Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
They approached the Bronx River Parkway and Jack eased onto the entrance ramp. Not knowing what else to do, Will followed, though still at a distance. They exited after a mile or two, wending their way along various suburban roads until they came to a comfortable middleclass neighborhood, many of the lawns filled with children’s toys and bicycles, the houses well-tended if a bit shabby.
The truck turned into the driveway beside the last house on the block, a white stone two-story house with red brick trim. The lawn was tidy and recently mowed, a large oak tree shading the front of the house, its trunk surrounded by bright yellow daffodils.
Will pulled up in front of the house and sat, wondering what to do next. He watched Jack climb out of the truck. Jack turned, catching sight of Will’s car. He stood very still for a moment and then turned abruptly away, heading toward his front door.
Will jumped from the car. “Jack, wait.”
Jack kept walking, but when he got to his front door, he turned again. He waited as Will raced up to him, out of breath, feeling very foolish.
“Were you following me?” Jack said, his voice cold.
“I was, yes. I forgot my damn phone. Why did you drive away? Why did you come to my house and then just drive away?”
Jack peered at him with those deep-set eyes until Will looked away, his face burning. Determined, he looked back. “Listen, it’s not what you think. Whatever you think you saw—”
“You don’t owe me any explanation.”
“Yes, I do. Of course I do. Come on, Jack. Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. Please.”
Jack paused and Will could see him struggling. Hoping to push past his defenses, perhaps lowered for a moment, Will touched his arm. “Please, Jack. That was just Paul. He means nothing to me. He had just stopped by. When he left, he kissed me. That’s all you saw.” Jack didn’t respond. Will hurried on. “I was waiting for you. Not him. Please. You have to believe me. Don’t shut us down. Don’t use Paul as an excuse to end us before we’ve begun.”
Jack nodded slowly. “Come inside if you want.” His voice was still guarded, his bearing stiff, but at least he hadn’t sent Will away. Will followed him into the house. A front hall opened onto a warm, comfortable room filled with wooden furniture with clean, curving lines, upholstered in bright yellow fabric. Jack gestured toward a sofa and two matching chairs. The chairs were large and comfortable, the frames made from polished cherry wood.
“Did you make these pieces?”
“I did.” Jack gave a modest smile. “I made just about everything in this house, over the years.”
Forgetting for a moment their misunderstanding, Will breathed, “You are kidding me. This stuff is museum quality. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“No, no.” Jack shook his head. “It’s just functional. I use high quality wood and I get it upholstered professionally. It’s just a hobby, though. I could never make a living at it. I spend way too much on the raw materials.”
“Well, I beg to differ. I’m not saying you should make a living at it. I mean, it must be very labor intensive. But I know people who would think nothing of dropping ten thousand dollars for a chair they admire. If you got into the right market, you could definitely sell this stuff for a substantial profit.”
“It’s not always about how much you can make off something, Will. Not everything is about gain and the bottom line.”
Will was stung by this remark, wondering if there was underlying meaning in the rebuke. He said nothing.
His voice more gentle, Jack said, “Can I offer you a drink? A beer or some soda or something?”
“A beer would be good.”
Jack’s kitchen was considerably smaller than his own, with white cabinets, a black and white checkered floor and bright yellow walls hung with framed cross-stitch truisms including, “Housework never killed anyone, but I’m not taking any chances,” and “God blesses this house, but He doesn’t clean it”.
Jack, following his gaze, laughed apologetically. “Those are Emma’s. She hated housework. She loved to cross-stitch though. It relaxed her, same as building furniture relaxes me, I guess. Her stuff is all over the house. She must have made over a hundred pillows.”
“You miss her, huh.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Jack took a can of seltzer for himself and a can of beer for Will from the refrigerator. He handed the can to Will. “Not fancy imported stuff like you have, sorry.”
“Oh stop. This is perfect.”
They went back into the living room and settled on the comfortable, elegant chairs. Will stroked the shiny, curving wood of the chair’s arm as he tried to formulate what he should say. He decided on the plain, bald truth.
“Jack, that guy you saw, his name is Paul. We work out together. He’s also my, uh, play partner from time to time. You know, we have sex. Or we did. Before you and me, that is. I told you, I’ve never lied to you about it. My sex life has been just that, until you came along. A sex life. Not a love life. Paul was a part of that life. He stopped by unannounced. I told him I was waiting for a phone call. As he was leaving, he grabbed me and kissed me.”