Page 40 of Pages of My Heart

Thomas

Thomas finds the days leading up to Charlie’s departure for boot camp the most painful of his life—although he’s not so naive as to think they will be the worst he’ll have to endure.

Charlie remains resolute, focusing on the practicalities, such as ensuring his military pay will be distributed correctly: part to his mother, and the remainder to Thomas via Evie.

There is also the matter of finishing up at the garage and saying goodbye to friends.

But Thomas knows the truth—Charlie is struggling too.

On more than one occasion he’s looked out of the kitchen window to find Charlie standing eerily still in the backyard, smoking cigarette after cigarette, his shoulders slumped, until the dark of night swallows his silhouette.

Most evenings, they eat early and head straight to their bedroom, shedding their clothes and slipping between the sheets.

Often no words are exchanged, for what words could even begin to describe the depths of their shared heartache?

Instead, their eyes and hands and mouths articulate for them.

Poetic fingers speak only truths, sonnets are written with soft lips, and eyes confess the stories of their souls.

Thomas sinks into Charlie over and over again, cataloging it all to memory.

The heat of Charlie’s skin, the most responsive curves of his body, the scent of his arousal, and the song of his pleasure.

Thomas grants himself permission to be consumed by it.

They defy sleep until they collapse, unwilling to lose any more of their precious remaining hours than they have to.

They bathe together, do the chores side by side, help each other dress, and even feed each other sometimes.

Thomas travels to Charlie’s work with him in the mornings, and Charlie meets Thomas at the school in the late afternoons to travel back home.

Thomas doesn’t know if anyone thinks it odd, and for once he doesn’t care.

Amid all the barely contained despair, Thomas is offered the headmaster’s position at the new public school that’s opened just off Halsted, and Charlie tells him to accept it.

He agrees, even though his heart isn’t in it.

They also discuss the possibility of Thomas being drafted while Charlie is at war, and Charlie makes him promise he will fail the medical or seek an exemption on any grounds necessary.

Again, Thomas agrees. Anything to ease Charlie’s burden.

He feels guilty about the way he behaved on draft day—the sheer selfishness of it knocking him on his ass.

He vows to do better, even though he teeters on the edge of darkness from morning until night.

Every day he hides in the school restroom between classes and cries into his handkerchief. But he doesn’t share this with Charlie.

Now tonight will be their last night together.

Tomorrow morning Charlie leaves for boot camp, and from there he will be deployed straight into active duty overseas.

Charlie is headed to Camp Ellis, which thankfully is not too far—still in Illinois.

They’ve heard that sometimes the army grants the soldiers twenty-four or even forty-eight hours’ leave toward the end of the thirteen-week training period.

Thomas prays they will get to see each other once more, but he must prepare for this to be their final goodbye, just in case.

Charlie visits his mother’s house in the afternoon, spending time with her, Donnie, and Evie.

Charlie doesn’t want them at the bus stop, preferring to say his goodbyes in private.

Thomas understands, so he waits at home, leaving Charlie to it as he prepares dinner.

It feels a lot like preparing his own last meal.

The dining table is laid with their best tablecloth, and Thomas places a single candle in the center.

He turns on the radio and changes into his nicest sweater.

The lump in his throat is already lodged firmly in place, his tears barely held at bay.

He’s not sure how to navigate the pain ripping at his insides, and he prays to God in vain to give them more time.

When Charlie walks through the door it’s almost seven o’clock.

They have thirteen hours remaining. A mere 780 minutes, his mind uselessly supplies.

Charlie removes his jacket and hat, then strides across the room, slamming into him with reckless force.

They breathe heavily into each other’s necks, arms gripping tight as they rock from side to side in a futile attempt to stave off the grief.

Thomas has a duty to remain strong for his husband, to give him nothing but love and support before he leaves.

“Let’s eat,” he says. “I have a special surprise.”

They pull apart and he watches Charlie put on a brave face. “Sounds good. Lead the way.”

“You sit down, and I’ll bring it out.”

Thomas moves back into the kitchen, takes their dishes out of the oven where he’s been keeping them warm, and carries them to the table. “Be careful, the plate is hot.”

Charlie smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “A steak? Are you kidding me? How can we afford this?”

