The ringing of Riley’s cell phone woke Connor with a start. Unlike Riley, he was a light sleeper. Riley laid in bed next to him like a stone, the blaring of his phone piercing the night but not Riley’s tranquility. He leaned across Riley’s sleeping body and fumbled to find the phone on the nightstand, fingers lurching toward the cell phone’s flashing screen, a dull-green glow pulsating light into the dark room.

“Hello?” Connor answered, grogginess in his voice. “No, this isn’t Riley McDermott. Who is this? – Oh, I see. I’ll wake him, hang on.”

Connor set the phone down on the nightstand on his side of the bed, clicked on the lamp, and shook Riley’s shoulders. “Wake up, Riley. C’mon babe, wake up.”

With a moan of sleepy frustration he leaned up and rubbed the tired from his eyes as he shielded them from the lamplight. Connor handed him the telephone.

After only a moment, Riley set it down, the color drained from his body, his eyes cold.
“He’s dead,” Riley said.

* * * * *

Riley sat at his boyfriend’s dining room table shirtless, in blue gym shorts, and wearing his old silver watch. Riley’d emptied his secret hiding place in the garden, retrieved the only hash pipe he hadn’t thrown out when he joined N.A.. He held it in the palm of his right hand.

Riley sat slumped over the simple white pine dining table, with his head resting on his left arm as he stared at the hash pipe. His right foot nervously tapped the Swedish curve of the table leg. Monday was Riley’s day off, but time was the last thing he needed. The Monday a week before today had shaken him deeply. He hadn’t been able to think of anything since. His father, after a night out with his buddies, had been killed driving home from his favorite bar. The irony was that he wasn’t drunk, but got hit by someone who was.

It was about 5:00 in the morning when Darrell McDermott, divorced father of two, was hit head-on by a drunken truck driver in a fully loaded semi. He died instantly. Connor skipped his medical school classes to be with him; it was a comfort that provided none.

It seemed like a century had passed since they asked him to come down to the coroner’s office to identify the body. But it was just a week ago. Riley sat trancelike and could only see the dead face of his father lying on the cold stainless steel of a gurney. He wanted to fade away.

Riley heard the front door swing open and Connor come in. He quickly stuffed the hash-pipe into his shorts’ back pocket and sat up.

“Hey, babe. You’re up,” Connor said as he set a small bag of comfort foods on the table and gave Riley a peck on the cheek.

“Hey,” Riley said with no emotion. He sat motionless, sideways in the dining room chair with his back against the kitchen wall. Connor noticed that his muscular body was as languid as his blue eyes seemed to be. Every part of his being, from the tips of his black hair to the bottom of size 12s seemed to convey a catatonia, a shock.
Connor tried to engage him in conversation. “So, you going to the gym?” he asked, giving a tug to Riley’s gym shorts.

“No,” Riley said.

“You never miss the gym. What are you gonna do today?”

“Dunno.”

Changing the subject, Connor said, “Well, I got your favorites.” Picking up a pint of ice cream he continued, “Some chocolate chip cookie dough. There’s also some Nutter Butters in here and a gallon of milk. And I picked up a couple of movies for us to watch.”

Riley half-heartedly managed a smile at his lover.

“Riley, I know how hard this is. I just want you to know that I’m here…”

Riley, cutting Connor off said, “Thanks. Really.” He got up, kissed Connor’s red head and walked into the bedroom.

“This isn’t good,” Connor muttered to himself as he put the ice cream in the freezer, then followed Riley into the bedroom.

Connor said, “Riley, is there anything I can do? I want to help, but I don’t know how, Riley. You seem to be getting worse, not better with this. You’ve always been a tough guy, babe. You’ve been a survivor. This is kinda scaring me. What can I do?”

“I don’t know. Nothing. I just need some space, that’s all,” Riley said, turning on their bedroom TV with the remote. He began to flip through channels and stopped on a nature documentary.

Connor stepped in front of the TV and carefully, in a quiet tone asked, “Is this because of the visit to the coroner’s last week?”

“Connor, give it a rest. You’re in front of the TV.”

“I’m heading to the University to get in some study time. If you need anything…”

“I’ll call you,” Riley finished his sentence.

