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“So you pretend to like women—”
“No pretending. I like women. That’s why it’s been easy. I’m in a position not to disturb the status quo.”
Cameron’s stomach sank. “Right.”
Henry wrapped him into a hug. “Will you sleep next to me again?”
Cameron pushed away his disappointment. A useless, passive reaction. No matter the obstacle, he’d focus only on what he could control. Right now, he wanted to enjoy the aftermath of the most sensual moment of his life.
He kissed Henry’s Adam’s apple. “I don’t know. Can we still read?”
Having someone watch him read was a weird sensation, but Henry had been doing it since Cameron opened The Charioteer on his Kindle app.
“Shouldn’t you be reading?” Cameron murmured.
They were under the covers now, each with their own pillows, and Henry turned toward him, his book fanned open between them. “I’m reading you. Have you got to chapter two yet?”
“I’d get there faster if you weren’t distracting me.”
Henry laughed. “Forgive me. This book is everything. I’m nervous.” Henry’s phone rang. “Who the devil?”
He frowned, and answered. “Tilney. . . . No worries, I was still up. . . Oh dear, I hope his mother’s okay. . . . Yes, I understand. I’ll drive up first thing tomorrow and take over. . . . No problem. . . . Yes, that could work. . . . Goodbye.”
How the tides changed. Now Cameron couldn’t stop watching him.
Henry set his phone aside with a worried grimace. “A fellow teacher’s mother had a heart attack, so he left camp. I’ll have to fill in for him the rest of the week.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
“It sounded like she’d pull through. I’m sorry to leave so suddenly. I’ll be home on Friday. On the plus side, I’ll only have to cover Monday and Tuesday of year eleven camp next week.”
“You’re a good teacher.”
“You’ll be okay here on your own?”
It’d started raining and droplets pattered against the glass. Cameron scoped the large room. It was cozy, with Henry here. But without him?
He straightened. “I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
Cameron nodded emphatically. “I can handle it.”
Cameron couldn’t handle it.
Henry left early and Cameron missed the warmth cloaking his back. Dragging himself to the studios took more effort than usual. Olivia kindly confronted him about returning his costume.
After work, he and Georgie ate dinner and watched Netflix, but then he was alone in the guest room. It felt bigger, cooler. A storm thrashed against glass, wind rattled the windows, and lightning flashed into the room.
He readied himself for bed and slunk into Henry’s hoodie. Inhaling deeply, he grabbed his phone and reread their old messages.
His gaze fell over the ones about Alicia. How spirited she was. How much she annoyed him. How much he loved her anyway.
Henry: Whenever we passed a photo booth, no matter how big our hurry, we always stopped to take one together.
Did Henry have lots of pictures of the two of them?
Another flash of lightning.
Shivering, Cameron stole into Henry’s room. “I’m not here on nefarious business,” he whispered in an exaggerated tone. “What do you mean ‘nefarious’?” Cameron pulled out Henry’s bottom dresser drawer. Seemed as good a place to start as any. “I’m sort of going through your things.” He fingered through soft hoodies and cashmere sweaters. “You don’t say.”
He pitched his voice. “Guess I don’t make the most inconspicuous sleuth.”
Cameron crushed a sweater against his face, drowning out his mumbled memories.
Now it’s my turn to develop a broader picture, Henry.
Cameron rifled through his belongings. Sniffed more of them than he cared to admit. He read the spine of every book, one by one. Henry sure knew his classics. They were tidy, but there was no obvious organization to the collection. The ones on the left looked more worn, as if he’d perhaps read them more often.
He drew out the book with the most faded spine: The Charioteer.
“And what will this say about you?” Cameron flung open the massive wardrobe. Two leather jackets, multiple dress shirts, a grey winter coat, and—
A silky white dressing gown.
His heart raced as he pushed the other clothes aside.
Another flash of lightning, followed by thunder. He jumped. His fingers snagged the soft silk, making the material flutter. His ghost.
Cameron sagged to his knees on the carpet and stared up at the gown. He imagined Henry dressed in it, young and sobbing, wishing for the comfort of his mother’s arms.
His throat ached. “Your son is amazing. You’d be very proud.”
He traced the embroidered hem of the dressing gown—white roses, only noticeable with a keen eye. Was she watching from out there? Could she have met his mother?
Could they both be looking down right now?
Could they have been looking down on them that first night too?
He fished under the bed and found his old journal. Henry was curled up in his bed, sniffing, reading through it. Tears dropping onto the pages.
