Survivors Find Love

Charlie finished strapping his motorcycle into the bed of Jessie’s extended cab pickup truck. He secured the ramp and locked up the storage box. Jessie was loading the last of a large pile of bags and boxes into the backseat of the cab.

“You gonna have any room in there for my stuff?” Charlie teased her. Other than the way she packed, nothing about Jessie was stereotypical girl. Her copper colored hair was short, only long enough enough to barely push behind her ears, and so short in back it never touched her collar. Her freckle-dotted, tanned face was make-up free. And all she ever wore were khaki cargo shorts and T-shirts. Unlike most people, she actually used all the pockets of the cargo shorts for everything from first aid supplies to replacement parts for their engine or hoses. “Did you pack a firehose or two?”

She threw him a strained smile, unusual as they almost always teased and bantered with each other. “My kit is in the car. Don’t tell me you’re not bringing yours. It’s still fire season.”

And they were wildfire firefighters. California had been ablaze the better part of the year, and after a recent and heavily prayed for rainy spell, all was quiet in the wilds. For now, at least. The fact that they were driving up to one of the many islands off the coast of Washington, should have been a vacation. They both had a ridiculous amount of vacation time saved up. But Jessie’s mother had passed, and there were unpleasant family things to attend to.

Charlie picked up his two bags, one filled with clothes, the other his gear, and threw them on top of the stack. He kept waiting for Jessie to confide in him, let out some of the grief he knew she was keeping a leash on, but like always she soldiered on. They’d been best friends and roommates. for almost ten years, working the fireline together and watching each other’s back.,

“Hey C&J, you guys coming back hitched? We’ve got a pool going,” Nick, another of the guys from their unit, shouted out of the window of his apartment. A lot of their unit lived in the same building, close to the station, close to the helicopters if they needed to move. Only those with families lived without always thinking of the fireline and when the next disaster would begin.

“Jessie would have to grow a dick first,” Mike said from his place near the entrance to the building. Mike was Nick’s roommate, and a total ass when it came to queers and women. So Charlie and Jessie were always on his shit list. “Charlie’s a light foot.” He laughed like he was hilarious. “Lightfoot. Get it? Like Squatting Duck, or some shit.”

“Jessie’s got bigger balls then you’ll ever have,” Charlie told him as he climbed up into the passenger seat of the truck. He ignored the dig. He was half Native American, so the insults and jabs were common. He actually got more of them than Jessie did despite her being one of the few females in their group. They were often teased by the guys in the department about ‘being together’ all the time. Or that Jessie was his beard despite the fact that Charlie was out and proud and Jessie had no interest in romantic relationships or sex. They worked well together since Jessie never treated Charlie like her token gay friend, and Charlie treated Jessie like one of the guys. The fact that she could bench almost as much as he could helped keep jerks away from her, but it was more to do with her absolute resistance to get drawn into petty squabbles that kept them so close.

Other firefighters learned to say ‘Yes, ma’am, right away’ quickly. Jessie trained most of the newbies, and worked them hard. She didn’t like slackers of any kind. And more than one new recruit had gone home in tears at the end of a training day after being pushed beyond their limits.

“Come on, J,” he called to Jessie. The last thing she loaded was a small pet carrier, which she strapped into the seat between them. Once they got on the road with the air going, the cat would be allowed to roam the cab. Oscar, who was a somewhat aloof cat with the fluffiest gray fur known to mankind, would likely spend the majority of the trip in Charlie’s lap.

Jessie slung on her seatbelt and turned over the Hemi engine. Normally she wasn’t this quiet. But Jessie never talked about her family. For holidays they went home to Charlie’s when they could. He had a half dozen siblings and probably a couple dozen cousins. Reservation life hadn’t always been pleasant growing up, but he’d been loved, and it was still home.

Charlie rolled up his window as soon as Jessie flipped on the air conditioning. In just a pair of jeans and an A-shirt, he was sweltering in the Northern California summer sunshine. He’d pulled his shoulder-length dusty brown hair back into a ponytail trying to find some relief. He was looking forward to the relatively cool breeze blowing off the ocean that Jessie had wistfully described from memories from her youth.

He waved as they took off toward the highway, headed north. The radio played some top forty station, and Jessie gripped the wheel.

“J…” Charlie began.

“Not yet, Wood Chuck,” Jessie said, using her nickname for him. “Just give me a few more minutes in my own head, okay?”