After Connor had left the house, Riley grabbed his hash pipe and returned to the kitchen. He thought about getting some ice cream. Instead, he sat at the table and lost himself in memory.

* * * * *

“You sure you’re ready for this, babe?” Connor asked.

“I’m sure,” Riley answered nervously.

They had been sitting in the sterile, fluorescence of the coroner’s waiting room as the assistant medical examiner, a short, slightly overweight, balding man of about 40, came down the hall, clipboard in hand. The vinyl on the institutional furniture squeaked as they rose to greet him, Connor holding Riley tightly about the shoulders. The pudgy official had to look up to make eye contact with the two tall, fit men.

“Mr. McDermott?”

“Yes,” Riley replied.

“I’m Steve Snowden, the medical examiner on duty tonight. The police explained to you the severity of the injuries that your father suffered – is that right?” he asked in a soft tone.

Riley closed his eyes briefly as he replied. “Yes, they made it clear that he wouldn’t be in tip-top condition.” Riley sardonically answered. “I’m ready, Mr. Snowden. Lead the way.”

Riley and Connor began to follow and not more than ten steps down the hall the portly bureaucrat stopped and said that only next of kin and family were permitted to identify the body.

Connor insisted, “But I am family. We’ve been together for four years.”

“State law, sir. I’m sorry,” Snowden said with a sort of imperiousness that angered them both.

“Connor, it’s o.k. I’ll be alright,” Riley said, hiding his irritation.

“Babe, if you need anything, I’ll be right here,” Connor said in an angry tone, eyes squarely directed at the dead’s pudgy night-watchman.

Riley continued on with Mr. Snowden through a lengthy white-tile corridor. After passing six stainless-steel doors lining both sides, they reached a set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Pushing through them, Snowden entered first, followed by Riley. There, in the middle of a large, tiled room, was a sheet draped body on a gurney. Next to it, the empty tray where the autopsy instruments had been. Above it, a medical lamp hung from the ceiling and Snowden walked over and turned it on. Spectral, white-light glared down on to the gurney and made it a bone-white centerpiece in a sea of steel, chrome, and grey-green sheets.

Without a word, Steve Snowden pulled back the drape to reveal what was left of Darrell McDermott. Riley found himself remarkably stoic, somehow removed from himself as his eyes locked onto the battered head of his dead father.

“Is this your father? Darrell McDermott?” the bureaucrat asked.

“Yes, it’s him. It’s Darrell McDermott,” Riley coldly answered.
Snowden made some marks on his clipboard, had Riley sign it and then asked, “Would you like a few moments with him? To say goodbye?”

Riley, still fixated on the bruised, battered face of his father – eyes blackened, jaw off center from where it broke against the steering wheel – thought how surreal that question sounded. ‘Moments,’ he thought. Moments sounded so Kodak. They hadn’t shared those; at least not since before Riley had turned thirteen. Before then, Darrell was Riley’s hero, his best friend. But after thirteen, things changed; they only experienced a mix of solitary incidents of love with interminable lengths of strife together, not ‘moments.’ But some time with dear-old-dad might be in order. So Riley agreed, and Mr. Snowden left the room promising to return in twenty minutes, the whoosh of the double doors signaling his exit.

Riley stared at his father’s broken face. He pulled the sheet all the way off and saw the Y-incision left in his torso from the autopsy, the extensive bruising, and the lacerations to his legs and arms. He saw the broken body of the large, strong welder that was his father. It reminded him of his own beaten body just a few years past.

When Riley was 17 years old his father had beaten him into unconsciousness. Darrell had cracked the orbit of his right eye, bruised his upper torso so badly that he couldn’t raise his arms for months, and broke his nose with a dead-on left hook. When he arrived at the hospital his father said he had fallen out of the back of their pickup truck on the way home from Pyramid Lake. When he was conscious, that was the story they ‘agreed’ to stick with, and Riley did. Eyebrows were raised, but no one investigated. Riley, once looked like this dead, broken body.

