A Heart for Robbie (13 page)

“Dr. Dane is a great coordinator. His bedside manner isn’t the best,

but he does everything he can for his patients. Your son is in excellent hands here.”

The cafeteria worker, an older black woman in a hairnet and plain

white shirt, handed Julian his plate, and they made their way to the

cashier. Julian went first, and when he pulled out a card, the teenager put down his book and explained, in a rather bored voice, that their credit card machine was down.

Julian’s head dropped, and it looked as if he were trying not to

scream at the kid.

“Hey, ring them together,” Simon told the cashier, putting a hand on

Julian’s arm. “Please, it’s not a problem.”

“I… thank you.” Julian’s body sagged, as if he just couldn’t hold

himself up anymore. Simon could have packed for a week at Disneyland

in the bags under his eyes. He looked tired, and drawn, and pale as

A Heart for Robbie

69

compared to the vibrant author Simon had met during the transplant

evaluation in March.

“Come on, sit with me, and then you can go back upstairs to your

son. You look like you could use a break.”

“I really should get back,” Julian hedged, looking over his shoulder

at the exit.

“They have your cell. They can call you. Take a few minutes of

normal time, of Julian time, and then go back up. Where are you staying?”

“Dr. Dane had them bring in a recliner so I could sleep in Robbie’s

room.” Julian dropped his tray onto a nearby table and collapsed onto the chair next to it. He didn’t open any of his containers or even pick up his burger but merely put his head in his hands.

Simon didn’t often deal with the human side of the medical equation.

His staff dealt with patients, copied cards, and filled out the necessary screens on the hospital intake system. Normally, he spent his days in

meetings or strategizing how to revolutionize the way their hospital looked at health insurance. Only when a transplant or other highly complex

procedure was involved did he really meet with patients.

The pain in Julian’s eyes hit him hard, like a jab to the solar plexus.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling such empathy for a patient’s family.

Maybe it had more to do with the fact that Julian had everything Simon

wanted in life. He was openly gay with supportive parents, he had a

beautiful son, and he had the respect and admiration of millions of people.

Simon would love to have any one of those things, and yet he could tell

Julian would trade everything he had for his son’s life.

In that moment, he had the most insane, powerful urge to hug Julian

Holmes.

“How long was he home before he ended up back here?”

“He was in the hospital for the first two weeks and at home with me

for the last four. He has a cardiac cath scheduled in two weeks, so I

figured they may keep him overnight for that, but I didn’t think he’d end up in the hospital before then. He’s been doing so well.” Julian seemed to realize food sat on the table in front of him and pulled the tray closer. With wooden, automatic movements, he unwrapped the burger and spread the

fries across the paper. He didn’t put a bit of it in his mouth but arranged it in precise lines and squares and angles with the dedication of an engineer.

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

70

JP Barnaby

“Do you have kids, Mr. Phelps?”

“It’s Simon, and no, I’m not married.”

At that, Julian smiled.

“You don’t have to be married to have kids, Simon. It’s not the Dark

Ages.”

“Dr. Dane said that Robbie was born through a surrogate. That takes

a lot of courage.” Simon sidestepped that landmine and took another bite of his pasta. Having a child as a single gay man took a hell of a lot of courage. Even if gay marriage recently passed in Illinois, that didn’t

automatically make people accepting. His parents were living proof.

“I wanted someone to love.”

The sadness in Julian’s voice made Simon’s heart hurt. Even though

he was a relative stranger, he felt the agony in each syllable. Rather than comment and make the moment more awkward, he simply nodded.

“I’m adopted,” Julian continued. “I think the adoption process is

amazing, but I don’t know anyone I’m related to through a DNA kind of

connection. Now I have Robbie.”

“The woman you used as your surrogate, are you close?”

“She’s been my best friend since college, and she’s amazing.”

They ate in silence for a while, Julian finally picking up his

cheeseburger with a grimace. Hospital food, even in their state-of-the-art cafeteria, was still hospital food.

He snuck a glance at Julian. Even with the circles under his eyes, he

was still a very handsome man. Simon hadn’t been part of the entire

transplant evaluation, but he had been there long enough to learn that

Julian didn’t have a partner. He’d explained to Dr. Dane that he planned to raise Robbie alone. As he took another bite of his pasta, he wondered what would happen if the right guy came along. Then he immediately filed the

question under “wildly inappropriate thoughts about patients.”

Simon had every intention of staying firmly in the closet, but one

thought plagued him. He wanted to know how Julian could live as an

openly gay man, a celebrity, a father, without any kind of fear. The world teemed with hateful people, some violently hateful. He wondered how

Julian’s parents took the news of their only son’s homosexuality, if his fellow authors or even fans ever took issue, or if he’d ever received

threats. So many questions came into his mind that one finally slipped out.

A Heart for Robbie

71

“Is it scary outside the closet?”

Simon’s eyes widened at his slip and the recognition in Julian’s eyes.

Over the top inappropriate. He’d just discussed his personal life with a patient’s father. He’d just come out for the first time in his life to a relative stranger, and he had no idea why. Yes, he felt a certain kinship with

Julian, but he’d met openly gay men before. He’d even taken a few of

them home.

Julian let the question hang in the air for a long time. He picked up

his pop from the tray and took a long swallow from the bottle while Simon tried not to think about the sweat forming on his brow. Just as Simon’s

heart threatened to slam right through his chest, Julian set the bottle down.

“Sometimes.”

Simon’s shaking hand caused his fork to clatter against the tray. He

dropped it, grabbed his own Coke, and managed to take a few long

swallows around the tightness in his throat.

