though he was bullied and harassed on a fairly consistent basis.

I sat back and sighed, wondering how the police could just dismiss this boy's disappearance...his life for that matter, as something not worthy of their time.

I clicked on the link titled "Tips", and found a dizzying list of information fragments the family collected since Nathan disappeared. Sightings of boys who fit his description all along the East Coast, some even from California who claimed he was in L.A. One of them suggested he was playing in a heavy metal band performing in clubs on the seedier side of L.A.'s music scene. Another said he was living as a drag queen in San Francisco. The photo of the drag queen who was supposed to be Nathan did look like him, but after investing in a trip to San Francisco to meet with the man in question, it was clear he was not Nathan. There were a few tips about a bright yellow Chevy Camaro just like his showing up in New York City in the hands of a gang member, but the family was unable to corroborate that, and the police were not inclined to follow up on it as it was too vague.

There was another link that gave bios on all the people involved in the case, including the detective originally assigned to it. Natalie obviously kept her facts up to date, as it noted that he'd retired about two years earlier. Now the case was cold, and no one was assigned to it.

I looked through the photo gallery on the website, and the montage of family events compiled there for Nathan. The write-up stated they were going to continue to chronicle the family until Nathan came home, on the off chance he was still out there somewhere, and wanted to know how and what they were doing.

I found myself tearing up, thinking about Kelly, wondering if we were remiss in not doing something like this. We'd accepted she was a runaway, but what if she wasn't? What if we'd let her case be a non-issue all these years, and something like this could have helped?

Would my mother survive that many years not knowing, when not knowing already gnawed at her soul, and Kelly had been missing about half the time Nathan had. Or, was Kelly out there, somewhere, thinking we didn't care because we weren't looking for her? Because she couldn't log on to the internet and find something like this there? Because my father was a public figure and didn't even mention her, when he could have used his notoriety to help find her.

I stared at the screen a moment. I'd helped a few people approach the police about cases they felt weren't being handled fairly or thoroughly over the course of my career. I hadn't solved any cold murder cases, and I didn't have Don's expertise, but I knew my way around bureaucracy and red tape, and sometimes, I got results where a citizen couldn't on their own.

I started an e-mail to Natalie.

Dear Natalie,

My name is Tim Callahan, and I'm a former aide to state Senator Platt, and former chief of staff to Congressman Donnelly. Your mother approached my partner, Don Strachey, about investigating your brother's case. We are house-sitting for the Davis's. Unfortunately, Don isn't in the private investigating business at the moment, but I've had some experience in helping constituents approach the police about cases they felt were not handled properly. I'm in the middle of a career change right now, and have some time on my hands. Is there anything I could do to help you or your family? My sister disappeared several years ago, and while we're quite confident she ran away, I understand some of what you're going through.

I applaud your family's efforts to find Nathan. Please contact me if I can be of help.

Tim Callahan

After I hit "send", I hoped Don wouldn't be angry that I was dabbling in this case. He'd turned it down firmly, but I know it didn't set well with him to send Nathan's mother away with no hope. I wasn't a PI, or a cop, but I know how to do research, and I know how to pester people into doing things they don't want to do. I didn't have a legislator behind me now, but I still had my people skills. Before they shriveled up completely, I was ready for a challenge that would use some of my higher thinking abilities.

I realized it was getting dark outside. I'd been so wrapped up in exploring the website and trying to analyze all those leads, trying to see a pattern others missed, that I'd lost track of time. The only light in the house was the desk lamp where I was sitting. No wonder Don sounded concerned when he started calling to me from the shadowy first floor.

"I'm up here," I called back, shutting down my laptop and taking off my glasses to rub my eyes. They were burning out of my head from all those hours staring fixedly at the screen.

"Conserving on the light bill?" he asked, coming over to where I was sitting and giving me my hello kiss. "God, your eyes look like something out of a horror movie."

"Thank you, darling. You look handsome, too." My remark earned me a cock of his head. "I've been staring at the computer a while, looking for jobs."

"Any word from the PR firm?"

"No, thank God," I said honestly.

"Didn't care much for that one, huh?" he asked, smiling, then moving behind me and massaging my shoulders. "You busy tonight, beautiful?"

"It just so happens that my evening has opened up. What did you have in mind?"

"These." He handed me a pair of tickets. A pair of tickets to see Barry Manilow in concert.

"These are really good seats," I said.

"Yup."

"How did you manage this? That concert is sold out," I asked, looking up at him.

"Madison Enterprises had a block of tickets for their executive staff. I'm not exactly home office executive staff, but John sent me his tickets since he was going to be out of town on business, and they're not exactly Tiffany's style. I've had them for a month and I've been fucking dying but I wanted to surprise you."

"Consider me surprised!" I said, jumping out of the chair and hugging him. I'd inherited my taste for Barry Manilow from my mother, and I'd gotten Don hooked on some of his love songs. My parents had seen him in concert a couple times when I was growing up, but I never had.

"We better get dressed, because we have dinner reservations at that new seafood place you wanted to try," he said.

We did hurry up and change, and then headed out for a delicious meal of steak and lobster at a new seafood restaurant not far from the house. Our seats were as good as I thought they were, because we were close enough to the stage to actually see him, rather than just watching a tiny figure moving about from seats under the eaves.

It was a great show, with a lot of romantic moments I'll never forget. Especially when we slow danced to Somewhere in the Night. One of the lines says, "you're my song, music too magic to end." Don whispered in my ear, somehow making himself heard above the music.

"You're my song, sweetheart. I love you."

I loved having the chance to see Barry Manilow, to sing along with his hits, to be one of a bunch of people dancing around and having a good time. But that moment was so romantic, and so beautiful, that all of that melted away until it was just Donald and me, holding each other, dancing like we do when we're out in a nice club, or maybe just in our living room by the fireplace. I kissed him, and held onto him.

He's my superstar, and I'm his biggest fan.

********

Day Six: February 6

"Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl," Don began, starting upstairs.

"With yellow feathers in her hair," I replied.

"And a dress cut down to there," he added, not missing a beat.

"She would merengue," I threw in a little hip action, even though we were on the stairs.

"And do the cha-cha," Don sang as he reached the top, holding his hand out to me.

"While she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar," I sang, taking his hand as he pulled me in to a dance hold.

"Across a crowded floor, they worked from eight to four," he said, dancing me around.

"They were young and they had each other," I replied.

"Who could ask for more?" he added, dipping me. As we cracked up laughing, he almost dropped me, but fortunately, we righted ourselves in time.

"At the Copa, Copacabana," we both sang, doing our own god-awful dance moves as we headed into our bedroom, "hottest spot north of Havana."

I slid my arms around him and kissed him like I meant business. And I did. We'd had a wonderful evening, a great time at the concert, and while we were doing horrible Latin dance moves and singing Copacabana, it was all the built up romance and passion of love songs and dancing together in a crowded concert hall that went into that kiss.

I pushed his jacket off his shoulders and started in on his tie, sending it flying to join the jacket. He was smiling at me, that beautiful big smile of his, and he divested me of my jacket and tie, and even got my shirt unbuttoned. That was okay. He could have a momentary victory, but in the end, he was going to be all mine. I had plans for every inch of his beautiful body. So I paused and pulled my t-shirt over my head, throwing it aside. Of course, that knocked my glasses crooked. So much for my career as a stripper. With an affectionate chuckle, Don took my glasses off and set them on the night stand. He made a play for my belt, but his shirt was still on, so that was never going to do.

I playfully batted his hands away and took off his shirt. I may have even pulled a couple buttons open without unbuttoning them properly. When he pulled his undershirt off, I know my mouth was hanging open a bit, my breathing getting rapid. I was entranced by the play of muscles on his stomach, chest and arms as he completed that gesture. Sometimes I can't believe how perfect he is, and how conceited he isn't.

I took him in my arms again and kissed him, then I kissed his neck and his shoulder, slipping my hand down to unfasten his belt. He let me get his pants open, cooperated with sending them and his boxers to the floor, stepping out of them, while we kept on kissing and touching each other. We laughed as all four of our hands clumsily worked at getting rid of my pants. Once they were gone, I gently pushed him back on the bed and then I was on top of him, kissing him, taking his hands, lacing our fingers, urging his arms up and back on the mattress.

"Go for it, bruiser," he teased, letting me hold his arms there.

"I'm going to start with your arms," I said, whispering in his ear, "and work my way down. All the way down," I added. Judging by the way he shivered under me, I sounded as sexy as I hoped.

And that's what I did. I kissed his hands and his wrists. I kissed the soft skin of his arms, the tender insides of his elbows, traced the tattoo that encircled his biceps with my lips and my tongue, nuzzled under his arms, and worked my way onto his chest. Once I was there, I released his arms, because I never want to stop him from touching me and holding me. He caressed my back and my shoulders while I licked and kissed his beautiful chest, then focused on sucking his tasty little nipples until they were hard, and he was gasping.

I kissed and nipped at his stomach, teasing his navel with my tongue, making him giggle when I hit his ticklish spot, even though I knew he'd never admit to giggling. I pointedly ignored his growing erection, and ran my cheek along the inside of his thigh, one, then the other.

"Timothy," he sighed, touching my hair, smiling down at me.

"I'm coming, baby," I said, homing in on the warmth between his legs, kissing and licking his balls.

"Yeah, I think I will, too, before long," he replied, and we both laughed softly at that. I took my time tasting and sucking that sensitive part of him, finally taking him in my mouth, loving the way he gasped and arched, trying not to move too fast, and yet a little out of control.

I love the taste and feeling of him in my mouth, I love using my tongue to tease and pleasure him, I love to feel the warm weight of his balls in my hand, to hear him sigh and whisper my name, to feel his hand in my hair. To know how much he loves me, that there's nothing he wouldn't do for me, in bed or out of it, from simple little things like holding my coat or bringing me flowers to laying down his life for me.

When he came, it was with some broken little cries of my name, and I took it all in, not letting him go until he was done, until he was spent and sensitive and I gently released him. I moved up and nuzzled his warm neck, kissed his cheek and his ear, and rested there with my nose in his soft blond hair. I was hard, and I wanted him, but I wanted more for him to enjoy the afterglow. In that uncanny way he has of reading my mind, he knew what I needed, and he shifted onto his side, smiling over his shoulder at me.

I wrapped myself around him and kissed the back of his neck, down his spine to his tail bone. I was hot for him, but I wanted more to love him, and I wanted him to be with me in every sense of the words when I was inside him. So I kissed the soft, sweet skin of his cheeks, and I kissed the sensitive skin between them, and I teased him with my tongue. I held him in my arms and told him how much I loved him, and I spent a long time preparing him, slipping my finger in him and rubbing it over his prostate, working at getting him hard again.

When I eased inside him, he was ready for me, and we moved together in a slow, gentle rhythm, drawing out the lovemaking. I'm not sure of all the things I said, but I know I tried to tell him, while I was showing him, how precious he was to me. We came within seconds of each other, and then lay there a long time sharing kisses and more love words.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," I said, kissing his shoulder. "You're all mine," I added.

"All day," he said, relaxing even more in my arms. His schedule had been pretty relentless, but he was taking the weekend off. That had surprised me a little, since he'd been working such long hours, but I was thrilled. I told him that was the best Valentine gift I could think of, just being with him for two whole days. He said he still had plans for those days, and I'd just have to wait and see.

I dozed off with him held close against me, fitting into the curve of my body like a part of me. He is a part of me. He's my heart, my soul, my life.

********

I smelled coffee and food. That, or Timmy doing something sexy to me, would be the only reasons I'd have opened my eyes. It was so comfortable in that big bed, and I didn't have to be anywhere any earlier than I felt like being there. And I was going to be with Timmy all day. Life was good.

So I opened my eyes. There was my beautiful man, smiling at me, setting a breakfast tray on the dresser. God bless him, he's realistic enough to know that I'm gonna need the john before I eat, so I got up and we kissed, then kissed some more, before I dashed in and heeded the call of nature. When I came back out, Timmy was in bed with the tray, so I happily climbed in with him, both of us naked, and settled in his arms and let him feed me juicy pieces of fruit, sipped coffee, and just wallowed in the pleasure of being with him.

He smiled at me and kissed my forehead, feeding me another piece of pineapple. No one's ever treated me the way Timmy does. No one's ever shown me that kind of affection just as an end in itself, or treated me like I was something precious. I know my muscles turn him on, that he likes the way I look. I also know if I was fat and bald, he'd still be lying here with me, feeding me fruit and loving me. Or if I was old and disabled. Or sick and dying. Or poor and unable to support him or myself. "For better or for worse" aren't just words with him, they're a security blanket that makes me feel safe in a way nothing else ever has.

"You're very deep in thought, Donald," he said, taking a drink of his coffee. I was willing to bet the coffee tasted better if I was licking the inside of his mouth to get it.

"I was just thinking about you," I answered honestly, and he chuckled softly.

"You're good."

"No, I really was," I protested, and he looked at me with a smile that was so full of love it made my heart flutter.

"I believe you, honey," he said, feeding me a half a strawberry this time. "I'm just teasing," he kissed my cheek.

"I do that a lot," I said, and he hugged me closer.

"Me, too. About you, I mean," he added, and we both laughed at that.

"What do you want to do today?" I was even willing to risk a museum or something else cultural if it made him happy.

"More of this, and then maybe a nice late lunch somewhere. We could take a drive and get to know the area a little better. It's supposed to be nice today. The sun's out," he added.

That sounded nice. I could get behind that.

"Okay. I'm all yours."

"How could anyone need anything else for Valentine's Day, ever?" he asked, and the genuineness in his voice gave me a lump in my throat. It wasn't teasing, he meant it. Like I would be enough, with my flaws and quirks, just me, forever. Fortunately, I didn't knock over the breakfast tray when I decided to shift positions onto my side and rest my cheek on his chest, figuring a way to get my arm around him without sending hot coffee flying onto his lap. Now that would be a mood killer. "Remember our song, that we danced to at our wedding?" He rubbed my shoulder and kissed me. "You're all I need, my love, my Valentine?" he sang softly against my ear. He knew I was getting emotional and that would make it worse, so he stroked my hair and kissed me again. "You're the most beautiful gift I could receive, honey."

"I still have more presents for you, though," I said, and he chuckled, squeezing me closer.

"Well, just to be polite, I won't turn them down," he joked.

********

Timmy was finishing getting dressed when I headed downstairs to clean up the breakfast tray and take in the paper. I was already on my way to the front door when the doorbell rang. Even though I had on jeans and a heavy sweater, I didn't look forward to the blast of February air that would swirl in when I opened the door. I also wasn't thrilled to see Mrs. Drew, Nathan Drew's mother, standing on the other side of it. It wasn't easy turning her down the first time, but to have to keep doing it? Not a good way to launch a light-hearted Saturday off.

"Mrs. Drew - "

"I'm not here to see you, Mr. Strachey. I'm here to see your partner, Tim."

"Why?" I blurted, before I realized how nosy and rude it sounded. "Come in," I added, stepping back, closing the door behind her. "He's upstairs. I'll tell him you're here."

"He offered to help with Nathan's case."

"He did what?" I asked, and I suppose my eyes were wide. I don't know if my mouth hung open stupidly, or it just felt like it. What the fuck?

"He's been in touch with my daughter, and he offered to help us. Natalie said I should wait until Monday, but I couldn't. This is the first glimmer of hope in very long time."

"Have a seat," I said, leading her into the living room. "I'll go get Tim for you." I could have called to him, but I wanted to know what he was up to, so I hurried upstairs.

"Who was at the door?" he asked, fastening his watch. He smelled great, and looked gorgeous in his jeans and his cream colored cable knit sweater. But he was still up to something, and I wasn't going to be derailed.

"Mrs. Drew. Nathan Drew's mother," I added. He looked a little startled...just a bit like a deer in the headlights. "Timothy, what are you doing?"

"Nothing, yet. Look, I've had some experience helping people deal with bureaucracies, like the police department, when I was working for Senator Platt, and for Sean, too. I'm no PI, but I might be able to help them get their case re-examined. That's all."

"You know I can't get involved in this, right? I wasn't just putting her off when I told her I didn't have time."

"I know that, honey. You're already working hours as bad, or worse, than when you were in the PI business in Albany." He sighed. "They have this site online - "

"I know. I've seen it. A virtual shrine to a dead kid you're never gonna find."

"Even if that's true, his mother deserves some kind of closure, and he still matters, even if he's been dead since 1986."

"I never said he didn't matter. He does, to his family."

"And Kelly matters to my family. I know a little bit about how they feel, how that woman feels. I've lived with my mother feeling like that for a long time."

"Your mother moved on with her life."

"Because everything points to Kelly running away from home. Nothing points to that with this boy's case." He headed for the stairs. "I can't keep her waiting down there while we argue about this."

"We're not arguing," I protested. "We're discussing."

"We'll discuss it later, then. If you want to join us downstairs, you're certainly welcome."

"No, that'll give her the impression I'm part of this, and I'm not. I'm sorry for her loss, but I just can't handle anything more right now if I plan to still sleep, use the toilet, and eat occasionally."

"I won't be long, honey," he said, kissing me. "You're sure you're not mad?"

"I'm sure," I said. It was nothing worth being mad at him for, even if I was a bit frustrated, and more than a little worried that he was getting himself into something sticky, messy, and emotionally draining.

********

"Good morning, Mrs. Drew," I greeted, joining her in the living room.

"I hope I didn't come at a bad time," she said. I noticed then that it was almost one. Don and I had made good use of the morning, splashed around in the shower together, and generally taken our sweet time rejoining the world.

"No, it's fine," I said, sitting in the chair closest to the couch where she sat. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you. I don't think your partner was very pleased to see me."

"Honestly, I think Don is more sorry he can't devote time to helping you than anything else. He has a very big heart, but his schedule is awful at the moment."

"Natalie called me and told me you'd e-mailed her about the website."

"It's a very thorough account of the case, and a nice tribute to Nathan. If he's seen it, I'm sure it means a lot to him."

"Thank you," she said, giving me a shaky smile. "That's the first time anyone has ever talked to me about him like he might still be alive. I know he probably isn't, but for a moment, it was nice to think about that."

"I know realistically, a boy who disappeared that long ago, who probably didn't run away...I realize the odds are not in our favor of finding him alive. But he does deserve to be found, and you deserve to know the truth."

"You said you might be able to help. How?"

"In my last two jobs, I often fielded questions and complaints from people who felt public service agencies, including the police, weren't doing their jobs. I don't know if the police did their jobs for Nathan's case or not, or if they'd consider reopening it, but I might be able to help convince them to at least look at it, or share with us as much as they know."

"I'd be grateful for anything you can do."

"Your website makes quite a few allegations, even though they aren't directed at one specific detective or administrator in so many words. First of all, that will be an obstacle, because they're on the defensive now. If they feel you're accusing them of incompetence, corruption, bigotry...it doesn't make them more willing to cooperate with you. It makes them wary, and their most predictable reaction will be clamming up and consulting with their legal counsel."

"We can't take all that back now and pretend we didn't say it. And, I still believe it. I think someone paid them off to...to...under-investigate this case."

"Are you sure you don't feel that way because Nathan's your son, and you're having a hard time accepting that his case is unsolved?"

"Would you ask your mother that question? Natalie said your sister is missing."

"She is, but she ran away, and my mother isn't devoting this much of her life to searching for her. We did search at the time, and my mother still worries about her... There's no reason to think Nathan left of his own free will, and every reason for us to think Kelly did."

"Everyone assumes I'm the unbalanced grieving mother. They don't take me seriously."

"I don't feel that way. I was asking you an honest question. Even if you said 'yes,' it wouldn't mean his case shouldn't be reopened."

"I think they were very hasty to determine it was a 'cold' case, and they weren't interested in following up any leads that would cause them inconvenience or cost them money."

"You must have hired a private investigator at the time."

"Several since he disappeared. No luck."

"You have their reports?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to see them. We need to know what's been thoroughly investigated before we go back to the police."

"If you could stop by the house, I have a home office there...it's all files on the case, articles, notes, everything I have."

"I can come by Monday," I said, and her face fell briefly, but she recovered.

"I'd appreciate that," she said, standing. "I won't keep you any longer. I have a feeling you and your partner had plans."

"We're going out for a while," I said, walking with her to the front door. "I don't know that I can do anything more than has already been done, but I'm game to give it a try," I said, and she smiled.

"Thank you. That's all I've asked. Honestly, the last private investigator I took this to turned me down, so...I don't really blame Mr. Strachey for not taking it on." She paused. "Nathan is my son, and I can't just forget about him."

"I know. I'll call you Monday and we'll set a time."

"Anytime is fine. I'll wait for your call," she said, heading out the door and down the front steps toward her car. I closed the door behind her, and it nagged at me again if I should be doing this for Kelly instead of some stranger.

"Mrs. Drew gone?" Don asked as he came downstairs.

"Yes, she just left," I replied, though I was still deep in thought.

