Page 17 of The Summer that Ruined Everything

CHAPTER 16

T he morning after his dinner with Katherine, on his twenty-first birthday, Cal drove down to Providence to meet with his father and the trustee.

Normally, he’d be dreading a meeting like this. To be stuck in a room with people who would no doubt be judging him, to know that his father was expecting him to perform in a particular fashion and to also know he’d never be able to measure up to those expectations, these were some of the things he hated most about his life.

That day, however, the dread was mysteriously absent. Instead of feeling sick to his stomach, he felt...nothing. Just a calm acceptance, a detached knowledge that he was about to cause more disappointment, and a realization none of it actually mattered, not in a way that was important.

He met his father in the lobby of the trustee’s office in one of the looming downtown skyscrapers. As he crossed the plush carpeted space, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city, his steps were sure and confident.

Normally, he’d hesitate, his steps faltering as he saw the immediate disapproval on his father’s face. But today...he didn’t. It felt good. It felt right .

Theodore frowned as he rose from his chair, of course.

“What are you wearing?” he hissed, when Cal got close enough to shake his father’s hand.

Cal glanced down at his khaki trousers, blue striped Lacoste polo, and brown leather loafers.

“Clothes,” he said.

“That’s hardly proper attire for this meeting,” Theodore said. “Look around you. You know better than that.”

Normally, he’d quietly assent, apologize, and feel shame wash over him. The near-automatic yes, sir was on the tip of his tongue, but instead, he shrugged, and said something else.

“I doubt anyone will really care. This meeting is about me, after all, so shouldn’t I be setting the tone? Shouldn’t everyone be worried about what I think, and not the other way around?”

Theodore blinked at him, and made a huffing sound, but said nothing further.

Cal smiled. He wasn’t sure where that had come from, but an image of a grinning Jack flashed in his mind. He flinched and pushed it aside.

Within a few minutes, a young woman beckoned for them to follow her down the hall to a conference room, ending the threat of any additional conversation. He followed his father silently, sat in the proffered wing-back chair silently, folded his hands on the polished wooden table silently, and waited.

Howard Morgan, the lead trustee, arrived with a brown accordion folder and a large grin beneath his bushy mustache. Cal and Theodore stood to greet him.

“Theodore, Calloway, good to see you.” He shook their hands, and gestured for them to be seated once more. He pulled out a stack of papers and began to shuffle them into piles on the table. He pushed one pile towards Cal, another towards Theodore, and kept one for himself.

Cal flipped through the papers quickly. He’d seen this before; it was the terms of the trust. He realized he had some questions, ones that had never occurred to him in the past.

“Howard, could I trouble you for some paper and a pen?” he asked.

The older man nodded, unearthed a yellow legal pad and a blue Bic ballpoint from a sideboard, and handed them to Cal before taking his own seat.

“Will that do?” he asked.

“Perfect. Writes the first time, every time,” Cal said, parroting the pen’s popular slogan. Theodore gave him a severe look, but Morgan laughed.

“Now,” Morgan said, “it’s an exciting day. I don’t expect there to be anything terribly complicated to go over. The significant shift taking place is that, as he has reached the age of twenty-one — happy birthday, by the way — Calloway now has the right to withdraw certain funds from the trust at will, and he will begin to receive a monthly set allowance from the rest of the assets. He also takes over the oversight of the trustees, in that he may re-appoint trustees and has a say in the management of the assets, replacing Theodore in that capacity.”

Cal listened as Morgan explained the allowance, the funds he had immediate access to, and those he’d gain access to in nine years. He took notes about the current valuation of the assets and the investment strategy. He asked questions about the stock and bond portfolio, and the lack of diversification that he saw.

Theodore jumped in at that point. “Calloway, Howard has been managing these assets for nearly two decades. He’s doing a fine job.”

The yes, sir, was on the tip of his tongue again, but he swallowed it back.

“Of course he is,” Cal said calmly. “I’m just trying to acquaint myself with the strategy. I might be comfortable with a more aggressive approach than we have now, as long as we aren’t putting all our eggs in the same basket.”

“You have a good eye,” Morgan said. “And if you have the stomach for a more aggressive approach, I’ll certainly have my team re-examine the spread. If you have any ideas, you’re more than welcome to send them my way.”

