The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.19 Another

June 16, 10:47 am

Something about being in his own home again helped Richard shake off the fear that had been gnawing at his guts. Everything here looked so normal, as if he and Keith were just coming back home after a vacation. That is, if he could ignore the boarded up front window. And the tree of his own blood and brains that still decorated one wall of the living room, like some ghastly Jackson Pollock painting that only he could see.

He wasn't the only one relieved to be back. Now that they were inside, Pil was more alert and aware, and his hands had stopped shaking. The big man appeared to have grudgingly accepted the reality that Richard was there, but he refused to speak to him directly. He had taken to passing all his questions and responses through Howard, as though the young man was some kind of ghost whisperer.

In contrast, Keith was absolutely sure that Richard was there with him, and would stare into a space where he sensed Richard might be standing. And although he was frequently wrong, when his eyes did focus on the right spot, the illusion of looking into his lover's eyes filled Richard with such gratitude that he almost forgot the gravity of their situation. Keith kept putting his hand out into space, palm up, for Richard to take. And although Richard wasn't certain that his partner really could sense him, the illusion was one that he wanted to revel in for as long as it lasted.

But he had little time to linger in those emotional indulgences. Once the door was securely locked, everyone sprang into action, knowing that the most critical issue at that moment was Keith's burns. Fortunately, the first aid kit was still where they had left it. Inside was a hefty tube of antiseptic gel, several sterile surgical pads, and two roles of gauze. Howard found a couple of old ace bandages in the bathroom upstairs, and between them, Pil and Howard did a credible job of dressing Keith's burns. Richard couldn't help but think Michelle would have done the job much better, but for a couple of clumsy guys, they did okay. Pil used the entire tube of gel, and then Howard wrapped Keith's left arm with the pads and the gauze, from his fortunately undamaged hand to his bicep. Once it was cleaned, Keith's right arm looked better, with only a single patch of serious damage on his forearm. After the wounds were tightly dressed with the gauze, they wrapped each arm with the ace bandages to keep everything secure.

Richard watched all this, helpless and grief-stricken. But he also felt a growing fury at those who had done this to the man he loved. Howard could see that he was stewing, and once Keith was settled more comfortably on the couch, he turned to Richard.

"Come on, Richard," he said, gesturing to the staircase. "Help me find a new shirt for Keith. And one for me."

Richard was confused for a moment, but then he realized that Howard, too, was shirtless. Both of the men had somehow lost their shirts in the fire, probably because they had been burning. Richard half-smiled, thinking this might have been the first time in his adult life that he'd failed to notice a handsome young man without his shirt. But yes, Howard was right. They both needed something to wear. Keith was never comfortable being shirtless among strangers, and despite the pain he was in, Richard could recognize the peculiar way he hunched his shoulders when he was feeling shy about his body. No matter how many times Richard had told him how beautiful he was, Keith had never gotten over that internalized shame over his weight.

Richard made his way upstairs, with Howard following at his heels. He passed through the closed bedroom door without a thought, and then remembered that Howard could not walk through doors the way he did. But by the time he had turned, Howard had opened the door and joined him in the bedroom.

In the walk-in closet, he felt like an invalid, pointing to shirts as Howard pawed through them, pushing each one to the side. In the end, they picked out one of Richard's lighter summer shirts that Howard could wear, although it looked rather ridiculous and baggy on him. Finding a shirt for Keith took a bit more thought, fearing that the feel of any long sleeves on his arms would be intolerable, despite the bandages. Unfortunately, the only short sleeve shirts Keith owned were t-shirts, which might be difficult to pull over his head. Finally, they found an old Hawaiian shirt they had bought when they had gone to the islands with Pil and Michelle some years ago. It seemed somehow a sacrilege to be wearing something this bright and colorful, when everything around them was steeped in such death and destruction. But it was the best they could do.