“Want me to drive?”

“No. I need the focus.”

And so they drove. Charlie let Oscar out, and the cat immediately curled up in his lap. He weighed all of five pounds, and was something like eighteen years old. His fluff made him look huge. Jessie had him trimmed once, leaving nothing but the hair on his head and the rest of him shaved short. It had been the most ridiculous thing Charlie had ever seen. Oscar had given them both disdainful looks the entire time it took to grow back. And Jessie had never had him groomed like that again. Charlie laughed at the memory.

“Remember when you had Oscar shaved? He looked like someone had stuck a cat inside a gray sock.” Charlie rubbed Oscar’s chin, earning a purr from the cat.

“He was so mad.”

“I would have been too. He was like a walking dust bunny. One of those floor sweeper things. The hair magnetically wanted to return to him. And his head was all poof.”

Jessie cracked the first real smile he’d seen from her in two days. “He’d sit there all regal, and lick his paw, as if to say, ‘I’m still beautiful.’” She let out a long sigh, then said, “I don’t know how I feel.”

“It’s okay to feel sad. Your mom died. I’d be a mess if I lost my mom.”

“We haven’t talked for years. I think I’m more conflicted and confused. Like I should be sad, but my heart and head are at war. Ten years is a long time to be angry at someone. And I’m not. Not really. More confused. She was the angry one.”

“Why?” Charlie asked. She’d never told anyone why she’d been driven out of Washington. At least not anything more than a need to escape a family she didn’t get along with, and a dream she needed to run toward.

Again she went quiet. Thinking. Gnawing on her lip, eyes locked on the road.

Charlie sat on his hands, letting the cat’s purrs compete with the radio. He decided to change the subject to see if it would ease a bit of her tension. “We’re staying with your nephew?” It was odd to hear that she had a nephew old enough to be out on his own and established. Jessie was thirty-eight, almost a decade older than Charlie, so an older sibling with a grown child wasn’t that far-fetched. Jessie rarely spoke of her family or her past. Charlie knew they’d had a pretty big falling out, but not the details of it.

“Bastian, yes. He’s got something like four acres to himself. House is huge. Plenty of room for us.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-two, I think.”

And owned four acres on an island in Washington’s port harbor. That was quite an accomplishment at twenty-two. “What’s he do?”

“Paints dolls.”

Charlie frowned at her. “Say what now?”

“He paints art dolls. Sells them for a pretty big profit. I think he had an auction last year for one that went for over eighty grand. And the proceeds for that one went to charity.”

“For a doll?” Charlie was incredulous.

“Yes. They’re beautiful.”

Again Jessie was not the kind of girl who liked girly things. Dolls just didn’t seem her thing either, as he’d never seen her with one. Their apartment would have been called minimal by most, bare by others. As firefighters they knew the more personal items they kept, the more fuel they’d add to a potential fire. Their lives were about quick responses, movement, and often living in the field months at a time. There was no room for material things. If it weren’t for a friend handling the bills and taking care of Oscar for them when they were out on a run, they’d never have a home to return to.

“So he’s an artist? A very successful artist.”

“Yes. He paid for mom’s funeral, but is not involved in any other way. Not even with arrangements.” She let out a long breath. “We don’t come from money. Most of my childhood we were on welfare, food stamps, medical assistance… There were five kids, my dad couldn’t keep a job for more than a year at a time. My mom worked at the grocery store for minimum wage. It wasn’t a glamorous life, but we did okay.”

Charlie’s hadn’t been all that different. His mother wasn’t even sure who his father was. But she’d never brought around a slew of guys. Most of his siblings had other dads. He never knew any of those men. His mom did okay for them, and what she couldn’t provide, their huge extended family did. He and his cousins had run together like siblings. More than a handful vowing to get out, make better lives for themselves and for the family. He had mostly succeeded on his end. He was pretty sure Jessie came from a similar past, but he let her talk and get out whatever was battling inside of her.

“You only need to share with me what you want. You know that.”

She sighed. “I’ve kept it in a long time. Thought I could keep anyone from hurting me again if I didn’t let anyone in.” She glanced at Charlie, her eyes a little teary. “You better not be a jerk in disguise.”

Charlie grinned at her. “I’ve had ten years to use my wiles on you.”

She growled at him.

“I love you, J.”

Jessie nodded. “You’re my family, Wood Chuck. You and your whole family. I’ve tried to move on from everything. Sometimes it comes up like a sliver you didn’t know was there and just starts to burn.”

