DISCLAIMER: You are about to read a story that is strictly FAN FICTION and in no way represents true accounts. I do not - nor do I wish to imply that - I know Jake Gyllenhaal, his private life or his sexual preferences. This is also true of all other celebrities represented in this story. This is a work of fiction based in homo-eroticism, so if you are not of legal age, or if this type of content might offend you, please move onto something else.
For everyone else - ENJOY! -------------------------------------------------------------------- So I considered titling this section 'Travis's Celebrity' since we're transitioning from Jake as narrator to Travis as narrator . . . but I didn't want to confuse anyone, especially the Archive. Ha, ha! So here is Part 12, which could really be considered Part 1of Travis's viewpoint, depending on how you look at it. Hope you enjoy the new perspective.
Thanks to everyone for continued support.
Come join my group: http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew - there are a lot of talented Jake-fiction authors on there. Or drop me a line: avymac@hotmail.com - I love to hear from everyone and I always respond.
Now onto PART 12! --------------------------------------------------------------------
I drove rather recklessly, tears pricking at my eyes. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I reached over in the seat to pop open the glove box, retrieving a pack of Camels hiding inside. I shook out a cigarette and brought it to my lips, lighting it with the lighter tucked inside the half-empty pack, rolling my window down a notch to let out the smoke. I normally never allowed myself to smoke inside the truck, but at that moment I desperately needed it.
I found myself back in the heart of Aspen - for whatever reason - and slowly circled around for awhile. There were hundreds of people crowding the sidewalks, wandering in and out of the shops and restaurants, bundled up in their winter gear. I ended up driving past The Little Nell again, slowing down to watch it pass, catching a glimpse of the front drive, the front doorman, the valet, the potted fir trees lining the walk.
Memories flooded my mind like a tidal wave, suffocating me with unexpected impact. I almost plowed into a pedestrian jay-walking in the middle of the street. Had to swerve hard to the left, almost hitting a BMW in oncoming traffic. I struggled to right the truck, hands gripping the wheel, and finally pulled over to the curb, bringing the truck to a complete stop.
My nerves were shot. I needed a moment to let my head settle.
I left the truck idling and rolled down my window further. It was fairly cold out, but the biting air felt good against my agonized face. Two moist lines of tears streaked my cheeks - tears I hadn't even realized I'd cried. I sucked on the cigarette, inhaling the nicotine, wishing I had a bottle of whiskey to go with it.
I wondered what Jake was doing at that exact moment. Tried to picture him in the airport, although he was probably already on the plane waiting for take-off. A vision of him sitting slouched in a window seat, iPod in hand, mouth turned down as he looked out at the runway popped into mind, and I reveled in it for a moment, feeling as though I was sitting right there with him.
Wishing I was.
A reckless, spontaneous part of me was tempted to turn the truck around and head back to the airport, booking myself on the next available flight out to L.A., taking along my duffle bag with only my toothbrush and a spare set of clothes in it. But I was never one to be spontaneous or reckless in life - was always the stalwart Cooper boy, trying to do the right thing. And it was roundup time - crucial - so my reasons for staying in Colorado truly outweighed the temptation to leave. I had to be content with the knowledge that I would see Jake as soon as I could, and not before then.
I still couldn't believe how deeply he'd already gotten into my head . . . and into my heart. Just four days. The timing was a definite first for me; no one had ever gotten to me that quickly, not even Eric.
But then, Jake was nothing like Eric. Jake had sincerity about him. And honesty - at least as far as I could tell. My gut instinct told me that he was a person who could be trusted. And I would forever regret lashing out at him for expressing his feelings to me in the hotel room. I'd been way out-of-line, pulling Eric into it like that, comparing the two situations as if they were even remotely similar to one another.
Funny how one little word - love - could cause such a horrific reaction in me.
I hadn't even been aware that I still harbored the insecurity.
I finished the last of my cigarette and snuffed it out in the ashtray. It was time to move on. Making an effort to be more cautious this time, I slowly eased the truck back into traffic, heading out of town, leaving the memories of time spent at The Little Nell behind, disliking the ache of loneliness already stabbing at me.
Near Vail I stopped off to buy more cigarettes. It had turned into a day of chain-smoking, despite how disgusting it felt to do so. I'd made a pact to quit at least a hundred times over the last few years, but so far there had always been one incident or another preventing me from accomplishing that goal.