"You want to talk about it, or should I keep my nose out of it?"

"I don't feel that way, honey. I wasn't trying to keep it from you. I just didn't get around to talking to you about it before she showed up here."

"If you want to play detective while you're looking for a job, that's your call," he said, picking up the newspaper where he'd left it on the table in the foyer.

"Excuse me?" I'm not sure why "playing detective" and making it sound like I was just looking for something to do while I was unemployed pissed me off the way it did, but it struck me the wrong way. Maybe because it was a little too accurate.

"What?" he asked, reading a headline, distracted.

"Is that what you think I'm doing? Playing detective to give myself something to do?"

He looked up at me the way he does when he knows he's stuck his foot in it, and has no clue how to extract the foot, or if he'll get it back in one piece.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way, sweetheart," he said.

"No, that sounds so positive," I snapped back.

"I'm sorry if I said it the wrong way. If I'd started writing speeches and press releases for a congressman while my business was slow back in Albany, wouldn't you have thought I was 'playing congressional aide'?"

"No, I'd have thought you'd gone insane," I replied, unable to resist smiling at him and letting him off the hook. I know he loves me, and I know he respects me. I also know he doesn't weigh his words with me, and I don't want him to start.

"Timothy, it's not that I don't take this seriously. Just...don't let yourself get sucked into this family's obsession. These are the kinds of unsolved cases that people dwell on for a lifetime."

"So you wouldn't want to look into it if you had time? She said another private investigator turned her down."

"He's probably an ethical guy. It looks like the Drews have deep pockets and a hopeless case. For an unscrupulous private eye, that's hitting pay dirt. You can investigate indefinitely, and make yourself a steady paycheck off it for God knows how long, until some relative wises up and cuts off the gravy train."

"You read their website?" I asked.

"I even read about the drug dealer driving the yellow Camaro. In 1986, a yellow Camaro wasn't that rare, and I'm sure a lot of drug dealers drive around in cars they didn't get legitimately. My personal favorite was that he joined an underground heavy metal band in L.A. They've actually chronicled every nutcase tip as if there was some value to it. I'm not making fun of their loss, but I don't put much stock in their 'leads' they think the cops should be following up."

"Do you think his mother is just delusional?"

"I think his mother is still living in November of 1986, and she's waiting for the kid in that photo to walk back through her door. If you go to her house, she'll have his room preserved like he left it, right down to the Duran Duran or Motley Crue posters on his wall, depending on which music he was into. Her fantasies are about that kid coming home, not about a man in his thirties who grew up away from her and chose to never call her. Or maybe a man who immersed himself in the gay community somewhere when AIDS was new and a lot of people weren't taking precautions, and is either HIV positive now, or worse, dead from AIDS. She doesn't want to think of him selling himself on the streets or shooting up with drugs, or just blowing her off for the last couple decades because he wasn't as happy at home as she thought he was. Those are the realistic alternatives if he's alive. If he's dead, her hope's done and she gets a bag of bones back, if she's lucky, and animals and the elements haven't scattered the remains to the four winds."

"Good God, that's bleak."

"No, Timothy, that's reality. And I suppose it's bleak. But really, what do you think happened to this nice rich kid who just vanished? He either wanted to vanish, or someone killed him. I seriously doubt a fully grown man in our age group is still locked in a pedophile's basement, or that he can't find his way home."

"I know you're right."

"Honey, I just don't want you to get sucked into this mess, and then have to go through their grief with them if you find something. Or keep going back to it if you don't. I also don't want you to start tying whatever happened to this kid into your sister's situation. They're two different people from two different situations."

"I want to do this."

"Then do it. Just be careful, and if you get into something you feel like you're over your head in, tell me about it."

"I thought you said you couldn't get involved."

"With this case? No. With keeping you safe? Always."

"You think I'll be in danger?"

"Probably not, but there's no statute of limitations on murder, and if someone's gotten away with it for this long, they're probably not inclined to do time now. So be careful, and don't put yourself in any dangerous situations. If it ever gets to that point, I'm in it. Okay?"

"Have I told you this morning that I love you?" I said, pulling him into a hug.

"It's been an hour or so, and I was feeling insecure," he joked. The doorbell rang, and I reluctantly released him to answer it.

"Timothy Callahan?" A uniformed delivery man stood there, a shiny black box as tall as he was leaned against the house. It had a big red gift bow on it.

"Yes."

"Delivery for you. Sign here, please," he said, handing me the clipboard. I signed, and he handed me the box.

"Thank you," I said, hauling it inside. It was a bit heavy, but more awkward than anything else. I moved it into the foyer. "What have you done?" I asked Don, who just grinned.

"Open it and find out."

I worked at removing the bow, and then eased the cover off the box, letting it lean against the wall. Inside it were sixteen enormous red roses, easily five feet tall, their stems in a square, shiny black vase suitable to set directly on the floor. The bloom on each flower was enormous - I guess I said that already - like some kind of mutant flower you could envision a deranged florist growing on the blood of sacrificed virgins or something. These were too gorgeous, deep red, and just not...normal.

"Oh, my God," I muttered, leaning in to smell one. Its perfume was heavy and sweet, just like a giant mutant rose should be. "Donald...I...I didn't know they grew this big."

"Well, I can't say there isn't another setting where I'd rather hear you say that, but okay," he said, laughing.

I had to laugh at that. "Don...they're amazing. How did you find them? I mean, do they just have them at the florist, in a back room if you know the right password?"

"Let's get them out of the box," he said, laughing, helping me do that, and find just the right spot in the foyer by the staircase. They were even more impressive out of their box. I smelled another one, startled a little by having my picture snapped by Don's cell phone camera. There was a card attached, a full-sized greeting card, of course. You can put a little florist's card with the Jolly Green Giant's roses.

It was a black card with a big red heart on the front, I Love You in gold script across it. Inside, there was a message in Don's handwriting.

They still don't hold a candle to you, beautiful. Happy Valentine's Day Anniversary...one for every month we've been together. Love you, Don.

He got me. I was choked up. I hugged him and held on. When I'd gotten my voice back, I stepped back a little.

"Sixteen months, since our first date," I said, my voice still husky. "That's just...beautiful."

"Every month since I met you, you've made my life ten times more beautiful than those roses. It doesn't matter that things aren't always smooth." He took my hand, the one with my wedding ring on it, and kissed it, still holding it with both of his. "My life will always be sweet and beautiful, and everything I want, as long as you're in it." He touched my cheek and we kissed, and I hugged him again, sniffling and fighting tears.

"I love them. I love you. I love our life and I'm so glad I have you." I knew I was gushing, but I didn't care. There are moments when you're in the middle of a great romance that nothing less will do.

********

Day Seven: February 7

Timmy decided that, by the middle of Sunday afternoon, he was ready for some fresh air. It was a nice winter day, but like all winter days, I feel they are best enjoyed from indoors. Winter makes nice landscape art, framed in a window, as you sit by the fire in your rattiest old sweats. He agreed to leave me there like an old cat, curled up by the fire (his words), since my schedule really didn't give me the chance to be a couch potato very often anymore.

My cell phone rang, and I debated whether or not I even wanted to lean forward on the couch and look at the caller ID, since it was sitting on the coffee table. In case it was Timmy and he needed me for something, sighing, I did look, and I saw Anne's cell number on the little screen.

"Shit," I muttered, knowing that if this was some Callahan family emergency, and I didn't answer, I'd never forgive myself, and even if I did, neither Timmy nor his mother would ever let me forget it. It's not that I don't love Timmy's mother, because I do, but there are times you just want to lie there and be lazy and brainless and not charm your mother-in-law.

"Hi, Mom," I said cheerfully.

"Don, it's good to hear your voice. How are you, sweetie?"

"Right now, I'm great. Finally got a couple days off and I'm spending them hanging around with a tall, dark, handsome guy."

"Is he there? I tried his cell and he didn't answer," she said. "It's been quite a while since he called. I was getting worried."

"He went out for a walk," I said and, not wanting her to be hurt or worried, I added, "and he left his phone here."

"Oh, that explains it, then. Is Tim all right? Things have been so strained since Thanksgiving. I feel just awful about all that."

"It wasn't your fault. I know Timothy knows that. I think he feels bad about creating so much tension between you and Steven."

"And that isn't his fault."

"That's what I've told him."

"Did he happen to mention to you whether or not he saw his father on TV the other morning?"

"Yeah, he saw it," I said, sounding defeated. There was no point in lying to her, but I knew she'd feel bad that he'd been hurt by it.

"I was hoping he didn't see it. I was...I was absolutely furious with Steven for how he handled that."

"Almost makes me feel sorry for Steven, but not quite," I said, and she laughed.

"What did he say about it?"

"He felt bad about the way Steven dismissed him like he was in jail, like nothing he's achieved is worth anything because he's a gay Democrat with a partner."

"I think it's hard for Timmy to deal with disapproval. He was always the darling of our family. He was the favorite nephew, the favorite grandchild, his grades were always perfect or close to it, and he excelled in so many things...his father and I just couldn't have been prouder of him all his life, and he's used to that. He's not used to not being a source of pride to his father. Now his sister, Kelly? She could have cared less if anyone approved of her or not."

"He's accomplished some pretty remarkable things. Hard to believe that's not enough for his father."

"I know you don't believe this because you and Steven have clashed, and because of how Steven is treating him, but they are very similar. They're terribly headstrong, they have a definite notion of right and wrong, and they can hang onto something a long time."

"Timmy doesn't strike me that way. He seems very forgiving and patient. God knows he has been with me," I added, smiling.

"He is. I'm simply saying if he gets something stuck in his craw, it will be there a while."

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that Timmy was more like her, a force of nature when he makes up his mind, but I thought better of it.

"He's determined, that's for sure."

"Well, I'll let you go. Please ask him to call me. I feel like he's throwing out the baby with the bath water because he's clashing with his father. I haven't defected to the other side and become the enemy."

"I'll tell him that," I replied, chuckling.

"I put a little something in the mail for your two for your anniversary. Do you have big plans?"

"I have to be in New York for the new job, so I'm taking Timmy with me. We can go out on the town in the Big Apple to celebrate. He's excited about that."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful! Be sure to get some tickets to a show. He loves to catch at least a couple of plays while he's there, and the symphony, if you can get tickets."

"I'll do what I can. We just saw Barry Manilow Friday night."

"How was it? I haven't seen him in concert for years. I'll have to watch for when he comes our way again."

"It was a great show. We had fun."

"Give Timmy a big hug for me. I know how that will inconvenience you," she joked.

"Yeah, that's rough, but for you, I'll manage. Take care, Anne."

I had just hung up when I heard the back door, the sound of boot soles furiously being scoured of all traces of forensic evidence from the outdoors, leaving it on the mat in the mud room, then some rustling while said boots were taken off anyway, and then footsteps.

"Hey, honey," I called out to him.

"It's a beautiful day out there, but chilly," he said, smiling, heading for the couch, and me, like a homing pigeon. It was nice and warm where I was camped out, and he landed right next to me, smelling like fresh air and nice cologne. His cheeks were pink from being outside, and I kissed the end of his nose, because it looked frozen. It was. "Feel free to just suck on the end of my nose until it warms up if you want," he joked.

"Is there anything else cold you'd like me to suck warm?"

"I think even that's a little frozen at the moment. God, you're so nice and warm. Like a big hot water bottle, only better," he said, gathering me up against him, hugging me close. I didn't mind being used as a heat source.

"Your mom called," I said. "I assume you let her go to voicemail."

"I know I should have answered the call. She's calling about that thing on TV with my dad, and I don't want to talk about it. I'm having a really nice day today."

"I told her you went out for a walk and left your phone at home."

"Thank you." He kissed me. "You're the best."

"I think she misses talking to you. She said to tell you she hadn't defected to the enemy camp."

"I know I need to call her more. We end up talking about my dad and that just puts me in a bad mood..."

"You ought to have her meet us in New York for a couple days while we're there. I'll be tied up working a lot, and you guys could take in a show or see some sights or something. I don't mean for our anniversary, but we'll be there almost a week."

"That's a great idea! I know she'd love to get a little retail revenge on dad, shopping on Fifth Avenue."

"Fifth Avenue? Dear God," I muttered.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to spend our fortune in the big city," he joked.

"Spend a little of it. Have some fun."

"Well, our fun should be within reason until I get a job. I'd like to visit with her. I feel like I'm losing touch with her over all this crap with my dad. I know it's my own fault..."

"So call her and ask her about it. If she wants to do it, you guys can make some plans. The only requirement is that all day and evening on the 14^th, and at least until noon on the 15^th, are mine."

"I can arrange that," he said, kissing me again.

He pulled out his cell phone and called his mother. Oh, good, I was going to witness the whole conversation. I was worried he'd go in the other room, and then I'd be alone with the TV and the bag of Cheetos.

They talked a little about his dad, and then he sprang the idea of meeting in New York for a few days, and I could hear her reacting from where I sat next to Timmy on the couch. He looked at me with a big smile, like I'd made him the happiest guy in the world. God, he's something else. I smiled back. They had a good visit, so even though I really was more interested in that thirty minutes of dialogue in the middle of the movie I'd been watching that I hadn't been able to follow, it was okay. He was all keyed up about getting tickets to shows and where they could go to lunch, and it was good to see him happy about something related to his family.

The thought of him loose with a credit card and his mother on Fifth Avenue made my blood run cold, though.

********

I was glad to have talked with my mother, and loved Don for coming up with the New York idea. I spent part of the afternoon online, checking out which shows we could get tickets for, and cursing at my computer as each page took an eternity to load.

"You need a new one of those," Don said, yawning, stretching. I was glad he was relaxing, but sometimes his ability to become utterly motionless and unmotivated is a shocking contrast to the bundle of energy he is when he's involved in something.

"I need a job. Then I'll worry about that."

"No more interviews, huh?"

"I guess I shouldn't have been so self-righteous about the PR firm. Even they didn't call me back." I sighed and set the laptop aside so it could grind its way to loading the website without further angering me. "Maybe my father is onto something, and I'm not such a hot property after all." I really wasn't marinating in self-pity. I was just frustrated.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"I hate sitting around here being a...a...house husband."

"Is that what you think you are?" he asked, hitting the mute button on the remote.

"I'm married and unemployed and spend most of the day in the house. What would you call me?"

"Gorgeous, sexy, delicious, edible," he started climbing on top of me, pushing me back on the couch. "Hot, tempting, sexy - "

"You said that one already," I teased.

"I'd call you between jobs. That's not going to last, honey." He unzipped my sweater a bit and started nibbling my neck. His other hand made its way down to give me a little squeeze.

"You're a naughty boy, you know that, right?"

"If you find something you're good at, stick with it," he replied, pushing my sweater and t-shirt up so he could kiss his way down my belly.

It was warm enough there to enjoy ourselves, so I took off my glasses and then pulled the clothes off over my head. He unzipped me and worked through my jeans and my shorts with surprising speed until he had what he wanted. With my pants somewhere slightly south of my hips, he took me in his mouth and sucked me, his hands rubbing over my chest and pinching at my nipples. I guess I put on quite a show there with my clothes all over the place, groaning and arching into his talented mouth.

After I came, I wanted to do something for him, too, so I cuddled him a little and then told him to get rid of his pants and I'd make him very happy. I've never seen anyone get naked from the waist down faster.

"Bring it up here," I said, enjoying the relaxed afterglow. I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be than lying there with him straddling me, his warm thighs on either side of my head, his beautiful big cock sliding into my mouth. I held onto his ass, enjoyed having two handfuls of it, while he held onto the couch and made the sexiest noises while I worked him over. I massaged his cheeks, let my fingertips tease the inside of his crack, and focused on deep throating him. I knew that would do it, and it did. He let out a cry that sounded so primal that I knew how much he was enjoying it. I kissed his balls and rubbed his thighs before he moved down and lay there against me, panting. I pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and covered us in our shameful and disheveled state. I held him and patted his ass, enjoying just letting my hand linger there. He shivered a little, and I knew it was encouraging him to work his way up to round two. After a little snooze, we spent a while just making out, petting, and rubbing off on each other until we came again. It was dark by the time we were done. All in all, a wonderful Sunday.

We were sticky and a little too warm, so we went upstairs and took a shower together. It was nice just washing each other, fooling around with no real agenda after sating ourselves on the couch. We were getting hungry, so Don went to the bedroom to order a pizza while I finished drying off. When I came out of the bathroom in my robe, there was a wrapped package on the bed, and Don was sitting next to it in jeans and a sweater, his hair sticking every which way from toweling it off.

"Did you think I forgot about today?" he asked, grinning like a little kid who just can't wait to spring his surprise. He's so cute when he wants to surprise me.

"I thought you gave me my present downstairs," I said, giving him a big kiss, and playing with his hair, fingering it this way and that until it was tidy.

"Open it," he urged, and he was almost vibrating. "I had something different for today but I can't wait any longer, so I'm giving you this one early."

"Okay, now you have my curiosity piqued," I admitted, sitting on the bed, opening up the wrapped package that was a big bigger than a shirt box, and definitely heavier. When I got the wrapping paper off, I stared at it, shocked. It was a new laptop. And not a cheesy one or a bargain clearance sale special of some kind. It was a nice one, with all the bells and whistles. I'm not sure why it touched me as much as it did, but I got choked up. Maybe because I was feeling kind of useless without a job and no nibbles on the resumes I'd been sending out. This was a tool for someone who had something useful to do with it.

"The guy at the store said this one was really good. If it doesn't have something on it you want, we can exchange it."

I realized then I'd been staring at it, not really reacting, and he'd been so excited to spring this surprise on me.

"Donald, it's wonderful. I...I couldn't have picked out a better one myself. It's exactly what I want."

"Good," he said, beaming. "We can take it downstairs and get it going while we wait for the pizza."

"I don't deserve this," I said. "I don't even have a job."

"Timmy, sweetheart, you're gonna get another job," he said, sliding the box out of the way so he cold move closer to me. I was so down at that moment, and I should have been up. I should have been overjoyed. It was a wonderful gift, and I knew I'd use it for years, and I did. Don finally took it over when I needed something more powerful for presentations and other multi-media things. It suits his needs fine, so it spends most of its time in his office now. "Honey, what's the matter?" he asked, God love him, patient with my moods when he should have been offended that I was moping instead of overjoyed at getting such a nice gift.

"This is something for a professional who does something useful with his time."

"This is something that'll make it easier for you to look for jobs online, and you'll have time to enjoy it for a while and learn all its new tricks before you're too busy."

"What if I don't get another job? I know I need to do what you did back home when we were short on money. Just go get a job someplace and quit being so high and mighty about it."

"I don't want you working in some crappy job. You don't have to. I can support us for a while, and we're rent free here, so it's not like we're in danger of being in the street."

"Maybe my father's right."

"Your father is an ass, and he hasn't been right about anything in the last twenty years or so."

That made me laugh, even though I just felt...bad. I'm not used to not being in demand, to not being wanted. Employers were apparently very willing and able to do without me. I'd sent out resumes all over the area, to all kinds of jobs, and nothing.

"I love the computer," I said, my voice shaky. He put his arms around me and held me.

"I know you do, honey. This is a temporary setback. It'll be okay."

"I hate it here," I admitted, and it shocked me. I didn't mean to say it. I didn't even realize it fully myself. But our friends were in Albany, I spent all my time trying to figure out what to do with myself, trying to market myself to employers who couldn't care less, apparently, and Don was working long hours, and things were strained with my family...I don't do well cut off alone somewhere. I need people and activity. I felt like I was wasting away socially and intellectually.

He was quiet a moment or two, and I could understand why. I was a spoiled, ungrateful asshole. He had a good paying job and we were living in a mansion. I'm not sure what else anyone could have expected from a partner, a breadwinner, than that. I guess that was the bottom line. I loved him for taking care of me, but I wanted to take care of myself.

"Then I'll quit this job and we'll move back to Albany," he said quietly, rubbing my back. "It's okay, sweetheart. I don't want you to be so miserable."

"I'm being a baby."

"You're being honest," he said, stroking my hair. "It's okay. Why don't you apply for some things back in Albany, and if you get something, we'll move. How does that sound?"

"Silly. You have a good job here, and I'll be okay once I get going with something. I'm being a child. A selfish, spoiled brat."

"You're not a selfish, spoiled brat, honey. You just don't like it here, and that's okay. It doesn't make you a bad person. And we can fix it."

"I love the computer," I said, sniffling.

"I know," he said, chuckling, patting my back. "You can't move back just yet, though. You promised to help Mrs. Drew." I knew what he was doing. If I were a baby, this would be when he pulled out his keys and started rattling them to make me stop crying. He was distracting me, but it worked. I had offered to help, and I was kind of interested to go through those reports and see her home office with all the information she'd collected.

"I guess that's true," I said, giving into the ploy. "I'm sorry." I sat up straighter, moving away, wiping at my eyes.