“I might want to be more hands on,” Cal said. “Could we arrange a quarterly meeting?”

“Absolutely,” Morgan replied. “I’m glad to see you taking an interest.”

When the meeting was over and the paperwork was signed, they bid farewell to Morgan and exited the offices. The elevator took them down to the building lobby in silence.

Theodore waited until they were out on the street before he turned to Cal.

“What was that?” he asked, poking Cal in the chest.

“What was what?” Cal asked, rubbing at the spot.

“Your attitude in there. I didn’t appreciate it.”

Cal laughed. “You didn’t appreciate that I was interested in the details, and had opinions on the management of my own assets?”

“Don’t be smart,” Theodore said. “You were acting like you knew more than Howard Morgan. It was disrespectful.”

Cal watched him for a moment. “I don’t agree,” he said. “I was simply doing what I’ve spent my life training to do. Pay attention to the financials. Thanks to that training, I know what I’m talking about, and since it’s my money, I’ve a right to ask questions. Howard didn’t seem offended.”

“Well, you will not repeat it this afternoon,” Theodore said.

Cal frowned. “What’s this afternoon?”

“We’re having lunch with the firm who will be managing the assets you’ll be drawing out,” Theodore said. “I mean it, don’t embarrass me.”

Cal stared at his father, and something snapped inside him. Much like the night before, he suddenly saw clearly the choices before him, and he knew which path he was going to take. He might as well say so, rather than beat around the bush.

“That’s easy enough,” Cal said. “I won’t be going.”

“You what?” Theodore’s mouth dropped open. “Calloway?—“

“You didn’t ask me if I was available, and I’m not. I’m headed straight back to school. I have things to do,” Cal said. “Also, I plan to choose my own investment managers, and until then, or until I need them, I’ll leave the funds where they are. Howard Morgan is doing a fine job. As you said.”

Cal could barely believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, but hearing them, in a confident voice, felt good. From the look on Theodore’s face, he couldn’t believe them either.

“Nonsense,” he sputtered. “We have reservations, and they’re expecting us.”

“You’re free to meet them,” Cal said. “Go ahead and break the news that you’ve spoken out of turn, and I’ll be going my own way on this.”

“Calloway,” Theodore said, “I know what’s going on here.”

“You do?” Cal chuckled. “Please, enlighten me.”

“You’ve let that boy —“ he spit out the word as if it were bitter, “—influence you. I should have put a stop to it when he showed his colors on Independence Day.”

“Who?” Cal asked. He swallowed, and forced himself to speak the name aloud. “Jack?”

“He’s got a smart mouth, too. Speaking up when he should keep his silence. I should have listened to your mother.”

Cal’s thoughts whirled. His first instinct was denial, to protect Jack, to protect himself, to sever a link between them so no one would suspect what had really gone on.

But Theodore was right. Cal had been influenced by Jack. It was because of Jack, and their time together, that he’d finally begun to let himself want something specific, something else, and stopped being resigned to his fate.

It was because of Jack that he’d broken things off with Katherine, decided he no longer wanted to trap himself into the appearance of a life he knew he’d hate.

Theodore shook his head. “Get it out of your system now,” he said. “When you come to work for me, I’ll expect you to fall in line. You’ll be representing me and the entire family.”

It was because of Jack that Cal was even considering doing what he was about to do. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore his somersaulting stomach.

What do you really want to do? Jack had asked.

I don’t know. Not that, he’d replied, referring to the entire life his parents had planned out for him.

It was time to admit that to more than just Jack, and himself.

“I won’t be coming to work for you,” he said.

There was a long beat of silence, before Theodore threw his head back and laughed.

“Be serious, Calloway,” he said.

“I am serious,” Cal said. “I don’t want to work for you. I’m sorry, I should have said something sooner. But the company, and what you do…it’s not what I want to spend my life doing.”

Theodore wasn’t laughing anymore. He reached out and gripped Cal’s shoulder hard. “That’s nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Cal said, shaking his father off. “It’s my decision to make, and I’m making it.”

“Listen to me,” Theodore said, dropping his voice. “If you decide to walk away?—“

“I don’t need your money,” Cal said. “Weren’t you paying attention up there? I have the trust.”