The past sometimes did that.

“Maybe it will help to share.”

“You want to know my crazy?”

“I already know you’re crazy. Running into fires and that bullshit. Tell me about the crazy you come from. You know all my crazy.”

“I like your crazy.”

“I’m likeable that way.”

“Jerk. Making me smile when I need to be sad.”

He reached out and patted her arm. “That’s what I’m here for.”

She sucked in a deep breath like she was gearing up for something big. “So my older sister is way beyond crazy.”

“Okay.”

“She always had a fondness for dating losers. She was married to a guy right out of high school, had two kids, and then divorced because he was cheating on her. He was actually the best she ever dated, which is sad. She moved to Arizona for a while to be with some guy she met through an online game. Had two more kids, but finally left him when he decided to quit his job at Walmart to play games while she worked to support them.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Took her like five years to leave him or something. She moved her kids in with my mom and dad. And once again the cycle started, loser guy who would take advantage of her, emotionally abuse her, and she’d take forever to cut them loose.”

It was hard watching a family member bent on self-destruction. Charlie had an alcoholic brother who occasionally jumped on the sober wagon, only to fall off weeks later. There was only so much the family could do to help a person unwilling to help themselves. Knowing never helped when they once again fell into a rut, especially as they always dragged others with them.

“It never made sense to me,” Jessie continued. “She was a reasonably smart girl. She should have been able to find a decent guy. Someone with a job, who didn’t treat her like a dog. But that’s never what she brought home.”

She was attracted to the abusers. It was a cycle often started very young, that many never broke free from. “Were your parents abusive?” Charlie asked carefully.

“Yes, no? Not like physically. Verbally, yeah. Took me a long time to come to terms with that. Mostly to each other, but sometimes to us. I remember being twelve and walking into the house feeling happy. I don’t remember why, but I felt beautiful that day. I told my mom, and she scoffed and said ‘You’ve never been beautiful.’” She huffed out a frustrated breath. “I knew I wasn’t the prettiest girl around. My mother sure brought that home that day.”

Shit. Charlie wanted to hug her. “J… Fuck.”

“I’m okay, Charlie. I promise. You know I am. We’ve lived together for years.”

Just because she avoided bringing it up didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. Charlie sat back and tried to keep his comments to himself. He had a sick twist in his gut that said he wasn’t going to like where all this was going, but all he really could offer someone with a bad past was an ear to listen and some kind words. “Keep going,” he encouraged. “Better out than in, right?”

She glanced his way with tired eyes. “My dad wasn’t really present in my life. I mean he was physically there, but he had no emotional investment in us. He’d go to work and then come home, park his ass on in the recliner and watch television until he went to bed. My mother was expected to cook and clean for him, and raise us, take his verbal abuse. As we got older we did all the cooking and cleaning, but he never changed. Neither went to any school events. Not graduation, not choir concerts or sports games or even teacher conferences.

“I don’t think my dad even remembered our names most of the time. He and my mom fought constantly. Screaming at each other, calling each other names. My dad often called us names like bitch, whore, and cunt. That was only on the rare occasion he noticed us. Usually when we got in the way of some TV show he was watching.”

Charlie sighed. Just because a man was physically present, did not make him a father. And he was already beginning to see a pattern form in the lives of Jessie’s siblings.

“I had an older brother. No one talks about him. Well, my father did up until he died eleven or so years ago.”

Charlie had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“I was five…”

Sadly, it was exactly what Charlie had suspected. “When he touched you? Your brother, I mean.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “My sister admitted he abused her too. I remember him being removed from the house shortly after, but no one ever acknowledged what he’d done. My mother was more focused on what he might have done to my brother, who was only like two at the time, than what he’d done to us. My father denied it ever happened. My brother doesn’t remember him at all. And my younger sister wasn’t born until he was gone.”

So no therapy for any of the kids. Charlie’s gut churned as he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

Charlie grabbed her right hand, peeling it away from the steering wheel so he could hold it. “J.”

“I’m okay, Wood Chuck. I’ve had 33 years to come to terms with what he did. To move past it. I think I’ve done a pretty good job of that. And if you dare say my asexuality is because of him, I’m going to kick you out of the truck and you’ll be walking.”

“You know I’m not stupid, Jessie. I know you’re the way you are ‘cause the way I like boys and my little spring is sprung, you have no spring of any kind to be sprung over anything. I get it. I’m smarter than the average wood chuck.”

