Page 18 of Pages of My Heart

He sighs but takes his mother’s hand, leading her into the sitting room where Thomas is seated, Evie so close she may as well climb into his lap. Thomas is smiling awkwardly as Evie bats her eyelashes at him, and Charlie cannot refrain from rolling his eyes again.

“Evie, dear, please give our guest some space,” his ma says, raising her eyebrows at her daughter.

“Ma, this is Thomas. Tommy, this is my mother, Loretta Miller.”

Thomas hurries to stand and tips his head in greeting, even going so far as to do a little half bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Miller. Thank you for having me in your home.”

“It’s my pleasure, Thomas. We don’t have too many guests here, and Chippy never brings any friends home, so it’s a pleasant change. Please sit down and I’ll fetch us some refreshments.” She clears her throat. “Evie?”

His sister startles but then raises from the couch, quickly affecting a demure posture. Charlie thinks his eyes might roll straight out of his head.

“I’ll help you, Ma,” Evie says, giving Thomas one last coy look before following Loretta back into the kitchen.

Charlie sits down next to Thomas—not too close—and Thomas leans in, eyebrows high. “Chippy? Did I hear that correctly?”

Charlie jabs Thomas with his elbow. “Only my ma calls me that, so don’t even start, O’Reilly.” He chuckles at Tommy’s wounded expression. “So, uh, sorry about Evie. She throws herself at all the boys. She’s got no self-respect.”

“Nah, she’s nice. I like her. I think we might end up as friends.”

Charlie frowns and is about to object when his mother and sister return with glasses of homemade lemonade and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“I made these fresh this morning,” his ma says. “I hope you have a sweet tooth, Thomas.”

“I do. Maybe not as much as Charlie, but these look great.” Thomas picks one up and takes a bite. “Mmm . . . you are a splendid baker, Mrs. Miller. Thank you.”

“Please, call me Loretta, or Mrs. M. We’re not formal around here,” she says, settling into a chair. “Now tell me about yourself. Chippy tells me you met playing pool?”

“Yes, we did. I attend the college on South Halsted, and a fellow student took me to the pool hall he frequents. He introduced me to Charlie and we got to chatting. I enjoy learning about automobiles, and Charlie can tell me all about them. I’ve even been down to Jimmy’s a few times now to see some of the luxury models. I hope to own one someday.”

“You must be so smart, going to college and all,” Evie says, crossing one leg over the other and letting her dress ride up a little too high. “What are you studying?”

Thomas smiles politely. “I’m majoring in literature, and I hope to become a teacher or even a professor one day.

But Charlie here is far smarter than I am,” he continues, his smile turning more earnest as he directs it at Charlie.

“He understands how an engine works and can pull it apart and put it back together. I could never do that.”

Charlie feels a warm rush of pleasure at the pride he hears in Thomas’s voice and has to duck his head to school his features.

“So do you have a special girl in your life, Thomas?” Loretta asks. “Maybe you can help Chippy find a nice girl. It’s been a while now since he and Ruthie parted ways.”

Charlie closes his eyes, bracing for the worst. Of all the conversations to have, why this one? But Thomas doesn’t miss a beat.

“Actually, Mrs. M, Charlie and I went on a double date with two sisters last weekend, and we’re taking them out again tonight. With a bit of luck, maybe neither of us will be lonely bachelors for much longer.”

Charlie is almost frightened by how easily Thomas lies to his family, charming them into the bargain.

His mother seems quite taken with him, smiling approvingly.

Evie, on the other hand, upon hearing about Thomas’s perceived interest in another girl, now looks like someone drowned her kitten, a fact that amuses Charlie to no end.

All in all, things are going great—Thomas was right, no one suspects they are anything but buddies.

Charlie doesn’t even know why he was so hesitant about it before.

Leaning forward, he takes not one, but two cookies from the plate, then relaxes back and enjoys his mother’s baking while everyone continues to make small talk.

As the afternoon stretches on, Charlie starts to consider how he is going to get Thomas out of the clutches of his mother and sister. But before he can put a plan into action, his father’s incensed voice pervades the house, chilling him to the bone.

“The fuck are you doing here? Thought I kicked you out, pansy boy.”

It’s as if all the blood in his body seeps out onto the floor, puddling around him like it would a gunshot victim.

This cannot be happening. Everyone has frozen, heads turned toward Robert, who is standing in the doorway that divides the kitchen and sitting room.

He must have come in through the back door, explaining why they’d had no warning of his arrival.

Robert looks deranged, wild fury emanating from his every pore.

His cheeks and nose are ruddy, indicating he is already drunk and therefore past reasoning with, but Loretta tries anyway.

“Robert, please don’t. Please, honey,” she says, moving toward her husband like a timid animal, futilely trying to placate him. “Chippy is just visiting with a new friend. Come and sit down in the kitchen and I’ll get you a beer.”

It is only then that Charlie becomes aware that Thomas has risen to his feet, his hands balled so tightly into fists that the skin around his knuckles has turned an unnatural white.