I decided to get another cup of coffee. Passing by the rack of magazines, one tabloid in particular caught my eye: Oscar highlights. I stopped mid-step and picked it up. Hastily flipping through it, I found several pictures of Jake, and the sight of him winded me. He was handsomely dressed in black tuxedo, bow-tie, shiny black shoes, hair and stubble neatly trimmed. His blue eyes stood out on the page, pulling me in like magnets. I stood there, staring at him, feeling a surge of something inexplicable wash over me.
He was, by far, the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. It was no wonder the girls swooned over him. No wonder the guys did, too.
I decided to skip the coffee and purchased just the cigarettes and magazine instead. Heading back to my truck, I instinctively held the tabloid pressed against my chest.
I didn't return to the ranch straight away. I didn't feel like facing Katie - or anyone else in the family - just yet, having to explain things I didn't want to explain, having to confront my sister about her vile behavior. So I chose instead to stop off in Salida and visit Doug.
Doug was an old high school buddy and rodeo companion. He'd ridden bulls, acquiring more trophies and buckles than I ever could have imagined with my calf-roping. After high school, at the time when I'd gone off in search of an engineering degree, he'd continued on with the rodeo life, traveling the circuit extensively. He'd been fairly successful, too, even making it to the PBR finals one year. But persistent injuries had eventually prevailed: broken collarbone, fractured wrist, various torn ligaments. Although still young, his body had grown weary with abuse; he'd been smart enough to know when to quit. Now, he worked with his uncle as a sub-contractor building exterior decks. Not nearly as exciting, but safer.
At fist glance, Doug's appearance was deceiving: close-cropped blonde hair; intense green-gold eyes; a myriad of tattoos; earrings; nipple rings - everything non-conventional for an ex-rodeo champ. But underneath the cool exterior he was a true Colorado cowboy, and the most sincere, down-to-earth, understanding, open-minded guy I knew.
Doug was the first person I had ever announced being gay to - back when I'd turned twenty and was tired of the constant pretending. And rather than throwing a punch at me - which I had expected and braced myself for - he'd surprised me by throwing me a kiss instead. The realization that he was also gay had been a powerful awakening for me.
We'd dated for awhile, enjoying some pretty remarkable exploratory sex, attempting to make a relationship work that had quickly turned futile. The chemistry for a loving partnership simply hadn't existed between us, and in the end friendship had become the best alternative.
We'd remained close friends ever since - sharing everything, even continuing on as frequent bedfellows. But aside from casual sex, Doug was a pillar of strength and support for me; an encouragement when others let me down. He was the one person in the world who listened intently, offered sound advice, and never passed judgment. For me, that was pretty rare. And for that reason, he was always the first person I sought out when I needed someone to confide in.
Nearing his street, I wondered if I'd even find him home. It was Sunday; he might have been out riding or fishing or picking up extra side-work somewhere. But when I arrived at his small one-bedroom house, I noticed that his Saturn was parked in the driveway. Relieved, I pulled in and cut the engine. Glancing at the magazine on the seat, I debated briefly and then took it with me.
The house was equivalent to a shack: wood shingles painted in drab brown, old single-pane windows, a crooked pipe chimney sticking up from a slightly gabled roof. It was a typical poor-man's mountain getaway home, similar to many others in the area, inhabited by unpretentious people - the complete opposite of places like Aspen.
As with many other features of Doug's house, the front doorbell was broken - had been for years - and so I pulled back the screen door to knock several times. It took Doug awhile to answer, but eventually he appeared, throwing the door open, squinting out at me through sleepy eyes, tattoos greeting me, clad only in black sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
Upon registering my appearance, his expression changed, immediately softening. "Cooper . . . " he muttered, grinning crookedly, holding the door open farther.
"Afternoon, sleepy-head," I said, entering into the small livingroom. I removed my coat and tossed it, along with the magazine, to the couch.
"Well, it's still morning to me," he mumbled. Stepping forward, he instantly pulled me into a hug, arms embracing. "It's good to see you," he whispered. Then he turned his face and leaned in to kiss me - a tradition - his hand at the nape of my neck, his lips preparing for the oral connection that we shared whenever we greeted each other.
But I pulled away this time, sliding his arms from around me. Stepping back, I cleared my throat, glancing down at the floor, noticing a small stain on the carpet, feeling my face flush. I was usually eager to receive a kiss from Doug; he was a great kisser. But now . . . well, everything was different.
