Chapter 25

October 1973, somewhere in Iowa

Bobby woke up with a thigh thrown over Bill's hips, feeling his lover's morning erection pressing up into him, and the first thing he did on that day was smile and think that if the rest of his life could be like this, he wouldn't need much more.

He dozed on and off for a good hour, until the sun was definitely up and he could trace with his eyes the contours of Bill's profile. He was softly snoring now, his lips parted enough for Bobby to feel the warm air escaping. The damp of the early morning and the condensation inside the tent had made Bill's hair curl up, and Bobby couldn't help but wrap one of the locks around his index finger.

Bill hummed in his sleep, shifting lightly under Bobby, and bringing the hard line of his cock to attention again. Bobby grinned, and waited until Bill's eyes were open, hazy but content, to ask:

"You still up for some morning shenanigans?"

Bill squinted, until Bobby pressed down with his leg and he gasped.

"We haven't brought… supplies with us."

Bobby snaked a hand down his body so he could cup his cock, encouraging the light upward rocking of his hips.

"There's things we can do without lube. We don't even have to be noisy about it."

"I'm listening," Bill breathed out.

Bobby whispered his idea so close to his ear he saw the goosebumps forming there. It wasn't long until Bill nodded and they awkwardly pulled themselves out of the sleeping bag. They shared a lazy kiss while their hands worked to pull their pajama bottoms down, and Bobby stifled a gasp of his own when the head of his cock brushed against Bill's thigh.

For practicality's sake, he got on top, straddling Bill's head and bringing his own between his lover's thighs. He brought his smile down to wrap it around Bill's hardness, delighted that even after a few months, hell, years, they still had new things to try together.

Bill let out a loud moan before remembering they had a strategy to keep quiet, and Bobby's own cock was engulfed into wet warmth. They'd need practice, and experience on Bill's part to make this really good, but today, Bobby found it was more than enough. He lost track of time, working to relax his throat until his nose was pressed into Bill's pubic hair and he breathed there, aroused beyond reason to find Bill already shaking. He swallowed around him, once, twice, and then more when Bill came with a muffled whimper.

It wasn't long after that, Bill's hand speeding up around Bobby's cock while he sucked on the head, until Bobby came in his mouth, too. They laughed while Bobby turned around to collapse on top of his lover again.

"What a nice way to wake up," he hummed in his shoulder.

"I know," Bill smiled, petting his hair. "We should do it more often."

Bobby sighed, his mind going back to Bill's offer last night. Moving away together. Finding a place that suited them both, one that wouldn't care if this was how they chose to spend their mornings on the weekend.

"Maybe we can."

Bill kept on caressing his hair, gently untangling the locks that were getting longer. Bobby hadn't said anything about it, but he'd conveniently forgotten to make an appointment with his barber in the hopes that something like that would happen. And if Bill wanted to pull it while he went down on him, well, he wouldn't complain either. He nuzzled Bill's armpit, happy that he could let himself have these thoughts without the guilt that used to follow.

They stayed like that for a while, until nature called and Bill had to excuse himself to the woods to empty his bladder. Bobby rolled around in the sleeping back for a few minutes before slipping on an extra layer and extracting himself from the tent.

He didn't expect to nearly headbutt his sister as he did. The frown was back in an instant as he glowered at her, her presence bringing back the memory of yesterday's betrayal.

"Hello," she offered.

He answered in a grunt.

"Did you… have fun yesterday?"

"Fuck off," Bobby circled around her to walk downhill, following the scents of coffee that were wafting up the valley.

"Bobby!"

He didn't slow down, striving to get away from Hannah's puffing breaths, and snarled when she caught him by the back of his sweater.

"What," he snapped.

"I just wanted to make a peace offering," she arched her eyebrows.

He swiveled around and crossed his arms over his chest.

"In what form?"

She gaped at him for too long, and soon he stormed off again. Unluckily, it wasn't easy losing someone when they were headed the same way. She followed him in silence, this time, sticking close behind him as Bobby got in line for some coffee and breakfast food. He ignored her as best as he could, if it was possible to ignore somebody making puppy eyes at you while you dipped a bagel into a cup of coffee.

When his stomach was full, and he understood that he wouldn't get rid of her so easily, he turned with a weary sigh, asking:

"What now? What do you have to say?"

Hannah lowered her eyes to the ground.

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot, yesterday."

"You didn't think very long about what would happen though, did you?"

She shook her head.

"You're lucky that Bill reacted… the way he did," Bobby rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Honestly I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop but he's been… oddly relaxed."

