Billy's Bones (11 page)

Tom watched Kevin dress, and then the two of them walked around the back of the truck to where Chief Burbank was talking to the officer from the second cruiser.

“All right,” Burbank said to Kevin. “Are you going back with Mr. Langois?”

Kevin shook his head. “My place is just down the road. I think I should just go home.”

The chief looked back and forth between them before saying, “That might be wise. Do I have your word that you’re going to go straight home?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, you can go, then.”

Kevin glanced at Tom, but Tom was still angry with him, and his face probably showed it, so Kevin didn’t say anything. He just climbed into his truck, started it up, and drove off down Northside Road.

Ten

S
UNDAY
was as dreary as Tom felt, overcast and threatening rain. He woke up alone in his bed for the first time in over a week, and he hated it. The desire to call Kevin and ask him over was so strong that Tom called Lee’s Diner instead, wanting to get the whole thing over with. If Tracy would just tell him that Kevin had never raised a hand to her, then maybe he and Kevin could go back to the easy friendship they’d had. He could forgive Kevin a moment of lashing out in panic. Things like that happened. Or at least, they happened to some people. But the last thing Tom needed was someone in his life who was going to land him in the hospital periodically.

Tracy was at the diner, thankfully—Tom would have gone crazy if he’d found out she had the day off. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk about something like this over the phone. “When’s your lunch break?” he asked. “I’d really like to talk to you.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. Then Tracy responded, “What’s this about, hon? Something to do with Kevin?”

“Yes. But I’d really rather talk to you in person about it.”

She sighed. “Well, all right. I take a break around two when the lunch rush settles down.”

Tom showered and went out on the deck to see if the rubbing alcohol had damaged the deck at all. But it had evaporated and hadn’t left a stain that he could see.

He showed up at Lee’s just after one o’clock and was relieved to see that Kevin’s truck wasn’t there. The place was packed, and for the first time since he’d started coming there, Tom was forced to wait a couple of minutes for a table to open up. The waitresses were running from table to counter and back again, looking harried, but all smiles and chitchat and attitude, with a healthy dose of flirtation thrown in. Tom had to admire that kind of energy level. There were days when he could barely manage the calmly attentive attitude required of his own job.

When he did finally get a small table with two chairs against the far wall, his waitress was a cheerful young woman named Kelly, whom he’d never met before. But it was unreasonable to assume that Tracy would have time for him during all this chaos. He caught her eye at one point as she hurried past, and she smiled at him, but she didn’t have time to stop. Tom ordered some blueberry pancakes, bacon, orange juice, and coffee, and did his best not to make Kelly’s job difficult as he ate his late breakfast.

It was getting closer to three by the time Tracy had a moment to come over to his table. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, hon. It’s been hell today.”

“So I saw. That’s all right. But do you have a second to talk in private?”

“I’ve told the other girls I’m taking a few minutes.”

“Do you mind if we go out to the parking lot?” Tom asked. “I really don’t want people overhearing this.”

She didn’t seem thrilled by the idea—perhaps she was used to male customers trying to get her alone for a few moments—but she gave a reluctant nod. Outside, the sky was even more ominous than it had been a couple of hours ago, and the wind was picking up, but the rain wasn’t coming down yet. They leaned against Tom’s black Nissan Sentra, and Tracy asked him, “Is this about that bruise on your face, hon?”

“Kevin and I had an argument last night.”

“Oh my God!” Tracy’s jaw dropped in the overtheatrical manner Tom was beginning to associate with her. “Did Kevin do that to you?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe he would ever do something like that.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Tom said. “Kevin already knows I’m here. You seem to still be fond of him—”

Tracy waved a hand dismissively. “Well, of course I am. Sure, things went south right after we were married, and I still want to kill him whenever I think about that stupid stunt he pulled—”

“The suicide attempt?”

“That was when I knew he really was crazy. The screaming in his sleep and smashing the radio… I tried to overlook all that, but coming home to find him like that….”

But Tom’s ears had perked up about the radio. “Why did he smash the radio?”

“Darned if I know. Some song came on, and he just took one of the kitchen chairs and beat on that thing ’til it was dead.”

That was intriguing, but it was off the subject. “Tracy… did Kevin ever hit
you
?”

“God, no! I would have walked out that door faster than you can blink. And that’s what you should do, hon. I admit, I was a little… surprised… to find out that Kevin… you know… that you’re his type. Though it sure explains a lot. But if he’s getting crazy enough to start hitting on people, you need to get the hell away from him and find a nice guy who’s sane.”

Tom wasn’t actually convinced that Kevin was any “crazier” than he’d ever been. “I don’t think he did this on purpose.”

“He just accidentally clubbed you in the face?” Tracy asked skeptically.

“During a panic attack, when he wasn’t really in control of himself,” Tom tried to explain, though he wasn’t sure if Tracy even knew he was a psychologist. She probably thought he was talking out of his ass. “Look, Tracy, I think something traumatic happened to him when he was younger. Certain things cause him to have panic attacks because they force him to remember.”

“Remember what?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible he doesn’t even know himself.”

Tracy was just looking at him blankly, so Tom asked, “Do you know of anything that might have happened to him, maybe when he was a kid? Something particularly bad?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that, hon. He never talks about his childhood; he doesn’t even keep in touch with his mother. I never saw him send her a card for Mother’s Day or anything. If he has any brothers and sisters, he never told me about them.”

K
EVIN
’
S
truck was in the driveway when Tom got home, and Kevin himself was sitting on the front steps. He didn’t grin the way he usually did as Tom got out of his car. Instead, he sat hunched over, staring at his hands, while that foot tapped frantically, reminding Tom of a jackrabbit from a cartoon. He was probably expecting Tom to tell him to get the fuck off his property.

