Ends of the Earth

“He said he needs time. I don’t want to pressure him. Things got…intimate, and I think he regrets it. So if he wants time, I’m giving it to him.” He had to be patient. If he pushed too hard, that could be the end of it.

Tensing, he rocked to his feet, reaching for Dee’s empty bottle. “Refill?” Not waiting for an answer, he strode inside, twisting off the caps of two fresh beers and taking a calming gulp of his before returning.

Dee was leafing through a glossy parks brochure, and Ben craned his neck to read the cover. “Yosemite? Planning a trip with Paul and the kids?”

“Was thinking about it, although the kids are probably too busy with college now to vacation with Mom and Dad. I hear they’ve got great programs down there and they want to be even more progressive. They’re hiring a new head ranger.”

“Are they?” He snorted. “Subtle, Dee. Real subtle.”

“I thought so.” She put the brochure on the table between them and popped a pretzel into her mouth.

Ben thumbed through the glossy pages. Unsurprisingly, Yosemite looked like one of the most gorgeous places on earth. He peered at a picture of a crystal-clear lake, mountains rising above it into blue sky. Similar to what he enjoyed in Montana, but new and different. Maybe it was just what he needed.

What about Jason? Yosemite isn’t any closer to Philadelphia. Maybe I should wait and see what happens with him first.

Dee said, “Change isn’t easy, but it can’t hurt to look into the position. I know a few people in the main office down there. I could make some inquiries.”

He took another gulp of beer. “Okay.” Butterflies flapped in his belly. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even get the job, but he’d apply for it. It wasn’t a commitment to simply send his resume. He’d been putting off too many things for too long. It would be too easy to stay in his rut and let another opportunity pass by.

“And if you want to know what I think—”

“Have I ever had a choice?”

Dee grinned. “Nope.” Her smile faded. “I think if you and Jason Kellerman have something special, you should go for it. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

He picked up a pretzel and toyed with it. “I don’t have the right to pressure him. He was overwhelmed. It’s understandable.”

“Sure it is. It was a lot to process. But you can help him. Help that sweet little girl. Help yourself while you’re at it. I’m sure you can list a whole bunch of excuses about why you shouldn’t even try. He’s younger, he lives far away—”

“I have to respect his wishes. I asked him to keep me posted.”

Dee screwed up her face. “Gee, that sounds romantic.”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘My life is empty without you, my sweet flower glowing with morning dew’?”

She swigged her beer. “You can’t do much worse than ‘keep me posted.’ I’m just saying.” Dee dropped the teasing tone. “I hate seeing you give up.”

He picked up the brochure. “I’m going to apply for this job. That’s something.”

“Okay. One step at a time. I’ll drink to that.” She raised her bottle, and Ben clinked it with his own. It had to be enough for now.

After counting the beams in the ceiling four times, turning onto one side and then the other, and resolutely closing his eyes only to be haunted by images of Jason in bed—breathy moans and delighted gasps, sweat-sweet skin under Ben’s tongue, warmth all around—Ben gave up and threw back the covers.

In his underwear, shivering in the cool air, he opened the curtains to let in the moonlight and wandered from the kitchen to the living room and back again, a ghost in his own home.

Nothing in the cabin was his aside from the TV. Not the furniture or decorations, nor the dusty round clock high on the wall ticking errantly, off by a few more minutes each year. The fridge was ancient and clanging.

He’d left Brad and their house with only his clothes. No CDs or knickknacks or artwork. He’d abandoned it all, despite Brad’s repeated attempts to split their belongings. He told himself he’d redecorate the cabin and make it his own, but here he stood surrounded by his father’s choices, and the odd remnant from his mother, like the stained glass butterfly stuck to the kitchen window with a suction cup.

The Yosemite brochure sat on the kitchen table, and he found himself flipping through it. In the silver moonlight, the pictures were pale and beautiful, like Ansel Adams’s famous black and white shots of the park.

Ben thought about how much Maggie would love it there, hoping fervently that Harlan Brown hadn’t tainted her passion for the wild. A hard spear of a thought filled his mind.

I’m glad he’s dead.

Maybe it was wrong, but he wouldn’t deny it.