A More Perfect Union Page 5

  “I saw it all, mijo. It started inside and spread like… well, like a wildfire. If there’s anything we can do….”

  “Gracias, senõra.”

  She gave him one last hug, then squeezed his hand, stretching up to kiss his cheek. Then she left him with the burnt-out shell of his home.

  Alex opened the gate to the white picket fence they’d built. The yard still looked mostly the same, although the rock landscaping was a bit in disarray from the firemen and all the water. The black plastic sheets that kept the weeds from sprouting showed through from underneath the rocks and soil here and there. But the front door was gone, broken to blackened kindling, probably by the axes of the firemen. Alex imagined them rushing in to search the house and finding Gio there on the kitchen floor, curled up to try to fend off the flames.

  He closed his eyes, warding off the pain, his hand on the charcoal that used to be the doorframe. When he opened them finally, his hand came away black.

  If only he had been there.

  He left the mark on his hand, certain that he deserved it.

  Cautiously he stepped inside. The roof had burned and collapsed, so their home was mostly open to the sky. The rain had poured in the night before, and although it had dried under the hot Arizona sun, it left a mess of hardened ashes and bits and pieces of their life together that Alex crunched underfoot.

  Near the fireplace, he found a silver picture frame, partially melted by the heat of the fire. It was impossible to make out what it had held, but he knew. It had been a photo taken on a sunny day in Tuscany, standing in the shadow of the Leaning Tower of Pisa—the obligatory shot of Gio “holding” the tower up with his hands.

  Alex had that one on his phone. Some things could be restored. The silver frame, however, which they’d bought on the same trip, was a lost cause.

  He looked into the kitchen. The appliances were still there, scarred and broken. The old Saltillo tile floors might be salvageable, but the tile countertops had collapsed as the wooden cabinets under them burned, and many of the tiles were broken.

  Finally he ventured into the bedroom. The metal bed frame still stood, but the beautiful headboard, hand carved and painted in Mexico with fanciful colors showing a jungle scene, had been completely destroyed—just a bunch of broken pieces of charcoal.

  Next to it, Alex found the remnants of one of the matching nightstands, the one on Gio’s side of the bed.

  They’d chosen which side they wanted when they first met. Alex liked being close to the window, but Gio felt more secure away from it and closer to the bathroom for late-night trips. And it had stuck.

  Alex knelt down to pick up one of the charred drawers from the nightstand. It fell apart in his hands. Something fell out, landing with a small thunk on the hardened ashes. Curious, he knelt down and picked it up.

  It was a small green box, a bit melted. Alex really had to pull at it hard to get it to pop open, but he managed it at last.

  Inside were two matching silver rings, inlaid with turquoise.

  Gio had planned it all: the romantic dinner, the candlelight, the rings.

  And Alex had ruined it.

  He closed his hand around the box, forcing it shut, and began to cry.

  GIO SAT in the nothingness, holding Devin the Wildcat tight. The howling demons hadn’t come back. It was still dark in this strange place, but it was no longer pitch black. Every now and then, he thought he heard some carnival music or voices passing close by.

  He wondered when he would see Alex again. Everything was better when Alex was there.

  ALEX WAITED in the parking garage for ten o’clock to roll around, responding to some of his backed-up e-mails on his phone to kill the time. One of his escrows had gone off track, and his new assistant, whom he’d never even met, needed some advice.

  Then there were e-mails from his mother—he’d have to go see her tomorrow. He hadn’t told her what had happened yet.

  A text flashed on his screen.

  My spies tell me that the prima donna has left the building.

  He grinned. It was Rosalind’s not-so-subtle code to let him know he could come in.

  He grabbed his things, locked the car, and was up in Gio’s room in less than five minutes. He set down his briefcase, sat next to the bed, and pulled out his list, looking over all the things they’d had together for something to talk to Gio about. His eyes lit on something he’d seen that day at the house. Unconsciously he grasped the ring box in his pants pocket.