She made a face at him. He made one back. “So crazy sister…” Charlie prompted again now that the mood was lighter.

“She started dating this guy. He was a musician, not a great one, but it was his thing. He was also a handyman. Could do construction stuff. He told us his name was Joseph Davis. Anyway, at first it seemed like he was okay. He was working, even had his own home repair business. He had his own place, and he treated her okay. Then he moved into the basement of my mom’s place with my sister, stopped working, and the abuse started to happen around all of us. My other siblings and I would see it when we had family gatherings or spent the weekend with my sister. He’d become a deadbeat or maybe he’d always been one and just hid it well. And while that sucked, I knew it was normal for my sister. When I pointed it out she told me it was her choice to be with whomever she wanted to, and he wasn’t like that all the time. Typical domestic abuse mindset.”

Except that those abuse cases rarely just extended to the partner, as Jessie’s own family proved with her parents, the kids were often dragged into the mess. “When did you find out he was abusing her kids?”

“Two years had passed. I disliked him, but tried to be civil. Had sort of begun to avoid them so I wouldn’t be subjected to watching the abuse that everyone was okay with. It was a friend of my sister’s who sent me a link to the sex offenders’ registry. It had his mug shot and a different last name, Travis. He’d been lying about his last name. My sister knew, of course. I sent her and my mother the link to his profile on the registry. My sister claimed he’d been falsely accused by an ex-girlfriend who wasn’t happy with him.”

Right.

“Except he had two convictions three years apart for under 13 child sexual assault and a half dozen other dismissed charges. He was out on parole and part of his parole was that he had to register where he lived, his job, the car he drove, and was not allowed near anyone under the age of eighteen.”

“Jesus Christ,” Charlie said. “And your sister let him near her kids?”

Jessie nodded. “He had an active warrant out for his arrest. Violation of parole. The fourth time he’d done it, apparently. The police had gone to my mom’s house several times because they suspected he was living there, but they had no proof and my mom and sister kept telling them he wasn’t there.”

“They knew? Knew what he was?” This was a new level of crazy which Charlie had never before had the horror of experiencing.

“My sister, yeah. Again, she believed his lies. Or maybe she was just that desperate for someone to love her. Though he told her on more than one occasion he was just using her because he had nowhere else to go. My mom, I don’t think, knew the whole truth. Anyway I called the police, concerned for my sister’s kids, and they told me they couldn’t go in without a search warrant unless someone let them in.” She sighed. “I waited until my mom and sister were at work. Then let the police in. They arrested him. And I became the most hated person in the family.”

“But those kids…”

“Yeah. My sister’s friend called Child Protective Services. My sister refused to let them talk to the kids. She claims they were never abused. CPS did nothing.”

That would have been surprising, given the jerk’s history. “What happened to the boyfriend?”

“In jail, as far as I know. He’d gotten out a few times. Busted for drugs multiple times. Meth and cocaine. I have alerts sent to me when his status changes. He’s been out and back in a dozen times over the past ten years. The worst part is that for each of his child sexual assault offenses he only served 190 days of a ten-year term. Keeps getting out for good behavior.”

“Still dating your sister?” No wonder this whole trip home was tearing her apart.

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to any of my siblings or mother for over ten years. Any time I tried they screamed and called me names.”

“Because you reported the son of a bitch? What the fuck is wrong with your family?”

Jessie shrugged like it didn’t matter, but Charlie could see her holding back tears. “I did the right thing.”

“You did.” Charlie gave her a few minutes to compose herself. “So, Bastian?” I prompted carefully.

She let out a long breath. “He lived with his dad for a while after. He was twelve when I got that bastard arrested. He asked his dad if he could live with him. My sister’s ex-husband. There was a big eruption again through the family because how dare he go live with his dad and not stay with his mom and sisters. That worked for a while. But he left his dad’s house when he was sixteen to make his own way. The doll thing was too much for his dad. Bastian’s just as hated in the family as I am, at least by his mom and sisters.”

“Your sister’s boyfriend abused him?”

“Yes. But he’s making it up to get attention.”

Right. “Dammit.”

Jessie threw him a tight smile. “He got out, got help. We’ve been talking for years. Casual. More as online acquaintances than family, which I know is odd. This will be the first time I’ve actually seen him outside of one of his Youtube videos since he was a kid.”