"Let's give it a few months. If you really still hate it here, we'll move back to Albany, whether you've got a job there or not, and I'll re-open my PI business, and we'll do the best we can, like we always have. I'll save up some money while I'm in this job, in case we need a slush fund for a while."

"I don't deserve you," I said. "You're so good to me and you let me off the hook when you should tell me off for being so ungrateful for what we have."

"You're not ungrateful, you're unhappy."

"No, I'm not unhappy. I love you, and as long as I've got you, that's what matters."

"Yes, but you don't have me most of the time, and you're alone a lot, and that's like locking up a sunflower in a dark basement." He brushed away a stray tear with his thumb. "You need people and you need to be busy. Go volunteer someplace. Do something you enjoy with your time."

"What if I get a job?"

"Stop looking for a while. Go throw yourself into some cause or do something that you enjoy and quit worrying about the job. We're not short on grocery money or rent. Get out and do something you want. You can use the new laptop to keep track of your packed community service and volunteer schedule."

"You're the most amazing man in the world. Nobody else would indulge me like you do," I said, touching his cheek.

"I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. So quit torturing yourself about the job. Help out Mrs. Drew, volunteer somewhere, do things you enjoy, but get out and be with people. Invite your family here - okay, maybe not your dad, unless you really want to - but your cousins or your mom. The job thing will work itself out."

"I feel guilty doing that while you're working."

"What, enjoying yourself? Timothy, one of the things that makes this new job I have worthwhile for me is the chance to take care of you and provide a nice life for you, even though I know it's not gonna be for long, because you'll get another job. If you're happy, I'm happy. If you're out of work for a month, six months, a year...as long as you're happy and we can support ourselves, I'm fine with it. Okay? Smile?" He smiled at me, and I couldn't avoid returning it. "If your prick father makes a remark about you being out of work, tell him you're taking a year off to do some volunteer work. Shit, tell him you're writing a tell-all book about your childhood. It's none of his goddamned business how many jobs you apply for and what you do or don't get interviewed for. He's not checking your report cards anymore, and that's between us."

No wonder he's a good PI. Don has this uncanny knack of looking right into my soul and figuring out what's really eating me. I was ashamed in front of my father to fail, or to falter, to show that maybe I wasn't such hot stuff. I was embarrassed to be out of work in front of all the people who expected so much success from me.

"I used to die a thousand deaths if there was something less than an 'A' on there," I admitted. My father didn't lock me in a closet or beat me, but his disappointment with any faltering in my point average could hurt just as much. I've always been expected to be perfect. I was indulged and treated gently as a child by parents who loved me, but Donald loves the real me with my fears and my insecurities and my flaws. My mother does, too, but even she's used to Perfect Timothy, The Good Boy. Don loves Timothy the imperfect human, unconditionally and completely.

"Your father would have had a stroke getting my report cards," he said, laughing. I had to laugh at that, too, and at how silly all the fear and the intimidation about my father really was, especially now, especially when I was not only a fully grown man, but was so treasured and safe and secure in my marriage.

Donald doesn't love me because I manage to conceal my flaws. He loves my flaws because they're part of me. You can't ask for a greater gift than that.

********

Day Eight: February 8

Don finished off the last of his eggs and took a drink of coffee. I'd fixed him a big breakfast to send him off to work, since it promised to be a long day. I suspected any day he had to spend with Roger would be a long one, but he maintained he had Roger in check, that I shouldn't worry. I still did, but it was his business, his colleague, so I let it lie.

"That was great, honey. I have to go," he said, standing. I got up and followed him to the door that led into the garage. "No job hunting today," he said. "Play with your new toy and go do something you want, okay?" He kissed me.

"I'm supposed to go over to Mrs. Drew's today, so that'll take some time. She has a whole home office full of stuff on the case."

"Okay. I'll call you later."

"Have a good day, honey. I miss you already," I said, smiling, kissing him goodbye. "You want to take the Forester?" I asked. It was supposed to snow later, and I was only going up the road to the Drew house.

"What about you?"

"I have a feeling I'll be with Mrs. Drew a long time, so that's as far as I'll be going. Besides, if the roads get bad, I'm not going to wander around in it for nothing."

"Okay, maybe I will then. It's supposed to be nasty by tonight."

"Be careful," I said as he got into the SUV. He blew me a kiss and started it up, and he was off for another day in a job I had a feeling he wasn't thrilled with. I was hoping he'd grow into liking it, once the mall opened and he actually could do some real security work versus interviewing personnel and being shut in an office with a surly homophobe all day.

I cleaned up the kitchen and poured myself the last of the coffee before cleaning out the pot. I already felt a little less grim about things. Not facing another day of trudging through the online job market, not dwelling on another day that someone <i>didn't</i> call me in for an interview, I felt good. I picked up the cordless phone in the kitchen and sat at the table to call Mrs. Drew.

"Tim, I'm so glad you called. I'm free anytime today. I just took some fresh muffins out of the oven if you'd like to come now."

"Sounds like an offer too good to refuse. I'll be there in about half an hour," I said.

********

The Drew house was a huge two-storey brick colonial home with black shutters and an impressive white-pillared entrance. I pulled up in Don's sputtering little car in their circle drive, wondering if it dribbled oil or any other gruesome auto fluids. It was like taking an incontinent old man with me, hoping he didn't leave a stain on the good chairs.

Before I could ring the doorbell, Mrs. Drew appeared there, ushering me inside, a big smile on her face.

"I'm so glad you could come," she said, leading me through the grandiose foyer with its winding staircase and chandelier. Being in that neighborhood was like deja vu...going back in time to how my family lived, the kind of houses we were in and out of all the time. It's not that I particularly longed for that, but it was familiar. "I have muffins and coffee for us in my office," she said.

"I can smell them. They smell wonderful."

"Banana nut and cranberry," she said. "The banana ones were Nathan's favorite. Kind of a little tribute to him, I guess," she said. <i>For some reason I found that a little creepy. If there was a Ouija board in her office, I was leaving.</i>

Her home office was a large room painted a pale mauve with white painted woodwork. She had two filing cabinets, a large desk buried in papers, a computer desk with a computer on it, which was also nestled among folders, newspapers, and spiral notebooks. There were bulletin boards on two walls with photos, articles, maps, and other items tacked up there. For a moment, I wondered if Don was a whole lot smarter than I was in declining this. There was a good possibility this woman was stark raving nuts, and pathological in her obsession.

In the middle of the room was a round wood table with four chairs. The muffins were there, along with a thermal pot holding the coffee, two mugs, and condiments for the coffee.

"Please, sit down," she said, and I did. She sat across from me. "Help yourself," she said, putting a small plate in front of me. I took one of the fat banana muffins that was still warm. "Coffee?"

"Sure, thank you."

She poured us two cups and took a cranberry muffin herself, picking at it in a manner that was consistent with her petite size.

"I know this can look kind of disorganized, but most of it is actually very organized. The notebooks aren't as tidy as they should be. I search the databases of unidentified remains in all 50 states at least once each week, and write down any that might be Nathan. Then I follow up on those."

"That alone has to take a lot of time," I said. I wondered how many young women Kelly's age were on those lists...if she was on one of those lists.

"It does. My daughter is married and living out of state now, my husband's gone...it's just Nathan and me, now," she said. "Oh, dear, I suppose that sounded psychotic, didn't it? I don't mean it that way. I just mean that now that I'm alone, I spend most of my time working on his case."

"Natalie did a nice job putting the website together," I said.

"Yes, she did. She and Nathan were twins, and they were very close growing up. Maybe it was because he was gay, and more interested in clothes and boys, like she was, than he was in sports, that they bonded. I hope that wasn't offensive. I don't mean to stereotype."

"If Nathan was interested in clothes and boys, it would make him a pretty normal gay teenager," I replied. "I had a nice wardrobe, let's put it that way. Although my father would have killed me if I'd pierced my ear or grown my hair out that long."

"My husband was wonderful with Nathan. I was always grateful for that. He loved both our children, and he never was ashamed of Nathan for who he was, and while he rolled his eyes a bit at the hair and the leather and the spandex and the scarves...he just chalked it up to the fashions of the time and let him be."

"There's no chance that Nathan ran away?"

"There's a chance of anything, I suppose, but I can't picture it. Nathan was close to his father and to me, and best friends with Natalie. We were a close family. He did well in school. I know he was bullied and picked on because of his sexuality. Nathan was surprisingly self-reliant and capable of defending himself. People underestimated him, but he could fight back. His father taught him how to fight, and he cooperated with learning. My husband felt that if Nathan was going to live openly on his own terms, he had to be able to defend himself against people who were bound to harass him. Nathan worked out, played tennis, swam...he was strong."

"Maybe too strong. Maybe he fought back and that made someone mad."

"I suppose. I've thought of that. The alternative was him being beaten up all the time. At least this way, after the first time or two he showed he was up to the challenge, most of the other boys left him alone. Of course, a couple times they just ganged up on him and beat him up anyway."

"Could it have been a hate crime? Did anyone investigate it from that angle?"

"They barely investigated it at all." She got up and went to her desk, picking up a well-worn manila folder, which she handed to me. "That's the case file."

"This? Usually it's a carton," I said, flipping through the papers.

"It's a copy, but there wasn't anything else. They barely looked into it before saying he was most likely a runaway, and that it was a cold case. We aren't without influence. We put pressure on the police, we offered rewards over the years...but someone bigger was putting pressure on them."

"And you think it's the Hildebrandts."

"Nathan was in love with Graham, Jr. They had at least kissed, I know that much. I don't know if it went farther than that."

"Nathan told you?"

"He told Natalie, and she told me when Graham denied that they were more than friends."

"That doesn't mean Graham or his parents had anything to do with Nathan's disappearance. It just means Graham was in the closet and wanted to stay there."

"I know, but think about it. If they saw Nathan as the reason that Graham was being pulled off the straight and narrow...he's married now with two children."

"Maybe he was bisexual, or maybe he wasn't into guys at all and it was an experiment that didn't go anywhere for him."

"I've thought of all that. But Nathan threw around words like 'love' and 'boyfriend' and talked to Natalie about trying to urge Graham to come out. I don't think it was a single experimental kiss that failed. I think they were in love, and Graham was afraid to be open. Maybe he told his parents and they...did something to get rid of Nathan."

"What do you have that you think is the most compelling lead to get the cops to reopen this?"

"Oh, maybe the fact they didn't investigate it properly when he disappeared."

"I understand that, but we'll have a much stronger chance of getting someone to look at it if we can present something for them to start on. There are a lot of cold cases out there. We need to prove why this one is special."

"I have all the leads and information I've collected, and all the private investigators' reports. I need help figuring that out."

"Well," I said, sighing, looking around at the office. "I guess we've got a lot of work to do, then."

********

While Timmy made us breakfast, I'd thrown our towels in the hamper and made the bed upstairs. It gnawed at me, what he'd said. That he hated it there. I knew most of it was the fact he was out of work, his fuckhead father was doing a number on his self-confidence when it was kind of shaken anyway, and he was alone all the time. It wasn't until I was making the bed that I had a revelation. I was straightening and tucking and smoothing the Davis's bedding. I was throwing their guest towels in a hamper. We didn't fall on the fully made bed and make love spontaneously, because we might come on the Davis's comforter. The pictures on the walls, the accessories on the dresser...it was all someone else's stuff. We weren't at home, we were house guests. That really didn't bother me one way or the other. It was free, it was swanky, and Timmy was there. Only one out of those three really mattered to me...you can guess which one. But Timmy is a nester. He'd taken that apartment and made it a comfortable, attractive home. When I went into other people's apartments there, they didn't look half as nice as ours. My own apartment was nothing more than a flop space that no one would really know was occupied except for my dirty dishes in the sink and my dirty shorts in a basket, usually somewhere inappropriate, like by the front door, so I'd remember to wash them.

Timothy made any space we occupied a home. And it suddenly seemed so obvious. In addition to having his whole fucking life ripped out from under him, he didn't even have that sense of being home. He was alone most of the time, in a strange house where he couldn't touch anything.

I left for the office, but I stopped at a coffee shop on the way and made a phone call. I had an inspiration for making him feel better, and I couldn't delay it another minute.

"Hey, Don," Kevin's voice came over the line, cheerful. "How's life with the swells?" he joked.

"It sucks. Timothy's miserable. I need your help with something."

"Name it."

"I need to get our stuff out of storage in Albany, and move it in to this house."

"I thought you were house-sitting."

"We are, but this place is huge. We can move a few things out of the way in a room or two. I think we need some of our stuff around."

"How much do you wanna move there? All of it?"

"The bedding and anything Timmy marked as 'linens', the box I labeled 'bedroom stuff' - "

"Ouch, you forgot your sex toys?"

"Not that kind of bedroom stuff. It was the stuff we had on the walls, the night stands...stuff Timmy picked out."

"Damn. I was gonna take a look in that box. You want furniture?"

"That's probably nuts."

"How about the bed? Nothing feels like home like sleeping in your own bed."

"Yeah, that'd be great. If you can bring it here, we'll show you guys a good time. We're pretty close to Manhattan."

"Sounds like fun."

"Can you do it today?"

"What?"

"Today. Can you do it today? I can help you unload."

"Uh...I can, I guess, but Frank's at work. I'll see if he can get loose by noon. If so, we could be there by dinner time with your stuff."

"I really appreciate this."

"I think when I wave a night on the town in Manhattan under Frank's nose, he'll be all for it."

********

I spent the entire day sifting through Angela Drew's pile of information, and even then, I hadn't made it through all of it. It was dark and starting to snow outside, and she offered to fix us dinner, when I realized how long we'd been at it. Don had called me a couple times to check on how we were doing.

"I should get home," I said, taking off my glasses and blinking a few times. "I think we made a lot of progress though."

"You're such a good organizer. I have all this stuff but I just don't seem to be good at assembling a case to go to the police."

"Well, I think we've got our leads sorted, which is a big part of the battle. The majority of them are most likely hoaxes or just not reliable, but we've isolated about fifteen that warrant investigation, either by a private eye or the police. We have a good list of people who were never interviewed during the original investigation. Now most of them have been tracked down by your private investigators over the years, and questioned by them with no real leads. We only have a couple people they didn't locate. We'll do some searches on them tomorrow. We can also work on narrowing down the unidentified remains entries you've made note of. The other thing I'd like to do is see Nathan's room, if his things are still there."

"Everything's just the way he left it."

<i>Don called that one right.</i>

"Tomorrow, then. Should I come by about the same time?" I asked.

"That would be wonderful. I have to admit, it gets a bit lonely rattling around in this big place by myself."

"Have you ever thought of selling, moving into something smaller?"

"I've thought of it. But my last links to Nathan are here. I remember him running out the front door yelling goodbye to me, or sliding down the banister when he was little, even though we told him a million times not to. His room is here..." She shrugged. "I know I'm living in the past, but the present is just too bleak without him."

"Angela, have you thought about how you'll feel if you find out what happened to Nathan?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I don't believe he's really alive out there somewhere. I like to hope for that, but that would mean he'd purposely never called or let us know he was alive, and I don't believe he'd do that. Whatever happened to him, someone did something bad to him and then disposed of him like garbage. What's left of him is in some desolate, undignified place, and whoever hurt him, never paid for it. I may never find out what happened, but I'm his mother, and I won't abandon him as long as I'm alive."

"I hope I can help you. I really do," I said, and I meant it. My mother had her own issues to wrestle with about Kelly's disappearance, even though she left of her own free will. Nathan's prospects were certainly grimmer.

"Thank you for all your time today. I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she walked me to the front door.

"Get some rest...try to get your mind on something else for a while. We'll go at it again in the morning."

"I will. Goodnight," she said, waving as I hurried out through the blustery night to Donald's cranky little car. It didn't like me, and it refused to start for me at least three times before it finally turned over - the engine, that is, not the car - and I was on my way toward the house.

When I pulled into the driveway, there was a black Chevy Tahoe and a red pick-up truck parked there, our Forester, and a whole lot of lights were on in the house. Confused, I navigated around the other vehicles and pulled Don's car into the garage. It would be even more disagreeable with me if I left it out in the snow all night. As I got out, Don popped out the door from the house into the garage.

"Don't come in yet!" he said.

"Don, it's freezing out here. What's going on in there?"

"Just give me five minutes."

"Five minutes? It's fifteen degrees out here!"

"Okay, then come in this way and stay in the living room, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, already shivering, glad to feel the warmth of the house. I could hear footsteps and movement upstairs. "What are you up to?" I asked.

"Just wait in the living room and I'll come and get you." He kissed my cheek and shoved me toward the living room and then fled up the steps.

Shrugging, I took off my coat and sat down in the living room. I picked up one of Janice's fancy coffee table books on pottery and tried to kill some time with it while all sorts of banging, shuffling, and muffled cursing wafted down the stairs. I know Donald can be like a bull in a china shop when he's impatient, but even he couldn't generate all that mayhem alone. There were more people up there, which only made me more curious about it.

I was convinced I was hallucinating when Kevin, our neighbor from Albany, ran past the living room entrance in a muscle shirt, sweaty, and headed out the door. I hadn't noticed Don being sweaty or unkempt, but then he did smell strongly of cologne, more than he usually wears, so maybe he'd done that to cover up whatever it was he was doing.

Why was he upstairs sweating with other men?

Just then, Kevin ran back through, toward the stairs, and looked my way. We stared at each other a moment, and he looked positively panicked. He was half again as big as Don, but I don't think he wanted to go upstairs and tell him he'd been busted. He finally held one finger up to his lips to motion to me to be quiet, and then ran back up the steps.

There was another flurry of voices, a little moderate cursing, and then more clumping, thumping, and dragging. They were either disposing of a very large corpse, or moving furniture.

I got up and started pacing. This was driving me insane. I could have stayed at the Drew house and sifted through another pile of data in the time I was just standing around. Plus, judging by the muffins and the soup she served for lunch, Angela was a decent cook, and I was getting hungry.

"Okay, honey, sorry about that," Don said, arriving in the doorway of the living room with both Frank and Kevin with him. "We wanted to surprise you."

"Let me guess. The three of you were having an orgy up there?" I headed toward them. I shook hands with both Kevin and Frank. "Sorry, but I'm going to pass on hugs for now," I said, and they both laughed.

"We're gonna hit the shower while you two have your moment," Frank said, giving Kevin a lecherous look.

"It's really good to see you guys," I said.

"We're glad to be here. Snow's tapering off, so maybe we can make that drive into Manhattan for a little nightlife," Kevin said.

"Manhattan?" I asked. "Just what have you guys cooked up while I was gone?"

"Plenty," Don replied, grinning. Kevin and Frank headed upstairs for their shower. "Come on, there's something in the rec room I want to show you." He grabbed my hand and gave me a pull.

I followed him, and when I walked into the rec room, I was stunned. Our couch and our chair from back home were there, with our own throw on the back of the couch. Two of our lamps were on the end tables, and a couple of our pictures were on the walls.

"Don...it's our stuff."

"We put some of the Davis's stuff on the third floor, to make room for some of our things."

"But your weights were up there."

"Now they're in the basement. I don't really need aesthetics while I'm working out, and I didn't want to risk any water damage to their stuff if anything leaked down there. Do you like it?"

"How did you know?" I asked him. I didn't know myself what was wrong with me, but this was part of it. I felt like a man without a country, without a home. Like a squatter.

"There's more," he said, kissing my hand, which he was still holding. He led me upstairs. I could hear Kevin and Frank getting vocal in the guest bathroom. "Gee, I'm glad we don't carry on like that," he joked, and I had to laugh. He led me into our room. And it was our room. Our bed and night stands were there, the bed made with our sheets and covered with our comforter, our candle holders and other nick knacks were on the night stands and the dresser. More of our pictures were on the walls.

"Oh, Don..." I couldn't get anything else out. I was choked up. I touched our comforter like it was magic. "It's like home," I said.

"I thought it might make this place a little friendlier while we're here. All the other stuff is safe, and we'll move it back before the Davis's get home."

"How did you manage all this?"

"I called Kevin, and once Frank heard about it, he thought it was a romantic idea, so he took the day off work and they both loaded their Tahoe and their pick-up, and brought the stuff here. The three of us moved everything around in the last couple hours, while you were holed up at Mrs. Drew's."

I threw my arms around him and held on. I couldn't have told him in words what it meant to me, but it was the first time I felt like I was home since we moved in there.

"Welcome home, sweetheart," he said, hugging me back. He moved away a little. "I know this doesn't solve everything, but at least you've got some of your own stuff around, and it looks more like home."

"I was really homesick for our apartment and our life back in Albany," I said, wiping at my eyes. "Having this stuff here, seeing our friends...it helps a lot."

"Good." He kissed my cheek and held my hand. "We should get ready. Once they're done in there, we're going to take a drive into Manhattan, get some dinner, find a couple cool clubs, have a little fun."

"If you need a shower, I'll wash your back," I offered, kissing him. It was no peck on the cheek this time.