“It’s not just the money,” Theodore said. “If you make this choice…we won’t protect you.”

Cal was brought up short by Theodore’s tone. There was a warning in it that sent chills down Cal’s spine.

“Protect me?” he asked.

“You think I don’t know?” Theodore asked, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “About you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cal said, taking a step back. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to run.

“Of course you do,” Theodore said. “And we can protect you. Make sure that no one else talks, make sure that your reputation is secure. But if you walk away? That ends.”

For a moment, the fear took over. He couldn’t walk away. He needed the protection. If people found out about him, it would ruin everything. He thought wildly about how to fix it all, get Katherine back, make his father happy, forget all these ideas?—

A truck roared by on the street, and the exhaust fumes billowed around them. He coughed, blinked against the irritant, and then, as the smoke cleared, so did his fear.

What was he doing?

The entire reason he needed his reputation protected, needed to make sure no one knew about him, was because it would ruin him…but only if he was working for his father, maintaining the family name. If he left, if he chose his own life? It mattered less, because there was nothing to ruin.

He smiled. “I appreciate the offer,” he said calmly. “But it doesn’t change my mind. I’m not interested in the company. If you still want to be involved in my life, I’d like that. But if not? I still need to follow my own path.”

Theodore looked like he was about to argue, but then he sighed. “I can see you’re not going to change your mind today,” he said. “I propose you take some time to think about this, and we can revisit the subject on a later date.”

“I’ve done plenty of thinking,” Cal said, “but you’re welcome to try to persuade me in ways that don’t involve threats. Tell mother I said hello.”

Then he turned, and, without a look back, walked away from his father and the comfort of knowing exactly what was next.

* * *

The semester began, and Cal registered for his alternative list of courses. His suitemate thought he’d gone crazy.

“Why are you ruining your future?” Harrison asked, when he saw Cal’s registration card. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not ruining anything,” Cal said. “People keep saying that, but that’s not the case at all. I’m still graduating with a degree in economics. I still have all the knowledge and training I’ve gained. I’m just diversifying.”

Harrison laughed at his use of the term. “Whatever you say. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you’re doing it to meet freshman coeds, now that you and Katherine are quits.”

Normally, Cal would have second thoughts, worry about what everyone would think, overcompensate in about twelve ways. Instead, he let Harrison’s comment slide.

His other friends were equally curious, but he shrugged off their questions. Being around Katherine was awkward, so he avoided it as much as possible, though to her credit, she was civil and didn’t show any signs of being vindictive with the information she had.

Instead of Katherine and her closest friends, Cal found himself gravitating toward Jenny and her new crowd, drawn in by their commitment to the civil rights cause. He found their passion inspiring, and it was she who suggested he write for the Crimson.

“You want to write, Calloway, then you have to write ,” she said firmly one night over beer at the Underground. “Don’t wait. Do it now, while you can.”

She got him a meeting with the president of the editorial board, who’d gone with her to the March on Washington in August. Cal prepared some sample pieces — a news item about an upcoming NAACP-sponsored March on Roxbury in support of desegregation, and an opinion piece about de facto segregation in Boston’s public schools — and hoped for the best.

A week later, Cal entered the Harvard Crimson building on Plympton Street, palms sweating and heart racing. He patted the leather briefcase that hung from his shoulder, hoping its contents would be impressive enough.

He walked out an hour later with a set of new assignments and a place on the staff .

When his first article was published, under the byline Cal Buchanan, he cut it out, removed Jack’s postcard from the bottom of his desk drawer, carefully copied out the address onto a manila envelope, placed the article in the envelope, and walked it to the post office. He walked out seeing stars at the edge of his vision, and once again pushed Jack to the corners of his mind.

He never heard back. He didn’t expect to, but he was disappointed nonetheless.

Over the course of the school year, he began to find his place and his voice. He worked with the Harvard-Radcliffe Civil Rights Alliance, he wrote for the Crimson, he studied the arts, and he completely shed the skin he’d been wearing his entire life.

Throughout everything, despite his attempts otherwise, Jack was never far from his mind. He saw two new movies and read every article written about him, even though it made his chest ache. He heard the man’s voice in his ear as he made each decision, imagined how proud Jack would be of the changes he’d made.