It’s not as though Riley hadn’t been beaten before. Darrell began beating him with some regularity when he hit puberty – just after Riley’s folks had divorced. The family had decided that Riley would stay with dad in Reno, and his sister Elyse would go with mom to their grandparents in Alaska. When Riley turned 13, he wished he had gone with mom, too. Darrell always used to say that he was “toughening” him up. “You don’t wanna be a sissy, do ya?” he’d ask just before giving him sock to the chest or a backhand to the head. Somehow, even though Riley didn’t ‘act’ gay, Darrell could just tell he was a fag. Maybe it was the lack of girlfriends, or his unusual interest in books and art, or his love of classical music. Riley would never know now, but the one thing that was certain was that Darrell didn’t like fags and sure didn’t want one for a son.

The day when he turned seventeen was different. That day, his father found a letter Riley had carelessly left on the coffee table from his sister. In it, he discovered that Riley had admitted his homosexuality to her. Darrell charged into Riley’s bedroom, ripped him from his desk by the arm. “No son of mine is gonna be a fag. Do you hear me?!” Each punch struck like a thunderbolt, each strike ripped something, bruised something, broke something. Each insult fired-off hurt worse – in the places you can’t see. And Riley remembered in vivid detail every single hit until he lost consciousness.

Now, for the first time since he graduated high school, Riley stood in the presence of his father. That was ten years ago. Memories of the good times, the times before Darrell began ‘toughening’ Riley up, were strangely elusive. Riley tried to remember when he loved his father, but all that came back was the beating.

He unconsciously rubbed the metal band on his watch. It was the watch his father gave to him on his twelfth birthday, during happier times, when all was right and he had a family and a father.

Riley felt utterly numb inside. He stared at his father’s body and felt completely catatonic. No good-bye came forth, no forgiveness, no memory, no sorrow or joy, just the low buzz of the fluorescent lamps and the chill of steely air let him know he was still alive. It all seemed too unreal. The longer he stood and stared, the more real it became and the more something began to weigh upon his heart. He slumped to the floor after a few minutes and stared off into space.

The whoosh of the double-doors heralded the return of his father’s keeper. Riley rose and without a word walked out of the room and down the hall. He fell into Connor’s arms and hugged him limply.

“Let’s go home, Connor.”


* * * * *

Riley rested his head on the kitchen table for a few minutes more. He’d been there for an hour. He kept seeing his dead father lying on cold steel. “One o’clock, time to deaden the pain,” he said to himself as he rose from the dinette.

He walked through the living room and into the bedroom. Pulled on his favorite old sweat-shirt, sweat-pants, and a worn-out pair of tennis shoes of Connor’s. Hash pipe and cash tucked away in his pocket, he walked out of the house and didn’t bother locking the door. Riley was heading south, down the hill from their apartment near the university, along Keystone Avenue toward his destination.

He could have driven, but he wanted to walk. He wanted time to think, and the five miles to Paradise Pond would give him the opportunity. The overcast left over from the rain earlier that day seemed to fit the mood he was in.

Paradise Pond was his favorite park. It was quiet and not used by much of the public. It was an oasis of trees in the middle of the city and in its center was a man-made lake with an island that you could row a boat to. Hardly anyone ever did, which is why Riley loved it so much. Ever since he was a kid, he’d row over to that island, like it was his very own, and get away. He’d sit, think, dream, cry – whatever he needed. And when his drug days came, soon after graduation, it was his favorite place to get high, lose his pain, forget himself. He hadn’t been back to the island in the four years since he quit drugs, met Connor and moved on with is life. Today, however, he wanted to be on Paradise Island.

His route was well-chosen. He would stop by and old friend’s house, about halfway on route to Paradise Pond. Billy Vendak had been on the high school soccer team with Riley and was his best friend in high school. They both had rough childhoods and right after graduation, they got jobs together at the local Pizza Hut and shared an apartment. It was Billy who introduced Riley to drugs. But it was Riley who took Billy to new heights with them. They progressed from pot to mushrooms then speed, coke and just about everything else they could try in just a few months after moving in together.

Their drugs numbed the pain of hurts unseen and largely unconscious. But it began to take its usual toll: no money, losing jobs, ill health. Things were getting worse, bit by bit, one joint at a time, but they only noticed when they were feeling the need for a fix; they had become addicts. Riley was shaken back to sobriety the night after Billy’s 23rd birthday party.

