Chapter 16

Lee

Something was up with Griffin. Beyond the fact that Rocktoberfest was three weeks away and he was starting to get obsessed with the details of his trip, his rehearsal with holy fuckin’ Chaser Lost, his set list, and even what he would wear onstage— the question he was currently dithering over.

“They’re all T-shirts, babe,” I told him from where I sprawled on his bed. “Light blue and mid blue and dark blue. Tight and not quite as tight.”

“Yeah, but…” He tugged at the bottom of the electric-blue version he was wearing, turning to look over his shoulder at the mirror. “You think this one’s too long?”

“I admit I like to actually see your ass in those jeans.”

He laughed. “Yeah, maybe fifteen years ago.”

“Hey, you don’t let me say ‘fifteen pounds ago,’” I pointed out.

He shot me a narrow glance but nodded. “Fair enough. So which shirt?”

I decided to put him out of his misery and pick something. “The dark blue. Hugs your chest but not like you’re trying too hard, matches your best beret, won’t show the sweat if you drip on it.”

“Sold.” He draped the shirt in question on a hanger, smoothed it down, and set it at the end of his closet.

“And the faded jeans. The ones with the ripped pocket.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled. “You’d think I’d never done this before. Of course, half the time my manager or my label were picking my performance clothes.”

“That silver shirt open down to your belly button on the cover of Day Trip ?” I teased.

He put a hand over his face. “Totally the label. That whole fucking tour was a fashion disaster.”

I had to laugh. “Glad that wasn’t your choice. Hopefully getting to dress yourself will make your performance more comfortable.”

Something dark passed over his face for a second and he turned half away, fiddling with the rejected T-shirts. “Hopefully.”

Okay, that was enough of that. “What are you not telling me?”

“Huh?”

“About the trip or the concert or something. You get this really worried look and then hide it away.”

“I don’t—” He broke off when I scoffed. “Well, maybe, I guess. It’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t want to pry, but maybe it would help to share? Boyfriend to boyfriend?” We hadn’t been using that word for long but I liked the warm glow I got saying it.

Griffin kept folding the rejected shirts. “I just, well, I had an irritated throat for a couple of weeks…”

My mind jumped to infectious diseases but he kept going.

“…so I went in, did the strep and COVID tests and everything, and it was all negative, but the nurse thought maybe I was getting a vocal cord nodule. And it’s just the wrong fucking time for that.”

“Nodule?” I tried to remember my ENT lectures.

“Yeah. It’s from overuse, basically. And the treatment is, like, three to six months of vocal rest, sometimes surgery which would really suck.”

“But…” I waved at the hanging T-shirt. “You’re still planning to do Rocktoberfest?”

“Yeah. Luckily it hasn’t affected my voice too badly yet. I’m a little raspy, but that’s not a terrible thing. I’ll get through Rocktoberfest and then rest up.”

“I should take a look.” I stood up but Griffin fixed me with a glare.

“No, you shouldn’t. You’re my boyfriend, not my doctor.”

“Come on, take advantage of the free advice.”

“I almost puked on the nurse when she tried to look with just a tongue depressor. If you’re going to gag me, I want it to be your dick in there.”

“But you can’t ignore your health—”

“Look, she’s set me up with a proper ENT exam on Friday. Some kind of scope thing. I’m not ignoring it.”

“Oh.” I was pleased he was getting seen, but a little worried about how fast the appointment was happening, given the wait for most specialties these days. Was that his star power, or a sign the nurse was really worried? The specter of some kind of laryngeal cancer hovered at the back of my mind. “And if she tells you not to do Rocktoberfest?”

Griffin’s grin seemed fake. “I’ll listen to her as soon as the concert is over. Lee, really, don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s just a pain in the ass thing. Hell, even Justin Timberlake had nodules.”

“Ooh, not Justin Timberlake.” I sat back on the bed, watching him. “Do you want me to come with you to the ENT?”

“No, seriously, I’m cool.”

“I just… can’t help worrying.” Griffin seemed fine and now he mentioned it, I thought I remembered Sam Smith had some kind of throat surgery too. And they were still singing. So probably it was no big deal. Almost certainly. But life had kicked me in the gut too many times for me to be complacent.