  “Gio, remember how I told you about Devin last night and how we got him?” He held Gio’s hand. “Tonight I thought I’d remind you about the bed we chose together, just after we bought the house.”

  He squeezed Gio’s hand gently, hoping for some sign of recognition—a flicker of the eyes, a squeeze back, anything to show that Gio heard him.

  Nothing.

  Nevertheless, Alex continued. “We were on that trip to Puerto Vallarta….”

  THE AIR around Gio was changing again. He looked up at the sky, which was becoming so blue it almost hurt to look at it. The ground turned to cobblestones, warm underfoot, and the colonial Mexican architecture that filled Old Town Puerto Vallarta surrounded him.

  Alex was holding his hand. “The guy at the hotel told me about this great little shop,” he said, his eyes dancing. “They’ll ship things home for us cheap, if we find something we like.” He peered at a map, glancing around at the street signs. “Come on. I think it’s this way.”

  He pulled Gio after him down the street, past a gaggle of bemused tourists on a walking tour, a garishly colored piñata hanging above them on a pole.

  Must be their tour guide, Gio thought, before being pulled around a corner.

  “Here it is,” Alex announced proudly.

  The shop was in an old stone building a little off the street, with shiny new windows showing off a display of brightly colored Mexican trinkets clearly designed to bring in the tourists.

  Gio followed Alex inside, and there it was, the most wildly decorated bed frame he had ever seen. It must have been seven feet tall, carved out of a light-colored wood and hand painted with a fantastic tropical scene, with palm trees forming the corners and a menagerie of creatures prowling the jungle floor amid ferns and sago palms.

  They looked at each other and said at the same time, “It’s perfect.”

  They were furnishing their new home together and still sleeping in Gio’s old student bed, but Alex’s new job as a Realtor afforded him a bit of extra cash.

  “How much is it?” Gio asked.

  His job didn’t earn him that much extra cash.

  Alex turned over the price tag. “Holy crap!” He showed it to Gio.

  “Seriously? $399?” Gio read, his eyes widening.

  Alex nodded. “And it comes with two nightstands for the price.”

  “Sold!”

  Gio knew they were supposed to haggle, but it was already such a great deal, it just didn’t feel right. “Alex,” he said, taking his partner’s arm, “I want to pay my share.”

  “Are you sure? I can swing it. The new job—”

  “It’s our bed.” Gio took Alex by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Please let me do this. Although it might take me a couple paychecks to come up with my share.”

  Alex studied him for a moment. “All right. Look at this thing—it’s gonna be magnificent when we get it into the house.”

  He found the owner and arranged the payment and shipping. Gio watched him.

  That’s the man I’m going to marry. Hell, it’s even legal in some states!

  Once again the scene melted away, returning Gio to his strange, empty white world.

  But this time, both Devin and the bed remained.

  ALEX FINISHED telling his story and leaned forward, looking intently at Gio.

  There!

  The tiniest of smiles stretched its way across Gio’s face.

  He was sure of it now. Gio could hear him.

  “Gio, I’m here,”
he said, taking his hand again. “It’s Alex. I’m here. I just want you to wake up so I can tell you—” He couldn’t get the words to come out. “—so I can tell you…. God, this is hard.”

  Gio didn’t wake up. Didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t even smile again.

  “That I’m so sorry,” Alex whispered.

  He sat there, holding Gio’s hand, for another hour before curling up beside him to get some sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Tuesday, September 15

  MORNING CAME far too soon. Alex’s phone alarm blared, bringing him out of a light sleep. He shut it off and climbed down from the hospital bed carefully, stretching and glancing over at Gio. He was as still as ever, as if the life had already gone out of him, but Alex knew he was still in there.

  He packed up his few things and gave Gio a kiss, whispering “I love you” in his ear. Then he set off, taking the stairs back down to the ground floor.

  He stepped out of the stairwell, and there was Cinzia Montanari in the lobby. Fortunately her back was to him. She was speaking to someone on her phone. He ducked back into the doorway.

