Page 52 of Point of Contact

The silence that fell was deafening. Carl stared at the floor before lifting his head to pin Trevor with angry eyes. “I asked you to do one thing for me, Trev,” he said tightly. “It wasn’t much.”

“Carl—”

“I know it’s ‘just’ a suit, and that’s not really the issue here.” Carl’s voice rose. “The issue is you showing me you still care about us, about what’s important to me.”

“Carl, my son died—”

Carl slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair. “A fact you’ll never let me forget, now, will you?”

The air left Trevor’s lungs in a rush. “And I spent part of today packing up his room,” he forced out. “I needed to—I had—I never thought about the suit.” He turned and escaped to the kitchen, where the pot of pasta was boiling over.

Grabbing it, Trevor dumped everything down the sink before switching the stove off, his whole body shaking with emotion. He braced his hands on the edge of the counter, head down. Tensing at the sound of Carl’s footsteps behind him, he went rigid as Carl rested a tentative palm on his back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, Trev,” he whispered. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

Trevor stared straight ahead, not speaking, and at last Carl dropped his hand and moved away. There came a quiet burbling as Carl poured himself a glass of wine, followed by the click of the patio door opening and closing.

After a moment Trevor followed him, seeing Carl sitting hunched forward on the end of a chaise lounge, elbows on his knees, wineglass dangling loosely from his fingers between them. As Trevor approached, Carl raised his head to gaze out over the covered pool.

A heavy silence, and finally Carl said, “I just want our life back, Trevor.”

Trevor sat down on the chair next to him. “It’s not ever going to be the same.”

Carl didn’t reply, turning his wineglass around and around in his hands.

“Some days it’s all I can do to get out of bed. You know that.”

After a slight hesitation, Carl reached over to touch Trevor’s thigh. “I know.”

“I’m trying, Carl,” Trevor said helplessly. “All I can promise you is that I’m trying. What do you want from me?”

Carl suddenly plunked his wineglass down on the ground and grabbed both Trevor’s hands in his. “I’ll tell you what I want from you,” he said fiercely. “I want you to stop obsessing. I want you to sell the house so we can move somewhere away from the memories and get a fresh start. I want to see you laugh again, smile again, Trevor.”

“You mean you want me to get over it.” Trevor’s voice was low and bitter, and Carl let go of his hands, surging to his feet.

“Is that so wrong, Trev? Is it so fucking wrong to want to see you moving on from this? It’s been a year, for Christ’s sake!”

Trevor stood, too. “What does that have to do with anything? I get a time limit on grieving for my only child? One year and boom—over it or else?”

Carl grabbed Trevor by the shoulders. “No,” he shouted, then took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm down. “No. What I mean is, it’s been a year and I don’t see that anything’s any better for you, Trev.” He swallowed, and when he went on, his voice held a note of anguish. “You’re hanging on to the house. You had him buried halfway across the country so you don’t even have the comfort of visiting him. You won’t marry me.”

Trevor lifted his face toward the sky, squeezing his eyes shut and hating the hot tears that seeped out to stream down his cheeks. Carl wiped them away with his thumbs. “It’s okay to move on, Trev. It’s okay to try and be happy again. It doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten him, doesn’t diminish your love for him. Please.”

Opening his eyes, Trevor looked at him. “Every night I lie awake, and wonder what I did wrong,” he said dully. “All those times I was selfish, or vain, or judgmental. Those times I got angry, or said things to him I shouldn’t have said. There has to be something. Otherwise, why—”

Carl made a small sound of distress, taking hold of Trevor’s shoulders again. “That’s ridiculous! It wasn’t your fault! Riley wouldn’t want this, so why are you punishing yourself?”

Trevor wrenched away from Carl’s hold. “Because his existence didn’t matter if I’m not suffering! Don’t you get that?” he shouted.

“No, I don’t get that!” Carl shouted back. “Your suffering won’t bring him back. Your suffering doesn’t accomplish a goddamn thing, except to make both of us miserable! How long are we going to be miserable, Trev? How long?”

“I don’t know!” Trevor yelled. “I don’t know who I am if I’m not Riley’s dad anymore.” To his horror, he burst into wracking sobs, stumbling to the chaise lounge and sinking down on the edge. “Maybe this is me now, Carl,” he gasped out. “Maybe this is all there is.” He hunched over, his arms wrapped around his middle, dropping his forehead to his knees, striving for control.

Carl sat down next to him and stroked Trevor’s hair with trembling fingers. “Oh, God, I can’t take seeing you like this. Tell me how to help you, Trev. Please.”

But Trevor didn’t have an answer, and after another moment, Carl picked up his wineglass and went back into the house.

Chapter Fifteen