Doug scratched his hairless chest, peering at me, taking it in stride. "You want some coffee?" he asked. "A beer?"
"Beer," I replied. "Thanks."
I slumped down into the threadbare recliner and popped the footrest up, lounging back. As Doug disappeared into the kitchen, I glanced around at the landscape paintings lining the walls. They were amateur at best - similar to paint-by-numbers - with lots of plain gray mountains and pine-green trees. They'd been painted by a now-deceased aunt of Doug's, and for some reason I never tired looking at them; they held a certain charm and familiarity that I appreciated.
Doug returned with the beers, handing one to me, and then he took a seat on the couch. Noticing my magazine, he picked it up. "This yours?"
I popped open the can and took a swig. "Yep."
Perplexed, he read the cover briefly, then said, "The Academy Awards?"
I nodded, saying nothing, not wanting to dive straight into a discussion about Jake. I wasn't even certain that I should. But a part of me was craving to share it with someone other than my family, and I knew that out of anyone, Doug could be trusted to keep quiet about it. Which was what had prompted me to visit him in the first place.
Doug tossed the magazine aside, indifferent, and lounged back, propping an ankle up on one knee, stretching his arm out across the back cushions of the couch, displaying his well-toned chest. After taking a swig of beer, he said, "I saw Nathan last night."
My heart skipped a beat. Perhaps the conversation was going to take a turn sooner than I'd anticipated. "Yeah?" I said in response.
"Yeah, he showed up at Brian's after work. Said you were in Aspen. At The Nell."
I drank more of the beer, belching low. "I was."
"Having dinner in The Montagna of all places. With a few celebrities."
I nodded. "That's right."
Doug sat forward, his expression changing from nonchalance to one of curiosity. "Are you going to tell me that Nathan was telling the truth? For the first time in his life?"
"Yep."
"Jake Gillen -?"
"Gyllenhaal," I corrected.
"You were having dinner in The Montagna with Jake Gyllenhaal? You're shitting me, Cooper."
"No, it's true," I said. "With his sister and her fiance, too."
"How in the hell . . .?" His voice trailed off. He just sat there staring at me, dumbstruck, waiting for an explanation.
I nervously picked at the tab of my beer can, causing an annoying, repetitive flicking sound with my fingernail. "Doug," I sighed after a moment, deciding to take the plunge. "It's a long story . . ."
And so I proceeded to tell the tale of meeting Jake - about catching his eye in the diner; spending the night in his hotel room; taking him back to the ranch; discovering that he'd never been intimate with a man before me; admitting that I really liked him despite how opposite our lifestyles were.
By the time I had finished my lengthy account, Doug and I had finished off a second beer. Doug sat with the magazine open on his lap, gazing at the pictures of Jake, still shaking his head in disbelief. "This is by far the craziest thing I've ever heard," he stated. "And I've heard some pretty crazy shit in my life."
"I know," I mumbled, absently pulling on a loose thread of stitching in my jeans. "It's pretty crazy to me, too."
Doug rubbed the can of beer between his palms, a look of consternation covering his face. After a moment he quietly said, "Just how serious are you, Cooper?"
I'd anticipated the question from him eventually. Out of anyone, he knew my past the most intimately - had been there, plutonically, through every relationship I'd ever had, including Eric.
"I think . . . pretty seriously," I replied.
"And the feeling's mutual for him?" This question was asked sternly, his brother-protector trait coming through.
I nodded. "Yeah. I think so." Then, more confidently, I added, "I know so."
Doug nodded but continued to peer at me intently, as if trying to determine just how deeply I'd fallen, undoubtedly feeling a certain amount of concern for the unusual circumstance I'd placed myself in.
I decided to break the silence and ease the moment by snapping the recliner footrest closed and jumping up to me feet. "Come on," I said, grabbing my coat and the magazine. "Put a shirt on and let's go to Finnegan's. I'm starving."
I returned to the ranch in the afternoon, heading straight to the office, not bothering to check in with anyone. I tossed my duffle bag into a chair and slumped down behind the desk, scooping up papers, staring blankly at them. There was so much I needed to do in preparation for the roundup: calling in extra hands, scheduling the vet, getting supplies ready, coordinating the contract with the meat company. The list was extensive. But at that moment, my mind was so clouded that I didn't quite know where to begin.
