Page 105 of Point of Contact

“Oh, that’s great news! Please tell her they’re all in my thoughts.”

“I will. She’ll be in the ICU for a few more days, but they expect her to make a full recovery.”

Trevor could hear the sounds of the busy restaurant in the background. “Some long hours ahead of you, I take it?”

“Oh, yeah. Karen hopes to be back by Monday, but until then there’s employee schedules to make, inventory, vendors to deal with. Ugh. I don’t know how she does it.”

“Well, you can head on over here after closing, if you want. I’ll wait up.”

“But it’ll be like two in the morning, Trev.”

Trevor didn’t want him driving clear across town so late at night so he said, “Okay. But call me if you want, to say goodnight.”

“Mmm. I like the sound of that.” Jesse’s voice dropped to a low, intimate pitch. “That’s something I’ve never gotten to do, lie in bed and talk to my crush for hours on the phone.”

“You haven’t? Well, we can definitely remedy that.”

Trevor kept busy the rest of the day cleaning and reorganizing his office, making some phone calls, answering some emails. At one point there came a knock on the front door, and Trevor answered it to see Mrs. Sayres, his long-time housekeeper, standing there. He welcomed her inside with a hug, retreating back to his office in order to stay out of her way.

As he sat cross-legged on the floor going through some old files, he could hear the quiet snick of Riley’s bedroom door opening and closing, and he clenched his fist, the papers he held crinkling. He pictured Mrs. Sayres inside the room, dusting, straightening, maybe wiping away a tear or two. After all, she’d known Riley well, and Trevor’d gotten the most beautiful bouquet of flowers from her for his funeral.

Trevor dropped the papers and buried his face in his hands. God, that fucking room was like a bruise that wouldn’t heal, a sore spot that Trevor kept bumping up against, and one that sent searing pain shooting through him each and every time. There had to be a way to deal with it, one that wouldn’t make Trevor feel like he was keeping a shrine but also one that would let him move forward with his life without a sense that Riley’s memory was being shunted aside or forgotten.

When Mrs. Sayres finally emerged, Trevor met her in the kitchen to write her a check, noticing her eyes were slightly red-rimmed.

“I see you finally went through some of his things?” she asked, her voice husky.

Trevor shook his head ruefully. “No, not me. I actually had a friend do it. Trying to take it in stages, you know.”

She folded the check and slipped it into her purse. “Do what you can when you can. That’s all anyone can expect.”

Trevor helped her carry her cleaning supplies back out to her car, giving her another hug goodbye. “I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you for taking such good care of him for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetie,” she said softly. “I’m honored to, and I’ll continue to do so for as long as you need.”

Trevor waited until she’d driven off before trudging inside and climbing into a hot shower. He let the tears come, the water washing them away.

“Why is learning to live without you so fucking hard, Riles?”

* * *

The phone rang about midnight, and Trevor groped for it blearily, aware of how gravelly his voice sounded as he croaked, “Hey. You’re home early.”

“Yeah, the assistant manager told me to get my ass home since I need to be there at six o’clock sharp for the daily food delivery.” Jesse paused. “You okay?”

Trevor opened his mouth to reassure him, remembering just in time that with Jesse, he didn’t have to wear ‘the face.’ He sighed. “Had a little bit of a rough day, but I’m all right.”

“Want me to come over?”

He did, more than anything, but he also wanted Jesse to stay home, safe and sound, to get some rest. “No, it’s way too late for you to be driving. It helps to hear your voice, though.”

“Wanna talk about what happened today?”

Trevor thought about it, his complicated feelings for Carl, and the emotional drain of Riley’s room. Just the same old pain, different day. “Not really. I’d rather talk about you.” He could hear the sounds of Jesse settling in his bed, the rustling of sheets. “But I guess you should probably get some sleep.”

“Nah. I only need three or four hours, Trev. One of the legacies of Afghanistan.”

Trevor noticed Jesse’s slight Southern drawl getting thicker, and remembered what he’d said about his accent and being tired.