"Ooh, it's a deal," he replied, pulling on my hand toward the bathroom.

********

Day Nine: February 9

Timmy and I had a great night out with Frank and Kevin. I knew I was gonna be half in the bag the next day, but it's not like I haven't been up all night and then gone to work the next day for a lot less pleasurable reasons. We ate at a nice restaurant, and then spent the rest of our time moving from club to club. They knew more about where the best gay clubs were, so we hit a couple of those. I'm with Timmy in that I don't want to be segregated all the time, but we also agree that it's nice to be among your own kind sometimes, where you're not the anomaly on the dance floor. And when it gets a little too warm and things get a little sweaty and the music's sexy, I want to put my hands on him and have his hands on me and our bodies moving against each other.

It had been way too long since we'd gone out and had a wild night like people our ages are supposed to once in a while. Frank's not much of a drinker, so he volunteered to be the designated driver, so the rest of us could get hammered if that's what we wanted. Even then, I was getting a tad too old for that when I had to work the next morning. I had "gone home sick" to get out of the office by late afternoon to set up Timmy's little surprise at home. Showing up hung over probably would blow that cover. Not that Roger was my boss, thank God, but I knew he'd love to call John Madison and tell him I was hung over at the office.

The last club of our little tour was a gay club, and Timmy and I really got into it on the dance floor there. We were both buzzed, him a little more so than I was, which was a switch, and we were bumping and grinding against each other, sometimes dancing back to front, sometimes in each other's arms...however we were doing it, it was like one long foreplay session. I was so fucking horny by the time we started for home that it was all I could do not to jump him in the back seat.

Not that I think Kevin or Frank would have minded. They were an old married couple like us, but they sure kept the physical flames burning in their relationship. So Timmy and I made out in the back seat for a while, even though we kept our pants on. Timmy would have never done that sober, and I probably wouldn't have, either, since he'd worked at instilling more courtesy in me by that point in our relationship, but we were giving Frank and Kevin a bad case of the giggles, so no harm done. I vaguely remember Kevin's head going down for quite a while, so something tells me he was giving Frank a little something to tide him over until they got back to our place. I think there was some swearing, swerving, and a couple car horns, so I basically know when he came.

No, kids, don't try this at home, and always wear your safety belts...which is hard to do without hanging yourself if you're trying to go down on your partner.

None of us really had to debate whether or not we were heading for our bedrooms when we got back to the house. They made a run for the guest room, and we went straight for our room. As soon as the door was shut behind us, clothes went flying every which way, and we were rolling around on our own bed, sweaty and excited and not caring, because we were only sexing up our own comforter and our own sheets. Maybe Timmy had been onto something with being depressed. I felt a lot more relaxed and at home dirtying up our own bedding and bouncing around on our own mattress.

When he got up on all fours, I thought my cock would explode right then. I was so overheated from rubbing off on him and making out with him, that the sight of his gorgeous ass nearly did me in. I got some lube and put my fingers in him, rubbing over his prostate, making him forget we had guests and shout for all he was worth. I wasn't too worried about it. I could hear some action from down the hall.

It felt like heaven when I finally buried myself in that beautiful ass of his, felt it pulling me in to the hilt, and he was moaning and thrusting back against me like he wanted more of me, faster, deeper... I've never been one to deny Timmy anything he wanted. Our bed was creaking a little like it always did when we went at it like this, and all of it sounded and felt like home.

I reached under him and stroked his cock, because I was getting close and I didn't want to fizzle out on him before he reached the finish line with me. No danger there. My hand on his cock made him lose it, and he started coming, and so did I.

When we were done, we crawled under our come-stained comforter and I spooned around him, rubbing his chest and kissing his neck and shoulder. It was in the wee hours, but we'd go another round before we were done.

"Feels so good. Being in our own bed," he mumbled, yawning.

"I think our guests finally wore themselves out, too," I said, since the house had fallen into silence.

"I had fun tonight," he said, nestling back against me. His ass was doing some interesting things to my cock.

"Me, too, beautiful. I had fun showing you off in those clubs, dirty dancing with you when every other guy in the place wanted you."

"I think you're giving me a bit too much credit," he said, chuckling.

"I saw how some of those guys looked at you. How they always look at you until they figure out I'm not going anywhere."

"They can look all they want. I'm taken," he said, angling his head back for a kiss. "And at least half of those guys looking at us, are looking at you, and the way your t-shirt starts clinging to that body of yours when you get sweaty."

"Oh, is that what they're looking at?" I teased.

"I know it's what I'm looking at," he replied, giving me what I wanted to hear.

"I love you," I said, kissing his neck.

"I love you, too. Thank you for bringing home here for me. I love it, honey."

"Happy Valentine's Day Anniversary," I said, realizing I hadn't said it with this gift. He smiled, and we dozed off for a while.

********

I got up with Don the next morning and fixed him something to eat while he got dressed for work. He was going to let me sleep, but I wanted to do something nice for him after all he'd gone through to surprise me the night before. I could always catch a nap later if I was tired, although I knew Angela was anxious for me to get back at looking over her son's case.

Frank and Kevin and I sat around the table and visited once they got up. I called Angela to let her know I'd be coming over in the afternoon, since I wanted time to hang out with them a while before they left for Albany. It was good seeing them again, and I felt bad to see them go. I missed our friends back home, but I also knew it was up to me to get out there and make some new ones. The time for moping about my situation was over. Donald was sweet and kind and indulgent, but it was time for me to kick myself in my own ass and get moving again.

We did have a little excitement when Frank headed out the front door to leave before Kevin and set off the alarm system. I'm not sure how it happened, but it was loud, and the phone started ringing, presumably the alarm company or a police dispatcher. I hurriedly waved them both off, disarmed it, and rushed to the phone. I explained to the operator that we'd had company who accidentally triggered it. Unfortunately, she'd already notified the police, since it took me so long to answer. There was a knock on the door as I hung up, so I hurried to answer it.

A tall, good-looking man with longish, sandy brown hair stood there. He was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, and held up a badge. He looked like a cross between Martin Riggs from Lethal Weapon and Jon Bon Jovi.

"Your alarm went off," he said. "I'm Detective Garrison."

"They sent a detective?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "Everything's fine. We had company and they set it off by accident.

"You don't look sixty-eight, Mr. Davis," he said, smiling.

"I'm not Mr. Davis. My partner and I are house-sitting for them while they're in Europe."

"You have some ID or something?" he asked.

"Sure," I said, taking out my wallet and handing him my driver's license.

"Thanks." He handed it back to me. "I'll have to verify the house-sitting thing with the alarm company."

"The operator was aware of it when she called, so I'm sure they'll verify it. I expected uniformed police on a call like this."

"High rent district," he joked. "And I was in the neighborhood anyway."

"What division do you typically work in?" I asked.

"Homicide. Why?" he asked, squinting at me a little suspiciously.

"I have an ulterior motive. Could you step in a minute?"

"Yeah, okay," he said, stepping into the foyer while I closed the door behind him.

"Are you familiar at all with the Nathan Drew case?"

"I think every cop in our department has heard of that one, yes. His mother's a little bit of a nut."

"Have you ever talked to her one-on-one, looked at the scope of the investigation this woman has been doing on her own all these years?"

"I've been to the website. A lot of families of missing people get a little obsessed with the whole thing. I'm sorry her son disappeared, but there isn't a hell of a lot I can do about it. Plus, it's not a murder investigation."

"Oh, come on," I said. "He disappeared in 1986. I'd say his chances of being alive are slim to none."

"Yeah, like my chances of getting my captain to okay me working that case."

"Would you just come with me and look at some of her information? The original police investigation was very spotty at best. I'm not trying to criticize the department - the people involved in that most likely aren't even still there anymore. I'm just asking for a fresh set of eyes."

"You're going over there now?"

"Yes."

He chewed his lower lip a moment. I worked on remembering I was a married man. I visualized Donald in his boxers, smiling at me, looking at me with all that love in his big blue eyes. That did it. I was fine again, if not a little turned on by thinking of Donald's muscles and big blue eyes.

"Okay. I'll stop in, but I'm not making any promises."

"That's all I ask," I said, smiling, feeling victorious. I was getting a vibe from Detective Garrison, like he was checking me out, and perhaps I was a little guilty of playing on that to get what I wanted. But it's not like I promised him a blow job for reviewing the case. It was all very proper.

I rode in his unmarked sedan to the Drew house, figuring I'd just walk home later, since it was a nice day and promised to be a clear, dry evening.

"What do you do, besides house sit?" he asked.

"Most recently, I was chief of staff for Congressman Donnelly, back in Albany. After he passed away, I chose not to stay on with his successor. My partner got a job with Madison Enterprises, as head of security for their new shopping center, so we moved here."

"Ah. That explains the wedding ring on your right hand." Observant man, he was.

"We got married on Valentine's Day last year," I said.

"That's not too cliched," he said, chuckling. "Sorry. I've been told I'm cynical. No offense."

"Not a fan of romance?" I asked.

"Let's say it would take a lot for me to see hearts and flowers in much of anything."

"That can all change quickly if you meet the right person," I said, thinking of Don, and how he'd somehow been able to overcome whatever it was in his past that ate at him to throw himself into our romance with his whole heart and soul.

"I suppose," he said, pulling into the Drew driveway. "Don't give this crazy lady any idea that I've signed up for anything," he said.

"No, I'll let you speak for yourself."

I rang the doorbell and Angela answered it, looking surprised to see two of us there.

"Angela Drew, this is Detective Garrison. He's a homicide detective with the local police," I said. Her eyes widened.

"I've only agreed to look at the old case file, and a few key items you might want to show me to convince me there's a reason to open up the case. No promises," he said.

"Of course, I understand. Please, come in, both of you!" she said, ushering us inside and closing the door behind us. "My goodness, Tim, I had no idea you'd contact the police so soon."

"I didn't. A friend of ours set off the alarm system by mistake, and Detective Garrison was in the neighborhood and responded."

"Thank you for agreeing to review the case," she said to Garrison, who looked uncomfortable.

"It's completely unofficial."

She led us into the office, and he had a similar reaction to the one I'd had when I first realized the scope of her commitment to keeping up her own investigation. It could be called an obsession, or it could be called diligence and loyalty to her son. I was beginning to see it as the latter, even though she occasionally made me a little uneasy with the depth of her...passion for all of it.

"Walk me through all this," he said to her, gesturing at the bulletin boards and the piles of notebooks. So she showed him the maps and the articles, the notebooks of her follow up on unidentified remains, then we showed him our list of leads, and the original case file.

"No one really bothered to look for Nathan," she said. "Even the private investigators I've hired looked at it like they were making money off the obsession of some unbalanced woman who couldn't let go. They were polite and they spent my money on some kind of a search, but they never really had solid leads or a good theory to follow."

"This is it?" he asked, holding up the folder.

"That's it. The police investigation into my son's disappearance."

"Wow. Most of my cases have more...crap piled up in a week or two. The only other possibility is if something is being withheld for the good of the investigation. We do sometimes keep details out of the media...away from even the family...so we have something to sort out the fake confessions and false leads."

"The good of the investigation?" I asked. "That would be assuming there was one."

"This is pretty thin, even for a case where we don't release everything." He tossed the file on the table. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm going to stick my nose into it back at headquarters, see what I can find out. I'm not saying the department didn't do its job...hell, I was Nathan's age at the time, and I didn't even live around here, so I don't know. But I know that even the cold jobs I've looked at have a hell of a lot more to them than this," he said, tapping the file folder. His cell phone rang then, and he paused to answer it. It sounded like he was talking to a colleague, explaining to them that he'd gotten sidetracked following up on a lead. When he put his phone away, he said, "I have to get going. Tim, I'll give you a call in a couple days."

"Oh...okay," I said, a little puzzled why he'd call me and not Nathan's mother, and noticing he'd cut right to the chase and started calling me Tim. How...familiar of him.

"I can give you a lift back to your place," he said.

"I'll be working with Mrs. Drew for a while yet, but thanks."

"Sure. Nice meeting you both," he said, smiling. He gave me a moment of lingering eye contact. Donald was going to love this.

"He's cute," Angela said, closing the front door after he'd left. I looked at her, raising my eyebrows. "My son was gay, Tim. I've seen two guys look at each other when there was a little spark going on."

"Yes, well, the spark is all his. I'm married."

"Doesn't mean you can't look. I was married for over thirty years, and adored my husband. I never would have been unfaithful to him. And he was faithful to me. That doesn't mean I never caught him looking at a pretty young girl, or that I never noticed one like that walking by," she said, referring to the detective. "Selfishly? I couldn't care less why he looks into Nathan's case, as long as he does."

********

Roger and I finally hired the last of our security staff that morning. I'd avoided eating lunch with him since he'd given Timmy the brush off. He hadn't really done anything overt, so there wasn't much I could confront him about, but I still didn't like him, and I knew he was looking at me with a jaundiced eye once he knew I was gay.

"Say, could you call your boyfriend and get him to bring us lunch?" he asked, leaning in the doorway of my office. God, I hated that fat bastard.

"He had plans today. Besides, I don't just call Timothy to fetch my lunch."

"If he was being a good little housewife, he'd do it," he said.

At the time, I wasn't sure if that asshole thought he was being funny, or if he was pushing my buttons, but whichever it was, it ended there.

"Watch your mouth," I shot back.

"Whoa, don't get so defensive. You said you were married. I'm just kidding around."

"I've been around the block enough times to know when someone's just kidding around."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning you were barely civil to Timothy when he was here, and you've acted like I've got something catching ever since you found out I was gay."

"I might have to work with people like you, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, you don't, but if you ever make a demeaning remark about my partner again, you'll regret it."

"Ooh, I'm shakin'," he said, laughing.

"Maybe you should be," I said, and my tone was dead serious. I was stressed out, pissed off at him, and the way he'd treated Timmy had lurked under the surface with me, simmering to a nice boil.

"Maybe I oughtta call John Madison and tell him you're threatening me."

"Tough guy. You need John Madison to fight your battles for you?"

"Listen, you little faggot, I could take you apart if I wanted to."

"Oh, really?" I stood up, took off my jacket and then my tie, loosening my collar. "You want to go for the title?"

He looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? So you could get me fired?" He moved farther into the office and I came around the desk.

"He won't have to," a voice came from behind Roger. We both froze. John Madison stood in the doorway of the office. For a moment, I thought I was royally screwed. First, I'd fucked up that conference, and now I was ready to get into a fight with Roger. John continued. "I make it a habit to make surprise visits to the sites of my new projects. Today is your day, gentlemen. Roger, I'm disappointed in you."

"You heard him threaten me," he protested.

"Oh, you mean that little faggot? Yes, I heard plenty. Clean out your office and get out. You're done here," he said to Roger, who gaped at him. Then looked at me.

"But he - "

"Don't look at him. I'm the one firing you. You've got half an hour to clean out your office and get the hell out of here. If you need help, my driver can assist you."

"I'll sue your ass!" he shouted at John, storming past him into his office, slamming the door.

"Thanks," I said, and John arched an eyebrow at me.

"Don't thank me yet. I still expect you to get this place open on time. I'll send one of my guys here from corporate who knows the technology end of things to fill in for Roger. So how long has he been spewing his homophobic bullshit around here?"

"This was the first real confrontation we had. Timothy stopped by at lunchtime a few days ago and he was pretty cold with him, acted really weird after he found out I was married to a man."

"Oh, he thought you had a wife, huh?" John asked, smiling.

"What difference did it make? I just said I'd been married almost a year. I didn't have a reason to announce that I was gay or what gender my partner is. It's not that I'm hiding anything...I guess it just didn't come up."

"Let's take a walk. You can show me the good, the bad, and the ugly we've got to handle before the grand opening."

I wasn't sure how to schmooze the boss and make things look prettier than they were. The interior finishing was behind schedule, which wasn't my responsibility, even though I'd managed to piss off the project manager by pointing out to him that his fuck up was going to lead to my fuck up when I couldn't train the staff because his guys weren't done. We'd hired all the security guards we needed, but they all had to be trained. The truth was, I felt like I was drowning, failing...I was overwhelmed.

"This place looks like shit. We're supposed to open the doors in a month," he said, looking around.

"Bennett tells me his guys'll be finished by the deadline. The problem is, I can't train my guys effectively when things are this far from finished. And Roger was a dick, but at least he was an ex-cop, so he was going to handle a big part of the training process."

"I'll be meeting with Bennett while I'm here. We'll get the construction back on track."

"That'll help," I said.

"You feeling a little overwhelmed, Don?" John asked, looking at me. I didn't know how to answer him. If I lied and said no, then I'd have to put my money where my mouth was and handle all of it alone, and do it right. If I said yes, I ran the risk of admitting I was drowning, that I wasn't up to the challenge.

"Maybe a little," I admitted, figuring that out of two dicey options, I'd go with the truth.

"How long were you going to wait before letting me know that?"

"I thought it was because I was new at it."

"That's probably part of it," he said. "The other part is that I understaffed this situation." He sighed. "Occasionally, the boss makes a bad call, too," he added, looking around. "We opened a mall in Albany that was similar in size, but the security end of things wasn't nearly as complex as it's going to be with this building, and with the kinds of stores we're going to have here. I underestimated the work here...thought it was similar to that project, so that's how I staffed it. Now that I'm on-site again, I can see this is more than what two security managers can get up and running. Managing it once it's open might be all right, but it's too much with all the startup work."

"I just figured someone with more experience would be quicker at it."

"We'll get someone in here to sub for Roger, and I'm going to have my guy from New York City come down here and work with you instead of having you spend so much time shadowing him. You're going to fall too far behind doing that, and you'll really be drowning when you get back here."

"That sounds great," I said, relieved, smiling. Then I thought of our anniversary coming up. Our trip to the big city falling through. Timmy having plans with his mother. Son of a bitch, I just couldn't catch a break...

"Really? I've seen people I fired look happier."

"I sort of promised Timothy we'd celebrate our anniversary in the city. He'll understand," I hastened to add.

"When is it?"

"Valentine's Day," I said.

"That falls on a Sunday, so I think we could let you have the weekend off to celebrate."

"Are you sure? I know it'll mean a lot to Timothy...and to me."

"I remember being a newlywed. I took Erica to Paris for our first anniversary."

"Must have been a great trip. I'd love to take Timothy somewhere like that."

"You'll get there. And those moments only come along once in a lifetime, so don't let your boss mess up your anniversary. I know...I'm glad I made the most of those times with Erica, now that she's gone."

"I can't imagine losing Timmy that way." I didn't mean to say it. It just sort of slipped out. When people mentioned losing their spouses, when they truly loved them, it gave me chills. It made me afraid. It still does. I even hate that I'm a beneficiary on his life insurance. All I need is enough to bury me, too, because if he leaves me, it's over.

"Don't imagine it. It doesn't happen to most people. I know, I never thought it would happen to me. Really, I wouldn't have gained anything by worrying about it. The best you can do is make the most of the time you have, not take anything for granted. I never took Erica for granted. That, and raising Tiffany, got me through."

"How's she doing?" I asked.

"Great. Still working at Good Sports. We're looking at colleges now, so I'm staying on her to hit the books, keep her GPA up."

"Tell her I said hi. She's an oddly likable teenager."

He laughed at that. "I'll do that. Must be her mother's influence."

"Would you like to have dinner with Timmy and me? Probably wouldn't be anything fancy, but I know we have steaks in the fridge."

"That would actually be a hell of a lot nicer than another hotel dinner."

"Let me give Timmy a call, make sure he doesn't have plans." I took out my cell phone and called him.

"Hey, handsome," he answered.

"Hey, sweetheart. John Madison is with me here at the mall. I asked him if he could join us for dinner. I thought maybe we could grill some steaks, throw a salad together."

"Sure...it'll be a little while. I'm still at Angela's, but I can head home now."

"He fired Roger."

"Tell him I'll have martinis chilling and steaks grilling," he said, sounding jubilant. I laughed at that.

"I'll pass that on. I can help when I get home."

"Okay. Love you."

"I love you, too," I said, and I took my time saying it, not just a quick reply like we say all the time. I put the phone back in my pocket. "He said he'll have martinis chilling and steaks grilling. He didn't care much for Roger." 

"Not surprising," he said, chuckling. "Man, you just never know some people, no matter how well you think you've screened them."

********

"I have to go," I said. "Don's boss is coming over for dinner."

"I can give you a ride home," Angela offered. "If you're trying to get home to get dinner going, it'll save you some time."

"Sure, thanks." I tidied up the materials I'd been going through. We'd located one of the two people we were looking for, and I'd spoken with her on the phone. She was a friend of Nathan's in high school who'd moved overseas after college. Unfortunately, after a lengthy overseas phone call, all we got was another person telling us how happy Nathan was and that there was no reason she could think of that he'd run away. The second person proved harder to track, and we'd come up with some people with the same name, but no hits.