“I can make do on leftovers for a few days. I wanted you to have a good meal.”

Thomas sits and Charlie takes his hand, kissing it affectionately. “It smells great. Thank you.”

Thomas forces himself to dig in, even though his stomach is a jumbled mess of nerves. “How was your last day at work?” he asks.

“Good. I finished the repairs on the Cadillac with the V16 engine. And Jimmy organized for us to finish early and have a beer. There was cake too. I would’ve brought some home for you, but the greedy bastards ate it all.”

Thomas laughs. “Typical of those boys. Is the steak nice?”

“Perfect. Listen, I was thinkin’ . . .” Charlie sets his knife and fork down. “I was thinking when I get home, we should have enough savings to get approved for a mortgage and buy our own place. What do you think?”

Thomas looks at him in surprised. This is the last thing he was expecting tonight. “Won’t the bank look at us strangely?” he asks. “Two men wanting to purchase together? We can’t pretend we’re brothers.”

“Well, we can put everything in your name. As a headmaster, you got good standing in the community. I thought it might be nice . . . having something to look forward to. And we ain’t getting’ any younger. You can start lookin’ at houses while I’m gone. It’ll be a good distraction.”

Thomas takes a sip of his beer, considering. “All right. Owning our own home would be better for our financial future. And we probably have enough saved up for a deposit already. Perhaps I should meet with the bank manager?”

Charlie smiles, seemingly satisfied. “You should. With any luck this war will be over soon. Damn well should be, the way more and more of our troops are joinin’ the fight every day.” He wraps his socked feet around Thomas’s ankle under the table. “I’ll be home before you know it, Red.”

Thomas nods and smiles, willing himself to believe it.

They finish dinner with dessert, Thomas cheekily licking off a dollop of chocolate pudding left on the corner of Charlie’s mouth. The dishes are left unwashed in the sink while they stroll hand in hand around their backyard just out of sight of their neighbors, sharing an after-dinner cigarette.

Hopelessly aware of every minute ticking down, they soon head back inside, where they methodically pack Charlie’s bag—not that he’s allowed to take much.

What pains Thomas the most is that Charlie cannot take a photo of him.

He couldn’t pass for Charlie’s brother, and who takes a photo of their brother to war, anyway?

Thank God they have their tattoos—the one thing no one can ever take from them.

Thomas runs a bath, lighting candles and taking out a bar of lavender soap he’s been saving for a special occasion. He intends to forget his own needs for the next eleven hours and lavish Charlie with all that he desires. Whatever Charlie wants, he’ll willingly and wholeheartedly give.

They settle in the tub, Charlie between his legs and leaning back against his chest like always.

For a while, Thomas just holds him and strokes his hair, trying not to think about what it might look like in a few days after it’s been shorn off.

He presses kisses to Charlie’s temple and feels Charlie’s muscles relaxing, his weight growing heavier against Thomas’s chest.

“Do you remember when we only got to bathe together once every few months when your family left for the weekend?”

“Of course. Back then, I used to spend my days fantasizing about time alone with you. I used to fantasize about funny things too, like brushing our teeth together, or cooking breakfast for you.” Thomas laughs at himself.

“I hope you fantasized about other things too.” Charlie tilts his head back, eyes mischievous and eyebrows arched.

Thomas bites playfully at his ear. “Oh, you know I did. My mind used to drift during lectures and I’d be left with a painful stiffy at the end of class I had to try to hide with my book bag.”

Charlie snorts. “Yeah? Did ya have a favorite fantasy?”

Thomas picks up the soap and starts lathering up and down Charlie’s chest. “Hmm, I had a couple.”

“Tell me,” Charlie requests, sounding like his mind has wandered to a faraway place. He sighs contentedly as Thomas softly circles his nipples.

Soaping up his hands, Thomas puts the bar down and cleans Charlie’s cock, the shaft hardening in his loose grip. He whispers in his ear, “They were filthy . . . dirty . . . thoroughly deviant fantasies.”

“Mmm, I’d expect nothing less from you, Red.”

Thomas gently rolls Charlie’s balls in his hand. “In the early days, I was obsessed with climaxing inside of you—and on you.”

Charlie laughs around a groan. “And how is that any different to now?”