Between These Walls (19 page)

He couldn’t shake the previous night from his mind. Or, more specifically, the brief arm-brush encounter with Gabe. Afterward, neither had said a word about it; they had continued to watch the game until Gabe left a little past nine o’clock. Yet both were aware of what had happened. It had hung in the air between them the rest of the evening.

Hunter wondered if he had revealed too much about himself. Not that he had
intended
to. But at this point, did it matter? He couldn’t change it, could he? He couldn’t take it back. Still, Hunter remained anxious. He could picture the humiliation if Gabe said anything to anyone. Then again, Gabe was a Christian, too. Others believed he was straight, right? If Gabe struggled the way Hunter did, he wouldn’t want anyone to know about
him
either, would he? And Gabe was one individual, not thirty. It was a secret between them—a secret which, if revealed, would serve neither of them well.

Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe for now.

Forget about that moment,
Hunter thought.
You get to move forward as if nothing happened.

Brendan Pieper, Ellen’s fiancé, walked into the café and scanned the lunch crowd. Hunter caught his attention and waved him over.

“You said you weren’t sure when you’d get here, so I went ahead and ordered my lunch,” Hunter said. “You don’t mind, do you ?”

“Makes no difference.” Brendan shed his jacket and laid it on the booth seat across from Hunter. “I’m gonna grab coffee and skip the meal anyway. I’ll munch on an energy bar when I get back to the office.” And with that, Brendan stepped away.

Brendan came from a wealthy family in town. Hunter’s parents and Brendan’s parents were acquaintances, though Hunter’s family wasn’t in the same economic scale.

Due to their age difference, Hunter hadn’t known Brendan growing up, but he’d had a friend who’d lived in the same neighborhood as Brendan’s family. As a kid, numerous times after school, Hunter had visited that friend’s house, with its white siding and black shutters beside its windows. Like all other homes in that upscale neighborhood, the house was large, but to Hunter’s perspective as a child, it towered over him. Back then, to Hunter, it resembled a palace, complete with tall, white columns that stood guard along the front porch. Located deep within the neighborhood, it took a five-minute drive to reach that home. Hunter recalled the broad backyard with its lush, manicured grass, never more than an inch high. The house sat atop a knoll, so the backyard featured a gradual, downhill slope, where the terrain seemed to roll toward a manmade pond below. Hunter and his friend had held countless somersault races to the bottom, then turned around and raced each other back to the top. They had played Frisbee on that lawn more times than Hunter could recall. The lawn looked straight out of a golf magazine, minus the risk of shattered windows from a wayward golf ball.

From the front and back, Hunter had thought that home looked so peaceful, so serene. In fact, he had once pictured a stray leaf fluttering in the breeze and bouncing against the front door. He’d wondered if such a disruption would set off the home’s security alarm.

Brendan returned and dropped himself into the booth, his face flushed.

“Are you okay?” Hunter asked. “You look flustered.”

“I’ve been rushing around all week. This is my first chance to sit down and relax, and it’s only Wednesday.”

“Wedding stuff?”

“Yeah, but Ellen’s handling most of that. Work’s been busy with customers gearing up to break ground on their new homes this spring.”

“Don’t they have a few months to figure it out?”

“They’re making their decisions and picking out a lot of options before the holidays hit, before winter sets in and time gets short.” Brendan took a sip of his coffee. His shoulders went lax. “Plus, Ellen and I have a big dinner event tonight. That’s why I decided not to bother eating here.”

“What kind of dinner event?”

“My parents signed us up to attend a charity gala with them. I’ll need to leave work early. Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn’t have left the office for lunch.”

“What’s the charity this time?” Hunter asked.

“A shelter in Akron for runaway teens. The charity does great work.” Brendan shrugged. “Nothing against the charity itself, but I go to these events because my family expects it from me.”

“Does Ellen look forward to going?”

“I doubt it. She hates these social functions. Once we got engaged, my parents started dragging her into all this. She wasn’t thrilled.” Brendan’s mouth twisted into a mischievous grin. “You know how she is. Can you picture her in one of those gowns that go all the way down to her feet?”

Hunter couldn’t help but snicker at the image. “Grab a snapshot with your cell phone.”