Griffin came and sat beside me, looping an arm around my shoulders. “Hey, thanks for caring. My biggest concern is if my voice will hold up for the show. Sixty thousand people paying to listen to me. I’ll take it easy till then, but I have to practice with Chaser Lost.”

“Surely they’ll understand.”

“Yeah, but we have to do a certain minimum not to sound like shit up there. Oh well, I’m sure it’ll work out.”

He didn’t look sure. I leaned close and kissed his cheek. “I can tell Kashira you don’t want to do singing or a lot of reading before you leave. Rest up.”

“That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

“And you’ll tell me what the ENT specialist says?”

His hesitation was brief, but I noticed it. “Sure, I’ll let you know.”

“Should you skip giving blow jobs for a while?”

That made him laugh. “Nah. Maybe semen’s the miracle cure for nodules. Ever think of that?”

“Can’t say as I have.” I kissed him and silently vowed not to make him choke on my dick until he got the all-clear. I wasn’t sure I could trust Griffin to take care of his health the way he should, but nothing was happening to him on my watch.

Next day at work, I maybe spent longer than I should’ve searching databases and articles for laryngeal nodules and polyps and tumors and confirming that yes, there was a full range of possibilities including the scary. I’d have felt guilty doing the research on work time, except for the hundreds of unpaid hours I put in through the year. Griffin didn’t have a lot of current risk factors, but I knew he’d drunk and smoked in his younger days, and sung in a lot of smoky venues. That had to have exposed his larynx to carcinogens.

Still, probably just benign nodules. He’d pushed himself hard at Rock on the Rock. Even one rough episode could cause nodules. Kashira had Griffin working with Mr. Harrington’s crossword and Tom’s checkers and doing art with Nancy. There were plenty of low-voice ways he could help with resident entertainment. He’d be just fine.

I might’ve repeated that a dozen times to myself with my eyes shut after I closed the article on laryngeal squamous cell carcinoma. The cancer usually spread to lymph nodes, lungs, and bone—

“Um. Mr. Robertson?”

When I looked up, a new aide hovered in my doorway.

“Sorry, just thinking. Yes? And call me Lee.”

“Mr. Zhukov is here to see you.”

“Oh.” I shoved everything I might feel guilty about into a deep mental box so Zhukov wouldn’t suspect and slapped a smile on my face, pushing to my feet. “Show him in.”

Zhukov strode through the doorway and planted himself in the guest chair, waving to me. “Sit, sit. I don’t have much time.”

“What can I help you with?” I eased back down.

“This vacation request of yours. It’s not a convenient time for you to be gone for six days.”

I blinked, because personnel management wasn’t Zhukov’s job. Ms. Kingston in HR handled any staff things that weren’t on my plate. She’d frowned over my short notice, but admitted I had so much vacation accrued it was ridiculous, and agreed it was about time I took some of my days. I hadn’t told Griffin I was going to Rocktoberfest, just in case something fell through. But I was totally going. The cost of the scalped ticket and hotel and flights was ridiculous, but I was going to show him I supported his career, given the way he was curtailing it to make me happy.

I told Zhukov, “I’ve arranged to cover my shifts.”

“We’re having nursing staff disruptions. It’s your job to smooth those over and assure continuity of care.”

I wanted to ask him if that was corporate-speak for dealing with the low wages he paid aides and the immigrant nurses waiting for their certification. They could make more at almost any other healthcare job. Some of the aides could make more at a lot of regular jobs. They often left to do so. But I didn’t want him mad at me, maybe looking too deeply into Harvey and Owen for retaliation. “There are always disruptions, sir. We handle them.”

“You can’t handle them if you’re not here.”

“I think Wellhaven will survive for six days without me.” I tilted my head. “Surely you’re not saying I’m that essential to Wellhaven.”

That put him in a neat bind, because saying yes would be a hell of a lot of leverage for me the next time we were negotiating my salary.