  Things couldn’t go on like this—he had to call the lawyer again today. Alex peeked around the doorframe again. She was still there. He retreated to his safe place and checked his messages—there were three from work that he would have to answer sooner or later.

  After another five minutes, he looked out again, and fortunately by then she was gone.

  Alex made a beeline for the door to the garage and made it out of the building without being seen, exhaling a sigh of relief.

  He hopped into his car, threw his briefcase on the passenger seat, and drove back to Oscar’s house for a quick shower. The water helped counteract the exhaustion that was settling in on him, at least for a little while.

  “Hey, handsome,” Oscar called from the kitchen when he stepped out of the bathroom. “Want something to eat?”

  Alex popped his head into the kitchen. Oscar, in his underwear, was making some eggs at the stove. He wore an apron that gifted him with the painted-on physique of a go-go boy.

  Alex smiled. “Something quick, please. I’m going to go see my mom, let her know what’s going on.”

  “Sure. Give me five minutes, and I’ll have some scrambled eggs and toast up for you.”

  Alex pulled out a bench and sat down at Oscar’s kitchen counter. “Hope I didn’t wake you when I came in.”

  Oscar shook his head. “I was already up. Heard you in the shower and thought it would be nice to touch base over breakfast.” He pulled out a glass and filled it with fresh-squeezed orange juice. “Here you go—keep you healthy. You’re gonna need the strength.”

  “Thanks.” Alex gulped down a few swallows. “Oh my God, this is good.”

  “You’re welcome. So how is Gio? Any change?” Oscar cooked the eggs like a chef.

  “He smiled last night.”

  Oscar turned around. “Seriously? Alex, that’s great! Are you sure?”

  Alex nodded. “I saw him do it. When I was talking to him about the list.”

  “The list?”

  “The one I made for the insurance agent, about the belongings we lost to the fire. I was recounting some of the stories to Gio. You know, when we bought this, what happened when we bought that. I think he heard me in there.”

  Oscar served up the eggs on a bright yellow Fiestaware plate and buttered a piece of toast to go with it. Alex attacked it, suddenly starving.

  Oscar sat down to eat his own breakfast. “And Gio’s mother?”

  “Close call today,” Alex said between bites. “She almost saw me when I was sneaking out.”

  “You have to talk to her. Or get a lawyer, or something. What if she decides to take him back to Italy?”

  That brought Alex up short. He hadn’t considered that possibility. “What if she did?” He finished his eggs, but he wasn’t really hungry anymore.

  “Why don’t you ask your mom what to do? She used to work for the State Department, right?”

  Alex nodded. “She’s not a lawyer, though.”

  “Still, she might have an idea.”

  “I’ll ask.” He took the dishes to the sink and rinsed them off.

  “Just leave ’em there,” Oscar said. “I’ll put them away. I’m very particular about my dishwasher.”

  “You’re very particular about everything.”

  Alex gave Oscar a peck on the cheek. Oscar started, apparently caught by surprise by the affection.

  “I’m off. Thanks again for everything you’ve done—that you’re doing for me.”

  “Don’t mention it. Let me know what your mother says.”

  GIO AWOKE alone in his bed. Their bed. Alex wasn’t there.

  He knew Alex meant more to him than anyone else in the world, but he couldn’t remember how they had met, or much of anything beyond the time at the fair and the trip to Mexico.

  It was becoming clear to him that he was damaged.

  He sat up, leaned his back against the headboard, and stared out at the emptiness that surrounded him. It was no longer white or black, but instead a kind of muddled gray, like fog rolling across a damp, hidden marsh.

  Something had happened to him to rob him of his memories. And with them, his sense of self.

  Some of them were coming back. Alex was making that happen; Gio was sure of it.

  But what if the rest never did? What if he was stuck here forever, in this limbo? What kind of life would that be?