A knock on the open door pulled my attention away. I glanced up to see my mother standing there, dressed in her thick denim coat, her hair disheveled as if she'd just returned from riding.
"Hey," I said casually.
"Hi there." She entered into the room, removing my duffle bag to sit down in the chair.
"You went riding?" I inquired.
"I did."
"On Magnolia?"
She nodded.
"How's her leg?"
"It seems fine. She wasn't limping. "
"Good."
A moment passed. Then she said, "How are you, honey?" Her maternal tone was heavy, and I knew that she was asking much more than she'd spoken.
I picked up a pencil and began absently tapping it on the desk. "I'm good," I replied impassively.
"And everyone got off to the airport okay?"
I nodded, continuing the pencil-tapping. "Yeah."
"And Jake?" she inquired. "How is everything with him?"
I looked at her, the nervous pencil-tapping increasing. Although my mother supported my lifestyle, I would never feel comfortable discussing my relationships with her. "Everything's fine," I stated.
"Well," she said sweetly. "That's good to hear. I like him . . . and I really like Maggie and Peter, too. They're all good people. Very nice."
"Mm-hmm."
She noticed the magazine on the corner of the desk and picked it up, eyeing it curiously. I realized then that I was purposely leaving the magazine in full view so that others would pick it up and see the pictures of Jake. A passive-aggressive behavior.
"Is he in here?" she asked, flipping through the pages.
"Uh-huh."
She located the page and sat for a moment, reading the captions. Then she shut the magazine and placed it back on the desk. "So . . . is he going to be coming back here any time soon?"
I finally tossed the pencil aside, aggravated by the sound. "I don't know. I'll probably be going out there first."
"To Los Angeles?" Her voice denoted surprise.
I looked at her. "Yes . . . why?"
She shrugged, laughing softly. "I don't know . . . it just doesn't seem like your kind of place. Movie stars, glamour, glitz."
I sat forward, leaning my elbows against the edge of the desk. "Well, even so," I said, "I plan on going out to see him as soon as the roundup is done."
She peered at me, her usual warm green eyes expressing concern. She seemed to want to tell me something, but instead of doing so slapped her legs, stood up, and stretched her arms. "Well, I'm going to go give Magnolia a rub-down. You'll be up to the house for dinner?"
"I don't know," I replied. "I may just grab something in the bunkhouse. I'm pretty tired."
The truth was, I didn't want to see Katie - the thought of confronting her was far too daunting a task to endure right then.
"All right," my mother said. "Well, at least come say goodnight later then."
I nodded. "Sure thing."
She said farewell and exited the office. I sat there for a moment, my thoughts cluttered; jagged reflections of Katie and Jake and Eric and Doug and the roundup and everything else combining to form one giant kaleidoscope in my mind.
Glancing at the magazine, I quickly picked it up and found the page again, gazing down at the pictures - Jake looking dapper and handsome in his tux, blue eyes gazing back at me, reminding me of the words he'd spoken just a few hours ago: "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Cooper."
God, why had I been such an ass to him? I shut the magazine in irritation and threw it on top of the mess of papers. Eric had destroyed so much. Destroyed my ability to connect with someone on a level deeper than physical attraction.
Yet clearly I did feel something deeper for Jake. And somehow, I needed to find a way to come to terms with it . . . letting everything else go.
After finishing up with phone calls and various other items demanding my immediate attention, I closed the office and saddled up Red Cloud, deciding to go on a short ride before dusk fell.
I headed towards the grove of aspen Jake and I had traveled to yesterday, stopping briefly to check on the Herrefords herding in the south pasture. The sun was already setting, coloring the wide open sky in striking hues of orange and gold. I took Red Could into a gallop, reaching the trees, heading down the path, dodging branches in my way. The rush of cool air was invigorating against my face, the sound of galloping hooves welcoming to my ears.
I arrived at the spot near the stream where Jake and I had picnicked yesterday. I brought Red Cloud to a stop, dismounted, and took a seat on the large rock while Red Cloud drank from the chilled water.
After lighting a cigarette, I brought a knee up and perched my elbow there, the cigarette dangling between my fingers. I listened to the trickle of the stream and watched the woods slowly fade into darkness. Memories of lying on the blanket there with Jake, taking him in my mouth while he enveloped me in his, pervaded my thoughts, and I felt my cock start to harden. I took long drags of the cigarette, delving deeper into the sensation of Jake's body - his well-formed pecs and abs, the dusting of hair on his arms, legs and torso, the firmness of his ass, the girth of his cock. Even the curve of his lips; the striking depth of his blue eyes; the strength of his hands. Everything came together to form a magnificent body, beautiful and perfect.