Coked up, Riley had mixed a drink for one of Billy’s lady friends. Grabbing whatever was on the counter that night, he got hold of a household cleaner and some Bacardi. Four hours later, after Billy’s friend pleaded for help, they ended up in the emergency room of Washoe Med explaining to police how the girl had come to nearly dying of ammonia poisoning. Arrested after a search of Billy’s vehicle (he had a bunch of pipes and 2 baggies of pot), Riley thought in his jail cell about what had just happened. Jail time he didn’t mind. Hurting himself he could live with. But knowing that someone else might have died because of him – that shook him. And that’s when he chose to stop. He had to find another way to heal the pain, another way to live.

In court, he took the judge’s advice and went into rehab. Billy chose to go back to their apartment and light up. After rehab, Riley moved out and got a job waiting tables, joined Narcotics Anonymous, but he never felt quite right.
After rehab and working his way up from low-end waitering to the classier eateries in town, things were going pretty well for Riley. The pain that drove his drug addiction remained sequestered in a dark part of his soul, but he had found somehow a way to lock it up and keep going. Then his dad got himself killed. Now, it didn’t seem like anything could make the pain go away; it had burst out of the container he kept it locked in and flooded his heart. He had hated his father for so long. Why couldn’t he let this go? Why? “No, I didn’t love that bastard. No way. No,” he muttered aloud as he walked, looking only at the ground – steering by instinct.

He nearly walked right into Billy Vendak’s door – the door to their old apartment. Riley had nearly forgotten how old the building was. Built in the 1920s, the single story structure looked as though no one had done maintenance on it since that by-gone era. He knocked on Billy’s door and he heard a voice from within yell, “It’s open.” He let himself in.

“Hey, bro! It’s been a while! Have a seat,” Billy said with genuine pleasure as he pointed to the old, ratty couch they had bought from a thrift store together.

Riley saw Billy and was stunned. “Hey, bro,” he said with half-hearted enthusiasm.

Billy looked like a cancer-patient, not the lithe, muscular, blonde kid he’d played soccer with. He was thin as a rail, his eyes were bloodshot, and his teeth looked as though the meth had begun to eat away at his enamel. Even though he was freshly showered, and relatively clean, the toll showed. Riley wondered how he had even remembered to shower or how he managed to pay rent in his condition. ‘Was I ever this bad?’ Riley wondered.

“So when I got your call, I was surprised. I didn’t think you partied anymore,” Billy said.

“Well, things change,” Riley replied.

“That they do, that they do,” Billy responded blithely. “Hash was it? That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yeah, if you can spare some,” Riley answered.

Billy went to his bedroom and came back with a small plastic bag of hash, placing it in Riley’s hand. “On me. For old time’s sake. What d’ya say we smoke it together? You could stay a while. We could catch up.”

“Not this one, Billy. This one’s for me and Paradise Island. Besides, I really can’t stay long. Gotta get going before it gets dark.” Riley replied. “And I’m gonna pay you. No freebies for me.” Riley stuffed seventy-five bucks into Billy’s hand. In the back of his mind, he knew that Billy needed it. He also knew it’d probably buy drugs, not food or rent or anything useful. All of the sudden, staring into the deadened eyes of his diminished, old friend, dulling the pain on Paradise Island didn’t look as good as it had that morning.

“Paradise Island? Something bad happen? I remember you used to go there when something bad happened.” Billy said, a flash of sober thought coming back into his eyes.

“No, Billy, it’s great news. My old man finally did us a favor and got himself killed,” Riley said with a mocking tone that hurt more than he expected.

“No, shit? Sorry, dude. You, o.k.?”

“I’m fine, Billy, really,” Riley lied.

“Well, have fun on the island then. Stop back by when you’re done. It’s good seein’ ya – it’s been so long,” Billy said.

“You too, Vendak. I’ll come back over with Connor. You’d like him. He’s a good guy.”

Riley had barely shut the door behind him as Billy sat in a bean-bag chair and began to smoke a joint. For the first time since Darrell McDermott plowed squarely into the front end of a Freightliner, Riley wasn’t thinking about him. His thoughts rested on Billy. He was jolted by how far Billy had fallen and how close to that he, himself had come. He wanted to help his friend. But he knew he couldn’t. That was the cliché that bore an all too familiar truth: only Billy could help himself out – if and when he was ready.