He continued to mail his articles to California, even though there was no indication the recipient was receiving them or desiring them. It was enough to send them, and fantasize about Jack reading each one with a smile on his face.

As graduation approached, Theodore asked to meet him for lunch. He agreed, and mentally prepared for another attempt to persuade him to come to work at the company in June. He’d weathered all the previous attempts, holding firm, but he knew his father wasn’t likely to give up.

They met at the Harvard Club in Back Bay. Cal wore a suit, in deference to the Club’s dress code, and he smirked, remembering Theodore’s issue with his clothing choice on his birthday. When he arrived, the maitre’d showed him to a table with his father and a man he’d never met. Both men stood as he approached.

“Calloway,” Theodore said, in greeting. “This is Wallace Denton, a friend of mine from Harvard.”

Cal shook the man’s hand, offered pleasantries, and they sat down. He was puzzled by the man’s presence until after they’d placed their orders.

Theodore turned to him. “Wallace is an editor at the Sun-Times in Chicago,” he said, raising an eyebrow significantly.

Cal immediately got the message, and tried to mask his surprise. “Really,” he said. “I’ve been writing for the Crimson this year.”

It was clear from Denton’s reaction that Theodore hadn’t yet mentioned that to him, which also surprised Cal.

“What do you write?” Denton asked.

“Mostly political news,” Cal replied. “Some op-eds, and I’ve recently been writing a financial column.”

“Are you enjoying it?” Denton asked.

“Very much,” Cal said. He hesitated, and then plowed forward. “I’ve actually been considering journalism for after graduation,” he said.

Denton hummed. “Are you any good?”

“I suppose that’s not for me to say,” Cal said. “I could send you some of my pieces.”

“Let the work speak for itself,” Denton said with a nod of approval. “Send them along. If they’re up to par, I might have a spot for you. Would you consider relocating to Chicago?”

“I would,” Cal said, although this was the first time he was even letting himself think about where he’d end up. “If the right position was available.”

Theodore sat back in his chair, a smug smile on his face.

After lunch, they bid farewell to Denton, and Cal shook his head.

“I didn’t expect this,” he said to his father. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Theodore said. “All I did was invite you for lunch.”

“Still, it means a lot,” Cal said.

Theodore shrugged. “If you’re going to continue to be bullheaded about choosing something other than my company, I might as well do what I can to help. You’re still my son.”

Cal was still in shock as he gathered up samples of his work to send to Denton.

Chicago. It wasn’t the thing he secretly dreamed about, but since he knew what he dreamed about was just a dream…it was something.

Graduation was anticlimactic. He stood with his classmates, moved his tassel, drank toasts to their future successes. He expected to feel something more than he did, some gravity , but instead it was just another step, another moment, one among many that would fade into dim memory just like everything else.

Everything but last summer, that is. He remembered every second of his summer with Jack. Every smile, every laugh, every scent, every sensation. It all stood out in vivid technicolor, and all else paled in comparison. He wondered if it would be like that forever.

He packed up his car, bid his friends farewell, and headed out into the next chapter of his life.

But when he reached Chicago…he just kept going. His foot wouldn’t leave the gas, his hands wouldn’t turn the steering wheel towards the exit ramp. He just drove, and drove, and drove, barely stopping to sleep a few hours a night on the side of the road and grab a meal a day, until he got all the way to California.

Once he hit the outskirts of Los Angeles, he stopped at a motel. He took a shower, tried a nap, and then gave up. Being this close to Jack, after all this time, there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. So he got back in the car, stopped at a gas station, bought a map, and thirty minutes later he was pulling up to a sprawling single-level ranch house in the Hollywood Hills, Jack’s postcard clutched tightly in his hand.

He sat in the car for ten minutes after the engine stopped humming, talking himself through what he was about to do. Would Jack be happy to see him? Would he already have someone new? Was Cal walking right into disaster, or something else?

Finally, he screwed up the courage to get out of the car and make his way up the walk to the front door. He rang the bell, and stepped back to wait.

The door swung open, and J.C. stood on the other side. When she saw him, her face lit up.

“Cals!” she cried. “I knew it. I knew it,” she said again, louder, over her shoulder.

She reached out and punched him in the chest.

