Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

S tanley awoke with a gasp, inhaling dirt and grass, and found himself face down in a frost covered field, surrounded by white crosses, row on row. There was a barrier of trees that held back the sky, rattling their leafless branches as a wind picked up and whistled through the air. Gray clouds tumbled towards the earth, and it was cold, as cold as the trench he'd fallen into, except he was here, amidst the memorial for the 44 th Battalion.

For a moment, he was quite still. He could not believe what had happened. What might have happened. Was he back where Devon was, in that future time? For all he knew, he was years too late or too early, but it seemed to be the same terrain as he'd held in his memories about Devon. Maybe time had granted him the gift of arriving at just the right time.

Crushed by desperation, he pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his eyes, then bent to pick up his rifle and his canteen. Devon would want to examine them, to include notes on them in his paper, and if the universe were kind, there would be a Devon to give them to. Stanley could watch him examine them with strong and careful hands. His eyes would light up as he talked about them, and then he would look at Stanley and smile .

Stanley took off running, canteen banging against his thigh, his rifle rattling. The cottage was in sight, though it looked silent and still. There was a growing wind that took Stanley's breath away and seemed to threaten his every step, as if it meant to take him back to the muddy trench and the smell of smoke and death. Back to the war. Stanley ran faster, right up to the door of the cottage.

His heart surging with hope, he raised his hand to knock, just in case it wasn't Devon inside. The door flew open and Devon was there. He flung his arms around Stanley and pulled him close and hugged him tight.

Stanley quickly propped the rifle and flung the canteen aside and hugged Devon right back. He stood as close as he could to Devon's body, feeling the heat of him all up and down as warm air drifted through the open door. He squirmed to get even closer, his mouth open with everything he wanted to say to tell Devon how he felt.

"My god, Stanley," said Devon as he pulled back to look at him, his hands warm and sure on Stanley's arms.

Devon kissed him on the cheek, quick and brief, and drew him into the cottage. He did not let go of Stanley, but with one hand, he picked up the rifle to look at it. Stanley picked up the canteen, allowing himself to be drawn into the peace and quiet of the cottage. There was a fire flickering in the stone-lined fireplace, and a sprawl of papers on the kitchen table.

"You've been gone for days," said Devon. He took the canteen and placed it and the rifle on the table, not paying attention that several pieces of paper drifted to the floor. " Days , Stanley."

"It was only an hour," said Stanley, feeling somewhat faint, as though he'd not eaten in ages, nor slept, nor had any peace. But Devon's touch grounded him, letting him know that he was safe.

"I saw you go," said Devon. He turned to Stanley and held his face, shaking his head. "With my own eyes."

"Saw me go?" asked Stanley.

"When I was taking the pictures, and turned on the flash—"

"It was like bombs were exploding in front of my eyes—"

"You turned like you were stepping through a doorway, an opening. I swear, I fucking swear, I could see the trench behind you, and the edge of the opening to the bunker, and the radio, I saw the fucking radio—"

"The radio's broken," said Stanley, horrified that there was a crack in his voice, as though he'd been split wide open with the realization of it. "I didn't make it through."

"You're here now," said Devon, all of his attention on Stanley, his arms around Stanley's waist. "You're here now and you're going to stay here. With me."

"I don't want to go back." Stanley trembled with the idea of it, of going back to the battlefield with the trenches and the mud and the exploding shells—and of leaving Devon, which would hurt most of all. "Ever. I want to stay here with you."

"And I want you to stay," said Devon. "So don't leave, okay?"

There was that word again. The way Devon used it bolstered him up, though Stanley swayed a little on his feet, feeling faint and hungrier than he'd ever been in his life. Devon had said he'd been gone for days, though it had only been an hour to Stanley. Back in the trenches they'd long since finished their biscuits and coffee, and then Isaac had said—

"You're nothing like Isaac," said Stanley.

"Isaac?" asked Devon. "The one you liked, right?"

"Yes."

Isaac and Devon couldn't be more different, for Isaac was brimming with flyboy charm, and Devon was studious and intense. They seemed to care about Stanley in the same way, though if he were here, now, and wanted to be with Devon, was that being disloyal to Isaac?

"I never told him," said Stanley, startling himself with the realization. "Though even if I had, it never would have made a difference."

"Maybe it would have, but I'm glad you're here with me," said Devon. He hadn't yet let go of Stanley, and his embrace was warm and sure. "It's hard to live with regret, that I know. Never mind that. Are you hungry? I haven't been to the store. I didn't want to leave in case you came back, but I have a frozen pizza I could heat up. Then we could go to the store, and you could see the village. "

Stanley nodded, though he didn't know what a pizza was, except maybe it was something that Bertie had mentioned, that boys from the Italian neighborhoods would eat.

He felt as though he could fall asleep standing up. Devon brought him clean clothes and directed him to the bathroom, where Stanley went through the same ritual as before, taking off his uniform carefully so Devon could look at it while he showered. He knew all about the taps, now, and which was the hot water and which was the cold, so his shower took no time at all and, besides, he would rather be with Devon.

He got dressed in the clothes that Devon had given him and picked up his uniform from outside the door where he'd left it, a little surprised that Devon hadn't already unfolded the garments and spread them out so he could take notes about them. Instead, Devon was at the table, busy gathering up the papers that had fallen, collecting them into a pile with the others, and folding the metal—the laptop—so that it became even thinner.

He placed a large round circle of hot pizza on a wooden board and sliced through it with a circular blade.

"Come on, while it's hot," said Devon. "I've got milk and I've got beer, so let me know."

"Milk," said Stanley. He was so grateful when Devon handed him a glass that he drank down half in one gulp.