Page 1 of For the Rest of Forever

Chapter One

Greg

“I’m getting too oldfor this, you know.”

Greg Westin grinned as he set down the last print to be packed. “Well, if you’re getting too old, what does that make me? Ancient?” He twisted his head around and glanced over his shoulder, reaching up to shield his eyes from the sunlight streaming in through the open doors of the small cargo trailer. His husband, Allen, stopped just at the entrance of the trailer and set down the box he’d been carrying, grunting slightly as he straightened back up.

“I believe the correct terminology is ‘old geezer.’ Or at least, that’s what Tina’s daughter called you last time we visited.”

Greg laughed and ran his hand through his graying hair. “I thought ‘old geezers’ had to be at least sixty. I’ve still got four years to go.” He shook his head, still grinning, then motioned to the box Allen had set down. “That the last one?”

“Yeah,” Allen said. “Faye and Ron asked if we’d be staying for dinner, but I told them we were probably going to try to catch the late ferry since that storm’s supposed to be coming in tomorrow. I’d rather be home than trying to drive through it.”

With a nod, Greg turned and stepped over to the edge of the trailer, peeking out and up at the early evening sky—still clear and blue and sunny. It was beautiful, as late August days tended to be in Friday Harbor. But Allen was right—a huge storm was supposed to pass through tomorrow, and he’d much rather be snugly at home in North Bend, with everything safely unpacked into his studio, than worrying about the weather.

Greg hopped off the back of the trailer, and Allen leaned against him and closed his eyes. “Sorry it was such a long day,” Greg said quietly. He pressed a light kiss to Allen’s forehead. “And I’m sorry for the quick up and back. It’s much more fun when we get to spend a few days up here.”

The wrinkles around Allen’s eyes creased as he smiled. “Next time. And we should come for vacation, not work. Maybe I’ll even make you leave your camera at home.”

“Oooh, what a threat!” Greg laughed, wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist, and Allen lifted his head up, his gray-blue eyes now sparkling with silliness.

“Think about it. When’s the last time you’ve gone anywhere just to go? When’s the last timewe’vegone anywhere not for one of your work things?” Allen’s smile faded into a frown, and he shook his head. “I didn’t mean for that to come out how it did. I meant it as a joke.”

Greg had known that, but he still had to swallow back his guilt. It was true. They traveled for him to photograph places. They traveled together, that is, or he traveled alone, since Allen worked five or sometimes six days a week at the North Bend Library. In fact, the last time they’d gone on a vacation that wasn’t for hiswork or for a wedding or funeral had been over five years ago, when they’d celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary.

He loved photography, which was good, because he’d made a very successful career out of it, but it was much too easy to get caught up in trying to capture just the right view at just the right moment or trying to find the most impressive landscape in the most difficult-to-reach location, nearly always somewhere off the beaten path. It could sometimes make him forget everything else, become a bit obsessed, neglect his other obligations. Including his husband.

Allen had always been infinitely supportive, of course. In the thirty-three years that they’d known each other, Allen had never once complained about the extra time Greg always packed into their trips so he could explore and find the next great place he wanted to photograph. Just like he hadn’t complained when Greg had renovated their garage into his photography studio, and when Greg had needed to spend large amounts of their money on new equipment—cameras, lenses, printers. Allen had even helped design and build the modifications to their cargo trailer to make packing and unpacking for trade and art shows easier. And he had accompanied Greg every time, to every show.

It wasn’t a one-way street. Greg had been equally as supportive of Allen’s passions and career as well. They wouldn’t have made it this long and still have the incredible relationship they did otherwise. But sometimes—like now—Greg was reminded of just how much his career had taken over their lives.

Greg vowed silently that he’d make it up to Allen as soon as possible and worked a careful smile onto his face. Then he bent down to press a light kiss to his husband’s lips.

“You’re right. We should come up herejustfor a vacation. Maybe later in the year?” When Allen nodded a quiet agreement,Greg looked back into the trailer briefly. Everything was in its place but not secured yet, so he still had some work to do.

“Why don’t I finish packing, and you go see if Darryl’s got any more of those boxes of strawberries left?” he suggested. “Then we can get going and hopefully catch that ferry. It leaves at seven thirty, right?”

With a nod, Allen stepped away from Greg, scratching his beard. “Seven thirty, yeah,” he said. He glanced back toward where the other booths from the Friday Harbor Farmers’ Market were still being packed up and then grinned. “Darryl’s still here, good. Those strawberries—so sweet this year!”

Greg bent over and picked up the box Allen had set down a few minutes ago, and when he straightened back up, Allen was watching him with a gentle expression. “What is it, darling?”

But Allen just shook his head, smiled softly, and leaned in to kiss Greg again. “Nothing at all. You’re just looking quite handsome in your old age,” Allen teased. He planted another kiss on Greg’s lips and then turned and headed off toward Darryl’s red pickup truck, which was parked on the other side of the small courtyard where their booth had been.

Laughing to himself, Greg hefted the box into the trailer, hopped back in, and continued packing up.

***

The drive to thewharf was short, and Greg listened as Allen talked quietly about his final preparations for the event he was hosting at the library on Sunday—the last in a series of open-library summer literacy events where children from North Bend and other surrounding communities were invited to come share and exchangebooks, read aloud to the group, and participate in games and activities.

Thankfully, they managed a spot on the next ferry back to Anacortes, and about an hour and a half later, Greg pulled their small SUV out onto the highway, headed east toward I-5. The roads were clear, and all the light from the day had just finished disappearing below the horizon.

He glanced over at his passenger and grinned. Allen’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the headrest, and his mouth parted slightly in his sleep. Greg had to resist the urge to reach over and push Allen’s hair back off his forehead—those few strands that always wanted to fall down almost over his eyes. But he didn’t want to wake his husband, and so he kept both hands on the steering wheel and focused his attention on the road ahead again.

The drive wasn’t terribly long, and he pulled up in front of their house just after ten thirty. The slight jostle of the SUV as he stopped woke up Allen, who groaned and stretched.

“Home already? Aw, shoot, I slept the whole way? You should have woken me up.”

Greg just laughed lightly. “You looked like you needed the rest,” he said, and Allen grimaced but then shrugged.

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