"I think we made some real progress today," she said. I felt like the day was something of a bust, myself, but we had managed to lure a police detective into her lair long enough to get him interested.

The problem was, I wasn't sure it was avenging Nathan he was interested in. I hoped I'd been clear enough that married meant unavailable for me. While I didn't mind grabbing the opportunity to cut through the red tape and get someone to look at Nathan's case, I didn't want to lead anyone on. And the bottom line was, there would be men throughout my marriage to Don that I'd notice, or think were handsome, but Don had my heart. He still does. There's no one I'd rather be with, and I honestly couldn't picture then, and can't now, being intimate with anyone else.

When Angela dropped me off, the object of my affection was just walking up to the front door with John. I thought of Angela going back into her empty house to share another evening with the ghost of her dead son, and it bothered me. Still, I didn't want to invite her to join us and have her usurp the evening talking about Nathan's case. Not because I couldn't sympathize, but because I didn't want to subject Don's boss to a bizarre evening.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked, hopeful. Part of me wanted to give her an excuse. I was ready for a break from dwelling on the case. Still, I knew how much it meant to her to keep working on it.

"I'll call you."

"Not necessary. Just come on over when you can."

"Okay. Thanks for the ride. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tim. Thanks again for all your time today."

"You're welcome." I got out of the car and felt relieved to go into the house.

"Hey, honey," Don said, brightening up as soon as he saw me. I was so glad to see him. We kissed hello, and I shook hands with John.

"I hope this didn't interfere with plans you had," he said.

"No, not at all." As we mixed martinis and got started on dinner, John washed up and insisted on being given an assignment in the kitchen, so I got him going helping me chop vegetables for the salad. I talked briefly about Nathan's case, which he seemed to find interesting. Don didn't say much about it, but I knew he was taking it all in while he grilled the steaks.

"What happened with Roger?" I asked, as we got dinner on the table.

"I got a good look at what a bigot he was, and I fired him. My management team has to be able to work with a diverse workforce. If they can't..." He shrugged. "They gotta go."

I had a feeling there was more to it, but I knew Don would tell me all the details later. So I asked about Tiffany, he asked about my family, and we had a pleasant conversation about a myriad of harmless subjects. I wasn't happy to find out our New York trip was cut short, since my mother was already counting on meeting me there for a couple days. I knew she'd understand if I changed our plans, though. I knew Don would encourage me to go anyway, but I wanted to be with him - and I had to admit, I didn't want to miss a day of his romantic Valentine marathon. After John left to go back to his hotel, Don and I cleaned up the kitchen together.

"How about a massage?" I offered. He looked tired, and for all the wonderful romantic things he was doing for me, I wanted to do something special for him.

"Sounds like heaven," he said, smiling at me.

He went in to take a shower at my suggestion, since I figured that would relax him, and I changed into my robe, wanting to be ready for whatever the massage might lead to. I lit a few candles and put a soft jazz CD on low in the background. I felt a tingle of guilty pleasure as I set out a couple massage oils. Donald's muscles with a nice sheen of massage oil? That would make a stone statue come. Just as I was spreading a beach towel on the bed to protect the sheets, he came into the room, a towel slung low around his hips, using another one to dry off his hair. I wondered if I was salivating visibly, or it only felt like it. The play of candlelight and shadows on the contours of his body made me weak in the knees. And, devil that he is, he grinned at me.

"Where do you want me?"

"Anywhere I can have you," I said, and he laughed. "For now, on the towel."

"I guess I don't need these," he said, tossing the hair towel on the floor, then removing the towel he was wearing and sending it flying to join it. He stretched out on his stomach on the bed, and stuck a pillow under his head. "Timothy?"

I was getting hard just looking at him. I had no idea how I'd make it through massaging him without coming all over him. Still, a deal was a deal. That didn't mean I couldn't improvise. I took off my robe.

"I like where this massage is headed," he said, checking out my very noticeable erection.

I straddled his ass, letting my cock tease his crack while I put some oil on my hands and started working on his neck and shoulders. If the nudity, glistening muscles, and feeling of his skin under my hands didn't finish me off, I figured his moans and little groans deep in his throat probably would. I steeled my will and kept massaging. He was going to get pampered and spoiled a little before I gave in to my simmering lust.

His muscles were more rigid and taut than usual, and I was glad I'd suggested this. I wondered if he wanted to talk, so I gently broached the subject of Roger. Since it had a good outcome, and he was gone, I figured Don wouldn't tense up about it.

"What made John fire Roger anyway?"

"We had a few words, and we didn't know John was there. He popped in for a surprise visit, and it sure was," he said, smiling. "He overheard Roger shoot off his mouth with something hateful, so he fired him. I thought he was gonna fire me for a minute, because I threatened to kick Roger's ass, and I'm sure he heard that, too."

"He backed you up, though. That has to make you feel good." I went to work on his back.

"God, speaking of feeling good. You have magic hands. Among other things."

"You know, I don't expect you to get into fights with everyone who insults me."

"Why do you assume he insulted you?" Don asked, frowning, looking over his shoulder.

"Because the two of you were getting by until I showed up."

"That's because he didn't know I was gay before that. It wouldn't have mattered who or what you were. You're male, and that's all he needed to feel hateful about you, us, me, you name it. It wasn't you, honey. It was him."

"It sounds like he's getting you more help, which is a good thing."

"I've felt like I was fucking drowning. It's still going to be an adventure getting that place open in a month or so, but John's determined he wants the grand opening on schedule. At least with some more help...I think it's doable. Just take a really good look at me over our anniversary because you probably won't see much of me between then and when that hell pit finally opens."

"Hell pit?" I had to laugh at that. "I know you hate malls, but..."

"There's irony, huh? I'd rather have my toenails pulled off one by one than hang out in a mall, and now I'm working in one. Again. Only for more hours."

"I'm unemployed and spend my days sifting through listings of unidentified remains with a crazy woman who bakes her dead son's favorite muffins for me."

"I was going to ask how it was really going. I guess now I know," he replied, chuckling. "I wonder which deity we pissed off to end up like this?"

"I shouldn't make fun of Angela. I actually feel very sorry for her."

"You do know she's playing detective with all this crap to keep herself sane? I mean, really, looking through listings of unidentified remains? Does she really expect to find a stray tibia somewhere that's going to solve the mystery?"

"She's got the money to do DNA testing on her own if the authorities won't. Stranger things have happened."

"Not many."

"You really think this is futile, don't you?"

"I think you're getting sucked into a swirling black vortex of misery and obsession with a woman who has no life left except searching for someone she's not going to find."

"That was picturesque."

"I've been reading some of the books you leave lying around," he joked.

"We have a detective looking at it. He seemed to think the original investigation was pretty thin," I said, not sure why I was bringing that up, but I had, so there it was.

"A PI or a cop?"

"Cop," I said, still massaging. "It was all pretty accidental. Frank set off the alarm when he left, and this homicide detective responded to the call - "

"That's a little bit of a leap, sending out a homicide detective for a burglar alarm."

"He said he was in the area, so he responded to the call from dispatch. I convinced him to stop by Angela's and look at the case."

"Really?"

Don is too fucking smart. People often don't give him credit for being as smart as he is, and that's a deadly mistake. His radar was already up that something was fishy...a piece of the story was missing, and he already had seized on where it should fit: why this cop agreed so easily to go down to Angela's place when her money and constant harassment of the police hasn't managed to scare up a single cop willing to work with her.

"I just asked him if he'd at least take a look at the materials she's accumulated, and the original case file. He thought it was pathetic - the file, that is - so he was going to look into it with his boss to see if he could get permission to work it as a homicide case."

"Well, good for you, sweetheart. That's what she's been trying to accomplish for years, isn't it?"

"I suppose." I kept massaging. His brain was working. I could feel it in his muscles and hear it in his voice. He knew something was missing, and he knows me too well, so he knew I was omitting something. There was no way to bring it up then without sounding like it mattered to me, and completely un-relaxing him. Truthfully, it didn't matter. I had no interest in fooling around, and I hadn't led Detective Garrison to think I did. Should the subject ever arise, I was more than capable of saying "No, thank you." And hopefully, if he was a good detective, he'd be into the case enough by then to do it for the right reasons.

I decided to get my mind back on the pleasant task before me, and moved down to massage his hips, his thighs, and his beautiful ass. We were both getting interested in more than massage by then. I was going to reach for the lube, but instead, I licked him, and then started using my tongue. I knew how crazy it drove me when he did that to me, and I wanted to do that for him, too.

"I'm gonna come all by myself if you keep that up," he said, a little breathless.

"You better not," I said, a scolding note in my voice, and that seemed to turn him on more. So I prolonged the sweet torture a bit more, tonguing him and massaging his cheeks, making him writhe and moan. He was grabbing at the sheets, and when his knuckles started going white, I had mercy and got the lube. I didn't spent long putting it inside him, because he was already relaxed and if I played with him much more, I was going to shoot myself in the foot and miss out on coming inside him.

We rocked together in a nice, steady rhythm. It didn't take either one of us long to come, and it was explosive and wonderful when it happened. Not that it isn't always, but there's something about coming when you've delayed it a bit, and you're so turned on... And we were in our own bed. It sounds insane, but the sex was better in our own bed. Like it was an intimate friend we could trust, and the other bed would take notes and report to the Davis's what kind of debauchery it had witnessed in their absence.

He laughed at me when we were rolling around in each other's arms, playing around after the most heated activity, and I started rubbing massage oil on his chest. I know my muscle-lust is good for his ego, and he deserves to have it, among other things, stroked. Don's not conceited or smug or obsessed with his looks. His beauty is so genuine, a combination of his outer physical traits, and the warmth and goodness that radiates from him.

We were both getting greasy, slipping and sliding around in the massage oil until it felt like we were oil wrestling. Now I understood the allure of that particular activity. He made a grab for the night stand drawer and produced my gift for that day - a can of whipped topping.

"What the hell is that doing in here?" I asked, laughing. It was pink - strawberry flavored.

"I was going to do something sexy and romantic and then squirt it on certain parts of my body, but then you suggested the massage, and that just sounded too good to pass up. But it's still early," he said, squirting a blob of it on the end of my nose. I grabbed the can and squirted him somewhere in the general direction of his face. I didn't have my glasses on, so my aim sucked. "Oh, that's the kind of party you want, huh?" he challenged, and squirted me again.

"This isn't fair. I can't see as well as you can without my glasses," I protested, laughing, wiping the stuff off my face.

"If you had your glasses on, you wouldn't be able to see at all once this stuff hit them."

We wrestled for control of the whipped topping can, squirting each other's faces, bodies, hair, anything we could aim at before the other one got the upper hand again. We employed everything from tickling to sexual pleasuring to win. I gave him a blow job that sent him into fits of shouting my name and coming like there was no tomorrow. He tasted pretty good with a coating of strawberry whipped topping on his dick. I ended up with strawberry whipped topping on a part of one's body that should never see whipped topping, but he promised to lick all of it off before he used the lube. He made good on his word, and then gave me a spirited ride to work off the last of our sexual energy. I wasn't sure where he came up with round three, but we invested a lot of time in that massage oil-whipped topping wrestling match.

It was close to one in the morning, and we were lying there sticky, oily, sweaty, and giggling. I knew we'd probably have to be surgically peeled apart if we stayed that way long, but I pulled him close and held onto him, kissing all over his face, caressing him all over, even though I couldn't do anything about it anymore.

"That might be the best present yet," I said.

"Yeah, it was good for me, too," he agreed, laughing.

********

Day Ten: February 10

Don was off bright and early to work, and I was busy with a load of laundry, cleaning up the bedding from the night before. I knew Angela was probably waiting for me to call or show up there, but it felt good to be free of it for a day. I didn't know how she spent her life dwelling on it. I'd done it for a few days, and I needed a break. I decided to call her in a little while and just tell her I had other plans, and would be back to help her in a couple days. Nathan had been missing since 1986. I figured another couple days probably wouldn't be the turning point in the case.

Once the oil- and whipped topping-stained laundry was chugging along happily in the washer, I dialed Angela's number.

"Oh, Tim! I'm glad you called. I had another idea I wanted to work on - "

"Angela, I'm going to be tied up for a couple days. I have some business to take care of, and I need to spend some time on my job search." There was a dead silence. That's a great trick when you want to freak out the person on the other end of the line. Just let them hang there, and don't reply; instead, leave a void they'll fill in with nervous babbling. I knew she was there, because I could hear her breathing, and I could still hear the television on in the background. I'm a master at communication tricks, and I made up my mind she wasn't going to make me uneasy with this one. "Well, I should go now," I said calmly. I'd busted my ass digging through her mountains of paper, internet links, and old photos. I didn't deserve the cold shoulder because I needed a couple days off to have a life.

"Of course. I wouldn't want to hold you up," she said. Then she hung up.

"Wow," I muttered to myself, setting the cordless phone back in its holder. I honestly did plan to still help her, and I didn't mind working on the case, because I honestly felt she'd gotten a raw deal at the time Nathan disappeared. And the kid actually kind of reminded me of myself at that age. He was a good student, athletic, but not in the tough guy team sports. He didn't hide his sexuality, but he wasn't extreme or leading pride parades around his school or anything. He was just a strong, independent, good kid who made up his mind he was going to life his life honestly. I admired that. And he deserved better than to be taken somewhere, killed, and disposed of.

All that having been said, there has to be time for the living to go about the business of life. My own sister was missing and I didn't devote this kind of time to searching for her. Maybe because I had a feeling she didn't want to be found.

I spent some time in the library, downloading software and generally "moving in" to my new laptop. It was a great computer for the time, and the speed was dizzying compared to my old one. It was almost lunchtime when the doorbell rang. I hurried downstairs and opened it. Detective Garrison stood on the other side of it.

"I just took a chance you'd be home," he said, flashing me a bright smile.

"What can I do for you?" I asked. The only way that could have sounded worse was if I was wearing a silk robe and leaning against the door frame, and he was the cable TV repairman.

"My captain gave me the green light to work on the Drew case, provided it doesn't interfere with my current investigations, which means I have to do some of it on my own time."

"I'm sure Angela will really appreciate that," I said, smiling.

"It's a little brisk out here," he said, and the wind was whipping at a pretty good clip, with some snow thrown in for good measure.

"Sorry, come in," I said, stepping back.

"Are you going over there today?" he asked.

"Actually, I wasn't planning on it. I've been working on it pretty steadily for a few days. I don't think Angela is pleased with me."

"She's pretty driven," he said, smiling. "We could stop over there and let her know. That might get her off your back for a while."

"And on yours," I replied, and he laughed.

"I knew the risks going into this mission," he said.

"I suppose we could go over there for a few minutes. Are you going to need to work at her place?"

"Not today. I'm going to revisit some things in the original case file, so I want to get her reaction to that, see what she or her private dicks have dug up over the years. I have to start there before I work my way up to unidentified remains," he said.

"Don't remind me. I was depressed after a few hours of sifting through those listings. I don't know how she does it."

"With her family gone, it's all she's got. You can get pretty obsessed when you're trying to fill a void like that," he said, and there was something in his tone that seemed unusually sympathetic coming from a man the age we were at the time, single, and not prone to romance by his own admission.

"I'll grab my coat," I said, and retrieved it from the foyer closet. He drove, and we arrived at Angela's house within a few moments. I rang the bell and, at first, I thought she must have gone out after I said I wasn't coming over. Finally, she opened the door. She didn't have her usual makeup on, though she was dressed in a sweater and jeans. She looked like she'd been crying. I felt about as guilty as possible.

"I didn't expect anyone today," she said, fussing a little with her hair.

"My captain gave me the green light to look into the case," Garrison said. "Can we come in? There are a couple questions I need to ask you about the original investigation."

"Yes, of course." She stepped aside, and as we entered, she gave me a sheepish look. "Tim, I'm sorry if I snapped at you earlier. I didn't mean to."

"It's fine, no hard feelings," I said, smiling at her. I wondered, if Don disappeared, if I wouldn't be just like her. Maybe worse. Obsessed and alone. It could happen to the best of us with the right convergence of tragic circumstances.

"Please, tell your captain how grateful I am for his willingness to re-open the investigation."

"We've got a ways to go before it's official. At this point, I just won't get in trouble for snooping around on it as long as I don't let my current caseload slide. Captain Briggs was a detective when Nathan disappeared, but he worked homicide then, too, and it wasn't a murder case."

"And he's letting you look at it?" she asked, surprised.

"If there was some corruption going on, or a payoff, I don't think it was some department-wide conspiracy. I'm not saying there was, but to look at that angle, we need to look specifically at anyone who worked the investigation then, or had access to evidence and had a tie to someone who wanted it gone. The detectives on the case would have to be complicit, because there's nothing in the file that notes any kind of meaningful physical evidence or testimony."

"Tim has done a wonderful job of piecing together the key items the private investigators have come up with over the years. You know, I'm just not much of an organizer. If I didn't have a maid, I'd probably be one of those crazy old ladies living among tunnels of old newspapers."

We all sat around the table, and Garrison compared the case file with the outline I'd worked up of the tidbits the private investigators had uncovered.

"Let's just go through the time line here for Nathan's last day at home. He went to school. Anything odd happen, was he stressed out about anything?"

"No, he seemed fine. We usually all had breakfast together in the morning. I know that sounds a little like a 50's sitcom...people don't have breakfast as a family much anymore. We were just lucky that our schedules worked that way. I was a stay at home mom, my husband was usually at his office by 8:30 or so, and he drove the kids to school on his way. Perks of being the company president, I guess."

"Did he drive them there that morning?"

"Yes."

"What did Nathan talk about over breakfast?"

It was at that moment that it hit me why I was attracted to Garrison at all. He reminded me of Don. Not his looks, but he was a detective, and once a bug bit him, he got into every detail. We were talking about breakfast table conversation from 1986. So that was it. I had, still have, a bit of a thing for detectives. Never had that before I met Don. I smiled.

"Tim?"

"Sorry, Angela. I was just thinking about something else."

"Someone had a good morning, huh?" she teased. I wondered if I turned the color of the office walls, or it was just my imagination.

Actually, it was last night, and there was whipped topping involved...

"I'm back with you now," I said, and Garrison was giving me an odd sideways glance, but he was smiling, too. I'm not sure why that didn't creep me out or make me nervous. It was more like a "nudge-wink" sort of smile between guys than an "I want to get in your pants, too!" smile.

"Nathan talked about a history test he had that day, and band practice - "

"He was in the school band?" I asked.

"No, he had one of his own. He studied piano since he was five, so he played keyboards and sang, and there were four other boys in the group. One of them is in a famous band now. Oh, what is it? Something with pentagrams and goats. He always had a bit of dark side, dressed in all black, wore black lipstick..."

"He was goth before goth was cool, huh?" Garrison asked, and Angela actually laughed. I didn't see that often.

"You could say that."

"Do you think he had a dark side, or was it just a teenage thing?"

"Well, he's made a career out of it. I got a Christmas card from him."

"A death metal musician sending Christmas cards to their friends' mothers. Now there's something you don't see in a Hallmark commercial," Garrison quipped. We all laughed at that.

Angela went to another pile we hadn't explored together and pulled out a few Christmas cards. "A few of Nathan's friends still send me cards. It's nice."

"Are these all of them? That send cards?" he asked.

"Yes, those are all of them. Oh, Sam's card is right there," she said, pointing to an innocuous looking card with a fat snowman on it. Every guy obsessed with blood, pentagrams, and death sends out snowman cards to little old ladies... "Why?" she asked.

"Probably nothing," he said, reading through the cards. "Hey, do you have a spare folder lying around somewhere?"

"Sure," she said, going back to the desk and pulling a new manila folder out of the drawer. She handed it to Garrison.

"Okay, it's official," he said, putting the cards in the folder. "This is Nathan's new case file."

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear that!"

"This is what we call a lead," he said. "Why are these people still writing to you?"

"Because they remember Nathan and feel sorry for me?"

"Probably. Or they know something and feel guilty, and that's why they keep contacting the victim's mother."

"Oh, my God. I never thought of that."

"Yeah, well, you have to be a special kind of cynical to think that way, but it wouldn't be the first time someone did something nice toward a victim's family out of guilt. It's probably nothing. Do you have all the cards these people have sent?"

"I think so. I have a box of greeting cards in the attic."

"Get me everything you've ever gotten from these folks. I'd like to see any well-wishes you got at the time of Nathan's disappearance, too."

"Really? You think whoever did this would send me a card?"

"It's possible, especially if the perp is one of your friends or neighbors."

"I'll go through all my old cards today. It will take a while. They're stored in the attic, I'm not exactly sure where."

"Good. Find anything you still have relating to Nathan, from his friends or yours. If there are a lot of them, I'll tell you and Tim what to look for, and we'll all go through every one of them."

"Okay," she said, smiling. "I never would have thought of that!"

"I have to get going," he said. "Tim, you want a ride home?"

"Yes, that would be great, thanks. Are you going to be okay, Angela?" I asked her.