“How is he?” That was a loaded question. Was he continuing the cycle of his family? Drifting from abusive relationship to abusive relationship? Or was he, like Jessie, who’d cut the majority of people out of her life to avoid being hurt again?

“He’s good. Mostly. Has depression and some anxiety issues, but he buries himself in his art. Says the family is angry with him for not sharing his wealth with them.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. They…” Charlie stopped his rant before it began. “Your family is fucking nuts.”

“Sadly, I agree. And that’s what we’re driving toward right now.”

No wonder she felt so conflicted. “So we attend the funeral, and then what?”

“My mom paid the mortgage. She used my dad’s social security to do that. So without them, the house is gone. Apparently they were six months behind anyway, so it will likely be foreclosed on.”

“Your sister didn’t help with the bills?”

“Utilities. But she’s always had trouble keeping work too. She never spent money wisely. Spent too much time buying Coach purses and trips to Disneyworld, to ever create a solid life for herself and her kids. She even took out over fifty thousand in student loans to get a two-year degree. Hasn’t paid a dime back, so I’m sure it’s triple that now. Her credit is so bad I don’t know how she’s going to find some place to live.”

“Which is why your sister is pissed at Bastian. He’s not going to swoop in and save her.” This whole thing was a mess. Charlie felt horrible for Jessie and her nephew who he hadn’t even met yet.

“I wouldn’t either,” Jessie said. “I have money in savings, but am not giving her a dime. If that makes me a bad person, I’m fine with that. I’ll help clean up the house, and pay for part of my mom’s funeral costs, but that’s all. Since Bastian paid for the funeral, it’s him I’ll be paying. God, my mother said some nasty things to him. She stalked his Youtube channel to troll him. He had to remove her comments all the time. I know he said he’s attending the funeral, but I have to wonder why.”

“You don’t owe them anything. He doesn’t owe them anything.” Charlie pet Oscar while trying to keep a rein on his irritation.

“I’m going for Bastian. So he’s not dealing with all of this alone.”

“His siblings never said anything? If he was abused, it’s unlikely that they weren’t.”

“They won’t talk to me, so I don’t know. Bastian hasn’t ever spoken their names to me. We don’t talk about the family at all. Bastian only talks about his art and you know I pretty much only talk about work. Though it was from him that I learned my mother had died. My sister never bothered to call me.”

“Wow,” Charlie said. “Just fucking wow. And I thought my family was messed up.”

She gave him a half smile. “I like your family. You just have a shit ton of them.”

“Aw. If you were a boy I’d ask you to marry me.”

Now she laughed. “What a boring life you’d have then, Wood Chuck. No one to spring your sprung or whatever the hell you’re calling it.”

“Never had any trouble finding a someone to spring me. I’m a Fox,” Charlie told her, reminding her of his last name.

She winked at him. “That you are.”

“You can’t say stuff like that.”

“I’m asexual, not blind.”

Charlie grinned, happy to see some of the tension leave her eyes at their familiar teasing. “And you’re not alone. Don’t forget that.”

Officer Graham Church knew it was bad before they made it to the door. There was a rookie not much older than him who was puking his guts out beside a parked squad car. Graham stared at the decrepit cabin wondering just what was inside. He’d only been on the job just over three weeks and already seen a woman dead over a month. No one had noticed her gone until a stray cat delivered a finger to someone’s doorstep. That had been sort of zombie gross. More surreal like a movie than the real thing. He still could piece it together in his head, but it didn’t make his stomach churn.

He’d also seen a pretty bad car accident which left a man in pieces. That one had made him spew. The senior officer he was paired with, Detective Strand, had just patted him on the back and told him he’d get used to it, and that car accidents were some of the worst kind of gross they’d see.

Except this time around even Strand was tense through the shoulders. All over a cabin that looked like it was falling down. The property was surrounded by overgrowth and weeds. A fence had been erected, but was mostly hidden by brambles. The stench of shit was in the air making Graham wonder if one of the alpaca farms was close. He’d been lucky to get the job with the San Juan PD, and Friday Harbor had a list of tourist traps of which the alpaca farms were just one. He just hadn’t had time to explore them yet.

Another cop came out and barely made it to the side of the beat-up stairs when he started throwing up. Graham had to put a hand to his nose and fight his gag reflex. Strand had warned him that cops who started vomiting at the sight of other people vomiting didn’t last long.