“I hope you’re kidding. She’d strangle me! The first time her photo hit the community newspaper with her dressed in one of those fancy gowns—I’ve never heard the end of it!
Every
time we’ve gone to one since then ...”

“I’m surprised she’s never mentioned it to me.”

“She hides her annoyance from my parents quite well. I’m impressed,” Brendan said. “She’ll do a little mingling once we get there tonight. Then, twenty minutes after we arrive, she’ll sidle up next to me and mutter in my ear, ‘Just shoot me now. Nothing permanent; just nick me in the leg, a little something to get me the hell outta here.’“

Hunter fought to keep his cola in his mouth, forcing himself to swallow before he burst out laughing.

“Sounds like something she would say,” Hunter said.

“What do you mean, ‘
would?
’“ Brendan’s eyes went wide as he fell back against his seat. “Those were her words at the last event. Verbatim.”

Hunter took a bite of his pizza, glad his family didn’t expect him to play the type of social games Brendan’s family expected of their son. One characteristic Ellen possessed to which Hunter related was her desire for the genuine—from others
and
from herself.

“Anyway,” Brendan continued, “Ellen’s so wrapped up in wedding plans these days, she can’t think straight.”

“What’s she working on?”

“As far as I know, she’s looking for a reception site. I just stay out of her way and show up when she tells me to. That way, I can stay awake and Ellen can do her thing.”

“But I thought she said you have a wedding planner.”

Pursing his lips, Brendan shook his head. “Ellen refuses to let her handle more than the bare minimum, and that’s to keep my parents happy. She doesn’t trust the woman to get it right.”

“Surely a wedding planner has handled plenty of them before.”

“My guess is, Ellen’s a caterer and knows how one wrong move can screw things up beyond repair.”

“Not to mention she’s a control freak.”

“Nothing she wouldn’t admit about herself, right?” With that, Brendan drained his coffee cup, then excused himself. He wandered over to a small beverage station in the corner of the room, where he refilled his cup with a dark roast, stirring in cream and sugar.

When he sat back down, Brendan added, “Ellen’s parents are so hands-off, mine can come across as overbearing by comparison. And it doesn’t help that she’s getting social pressure from mine.”

“For what it’s worth, Ellen puts up with an awful lot before she reaches her explosion point,” said Hunter. “She has endurance I could only wish for.”

“She keeps it all under control, but the wedding stuff has her so stressed out to begin with. Then Mom and Dad start nudging her, and I can tell something’s bubbling beneath the surface. She won’t come out and
say
it, though.”

“Have you asked her about it?”

“Yeah, but independent as she is, she doesn’t like to feel weak. Ellen wants enough space to figure it out on her own. You know that better than I do,” Brendan replied. “Maybe what I need to do is figure out a diplomatic way to tell my parents to back off a bit.”

Sliding his plate to the side, Hunter checked his watch. He had another ten minutes before he needed to head back to the office for a post-lunch meeting. “What’s the latest on the house front?”

Brendan’s eyebrows rose. “An unexpected development there.” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table and dropped his volume a notch, as if he’d gone into spy mode. “There’s a guy I know in the industry, a builder. He owns some land and decided not to build on it. It’s too small and out of the way for commercial development, so he won’t try to get the plot rezoned. But he decided against building a house there.” He sipped his coffee. “I don’t know all the details yet, but it came up during a conversation. Ellen and I are supposed to check it out soon. Nobody else knows about it, so if we like it, we might arrange a private sale.”

“Ellen mentioned the land when I talked to her the other day,” Hunter said. “Does that mean you could reach your goal and get your home built by the wedding day?”

“Looks that way, if this deal works out and we haul ass to get it done.” Brendan made a fist and landed a bump on Hunter’s arm. “Has Kara tried to wrangle you into a wedding yet? Any end in sight to your bachelor life?” he joked.

Hunter dreaded that kind of question.

All through his teen years, the standby question was,
Any girlfriend on the radar?
Now, during adulthood, the question had morphed into,
Any plans to find the right woman and settle down?