"It's this place," Hannah offered a tentative smile. "Maybe… seeing other people like him…"

"You're still not allowed to talk about this," Bobby waved a finger at her. "We'll make a truce, for the sake of everybody. But you better keep acting as if we're just two friends until both of us say otherwise. Understood?"

She crossed her hands behind her back and nodded sharply.

"Good. Now will you let me go grab him breakfast?"

Hannah threw him a conniving smirk that he ignored in favor of rolling his eyes while she followed him to the coffee stand.

Bill was… as lax on that second day as he'd been on the first, if not more. Every minute, Bobby feared that he'd bolt towards the car and fiddle with the wires to get it running until he could drive back to Memphis, away from him for good.

And yet, as the hours passed, Bill stayed by his side, smiling, laughing, drinking a little too and even, at some point, dancing. God how Bobby wished he'd had his camera then, so he could later remind himself that this hadn't all been a fever dream. Hannah hovered in the background, keeping her promise to give them some space and not mention the loving glances he and Bill exchanged when they forgot anyone was looking.

He almost forgot they were supposed to leave. That after Sunday, came Monday, and a brutal return to city life and work. When he remembered that Bill would still have to make the drive back to Memphis even after he and Hannah were home, he pushed his regrets away and went to dismantle their tent. The inside smelled of their mixed sweats and frankly, a little bit of sex, too. He should have been disgusted but found himself breathing it in before rolling everything back into the bag.

Bill was still laughing by last night's bonfire when Bobby went to get him. The other man's smile didn't even falter once, not even when Bobby came up close behind him, barely withholding from wrapping his arms around his middle when he told him they needed to make a move. It was as if Bill had felt his ghost embrace, and returned it with a squeeze on Bobby's wrist. He cheerily waved goodbye to their companions, stuffed some more leaflets into his pockets, and took one handle from the bag, helping Bobby carry it back to the car.

Hannah was waiting for them there, having the decency to look at least a bit sheepish.

"Want me to drive?" Bill offered as Bobby walked around her to get to the trunk.

He stopped in his tracks, glanced at the car keys in his hand and threw them at him on a whim.

"Sure."

He settled with Bill at his side, for a change. The other man was silent but for once, it didn't weigh anything. It was the same silence that came with afterglow, a sort of floating calm that felt contagious in the best way.

Bobby relaxed his head into his seat and closed his eyes. Ahead of them, most of the participants to the festival were loading their cars too, but the same banner hung over them as it had the day before.

GAY POWER.

Maybe he could find something in that. When Bill turned the car around and Bobby felt his pinkie brush against his own between them, his heart certainly beat with an oddly strong rhythm.

Going back to Memphis after those insane two days spent in the middle of nowhere, cuddling with Bobby under a tent and discovering the joys of drugs and outdoor sex felt…

Well, jarring, to say the least.

And yet the brusque change had jolted something loose in Bill's mind. Something that had been stuck for years, rusted with the fear of doing anything differently. There were pieces roaming free now, that he needed to learn how to slot together in a new, more interesting way.

In the middle of the week, he understood that he wouldn't manage to do it alone. And in all his fifty-three years of existence, there had only ever been two people he could talk to honestly.

Bobby, and Margaret.

Considering most of his internal ramblings had to do with the former, on Wednesday evening, he picked up his phone and called the latter.

"Hello?" a soft voice answered when they got connected.

"Hi, it's me…"

"Oh! Bill. It's been a while."

There was an ounce of reproach in her tone, and he couldn't blame her. Aside from sending her alimony, he hadn't really… done much since the birth of Agatha, or the divorce a year later.

"It has… I've been… Well, I don't really have an excuse for having taken so long to call. I just… It's selfish, but I need help figuring something out, and I can only ask you. If you don't want to, of course, it's…"

"I'm due for a trip to Memphis next weekend anyway," Margaret sighed. "Got to pick up a few things at the furniture store. Agatha is outgrowing her baby bed and she'll need a desk soon, too."

Bill frowned, taken aback by the information that his daughter could possibly be so big already. How long had he wasted?

"I could… I could help with your shopping?" he offered.

"Really?"

Margaret's surprise wasn't meant in a hurtful way, he knew. He, too, would have been shocked to hear his own proposal.

"I don't see why not," she concluded after a short silence. "Can you meet me at the store? We'll get a coffee afterwards."

"Will… will she be there?"

"Who, Agatha? Of course, I need her to try the stuff to know it fits."