Inside the cabin wasn’t any better than the outside. Light shown through the roof. The walls and floors were rotted. What little furniture there was appeared to be moldy and wet. The kitchen, if that was what the room could be called, had a couple counters and a sink that didn’t appear to work. No appliances. There was a room off to the side in which the windows were boarded shut and there appeared to be no leaks in that roof. There was a single double bed in the room, which looked dirty and worn. There were several pairs of handcuffs linked to the heavy iron-looking bedframe. They were each placed at the corner, and under the ring attached to the frame were scrapes along the metal, like they’d been used a lot. Graham swallowed back a lot of unpleasant thoughts at the sight.

The trail of cops led out the back and to the fenced in part of the yard. It was an odd set-up. Like a junk yard of tiny sheds, dozens of them. There was trash strewn everywhere. Tarps and wood planks patching together tiny roofs on top of small wood-rotted huts. Each shed was probably four feet high and maybe barely that wide. The ground was covered in feces. The stench of urine overpowering.

Maybe that was why the cops were throwing up. Graham wondered if it was dogs. They’d taken the man out in cuffs already. He’d been a scruffy sort of mountain looking man, but hadn’t put up much of a fight. If he had dogs back there in each of the little hovels that was bad, but Graham could handle it. He hated animal cruelty, but somehow it had to be easier than people strewn across a road.

No one was moving through the sheds. The first one off to the right was open, and another cop was spewing not far from it. The whole group seemed frozen, confused, as though at a loss of what to do. Strand approached the hut, stood in the open doorway and stared.

It took Graham a moment to pick his way around the worst of the grime to the detective’s side. Only to wish he hadn’t.

It wasn’t dogs. And nothing with a pulse deserved to live like that.

Whatever was in that shed, had been human at one time. Sightless eyes stared out of the curled mass of bones, matted hair, and withered skin. It was chained to a pole built into the side of the shed. Graham couldn’t tell if it had been male or female, but it was small. Curled around itself in the tiny space, without enough room to stand up or lie flat. Even crouched into a ball, it was tiny. Too small to be an adult.

His gorge rose and he fought it. He stepped back and almost slipped on a pile of shit. There were more than a dozen sheds. Most unopened. Everyone appeared immobile, shocked to stillness perhaps. Graham moved without even thinking, throwing the door open of the next, and the next. Only to be met with corpse after corpse. Children. Dozens of them. Oh God.

His vision swam. He didn’t know if it was from the rising nausea or the stench. He went through a dozen huts before something made him stop.

This pile moved. This little batch of emaciated skin and bones breathed. “Fuck!” He screamed. “Medic. We have one alive in here. Get a fucking medic!”

Whatever stupor the rest had been in seemed to be broken by his shout and they all began to move. Strand was throwing open doors and other older cops were checking the bodies for signs of life. The young ones like Graham, the rookies, seemed to have all abandoned the area, like it was just too much for them to handle.

But Graham went to his knees beside the barely moving form, not caring that various bits of excrement were soaking into his uniform. “Hold on, okay? Help is on the way.” Graham gently brushed a mat of grimy hair back to stare into startled green eyes. They were so wide. Terrified. But Graham kept muttering calming words. He heard shouts come up a couple more times. There was more than one child alive back there. Though most were long gone. Graham’s heart pounded as he prayed that he could save at least this one.

Can you believe I’m on written warning?

WFT? For being sick?

Correct. And even though I technically can work from home, I’m not allowed to.

If Nate could figure out why in the past six months he’d begun having chronic migraines three to six days a week, he’d have happily fixed the problem so it wouldn’t have threatened his office job.

Boss says someone in the past abused it, and they want everyone working from the office.

The office that you have to travel an hour on a city express bus to get to every day?

Yep.

Nate’s job had moved from a suburban nature sprawl on the outskirts of the Twin Cities, Minnesota, to downtown Minneapolis. It was only thirty-six miles, but a world of difference going from nature walks and two floors to a fifteen-story high-rise in downtown. Nate actually suspected his migraines were environmental. Could be stress, could be smog. There was no way to combat those and keep his job. He was the most financially comfortable he’d ever been in his life. Not making big bucks by any means with his just under fifty-grand-a-year salary, but he wasn’t living on ramen anymore. He had no savings because he spent it all to cover out-of-pocket medical expenses and his enormous deductible testing for solutions to his migraines. All for doctors to tell him they couldn’t find anything wrong with his head. Yet he had to spend most days sitting in the dark just to keep it from throbbing.

