Page 34 of Pages of My Heart

“You gotta let me help you. You’ve gotta meet me halfway. Please. I need you here, Red,” he whispers, then repeats it again and again. “I need you.”

Thomas buries his face into the crook of Charlie’s neck, and there they remain, clinging tightly to each other on the cold bathroom floor until the dark of night descends.

Thomas

On Christmas Eve, Thomas forces himself to get out of bed and have dinner with Charlie at the table.

He’s still weak, fighting against limbs that feel like lead, dragging him down with every step, but he needs to do this.

Charlie had left him alone in the afternoon, returning with a Christmas tree for their sitting room.

The fresh scent of pine fills the house with hope and, he prays, helps mask the stale odor of his own body.

He’s grateful he bought Charlie’s Christmas gift before Thanksgiving and that it’s wrapped and ready to place under the tree before tomorrow.

The guilt from a few nights ago, when he’d raised that blade to his wrist and thought about ending his life, remains with him, thick and oppressive.

How could he have considered it, knowing how his mother’s attempts had nearly destroyed him?

If he’d done that to Charlie, he could never forgive himself, not even in death.

This episode had been so much worse than his first in ’38, like he’d been trapped behind an invisible wall, cut off from Charlie and lost in an endless maze of his own dark thoughts.

And it’s terrifying not knowing what brought it on—feelings of hopelessness, of unworthiness, twisting and growing like a choking vine around the insides of his mind with no clear cause or reason.

He knows three weeks have passed since he last went to work.

The long periods of nothingness where he could do little but sleep are punctuated by fragments of memories.

The moments of pain, of sorrow, are interspersed with images of Charlie trying to force tasteless food into his mouth or make him drink water that felt too frigid.

There are the memories of Charlie helping him to the bathroom and lifting him into the tub to wash him.

Tender hands and quivering lips upon his numb skin.

Worried and fearful eyes making him shrink away with shame.

Charlie enters the dining room, setting their plates down on the table before taking his usual seat opposite him.

“Thank you, Charlie. I’m . . . I’m not sure how much I can eat but—”

“It’s okay,” Charlie interjects. He gives Thomas a small, encouraging smile. “If you can eat a little, I’ll be happy.”

Thomas tries to hold Charlie’s gaze but has to drop his head, the guilt unbearable. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about. You’re doing better. We got through it.”

“Is Jimmy mad about you taking time off work?” Thomas cuts a potato in half and pushes a small piece into his mouth, fighting through the exhaustion even this simple act brings.

“Nah. I’m his best worker. Told him I got the flu real bad.”

“And the school? What did they say?”

“I told ’em you had the flu too, and I’ve updated ’em every week. They sounded concerned. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

Thomas slips a small piece of meat into his mouth and tries to chew. “Thank you,” he whispers. His eyes fill with tears.

Charlie reaches across the table and waits until Thomas takes his hand.

“Will ya help me decorate the tree after dinner?”

“I’d like that,” he says, trying to force his mouth into a smile.

Charlie insists Thomas rests in front of the fire while he cleans up after dinner and then they begin on the tree.

Thomas is drained, but he wants to do this for Charlie, so he sits with the box of ornaments on his lap and passes them over one at a time for Charlie to place on the tree.

The radio plays quietly in the background, the Christmas carols making him think of his family.

He wonders if his father is at home or out wandering the streets, drunk, pining for his mother.

After she had been taken to the asylum all those years ago, it wasn’t uncommon for Patty to go missing between Christmas and New Year’s.

It makes complete sense to him now. If he was ever separated from Charlie, he would be a lost and broken man too.

He thinks ahead to tomorrow, when he will need to muster the strength to make his way to Bridget’s for Christmas.

Looking up at Charlie, he wishes they could spend the day together, sighing deeply with the disappointment of it.

The final notes of “Silent Night” play out on the radio and then the announcer begins speaking.

Thomas is only half listening when something breaks through to catch his attention.

“It’s a tough Christmas for Americans this year, but everyone must pull together for the war effort. Almost the whole world is locked in deadly struggle, and, with the most terrible—”

“What? Charlie, what does that mean?” Thomas sits forward, looking up in confusion at Charlie, still unable to concentrate fully on what the voice on the radio is saying. “Darling?”

