Rainjoyswriting - And Return To Me.pdf

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And Return To Me
And Return To Me
Daddy smoothes the blankets over him and says, "There." and kisses him on the
forehead. Maes always feels loved at bedtime. "Night night, kid."
A yawn stretches out what Maes wanted to say. "When's- Daddy- coming back?"
Daddy's smile is soft and strange. "Very soon." he says. "Very, very soon. You won't even
know he's been gone."
"Already know he's gone."
Daddy kisses his forehead again and says, his chin on the pillow next to Maes' head,
"He'll be back before you can count to a hundred."
Maes counts, "One, two . . ." but he doesn't remember the rest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How's the East?"
Roy runs a hand back through his hair, and the desk chair creaks as he leans back in it.
"Hm. More or less as I left it. Not much has changed."
"They clearly miss your presence, then."
"Well, maybe I just left a ship so tight that even an idiot couldn't sink it."
"Hawkeye did, you mean."
Roy laughs. The inspection's put him in a good mood, actually, there are things to work
on but nothing is bad , really. And now he's caught half an hour alone with a telephone
and he knows, in his home at the other side of the country, there's Ed, waiting for him,
caring for his son, waiting for him . . .
"I was in my old office today, do you know that? It's the same desk, even. I kept
remembering . . . all those times you used to scream at me from behind it, I couldn't stop
imagining throwing you over-"
"Your son is here, if you'd like a word, Roy ."
Ah. He says meekly, "Put him on, please."
Fumbling, clicking, Ed's muffled voice. Roy smiles; he can picture this very clearly. Ed
holding up Maes, Maes bringing the telephone up double-handed so he can say, "Hello
Daddy!"
Something inside Roy softens like butter. He'd never known he'd wanted a son until Ed
gave him one, like so much else he never knew he wanted before Ed brought it into his
life. "Hello, Maes." he says, and wonders what expression is on Maes' face right now. He
loves playing with the telephone. He's probably smiling, and now Roy really does feel the
distance to home . . .
"When are you coming home?"
"Soon. Just a few more days, now."
"Days," Maes says, crestfallen, because when you're four a day is a lifetime.
"I'll bring you a present. Anything you like. What do you want?"
"Dog, please."
"You can't have a dog, Maes."
"Book, please."
It's always the same compromise. "You already have so many books. Don't you want
something special from the East?"
A moment of puzzled silence, and then, "A special book?"
He wants to laugh, he can't help it, Ed doesn't seem to realise it but he did breed a small
version of himself after all. "What kind of book, then?"
"Story book."
"Alright. I'll bring you a story book. Can you put your other daddy back on?"
"Yes. Thank you! Bye bye Daddy!"
"Bye bye, Maes."
"Love you!"
"I love you," Roy murmurs, and wonders if Maes has even heard that as the phone
fumbles its way back to Ed's hand, and Ed says, "Why can't we get a dog? You like dogs."
"I like dogs in the abstract. I don't like them shedding all over my clothes."
"I dunno," Ed mutters. "It'd be someone for him to play with."
They did have this discussion, eventually, falteringly. To Ed, Ed who grew up with his
world defined by his little brother, children should not come in the singular. They need
playmates, they need to learn from each other about love and caring and sharing and
kicking the crap out of each other. But they'd both reached the same conclusion even
before they'd discussed it. Roy would not risk Ed again, and Ed wouldn't risk his son
losing a father, and it genuinely would be that dangerous. So that's that: there can only
ever be Maes.
"He starts school so very soon. He'll forget all about dogs when he has friends."
"I guess," Ed mutters, not very convinced as to the merits of school.
"What kind of book should I get him?"
Ed snorts. "Get him something you can read to him. I know you cringe at all the books he's
got now."
"I don't like doing the voices."
"I know you don't. Big wuss," Ed says fondly, and Roy digs the heel of a palm into one eye
and smiles wearily.
"How are you holding up? Did you go to that group in the end?"
"Ugh. Yes. They think Maes is just daaaarling, for the record. And they all have brains the
size of - of beans, it's a wonder they managed to get everything the right way up to breed
in the first place-"
"Edward."
"Roy . . ." Roy can hear the tightening in Ed's voice, and then Ed says, "Hey, kid, fetch your
paints. We'll make a picture when me and your Daddy're done talking, okay?"
Maes is let down, Roy assumes, and he hears him thudthudthudthudthud away and Ed
yelling, "Careful on the stairs!" before Ed fidgets the phone up again and says, "All they
talk about is who their husband's probably having an affair with, and how their eyes
wander, and the seven year itch, what is the seven year itch, we've been together longer
than that, do you get some sort of disease if you keep having sex with the same perso-?"