They had progressed from happening just a few times a year, to monthly, then weekly, and finally several days a week. The pain was so intense sometimes that Nate feared an undiscovered tumor. Only the scans came back with nothing. No explanations. Just more pills shoved in his face. Most of which made him ill.

He sighed and glared at the computer screen. If his head didn’t hurt, he’d actually call Jamie. Sometimes just hearing his friend’s voice helped soothe him. It wasn’t that long ago that Nate had fancied himself in love with Jameson. They’d met years ago, when the internet had still been a primitive thing, through the game World of Warcraft. Of course it had taken them years to meet in person, spending a long weekend together at DragonCon, but they were forever friends, even though Jamie was as straight as Nate was gay. They talked online almost daily. Sent each other gifts for holidays and birthdays, and just understood each other like most others couldn’t. Worlds apart. Yet not.

I’m so tired.

He felt bad. Always complaining. He had a decent life. Lived paycheck to paycheck, paying the mortgage on a small townhome, leasing a brand-new economy car, paying student loans. He was average. Sure he had no family, having been disowned years prior. He was introverted and didn’t have a lot of friends. But he wasn’t living in the ghetto or dying of cancer. He didn’t really have a right to complain. He was just tired. Physically. Emotionally. Was it normal to be thirty-seven and just feel ready to be done with everything? He wondered if it was time for another medication check for his antidepressant drugs. Were the pills helping at all anymore?

Come stay with me

It wasn’t the first time he had offered. Jamie lived on an island off the coast of the state of Washington. A place called Friday Harbor. Nate had never been, but Jamie talked about it a lot. Sent him pictures often, and Nate dreamed about it on occasion.

Can’t afford it.

You can. You’re just afraid. You told me last month you had one of those property management places out to look at your townhome. Said you could rent it out for almost twice your mortgage.

I have other bills.

Nate reminded him.

Not just the house. The car. My credit cards. Student loans. And the cats.

Nate was bad. He had the horrible habit of rescuing cats. Right now he had three who were all on special diets. Needy cats, the lot of them. Old and more than a little craggy in Leo’s case, but they were his family.

Nate’s phone rang, making him wince, but he answered it, and put it to speaker. “Bring them,” Jamie said.

“Jamie…”

“Nate, you said your head is often better when you’re outside. I’ll take you into the woods. It will be nothing but us and nature. Maybe that will fix your head.”

Nate sighed. “City boy, remember? Never been camping a day in my life.”

Jamie laughed lightly. “Yeah, I remember. Funny how your head hates the city. But think about it. What do you have to lose?”

“Um, everything.”

“No.”

“You want me to quit my job and just give up everything to mooch off you for a while?”

“Why do you think of it that way? You’re my best friend, Nate. If something happened and I needed a place, you’d make room for me, right? Help any way you could?”

“Of course.” Even if Nate hadn’t at one time been madly in love with his best friend, he’d still have helped Jamie. If anyone had ever been there for him, it had been Jamie. Even after Nate confessed his love and Jamie had apologized for not feeling the same, that had been years ago.

“I love you, Nate. Want you safe and happy. Is that too much to ask?”

Nate smiled at the warm feeling Jamie’s words awoke in his gut. Even if Jamie’s love wasn’t the same as Nate’s. “I love you, too. I’m just afraid that you’ll get tired of me.”

“Not going to happen. I just wonder what it will take to make you realize you need the change. Your manager,” Jamie snarled the word, “insulted you again yesterday in a group meeting. No reason. You texted me from the supply closet, crying.”

“I wasn’t crying.” Nate had been. But it hadn’t been the supply closet. There was no lock on that door, which was odd. It was a tiny room called a ‘Wellness’ room, with a single chair and a sink. Nate often laid on the floor with the lights out when his migraines became too much.

“No one should have to take that from their boss.”

“He’s not my boss. Just a senior of my own position.”

“So why is he allowed to insult you? Belittle you?”

“I just made some mistakes is all.”

“To him, I think breathing is a mistake for you. Christ. I’ve never even met the guy and I hate him.”

Nate often wondered why he’d been chosen for the position. He worked for a student loan company, hearing cases and writing up decisions for defaulted loans and wage garnishment authorization. He saw a lot of people in bad situations. A lot of others who obviously didn’t know how to manage money. He’d been in the position nine months and every day was made to feel like an idiot, whether it was from missing a comma in a decision write-up, or being a few pennies off on a calculation spreadsheet that no one externally saw. He enjoyed the challenge of the job, but hated always being made to feel worthless and stupid.

