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THIS WORK DEALS WITH A FICTIONAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN TWO MEN. IF READING ABOUT HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS OR SEXUAL CONTACT BETWEEN TWO MEN IS EITHER ILLEGAL IN YOUR AREA OR OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READY ANY FURTHER.
ANY SIMILARITIES TO ANY PERSON LIVING OR DEAD ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL. THIS WORK IS ENTIRELY FICTIONAL.
DYLAN'S HOPE
Michael A. Raburn
Chapter 4
"Baby, we need to get going." I yelled up the stairs.
"Coming." Dylan yelled back. I head the toilet flush and what sounded like the towels being thrown down the laundry shoot then his feet on the stairs. I had just finished cleaning up after our quick breakfast.
I parked in my designated space and we crossed the street to enter Reynolds Consulting. I had purchased an old dilapidated warehouse with some of the first money the company had made. Extensive renovations carried out over several years had restored the street appeal of the structure. We had modernized the interior, converting the dingy space into the three airy, light-filled floors that housed my second baby. I had come a long way from working on the dining table in my first, cramped apartment.
We entered the Accounting Department hand in hand. I could tell by some of the smiles of the staff that any rumors that the wedding had created were being confirmed by our appearance together. Doug Anderson met me just outside his office.
"Jon, what brings you in? I thought you were taking a few weeks off." He shook my hand enthusiastically as I introduced Dylan.
"I am off, Doug. I need you to do a few things for me. Can we talk in your office?" Doug had been with me almost from the start of the company. It was his job to make sure that the company ran in the black and that we had what we needed for the steady growth we had experienced for the last eighteen years. He had performed admirably and was one of my closest friends. Our friendship was stronger now that we knew we shared some of the same sexual interests. I ran into him at a leather bar one night.
"So, I see a gleam in your eye that wasn't there a few days ago. What's up?" He asked, as if he did not know already.
"Doug, Dylan here finally convinced me that we should be more than friends."
"Well congratulations, you two. I kind of wondered if it would ever happen." He shook our hands.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, everybody knows how much you two love each other. You can see it in your faces. Jon, sometimes you don't see the evidence that is in front of your face. Especially when it concerns you."
"Stupid of me, huh." I asked sheepishly.
"No, not stupid. Everything has its time, you know. Now what can I do for you lovebirds?"
"We're going away together for a while."
"Great. Where?"
"Probably up to granddad's cabin. We need some time to get to know each other again."
"That's probably a good thing, Jon. Dylan, do you think you can keep him away from this place?"
"I'm gonna try my best to get his mind off work for at least a few days."
"So what I need is for you to handle everything. I know you can run the company with an arm tied behind your back. Can you get Rhonda to handle Dylan's bills for us until we get back? Well, she'll probably handle them even when we do get back, like she does mine. That a problem?"
"Nah. Do you have the account numbers?" he asked Dylan.
"It's all in here, the bills, the checkbooks." Dylan answered handing over the manila folder we had picked up at his apartment.
Doug looked through the folder then asked: "What about this house? Is it empty?"
Dylan grimaced at the question. The house Doug asked about was his parents', the place that had been closed for three years.
"Doug, we haven't talked about the house yet. Let us think about it and we'll get back to you." I tried to explain without going into too many details. "Just have someone check on it once a week or so."
"How long exactly are you going to be gone, Jon?" he looked up at me.
"At least a month, probably more." I answered.
"Well good luck up there. If you need anything, let me know."
"Will do, buddy. Thanks for everything."
"What do we need for the next few days?" Dylan asked.
"We were up there back in the fall but we didn't restock anything." I answered, grabbing a shopping cart. "We probably need the basics and some fresh meats and veggies."
The grocery in Mineral Bluff was not busy that Tuesday morning. We had gotten up early, packed my stuff and stopped by Dylan's apartment for some more of his clothes and toiletries. By seven we were in my Cherokee and headed north out of Atlanta. We chatted back and forth about anything that entered out minds, sung along with the radio and generally enjoyed being together that bright winter morning. The daytime temperatures were in the fifties with the nights falling into the low thirties. I knew it would be colder in the mountains and made sure we both packed boots, parkas and lots of flannel shirts.
