Sky Full of Mysteries Read online

  He shivered and rubbed his hands up and down his bare arms to warm himself. After a while, when he felt he was ready, he stood on shaky legs, the comparison to a newly born colt not lost on him, and staggered over to where he’d left his T-shirt and glasses. He yanked the tee over his head and put the glasses—chunky horn-rims—onto his face. He’d been wearing glasses since he was five years old. It felt more natural with them on than without.

  It crossed his mind for half a second that his blurry vision had been a contributor to what he’d seen—or not seen; he was already doubting himself—but even with the glasses restoring his vision to twenty-twenty, the view of the sky above remained placid, dark, unremarkable.

  He scanned the horizon for a while, still looking for something he’d lost, but saw nothing new other than an industrial ship way out there, at the very edge of what Rory imagined was the world.

  Perhaps the ship would topple off the edge and into the mouth of a waiting giant membrane that looked something like a cloud with lights and spinning figures inside?

  Rory thought he should laugh at the notion but couldn’t quite bring himself to. He walked slowly across the sand. It wasn’t until he got halfway up the steps to the street that he realized he’d left his flip-flops on the beach.

  He hurried back to claim them. As he was stooping over to grab them, he noticed a dog running toward him. It was a black Labrador, or something like it, because it appeared as if it was some kind of charging shadow.

  It rushed by him without slowing to sniff or in any way regard him. “Hey!” Rory called after the animal, which ignored him. Rory looked around to see if there was a frazzled owner, leash in hand, running after the dog, but the beach was empty.

  When he looked back, the dog was gone.

  Could it have been one of the dark figures that dropped from the cloud?

  Rory froze at the middle of the stairs. The thought chilled him. The whole idea of his sanity suddenly came into question.

  He hurried up the rest of the stairs and headed back toward his apartment. He hoped Cole hadn’t awakened and gone looking for him.

  As he neared the courtyard of the building, he decided, unless he couldn’t avoid it, he would keep this whole weird episode to himself.

  As he headed for his front door, he thought things would look better, more rational, in the light of day.

  Right?

  Chapter 2

  AND THEY did—look better. Or at least things looked more like a dream, something weird that could only happen alone very late at night, having none of the earmarks of reality.

  Not really.

  When Rory got back to the apartment, he undressed quickly and slid into bed beside Cole, who was snoring like a truck driver after a long haul. His snores were almost musical, rhythmic, punctuated every so often by a gasp. As Rory slid into bed beside him, Cole mumbled something in his sleep that sounded like “What’s the frequency?” but Rory knew that couldn’t have been what he said. Rory’s mind was playing weird tricks on him.

  He lay still for a long while, knowing he wouldn’t sleep. Gray light started to seep into the room, and the sounds outside—birds singing, more traffic on Sheridan—also began to filter in.

  Rory thought he could never fall back asleep, not after what happened at the beach, but he did.

  When he awoke, bright sunlight streamed into the room, making dust motes dance in the beams. He looked over to see Cole, on one elbow, staring down at him. “We have to get something to throw over that window, or else we’ll never be able to sleep in on the weekends.”

  “What?” Rory rubbed his eyes, got up on his own elbows.

  “Curtains, blinds, a sheet, something. It’s only a little after six, for Christ’s sake.” Cole lay back down, huffing. “I’m still tired, but I feel like I’m being interrogated or something.” He laughed, but there was a sense of bitterness behind it.

  “Want me to do something?” Rory cast his gaze around the bedroom. The beach towels they’d picnicked on the night before were in a ball in a corner of the room. Maybe he could jury-rig a way to cover the window with them?

  “Yeah. Take care of this.” And Cole flung back the sheet to reveal his erection standing proudly, a steel girder pointing up at his belly button.

  The sight, with the butter-yellow sunlight streaming in on it, made Rory gasp with delight. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. He got immediately to his knees, positioning his lips just above Cole’s dick and went down on him.

