4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Allen

“Hi, friends! Who’s ready to read?”

Allen’s voice carried easily across the room, and the group of about twenty-five children collectively hushed as they settled on the colorful carpet in front of him. He smiled as he surveyed the group. He knew most of the children, but there were a few new faces, too, and that made his heart happy.

“We’ve got a very special treat for you all today,” Allen told them, and he could see as their little eyes widened with curiosity. He grinned again and then winked at them conspiratorially. “And by treat, I actually mean”—he leaned forward a bit as though he were telling them a secret and lowered his voice to a whisper—“ ice cream .”

On cue, Sandra and Hank Belford, who owned a small ice cream shop in town, popped out from behind the bookshelves to Allen’s left. Both of them were wearing giant colorful ice cream cone costumes—where they’d managed to find them, Allen had no idea—and excited whispers and clapping and even a couple of barely contained squeals broke out around the room. Allen gave the kids a moment to express their excitement and then held up both hands, still smiling.

“Now, friends, listen carefully, okay? Our guests here today are going to read you a book. It’s a story called Ice Cream For Breakfast . Oh, my! Raise your hand if you’ve ever eaten ice cream for breakfast,” Allen said, pretending to hold back his smile for a moment as he lifted up his own hand. Several of the children laughed. “I hope you’ll love the story. It’s one of my favorites! And then, when they’re finished, we’ve got a fun activity for you to complete so you can earn a coupon for a free ice cream cone. Do you want to hear about the activity?”

All the children nodded, and Allen continued. “Excellent! Here’s what you’re going to have to do—and remember, your grown-up or any of the other grown-ups here at the library can help you if you need it! So...”

He loved watching all of their little faces light up as he explained the rest of the activity he had planned, which involved a scavenger hunt of sorts around the library. When he was finished, he re-introduced Sandra and Hank and then stepped off the makeshift “stage” to find his way to the other side of the room.

Greg had his tripod set up just off to one side, and he was snapping photos of the group, which he’d edit and offer free to all the attendees. He straightened up and grinned as Allen stopped next to him.

“Ice cream for breakfast, eh, darling?” Greg whispered.

“Once,” Allen answered, keeping his voice low. “My first day in the dorms at UDub. My only huge act of rebellion, you know. Chocolate and vanilla swirl in a waffle cone.”

There was a light laugh next to him. “After thirty-three years, I’m still learning things about you,” Greg said quietly, and when Allen glanced at him again, he was back to his camera, the shutter going again as he took more photos.

The familiar fullness in his chest took Allen’s breath away, and he moved just a little closer to his husband, who reached out to take his hand with a gentle squeeze.

The next two hours passed uneventfully, and by the time the last of the attendees and volunteers had left, it was just after 4:00 p.m. Allen texted Greg to let him know he’d be home in about thirty minutes and then spent a little bit more time tidying up.

Just as he was pushing in the last chair, there was a loud, rough knock on the door. Startled, he turned around and was about to call out “One minute!” to whomever the late visitor was when a crash erupted near the front of the library. The sound of glass shattering and cascading to the ground was followed by two male voices shouting.

There was a sharp pain in Allen’s chest as his brain registered the words—a mix of profanities, threats, and homophobic slurs. His hand automatically flew to his pocket, and he pulled out his phone as he backed up toward the corner of the room. From his angle, he couldn’t see the men, and their voices didn’t seem to be coming any closer, but his heart raced, pounding hard in his chest.

Shaking and fighting an odd, panicky lightheadedness, he unlocked his phone and managed somehow to dial 9-1-1. He continued backing up until he was behind the bookshelves where Sandra and Hank had come out in their costumes earlier in the day, and he closed his eyes and held his breath. An operator answered after just one ring.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“Hi, I-I’m at the North Bend Library, and—and—” Allen sunk down to the ground as another wave of lightheadedness rushed him, and his chest tightened painfully, forcing the air from his lungs .

“Sir, are you okay? Is there an emergency?”

