Page 24 of Garr

Hidden in the hedges, Miller, Jean, and Gaspar watched their parents dancing down the live oak lane and chuckled.

“If that doesn’t tell you all you need to know, I don’t know what will,” said Jean. Gaspar laughed, shaking his head.

“It definitely let’s a man know how lucky he is.”

Grip wasn’t sure why Matthew asked him to do this, but he just couldn’t refuse the man. He’d given them all a home, a community in which to thrive. Although he was technically dead, he was still a part of that community.

When Miguel and Doug began their friendship years ago, Grip was pleased for his ex-partner. He wanted him to be happy, not lonely. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as their relationship grew. When Doug seemed happier than he’d seen him in his entire life, Grip nearly died all over again. It was painful yet beautiful at the same time.

“It was your own damn fault,” he muttered to himself.

And it was. He knew that. He and Doug had been seeing one another secretly for years. He knew he could trust his teammates, and he should have. He should have trusted them with the most precious, perfect thing in his life. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome of his life. He probably still would have died protecting Montana, but at least his teammates wouldn’t have been shocked when Doug showed up.

Looking at the small house across the street, he noticed a man sitting on the steps of the porch. His hands were on the sides of his head, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked as though he might be crying.

Grip slowly moved across the street, ignoring any traffic coming toward him. After all, it didn’t matter if a car hit him. He was already dead. He stood a few feet from the man, admiring his firm build and dark brown hair.

“Why is he crying?” whispered Grip.

“Because I’m sad,” said the man, looking up at Grip.

“Y-you heard me?”

“Of course, I heard you. The dead can hear one another,” said the man.

“You’re dead.” Grip shoved his hand through his own dark hair, shaking his head. “You old dog, Matthew.”

“My name isn’t Matthew, but I know a Matthew. I’m Jonathon.”

“Jonathon,” nodded Grip. He stepped forward, reaching out his hand. Sure enough, the man was able to shake his hand, and Grip could only chuckle to himself. “My name is Grip. Real name is John Wayne Porter, but my friends call me, called me, Grip.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. Grip took a seat beside him on the steps.

“Is everything okay?”

“No. Last Christmas, I tried to save my sister and her husband, and I just couldn’t. The flames were so hot, so big. I saved the kids, but they’re all alone now.”

“They’re not alone. They have you,” said Grip. “Can they see you?”

“Yes. That nice man I told you about, Matthew, he somehow was able to allow me to be seen. He’s helped us so much. He paid for this cottage. I’m able to still work on my computer and provide work virtually for clients, which gives the children money for food and clothing. He even has someone from the little clinic down the road come and check on them.”

“Did anyone from the local authorities come around?” asked Grip, worried that child protective services might try to take the children into custody.

“No. Matthew was able to give my oldest nephew a job, showing that he could support the children. I just feel so terrible not being the uncle they need.”

“But you are the uncle they need,” said Grip. “You’re here, seeing them, speaking to them every day. That’s what they need.”

“No, they need their parents, not their uncle.” Grip nodded at him, quiet for a long moment. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Children did need their parents, but sometimes, that just wasn’t possible.

“You know, when I was alive, I was part of an elite security agency. We traveled the world protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. A lot of our cases were around children that had been trafficked, abused, all kinds of shit that makes my blood boil.”

“That’s awful,” frowned Jonathon.

“It is. It still happens. Sometimes, parents aren’t what a child needs. They need an uncle, a brother, an aunt, or just someone who gives a damn. I don’t know why things happen the way they do. I don’t know why I died protecting someone important to my family, but I did. I died, and my – my boyfriend of over a decade did not. I’ve had to watch him move on. Maybe that was my penance.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” said Jonathon, shaking his head. “You aren’t being punished. I’ve had some long talks with Matthew. I think this is how things are supposed to be.”

They were quiet for a while, just watching as a few cars passed them by, the stars out on this brisk night.

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