  Cole groaned, and Rory stopped for a moment to look up and ask, “Better?”

  “Well, it doesn’t do anything about the sun, but it does tend to make one forget it.” He thrust into Rory’s mouth while at the same time gathering up a handful of Rory’s hair. It wasn’t long before Rory was enjoying his first protein-packed smoothie of the day.

  It went a long way toward making him forget the weirdness of the night before.

  After they’d both come, and in spite of the bright sunlight, they fell asleep again in each other’s arms, come on Rory’s chest sealing them together.

  Rory didn’t wake until well after noon. He was alone in bed but smiled anyway. The smells of coffee and frying bacon wafted in from the kitchen. Were there two more heavenly morning smells?

  How had he gotten so lucky? Not only had Cole obviously begun unpacking the kitchen, he was cooking, something he did very, very well. At the start of their relationship, Cole had told him he could be good in either one room or the other—the kitchen or the bedroom. But not both.

  Rory was torn and had never voiced a preference. He didn’t have to. His man was equally good in each. How could Rory not love him like there was no tomorrow?

  He sat up, back against the headboard, and peered out at the glaring brilliance of the sun. It looked like they were in for another day of blue skies and high temperatures. “Hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk” was what his grandma used to say.

  A perfect day for the beach.

  The last thought chilled him as an image of the cloud thing popped into his imagination, unbidden.

  Cole must have pulled out his portable radio from one of the boxes, because suddenly the Spice Girls started singing, “2 Become 1.” It was kind of sweet—and timely. Rory lay back a bit on the pillows, throwing the sheet off him. At least it wasn’t Will Smith’s “Men in Black,” which seemed to be playing everywhere this summer. That would just be too weird.

  He yawned and got up. He slid into his shorts from the previous night, knowing they’d continue to get sand everywhere, and padded toward the kitchen, making a brief detour at the bathroom to relieve himself.

  When he got to the kitchen, he paused at the sight of chaos and loveliness that greeted him. Boxes were open everywhere on the small kitchen’s black-and-white tile floor. Strewn about that same floor and crowding the countertops were a toaster, measuring cups, mixing bowls, tea towels, an apron proclaiming “Kiss the Cock,” and, weirdly, Rory’s black interview suit, thrown over the back of a chair.

  The window over the sink was open, and the smell of lake-scented air, with a slight fishy tang, wafted in, beneath the more wonderful smells of Cole’s cooking.

  Cole himself was at the stove, totally unaware of being watched. He wore only a pair of tighty-whities. His broad well-muscled back, dusted with brown freckles at the shoulders, and his powerful legs were causing Rory’s mouth to water as much as the bacon and coffee.

  “When did you find the time to do all this?” Rory asked, by way of announcing his presence.

  Cole jumped a little and turned to him, fork in hand. “You were out, buddy. Like a log!” He chuckled. “I was hungry when I woke up, so thought there was no time like the present to do a little unpacking.” He turned back to the stove, and Rory could discern from his movements he was flipping the sizzling bacon. Over his shoulder Cole asked, “How do you want your eggs? Scrambled would be easiest. But I can do anything at all for you, my love. Even over easy if I’m in the right mood.”
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  Rory snickered. “I have a funny feeling you’re not talking about eggs.”

  “Ah, you’re just saying that to get in my shorts.”

  “Nah, I don’t have to work that hard. Scrambled it is. You make the best.”

  Rory laughed as Cole moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs, along with a pitcher of orange juice. “Wow,” Rory marveled. “You have been busy. Go to the store too?”

  “Yeah, there’s a little convenience store around the corner on Sheridan. Prices are outrageous, but it’ll come in handy, I’m sure. You know, when we have midnight Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tarts attacks.”

  “Right.” Rory plucked his suit off the back of one of the two ladder-back chairs and took it into the bedroom, where he hung it in the closet. When he returned, he sat down on the same chair as Cole whisked.

  “I was hoping they’d have some chives or something, but no such luck,” Cole said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. This is way more than I expected anyway. I’m surprised I didn’t wake up with all you had going on.”

