Page 32 of The Sound Of Us

I watch for Axel the whole time. He finally joins the line with two plates in his hand.

Either he is a picky eater or Frank is. By the time he gets to me, one plate is filled to the brim with everything and only enough space for one or two wings. The other contains only a piece of steak, some baked potato and a salad. I watch him as covertly as possible and am shocked to see that the full-to-the-brim plate isn’t for his huge husband, but for him.

A smile touches my lips. So interesting. He loves to eat. He sits down next to that Frank and they eat together. My smile slips when I see Frank lean over and kiss the side of Axel’s head. And my blood starts to boil when Axel smiles back. A happy couple. That’s what they look like. They’re both acting like Frank has never put his hands on Axel. I don’t understand it.

Axel comes back twice more for chicken wings. He gives me these quick glances. Uncomfortable, like he’s afraid to look at me. I try not to look at him too, so as to not make him even more uncomfortable. It's suddenly important to me not to make him uncomfortable. I don’t know why an effort is required at all. We’re just neighbors.

The wings are a hit because they’re disappearing faster than any of the other food items. Another covert glance in Axel’s direction. He’s finished with his wings and is getting up. But he’s not moving toward the trash can to dump his throwaway plate. I have only a few wings left and a couple of teenage boys are making their way to me faster than he is.

I need a plan. Grabbing a paper plate, I throw five wings onto it, cover it, and set it to the side.

Sure enough, the boys clean out the last of the wings and when Axel arrives behind them shortly afterward, he looks devastated. It’s so cute, I consider letting him suffer a little longer, thinking all the wings are finished.

He catches me watching him and, fuck me, his whole face blooms the sweetest shade of red. I smile at him. He doesn’t return the smile, but he doesn’t turn away either. For one second, everything around me disappears, and it’s just me and this strange man. Not a boy, I’ve since learned, but a man, despite his very youthful face.

I wonder if he feels this invisible pull, too. He looks as transfixed as I feel.

I reach over and pull out the plate of wings and extend my hand to him. He looks at the plate and then back up at me and back down at the plate. For a second, he looks so shocked I become convinced no one has ever dished him a plate of food before. He takes the plate, offers me a rushed thank you in sign and without looking at me, rushes off.

I follow him with my eyes. He returns to his husband, this time choosing to sit on a chair where his back is facing me. I can’t help thinking how disappointing it is that I can’t watch him eat.

And my next thought is how deflated I feel that I did something nice for him, but he won’t even look at me, yet he smiled so sweetly for his husband, who hurt him so badly not long ago.

When did I start becoming so petty and unreasonable? It’s irrational. Crazy, at best. I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from. They’re so inappropriate and out of line, I feel my face heat up with embarrassment.

Chapter 16

Eli

He comes to the lake almost every night. And every night, it’s with a book. I’ve noticed a pattern: he comes every Friday, usually at midnight. Some Saturdays and at least three times during the week. On Saturdays and weekdays, he’s out there not long after dark and he stays late into the night.

I keep the lights off so I can watch him. There’s no shame in the darkness.

I have at least one person come by every day to see how my renovations are going. But not him. Never him. My interest in him is odd. I’m not usually so… smitten. My relationships in the past were simply enjoyable. But there were no… feelings… like this.

This excitement to see him come down the path with his dog. The uncomfortable anger when I think about what happened to him on the side of the library a few weeks ago. Uncomfortable because I’ve never felt this kind of anger before. I’m taking what I saw so personally. And then… I just feel so sorry for him. But not just pity. More than that.

Sometimes, I imagine taking his face in my hands and looking into his eyes with the hope of finding the thing that draws me to him like this. I could tell you it’s his gray eyes. Or the humble way he carries himself. Or the way he looked at me in the library. Or the way he looks back to the house when I’m watching him in the dark. Sometimes his stares become so intense, it makes me want to bring him inside.

Despite these things, I can’t provide a decent enough explanation for this interest in Axel Davis. More so because I know to stay away from married men. That’s just not something I’ve ever had the inclination to do. I provide my conscience with several justifications: there’s no law against looking at a married man; I have no intention of becoming some kind of home wrecker. Although, I’d like to wreck that Frank Davis’ face for putting his hands on Axel.

Now, he sits on the boulder, his back rounded, his head buried in his book and his flash light accidentally illuminating his face every so often.

The sudden rapid thump in my chest is in response to my unconscious move toward the front door. And then I don’t stop moving. I can’t. I need to look at him up close.

I take the path that will let me come up on the side of him. When I get close, he’s set his book down and has his phone in front of his face.

His profile is… just fucking gorgeous. How is this man so gorgeous?

He looks up. Maybe my footsteps alerted him and his dog.

I manage a glance at his phone. He’s playing some kind of game? There’s a piano on his screen.

I lift my hand in greeting. Mine is just a small wave. His is the proper hello they were taught at the sign language lessons on the first day.

He gives me a small smile when I approve of his sign.

His dog is much more extroverted. She circles me excitedly and then rolls over on her back. I drop to my haunches to give her some love.

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