Charlie’s never seen Thomas’s sweet face twisted with such rage.

Before Charlie can intercede, Thomas puffs out his chest and lifts his chin defiantly.

His voice rings true and strong and doesn’t waver.

“Mr. Miller, that is no way to speak about your son. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Charlie is too slow to react. After a moment of stunned silence, his father advances on Thomas, pushing his mother roughly aside like she’s nothing as he crosses the length of the room in only four strides.

Thomas stands his ground, Evie shouting “No daddy, no!” while grasping fruitlessly at his sleeve.

Finally, Charlie shakes out of his stupor and hurls himself up, stepping between Thomas and his father at the very last second.

But it’s in vain. His father backhands him across the face with a closed fist and Charlie stumbles into a chair and falls to the floor.

Robert’s voice erupts rough and brutal. “Who the fuck do you think you are speaking to me like that in my house?” Robert grabs Thomas by his shirt and pulls him close. “You got ten seconds to get the fuck outta here or your ginger ass’ll be buried six feet under in less than an hour.”

The corners of Thomas’s mouth turn down in disgust, Robert’s spittle spraying him across the face, but he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he leans closer, so they’re almost nose to nose.

His hands are still in fists and he’s shaking, face flushed red with fury.

Charlie watches on in horror, terrified at what stupid thing Thomas is about to do.

With a deep and steady voice that seems incompatible with an eighteen-year-old boy, Thomas says, “If you ever lay a fucking hand on him again, it’ll be you that’s six feet under, old man.”

Robert swings, but he’s drunk and Thomas is agile, dodging out of the way, then winding his arm back, ready to lay a punch of his own.

Charlie scrambles from the floor, the muffled cries of his mother and sister the familiar soundtrack of his life.

He digs deep inside himself and surges forward, laying his hands upon Thomas’s chest and pushing him backward toward the front door.

His father’s fist connects with the back of his head, Charlie’s vision blurring, but he pushes on.

Thomas resists Charlie’s efforts, screaming profanities at his father while Robert counters, telling them they will both be dead men if they ever set foot in his house again.

Charlie somehow wrangles Thomas out the front door, the sun almost blinding.

They tumble down the crumbling front steps and out onto the path, both puffing, chests heaving with adrenaline. But Robert doesn’t follow.

By the time they make it a hundred feet down the road, Charlie is on the verge of tears, his own anger now bubbling hot and ugly to the surface.

He’s fucking furious at his dad, but he’s angry at Thomas, too.

It’s in this moment that it becomes clear that his life is at another crossroads, and equally clear that, just like last time, he’s already chosen his path—Thomas.

But in doing so, this time he’s left his mother behind, and Evie, too.

His ma rarely leaves the house, so seeing her now will be an even greater challenge.

When they reach the deserted lot at end of the street he stops and turns on Thomas, then explodes, “What the fuck were you thinking?” Long stifled tears spill over, but he hasn’t the mind to brush them away.

Thomas looks at the sky and then down despairingly at his feet, before finally meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t . . . Fuck!

He called you a pansy boy, and the way he was looking at you with—with disgust. And I just couldn’t stop thinking about that day with the bruises around your throat, and I—” Thomas crumples to the ground like a rag doll, face falling into his hands.

“I wanted to kill him for all the pain he’s put you through.

” Thomas’s voice cracks as he begins to cry.

“Please forgive me. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—”

Charlie has no fight left in him, and he reaches down for Thomas. “Come here,” he says, pulling Thomas back up to his feet and into an embrace.

They hold each other tight and sway gently, the heat of the setting sun hot on Charlie’s neck.

They cannot stay this way, still too close to the street, too exposed.

With his remaining resolve, Charlie pulls away and begins walking.

Thomas follows, silent, until they arrive at the docks.

The sun has almost dipped below the horizon, the air cooling fast now as day descends into night.

Charlie leads them to the small boat tied off in the slip farthest from shore—the one with the broken lock they believe has been abandoned.

They climb onto the deck and enter the cramped cabin, the gentle rock of the boat making them unsteady on their feet but still somehow soothing.

Once safely inside, cut off from the world, Charlie turns to face a fragile-looking Thomas. They stand silently, unmoving except for the rise and fall of their chests, eyes locked on one another. Thomas sighs, but it’s more like a broken whimper.

“I love you, Charlie. So fucking much.”

Charlie doesn’t hesitate, throwing himself into Thomas’s arms and connecting their lips.

They kiss deeply, hungrily, and with too much force.

But this is their love—an uncontainable and perilous ocean of want and need, and Charlie knows, then, as he lets himself be pressed up against the cabin door, that he would forgive Thomas for anything.

And it’s just as well, because he’s chosen Thomas. He belongs to Thomas. Thomas is his friend, his lover, and his family now, too.

Within minutes they have brought each other to a frenzied climax, mouths never parting. “I love you too,” he murmurs against the warmth of Thomas’s breath.