"I see."

"You can't be scared of a four-year-old kid, Bill," Margaret laughed.

"No you're right, it's just uh… The things I wanted to talk about. I… I don't know if she should hear them so young…" he lied. He very much was terrified at the idea of what the unrelenting stare of a small child could do to his newfound confidence.

"She still takes a nap in the afternoons. Provided you have a place for her to sleep, we can always find the time to speak alone."

"I've… Well, you'll see, if you want to come by my place. I've improved it quite a bit."

He didn't expand on that. The whole subject of who he'd improved it with was exactly what he wanted to talk about.

"Great! I'll see you Saturday, then? Ten o'clock? Bye!"

Bill stared at the phone, forehead wrinkling when he realized she'd hung up.

For his third trip at the furniture store in a few months, Bill didn't exactly feel more relaxed than the first time. Maybe the problem was that he only seemed to come here with current or former love interests.

Margaret was waiting for him leaning against her car. She really was lovely, waist hugged by a bright red dress that fell to cover her knees, her auburn hair pulled up in a bun. The little girl holding her hand would have been an exact copy of her, if not for the extremely recognizable curve of her nose. Bill should have known, he saw it in the mirror everyday.

He straightened his bow tie and pushed his sunglasses more firmly onto his nose, hoping that the dark shades could at least shield him a little.

"Hello."

Margaret cocked her head, still for a long time until she broke into a smile and straightened up.

"Come here, silly," she said, pulling Bill in by a shoulder until they were hugging.

She smelled of a floral perfume he didn't recognize, and a few years ago, being all pressed against her like that would have made him lose his mind. Today, he wrapped both arms around her and held on tight.

He only caught on that it had been a minute when he felt something nudge at his leg. He released Margaret to be faced with a little pout, a few inches from his thigh.

Margaret ran a hand through her daughter's hair and crouched next to her.

"Do you remember Daddy Bill?"

Agatha didn't answer and simply buried her face into her mother's chest. Margaret threw an apologetic smile up at Bill whose chest was splitting under the weight of his guilt.

"She does," his ex wife explained, rising to her feet again. "Remember you, I mean. But… well, it's complicated."

"I know. I'm so sorry…"

She waved a hand at him. "Later. We're not going to fix things in five minutes in the parking lot. Let's go inside."

He followed her and stayed at a relative distance while she grabbed a cart to let Agatha sit in. The child was resolutely not looking at him. He couldn't blame her.

Bobby and he hadn't spent much time in the children's furniture isles on their visits. Bill felt utterly useless while Margaret tried to coax Agatha into trying out a few beds, but none of them seemed to satisfy her. After a good half-hour of negotiation, Margaret fell into an armchair and groaned.

"Take her to get ice cream, will you?"

Bill's eyes popped wide open.

"On my own?"

Margaret shot him a knowing look. "She won't bite you. Normally. Just make sure she doesn't run away."

Bill anxiously eyed the cart.

"Will she even want to?"

"If she starts screaming, come back," Margaret sighed. "Otherwise, just let her choose ice cream and she'll warm up to you. Go now! I need some peace and quiet to think, she's done my head in," she said, rubbing at her temples.

Bill obeyed, grabbing the cart and rolling it away. He let out a relieved exhale when Agatha didn't immediately start to shout. She glanced over her shoulder, gave him an unimpressed stare, then went on to look ahead of her like a boat captain at the helm.

Bill led them outside again, to the little ice cream parlor across the road. He argued with himself that taking the cart all the way there wasn't really stealing if he meant to return it later.

Agatha still hadn't said a word to him when he stopped them in front of the window displaying the wide choice of flavors. He greeted the vendor and took his time picking something for himself.

"Will the young lady be having anything?" the man on the other side of the ice cart asked with a smile, scooping chocolate ice cream into a cone for Bill.

He eyed his daughter and didn't miss the way she immediately turned away from him again.

"I don't think so," he made a show to sigh in defeat.

"Yes I will!"

Bill's heart jumped in his chest. How ashamed should he be that he'd forgotten the sound of her voice? She sounded so articulate now… Enunciating properly, talking like… well, a small human. He swallowed down the emotions that were threatening to well up and bent slightly, bringing himself to her height.

"Which flavor would you like, then? Do you have a favorite?"

She grimaced for a second, but ended up landing with both hands against the display.

"I like… strawberry, and cream, and chocolate and vanilla."

"Okay, can you pick two out of those?"

"Why?" she turned around, pouting again.