Granddad's cabin, as we called it had been left to me in my paternal grandfather's will. Dad, in his typical condescending way, had objected but could not find any way to get around the provision. I'm not sure whether he wanted the property for himself or if he saw options to develop it for sale to people retiring in the area. Either way, it still ended up belonging to me.
Cabin was probably not the best way to describe it; it was more than a typical mountain log cabin. Granddad, after grandma died and after he retired from the mill, built the structure himself over a period of a couple of years. It was actually a three bedroom, three-bath log home complete with any amenity he could envision ever needing. The winters in the area never got too bad but still he installed generators that provided electricity if the lines in the area were down. Andrea and I used the cabin some over the last several years for vacations or a quick weekend away from the city.
The twenty-acre plot surrounding the house was dense forest, lots of hardwood trees with an occasional pine here and there. About fifty yards behind the house a small stream ran. Granddad had enlarged an area for a pond and trucked in some sand for his idea of a beach. It was in that small icy puddle where I learned to swim when I was a kid.
"How about steaks for dinner tonight?" he nudged me.
"Great, I'll go get some charcoal. There was a bag there I think but better safe." I was back in a few minutes with the bag and added it to our rapidly filling cart. "Think we've got enough for a day or two?" We were nearing the checkout area.
"Yeah, just about. We need some bread. I'll run back and get it."
"Okay, baby." I said before I even realized it. The elderly lady in front of me looked back in my direction and smiled.
"He seems like a nice boy." She started. "You're lucky to have such a good son."
"Why, thank you, ma'am." I answered, silently chuckling to myself. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
"What are you smiling about?" Dylan asked as he rejoined me.
"I was telling your father that he should be proud to have you as a son." She answered for me.
"I keep reminding him of that." He responded, flashing her that great smile.
"What are you laughing about, baby?" I asked him. We were almost to the turnoff to the cabin when he started chuckling.
"Oh, nothing much, just thinking about that lady in the grocery." He said as he reached to hold my hand.
"Yes, son." I joined his laughter.
We got to the cabin about noon and unloaded the groceries and our bags. I took the clothes to the master bedroom while Dylan busied himself wiping counters and unloading the food. We spent about an hour sweeping, dusting and removing the covers from the furniture in the living area. The house was pretty clean, but there were some cobwebs hanging here and there and three months of accumulated dust on everything. I put clean sheets on the bed and stowed our toiletries in the bathroom.
"You hungry?" he asked from the kitchen.
"Not really."
"Me neither. We're all squared away in here." He wandered out to the living room.
"Want to take a walk with me?" I finally got the fire going in the main fireplace. It wasn't really cold in the house, but I knew it would cool off drastically as the sun disappeared behind the trees.
"Yeah. Do we need our coats?"
"Nah, we'll be back before it gets too cool." I grabbed his hand and led us out onto the porch and down the stairs.
We walked through the accumulated leaves that had fallen in the late autumn, scuffing our feet like little kids. Dylan was swinging our hands back and forth as we walked back towards the stream. I pointed out the outbuildings that housed lawn furniture, lawn tools and the mower. There was even a four-wheeled recreational vehicle in there with a trailer that I always used to cut firewood and transport it back to the cabin. Luckily I had cut up a couple of fallen trees when I was last here so we'd have some firewood. I planned to split some more when we got back from our walk.
"I wish we could swim." He lamented, looking at the pond.
"Yeah, and we'd freeze something off if we tried." I laughed.
"Can't have that happening." He laughed. "What would I play with then?"
"Come here, you." I pulled him into a hug.
"Jon, I love you."
"I love you too, Dylan."
"This feels so right." He snuggled into my chest.
"Hmmm." I answered, kissing his hair. He was right; it did feel so good having him in my arms. Why had I fought this?