“Ow,” he said, rubbing at the spot with his palm. “J.C.—“.

“Hey, Ginny,” she called out, “I win. You owe me.”

“You…you win?” Cal asked. His head was spinning.

“I had a bet with Ginny when you’d show up here. You just got me a cool hundred because it’s been less than a year. Hey, answer me a question, will you? If you answer right it’ll be double the bread.”

“Uh…okay,” he agreed.

“Did you tell your old man to take his job and kiss off?” She grinned up at him. “Please say you did.”

“I…” He laughed. “I didn’t use those words, but basically, yeah.”

“Cal.” Now she jumped across the threshold and hugged him, hard. “What a guy. I knew you had it in you.”

“Thanks. I think,” Cal said. “Is…is he here?”

His heart pounded until she shook her head. Disappointment and relief mixed in his gut.

“He’s on set,” she said. “Won’t be back until later.”

“Oh. Okay. Then I’ll just…you can tell him I came by, I can leave a number?”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. She tugged him into the house. “Jack’ll never let me hear the end of it if I let you walk away. You can have dinner with us and wait.”

As she said the words, he realized that the smells of garlic and onion permeated the house.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not. And there’s plenty of food. Ginny is making meatballs and she always makes too much. Come on.”

In the kitchen, Ginny was indeed elbow-deep in mixing ground meat, but was equally enthusiastic to see him, kissing him on the cheek when he approached. “I don’t even mind that I just lost money,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Within minutes, the girls had put him to work chopping vegetables for a salad while they chattered around him. He began to relax, remembering how comfortable he’d become around these people over the summer. He’d missed the ease of it, how they just accepted him without expecting him to be anything or get them anything. He grinned down at the tomatoes.

Greg wandered in as Ginny was transferring the meatballs from the frying pan to the sauce and J.C. was setting water on to boil for the pasta.

“Cal!” he cried. He crossed the room and slapped Cal on the back. “Good to see you, man.”

“You too,” Cal said, grinning.

Greg went to the fridge and swung the door open. “You want a beer?” he asked.

“Sure,” Cal agreed. Then he stopped shredding lettuce and leaned forward, squinting at the refrigerator door. His breath caught in his throat.

Pinned to the center of the door with a tacky plastic lobster magnet, half buried by the flotsam and jetsam of life — postcards, business cards, scraps of paper with phone numbers and grocery lists — was the Polaroid he and Jack had taken together at the dinner party at Radcliffe.

He turned back to the vegetables and tried to focus. It was the only photo on the refrigerator. What did it mean? Had Jack just stuck it up there when he returned, then got used to the sight of it and forgot about it? Or did the fact that it was still there mean Jack still thought of him sometimes?

He spent dinner filling everyone in on his senior year, and hearing what they’d been up to. Ginny had just finished filming a project she was sure was going to be her big break, Greg had landed a job at a music studio, and J.C. was planning to attend UCLA in the fall.

“You inspired me,” she said, patting Cal’s shoulder. “I can’t be arm candy all my life, can I?”

The dinner was cleared away and they were laughing at J.C.’s latest escapades in the dating world when the sound of the door opening made Cal sit up straight.

A voice rang out. The sound of it, earthy and animated, brought Cal right back to the sunny days and secret nights in Westerly. His pulse began to race.

“Hey guys, whose car is that out front? In the dark, it almost looked like….”

Jack came around the corner into the dining room and stopped short.

“Cal,” Jack whispered, eyes wide.

Everyone was still for a moment. Cal drank in the sight of the man he had loved — still loved, who was he kidding — and felt all the hollow places inside him fill up all over again. Jack looked the same. His hair was a little longer, but otherwise…

…he was Jack.

Cal got to his feet. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Jack said. “You…what are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. I should have called,” Cal said. “I didn’t know I was coming, and then I was here, and?—“

“You don’t ever have to call,” Jack said. “You’re always welcome. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

Cal became aware that the others were quietly retreating into other parts of the house. He cleared his throat.

“So…how have you been?” Jack asked.

“Good. I graduated last week. From school,” he said, unsure of what else to say.

“Congratulations,” Jack said. “Do you…I’m going to get a drink. You want one?”

“Sure,” Cal said.