Riley continued on his walk, leaving the side street Billy lived on, back down to Keystone Avenue. Keystone was always a busy street, one of the busiest in Reno – until you reached Lakeside Drive. Once you got to Lakeside, you were in the vicinity of Paradise Pond and the oasis of Riley’s childhood.

Riley crossed from the hustle of traffic on Keystone, and followed the meandering path of Lakeside drive through the old cottage neighborhood that surrounded the park. About a block into the neighborhood, the left side of the road opened up onto the parkland. Trees filled the west side of the road as Riley traveled south. A block further and the trees yielded to the banks of Paradise Pond. The man-made lake was about the size of a large football stadium, and the small yacht-sized island at its center had an old stand of willows capping a swath of unkempt grass.

Riley walked to the north side of the lake where the dock for the canoes was. Ducks quacked melodically as he walked along the shore and occasionally an elderly fisherman would say, ‘hello.’ He arrived at the dock, rented his boat for a dollar and paddled out to Paradise Island under the grey, low sky.

It had been so long since he’d set foot on it. It felt so familiar. So comfortable. And comforting is precisely what he needed. The wet grass soaked his shoes and his feet began to chill. He found his favorite spot: a rock under the biggest willow tree right in the middle of the island. He sat down on the cold, damp rock, holding his knees in his arms and set his chin on them.

It was three in the afternoon when Riley arrived at the island. He sat and watched the ducks and the clouds roll by. ‘Just this once won’t hurt anybody,’ he thought to himself. ‘Only me. I need to forget. I need the pain to go away – if only for a little while. I won’t fall and end up like Billy.’ But as he reached into his pocket to grab his hash pipe, he let it go. ‘I made a promise. A fucking promise. I can’t betray Connor.’

* * * * *

Connor Trufeaux walked hurriedly back home. He left the University sooner than he’d planned; Riley had been quieter that morning than he had been in a week – too quiet.
He arrived to discover the door unlocked, the car parked at the curb, and Riley nowhere to be found. He dropped his backpack in the living room, grabbed his windbreaker, dashed out the door, and climbed into his dark-blue hatchback.

As he started the engine, Connor noticed Riley’s favorite watch lying in the passenger seat. It was an old silver analog with a silver wrist band and clasp. The face was deeply scratched, but it kept perfect time. It was the same watch he had been wearing on the day they first met; it was the watch Riley’s father had given him – the watch Riley never took off. Connor saw an inscription on the back he’d never seen. He picked it up and read it.
Connor sat holding Riley’s watch, the engine humming as he held the brake with his foot. He read the inscription again.

“I think I get it now, Riley.” he said to himself.

He put the watch in his windbreaker’s pocket, let off the brake and drove down the hill, away from their apartment.

* * * * *

Sitting under the biggest willow on Paradise Island, Riley wondered aloud “Why do I need this?” as he stared at the little baggie of hash. “What am I doing here?” And he began to think about Connor and when they first met.
That was a wonderful day and an even better night. He felt like he had found salvation, redemption, and a feeling that no drug could enhance or replace. He felt, deep down inside, that this guy was the right one for him. That they could make a real go of it. That they could be happy.

He never told Connor that. He was too afraid it would fall out from under him. Just like his parents’ marriage. Just like his father’s love. Just like everything that had ever mattered to him.

Their courtship was carefree and easy. They loved one another’s company and a year after beginning their journey together Connor came home one night and said, “Let’s move in together, Riley.”
Riley was scared to death for some reason. He pulled away from Connor’s embrace. “Why?”
“Why not? It’d be easier to see each other while I’m in school during the year. We could cut down our expenses by sharing the rent. Hell, we’re the same fucking size – we could even share t-shirts if we feel like it.” Connor said with a tinge of bewilderment.

“I’m not sure. Can I think about it?”

“What’s going on, Riley? I thought you’d be thrilled with the idea,” Connor said.

Riley looked past Connor and stared out the window. “Do you love me?”

“What?! What the fuck? Are you kidding with this bullshit? Do I love you?!” Connor blurted out in exasperation.