And I wanted nothing more in the world at that moment than to have it standing before me, naked.
Other memories began to flood my mind: memories of me taking Jake in the bunkhouse, and then of Jake taking me in the hotel room, our roles reversing without preconception. It had never been my preference to be a bottom, especially ever since Eric had insisted on it in Boston, bringing others into the dynamic, humiliating me. But somehow, I'd been willing to do it for Jake - believing that he'd deserved the opportunity to try it. And, despite my reservations, it had been amazing. Enjoying it had definitely been a new sensation for me. An aspect I hadn't yet sorted all out.
Darkness was quickly falling; I needed to head back. Reluctantly, I finished the cigarette and snuffed it out on the rock, sliding the butt into my pocket. Then I climbed back onto Red Cloud and headed for home.
Once leaving the stables, I walked up to the house, hands thrust deep into the pockets of my coat, my breath escaping in puffs in the chilled evening air. I entered in through the kitchen and found my mother clearing dishes away from the table, Arty and Katie watching television in the connecting family room.
I shrugged out of my coat and, without comment, helped place dishes in the dishwasher.
"There's plenty of leftovers," my mother stated, scooping food into storage containers. "I can make you a plate."
"I'm not real hungry," I muttered.
I glanced at the back of Katie's head, debating on pulling her aside but somehow losing the momentum to do so, wanting to forget about everything instead. Jake was gone now - she had no further opportunity to step out-of-bounds - and so yelling at her seemed pointless.
"Here," my mother insisted, pushing a foil-covered plate in front of me. "Take it with you."
I grinned. Kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks."
I finished loading the dishwasher and sauntered into the family room. Some reality program was on the television screen: people crying, people yelling. I looked at Arty and said, "Hey. Did you ever hear back from Conway?" Conway was an old friend of the family; an annual member of our roundup team.
Arty shook his head. "Not yet."
Katie was doing her best to ignore me. She was dressed just as provocatively as always - navy-blue pleated mini-skirt and white midriff t-shirt, tight and thin and barely concealing the purple bra underneath. Even in the comfort of home, she needed to prove her feminine wiles.
"Well, I'm headed in for the night," I said. "I'll see you guys in the morning."
Katie ignored me still, but Arty flashed me his toothless smile and said, "Night, Travis."
I returned to the kitchen, slid my coat back on, and grabbed the plate of food. "Good night, Mom," I stated, leaning in to hug her.
"Night, darling." She mussed my hair, a trait she'd been doing my whole life.
I exited the house and returned down the path, Derry meeting me halfway in an excited greeting. "Hey, girl," I muttered, rubbing her head. She followed me into the bunkhouse, nipping at my heels while I set my food down and removed my coat.
I took a moment to rekindle the smoldering fire in the wood-burning stove before kicking off my boots and retrieving the bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard. I swiftly downed a shot and then poured another. I pulled back the foil of the dinner plate and discovered pork chops and mashed potatoes, cool yet smelling delicious. Stomach suddenly growling, I decided to grab some silverware and dig in.
I had finished off only a couple of bites before the phone rang. Not thinking twice, I reached for the cordless receiver and said, "Yep," my mouth full of potatoes.
"Hey," a distant, familiar voice crooned.
My heart skipped at the recognition. "Jake . . ." My voice suddenly trailed off, words catching in my throat, thoughts tumbling through my head. "H-how are you?" I finally stammered.
I could hear dogs barking in the background. Jake pulled the phone away from his mouth and yelled, "Boo! Atticus! Settle down!" Eventually, he returned to me. "Sorry about that," he muttered. "They're just excited to have me back home."
"I don't blame them," I stated. I swallowed the food in my mouth and washed it down with the second shot of whiskey. "How was your flight?"
"Uneventful. Maggie and Peter were pissed at me."
"What?" I said. "Why?"
"I was being an ass. Grumpy and selfish."
"Oh . . ."
"Yeah." I heard the opening and closing of a sliding glass door, and the barking of the dogs swiftly subsided. "How are you?" he asked.
"Pretty good. Just eating some leftovers and having a shot of whiskey."
"Wish I was there toasting with you," he commented.
"Me, too."