“No, no, not essential. Just…”

“Great. So I’ll take a vacation for once, and come back refreshed and ready to tackle our staffing issues on an ongoing basis.” I could do the corporate-speak too.

“Well, I suppose that’s all right.” Zhukov leaned forward. “Now, I want to talk about that, um, gay wedding we had in our main lobby. Was that necessary? And who paid for all the staff time and the food and everything? We don’t have a budget for special events.”

It was necessary because you were being a cold bastard. “Don’t worry. Off duty staff donated their time, and the food and other costs were covered by the grooms.” Harvey was on Medicaid and owned very little, but Owen had cut us a check for the meal and cake ingredients and decorations. He’d said he might as well splurge, since their combined care would spend down all his assets fast. I’d told him it wasn’t necessary, but now I was pleased he’d covered that base.

“Ah.” Zhukov shifted in his seat. “Well, in the future I expect you and Kashira to run any such event by my office long before planning begins. We’re not an entertainment venue. There are serious medical concerns.”

I went with, “Yes, sir, we’ll do that,” because it took the wind out of his sails.

He harumphed. “See that you do.”

We sat for a moment eyeing each other. I kept my expression bland as possible before saying, “Good talk, sir. Is there anything else? Perhaps we could go through my proposal for adding another overnight staffing position—”

“Send me an email.” Zhukov pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m a busy man. I’m just going to make sure Mrs. Svenson is doing well and then I have another site to visit.”

I was sure Patricia would have things to complain about, but she’d kept her unjustified ground-floor garden-view room in the reshuffle, so with luck she couldn’t cause any real problems. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Yes. Right. Continue on.” He waved in the direction of my computer and strode out.

A minute later, Kashira ducked into my office. “Did you get a visit from…” She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “…our weird boss yet?”

“Shh.” I gestured her toward the chair. “Yeah, he was here. Shut the door.”

She tapped it closed with a practiced foot and slumped across from me. “He was interrogating Lavonda and the kitchen staff about the wedding food and how much waste there was.”

“I told him Owen paid for everything. I hope that shuts him up.”

Kashira rubbed her face. “Other nursing homes are worse than this, right?”

“Lots worse.” I nudged her foot under the desk. “They have hedge fund owners, worse staffing numbers, and mean, cruel nursing directors who don’t want the residents to have fun. Not awesome guys like me who make your life so much easier.”

She chuckled. “Laying it on thick there. But yeah, just bitching, I guess. I did work for one guy who makes Zhukov look like a teddy bear.”

“I’m deeply sorry to hear that.”

“Well, I quit and dropped an unbaked pizza at his feet, splashed that tomato sauce all up his front.”

“Good for you. I’ll remember to keep you away from the food if you’re mad at me.”

She snorted. “Thanks. I needed that. I’ll go soothe ruffled feathers in the kitchen.”

That was really Phoebe’s job, not hers, but Kashira was much more of a people person. “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

At the door, she hesitated. “Is Griffin sick or something? How long do you want me to keep his work plan easy on his voice?”

“Not sick, nothing contagious. Just trying to save his voice for the big concert in three weeks. He strained it a bit the other time he sang.” That’s all it is. I hope that’s all it is.

“Oh. Sure, makes sense.” She grinned. “I was thinking about having a watch party for his Rocktoberfest performance if it ends up on video.”

“I’m not sure his lyrics will be fit for general viewing,” I noted.

“A select watch party, then. Harvey would love it.”

“So he would.”

“Are they doing okay?” she asked. “Owen and Harvey? I went by to see if they wanted in on the pool for when Daniela’s having her baby and they seemed a bit down.”

“Not interested in winning a takeout meal of their choice?” I joked, although I’d noticed the same thing. “I imagine it’s hard, even though they’re together now, really having it sink in that Harvey won’t ever again do some of the things they loved. That he needs the support mattress at night, and even though we push the beds together, they’re stuck mostly holding hands.”

“Better than separate rooms.”

“Oh, hell yeah, and they’d say the same. We’ve done what we can. Getting older’s a bitch. All we can do is support folks.”

“I want them to be happy.”

