Page 44 of Point of Contact

Trevor braced his hands on the edge of the sink, dropping his head down and blowing out a breath.

“You’ve all but let your business go. You won’t deal with Riley’s room or his things. You won’t—” Carl’s voice grew hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “You won’t set a new wedding date. So can’t you at least put on a fucking suit, and a smile, and sit for a few hours at dinner? At least pretend to care?”

The quiet pain in his voice ripped at Trevor’s insides, and he turned. Carl’s eyes were glittering, his mouth pinched, and Trevor reached out to cup his cheek. “I do care,” he said quietly, aware of the growing chasm yawning between them, and not sure what to do about it. He had so little left to give... “Of course I’ll go.”

Carl’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Good.” Grabbing Trevor’s hand, he kissed the palm before turning back to the table to start clearing it. “I’d love for you to wear that stunning blue suit, but you’ve lost so much weight, I’m sure it needs to be taken in a bit. I’ll call over to the tailoring shop tomorrow, and—”

Trevor let him chatter, his gut churning with a low-grade dread over the thought of the event, of being out in public, of putting “the face” on—the one that said “I’m okay” when he wasn’t, the one that could sometimes laugh and fool people into thinking maybe he was getting over it, the one he could only wear for a short period of time. It would be beyond excruciating.

After Carl disappeared into his office to work on his speech, Trevor made his way slowly down the hallway to stand in front of Riley’s room. He gripped the door handle, feeling the cold metal against his sweaty palm. With a simple flick of his wrist, the door would open, and two steps would take him inside. Nothing to be afraid of. It was just a room, just a fucking room.

Trevor could picture it so clearly—the posters on the wall, the exact pattern of the comforter on the queen-size bed. Everything would be dear and familiar; no surprises lurked, waiting to jump out at him. He tightened his hand on the knob, trembling. Would the room still smell of Riley, that combination of funk and Axe body spray common to all teenage boys? Or would it smell musty, closed-off...empty?

He let go of the handle and pressed his palm to the door, his heart pounding. He honestly didn’t know which would upset him more, to breathe in the Riley smell, or to not, knowing it was gone forever. It would probably still be in his clothes, though. His favorite Star Wars T-shirt, or the one he bought at a concert in Denver and wore into almost tatters, or the Colorado Rockies jersey signed by Todd Helton...

Gasping for air, Trevor turned and fled to the backyard, collapsing down in the chair and burying his face in his hands, feeling like he was going crazy. It wasn’t getting any better. The pain was still as sharp, as raw, as it was the first week after Riley’s death. Trevor was just more used to it now, able to semi-function despite the dull, rusty knife carving out his insides. His son was the last thing he thought of when he went to sleep, and the first thing he thought of when he woke up.

The first step to healing had to be packing up Riley’s room, but the idea of doing it alone made him want to throw up. Oh, Carl would help him if he asked, and he would approach it clinically, methodically, like he did everything else. He’d sort, and make lists, and he’d get it done with his usual briskness and efficiency. In fact, it would be easy for Carl to do it, since he and Riley hadn’t been particularly close. They’d liked each other well enough, but true closeness would have come in time, when they’d had the chance...

No more chances. No more Riley. Just his room, and his things, and getting rid of those last tangible pieces of him would surely pulverize what was left of Trevor’s heart. He couldn’t do it.

“Trev? Honey? You out there?”

Trevor jumped as Carl called to him from the kitchen doorway, peering out onto the patio, glass of wine in hand.

“Yeah,” he croaked, clearing his throat and striving to sound more normal as he said, “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Brr, it’s so cold. Do you have your coat?”

“I do,” Trevor lied, becoming aware of the March chill in the air cutting through his long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. He shivered. “Be inside in a few.”

“Okay, just checking on you.”

The door shut, and Trevor heaved a shaky sigh, tilting his face up to the starry sky and closing his eyes.

Oh, Riles. I miss you so much.

He listened, but there was no answer. Instead, he could hear Carl whistling tunelessly while he made his lunch for work the next day, the clinking of plates and silverware as he straightened the kitchen.

And that’s what it came down to. Carl was here... Riley wasn’t.

“You could at least try to pretend to care.”

Carl deserved more than pretense.

Trevor pushed to his feet, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He had to make more of an effort to show Carl he still cared about their life together, and the most tangible evidence of that would be to pack up Riley’s room. How he’d get through it, he had no idea, but he had to try.

As he started to trudge into the house, a sudden thought struck him. Jesse. Riley’s best friend. He’d known and loved him, too, and he’d already shown himself to be understanding and compassionate in the face of Trevor’s grief. Maybe he’d agree to come and help him, or at least sit with him and be a supportive presence.

Trevor headed into his office, firing up his computer and opening a search bar. What was the name of the place Jesse said he worked? Ah, Jelly’s, the new restaurant/bar downtown. It’d been months since the day Jesse came over, though. What if he wasn’t there anymore? Well, if he wasn’t, hopefully they knew his contact info and could get him a message.

He called the restaurant, and to his relief, Jesse was indeed still employed there.

“He’s actually closing tonight,” the hostess informed him.

It’d be best to run down there, talk to him in person, rather than blindside him with something like this over the phone. He thanked the hostess and hung up, then grabbed a hoodie from the hall closet. Carl was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, and Trevor poked his head in.

“Gonna run a quick errand,” he said, and Carl’s eyes filled with concern.