“Do you think I’d ask to move in together if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know? Do you?” Riley repeated.

Riley remembered it all going downhill from there. It was their first fight and it lasted for two days. The real issue at hand was never resolved, but they did agree to move in together. A week later, Connor mockingly sent an answer to Riley’s question by sending five cases of Hostess’ Snowballs (Riley’s favorite) to the his work with a poster-sized card affixed to the crate that said in big block letters, “Someone loves you, Riley. Guess who?” It was a bit of a joke, a bit of sarcasm, and a bit of getting even in the little ways couples do.

Periodically Riley would pull away from Connor. Riley wasn’t sure why he did this. And, to Connor’s credit, he gave Riley the space to be that way. Connor knew all about Riley’s drug past, abuse, and family life. So he figured Riley was working things out. But it scared him and he worried when it went on longer than a day or two, but he was always there and never said a word about it. Connor wondered if he should, and struggled to understand why Riley pulled away.

As Riley sat on the damp little island, the two most important men in his life kept going through his mind: Connor and his father. He remembered all the good times and bad times with both of them. And as he ran these images through his mind, he unconsciously stroked the stem of his hash pipe. The world around him had faded away and he was lost in memory.

At about four thirty that grey, spring afternoon, he looked up and saw Connor on the north bank by the boathouse and dock. He was in grey sweats and a blue windbreaker and tried renting a canoe. Connor had forgotten to bring his wallet and was unable to get a boat. He waived his arms up and down and called, “Riley!”
Riley sat on his island and said nothing.

“Riley!” Connor called again, then paced the shore a few times.

With a running start, Connor lept into the frigid waters and began to swim toward the island. Riley watched as his partner of four years crossed the distance. As he reached the island, Riley grabbed Connor’s jacket and helped him onto the grassy bank.

“How did you find me?” Riley asked with irritation in his voice.

Teeth chattering, Connor said, “I knew you’d come here if you ever felt b-b-bad enough. I remem-mem-ber the stories you told me when we’d w-watch TV. You didn’t think I w-w-was listening. I always listen-n-ed.”

“Did it ever cross your mind that I might wanna be left alone?” Riley demanded.
Connor, seeing Riley’s anger, carefully chose his words. “I th-thought you’d been alone w-w-with your th-thoughts enough this week. I’m worried about y-you, R-Riley.”

“Worried about me? What the fuck for?! You know damn good and well I can take care of myself, Connor!” Riley’s anger was building. Even Riley didn’t understand exactly why he was so angry at Connor.

“Is th-that why you’re h-here? T-t-to take care of yourself?” Connor asked.

Riley’s anger continued to build. “Is that supposed to mean something? What’s the real question you’re asking me, Connor? Huh?!” Riley was trying to push Connor away with full force.

Connor unzipped the right pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out Riley’s watch. He wasn’t sure why he brought it, didn’t know why he reached for it now. He just knew it was the only way he could reach Riley. He threw the watch at Riley’s feet and said nothing.

Riley bent down and picked up his watch. A searing anger began to well-up inside of him mixed with intense pain. Plaintively he asked, “Why are you doing this?! Why?”

A flash of images flooded into Riley’s mind. He could see his mother bringing a square birthday cake into their dining room, a smile on his face as she carefully set down the cake, making sure not to blow out any of the twelve candles. He could see his sister and his friends holding noisemakers, grins glued to their faces. He could see all the presents torn open and scattered among the bits of cake, plastic forks, and empty punch glasses littering the dining room and kitchen. And there in the corner, having watched his birthday spectacle, was Darrell. He could see his father, standing with a half-smile of pride, eyes relaxed, filled with love. He could see his father, holding a slim, small package wrapped in silver. He could hear his father’s voice as he opened it, saw his watch, and read the inscription. ‘Happy birthday, son.’ He could hear his own voice, thankful and happy, ‘Thanks, dad!’
Riley wept.

Connor walked over to him slowly. Riley warned him off, “Get away from me, Connor. Not a step-further.”

“ Let it out, Riley.” Connor grabbed Riley with both arms and held him tight. Riley fought against him and Connor held on with all his strength. “Let it out, Riley. Let it out,” he repeated.