I got up and wrapped my arms around her, squeezing until she squeaked and hugged me back. I told her, “That’s why you’re so awesome at your job and Zhukov needs to give you a raise.”

“We wish.” She sighed, stepped away, straightened her shirt, and opened the door.

Zhukov was standing right there, and she jumped. Calling, “Thanks for the advice,” to me over her shoulder, she hurried off down the hall.

Zhukov peered at me. “I hope nothing inappropriate was going on.”

Sometimes real people who aren’t robots need hugs. I sighed. “You do recall I’m gay, right? Gold star, no interest in women? Nothing inappropriate was going on.”

“Right. Well. Mrs. Svenson says the overhead light in her room is buzzing. We need to get that fixed for her.”

“I’ll put in a ticket for maintenance.”

“High priority.”

“Will do.” Not.

“Okay. Carry on.” He strode off toward the lobby.

I stared at my terminal. Technically, I had ten more minutes left to work. In reality, my brain was fried. I went back and added a maintenance ticket for Patricia’s overhead light. Probably the ballast, which meant it would go on a long list of lights to replace. I made myself an extra note to go check on it personally. If the buzz was really bad, I’d kick hers up the list. Entitled or not, she didn’t deserve to be driven crazy by a fluorescent.

My work list popped up another reminder. A previous worker needed a letter of reference. I’d write her a good one and send her a copy. She deserved it, and if the next place was maybe giving her fifty cents more per hour and turned out to be a crappy employer, a bit of recognition might send her back our way. Composing and emailing used up the rest of my time. I clocked out right on the hour and closed up my office.

I got some curious looks as I headed out. Probably was a bad sign when my coworkers were so used to me being there into the evening they did double-takes. Dinner service was just getting underway, though, so no one had the time to ask questions.

When I got home, Willow greeted me at the door, winding around my ankles and meowing. I dodged around her, hands held up. “Sorry, baby, shower first. Cats can get COVID and flu, you know. Better safe than sorry.” She followed me to the bathroom, complaining about being starved and unfairly neglected. “Right. Like Mom doesn’t spoil you.” I closed the door on her offended face.

Once I was clean and changed, scrubs in the laundry, I made my way to the kitchen. Willow hadn’t been lying in wait at the bathroom door, so I wasn’t surprised to find Mom in the kitchen, sipping tea with the cat in her lap. Willow jumped down and came to me. I scooped her up, burying my face in her soft multicolored fur.

“Oof, baby.” I kissed her head. “You’re gaining weight. What has Mom been feeding you?”

“Just a few treats. She deserves it.”

Well, I could hardly throw stones. I rubbed Willow’s ears. “Who’s a good, precious kittycat, hm?”

She wiggled to get free, then trotted back to Mom and leaped onto her knees.

“She is precious,” Mom said. “A gift, truly.”

I checked out Mom’s face as she stared down at the cat. She’d only been taking the antidepressant med for two weeks but I thought I saw fewer stress lines on her forehead.

She raised her head and caught me staring. I whirled away and busied myself making a cup of coffee. I’d need the caffeine tonight, tired as I felt already.

“You’re home early,” Mom noted. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I tapped the gauge on the kettle as if that would make it boil faster.

“You guess. Lee, I’m your mother. I’ve known you for forty years and although I haven’t always paid attention, I know what you look like when you’re worried. What’s up?”

I shrugged, still not turning. “Nothing big. Minor health issue. I’m being paranoid.”

“How many of Alice’s minor health issues became major? Sometimes paranoia is rational. You want to tell me about it? I am still a nurse, you know, retired or not.”

“It’s not me. HIPPA,” I evaded. Pouring the water over the coffee grounds was meditative and the scent of the fresh beans filled my nose in a comforting way. Aaah. Black gold. I was willing to drink almost any coffee, after years of mainlining whatever was available, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the good stuff.

When I turned, raising the mug to my lips, Mom sat eyeing me, one hand stroking the closed-eyed cat. “Don’t burn your mouth,” she warned, then smiled ruefully. “Once a mom, always a mom.”