“You could commit for like a year, maybe,” Jamie went on. “Rent out the house, drive out with the cats, maybe find a local job. Something simple. Less stress. If you get enough from renting out the house, that will pay for your mortgage, car payment, student loans, and credit cards. You could give yourself a reboot. See if it fixes your head.”

“And make it difficult to find another good paying job,” Nate pointed out.

“Nate, your job doesn’t pay all that well. I’m a park ranger and make almost what you do. We aren’t the most well-paid lot. Your office job is not the be all end all.”

“Because you have EMT and prior police training. I’m not exactly park ranger material.”

“Most everything on the island is fifteen-an-hour minimum now. Not ‘cause of any mandate, but because it generates business. The few holdouts are struggling. But I know the diner, bakery, and the grocery store start at fifteen.”

“And I make almost twenty-three per hour.”

“And are too sick to do anything but visit hospitals and clinics,” Jamie pointed out.

“I’m sure your little island doesn’t want a homo like me.” It was the last real protest. Washington State was very progressive, Nate knew that. But he didn’t think a small town like the island Jamie lived on, was rainbow flag waving.

“We’ve got plenty of homos. Bastian and Charlie are always the talk in town because everyone wants Charlie and thinks he’s odd for dating a doll painter. Jason and Graham are in town holding hands at least once a week. There’s the lesbian couple who own the bookstore, and Troy who works in the pharmacy. I’m pretty sure there’s an EMT who’s gay too. And it’s not like you’re so flaming you’re going to set the island on fire. Why are you fighting this? Fear? I’m here, Nate. You won’t be alone. Don’t you trust me?”

He always did pull out the big guns. Jamie was easygoing, but never delicate. He was sort of a bear, physically and personality-wise. He was a good sized guy, stocky, a little scruffy with golden-brown curls and ever-present facial hair of some kind, and could stop a room with his presence. Mostly he was quiet and reserved, preferring to watch rather than dive into the thick of things. But he wasn’t the sort of guy who got shoved around. Nate, however, was. Nate was short in stature and in nerves. He didn’t push back often, no matter how much someone battered him around.

“Of course I trust you,” Nate breathed, letting out the truth. “But what if I get there and you hate me? Or can’t stand being around me? What if the headaches don’t go away and I can’t ever find work again?”

“What if?” Jamie asked. “What if the mountain and sea air clear your head? What if you find working at a bakery more fulfilling than wading through people’s finances? What if taking a break from the city is exactly the step you need to stop crying every night and feel like maybe, just maybe, you can go on?” The silence lingered between them for a minute. “I know, Nate. I hear it in your voice when we talk. I can tell in your posts online and how you avoid certain topics. I know you’re battling your depression. I get it. I just don’t want it to keep eating you until there’s nothing left. So I’m extending my hand. Asking you to take a break and trust in someone.”

And wasn’t that the most terrifying thought—trusting in anyone other than himself. For so long he’d been alone. Every time in his life he’d reached out, he’d been slapped down. “Jamie…”

“Nate, please. It’s killing me to watch you slowly dying out there.”

“It’s supposed to be that easy? Just pick up my stuff and drive?”

“Sure.”

“Would you?”

“If our roles were reversed, yeah. Pretty sure the city has nothing to offer me though. Remember I went to college in Seattle, grew up in LA. Had enough of big cities and people then. I like the Harbor. It’s quiet. Air’s clean. We don’t have giant malls or theme parks, but we have mountains, a couple of state parks, and lots of alpacas.”

“Jamie…”

“Nate. One year. That’s how long you’d have to rent your house out for anyway, right?”

“But…” Nate could only wonder what would happen, with his life and his career. In reality, he’d gone to school to be a writer. For all the good that did him now. A Bachelor’s of Arts degree got him nowhere but this stupid desk job. “Okay.” He couldn’t believe he said it, considered it, even thought a second about it. “But not yet. I just need a little more time.”

Jamie sighed.

“I’m not ready yet,” Nate confessed.

“Will you know when you are?”

Nate wasn’t sure. Everything had gone downhill from that moment. One medication change after another as suddenly his depression was being treated instead of his migraines. Both got worse. He’d had many a phone conversation with Jamie about the same thing. A year and a half passed. Nate had never been ready. He didn’t think he would ever be.