"I'll be busy, that's for sure," she said, sounding upbeat. "I'm fine, Tim."

"Call me if you need anything. I'm close by."

"Thank you. I will."

As we headed toward the car, Garrison paused. "You want to grab something to eat in town?"

"I should get home," I said.

"I get that you're married, and I'm not into splitting up couples. You do have other gay friends, don't you?"

"Did you just come out to me?"

"If you didn't see me checking you out when we met, your gaydar's busted."

"Well, I thought I noticed that."

"Relax, Tim. By the way, I'm Adam."

"Adam, okay. A little friendlier than calling you 'detective' all the time."

"If you were single, I'd ask you out. But you're not, and I get the definite impression you're not interested in something on the side."

"You are a good detective," I said, and he laughed.

"Now that we have that settled, you want to get some lunch?"

"Sure, why not?"

********

"Hey, honey, where are you?" I called to Timmy as I went in the front door, holding a cheap little bouquet of carnations, planning to surprise him with lunch at a fancy restaurant. I didn't have a lot of time, but I could swing an extended lunch hour. "Timothy?" I called again. Nothing. I looked in the garage, and the Forester was still there.

I was a little worried, but not too much. I figured that he'd walked up to the Drew house, so I found Angela's number on the pad by the phone and called her, just to be sure.

"Mrs. Drew, it's Don Strachey, Tim's partner. Is he there?"

"He was here with Detective Garrison. They left a while ago."

"They left together?"

"Yes. I thought he was going to drop Tim off at home."

"He's not here." I paused, realizing it sounded a little possessive to be that worried if he went somewhere without letting me know. "Maybe he went out for a walk or something. Thank you."

"He said he had plans today. He isn't working on the case, so maybe he went out."

"Probably. Thanks again."

After I hung up, I heard Timmy's voice, and other voice. They were talking about something, laughing a little.

"Don! There you are," Timmy said, walking into the kitchen. I did a double-take on the man following him. At first, I thought it was Steve. "Adam, this is my partner, Don Strachey," he said, kissing me hello, even though I was standing there staring at them like a mute. "Don, this is Adam Garrison. He's helping out with the Nathan Drew case."

"Hi, Don," the Steve clone said, holding out his hand. I shook it.

"I didn't think you'd be home until tonight sometime," Tim said, looking pleased to see me. I was still staring at Steve II. Could he possibly be so blind not to see the resemblance?

"I was going to surprise you for lunch," I said, gesturing at the bouquet of red and white carnations lying on the counter.

"Florists must love you," Steve II said, smiling. "I never saw roses the size of the ones in the foyer."

"Our anniversary is coming up in a few days," I said pointedly. So get the fuck away from my husband and quit smiling at him like you're gonna get someplace with him.

"I'm sorry, honey. We just ate. I wish I'd known you were coming."

"That would have sort of defeated the purpose of a surprise, wouldn't it?" I replied. It came out snippier than even I intended, and I could see Timmy's dander go up. "I should be getting back to work," I added.

"I'm sorry if I screwed up your plans," Steve II said. "I'm running late to get back to the station. Nice meeting you, Don."

"Yeah, you, too," I said, knowing I didn't really have the right to be blatantly rude to the guy. He'd taken Timothy to lunch, not to a motel. I still didn't like it, and I didn't like him.

"I can find the way out," he said to Tim.

"Okay. See you tomorrow," Tim replied. Steve II headed for the front door. After it closed, Tim looked at me. He wasn't happy. "Look, I'm sorry I missed your surprise for lunch, but that's no reason to be rude to Adam. It's not his fault."

"You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" he asked, sounding frustrated.

"He doesn't remind you of anyone?"

"What? I don't know...Jon Bon Jovi with a little young Mel Gibson thrown in?"

"Oh, brother," I said, shaking my head. "Try Thor, God of Thunder."

"Steve? You think he looks like Steve?"

"I thought it was fucking Steve until I got a good look at him. They could be brothers, for God's sake, and you're going to tell me you didn't notice?"

"No, frankly, I didn't notice that. I never thought about it. What exactly are you driving at?"

"Nothing. I just find it a little odd that you can hang around with some guy who's a dead ringer for your ex-boyfriend, and not notice the resemblance."

"I wasn't hanging around with him. We ate lunch together. He's an interesting guy. I wanted you to meet him because I thought you two would get along. He seems like a good detective...he kind of reminds me of you, not of Steve."

"Oh, really? That guy reminds you of me, but you don't even notice that he looks like Steve?"

"Why are you obsessed with this?" Timmy paused, and then his whole expression changed. "You don't trust me, do you? You think I'd actually consider doing something...inappropriate with Adam. That's it, isn't it?"

"I think you obviously have a type, and he's it."

"I don't believe this." He walked over to the counter and leaned on it, his back to me. "I love you. I committed my life to you."

"I never said you did anything."

"Gee, thanks." He shook his head. "I was glad to meet someone I thought we might both like as a friend. In case you haven't noticed, we don't have any of those here. Do you think I've been sleeping with Frank and Kevin, too? Or just one or the other?"

"Don't get ridiculous. I don't think you cheated on me."

"But you think I want to, that I like Adam because he looks like Steve."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You better get back to work. We'll talk about this later."

"You're throwing me out now?"

"Do what you want. I can't talk about this right now," he said, and then he moved fast through the room and into the foyer and up the stairs.

"Timothy, come on!" I called after him, heading upstairs, getting there just after he shut the door. "Timmy, open the door."

"Just go back to work. We'll talk when you get home," he replied, and his voice sounded so sad, so defeated, that I felt like the asshole I was.

"Sweetheart, come on. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything. Just...come on, open the door. I don't want to leave things like this." I waited.

"It's not locked," he said. I opened the door. He was sitting on the bed. He wasn't crying, he wasn't even really fuming. He was just sitting there. I knelt in front of him and took his hands.

"I'm sorry I acted like an asshole."

"It's not how you acted. It's what you feel...what you believe about me. That's what hurts. People have arguments all the time and they say things or do things that are hurtful. Nobody's perfect. But you really still don't trust me. That's the bottom line."

"I do trust you, honey."

"If you did, you wouldn't care what Adam looked like. And you'd trust me to manage my own life, and relationships. There are a lot of people in the world who have the same color hair, or the same basic build, as Steve." He swallowed, and his eyes did look a little moist then. "Steve treated me like shit. He made me feel...bad about myself, and then he came back and beat me up for breaking up with him. What kind of dysfunctional mess would it make me, if I was attracted to someone who reminded me of him? I'll admit, I noticed Adam's looks. And then I compared him to you, and there was no contest."

"He likes you, that's obvious."

He was quiet a few seconds. "I may have played on that initial attraction I picked up on to get him interested in Nathan Drew's case. But I never said or did anything wrong, and I never misled him. He knew I was married right from the start. He's clear on the idea that all I want is his help on that case, and to be friends. I'd like to have some friends, Donald. I'm sick of being by myself here all the time. Angela and Adam are the first friends I've made here, and he came up with another idea to follow up on with the case..."

"Why didn't you tell me about him then? That's what makes this whole thing smell bad. I'm not saying you did anything, but you didn't tell me about him, either. You mentioned a police detective responding to the alarm and how he suddenly wanted to get involved with this case that no one else in his department has touched in years. You didn't mention you thought he was hot and that the feeling was mutual, and that's how you got him involved in the case."

"What was I supposed to say? While I'm straddling you naked, and giving you a massage, I'm supposed to say 'gee, honey, I met this handsome guy who was checking me out, and I used that to get him to work the case'?"

"If it was the truth, why not? Unless you don't trust me."

"You've never done something less than above board to get what you want when you were in the PI business?"

"Sure. You use all sorts of ploys to get the information you need. I don't care if you figured out a way to get a cop on the Drew case. It's not like you acted on it. Or that he did - because if he did, I'd have to beat the shit out of him." I tried smiling at him. I had no idea if he'd smile back. I felt all my muscles relax when he did. "Sweetheart, I never thought you did anything wrong." I swallowed. The next words were hard to say, but he needed to hear them. "It's not about you. It's me. Because if you ever looked at someone else the way you look at me..." I took a deep breath. "It would kill me."

"There's no danger of that," he said, freeing one of his hands to caress my hair, letting it linger on my cheek. "You're my love, my life, my best friend...everything to me." He paused, then, and I could tell the words were hard for him to say. "I could never share with anyone else the things I share with you," he added in a strained voice. "Just you, and just between us."

"Can you forgive me?"

"You might have to convince me. You must have a few minutes left on your lunch break."

"Oh, yes, I have a few minutes," I replied, kissing him, moving up to push him back on the bed. We spent a long time just kissing, holding each other. I didn't want to cut to the chase too fast. I wanted it all about love. And I wanted to taste his sweet mouth and feel his arms around me. "Mexican," I said, and he laughed.

"Always the detective," he joked, hugging me close.

"I need more evidence," I replied, kissing him again.

We made out there quite a while before I opened his pants and took him in my mouth. His legs were still hanging off the bed, and I was on my knees, giving my all to that blow job. When he came, I didn't miss a wave or a drop, not releasing him until he was done. He urged me up again, so he could hold me, and his talented hand was in my pants while we were kissing. It didn't take much for me to come.

"Oh, boy, I wish I didn't have to go back to work," I said, kissing him. He smiled at me and touched my cheek.

"John's still in town?"

"Oh, yeah. He's terrorizing the project manager right now. But one of his security guys is arriving this afternoon, so, it'll be my turn."

"When you get home, I'll have to think of something to relax you," he said, kissing me again.

"Just be here," I said. "That's all I ever need to relax."

********

Day Eleven: February 11

I had good intentions to get up with Donald when he left for work, but he hadn't gotten home until after ten the night before, and we'd made love late into the night. We made up before he went back from lunch, but I think he knew the whole thing was still a sore spot with me. Not in the sense that I was angry, but I was hurt. I forgave him; I know Donald had some insecurity issues with relationships back then. I would have understood it even better if I'd known the whole story of what he'd been through. The idea he'd fear being left, that he wouldn't be enough? My God, he had reasons to be afraid based on cruel experience. It makes me kind of happy now to think of that Donald evolving into the one whose utter trust in me and complete lack of jealousy made me prickly when Andrew McWhirter was in town.

Andrew, Steve... Good God, I was due for a good one by the time I met Donald. And what a reward he was.

Anyway, I think Don knows me well enough to know I still felt kind of hurt that he'd think I'd choose to spend time with Adam because I was hot for him because he looked like Steve. I just wasn't sure what else to do to make him trust me. To not feel so skittish because I had other options. And I also wondered if I was crazy enough to really be attracted to Adam initially because he was my "type."

I'd heard Don moving around to get ready for work, but he'd sat on the bed and rubbed my back and told me to go back to sleep, that he'd grab something to eat on the way in. He kissed the part of my cheek that was sticking out of the covers, and left for the day. It wasn't until I really committed to waking up a couple hours later that I found his Valentine gift sitting on the night stand.

It was a big stuffed frog with a crown on its head and a big red heart on its belly. There was a little circle on its foot that said "Press Here." I was already smiling, and I pinched its foot in the designated spot. It came to life singing a sultry version of "Fever" in a deep male voice. I fell back on the pillow laughing, setting the frog on my stomach to let him finish his number. Then I saw the envelope that had been sitting under the frog, with my name written on it in Don's handwriting. I opened it, and unfolded the letter in there.

Timmy,

This was the present I was going to give you the day I gave you the laptop, because I couldn't wait anymore. Since I was more of a frog than a prince to you yesterday, it really seemed right for today.

You're such a good, decent guy. I'm not used to being around good, decent guys like you. Sometimes it makes me think the worst before I really take time out to THINK at all. I know you've told me you love me and you don't want anyone else, and I believe you. This isn't about you, honey, it's about me. It's all my fault. Sometimes I just can't believe that somebody like you wants somebody like me. I'm not forever material. At least, nobody else has ever thought I was. It's hard to believe somebody like you does. Because you're not even like other "good, decent guys". You're not like anyone I've ever met before. Nobody's ever loved me like you do.

If I get jealous, it's not because I think you did anything, or would do anything wrong. I just couldn't stand it if you wanted somebody besides me. Or if you stopped wanting me. I'm trying to do better and not be such an asshole. The ironic part of it is, that's probably the thing that'll piss you off someday...that I want you so much, that I stifle you because I don't want to lose you, that I know how beautiful and incredible you are...and I can't picture any gay man (and a few who think they're straight until they see something like you) being around you and not wanting you. Once I met you, I had to have you - body, soul, heart, forever. I know I'm not the only guy out there who'll ever feel that way. I just don't like them around you.

I'm rambling. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, sweetheart. You don't deserve that. I'm glad you're making friends here, and I promise not to be such a prick if some of them are male. I can't promise to like it, but I can promise not to act like an ass about it.

Unless one of them looks at you the wrong way, and then I'll kill the bastard and you'll never find the body.

All my love,

Donald

I lay there with tears in my eyes from the sweetness of the note, and laughing my head off at the last line. That's my Donald, and I wouldn't want him any other way.

********

Day 12: February 12

I swore I wasn't going to get sucked in to looking for Nathan Drew. That was Timothy's project to keep him sane while I was working sixteen hour days and he was unemployed in a new town. He talked about it here and there, and there were times it sounded interesting, but I kept my distance.

Goddamn those greeting cards. I got home about nine o'clock the evening of February twelfth, and there he was in the rec room, in a sweater and jeans and his stocking feet up on the couch, buried in a pile of greeting cards, with a spiral notebook in his lap. Occasionally, he'd make notes about something he was reading.

I'm a snoop. It's part of why I love being a PI. My grandmother called me Sherlock more than once, because I had that tendency to explore, snoop, pry, look at stuff that wasn't meant for me, and generally get into my grandparents' business when I stayed in their big old house. I was in the attic, the cellar, the garage, digging around in any kind of box, chest, or other container that looked mysterious and interesting. She had me doing jigsaw puzzles when I was almost too little to reach them on the table, because she said I had the diligence to put the hard parts of the puzzle together like no one she'd ever seen. If there was a big stretch of blue sky in a landscape picture puzzle, she'd be amused to no end that's what I'd pick to work on while she liked to get the easy pieces - edges, corners, unique colors.

At any rate, I knew I was fucked when I saw all those old cards. I had to know what he was doing, and why, and, of course, to read some of the cards.

"Hey, handsome," he said, smiling at me. I went over to collect my kiss, trying to avoid stepping on a couple cards that were on the floor.

"Do I want to know?" I asked, sitting in the nearby chair. God, I was tired. I could have dozed off right there.

"We're going through all the cards and letters Angela received when Nathan disappeared, and every year since. Well, cards that are about Nathan. Adam thinks we might find a perp with a guilt complex, his words."

Really? I never would have guessed that "perp with a guilt complex" didn't come out of my sweet, cultured partner.

"A lot of cards," I said.

"I volunteered to take the pile that came in during the first few years Nathan was missing. She's been through them and made notes, but we figured fresh eyes should look at them, too."

Then I made the fatal mistake. I picked one up and read the note on it. Thinking of You. Okay, so that's the kind of card you send. I always wondered what kind of card you sent for a "Gee, I'm sorry your kid disappeared" occasion. The one I read was from a friend of Nathan's. The ungracious term for her would be "fruit fly" or "fag hag". She waxed poetic about him like a groupie, or a prospective lover. Well, Timmy mentioned something about him being in a band, and girls like that.

"This one had it bad for him," I said, and Timmy looked up from the note he was making.

"Is that Julie?"

"Yeah. I guess you noticed that, too, huh?"

"Yes, and she keeps in touch over the years. She sent a Christmas card to Angela this year."

"Write her down in your book," I said, tossing the card aside.

"Do you think this is a good idea? Is this something you'd do if you were working the case?"

It was something I had done on missing persons cases, though most of my clients didn't have a pile of correspondence like that to wade through.

"It's a good way to find other people who haven't let go of the situation. The only other people who haven't let go of it yet would be someone who really loved Nathan, know something they're not telling, or feel a shitload of guilt for doing him in."

"Do you think this is a little odd?" he asked, handing me a card. I looked at it like a live snake. I knew as I took it, I was getting sucked in. He knew it, too, fiend that he is. Of course, I could always stay out if it and let him work more closely with Adam.

I read the card.

"Did any of his other teachers send anything?" I asked. It was a card with a simple well wish from Nathan's history teacher. He'd signed it Brent Brady. Not "Mr. Brady". Of course, he was directing it to the parent, not the student, so "Mr. Brady" would be a little stiff.

"He was the only one. Well, there was one card signed by the whole class, and the teacher, but this was the only one from a teacher."

"This reads a little strange. 'I miss Nathan and will never forget his bright smile.' First off, it sounds like he knows Nathan's not coming back, and second, it sounds a little personal."

"That's what I thought, too. Put him in that pile." Timmy pointed at a small, tidy stack of cards on the corner of the coffee table.

"Is she still getting a lot of cards? This is a lot for a missing person."

"No, she said it was a flurry the first year. Friends and family wishing them well, expressing support, Nathan's friends sending her cards or calling, sometimes stopping by. Over the years, it's dwindled to just a few."

"That guy?"

"I don't think so," Timmy said. "We're comparing notes again tomorrow." He looked at me a little hopefully. "Any chance you'd have a few minutes to stop by, just for that part? I'd really like your reactions to what we come up with."

"I was going to stay until about two or so, but I could probably leave at lunchtime. John's back in Albany, and the security guy he sent is planning to work on technology and construction issues for now, to get the physical facility up to par, so I don't think I'd be missed."

"That's great, honey," he said, smiling. "Are you hungry?"

"I thought of eating the greeting card," I admitted.

"I made some chili. I'll heat some up for you."

"I can do that."

"You look worn out," he said, standing, letting his fingers lightly toy with my hair as he walked by where I was sitting, sprawled a bit like a zombie. "Just relax. I'll get you something. It'll do me good to move around. I think I have rigor mortis in my butt from sitting there reading those cards."

"There's a pretty picture," I joked, and he laughed.

As soon as he left the room, I took his present out of my briefcase and set it on the table. It was a heart-shaped box of Godiva chocolates. It was cliched, but if you've ever watched Timothy have oral sex with a Godiva truffle, you'd buy him the fucking company. Mr. Healthy Eating has a sweet tooth.

He brought me a hot cup of cocoa and a nice big bowl of chili with a couple of soft, warm dinner rolls. I'd never been with someone who wanted to wait on me and take care of me. Any other guys I'd dated would have said, "there's leftovers if you want to heat them up." If I look tired or I don't feel good or life has kicked me in the ass for some reason, he takes care of me, makes me something hot to eat, shows me what it really means to come home.

"Oh, my goodness, the Valentine fairy has been here!" he said in an exaggerated tone. I laughed.

"Well, a fairy left you a box of candy, anyway," I said, and he laughed. "A sweet heart for my sweetheart," I said, batting my eyelashes at him.

"Oh dear God, that was awful, even for you," he retorted, shaking his head, but opening the box. I wanted to watch the tongue action.

"Now you've hurt my feelings," I said, shoving another huge spoonful of chili in my mouth.

"I can see you're crushed," he joked, reading the little diagram that comes with the candy, explaining in painful detail what each one is. I guess connoisseurs take that kind of thing seriously. I just try to avoid the nougats and find a squishy one.

Finally, after studying the chart and evaluating his options, he selected the first victim. I knew better than to talk to him while he was making love to it. I just kept eating, watching. I made a mental note to later swipe one out of the box, rub it over his lips and then kiss the hell out of him until it was worn off. Maybe rub it on some other interesting places. For now, I'd leave him be. After all, I had his hot, homemade chili to enjoy at that moment. The chili would get cold if I abandoned it now. Chances were, Timothy would only get hotter.

Years later, I can confirm that to be true.

********

Day Thirteen: February 13

While Don went into work, I packed for our trip to New York. He hadn't given me many details about the trip. He wouldn't even tell me where we were staying. He just said it was fancy, and that I should pack our tuxes. As I bagged the suits, I thought about why we owned them, the receptions we attended back in Albany, even though Don was probably relieved not to have to do that anymore. I missed that; the social scene and the politicking. It was in my blood, part of my heritage and my childhood. Almost all my life, I've had to dress up and work a room. When I didn't have that in my life, I missed it. It made me smile to have a reason to pack our tuxes, even if I didn't know what it was.

I hoped Don liked the present I got him. He'd done so much for me, and part of me wanted to play along with his custom, but it was oddly his from the start, and I didn't want to interfere with it or overshadow it. The watch was dressier than what he ordinarily wore, but it would look nice with his suits when he was meeting with the corporate types. I had it engraved. I'd bought it before my job ended in Albany, when I still had money. I didn't want to take his anniversary present out of our joint account when things were tight.

Once I had everything packed and ready to go, I headed over to Angela's. It was a sunny morning, even if a bit cold, so I didn't mind the walk.