“I like that about you.” I sipped with appropriate care. “Hey, when Alice first got sick, when we still thought it was nothing much, did you ever, like, really worry? All out of proportion to what it seemed like?”

“Of course I did. My baby? I worried about both of you. Like, when you were little, you spit up all the time. And I know babies do that and your weight was fine. I still took you in, and I was irrational enough to bring a baggie of spit-up as evidence. The pediatric nurse looked at me like I was a fool. But when you love someone, you worry. Part of the package deal.” She hesitated. “Is Griffin sick?”

“I don’t love him.” The wrong words popped out.

“But you could?”

“I… yeah. I could, so easily. But I was halfway there last time and looked what happened.”

She nodded, her eyes kind. “You said he promised to stick around this time.”

“Sometimes you can’t promise. Alice would’ve promised to stay, if it was up to her. Dad promised and broke it.”

“Griffin’s nothing like your dad, from what I’ve seen,” Mom said.

“Yeah. Fuck that guy.” Dad hadn’t even come back for Alice’s funeral, claiming he’d been off-grid and got the notice too late.

“I did, dear.” Mom sipped her tea and smiled.

I snorted into my coffee. “Mom!”

“Well, really, you’re a nurse. You know the facts of life.” Her smile faded. “Alice, though.” We were quiet for a moment. “Life’s going to sucker punch you sometimes. No way around it.”

“Loving people is like putting a target on your chin,” I muttered.

“Well, yeah. But the alternative is not loving anyone.”

I shrugged and drank more coffee.

“That’s not you, Lee. You love deeply and hard. You’re made for that. And when I die—” She put up a hand to block my automatic protest. “—come on, kiddo, you know the odds. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I have friends.” I eased into my seat kitty-corner from her and set the mug on the table.

“Outside of Wellhaven?”

“Work friends can be real friends.”

“How many of them do you go out with, do things for fun with?”

“Kashira and I went to see Griffin’s show, and we saw a movie last month.” Or maybe two months ago.

Mom did a slow golf clap, one eyebrow raised. Willow batted at her wrist in protest until she went back to stroking. “I’m glad you get along with Kashira. I’m not suggesting she’s not a good friend. But you’ve been isolated for a long time. And some of that’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not.”

She waved me off. “I was too wrapped up in myself to even see it. I was glad you were always home, because I couldn’t stand being alone. But I had a session with that online therapist you found for me.”

“You did?” I hadn’t been optimistic. “That’s great. Did you like her?”

“I’m not sure ‘like’ is the right word. But I think she’ll be good for me. She asked me what my biggest regret of the last ten years was, and I thought I’d talk about Alice, but what came out of my mouth was you. Neglecting you. Leaning on you so hard.”

“You never neglected me. I was glad to help.” Being needed was all that’d gotten me through the awful months after we lost Alice.

“You’re a good man. And you deserve someone like Griffin to take care of you sometimes. I’m sorry if his health is worrying you, though. You did say health?”

That dragged me out of the past to the present. It wasn’t much improvement. Now you’re getting melodramatic. “I’m just being silly. He’d be the first person to say so.” Because he doesn’t take his own health seriously. I shook off the topic and sat down. “Tell me about Willow. What did she get into today?” Our cat, for all her chill personality, was a Houdini.

Mom smiled and let me change the subject. “Well, you know that box in the closet with the winter boots in it? Somehow she pushed down the top, snuck in, and it popped back up with the flaps still woven together. So of course, I never looked in there. Two hours I spent looking for her and not a peep. Until I finally opened a can of tuna, and then the meowing started.”

I had to laugh. “She’s training you to give her the good stuff.”

“Well, the joke’s on her. I made a tuna sandwich for lunch and Little Miss Greedy Paws only got a tiny taste.”

“She doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.” I nodded to where the cat was kneading Mom’s slacks with her small beige-toed paws and purring.

“I raised two kids. I know how to be firm but kind.” Mom reached out and laid her fingers on my knee. “Now drink your coffee and don’t worry too much.”

I’d spent a lifetime listening to Mom, so I took a long swallow of the hazelnut-flavored brew. Obeying the second half of her command would be a work in progress.