"Because too much sugar is bad for you."

Agatha frowned, looking off to the side.

"Mom always says that."

"Well she's right, you know. If you eat too much sugar and don't brush your teeth well, you can get little holes in your teeth, and they hurt a lot."

She covered up her mouth with a gasp.

"Holes?"

"Yes. Not big ones, but they're bad, and they hurt a lot. So that's why we're only having two scoops, and brushing our teeth three times a day."

Agatha seemed to consider her options, to finally nod with solemnity.

"Okay. I'll have chocolate and vanilla."

Bill hid his smile and handed a note to the vendor, thanking him when he slipped Bill several paper napkins as well. They'd probably need them, if he was to believe the enthusiasm with which Agatha immediately stuffed the ice cream into her mouth.

He rolled the shopping cart further away onto the pavement so he could stand in the shade and enjoy his cone, too.

"So you also like chocolate?" Agatha asked after a beat of silence, her chin covered in the thing.

Bill couldn't help his grin then, and reached out slowly with a napkin, dabbing her skin clean when she didn't object to it.

"Yes. And I love ice cream too. But I don't get it very often."

"Why not?"

"I suppose… I forget?"

Agatha huffed. "What's the point of being a grown up if you forget to eat things you like?"

"You're right," Bill chuckled. "I should make myself a list."

She hummed and took another enormous bite out of her cone, vanilla now dribbling onto her fingers.

"How is…" he trained off, unsure how to ask a four-year-old how her life has been. "Are you getting along well with your Mom?"

Agatha shrugged. "Yes and no. I don't like when she tells me to clean my room."

There was something about her that reminded him of John. A stubbornness that neither Tom or Richard had, both a lot more easy-going than their sibling. John had always been… difficult was perhaps not the world. But sure of himself and what he wanted. And most of the time, it was doing things that were very much forbidden, or bad for him.

"Cleaning your room is just like not eating too much sugar. It's important for everyone but for your health too. You don't want creepy crawlers living under your bed," Bill concluded, thinking back to the myriad cobwebs he and Bobby had removed when they rearranged his apartment.

"That can happen?"

"When it's too dusty, yes. It happened to me when I didn't clean my living room enough."

When their ice creams were but a distant memory, Bill calmly rolled them back into the store, striving to best answer the thousand questions that Agatha seemed to have about living like a grown up.

They found Margaret standing at the register, having visibly picked without their daughter in the end. She waved at them and hoisted Agatha out of the cart despite her protests, to replace her with a lamp, a small chair and a blanket.

"This is all for me?" Agatha marveled, her small fingers hooking into the cart's metal grid.

"Yes," Margaret heaved a sigh as she took control of the cart again. "And there's a bed and a desk for you as well, but we'll have to wait for the delivery men to bring it with their truck."

Agatha seemed overjoyed that her bed would arrive in such fancy transportation.

Bill helped load everything into the back of Margaret's car, who then melted against the closed trunk.

"I'm exhausted. Will you take us for lunch? Then we can go to your place and… put this one to sleep while we talk."

Out of habit, he took them to Debbie's. He'd been here a few times with Margaret, when they were still in love and going on dates. That was before Agatha was born, though, and when they crossed the door, Debbie ran to greet Margaret and kiss her on both cheeks before pressing a hand to her own chest, taking in Agatha who had confidently strode in and gone to pick a booth.

"Say, Mister Bill, how many children of yours are there left now?"

"I swear this is the last one," he huffed out a laugh, nervously rubbing at his neck.

"Mister Bobby isn't joining today?"

"Um no, he's not here this weekend."

Debbie nodded and went to get started on some coffee, leaving him alone to deal with Margaret's stare.

"Mister Bobby?"

"Just a friend," he replied, too fast and avoiding her eyes.

He joined his daughter in the booth and only relaxed when Margaret began telling him about her new job. Thankfully nobody mentioned Bobby again until he'd paid for their lunch and they were out on the road again, headed to his apartment. Bill realized when he unlocked the door that he'd forgotten about his dog again, when Albert immediately jumped on Agatha to lick her face.

He apologized and helped Margaret clean Agatha a little before she settled over his bed, wrapped in a blanket and whining about having to take a nap. As soon as she laid her head down on Bill's pillow, she was out like a light.

Margaret closed the door to his bedroom, whispering:

"Don't worry, she'll be snoring for an hour. She likes to protest, though."

He nodded, only beginning to understand just how much he'd missed, and how little he knew about his daughter. He hadn't lied to Bobby on that, at least. He really had been a terrible father.