On the surface, those questions appeared harmless. Casual conversation. Inside, however, they had made him uncomfortable for as long as he could remember. Each time someone raised such questions, it reminded Hunter of his own uncertainty. The questions never ceased; they kept coming back, which reminded him that his own issues kept coming back, no matter how hard he tried to resist them.

To Hunter, the questions felt like small knife cuts in his heart. Not painful cuts, but clean slices, the work of a surgeon’s scalpel, the kind where you felt nothing until the bleeding began. Their intimations left tiny wounds that lurked in the recesses of his soul and took several days to heal.

As a teenager, the girlfriend question had caused Hunter a momentary spike in anxiety that left him fearful of what the future might—or might not—hold for him. Fortunately, although Hunter hadn’t kept a girlfriend in tow as often as his friends had, he’d managed to acquire them with enough frequency to provide himself cover with his family and friends. It kept suspicion at bay and provided an escape route when interrogations arose. He’d resorted to tangent remarks, such as,
Well, the last relationship ended badly, so I’m taking a breather.

Brendan stared at Hunter, an amused expression on his face, awaiting a response to his marriage jest.

Hunter drummed his fingers along the table and forced a humorous expression to mimic Brendan’s.

“Way too early for that,” Hunter said, “though I wouldn’t put it past Kara to be thinking about it already.”

“You’ve got that right.” With a smirk on his face, Brendan shook his head in a male-bonding manner. “Women, huh?”

And with that remark from Brendan, Hunter knew he was on safe ground again. He breathed easier.

CHAPTER 16

The following evening, a vendor gave Kara tickets to see
The Music Man
at the Palace Theatre.

Hunter wasn’t a fan of musicals, which struck him as dated and boring. When a director remade an old film, he could alter details in the storyline and place it into a modern context. With musicals, however, their songs formed the crux of the production. To Hunter, old musicals remained stuck in an era that time had forgotten.

Kara, on the other hand, loved them. On occasion, when they watched television at her apartment, she would turn on a musical she had recorded. A progress-driven individual, Hunter had noticed the story’s momentum reached a standstill whenever the characters broke out into song and dance. So Hunter had learned that, when Kara left the room to use the bathroom, he could fast-forward through a song to move the recording along. She never knew the difference when she returned. He could understand why some people enjoyed such slices of Americana; he simply didn’t relate to them.

While Hunter had never seen a live performance of
The Music Man,
he had watched the film version in the distant past and could recall the gist of the plot.

“Of all the musicals I’ve seen,
The Music Man
is my favorite.” Kara eyed the closed curtain as she spoke, which came across as endearing, a child not wanting the curtain to open without her seeing it. “More than
Madame Butterfly,
and I loved that one.”

“This one has a librarian in it, right?”

“You remember! And it’s got the mayor and his wife—she always steals the show. And their daughter, the
ye-gods
girl. So funny.”

Kara rested her head upon Hunter’s shoulder, to which he responded by placing his arm around her.

“And the main guy is a salesman who leads a band?”

“He doesn’t know a thing about music but figures forming a band for the kids in the town can make him money. He comes up with the idea on the spot. When people ask him, he tells them he graduated from some music school.”

“Wait, I don’t remember that detail. You mean he doesn’t know what he’s doing?”

“Nope. The man appears in the lives of the townspeople and forms an image of himself that he thinks the town will respond to. He’s a man who isn’t what he appears to be.”

Hunter shifted in his seat.

“But when he falls in love with the librarian,” Kara continued, “his secret comes to light.”

Hunter nodded. “Then what happens?”

“A big brouhaha.”

“Followed by a song and dance?” Hunter grinned.

“Of course. Wouldn’t we all do it that way?” Kara replied, matching grin for grin.

Hunter took in the sight of the auditorium. The Palace was a historical attraction on Euclid Avenue in downtown Cleveland. Upon entering the lobby earlier, Hunter couldn’t help but notice the carved stone and the staircase that expanded from bottom to top, open arms welcoming royalty. From their vantage point near the middle of the auditorium, Hunter lost count as he tried to estimate the number of seats padded in burgundy fabric. Carved décor surrounded the stage, from which rested a heavy, red curtain with intricate etchings that, for Hunter, brought Oriental calligraphy to mind.