On the step beside him was a new bottle of rubbing alcohol and, to Tom’s surprise, one of the single red roses with cellophane wrapped around the base sold in supermarkets and convenience stores.

“You bought me flowers?” he asked incredulously as he walked up to Kevin.

Kevin tilted his head to look down at the rose as if he wasn’t sure how it got there. “Just one. I guess it was a stupid idea.”

Not exactly stupid, Tom thought. But weird. Male friends didn’t generally give each other roses after they’d had a fight. Still, Tom couldn’t help but be touched by it.

Kevin picked the rose up and was about to throw it off into the bushes, but Tom sprang forward and grabbed his wrist. He half expected the touch to trigger another panic attack, but Kevin just looked up at him, his soft hazel eyes full of pain.

“I like flowers,” Tom said, taking the rose out of his hand. “Thank you.”

He released Kevin’s wrist and picked up the bottle of alcohol, as well. “Why don’t we go inside? Are the windows on your truck rolled up? I think it’s going to rain soon.”

I
T
WAS
Kevin’s idea to talk in bed. Tom had given up being surprised by his contradictory needs for intimacy and distance. They stripped naked and lay close together, not quite touching, sharing a pillow so their faces were near enough that Tom could feel Kevin’s breath on his lips.

Like lovers, but not. This friendship was going to drive Tom insane.

“I tried to stay away,” Kevin told him, “but I couldn’t.”

“Why did you want to stay away?”

“I didn’t want to. But you were mad at me, and you had a right to be.”

That was certainly true. “I spoke with Tracy today.” When Kevin didn’t say anything, Tom continued. “She seems to think you’re crazy.”

“I
am
crazy. You should know that better than anybody.”

Tom snorted. “You’re sane enough. You know who you are and where you are, and except for some occasional episodes, I don’t think you’re a danger to anyone.”

“What about when I’m having one of my ‘episodes’?”

“I’m not sure yet, but Tracy says you’ve never hit her.”

“I haven’t. I can’t remember ever hitting anybody before. Well, except for when I was thirteen, the year I went to Hampstead. I took a swing at a male nurse.”

“Why?”

“He touched me.”

Tom frowned and raised himself up on one elbow. “Do you mean sexually?”

“No.” Kevin shook his head adamantly. “He was just doing his job. But I was upset about something—I don’t even remember what—and he tried to put his arms around me to restrain me. He wasn’t really mad that I hit him because it was hardly the first time a patient hit him in a situation like that.”

Tom looked at him intently and said slowly, “Well,
I’m
mad about you hitting
me
. You got it? I can forgive you—and basically I have—but if you ever do that again, we’re going to have a big problem.”

“Good,” Kevin said, looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t want you to take that shit from me.”

Tom sighed, feeling a weight lift from him. He wasn’t completely convinced—he’d heard of too many wife abusers swearing they would never raise a hand in anger again, only to fall right back into the same pattern when they lost their tempers again. True, there was an enormous difference between an abuser and someone with PTSD who didn’t exhibit a pattern of abusive behavior apart from some isolated incidents during flashbacks or panic attacks. But Kevin was still out of control at those times, and that was reason for concern.

I need to talk to Sue about this
, Tom thought.
I’m out of my depth here
.

“Kevin, you really might want to think about getting treatment for these panic attacks. Tracy told me about the radio you destroyed. Maybe you’re not out of control all of the time, or even very often, but it’s often enough. Aren’t you concerned that you might actually hurt someone someday?”

“I don’t want to go to another psychologist,” Kevin said.

“I have a colleague, Sue Cross, who’s excellent with cases like this. She’s done a lot of counseling for veterans suffering from PTSD.”

“I’m not a veteran.”

“All kinds of things can cause PTSD. It’s post-traumatic stress disorder. It can be brought on by a lot of types of traumatic stress—not just combat. Rape, childhood physical or sexual abuse, car accidents….”

“You can help me,” Kevin insisted. “You know how to see past my bullshit. And I trust you.”

Tom sighed and laid his head back down on the pillow, gazing into those beautiful sleepy eyes, wanting to reach out and touch Kevin, kiss his full mouth….

“Kevin… I think I’m starting to fall for you.”

Instead of looking shocked or uncomfortable, Kevin smiled and said, “It was the bottle of rubbing alcohol, wasn’t it? Nobody can resist a bottle of rubbing alcohol.”

“Stop joking for a minute, please. I need to know what this is. We have this fucked-up relationship that feels almost romantic one moment and like we’re just friends the next. You don’t want to have sex with me, but you like being naked with me and sleeping in the same bed with me. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Kevin’s smile faded, and he shifted his head on the pillow, as if he were trying to get a better view of Tom’s face. “It’s fucked up because
I’m
fucked up. Especially about sex. But I thought a lot about it last night when I was alone at my place. And I realized that I was terrified that you’d tell me to fuck off. It scared me more than when Tracy asked me for a divorce. I’m happier with you than I ever was with Tracy.”

That threw Tom for a loop. He’d hoped for clarification, but he’d expected something along the lines of a delineation of what Kevin’s boundaries were. Now he felt even more confused. Was it possible Kevin might be falling for him, too, even if he wasn’t sexually attracted to him? Or was this just some kind of intense need for a friend?

“There are plenty of straight men who prefer hanging out with their male best friends to spending time with their wives.”

“I’ve been thinking about you when I jerk off.”

Christ
. “What do you mean?”