  “As I said, you were zonked.”

  Just as Rory spied a loaf of wheat bread on the counter, Cole asked if he wanted toast. “Sure. Can I do anything?”

  “You can just stay put and keep me company. We have a lot to do today, mister! You’re gonna need your energy. Besides, I want to squeeze in at least a little time to get out to the beach.”

  Mention of the beach sent a little chill through Rory, despite the heat of the kitchen. The morning routine seemed so normal, it had almost made him forget what occurred out there the night before.

  He wondered if he ever could forget it.

  A COUPLE of weeks passed. It was still hot, and the promise of autumn, right then, anyway, appeared to be much the same as a promise a crooked politician would make—sounding good, sounding possible, but never to be delivered on.

  Rory had just come in from his job downtown, where he worked in the IT department of a large insurance company. The work was mind-numbingly boring, involving installing and maintaining software on the company’s hundreds of computers. There was no challenge and no excitement. Still, the job had good benefits, paid him a decent salary, and he never had to work overtime. And he was right in the heart of the Loop, on Wabash, and his “L” train commute was easy.

  Someday he’d find something more interesting. But right then, life at home with Cole was all he needed.

  He threw down his messenger bag by the secretary desk at the front door and surveyed their home. Rory’s almost obsessive-compulsive personality had ensured the place was now completely unpacked and truly looking as though the two of them had lived there for two years instead of a mere two weeks.

  Rugs were laid. Pictures were hung. Books and CDs were shelved and, at least for the moment, alphabetized. The television and stereo system were all set up, the audio patched in by Rory to the TV so they had stereo sound. In the kitchen, everything was in its place.

  Place mats on the dining room table. Cole’s mom’s good china in the built-in hutch. In the bedroom, the dark blue comforter was a nice contrast to the quilted gold throw at the foot of the bed. Cole’s boyhood stuffed monkey, Charlie, even lounged among the throw pillows at the head of the bed.

  There was really nothing for Rory to do until Cole got home.

  Well, that wasn’t quite true. Guiltily, he thought he could go into the kitchen and rattle some pots and pans, at least make an effort to come up with something edible for dinner, but he sorely lacked any talents in that department.

  He scolded himself and knew he was just making excuses. Cole always told him there was nothing to cooking, not if you kept it simple, and that people who said they were hopeless at it, like Rory, simply didn’t like doing it.

  He did make a quick tour of their small kitchen, opening and closing the fridge, peering into the pantry and a couple of cupboards, before deciding he had no idea what he could manage to make out of what they had on hand.

  He ignored the voice that told him there were dozens of possibilities—spaghetti and meatballs, roast chicken, pork chops, a big salad, even a frozen pizza from Jewel—so he could do what he really wanted: sit down at the dining room table, where their desktop computer was set up, and pick up on his game of Warcraft. He could get lost in it, which was exactly what he wanted—it made the time pass so much more quickly while he waited for Cole to come home from his job in the suburb just north of them, Evanston, where he worked at the Pier One store downtown as a clerk. Rory tried not to think what he always did about Cole and suitable employment—that he could do better.

  Rory lost himself in his game, and before he knew it, two hours had gone by. He leaned back in his chair so he could see the wall clock on the soffit above the kitchen sink and saw that it was already six thirty. It was Monday, so that meant Cole would work until seven. Maybe Rory should show the guy some mercy and at least order a pizza—for the second night in a row.

  He shook his head and went back to his game, lost once more until the wall phone in the kitchen rang. He paused the game and hurried to answer.

  “Hey.” It was Cole.

  “Hey. Everything okay? I was just thinking about ordering some pizza, or maybe Italian from Leona’s?”

  Cole sighed. “Do whatever you want for dinner.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I forgot they want me to stay late for inventory tonight.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Rory, who’d never worked retail, said.