“I came out when I was about sixteen,” Julian continued. “My

parents had always been honest with me about the adoption, so I felt it was important to be honest with them. My mother was disappointed because

she thought it meant she wouldn’t get grandchildren, but the fact that I liked guys didn’t really matter. I went to a fairly liberal college, and now that the books have taken off, I work from home. It’s not been an issue for me. Am I scared that one day a zealot is going to try to take my son away?

Sometimes. Or that some maniac with a gun will shoot me because he

doesn’t think gays should have kids? Yes. But I won’t live my life in

fear.” Julian rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and sat back in the chair.

“Right now, I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my life, and it has

nothing to do with being gay.”

Simon opened his mouth but then snapped it closed again. He

wanted to confide in this man; his admission rested on the tip of his

tongue, but it wouldn’t go any further. Julian Holmes had enough to deal with without his angst, and while instinct told him he could trust Julian, years of keeping himself hidden screamed at him not to. Instead, he

nodded and started to clear up his tray, letting the moment die.

He said good night to Julian at the elevator and headed for his office

with his head buzzing and a heart full of hope he didn’t need. The cell phone in his pocket vibrated as he rounded the corner down the

administrative hallway near his office. For weeks he’d managed to either avoid his mother’s calls or cut them short. He didn’t want to talk to her 72

JP Barnaby

about Nancy, who he’d been texting since their ill-fated dinner. Nancy

turned out to be a good friend, someone with whom he could feel

comfortable talking. They’d even been out to dinner one night and spent

the evening trying to outdo each other with mother horror stories.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, trying not to let the sigh creep into his voice as

he unlocked his office door. With about an hour left until he finished, he’d planned to bring dinner back to his desk and be done. But the time he

spent with Julian was so welcome that he didn’t mind the rest of the work he needed to finish.

“Simon, Beverly tells me that you and Nancy went to dinner a

couple of weeks ago. I’m so glad. Mother’s Day is coming up, and your

father thought it would be nice if maybe you and I went to brunch with

Beverly and Nancy.” The brightness in her voice sounded more genuine

than he’d ever heard it.

Of course his father would suggest them going out to brunch,

anything to get some peace while he stayed home to watch the Cubs’

preseason games. He needed to text Nancy and see why she’d be trying to

give his mother false hope about their nonexistent relationship.

“Mom, you realize that Nancy and I aren’t dating, right? We went to

dinner to see if we could become friends, nothing more.” Simon grabbed

the stack of forms he needed and typed his password to get into the

computer.

“Well, friends turn into more, don’t they?”

Then he really did sigh.

“Mom, I’m still at work, and I need to get this finished. Could we

talk about this later?”

“You’ve been busy for weeks, Simon. Is there something going on?

Are you seeing someone else, is that why you don’t want to give Nancy a

chance?”

“No, Mom. I have a job, and I have commitments.”
And you make

me insane.

“Well, I’ll make reservations for brunch. You were planning to come

see your mother on Mother’s Day, weren’t you?” Her tone brooked no

argument. He would be going to his parents’ Sunday after next, and he

would be taking his mother to brunch with the woman she wanted him to

marry. He couldn’t say she wanted him to live happily ever after, because A Heart for Robbie

73

he was certain she couldn’t care less about his happiness as long as she got what she wanted.

“Yes, Mother, I will be there.”

They said their good-byes, and Simon dropped the phone on the

desktop with a clatter, turning around in his chair to stare at the parking lot outside the window. There had to be more than where his life had gone.

He liked his job, but it seemed like nothing in life gave him joy.

Simon brought up his e-mail and fired off a quick message to Nancy

warning her about his mother’s plot to have them married by Christmas.

When he hit Send, he saw two more e-mails in his inbox that hadn’t been

there when he’d gone to dinner. The first was from the coordinator of the volunteer program, and the second one was from Julian Holmes.

His breath caught in his throat as he skipped past Julian’s e-mail to

open the one from the youth center. It reminded him about the art show

that started at seven, which he would just make if he left right then. He didn’t have his work e-mail on his phone, so he could either check the e-mail from Julian or leave it for the next day. But he knew it would make him crazy if he didn’t read it. They didn’t have anything to discuss related to his insurance, so maybe he had a question.

Double clicking the header, he brought the e-mail up.

Is it scary being in it?

Simon stood up so fast that his wheeled desk chair slammed into the

wall behind him. He held the button in on the front of the computer and

shut the computer down without closing anything. The words were

imprinted in his mind, burned into his retinas.

Is it scary being in it?

Is it scary being in the closet? Of course it fucking was. What kind

of question was that? Leaving the rest of his processing for the morning, Simon stomped to the hook in the corner of his office and grabbed his

jacket. The seam nearly ripped with the violence of his arm slamming into the sleeve as he jerked the coat on. Who the fuck did Julian Holmes think he was?

But Simon had started the conversation.

74

JP Barnaby

He caught the Brown Line up to the youth center. The light

overflowing from its floor-to-ceiling windows warmed him. It was the

only area in his life where he felt like he really made a difference—he

taught art to kids who needed a reason to feel proud of themselves. A few of the students showed real promise. Zack Hunter, the program

coordinator, taught most of the art classes and recommended promising

students for scholarships. He’d set up the art show and invited some of

Chicago’s more prominent personalities to attend and donate. Kids

painting rather than shooting each other made for good public relations.

“Hey, Lisa, how are you?” Simon asked the teenage girl standing at

the door passing out the photocopied map of the hall. She wore what

Simon had to assume was her only nice dress, since he’d never seen her in any other. Her shoes shone in the bright light of the hallway, and her hair, normally hidden under a backward baseball hat, curled in ringlets around her face.