Page 88 of Point of Contact

“Well, thank fuck for that.”

They joined the queue waiting for ID checks and entry into the luau. After a moment Trevor said, “For his twenty-first birthday, I flew up to Arlington and had a beer with him.”

“Yeah?” Jesse’s eyes were steady on his.

“Yeah. When I got there, this lady was laying holiday wreaths on all the graves, and I ran up to her and shouted, ‘No, not yet!’ I think I scared her.” Trevor grimaced as he remembered the lady’s startled face.

Jesse looked mystified for a split second before his expression cleared. “Oh, because of the birthday and Christmas thing?”

Nodding, Trevor went on, “Once I explained it to her, she was so nice, so understanding. She even loaned me her lawn chair so I didn’t—” A lump rose in his throat and his voice grew hoarse. “So I didn’t have to sit in the snow to have a beer with my son. I had two bottles of Amstel Light, and I opened them both and drank one while I sat with him.”

“Happy twenty-first, Riles.” Trevor traced his fingers over the bold, black letters etched in cold white marble. “Happy birthday, son.”

After he’d drunk his beer and poured Riley’s into the ground over where he rested, Trevor sought out the lady with the wreaths and then leaned the fragrant greenery gently against the stone.

“And merry Christmas. I love you.”

Trevor ran the back of his hand over his eyes. “It was nice. I kept thinking about the party we would’ve had.”

“He wanted to go to a strip club.”

Trevor gaped at him, not sure he’d heard right. “What?”

“He said he wanted to go to a strip club, get drunk and have everyone buy him lap dances.”

Trevor choked, words failing him. Jesse grinned, the sympathy in his eyes edged with mirth. “I’m serious.”

All Trevor could do was lean against him and laugh until his sides hurt. “Oh, I know you are,” he gasped. “And that’s perfect. I’m sure Carl and I would’ve made him wear a shirt and tie and suffer through a fancy dinner with a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine or something. He would’ve hated it.”

“Nah.” Jesse nudged him with his shoulder. “He would’ve done anything for you.”

“I know.” Wiping his eyes again, Trevor straightened in determination as the line finally began to move. “Now let’s go have some cheesy, touristy fun.”

And they did. After getting their IDs checked and “Over 21” bracelets fastened around their wrists, they made their way inside, and for the next few hours, Trevor enjoyed himself immensely. There were games of skill, and he watched in admiration as Jesse hefted a spear at a target, appreciating the play of muscles under his T-shirt and the concentration that tightened his jaw.

The Hawaiian traditions they participated in were interesting, from the shower of flowers to the hukilau, a ceremonial pulling in of fish nets while shirtless men in sarongs blew into conch shells. Next was the ritual of the roasted pig being removed from its underground oven, and soon they were seated at long wooden tables with plates of steaming food in front of them.

Jesse stuck to non-alcoholic drinks, but Trevor had a couple of mai tais, making congenial small talk with his neighbors. At one point the elderly lady next to him asked, “Do you have any children, Trevor?”

A pang shot through him, but he returned her smile and said, “I do. Unfortunately my son isn’t able to be here tonight.” Which was the simple truth, and an answer that acknowledged Riley’s short life, the most important thing of all.

“I don’t know who I am if I’m not Riley’s dad anymore.”

Trevor winced as the memory of that emotional night with Carl washed over him. If there was anything the past few months had taught him, it was that Riley might not be here anymore, but Trevor would always—always—be his dad. Death couldn’t take that away from him. He sighed as another tiny knot inside his chest loosened its grip, jumping when Jesse rested his hand on his thigh, his eyes questioning.

“You okay?”

Trevor threaded his fingers with Jesse’s and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Yeah. I am.”

Dinner over, the extravaganza started up onstage, complete with hula and fire dancers, storytelling and music. It was an interactive show, and at one point the male and female performers ran out into the audience to find “volunteers” to join them. A beautiful smiling girl beckoned to Jesse, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet.

“Not again,” he groaned under his breath, letting her tow him up onstage. The emcee spoke to each volunteer before introducing them to the audience.

“This is Jesse from Colorado,” she called out. “And ladies, he’s single.” Her voice trailed off in a coy singsong, and there were quite a few feminine cheers raised, which caused Jesse to scuff his toe with an ‘aww geez’ expression on his face.

Trevor laughed out loud, watching in delight as the volunteers were coached through the motions of a hula dance, a story of fishermen bringing their catch to shore. More laughter as Jesse swiveled his hips awkwardly, or turned left instead of right, or raised his arms when he was supposed to lower them.

He looked beautiful, all tousled and flushed, and Trevor felt a rush of affection for him so strong it stole his breath.