For lack of a better idea, he made them some more coffee while Margaret examined the new decor, humming with approval at all the choices that he and Bobby had made. When there was no more delaying it, he met her on the couch, handing out a coffee mug to her and holding onto his for dear life.

"Bill…"

He took a deep breath before daring to meet her eye. She was smiling softly, not unlike on the day she'd told him they should go their separate ways.

"Whatever it is you want to talk about, it can stay between us."

His forehead wrinkled as his anxiety ratcheted up.

"Do you know?"

"Know what?"

Margaret's neatly plucked eyebrows were raised in genuine surprise. She didn't.

"I just can see you getting worked up and nothing good usually comes out of it. You can relax, it's just me."

"What if I want to tell you I've killed someone?"

Bill wasn't sure if he should be insulted by Margaret immediately falling into a fit of giggles.

"Please. Be serious for a second."

"I am very serious."

"Did you kill someone?"

Bill frowned into his coffee.

"No."

"Well, then."

She didn't add anything, let silence surround them and more importantly, let him take his time. Was there a right way to go about this? He'd never considered it before in his life.

Coming out.

He hadn't even thought of himself that way, for most of his years. And yet here he was, looking for the proper words to explain that there was a man he would very much want to build a life with.

"It's about… Mister Bobby," he winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

Margaret folded her legs under herself on the couch, nodding.

"Okay."

Knowing her, there was no chance she hadn't guessed, by then, what this was about. And still she waited for him to confess in a way that felt right.

"He… We used to go to school together," Bill cleared his throat, finding it tight all of a sudden. "Boarding first, then med school too. Then we lost touch, and we met again by accident earlier this year."

Margaret still wasn't asking questions, merely cocking her head to show she was listening. Bill took another gulp of coffee for courage.

"And we… we've been…" his hands shook around the mug.

But now wasn't the time to back down. He'd done that far too much, and only hurt everyone in the process.

"Seeing each other. He visits me every other weekend, and I drive up to see him on the others."

"Where does he live?"

Bill only noticed then how out of breath he was, and took a second to fill his lungs with air again.

"St. Louis," he croaked.

"Oh, I've never been, but I bet it's nice."

"It uh… what are you smiling about?" he asked, seeing her grinning now.

She poked him in the shoulder with a red-painted nail.

"I thought you looked different, since we got here this morning. You seem more… relaxed. Less like you're going to run at the slightest noise."

Bill let out a low groan. Although, there was no denying she was right. Bobby smoothed out his anxiety and shiftiness in a way nobody else had ever managed to. He wondered if it was that they'd known each other for so long, or all the orgasms. He could keep that question to himself, he figured.

"Well. Is that all you have to say?" he grumbled.

"I don't know, am I allowed to ask questions? Or do you have more to add?" she teased, and despite the prickling feeling under his skin, his chest wasn't so tight now, air flowing in nicely.

"I don't know… I expected you to be more… surprised."

She shrugged. "I don't think it's something you can see on people's faces. Unless they advertise it clearly it's best not to assume, don't you think?"

He thought back to the festival, and how different everyone there had looked.

"I guess so."

"So can I?"

"Can you what?"

"Ask questions," Margaret wiggled on the couch, shifting closer to him.

"If you really want to…"

"Is he nice? How old is he? Is he from St. Louis itself or did he move there? Do you have a picture?"

"Wow, wow, slow down," Bill laughed then, echoing her glee.

Their easy back and forth felt like the beginning, when she'd been his secretary and they were still hiding their flirting behind professional excuses – ‘Doctor Mercer, I have a document for you to sign…' ‘Margaret, would you mind staying a bit after hours, I need your help on something…' – only… better. Was this what having a friend felt like?

"I don't have a picture, no. For the rest…"

He let his mind drift to memories of Bobby and the past few months spent in his company. Despite himself, he ended up telling Margaret more than he'd planned to: Bobby's paintings, his nephew, his cat, their hikes and visits…

Their coffee mugs were long empty when he realized that he had yet to talk about what he actually wanted to.

"So the thing is… I want to be good for him. I want to give him everything he deserves," he admitted with a blush. "But… I have no idea how to do that without jeopardizing my career, or even… well, ourselves."

Margaret's smile faded as she too considered the state of society, and the place it left for people like him.

"Okay. I guess it's good we have a while until I need to head back home," she sighed.

That day, Bill found out that not only did it not kill him to open up to others, but in some cases, it might even be the best idea he'd ever had.