“No, no.” Riley protested.
Like a baby falling fitfully into sleep, Riley’s struggle ceased in the arms of the man he loved but had never fully let in. He began to weep uncontrollably. Connor held him up and said to him, “Give me the watch.”

Riley reluctantly handed it to him, and Connor turned it over and put it in front of Riley’s face. “Read the inscription, Riley. Out loud. Read it.”

“I can’t.” Riley whimpered.

“Do it, Riley,” Connor gently commanded. “Read it out loud.”

Riley paused for a moment, lips pursed as if about to spit something out. He began to read, “To Riley, with much love. Dad.” He began to cry and pound his fist into Connor’s shoulder.

“He didn’t love me. He didn’t. How can you love someone and then throw them away like that? He didn’t love me. He never said he was sorry for what he did. I never got to say good-bye.” Riley sobbed. “I loved him though. I loved him. I hate myself for loving him. How can I love him? How? He hurt me, and I still loved him.”

Connor held him and let him cry until he could cry no more. They sat down on the big stone under the willow and held one another.

After some time in silence, Connor said, “He did love you, Riley. I don’t know why he did what he did to you. But you have to let it go.”

“How, Connor? How?” Riley asked.

“I don’t know, but you do. Otherwise you’ll never be able to move on. We’ll never be able to survive it.” Connor said.

“Why’d you come out here?” Riley asked.

After some silent thought, Connor said, “You were running away again. I wasn’t going to let you run away this time – because I finally get it. I know why you do. I know why you pull away. You can stop running, Riley. I’m never going to leave you. I’m not gonna let you down. I promise. Do you hear me, I promise?”

The tears returned to Riley’s cheeks as he gazed at Connor.

“Connor, I am glad that you came out here. But I think I really need some time alone. You can take the boat back if you want.”

“I’m already soaked, and frozen stiff. I’ll swim,” Connor replied. “Darrell did love you, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Riley replied.

Connor swam back to the north bank, took off most of his soaked clothes and sat in his car, heater running, and waited for Riley.

Riley sat on the island and held the watch in his hand, reading the inscription over and over. The love and torment that was his father was all wrapped up in that little watch. It had kept time through the best and worst of his life. For the last seven days he hadn’t put it on once. Slowly, he slipped it back on to his wrist.

“Love and family. Strange things, eh, Daddy?” Riley whispered to himself. “I guess I’ll never understand why you did what you did. But I do understand Connor. That’s a love I do get.”

For the first time in his life, Riley had some clarity. He felt like there was someone in the world who really did love him, who really could be counted on. For the first time, Riley felt strong. The boy made a punching bag for his father began to fade away. In his place stood a man. He was a man whose past was now firmly affixed there, not carried around each moment as a weight upon his heart. More importantly, Riley remembered the Darrell that loved him, along with the Darrell that hurt him.

Just as Riley was about to get into the canoe, he recalled the hash pipe and baggie. He reached into his sweat-shirt, grabbed them and held the pair in his palm, looking them over. He reached back and threw the baggie of hash as hard as he could toward the widest part of the lake. It made a tiny ‘ploop’ as they hit the surface and vanished.

He stared at the hash pipe for a moment longer, reached back to throw it, and stopped in mid pitch. With his fist clenched around the hash pipe, he put it back into his sweat-shirt pocket.

Riley pushed the little boat off the island and began to paddle back to the north bank. The air felt warm. His heart felt light. Riley’s thoughts dwelt on the intense love he felt for Connor. ‘This is the one I’ll marry,’ he thought.
On the north bank, Riley walked to the car where Connor was trying to dry out, the engine humming, heater blowing.

“Let’s get out of here,” Riley said to Connor.

“Let’s,” he replied.

As they drove home, Connor asked, “What was the thing you threw into the lake?”

“You saw that? Just a rock that was in my shoe,” Riley said.

“Liar,” Connor replied knowingly.

As Connor drove them home, Riley noticed that the clouds had broken. Passing through the busy streets, he closed his eyes, rested his head against the seat, and felt the sun warm his face as he held Connor’s hand. Without thinking, Riley reached with his free hand into his sweat-shirt pocket and gripped his hash-pipe loosely.