The Man I Love (The Fish Tales, #1)(115)

(Don’t tell her I said that.)

(Oh wait, you wouldn’t anyway. My bad.)

So what was I talking about? Oh yeah, Lancaster. Opie was there. He’s a superstar down in Boston now. He and Dais had a thing some years ago. (Don’t play the dumb blond—I know you know.) They still seemed awful sweet on each other at the ceremony but probably they were just caught up in the nostalgic moment. Whatever the case, Opie did grow up nice. But who didn’t see that coming?

(I don’t know, why AM I telling you this?)

David was there and he’s in sad shape, apparently in remission from some kind of kidney cancer. The treatment really did a number on him, lost all his hair and weighs less than Daisy. It was pretty sobering although he seems in good spirits and the prognosis looks promising. He spoke of a girlfriend, hinted they were going to tie the knot. Although if this chick is smart, she’ll keep herself a dishonest woman. Dave only wants what he can’t have, right?

(Jesus. My bad again.)

Meanwhile, back in Lancaster (Did I mention I was there?)… For shits and giggles, Opie, the girls and I went by the old apartments. By some weird coincidence we got there just as they were delivering, wait for it, a new stove to Jay Street. Remember the ancient fire hazard? They were JUST replacing it. So we had a good laugh and being the man I am (and the man I love, ha ha), I stepped in to help the guys lug the old one out. And lo and behold underneath it was your necklace. It must have come off you and



Erik dropped the letter. Heart pounding, he grabbed the envelope and went digging. With shaking hands he took out a small plastic bag.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. He broke the zippered seal and tipped the contents out. A jingle as the familiar heft of the chain coiled against his palm, the solid clink of the charms on top.

“Holy shit.” He closed it up in his hand, set his forehead against his fist. He breathed, laughing a little. Nearly crying. Relief settled on his shoulders like a cape, his whole being now reduced to one thought.

I got it back.

Still holding his lost treasure tight in his palm, he picked up the letter again.



It must have come off you and got kicked under there on (cough) the day of which we will not speak. (Yes the hole in the wall has been patched but you can see it if you know where to look.)

Like the One Ring waiting to be found, there it was. And here it is. I should deliver it personally but then you’d have to suck my cock and it would just get out of hand. Better sent through the mail and you can suck the letter carrier’s cock. Just remember to breathe through your nose.

But seriously folks, it’s a little grungy and you’ll see the clasp is broken and one of the charm thingies fell off, but any jeweler can fix it up for you. I hope you’re glad to see it again. Not that you’d treat its miraculous reappearance as anything SYMBOLIC or MEANINGFUL.

Pardon me while I beat you over the head with it.

As you can see, I’m writing not from Lancaster (I was there), but from the frozen tundra of my ancestral homeland. I won’t tell you what I’m up to because the intimate, personal details of my life are not for your ears. Not until you suck my cock, anyway.

Hope you’re taking good care of your sorry ass, which I have the unfortunate honor to still love. I’m kind of stupid that way.

Under strenuous protest, Lucky says hi. She refuses to send any love until you show your face and let her smack the shit out of it. I told her not to hold her breath. She was breathing through her nose at the time.

(Don’t tell her I said that.)

(Oh wait, you wouldn’t anyway. My bad.)

Yours truly in Christ,

William



P.S. Don’t f*cking call me.



Erik opened his fist. He tipped the necklace from one palm to the other. Then cradled it in both hands, still not believing it was here. After nine years, it was back in his hands.

It must have come off you and got kicked under there on the day of which we will not speak.

It could have been lost forever. If Will and the others had not been at the apartment, the day the stove was being moved… His gut twisted at the implication. Someone would have picked it up. Looked at it. Wondered at it. And kept it.

Shuddering at the near miss, he touched each charm, saying hello: the fish, the boat and the Saint Birgitta medal. There should have been four. The little pair of scissors Daisy got him for his birthday was missing.

If anything was lost, it might as well be the scissors. They weren’t part of the original. This, here in his hand, this was the returned treasure. His talisman. His legacy. He had it back. Closing his fingers around the warm pile of old gold, he felt complete and was humbly grateful.

“What was in it?” Melanie had come back into the kitchen.

He opened his palm and showed her. “Will found it.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my goodness.” She took the chain and stretched it out carefully. “Look, it’s just the way you described it.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Well, well,” she said. “Maybe you won’t be moody tonight after all. Can I see the letter?”

He slid it across the table and got up to get another beer. She sat down and read through it, with a few chuckles more polite than genuine.

“Well,” she said. “He’s certainly friendly, considering you cut him off without a backward look.”