“Oh, hey,” his dad said softly and started to sit up. “You’re here.”
“Yeah, I got in an hour ago. Mrs. Fitz took care of everything for me.” He stood and sat next to his dad. “How are you doing?”
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a steamroller, but I’m better than I was yesterday. Mostly I either sleep or I’m bored shitless when I’m awake. I can only watch so much television.” Thankfully his dad had satellite TV, so there was at least something on.
“I bet. Do you want something to drink? Mrs. Fitz gave me the schedule for your pills.”
His father scoffed. “That woman would run everything and everyone around the lake if they let her.” He smiled softly, and Devon got him a glass of juice and some water. He drank both and leaned back. “I’m getting hungry. Are you cooking? Do I need to warn the fire department?”
“No, Dad. Mrs. Fitz asked Rita to cook a little, and after that you and I will figure things out. Rita is going to bring the food by in a couple of hours. I can get you some crackers and cheese if you want.”
“Sure.” He already sounded tired.
Devon went to get him the snack, making one for himself while he was at it.
“Did you eat on the plane?”
“Such as it was.”
His dad nodded. “Plastic food. There will be none of that here, I can tell you that. I got the garden in, and it’s doing well. You can take a look and pick some things. Maybe give them to Rita if she’s going to do the cooking.”
“I’ll look at it tomorrow,” Devon offered. It was only midafternoon here, but for his body, after a long day of travel, it was already quite late. He leaned back and closed his eyes, and later woke to a soft rap on the back door. Devon used the chair arm to push himself up and went to answer it.
He opened the door to a face from his memories that hadn’t changed much in the last decade. “Enrique,” Devon said softly as he opened the door, his throat a little dry. “Come on in.”
“Thank you.” He stepped aside as Rita carried in a fruit box with dishes inside and set it on the table. Devon thanked her for cooking for them and tried to keep his voice level. It had been ten years since he’d seen this man, and yet Enrique seemed just the same. He still had the most intense eyes, and straight black hair pulled into a ponytail. Instantly old feelings he’d thought he’d buried seemed to spring to life. Devon hadn’t been sure what to do with them before he’d left, and he was just as clueless now.
“It’s good to see both of you,” Devon said, but he kept his gaze on Enrique.
“I had heard you were here.” Enrique had never been a man of many words. “It’s good you came to take care of your family.” He held out his hand, and the two of them shook. It was the first time Devon could remember ever touching Enrique.
Then Devon turned away and shared a gentle hug with Rita. She seemed small and a little frail, but her eyes held the same determination she always had.
“Are you hungry?” Devon asked both of them, and he pulled out the dishes and put the warm casserole into the oven. That much he could do, anyway. “It seems we have plenty.” He pulled out the bowl of salad from the box and set it on the table. “More than Dad and I can eat.”
Enrique hesitated, as though making up his mind, then looked to Rita. “I have to get back to the Trading Post. But thank you. Rita, you’re welcome to stay and I can pick you up later.”
“I need to get home as well, but I wanted to see you.” She hugged Devon again.
Enrique turned toward the door, and Devon watched him, forgetting what he’d been doing. It wasn’t until the door closed behind Enrique that the spell broke and he remembered to finish getting out the dishes. Devon pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, waiting for the oven to warm the food back up. He wasn’t going to leave it in there very long, but the lull gave him the time to just think.
Enrique had been a mystery to him for almost as long as Devon could remember. Devon had tried to get his attention once he’d figured out that he liked boys rather than girls and had thought that Enrique might be the same way, but then, Devon had thought the same thing of Craig, and look how that turned out. It was best if Devon kept his feelings to himself. Once his dad was well enough to take care of himself, he’d pack up and return to New York and try to put his life back together.
“Are you ready to eat?” Devon asked his father when the timer went off, and fixed him a small plate of the tuna-noodle casserole. He added some salad and brought them to his dad, who ate slowly.
Devon had intended to eat at the table, the same one he and his dad had taken many meals at while he was growing up, but maybe it was best to do it this way. He made up his own plate and sat in the chair nearby.
“How are things going in New York?”
“They’re pretty good, Dad.” There was no need to go into his latest round of disappointments. He took a bite of the casserole, eating without really tasting, which was probably a good thing. While the casserole wasn’t bad, it was nowhere near the kind of thing he usually ate. Plain food. Not that he was going to complain about it, and his dad seemed okay. At least he was eating. “How are you feeling? Is there any pain?” He set his plate aside, sitting forward and then getting up, adjusting pillows to help his dad get comfortable.
“No pain. I’m just tired of being tired,” he groused. “I want to be out there doing things.” He took a few more bites and set the plate aside. “And you should be doing something while you’re here besides taking care of me and sitting around this house. It’s bad enough one of us is stuck inside—both of us don’t need to be.”
“Dad, I’m here to help you get back on your feet so you can go back to fixing windows and steps… and all the other things you do around here.” His dad was the resident handyman of the lake.
“I’m going to sleep a lot,” Devon’s dad said and slowly reached for a glass. “Do you think I can have some more of that salad? The doctors said I was supposed to eat a lot of vegetables and things. Less meat.” He rolled his eyes but seemed to be complying. Devon got him what he wanted, added a light dressing from the refrigerator, and handed the plate to his father. He got some for himself.
“Is there anything else? A little more to drink?”
Dad shook his head. “I’ve been thinking. We added an art center of sorts to the library. There are kids in the area, and it’s growing. So why don’t you go down there and see if you can give painting lessons or something? They could use your help, and you wouldn’t be sitting in here all the time. Take a walk over.” He pointed and finished his dinner, setting the plate on the battered wooden coffee table and pulling his blanket upward. He turned on the television to baseball, yawned, and proceeded to go to sleep.
Devon sighed and finished his dinner. Then he took care of the dishes and leftovers and dimmed the lights before going outside. He should have been tired as all hell, but his mind seemed to be going a million different directions all at once.
The air was crisp and clean, the sky ablaze with color as he took the trail from the front door down toward the small, shallow lake. He stood on the water’s edge, looking out across the lake to the mountains rising from the horizon. Denali rose in the distance, covered in snow and as majestic as anything.