Charlie flips off the radio and squats down in front of him, taking his hands. “I was gonna wait ’til you were feelin’ a little better before telling you.” Charlie pauses, inhaling deeply. “Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on the seventh and we’ve joined the war.”

Thomas stares at Charlie, eyes blinking, confused, before the magnitude of his words slowly becomes clear. “Will we be drafted?”

“Possibly. We’re the right age and we ain’t married.

We’ll know more after New Year’s. Roosevelt’s meetin’ with Churchill now and he’s set to make some announcement on the first. But we got no choice now.

America’s gotta fight. We can’t let the Japs hit us at home.

We can’t let Hitler continue going on like he’s been. ”

“No,” Thomas agrees. Goosebumps rise on his arms as reality sets in.

Charlie brushes his fingers through Thomas’s hair. “Let’s not think about it tonight. You need to focus on getting better. Let’s finish the tree.”

Charlie turns the radio back on, turning it up so the sound of “Jingle Bells” fills the room.

Thomas watches Charlie sing and dance, a clear attempt to distract him from the news.

He plants a small smile on his face, willing himself to focus on Charlie, even though an awful unease pricks at his skin.

The final ornament to go on the tree is the angel they bought last year to celebrate their first Christmas together. Charlie turns to him with a broad smile once it sits atop the tree.

“What do you think?”

“I love you,” Thomas replies softly. It’s the one thing he knows.

He pushes up onto his feet and kisses Charlie tentatively for the first time in three weeks.

They sit a while longer in front of the fire and then Charlie suggests a bath. Thomas agrees. It’s been almost a week since he last bathed, and his cheeks flame up at how rank he must be, though Charlie makes no sign that he notices or cares.

While Charlie fills the tub, Thomas takes the opportunity to fetch the Christmas present—a new gold watch that Charlie will say costs too much—from where he’s hidden it and places it under the tree.

When he enters the bathroom, Charlie is just turning off the taps, the room bathed in a soft, flickering orange glow.

The candles are calming and gentle. It seems fitting for Christmas Eve.

“Tommy, there’s no expectation. I—I just wanted to make it nice.”

Thomas nods. “I know. And it’s beautiful. It feels like Christmas.”

Charlie moves to undress him, and he watches Charlie’s hesitant hands as they work to unbutton his shirt, tentative glances flittering up to his face from under dark lashes.

“I’m okay. I promise.”

Charlie smiles, almost shyly, and Thomas slides a hand around the back of his neck and brings their lips together in a tender kiss.

He’s missed Charlie. Missed him in every way.

But he doesn’t have the energy nor the sexual drive to fully show it.

Both things will return, but it could still take time.

He hates not being there for Charlie, not being able to fulfil his needs, but he tries not to let thoughts of those failures take root right now. It’s difficult.

He settles in the bath between Charlie’s legs and rests back on his chest. Normally their positions are reversed, so it feels a bit odd at first, but when Charlie encircles his arms around his stomach it is so very welcome.

“Do you think you’ll have it in ya to go to Bridget’s tomorrow for Christmas dinner?”

“I think so. I need to. What time will you be able to leave your mother’s house and come home? I want to spend some of the day with you. Share a dance. A kiss under the mistletoe.”

“Let’s be home by seven,” Charlie suggests. He gives Thomas’s body a little squeeze. “Now sit up and I’ll wash your hair.”

Charlie gently massages the shampoo through his scalp, then tips his head back, and uses a bowl to rinse out the soap, taking care to protect his eyes from the suds.

Charlie then washes Thomas’s entire body, tenderly and meticulously, dropping kisses to his skin as the remnants of the last three weeks are rinsed away.

In bed, they lay facing each other, bodies entwined as they whisper, lips almost brushing, sharing breath, warm and sweet.

Thomas’s skin tingles, coming back to life, and the thick murky fog begins to lift from his thoughts.

It’s late when his eyes begin to droop. The alarm clock on the nightstand tells him it’s a few minutes past midnight.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Sleep now.”

And he does.