  Where was he, really? Was he lying on the floor at home, unconscious? Was he in a hospital bed somewhere? Or was he dead already, a ghost between worlds?

  Gio pulled Devin to his chest and hugged the little stuffed animal, beginning to despair. He couldn’t live like this. No one could.

  He hoped Alex would come back to him again. Soon.

  ALEX TOOK Speedway through town, heading out toward the eastern end of the city. Speedway and Broadway, the main east-west drags through the center of Tucson, were collections of eclectic construction periods dating from the fifties to the present.

  As he drove past auto shops and car dealerships and fast-food joints, he wondered how his mom would take the news. She loved Gio like a second son, and he’d been afraid to tell her what had happened. She was not as strong as she used to be, and he didn’t want to scare her.

  He stopped at the eegee’s, an only-in-Tucson fast-food experience, to get her favorite frozen drink—the piña colada. His mother had practically raised him on the only-in-Tucson slushies.

  Ten minutes later, he pulled into Saguaro Hills. The broad metal gates, cut out of ionized copper to resemble the desert hills and the cacti that populated them, swung open wide to let him in.

  He drove through the neat, curved streets of the planned development, past the desert landscaping that was typical of homes built in the last thirty years.

  The assisted-living complex offered independent living for seniors like his mom, with a communal kitchen and on-site activities. She’d moved in there last year, and Alex felt much better having her in a place where help was just the push of a button away.

  He missed her old house, though. It was the place he’d grown up in, with a big yard that backed onto open desert, where he’d roamed at length in his early to mid teens.

  He pulled into his mother’s driveway and sat there for a moment, gathering his courage. Then he went up to the front door and rang the bell.

  His mother answered the door. At five four, she was a head shorter than he was, and her hair was as white as snow. It matched her embroidered blouse. Alex remembered when she had been raven-haired, the beautiful Southern belle who had won his father’s heart when he was a day laborer, struggling to find work every day. Theirs had been a true romance, one his mother was still fond of talking about, whenever she could bend Alex’s ear.

  “Alex!” She took the eegee and smiled. “What a pleasant surprise.” Appearances were deceptive. Although she looked frail, her thin arms held a defiant strength
as she hugged him close. “Come in, come in!” She gestured him inside. “Come have a seat. I was just making some coffee. Can I get you a cup?”

  “Yes, please.” He sat down on her cowhide sofa. For a Southern belle from Atlanta, she’d taken to desert decor wholeheartedly. A cow skull hung above the round adobe fireplace, the walls were adorned by hand-woven Native American tapestries, and all the available surfaces were covered with every type and size of kachina.

  His mom breezed back into the room. Alex noticed she was wearing one of the silver and turquoise necklaces he’d brought back from Santa Fe. She handed him a steaming cup of coffee in a mug that read “Tucson—the Old Pueblo.”

  “It’s black, just like you like it.”

  Alex took the cup and held it. The warmth of the ceramic felt good in his cupped hands.

  She sat down opposite him. “So out with it,” she said without preamble.

  “Out with what?”

  “I raised an independent son, and I’m proud of the fact.” She chuckled. “You never come here without a reason. So tell me.”

  He sighed. She was right. He really ought to visit her more. “It’s Gio, Mom. He’s in the hospital, at the U of A. I don’t know when he’ll—” He choked up a little.

  She came to sit by his side, taking his hand in hers. Her hand was marked with age, but it was beautiful. “Tell me what happened.” She rubbed his shoulder gently with her other hand.

  “There was a fire….” He recounted the events of the last several days, getting through it bit by bit. The messages, the mad dash to the hospital, the waiting, the arrival of Gio’s mom.

  The whole time, she held his hand and listened.

  When he was finished, she was silent for a moment. Then she surprised him by saying, “I’m sure it’s been hard on Gio’s mom, even after all these years. It was hard enough for me when you came out, and you were right here to talk to me about it.” She laughed ruefully. “I had to get my head stuck on right to realize you were better off this way. That you would be happy, with Gio.”