He followed Jack into the kitchen, waited while Jack retrieved two bottles of beer from the fridge and opened them, and then took one. They both took a drink, and then they sat at the small kitchen table. Jack looked at Cal for a moment and smiled.

“You look good,” he said.

“You too,” said Cal. There was a beat of awkward silence. “How is filming going?”

“It’s good,” Jack said. “This one is a challenge. The character is a real psycho.”

“Sounds interesting.” Cal tapped his thumb on his beer bottle. “I saw your last two.”

“You did? What did you think?” Jack asked, leaning slightly forward.

“You were great,” Cal said. “No surprise there.”

Another long beat of silence, and then Jack coughed.

“What brings you to California?” he asked.

“You,” Cal said. “I was on my way to Chicago — I have a job there starting in a couple of weeks — but when I got there I just kept going until I was here. I guess I wanted to see you.”

Jack set his beer down. “Tell me something. Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” Cal said, shaking his head. “I haven’t…there’s not anyone. And I broke up with Katherine, back in August.”

“Good,” Jack said.

Then he stood so fast the chair legs scraped loudly against the floor, and he was across the table and in Cal’s lap. Their mouths met immediately, and Cal made an inhuman sound, a groan that came from deep in his chest. He grabbed at Jack, his hands wrapping around the man’s biceps and then cupping his neck and chin.

They broke apart gasping.

“Fuck,” Jack said. “Please tell me you don’t have to leave right away.”

“No, I can stay,” Cal said. He moved in for another kiss.

“Wait,” Jack said. He stood and took Cal’s hand. “Come with me.”

Cal followed Jack through the house to a bedroom at the back.

“This is me,” Jack said, flicking on a lamp to reveal a large, messy room with sleek modern furnishings. He closed the door behind them.

Cal scanned the room, noting all the stuff of Jack, and his eyes landed on something familiar. He crossed to the bedside table and picked up an open folder filled with newspaper clippings. His clippings.

“You kept them,” he said, a trace of wonder in his voice. “All of them.”

“Well…of course,” Jack said. “Thank you for sending them to me. They’re great, you’re good at this.”

“You read them?”

“Yeah. I actually…never mind.”

Cal set the folder down and peered at Jack. “You what? Tell me.”

Jack rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and winced. “I read them at night. Before I go to sleep.”

“Because they’re boring?” Cal asked. The balloon of disappointment hovered over his head, but Jack’s next words stunned him.

“Because they’re you . Your voice is so clear, when I read them, I can hear it. Like the one you wrote about Kennedy? And what LBJ should do? After the assassination? Reading it is like having you in the room, and you’re just talking to me, about civil rights and leadership and progress. So…I read them before I go to sleep.”

Cal stared at Jack, something exploding into life deep in his core.

“So you aren’t seeing anyone either?” he asked.

“No,” Jack said, laughing. “There’s been no one.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Good,” Cal said, and this time he launched himself at Jack.

They fell onto the bed kissing, and rolled until Jack was straddling Cal. He pushed himself up, his palms splayed on Cal’s chest.

“I missed you,” he said softly. “I missed you a ton.”

“Me too,” Cal said. He tugged at the hem of Jack’s t-shirt. “Can I…”

“Yes.” Jack wriggled free of his shirt, tossed it aside, and then went to work on the buttons of Cal’s Oxford. “You’re still wearing these,” he murmured.

“Sometimes,” Cal said. “I wanted to look nice.”

“For me?” Jack asked, looking delighted. “You were worried I would…what? Suddenly not find you the most gorgeous man on earth? Have I gone blind?”

He spread Cal’s shirt apart and, with a hum of satisfaction, set to work driving him mad with lips, teeth, and tongue. Cal thought he’d vividly remembered what being with Jack was like, and he did…but it was also so much better in reality than it could ever be in memory.

With a growl, he rolled them over to reverse positions and spent what seemed like forever reacquainting himself with the taste and scent of Jack’s skin, the sounds he made, the way he felt.

They didn’t rush. Cal would have guessed — if he’d let himself imagine it — that they’d be frantic, but that didn’t happen. Instead, they took their time, removing articles of clothing bit by bit, taking turns enjoying each other, until finally, when the house was fully quiet and the moon was high overhead, Cal slid into Jack with a grateful sigh.