He started to answer but then heard crunching glass near the front of the library.

“Allen? Holy shit, what happened here? Allen?!” Joe Walsh’s voice echoed through the room, and a few seconds later, Allen felt his neighbor’s hand on his shoulder. “Allen, are you okay? Holy shit.”

A haze clouded his vision, and he tried to nod—because he was okay, or at least he thought he was. But he didn’t know if Joe saw or not. The phone was taken from his hand, and he heard Joe’s voice again, maybe speaking with the 9-1-1 operator? He wasn’t sure. The next thing he knew, Joe was pulling him to his feet, firing questions at him, helping him over to a nearby chair so he could sit.

“The police’ll be here any minute. I’m gonna call Greg, alright, Allen?” Joe asked, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, I—” His heart still pounded, and some strange mixture of nausea and dizziness made him lower his head to rest on his knees as he tried to steady his breathing.

“You just sit tight. You’re okay, man,” Joe said, and Allen felt him move away just a few feet, muttering some choice words under his breath. To Allen’s ears, it sounded something like “Fuckin’ teens. Dammit. Greg’s gonna be pissed.” Although, knowing Joe, there were probably several more curses tossed in there as well.

Allen closed his eyes and tried again to stabilize his breathing as he heard sirens not too far away. Everything was fine. Nothing had happened to him, and it was all fine. He was okay.

He was okay. He was okay. Really.

Around him, though, the room became a blur of voices and people and noise, and he wasn’t able to keep track.

“Allen? Hey, man, Greg’s on his way, okay? Shit, shit, shit. ”

“Mr. Westin, I’m Officer Jackson. Can you tell us what happened?”

“Joe, what did you see?”

“Two kids—teens—running off. They went that way . . . Yeah, down Third Street . . .”

“Mr. Westin, was anyone else here?”

“Mr. Westin?”

“Jake, maybe he’ll talk to you.”

“Has he been like this the whole time, Joe?... Well, shit.”

“Allen?! Allen? Excuse me, please. Let me through. Please, everyone please get back, leave him alone, he needs space.”

Two familiar hands settled on his knees, and he finally lifted his head and blinked his eyes open. His husband’s kind brown eyes stared back at him, soft but full of concern. Some immediate sense of relief seemed to chase away a tiny bit of the panic.

“Greg . . .”

“Hi, darling. I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay.”

He managed some sort of a nod, even though Greg’s words hadn’t been a question.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, and for the first time, he looked up at the mess of activity around him. It looked like half the town was there. There were several police officers, and his neighbor Joe stood off to one side, talking to Annabeth, the other librarian. Sandra from the ice cream shop was talking with Eleanor from the antique store near the entrance. Some man Allen didn’t recognize was taking pictures of the broken window, and groups of others milled about, talking in hushed voices, sneaking occasional glances his direction.

“Allen,” Greg said, his hands squeezing Allen’s knees gently. “ Are you okay?”

This time it was a question, and Allen tried to refocus on his husband, even as he noticed a police officer step closer again. Still kneeling, Greg looked up at the officer.

“Jake, what happened?”

“Joe said—”

“I know what Joe said. But how could this have happened? How could—dammit. Did you catch the kids who did this yet? Do you have anyone out looking for them? Did Joe recognize them?”

“Greg, easy, man. We’ve got Cheryl and Mike out looking for them right now. Trish is following up another lead. Unfortunately, Joe didn’t have enough of a description for any identification. They were on foot, wearing nondescript clothing, and—”

“That’s not good enough,” Greg cut in. “You should—”

“Don’t, Greg. They’re doing the best they can, I’m sure,” Allen said, and he leaned forward and let out a short breath. “And I haven’t exactly been helping much. Sorry, Jake. I didn’t see anything, though. I was finishing up here, about to head out. I was back by the—the children’s table here, and I heard a loud knock on the door and then a crash, like the window shattered. And...”