"Tim?" A man's voice called to me, and I looked over to see Graham Hildebrandt's Land Rover slowing to a stop in the street. I walked over to his open window. "Everything okay? Need a lift?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine," I replied.

"A little chilly out there," he said. Yes, it is, when you're making me stand idle here outside your car.

"It's that time of year," I said, trying to sound cheerful.

"You've been spending a lot of time over at Angela Drew's place. She suck you into the 'big mystery'?" he asked, jokingly, trying to sound like we were buddies. I barely knew him, and the wind was whipping up under my coat and freezing my ass while I stood there in the road by his car.

"It's an interesting case," I said. And why are you so interested in what I'm doing there? Worried I'll find something? "Nathan was friends with your son, Graham Junior, wasn't he?"

"Yes. Nathan was a nice boy. Too bad about what happened to him. Sad that Angela can't move on."

"It would be hard to put that behind you, especially with no answers," I said. <i>Your serve.</i>

"Probably a runaway. Kids like him, not too surprising."

"Kids like him?"

"The long hair, the music, the whole...well...you know...gay issue."

"Gay issue? Was it an issue?" I asked.

"You must know better than I do that there are a lot of prejudices out there. Kids who want to swim against the tide in school deal with a lot of harassment."

"Being gay isn't about wanting to swim against the tide. It's about who you are, and wanting to be free to be yourself, and be respected as a human being. Nathan trying to achieve that was an act of courage, not rebellion."

"Sure, like I said, he was a good kid. Well, I won't hold you up. Have fun playing detective," he said, rolling up his window and driving away.

"Have fun fornicating yourself with a tire iron," I said to his rapidly disappearing SUV. I resumed my walk, and heard another car.

"Hey, Tim!"

Sweet Mother of God, you'd think I was walking through Times Square on New Year's Eve. This time it was Adam, so at least it didn't make me angrier than I already was from talking with that sugar-coated bigot down the street.

"Get in!" he said, gesturing at me. I guess I was standing there a bit stupidly, like a deer in the headlights. I got into his car. "I went by your place to pick you up."

"I thought we were just meeting at Angela's."

"Hey, if you wanna freeze your nuts off, be my guest," he said, driving toward her house. In a car, it only took a few moments.

"I had an interesting visit with Graham Hildebrandt," I said.

"How so?" he asked, and I filled him in on the strange little conversation. "So he's watching who comes and goes from the Drew house? That's not too suspicious," he said sarcastically. "I could understand if it was a neighborhood busybody, but some hot shot exec like Hildebrandt? Why does he care who Angela Drew has over for muffins and unidentified remains searches?"

"Thanks for putting those two items together," I said, and he laughed.

"The more I see if this case, the less I can believe the original investigators let it go cold. I've had current cases with a less interesting bunch of characters to follow up on."

"Don's going to join us for a while around lunch time. We're heading out for our anniversary weekend this afternoon."

"Couldn't stand not sticking his nose in it, huh? I don't blame him. Me, neither."

"The greeting cards got him. He read one from Nathan's history teacher, and from that girl...Julie?"

"I ran across a few of hers. She had it bad for that boy."

"I wonder if she could have been frustrated enough to do something - the old, 'if I can't have you, no one can' thing?"

"Yeah, but unless she had an accomplice, which is unlikely in that kind of crime, it would be hard for her to dispose of the body on her own. I like the creepy history teacher, myself. I ran a check on him. He's still teaching at the same high school. I thought I'd head over there and have a chat with him this afternoon. I'll fill you in on Monday when you get back."

"You could e-mail me."

"Don'll love that, on your anniversary trip."

"I never promised I wouldn't check my e-mail."

"I don't think he's too fond of me."

"He's working a pretty brutal schedule, and he's under a lot of stress right now. I think he was just tired and disappointed lunch didn't work out."

"I've had a perp look happier to see me," he joked, shaking his head. "He's the jealous type, I get it."

We had arrived at Angela's, so I let it drop. He hadn't said much that wasn't true, but I felt like I should defend Don, even though I'm not sure against what. We spent an hour or so comparing our notes on the cards and letters and, not surprisingly, Brent Brady and Julie Evans emerged as by far being our most unsettling, though Sam Tyler, Nathan's former band mate, proved the most consistent.

About noon, Don arrived, bringing with him a large order of Chinese food. As we sat around Angela's kitchen table, we briefed Don on our discussion so far, and he looked through a few of the cards we'd set aside as having the most interesting messages.

"I just have to say," Angela began, "I never thought this would ever happen." She was smiling, but her eyes seemed a bit bright. "We have new leads, and I have three nimble minds on the case with me."

"I'm not sure how much I can really help out," Don said, "but it's surprising to me that the cops didn't go a little deeper into Nathan's life than they did. There are some notes here that are just... not disturbing exactly, but definitely odd."

"I never thought of them that was. I suppose I just appreciated their kindness in keeping in touch. I admit, it's chilling to think they might be doing that out of guilt. That one of these people know what happened to Nathan...or worse...did something to him."

"They probably are just well-wishes," I said. I felt sorry for her feeling creepy about cards and letters that had previously been a source of comfort to her. "But if even one of them leads us somewhere, then it's worth exploring."

"What does Natalie think about these?" Don asked, taking another bite of his General Tso's chicken. Then he licked a drop of sauce off his lip. I didn't realize I was staring at him until he smiled at me, a little flush coloring his fair skin. I had to consciously refrain from my own tongue slipping out to lick my lips, mirroring the gesture. "That's a little hot," he said, reaching for his cola. He gave me a little wink. More than a little hot.

"I haven't talked them over with her," Angela said. "Besides, she's seen them all, and knows all these people."

"Yes, but you said Natalie and Nathan were really close and confided in each other. There are probably things she's never told anyone else, even now."

"But she would never keep something to herself that could help the case," Angela protested.

"The thing is, people often don't realize what helps an investigation," Adam said. Then he tasted the same chicken Don had been eating. "Whoa, that does pack a wallop, doesn't it?"

"Good thing I didn't ask them to make it really spicy," Don replied.

"China Palace, huh?" Adam asked, looking at one of the bags. "I gotta try that. I usually just go to that buffet place near the precinct. Force of habit."

"You know a good Thai place around here?"

"Lin's Kitchen," he said. "You like Thai?"

"Timmy and I both do. We haven't really checked out the restaurants around here yet."

"I can help with that. I don't cook, so I'm an expert." He paused. "Angela, it's not that Natalie would keep anything from you intentionally, or hide anything from the police. She might just keep a confidence of Nathan's that she doesn't think is important."

"I'll call her tonight."

"Would you mind if I talked to her before you do?" Adam asked. "It might be awkward to tell Mom something that wouldn't be so hard to tell somebody else closer to her own age...in case she didn't want to tell you something about Nathan that she thinks might upset you."

"Natalie would tell me anything she knew, if she knows it matters."

"I don't think anyone's suggesting that she'd be less than truthful with you," I said. "Sometimes it's just...weird talking to our parents about certain things. There are a few subjects I don't talk about with my mother, and we're very close. I don't intentionally keep anything from her, I just don't feel comfortable telling her certain things, no matter how ridiculous it might be."

"I suppose..." she said, sighing. "It feels like being deceitful with her."

"Looking at the website, and everything she's done to try to find Nathan over the years, it's obvious her intentions are all good," Don said. "It could just be some harmless little thing that Nathan confided in her that might tip us off to something, that she might feel odd telling you."

"All right. I'll get you her home and cell numbers," she agreed.

********

Timmy had us all packed, so I loaded up the Forester while he grabbed a couple last minute items and stuck them in a carry bag. I put his present for that day on the passenger seat, and got in, waiting for him. A moment later, he emerged from the house carrying the bag he'd finished packing, a huge smile on his face. He looked so excited to be going on our anniversary trip, and that smile of his was radiant. My heart did a little flip.

He almost sat on the envelope before he spotted it and picked it up, then got in the car. I started it up and gave him a little grin as I drove down the road while he opened the envelope.

"These are symphony tickets," he said, looking as pleased as I hoped he'd look.

"I can't take you to New York for the weekend and not go to anything cultural."

"You're not a big fan of the symphony," he said.

"Check out the title of the concert."

"An Evening of Romance," he said, smiling.

"You and a concert with that title are a good combination in my book. We're going to have dinner at the hotel restaurant, and then head for the concert."

"That would mean more if I knew which hotel we were staying at."

"I suppose it would," I teased. "How does the Plaza strike you?"

"The Plaza? Donald, that's...wonderful!" he replied, looking almost as pleased as he had with the tickets. "If you weren't driving, I'd jump your bones."

"I can pull over," I offered, laughing, as we managed a quick kiss as I kept us moving down the road toward the big city.

********

The Finale: An Anniversary in the Big Apple

All the long hours and things I didn't like about the new job were worth it to give Timothy the kind of anniversary celebration he deserved. It's not that he was hung up on that. He'd have been happy with a nice bottle of wine, dinner, and some romance. I just love surprising him and treating him the way he deserves to be treated...to only the best. He had no clue what was in store for the evening, and that was how I planned it. The only thing I didn't plan was seeing Manuel and Miguel in the lobby when we arrived. They saw us, but once I realized Timmy hadn't spotted them, I grabbed him and kissed him passionately, with tongue, right there in the middle of the main reception area. I kept one eye open to see Miguel jab Manuel in the ribs and shove him toward an elevator.

"Happy Anniversary, honey," I said as we parted. People were staring. Usually Timothy doesn't mind that, but he's not big on bad taste, and honestly, I wouldn't have laid that one on him in that particular spot if it hadn't been an emergency.

"We do have a room, Donald," he said, straightening his spine the way he does when he's getting a little self-righteous.

"Don't tell me that before we even hit the one-year mark officially, the passion's gone."

"The passion is there. I'd just rather not share it with a room full of strangers."

"Okay, sorry. I got carried away," I said, giving him a dose of sad hound eyes. I know that gets him every time. Don't think I haven't occasionally fallen back on it to save my ass over the years.

"Let's get our room keys and we can go upstairs and get carried away." He leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Clothing optional."

I fled to the front desk, and in minutes, we were headed upstairs, followed by the bellman with our bags. After shoving a couple bills in his hand and sending him on his way, we took in the amenities of the room. There was a king size bed (that would have been sufficient for me for an anniversary trip), a couple nice chairs, a good television (not the crappy ones you get in cheap hotels), and a really nice bathroom. The tub was a bit wider than standard, and there was a separate shower. It was big enough for two but small enough that we'd be real close in there. Nice.

Timmy was checking out the marble and gold accents in the bathroom, and then went to the window, ecstatic we had a view of Fifth Avenue.

"What would you think of spending Sunday shopping down there," I said, sliding my arms around him from behind. Shopping made my blood run cold, but I'd dance barefoot on hot coals if it made him happy for our anniversary, so I could handle a few hours of exaggerated retail madness.

"You hate shopping," he said, chuckling, turning to put his arms around me.

"But I love you," I said. That made him misty-eyed and he kissed me. Without half of New York watching, he really put his heart, soul, and tongue into it.

"Why did I pack the tuxes?" he asked, pulling back. I had a feeling that one would be nagging him.

"Because there's a fancy black tie reception after the symphony concert tonight.

"You hate black tie receptions. Donald, I want to do at least one or two things you enjoy on this trip. I love the idea, but I want you to have some fun."

"Oh, I'll have fun. I'm already having fun," I said, kissing him again.

"You're amazing," he said, touching his forehead to mine. "This is such a beautiful trip. I just don't want it to be a big pain in the ass for you."

"It's not a big pain in the ass, sweetheart," I replied, laughing. "Tomorrow night, we're going to hit some of the nightlife, get out and party a little. And I'm not committing to anything before noon or later on Sunday."

********

I adjusted my tie and looked at myself in the mirror. I squinted and then put my glasses on. I thought I saw a wrinkle on my lapel.

"Timothy, there's no wrinkle," Don said, barely looking at me, passing me where I was scrutinizing the suit. His tie was still hanging untied, his jacket was laid out on the bed, and he was still running around in his shorts, with just his shirt on.

"Honey, you should get dressed."

"I told you I'd be done sooner if we showered together," he replied, pulling on his pants and tucking in his shirt.

"Do you really believe that?"

"It took us twice as long this way. If we'd done it my way, it still would have taken twice as long, but think of how much more fun it would have been?"

"I can't argue with that," I said, corralling him and tying his tie, because I knew it would look like something a messy little kid tied if I didn't do it. He put on his shoes, and then I held his jacket for him while he slipped into it. There's something about a hot blond in black that gets my motor running.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. We'll never make it downstairs for dinner."

"We could skip dinner," I said, kissing him.

"No, we can't," he replied, and he seemed almost flustered. Now I was suspicious.

"Why not?"

"I have reservations," he said.

"We could cancel them." I was probing now more than arguing. I was fine with enjoying a gourmet dinner in the hotel's renowned dining room. But he was up to something, and now I was on the case. The whole detective thing was getting in my blood, apparently.

"No, we can't," he repeated. "Timmy, just trust me. You don't want to miss dinner here."

And since when was he a connoisseur of fine dining in New York City hotels?

I gave in and let him be. He was trying to do something special, and I was needling him. I'd get all my answers soon enough.

"They do have an excellent menu," I conceded. I'd eaten there before, and it was all you'd expect an expensive upscale hotel to serve.

"Wow," he said, looking at me in my tux. I know I blushed a little. He talks about the way I look at him. No one could possibly be handsome enough or deserving enough of the way he looks at me.

"You look very sexy in black," I said, adjusting his tie a bit.

"You're always the hottest guy in the room," he said, still looking at me that way he does. He still tells me that when we go somewhere really formal, like black tie. I don't know how true it is, or how many years my looks will hold out so that other people see me as handsome, but I have a feeling a little old, bent Donald will still look at me that way when I'm old and gnarled and not so good to look at. Those beautiful big blue eyes of his, maybe with glasses, or even a hint of cataracts, will still regard me as something amazing.

"It's a tie," I said, and he laughed.

We headed downstairs to the dining room. There were quite a few people milling around the lobby in tuxes and evening wear. Apparently quite a few were going to the symphony event. We had on our red ties and cummerbunds, just like we did when we got married. We even each had a rose in our lapels. They'd been delivered shortly after we arrived.

When we approached the maitre d', Don stated, "We're with the Strachey-Callahan party."

With them? As far as I knew, we WERE the Strachey-Callahan party.

"Of course, right this way," he said, leading us through the rapidly filling restaurant. Many of the guests were in black tie and evening attire; apparently a lot of the symphony event guests were starting out with dinner there as well. I admit I get a little rush out of dressy occasions in opulent surroundings. It's my inner snob. I can't help it.

I nearly fainted when we approached our table. For twelve. Around it sat my mother, my grandmother, Senator Glassman and her date, Tom Platt, Frank and Kevin, Manuel and Miguel, and Fred and Cora.

"Happy Anniversary, sweetheart," Don whispered in my ear.

"How did you do this?" I asked him, hugging him, stunned.

"A few phone calls," he said, shrugging, like it was no big deal. It was huge. I made the rounds, greeting everyone, hugging my mother and my grandmother, both of whom were decked out in red evening wear. My little old grandmother never aged beyond red and sparkly. And giving her daughter-in-law some competition with the glitz of her evening gown. Once we were seated, Don elaborated a little. "I just called up some of our friends and asked if dinner and a Valentine's Day-theme symphony concert sounded good."

"After I revived Manuel from the shock of Don asking us to an evening at the symphony, we thought it sounded wonderful," Miguel joked.

"Never thought I'd live to see that day," Manuel chimed in.

"The shock almost killed us, too," Frank said, laughing.

"Well, it didn't surprise me at all that my favorite son-in-law would plan something this wonderful for Timothy," my mother said.

"I'm your only son-in-law," Don quipped back.

"Well, then you don't need to worry about competition for the title, do you?" she replied, unfazed.

I wanted to ask about my father, but I didn't want to sour the occasion. I didn't want to hear that he'd refused to come, even if I knew he would.

"You father would have been here, but he has a touch of the flu," my mother added, sipping her water. She sips her water when she tells a polite white lie. She's been doing that since I was old enough to notice it.

"His loss," Don said, taking my hand. He knew I knew it was a lie, and he knew it hurt me, so he held my hand and smiled at me. I couldn't think of a good reason to be unhappy when he treats me the way he does.

"You're wonderful," I said to him, softly, touching his cheek.

"I told you we should get married on Valentine's Day," Cora said to Fred. "Isn't this all romantic?"

"What happened with that, anyway?" Don asked.

"My son wasn't able to be here in February - something to do with his job - so we're aiming for June, instead," Fred replied. "Weather'll be more reliable."

The conversation was lively and we spent a good two hours over dinner, until we had to leave for the concert. Our seats weren't all in one block, since they'd been purchased at various times, but that was fine. We'd reconvene during the reception. The concert was a wonderful mix of standard love songs and classical music. We held hands or had our arms linked through most of the concert. Their finale number was a beautiful, orchestral version of our song, "Valentine."

I keep saying "I was never more in love with Don than I was at that moment," and it keeps on being true. There are so many moments like that in our life together, and I couldn't believe the wonderful surprise he'd planned for me.

We mingled with the high society of New York City at the reception, but most importantly, we mingled with our friends from Albany, whom I'd missed so much, and it was so good to spend some time with my mother and my grandmother. Although, my grandmother was very happy to spend a good portion of her time with her bony little arm linked through Don's. Those two hit it off from the start, and he always charmed her and treated her like a queen.

"You do know you married probably the best eligible man out there," my mother said as I did a brief tour of the reception with her. She knew some of the other guests there, ironically some of the folks from the Hamptons we'd visited when I was a child. She was enjoying showing me around to them, now that I was all grown up. She also had an ulterior motive, since a couple of them owned or were the CEO's of multinational corporations, and she gracefully wove into the conversation my availability for employment.

"I know that."

"He invited your grandmother and me to join you two on Sunday for shopping on Fifth Avenue."

"You're kidding?"

"No, cross my heart," she said.

"Well, I'm not sure Grandma's going to give him back to me anyway," I joked, and she laughed.

"I told you she has a little crush on him."

"He seems to have that effect on rich little old ladies. Eleanor Carrington adores him."

"He's polite and charming, but just a little dangerous and mysterious, given his line of work, and his nice set of muscles."

"Mom," I chided.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. You don't notice things like that about him, and I'm too old."

"Dad's not really sick, is he?"

"With the flu, no," she said, taking a healthy gulp of the wine she'd been sipping. "Does he need his head examined? Absolutely."

"Why is he doing this?"

"Because he's having a pissing contest with Don," she replied, and I gaped at her. I never would have expected the phrase "pissing contest" to come out of my refined, elegant mother. I should have expected it, because she may be cultured and classy, but she also has a very blunt, earthy side.

"I thought he was having one with me."

"He's been having one with you since you were born. The whole alpha male, head of the tribe, or whatever that nonsense is about," she said, gesturing. "But Don came onto his turf and told him off, and your father's pride won't stand for that."

"He certainly didn't sound very pleased with me in that interview," I said. That still gnawed at me.

"He wants you to be a Republican, dear. While you're at it, marry a nice girl and have some grandchildren. Don won't mind."

"He always seemed to handle my being gay before."

"Now you're kissing another man in public, wearing his ring, dancing with him, and bringing him home for the holidays. You're messy now, and you know your father likes things tidy and manageable."

"I guess."

"He does love you, you know that, right?"

"It's a little hard to keep sight of that right now."

"Well, he does. Your father loves you and he loves Kelly, even if he'd take bamboo shoots under his fingernails before he'd admit it. If it came down to it, he'd jump in front of a bus for either one of you without a moment's hesitation, but he'll sternly disapprove of you if you're not falling into line."

"I suppose that's nothing new."

"Not really, sweetie. He's been doing that since you were a baby and had the bad timing to throw up on his suit when he was showing you off to his constituents. He practically tossed you back to me like a hot potato."

"You've been catching me ever since," I said, smiling, and she touched my arm.

"That's what mothers are for," she replied. "Now, I want you to tell me all about this juicy mystery you're in the middle of."

Before she left the reception, Senator Glassman found me to say goodbye.

"For what it's worth, Tim, I admire your decision not to stay on with Harrison Grant. That had to be difficult."

"Walking away from the job was difficult, because I liked what I did there, but making the decision not to support Grant's career was reasonably easy. I just couldn't do it, and fortunately, Don's behind me on things like that."

"He's very devoted to you," she said.

"Speaking of good decisions, marrying him was the best one."

"If there's anything I can do for you in regard to recommendations, or even if it would be helpful for me to make a phone call to someone in a hiring capacity, please don't hesitate to call. I have no reservations about recommending you."

"Thank you, Senator. That means a lot to me."

"The job market is very competitive these days, but I know you'll find something good soon." She was quiet a moment. "Tim, I wasn't going to say this, but I know you'll keep it between us, and I think you deserve to hear it."