  “And you don’t want to.” Cole said nothing for a minute and then, “So I probably won’t be getting home until after ten, maybe not even until eleven. So feel free to order in, play your games, watch something on TV I wouldn’t like, like Doctor Who….” He trailed off as he laughed. When it came to entertainment, Cole was an out-and-proud chick-flick movie lover—he’d never met a romantic comedy he didn’t like and could tear up at the drop of a hat.

  “I’ll miss you,” Rory said. And he really would. They were still so new to one another that time apart truly was agony. The prospect of spending the evening alone wasn’t a welcome one. Maybe he should pay a long overdue visit to his mom and dad in Wilmette tonight? He shrugged. At least they’d feed him and he wouldn’t be by himself.

  “I’ll miss you too, buddy. But it won’t be long and I’ll be sliding under the sheets next to you.” He whispered the word “naked,” and Rory immediately got hard.

  “Okay, okay. I guess I have that to look forward to. I might hop on the train and go see Mom and Dad. They’ve been bugging me to visit. I think the last time I saw them was when we went to their house for that Fourth of July cookout. My mom’s going through withdrawal.” Rory laughed.

  “That sounds like a good idea. Give me a buzz when you leave there. Maybe you can meet me on the platform at Davis Street and we can ride home together.”

  “That would be great. If I go, I’ll definitely do that.”

  “Listen, they’re calling me, so I gotta cut this short. I’ll see you in a little while. Try not to miss me too much.”

  “Impossible.” Rory wanted to tell Cole that he loved him, but he’d already hung up.

  While he had the phone in his hand, Rory punched in the number he knew by heart—that of his parents.

  His mom answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, Mom!”

  “Um, who is this?”

  “Oh, cut it out,” Rory said. His mother had the worst cornball sense of humor ever. “What are you and Dad up to?”

  “Right now?”

  “No, in the year 2016.”

  “Oh, sweetie, we’ll probably both be dead by then. Cancer. It’s all the rage.”

  “You’re not gonna get cancer,” Rory chided. “So, are you guys doing anything special tonight? Cole has to work overtime at the store, and I thought I might come up and pay the parental units a visit.”

  “You mean see if you could cadge a free meal?”

  “Well, y
eah, that too. Especially if you’re making your famous meatloaf.” Rory wasn’t kidding. His mom made the best meatloaf in the world—she said the secret was in the finely chopped mushrooms she used.

  “Oh, honey, I hate to say this, but your father and I won’t be here tonight.”

  “Come on! It’s a Monday night. Where would you be?” Rory laughed. Sometimes his mom’s sense of humor didn’t even make sense.

  “You know, we do have a life….”

  “Since when?”

  “Rory, my dear, you’re bordering on the disrespectful.”

  This time Rory was smart enough to know his mom wasn’t kidding around, and it was true—he had crossed a line. “Sorry, Mom. What are you guys up to?”

  As if to prove the truth, his dad called in the background for her to “Get a move on.”

  “Your father and I have a little date night on Mondays. We’ve been doing it for a while, which you’d know if you were ever around anymore. Tonight we’re going to dinner in Evanston at the Lucky Platter and then going to see The Full Monty.”

  Rory had to laugh, and then grimace at the thought of his mother seeing such a film. He knew at heart he was a worse prude than his own parents. “You know what the full monty is, don’t you, Mom?”

  “Not sure, but I’m looking forward to finding out!” She giggled and sounded a lot younger than her years. Rory was certain she knew exactly what it was and shuddered to think maybe his dad was taking her to see the full monty in a movie theater so he could show her his own when they got home. “I need to go, sweetie. Maybe you could come by tomorrow night?”

  Rory couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Tomorrow was Cole’s night off, and they’d planned their own date night—at home, just the way Rory liked it. “I’ll talk to Cole. He’s off tomorrow.”

  He wished he hadn’t admitted that.

  “Well then, perfect!” his mother chirped. “I’ll expect you two at six. And yes, I will make my meatloaf, with mashed potatoes and creamed corn.”