"Anything exciting happen on the ranch today?"
"No," I responded. "Just roundup preparation. Had to make a lot of phone calls."
"You need a secretary," he quipped.
I chuckled. "Yes. Indeed. Do you know anyone who might be interested?"
"I might be interested," he stated. "If it means working in close proximity with you and having a torrid office affair. Something naughty and scandalous."
I laughed again. God, it was great hearing his voice.
"So I tried calling you earlier," he said.
"Shit, I only gave you this number," I apologized. "I should give you the office number, too."
"You should get a cell phone," he commented. "It IS the new millennium, you know."
"I know, I know," I retorted. Actually, it was something I'd been contemplating about for awhile now anyway. Perhaps it was time to give in to the world of technology. Especially if it meant I could hear from Jake wherever I happened to be.
We talked for awhile longer, Jake grumbling about the horrendous traffic of Los Angeles, the heat, the smog, the overcrowded population of the city. "It's nothing like your part of the world," he griped.
"You'll forget about all those things once you get back into your groove," I assured him.
"Yeah," he replied. "I'm already scheduled for this re-shoot shit with `Zodiac' tomorrow . . ." He paused, then said, "I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation."
I chuckled. Stood up from the table, retrieved my cigarettes, and headed out onto the front porch. I took a seat on the swing and lit one up, cupping the phone between my shoulder and cheek to do so.
A moment of silence passed, the creaking of the swing the only sound. Then Jake said quietly, "I miss you, you know. Already."
I exhaled smoke, a smile crossing my face. "I miss you, too . . ."
"Is it April yet?"
I chuckled again. "I'm afraid not, babe."
"Well, it needs to come really fucking quickly. I don't think I'm gonna last long without that hot body of yours."
I felt a stirring in my groin, instant and arousing. "Yeah," I mumbled. "Me too."
But it was more than that. It was seeing his face, watching his movements, talking with him in person. I already missed all of those things. "Jake . . ." I started, then paused.
A moment passed.
"What?" he softly prodded.
"I'm . . . glad that you're not mad at me."
"Why would I be mad at you?"
I sucked on the cigarette. Exhaled the smoke through my nostrils. "I was a shit to you. In the hotel room."
"You weren't a shit," he insisted. "Just . . . emotional. I was emotional, too. It was an emotional moment."
Hearing him say that relieved my anxiety concerning the outburst. Perhaps he was more understanding than I'd given him credit for. And perhaps, someday, I'd find the inner strength to explain why the outburst had even occurred.
"Where are you right now?" he asked, gliding into a less-tenuous subject.
"On the porch swing." The night air was cold without my coat and boots on, but I hardly gave it a second thought.
"Is the moon up?"
"Yes."
"Hold on." I heard the opening and closing of the sliding door again. "Okay," he said. "I'm outside, too. I see your moon."
The comment left me dumbstruck. Tears unexpectedly pricked at my eyes, sending emotions swirling through me.
"You there?" he said.
"Yes," I responded quietly. The cigarette shook slightly in my hand.
"I miss you, Cooper," he stated again. I could hear the emotion in his voice as well.
"I know." I blinked back tears and forced a chuckle, trying to ease the tension, not wanting us to both fall into misery so quickly. "You already said that."
"Well, I'm gonna keep saying it until I see you again."
"That's okay. I'll be telling you the same thing."
Another pause, this one lasting a little bit longer.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he eventually spoke. "Whenever I get a break. Will you be in the office?"
"Yeah, maybe. Here, jot down the number." I recited it to him and then added, "I promise to look into the cell phone thing."
He laughed softly. "Don't be afraid, Cooper. They're harmless."
I laughed, too. Was thankful we were ending the conversation on a positive note. "I'll talk to you later, Jake," I said. "Have a good night."
"You, too," he replied. "I'll be thinking of you."
"Me, too."
"'Night."
"'Night."
I disconnected and sat looking at the phone, half-expecting it to ring again. Then I finished my cigarette and extinguished it in the ashtray.
I remained on the swing for awhile, recalling the conversation, a smile playing on my lips. It had been great hearing his voice. Great hearing him tell me that he missed me. And suddenly April did seem like a million miles away, the realization of the distance between us overwhelmingly disheartening. Unconsciously, I grabbed for my pack of Camels and thumped out yet another cigarette.
By April, my lungs were going to be shot.
But it was all I could do to keep the loneliness at bay.
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