We walked around the pond and crossed the little footbridge over the stream. Taking our time, no rush to get anywhere or do anything we walked for the next couple of hours in a big circle around and back to the house. We stopped for hugs and kissing sessions several time, but spent the majority of the time enjoying nature and our connection to each other. We found deer tracks to the stream and pond, squirrel nests in the trees and several kinds of feathers littering the ground.
We stopped at the front steps of the cabin and sat beside each other, his head on my shoulder, my arm around him.
"I wish mom and dad were here to see this, to see us together." He whispered.
"Baby I'm sorry. I'm sure they'd be proud of you. But, I don't know how they would feel about us." I pulled him into a hug.
"I told them many years ago that I was in love you." He whispered into my ear.
"And?"
"It took them a little while to get over the gay thing, but they told me I could do far worse. They admired you and your dedication to raising Andrea and to building your business. I'm sure they would approve."
"Hmmm." I hugged him tighter, caressing his back with my hands. He turned his face up to meet mine. There was the sparkle in his eyes but also a touch of sadness. "I love you." I whispered before I leaned down to kiss him.
"Dylan, I lit the grill on the patio. It'll take a about twenty or thirty minutes to burn down to the right temperature. I'm gonna go split some more wood." I hugged him as I turned to exit the kitchen.
"Okay, thanks. The potatoes are in the oven, I need to finish the salad then I'll come help."
"Okay, baby. See ya." I kissed him then went back to the woodpile.
Splitting wood is a mindless physical task for me. I'm not in the greatest shape but I could still swing an ax when I wanted to. I was working diligently away when I remembered a conversation I had had with granddad before he died. We were splitting and stacking firewood for the upcoming winter, the winter he would not live to see the end of. Andrea was about two years old and I was still working at building the consulting business so it could support both of us. Money was tight and I was working all the time but we had come up to see him over Thanksgiving holidays that year.
Mom and Dad were here with us for the low-keyed celebration that we had every year. They would have been happier to have the meal at their house but granddad had insisted that we all come to stay with him. Mom was taking it all pretty well but Dad was on a tear as usual. He had berated me most of the morning about me not being man enough and running off Mona. He laid all the blame on me for that failed relationship and constantly was after me to find another wife, another mother for my child.
"Jon, come help me chop some wood." Granddad urged me.
"What are you asking him for? He'll just get in your way." Dad started.
"Gerald, shut the fuck up." Granddad said, grit evident in his voice. "Come on boy." He pulled me towards the door and slammed it in Dad's face.
I glanced back at the red-faced man glaring out the window at us. Granddad was cussing under his breath low enough I couldn't make out what he was saying. We got to work and settled into a routine, him stacking the wood that I split.
"Jonny, it doesn't matter what your father thinks." He stopped his stacking and said.
"He's right, you know."
"Like hell, he is. He's a stupid fool to treat you like that."
"That's the way he is."
"Yeah, too caught up in what his country club buddies would think for his own good. You're a good son; you're a fine man. And you've busted your butt to be a good father. Nothing else matters."
I had stopped working but couldn't meet his eyes.
"Jon, look at me." He pulled my chin up with his gnarled old fingers. "Who you love is your business, not his. God didn't make you to condemn you. He made you the way you are and I don't think you should question that. You live your life the best you can, you hear me?"
"Yes, sir. But, what about Dad?"
"Son, he's your father, you love him, but you don't have to like him. You also don't have to put up with his shit."
"Jon, dinner!" Dylan yelled, walking from around the house.
I was zoned out, chopping wood and remembering my grandfather. If I had been paying attention Dylan wouldn't have startled me like he did. His voice caused me to jerk my arm and the ax missed.
"Shit!"
"JON! Oh, god, what have you done?" He cried, running up to me.
"Shit." I moaned.
"Baby, you're bleeding. Let me look at it." He knelt to look at my leg.
He took the ax from my hand. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as I released the handle. I saw him kneel beside me and looked down where he was clutching my leg. The ax was stuck in my leg, just below the knee. It must have been the sight of my own blood; it didn't really hurt much. I felt myself getting light headed, felt the world closing in around me.
"Jon!" I heard Dylan way in the distance calling my name as I realized I was falling.
TO BE CONTINUED