"Of course, what?"

"I should have hired you for my chief aide position. We worked very well together, and it's obvious from the work you did for Sean Donnelly that any lack of experience you more than made up for in dedication and ability. I'm not sure if that makes you feel better or worse, but I want you to know."

"I appreciate knowing it," I said, and I did. "I think things happen for a reason, and the journeys we take in our lives teach us things, help us grow... Don would have never had this opportunity if I'd been committed to staying in Albany, and though I think there are times he misses the PI business, he's so talented...he deserves a chance at something like this position with Madison Enterprises."

"I'm glad things are working out well for the two of you."

"If I can ever be of help to you, or your campaign, please let me know. Regardless of whatever job I ultimately get, I want to remain active in politics, and supporting the re-election of good legislators."

"That's very gracious of you, Tim. I'll certainly keep that in mind, and I have a feeling we'll be in touch."

"I hope so."

After she left, Don tracked me down. "She figure out yet what a blunder she made passing you up?" he asked, handing me a fresh martini. I'd been without a drink for awhile, so I enjoyed a sip or two.

"Actually, that's what she just told me."

"No shit? Really?"

"Yes, that she should have hired me for that job. It was nice to hear."

"Too little, too late, but yeah, at least she admitted it. That's kind of cool."

"Don...bringing my mother and Grandma Grace here, and our friends..." I started getting choked up, and he took my hand and kissed it.

"I'm having a good time, too. Manuel and I have been hanging out near the food table while our social butterfly partners exercise their wings."

"So what do you have in store for me tomorrow?"

"You told me to hold open part of the day, and we're having dinner at Blue Fin, maybe hitting a couple jazz clubs...am I forgetting anything?"

"Nope, it sounds like heaven."

********

We got back to the hotel about two in the morning, but I could tell Timmy was just vibrating with energy. He feeds off socializing like vampire, and the eating had been good that night. It made me happy to see him like that, and sad at the same time that he rarely got the chance to be up to his neck in people and activity anymore. He'd carved out a life to keep himself sane, throwing himself into Nathan Drew's case. I was glad I'd made an effort not to be an asshole around Adam Garrison. I could trust Timmy, and Adam seemed to get that I wasn't going anywhere, and married meant off-limits. Timmy needed friends and outlets for his energy until a job came through, and the last thing he needed was me fucking it up for him when he did make a friend or pick out something to do that kept his nimble mind occupied.

I didn't have a lot of time to ponder, because as I stood at the dresser to loosen my tie, Timmy came up behind me and eased my jacket off, tossing it on a chair. He slid his arms around me from behind and nuzzled my neck.

"Need some help with that?" he asked. I looked in the mirror at myself, how happy I looked, at the beautiful man that was holding me, smiling at me, then kissing my ear and hugging me tighter. This couldn't be me. Nobody could expect to be this happy, least of all me. But here I was, and I was that happy, and Timmy was mine.

"I've been dying to get out of this monkey suit for a while now," I said, and he laughed softly, undoing my tie and tossing it in the direction of my jacket.

"I can help."

"You always do," I said, leaning into his embrace. I caught his hand and kissed it. He helps me every minute of our life together. He makes me happy, he takes care of me, and he's always there for me. He made me the happy guy I saw in the mirror.

"Tonight was amazing," he said, smiling. "You're amazing. Just when I think you can't make me any happier, you top yourself."

"I'd rather you topped me."

"Is than an invitation?"

"If you have to ask that..." I teased, turning around to face him. I wanted to take advantage of his energy and his cheerfulness, and if he needed to work off a little energy before getting some sleep? I was all over that plan.

He tackled me on the bed, and we rolled around, making out, throwing clothes every which way. I lost track of time as we finally lay there, naked, kissing, holding each other, letting the passion build slowly, working it off with a friction that felt good, even if it took us a while to reach the finish line. We were in no hurry; we had all night.

Since we had a nice view of the city out our window, we took a quick break to turn out the lights and open our curtains, pop one of our favorite CD's in the player on the night stand, then turn back the bed and get in together. The lights of the city were our backdrop as we made love. By the time Timmy's finger slipped into me and got me ready, I was relaxed and laid back, lying there watching him in the shadows, running my hands over the contours of his chest and then his back, wrapping my legs around him as he pumped languidly in and out of me. He kissed me and whispered how much he loved me, he smiled at me, and we just held each other's gaze until we came, knowing there weren't words, and not needing them. He held me close, and I fell asleep hearing tendrils of soft music and the beating of his heart. If heaven is more than that, I can't picture it, and I don't need it.

********

The morning of our anniversary, we lounged in bed, ordered an obscene selection of food from room service and gorged ourselves, and fed each other, alternating between eating and fooling around.

"As wonderful as last year was, I think today is better," I said, grasping Don's wrist and licking pineapple juice off his finger. Then I kissed him. "I love pineapple. Don't hog it," I teased. We were still lounging on the bed in our robes. "You had just gotten back from that horrible drive to Virginia." I smiled at him. "Sometimes I still can't believe you did that." I shifted positions so I could put my head on his shoulder and cuddle up to him. "You spoil me."

"You deserve to be spoiled rotten." He tweaked my nose.

"And I don't have food poisoning, so this trip might have the edge on the first couple days of our honeymoon."

"This trip is looking better by the second," he agreed. "So what's on the agenda that we need to be out in front of the hotel at," he rolled to one side to look at the clock, "one o'clock?"

"I suppose we should get dressed," I said, slipping my hand into his robe, caressing his chest.

"Let's not rush into anything." He turned on his side so we could kiss. Before long, our robes were pushed aside and we were making love again. He spooned around me, him inside me this time, kissing my back, rubbing and pinching my nipples, stroking me until I came, shouting his name. It didn't take long for him to come, too. We stayed like that awhile, all wrapped around each other and still joined, until we were at risk of missing what I had planned. It's cliched, but I'd made reservations for a carriage ride in Central Park. Since we had dinner and night club plans, I'd set it up for the daytime. We were meeting Manuel, Miguel, Frank, Kevin, Cora, Fred, my mother and grandmother for an afternoon wandering through the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. Don had agreed to endure one cultural highlight of my choice in addition to the symphony, and that was the group choice when we'd all discussed it at dinner.

I wondered if it should even be legal to be enjoying a trip as much as I was enjoying that one.

Dressed in our jeans and sweaters and winter coats, we waited in front of the hotel. As the horse-drawn carriage pulled up, I took Don's arm and pulled him in that direction.

"Our ride is here," I said, and he laughed, taking my hand and walking with me to the carriage. "It wouldn't be Valentine's Day in New York without a carriage ride in the park," I said.

"Anything that gets me in close quarters with you under a blanket is fine with me," he replied. We climbed in, tucked the blanket around our legs, and held hands as the carriage took us around Central Park. It was pretty in the winter, with the snow on the trees and ice skaters on the rink. There were a few snow flurries in the air, making it all seem like a snow globe. I'd thought about talking him into ice skating, but coupling that with the museum would have been pushing it. I wanted to still be married when the vacation was over.

Our afternoon at the museum was great. Don didn't seem to mind it, though he and Manuel occasionally looked like they were passing gas when our little tour group lingered too long over a particular portrait exhibit or collection of Chinese pottery.

About halfway through, I asked him how he was surviving. He gave me a big smile.

"Even if the exhibits are boring, I've always got a nice piece of art to look at," he said, giving me a little kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you're having fun, sweetheart."

The trip was such a nice blend of being alone with him and being romantic, and spending time with our friends and family...it was like heaven. I kind of dreaded going back to reality, with Don's long hours and all these people whose company I enjoyed so much being so far away again. Still, there was nothing bad in my reality. Not when I had Don, and our life together.

********

Spending the afternoon in an art museum was as close to torture as I could think of. But I had fun watching Timmy having fun, socializing, checking out the exhibits, choosing a few overpriced trinkets from the museum's gift shop to take home with us. Our friends from Albany were all heading home the next morning, while Timmy's mother and grandmother were going to stay on for the infamous Fifth Avenue shopping excursion. If I thought the museum was scary...

We started our evening at the Blue Fin restaurant's glassed in bar overlooking Times Square. It was a beautiful place with clean, modern lines and interesting architecture and decor. Timmy had found reviews of it online and wanted to try it, and I had to agree, it sounded nice.

After martinis in the bar, watching the action in Times Square for a while, we moved on to the dining room. I let Timothy do the ordering, because he actually understands all the terms for the sauces and the preparations. I picked up on words like "tuna" or "lobster", and left the more complex items to him. We ended up with a surf and turf for two, and appetizer of crab cakes, and a dessert that was some kind of strawberry and champagne sorbet thing. It was all delicious, but not half as delicious as Timothy in his good suit, white shirt, and tie, sitting across the table from me. This was only our first anniversary. That made me happy. It's like the first day of summer vacation when the whole thing stretches out in front of you.

We ordered a bottle of champagne and toasted each other, and our first year, and all the years to come. We had a corner table, so even with the restaurant being crowded, we had a little privacy. Timmy showed me how to navigate the Maine lobster that sat in front of us. I'd eaten lobster before, but lobster tails, not the whole...critter on my plate, looking at me, making me think it would get up and walk away any minute. I don't like it that way, haven't ordered it since. Give me a lobster tail so I don't have to look into its eyes while I'm ripping its claws off.

Anyway, it didn't surprise me that Timothy knew his way around relieving the creature of its meat, and I focused on his lovely, skilled hands, rather than the angry lobster. And anything that had him dipping things in melted butter and feeding me was okay with me. I also didn't mind watching him eat, licking those soft lips of his when a little melted butter got away. Then there was his smile. When he smiled at me, I melted faster than the butter. The filet mignon was good, and I didn't have to look the cow in the face while I ate it.

After dinner, we followed Timmy's carefully constructed itinerary of jazz clubs. We drank martinis, danced, and heard some good music. Since we either walked or traveled by cab, I admit I indulged in quite a few martinis. I got a little carried away with that, because I was having such a good time, and by the time we hailed the final cab to go back to the hotel...well, I don't remember it. I know we must have done it, because I didn't end up mugged in an alley somewhere, but woke up in bed with Timmy the next morning in our hotel room. I woke up with one of the jazz bands still playing my skull like a drum, and the lobster dancing in my stomach, poking my insides with its claws.

I felt horrible. Not because I was hanging over the john in our pretty hotel bathroom voiding my guts and waiting for my brain to fall in the toilet, but because I'd gotten drunk on our anniversary and passed out without giving Timmy his gift, or making love until dawn, which had been the final phase of our planned anniversary celebration.

I expected Timmy to chew me out. I was waiting for it, and I had it coming. I wouldn't have blamed him if he made me sleep in one of the chairs.

Instead, he came into the bathroom and held my head while I puked, washed my face, gave me something for my head, and got me back in bed. He held me in his arms and urged me to go to sleep if I could, because I'd feel better when I woke up the next time.

"I screwed up our anniversary," I mumbled against his chest. I was so ashamed of myself.

"No, you didn't, honey. We had a great time." He paused, and there was a smile in his voice when he added, "You just had a little bit more of a good time than I did. About six or seven martinis more." He kissed my cheek and squeezed me a little. "You've been under a lot of stress. You were just blowing off some steam."

"But it's our anniversary."

"It still is, my love. Just a few hours one way or the other. Now get some sleep. You're still going shopping on Fifth Avenue later."

"You should make me sleep in the lobby," I said.

"Hangovers are their own punishment. I don't need to add to it. Plus, if I did that, I wouldn't have your nice warm body to cuddle up with."

"I've been puking all morning and I can't move my head."

"Your breath has been sweeter, but you're still cute."

"I'm cute hung over?"

"You're always cute to me. It's okay, honey. We were both drinking and having a good time. If I'd told you to stop drinking last night, would you have?"

I was still having trouble stringing my thoughts together, but I knew I'd have done anything Timmy asked me to do on our anniversary.

"Yeah, anything for you, beautiful," I said, and it was true. I would have done anything for him that night, any night for that matter. And I felt too shitty to make up a nice lie, so it was true.

"Okay, then," he replied, in a blessedly soft voice. "Go to sleep, honey." I did. I felt like a jerk, but if Timmy forgave me and still thought I was cute, maybe I still had some worth as a human being.

********

I got up, showered, got dressed and checked my watch. If we were going to meet my mother and grandmother on time, I had to get Don up. I watched him there, sprawled on the bed, snoring softly, having slept through every move I'd made. I knew he'd still feel a little crummy when he did get up, and though I suppose he deserved to be dragged out of bed and forced to traipse up and down Fifth Avenue carrying my shopping bags, I didn't have the heart. I wrote him a note, made sure he was covered up and warm, and kissed his cheek.

When I met my mother and grandmother, I told them Don had been sick all morning, probably something we ate the night before. My mother arched an eyebrow at me, but said nothing. My grandmother, who always thought Donald was Prince Charming, didn't bat an eye at that, and asked me if I thought it was safe to leave him alone while he was sick. I assured her he was getting better now, just sleeping it off. Which was partially true.

I did have fun hitting all those high-end stores. My mother is a power-shopper, and I get my abilities in that regard from her. Even taking my grandmother with us in a wheelchair through all those big stores so she wouldn't get overtired, didn't slow us down. I picked out a really nice suit for Don at Saks, and found a couple overpriced sweaters for myself at Bloomingdale's.

I was trying on a shirt in Bergdorf-Goodman when my cell phone rang.

"Hey there, handsome. Head feeling better?" I asked.

"You're a saint," Don said, sounding like he'd just regained consciousness, and obviously found my note.

"I'll be a well-dressed one, anyway," I replied.

"Should I be afraid?" he asked.

"Very. I already have four shopping bags."

"Are you having fun, sweetheart?"

"Yes, but I miss you. Do you want to meet us for an early dinner, or are you still nauseous?"

"I feel pretty good now. My partner took good care of me. Do you just want to meet in the dining room, or is there another famous restaurant we should take in before we head home?"

"The hotel is fine. We'll be heading back that way anyway, and you and I need to pack up to head home."

"I'll get everything packed. I'll put everything in the car so we can take our time with dinner."

"If you come across a wrapped package in the dresser drawer, no peeking or shaking, hear me?"

"I'll only handle it enough to put it in a suitcase. Okay?"

"Deal. We'll finish up and see you in the lobby about five?"

"Sounds good. Timothy?"

"What, honey?"

"I really am sorry."

"I know you are. You can make it up to me at home later."

"Count on it. I love you."

"That's what I wanted to hear," I said, smiling. "I love you, too. See you in a little while."

********

Timmy had a good time gorging himself on the retail bounty of Fifth Avenue, and spending time with his mother and grandmother. He honestly didn't seem mad at me, and I remained stunned, grateful, and a little apprehensive. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. To catch him looking irritated, for him to blow up at me about something minor...but he didn't. He'd covered for me with Anne and Grandma Grace, telling them I'd been sick from something I ate. I'm not sure his mother believed that, since she occasionally gave me a bit of a fish eye over dinner, but she didn't say anything. To this day, she's never said anything. I think she respected Timmy's decision to handle whatever my transgression was the way he chose to handle it.

He smiled at me, held my hand, looked at me with so much love. He worried about what I ordered, wanting to make sure I didn't upset my stomach, and it wasn't just for show in front of his mother to support the excuse he'd used. I didn't feel worthy of him, of so much love.

We said goodbye to Mom and Grandma, and started back for home. I was tired, even though I'd rested up. There's something about being that sick that leaves you drained once you feel better. We unpacked, and Timmy showed me the spoils of his little shopping excursion, including the new suit he'd picked out for me. It was really sharp, a deep, dark green color. He'd chosen a pale green shirt and a tie with coordinating colors to go with it. I was sleeping off a hangover, and he was buying me presents.

"What's wrong, honey?" he finally asked me when I sat there on the bed, apparently looking grim.

"I'm so sorry about last night, and this morning. I...threw up all over our plans."

"It's okay, Donald, really," he said, laughing, sitting next to me. "After what you had to clean up the first couple days of our honeymoon while I had food poisoning, you owed me one."

"You couldn't help that. I could have helped being a drunken asshole."

"You weren't a drunken asshole. You were actually a very affectionate, sweet drunk."

"Oh, God, what did I do?" I asked, cringing.

"You kept telling me how beautiful I was, how good I smelled, propositioning me," he said, smiling. "It was pretty sweet, really."

"I didn't even give you your present."

"I didn't give you yours, either."

"Yes, you did. You held my head while I puked and took care of me when you should have kicked my ass."

"I can think of much better things to do with your ass than kick it," he said, kissing me. "Now, I want my present, and I want to give you yours."

"Okay," I said, grinning. He really did love me unconditionally. He still does. It's not that he never gets angry with me or that I never have to make something up to him, or say I'm sorry, but when it comes to putting up with my basic human flaws? Or sometimes giving me a pass when I deserve to get my ass handed to me? He looks beyond that to the better me that's underneath it, and his love for that guy makes him forgive the screw-up me that sometimes surfaces.

I got out my package with the final gift of my fourteen day Valentine marathon. He picked up the package I'd seen and packed in our suitcase. I didn't shake it, pinch it, or analyze its weight. I wanted to be surprised, and he trusted me not to peek, so I held up my end of the deal.

"You've given me so many wonderful gifts, honey. It's been a beautiful Fourteen Days of Valentine's Day."

"One more to go," I said, handing him the box.

"A little heavy," he said, grinning, holding it on his lap. "It's not a partridge in pear tree, is it?"

"Damn, you guessed."

"There are no air holes," he joked.

"Then maybe you don't want to open it," I replied, and he laughed. He went through his usual tidy surgical procedure to ease the red wrapping paper off. We never actually reuse the stuff, so I'm not sure what he's saving it for, but that's Timmy, so who am I to interfere with his gift opening process?

I'm no art expert, so I hoped he liked it, didn't think it was cheesy or tacky or stupid. He took the lid off the box and carefully moved the tissue paper aside. I watched his graceful hands divest the gift of its packaging. I love those hand so much, and I can't even count how many times they've touched me with love and made me feel better when I was sick or hurt or just...needed their touch.

He lifted the bronze statue out of the box. He was silent as he looked at it. Then I could see it was because it was making him emotional. I exhaled. It was a statue of two male figures, one spooned around the other, sheltering his lover. I guess they were nudes; they were kind of modern and abstract, and their bodies and legs were strategically placed, so you wouldn't have to put it away when Mom visited.

"I wanted something that symbolized us," I said.

"Don, it's beautiful," he said, caressing it. "It's just...beautiful. I love it." He held onto the statue, but put an arm around me, hugging me.

"Can I open mine now?" I asked.

"Yes, go ahead," he said, setting the statue on the night stand, turning his attention to watching me open my gift.

When I saw the name "Cartier" on the box, I knew it was expensive. I don't know much about designers, but I know that name. I expected to open some fancy gold dressy thing I'd never actually wear. Not because Timmy doesn't pick nice gifts, but because I'm not the designer watch type. I opened it, and I was shocked. First, I didn't know Cartier made something like that, and second, I was one more time amazed at how well Timmy knew me.

The watch had a black rubber strap, a square face with a stainless steel bezel, an inset of black around the white face with its Roman numerals, and stainless accents that looked like little screws in the black border. It was elegant and rugged at the same time. I loved it. I still wear it for nice occasions. I don't wear it when I think I might damage it. I wore it every day while I was working for Madison Enterprises, before going back into the PI business.

"Do you like it?" he asked. I guess I was still staring at it, silent.

"Timothy...I love it. It's beautiful. It's perfect." I worked at freeing it from its box.

"Look on the back."

I did.

I treasure the moments we're together

And count the moments we're apart

Love, Timmy

It was my turn to be choked up, so I just held onto him and kissed him, and told him I loved him.

"I love the watch, sweetheart. Because we're timeless, and whenever I look at it, that's what I'll think of."

We started kissing, and one thing led to another... We got each other undressed, and I went down on him, putting everything I had into making love to him. He urged me to stop and then we shifted around on the bed until we could do a 69. There was nothing like the feeling of his mouth on me while my mouth was on him. He was lying on his back with those strong, long legs of his spread, and I was straddling him, sucking him, while he was sucking me, grabbing my ass. His warm, hairy thighs were on either side of my head, and he was moaning while he worked on me, the vibrations doing some wonderful things to my cock. I was almost sorry when he came, and when I couldn't hold on any longer. It had been so hot and fast and passionate and just...good. Really, amazingly fucking awesomely good.

I moved around so I could duck under the arm he raised for me. As I snuggled up to him, my head on his chest, his arm came around my shoulders. I hooked my leg over his.

"Happy Anniversary, honey," he said, grinning at me like we were sharing a naughty secret. I love that Timmy can still feel a little naughty when we do something creative in bed. It really turns me on in ways I can't describe.

"Happy Valentine Anniversary, sweetheart," I replied, letting myself drift into a realm of happy dreams of all the Valentine's Days to come.

********