Page 22 of A Christmas Harbor

“And your sister-in-law thought you could relate to being a destroyer of worlds.”

“She was right. It’s…a lotto wield that sort of power, but someone has to do it. The alternative is world annihilation.”

So David truly believed, like Oppenheimer before him, that his mission had been one of peace. Whatever it took to get through the day.

Paul examined the family photo beside the painting, where a late thirties-ish man in a Marine uniform stood on a sunny shipyard dock with an Indian-American woman and two young children, all of them making wacky faces or fashioning bunny ears behind each other’s heads. The boy, maybe nine years old, had hair nearly as dark as his mom’s, while his older sister’s curls were the same autumn-beach color as David’s. She wore a Tampa Bay Rays 2008 American League Champions T-shirt.

“That’s Anushka, my brother, and their kids. I took that photo the day Shawn left on one of his deployments.” David’s voice had turned husky and leaden. “Anushka’s remarried, moved to Michigan. My parents and I don’t see my niece and nephew much these days.”

The same shelf was bookended by a pair of framed school portraits—the formal kind that high schools did during senior year—of what looked like the same girl and boy. There were no updated shots of the children’s parents.

“Sucks they split up,” Paul said. “Does your brother see his kids—”

“No.” David shut the door to cover the shelves. “I don’t want to talk anymore.” Then he kissed Paul, his mouth more fierce and desperate than it had been on the drawbridge.

Suddenly Paul didn’t want to talk anymore either. There’d be time later to learn about David through mere words.

They hit the wall so hard, the boat seemed to rock from the impact. David pushed up Paul’s sweater. “Take this off.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Paul peeled off his sweater, his bared arms tingling in the warm air from the space heater.

David tossed the sweater onto the sofa, then grasped the hem of Paul’s undershirt. “This too, okay?”

“Hell yeah.” He was up for everything or nothing—or anything in between.

David did the peeling-off this time, with Paul raising his arms to accommodate him. Then David pulled him close, clutching at his bare back and pressing his mouth to his neck, finding one ofthosespots that weakened Paul’s knees and turned his blood to lava.

“Fuck.” He dragged a hand through David’s hair, his fingers furrowing the short strands. There was just enough for him to grab, so he did, tugging him up to reunite their mouths. Their kiss tasted of fine bourbon with a hint of paprika.

A loud click came from the kitchenette. David paused, then said, “Did you still want coffee?”

“Maybe later.”

“Let me turn off the pot so it doesn’t scorch.”

As Paul watched him stride to the coffeemaker next to the stove, he spied a small framed white card on the side of the nearest kitchen cupboard. The light was too dim to see the face or read the name on the card, but the format was familiar. It was the same as the one he’d picked up several years ago, at the memorial service of a high-school classmate killed in action.

Paul’s skin chilled as if one of the hatches had been flung open. Shawn and Anushka hadn’t split up.

He opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but David was upon him again, pulling him close, devouring Paul like he could drown them both in this embrace.

David slid downward, leaving a trail of hot kisses to cool on Paul’s skin. Then he was kneeling, fingertips curling beneath Paul’s waistband.

“Wait.” Paul took one of his hands. “Can we slow down a little?”

“Sure,” he said in a clipped voice as he regarded the bulge in Paul’s sweatpants, level with his eyes. “Whatever you really want.”

Paul shifted to sit on the end of the couch, taking David’s other hand as well. “I know one thing Idon’twant. I don’t want to be an eraser, a blotter-outer of Christmas loneliness.”Blotter-outer? All articulacy had abandoned his tongue. “I don’t want to be your escape.”

David stared up at him, his brow crinkled in what looked like bewilderment. Paul glanced over his head at the memorial card. David started to turn that way, then stopped. He knew what was there.

His grip on Paul’s hands loosened, but he didn’t let go. His gaze dropped to the floor.

“I like you,” Paul said, wishing David would look at him again, to see that this was the opposite of a rejection. “I like you enough to not want this to be a one-night stand. So if that’s what you’re looking for, if all you want is momentary oblivion, I should probably go.”

David remained as still as stone.

Paul cleared his throat. “Though I’d appreciate a ride back to my place, whenever you’re sober enough to—”

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