"Edward. No, you don't get a disease. You're just meant to get bored of each other."
A second of surprised silence. "Who has the time to be bored?"
"Are you honestly worried about - my eye wandering?"
"No." Ed says, in that sulky way that means sort-of-yes. "It just - depresses the crap out of
me. The highlight of my f-damn week is drinking tea with a bunch of women while they
discuss adultery. It's like . . . this is what I have to look forward to? Have I got cellulite?"
"What?"
"They talk about it a lot, I don't know what it means, it sounds gross. But I don't think you'd
want to sleep with me so much if I had it."
"You don't." Childbirth has certainly affected Ed's body - his hips are different now, just
rounder is all, though Ed's metabolism and constant activity had pounded the excess
flesh away quickly. The most obvious marks are his multiple stomach scars, and Roy's
never minded a few scars, and never scars that mean what these mean. But thinking
about it . . . Ed's smooth, muscled thighs and flanks . . . "God."
"What?"
"I wish you hadn't made me think about this. I'm thinking about having sex with you
right now. This is no less torment on my end, you know."
"You know . . ."
"What?"
"Maes has to go to bed eventually. You reckon you could call back? We could maybe discuss
that desk thing some more . . ."
Roy feels the need to readjust his trousers.
"I'll see what I can do."
It won't be anything like the same, or anything like enough. But for now, it's the best
they've got.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
General Maguire is older than him, rounder than him, louder than him and greyer than
him, though Roy rather likes the salt-and-pepper beginning at the sides of his own hair,
it gives him an air of age and respectability that he quite approves of. Ed certainly
doesn't mind, which makes him smile . . . as does just the thought that at forty-three, Roy
still has a lithe and muscled twenty-nine year old blond waiting for him in his bed at the
other side of the country.
"How are you enjoying the East, Fuhrer?" Maguire bellows, somehow giving each word
he speaks a capital letter. "Your old stomping ground, eh? I remember your reputation
from back then, the women haven't forgotten you, eh?" His laughter booms, has so much
nudge-nudge-wink-wink in it that it almost knocks Roy over.
"Hm. Quite. Of course, that was before I had a family."
"Of course. Not that that changes everything, eh? Ha ha!" He genuinely does 'ha ha' when
he laughs. Roy's impressed, very few people actually do that.
He allows the crisp edge of a smile onto his face. "How does your wife cope with your
long absences, General?"
"Oh, well, you know what they say - while the cat's away - ha, ha! - there's always a
wardrobe full of clothes I've never seen before when I get home." For the first time, a
fracture of uncertainty enters the voice that can make the walls rattle. "And a new
gardener . . ."
The smile stays crisp on Roy's face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Daddy doesn't enjoy taking him to see the ladies, and Maes doesn't know why he does it.
Daddy does a lot of things he doesn't like to do, he doesn't like to cook or clean or even
get out of bed in a morning but he does all of them. Some of them he does for Maes, and
some of them he does for Daddy.
(As for getting up in a morning, he does that because Maes climbs underneath the covers
and pushes him along the bed until he falls out, some days.)
Daddy sits gloomily while the ladies talk. They talk lots. They dress like pastel birds and
drink tea and tell him what a sweet little boy he is, and Daddy looks miserable. He
always looks happy for Daddy, Maes wishes Daddy would come back . . .
Military wives, Daddy calls the ladies. He says it like it's a disease.
There are other children there and Maes learns to play, a little awkwardly, with others.
He doesn't quite understand sharing; children hold their hands out for the toy he's
playing with and he gives it to them, but they don't often give it back. He looks to Daddy
and Daddy gives him his you and me both, kid look.
A little girl with red curly hair and a very, very pretty nose walks up to him one day,
watching him with big grey-green eyes over the top of the lollipop she's sucking. She
considers Maes for a while, and Maes just sits cross-legged and looks back at her, and
then she pops the lollipop from her mouth and sticks it into his.
Her name is Poppy. Maes decides that he's going to marry her, when he's big.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ed's brushing his teeth when the telephone rings. He scowls into his eyes in the mirror,
because they're going to wake Maes up and he's going to put their eyes out for it, and
walks downstairs with his toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth, grabs up the
telephone and snaps, "Yullh?"
A pause, and then, "Edward?"
He swallows the mouthful of toothpaste and removes the toothbrush. "Roy," he says, and
wants Roy now . That's all there is to it. It's been a week, now, and a week's too long, Ed
wants to touch him, now, he misses him like it's been a year, his heart is dry and sore for
him . . .
"I was hoping you'd still be up . . . I didn't wake you?"
"Nuh. I was reading. What's up? Long day?"

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