He trailed off, not sure how much more he wanted to say. Greg stood up but shifted one hand to Allen’s shoulder, and he heard Jake scribbling something in a notepad. He tried to ignore the hushed whispers from the other people at the library.

“Did you happen to get a look at them? See anything at all? Even the smallest detail could help,” Jake said, but Allen just shook his head.

“No.”

“Did they say anything? Joe said he heard some yelling, but he couldn’t make out the words.”

Allen hesitated again, and Greg squeezed his shoulder. “Allen?”

He couldn’t repeat their words. He wouldn’t. He lowered his eyes to his hands, which now rested in his lap .

“I-I heard them,” he stuttered. “Their words were... not kind.” There was an almost palpable thickness to the air around him now, and he closed his eyes again as he felt Greg tense up. He shook his head. “They were just kids. They don’t—”

“All the more reason they learn this behavior isn’t okay,” Jake said gently but firmly. “What did they say, Allen?”

But Allen just shook his head. “I’d rather not repeat it.”

There was a pause, and Allen’s jaw clenched as he felt Greg’s tension again. He knew Greg would be upset, angry even. Not angry at Allen, of course, but angry at the perpetrators and the situation. And Allen understood. Maybe he’d be upset enough himself in a day or two, when the lightheadedness and shakiness were gone. But for now, he couldn’t do it.

“I-I’m sorry,” Allen said, his voice sounding rough, even to his own ears.

Greg knelt down next to him. “You’re okay, right, darling?” he asked quietly, and Allen managed a nod. Greg’s lips pressed lightly against his forehead, and then Allen felt Greg stand up again. His voice seemed a bit farther away and hushed, though Allen could still feel the warmth of his presence. “Jake, maybe... well, can I just take him home now? And we’ll call later if he remembers anything else.”

“Of course, sure, Greg. Allen, take it easy, okay?”

“Thank you, Jake,” Allen said.

Jake’s heavy footsteps moved away, and Allen slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head again, blinking as the light from the room sent a sharp pain through his skull. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore it. It was probably just a stress-induced headache, not a migraine or something else.

Greg’s hand covered his, and Allen let his husband help him to his feet. He felt everyone’s eyes on him as they started toward the entrance, Greg’s arm looped through Allen’s to support him. He wanted to be stronger, to brush it off, to be able to reassure everyone that he was okay.

Because he was.

Nothing had even happened.

But when he got closer to the front entrance and saw the mess for the first time—one of the front windows shattered, a large brick on the ground only a few feet from the main desk where he usually sat to work, shards of glass everywhere—his stomach dropped. His hand holding Greg’s tightened as he leaned heavily on his husband.

“They threw a-a brick?” he rasped.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Greg sounded solid and in control next to him, and Allen just nodded again and let Greg lead him around the debris, out into the warmth of the late afternoon. There were more people gathered outside, and he heard the murmurs of the crowd fade into a tense silence as Greg supported him, leading them toward the SUV.

His eyes landed on his own car, parked down at the end of the short row of parking spots, and Allen stopped suddenly, his legs nearly giving out. The windshield and windows were smashed in, the tires were slashed, and several derogatory and threatening words had been carved into the hood.

Greg tried gently to steer him away, down the last of the front steps of the library. “Allen, let’s just go, okay? The police will handle it.”

But he couldn’t move; his legs physically wouldn’t carry him, and instead, he grabbed ahold of the railing next to him, barely keeping himself from slumping to the ground. “Why?” he breathed. “Wh-what reason would they have for—for...”

Around him, the crowd was still silent, and Allen was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that he wasn’t safe. He scanned the crowd; he knew everyone there, and they all watched him with sympathy. But standing there, his ruined car not more than forty feet away, unable to move of his own accord, without his husband’s support, Allen felt more exposed and vulnerable than he’d ever felt in his life.

“Get me home, please,” he begged quietly, letting go of the railing and leaning on Greg again. “Please.”

“Of course, darling. Of course.”