They moved together as if no time had passed at all, falling into familiar rhythms and patterns without missing a step. Cal knew what catches of breath to listen for, how Jack’s muscles would tense and bunch underneath his fingers, the way his motions would stutter just so as he got close to losing it, and he reveled in all of it.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together, skin slick and hearts racing in a duet of post-exertion percussion. Cal ran his fingers along Jack’s arm, up and down, and Jack sighed.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured. “I hoped you would.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Cal said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still want me to. You never…I didn’t hear from you at all.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I thought about calling, but I knew you’d be busy, and I didn’t want to interfere. With your life. Any more than I already had.”

“Maybe it was better that way,” Cal said quietly. “Getting over you was the hardest thing I ever tried to do, and it would have been even harder if you’d…you know.”

“So did you? Get over me?” Jack asked, holding himself very still.

Cal buried his face in Jack’s curls. “Not even a little bit.”

Jack let out a breath. “Good. Me either,” he said, sounding relieved. He tipped his head up and caught Cal’s lips. “What now?” he asked, when they broke apart.

“I don’t know,” Cal said.

“You said you were starting a job in Chicago. Does that mean you told your father you didn’t want to work for him?” Jack asked.

“I did,” Cal said. He laughed. “I ended things with Katherine, got control of my trust, and broke the news to my father the next day. It was like shedding a thousand pounds of weight all at once.”

They talked quietly for hours. Cal filled Jack in on his year, his work with the civil rights causes, his writing, taking control of his future. Jack talked about the movies he’d filmed, the books he’d read, the way he’d felt more focused and centered than he ever had before.

As the night wore on, Jack tightened his arms around Cal. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “And excited to hear what you’ve chosen for yourself. What’s the job in Chicago?”

“Writing for the Sun-Times,” Cal said.

“That’s so boss,” Jack said.

“So—“ Cal searched for a way to ask what he desperately wanted to ask. “So I should go to Chicago?”

“Well, you have that lined up,” Jack said. “And that’s something you want. Right?”

“Where does that leave this? Us? Is there us?” Cal asked, his heart sinking. He’d let himself hope, for a moment, that he could have what he’d dreamed about all summer. But maybe that wasn’t the case.

“I think there’s us,” Jack said. He nibbled on Cal’s collarbone and then licked the spot soothingly. “If that’s what you want. I can come out and visit. And you can come here. We can talk on the telephone.”

“Do you think that will be enough?” Cal asked.

Jack sighed. “I don’t know. I hope so? I’ve never been in love before, Cal. I don’t know how to do it.”

“You’re still in love with me?” Cal asked.

“What do you think?” Jack reached up and kissed Cal soundly.

They were quiet for a while. Cal did his best to enjoy the feel of Jack in his arms, despite knowing that it might not be permanent. But maybe it could be. Jack certainly sounded like he wanted to be with Cal, even with the obstacle of long distance.

At long last, Cal spoke.

“What if I didn’t go to Chicago?” he asked.

“No,” Jack said. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“You’ve spent your whole life doing what other people wanted. I want you to be doing what you want now. I don’t want you to change things for me.”

Cal wanted to protest, but instead he turned that idea over in his mind. He’d spent the past year taking charge of his life, making sure that it was what he wanted, and not what someone else wanted. It had gotten him this far.

So. What did he want?

“I want you,” Cal said. “And you’re here. I can always find another job.”

Jack pushed himself up so he could peer down at Cal. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want you to be resentful when I fuck things up.”

“Why would you fuck things up?” Cal asked.

“Because I’m me,” Jack said. He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to make mistakes.”

“I will too.” Cal sighed. “Nothing is perfect. We’ll still need to hide, for your career.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “But maybe not forever. Maybe things will change. I changed because of last summer. So did you.”

Cal considered that. It was true, with the civil rights movement having momentum, maybe things would change. Maybe one day, he’d be able to stand proudly by Jack’s side, and not have to hide in the shadows.

Maybe he could be a part of bringing about that change. Maybe they could, together.

“I’m willing to try if you are,” Cal said, kissing Jack gently.

“Stay with me,” Jack said, kissing him back.

“Okay,” said Cal. He grinned. “Whatever happens, we’ll have a marvelous time.”