Page 23 of Room 1003

“I’m not a monkey,” he slurred, nestling down into the pillow, his eyes closed. “Ben calls me a little man.”

Kit’s words sank into my mind and my heart, and I stood there watching my son sleep for a minute, contemplating what they meant to me. Some adults were awkward around kids, not knowing how they should act. Or sometimes they would speak down to them, but Ben never did. He’d been making him snacks and talking to him about his day, literally getting down to his level and rolling in the mud with him. While I had been busy trying to stop myself from falling apart, I hadn’t noticed how Kit and Ben had been forming a bond, and it was as effortless as breathing.

I clicked off the light and made my way downstairs. I met my dad in the living room and dropped my comics on the coffee table, sinking down into the couch with a weary sigh.

Dad nudged me with his elbow. “Hey, check this out.” He reached up and twisted the switch on the lamp, and it turned on. Then he turned it off and back on again. “Did you see? Want me to do it again?”

I laughed. “No, I think I got it, thanks.”

“I just want to make sure you realize the progress being made. Ben’s been working really hard.”

“I know,” I said softly. “And that’s not all. I’ve been doing some math with my bank account, and the numbers don’t add up. He hasn’t been cashing the checks I’ve given him.”

Dad quirked his lips, nodding. “Gee, I wonder why he would do that…” he said, leading me toward a conclusion I’d already considered.

There was something going on between me and Ben, like maybe we’d been forming a bond of our own, but I was scared to examine it too closely.

My dad leaned forward and picked up the sheets from the coffee table, sorting through them. “These are really good.” He flipped to a picture I’d drawn of Ben hauling me out of the hole through the floor, exaggerated for comedic effect, of course. “You should give him a cape, I think. Like a superhero, for the number of times he’s saved our asses.”

“Tell me about it,” I agreed, chuckling.

Once he’d planted the seed, there was no stopping it from blooming. I grabbed my sketchpad and began outlining Ben from memory, his broad chest and thick thighs, his wide shoulders, adding a hint of his chest hair at the neckline of his spandex suit. There wasn’t a single thing about him that was narrow or trim, and I loved every inch of him. When he put his hands on me, it made me feel so fragile, but I trusted him entirely not to hurt me.

Since you never saw Superman with messy hair, I drew Ben’s hair in a gelled swoop across his forehead. And then, as instructed, I added a cape, flapping behind him in an imaginary breeze.

Dad leaned over my shoulder, watching. “You have a skill, Son,” he said. “I wish more people could see what you can do.”

His praise made me feel warm. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t know that there’s much of a market for handyman superhero comics, though.”

“It’s not all you can draw,” he said simply.

It was true. I didn’t have much time to spend on my more serious artwork, but maybe it was time to consider making the time. Maybe I could sell a few pieces to make a little extra money, or even take commission for portraits.

I would draw Ben all day for free, though. That was all for me.

Ben’s superhero took shape before our very eyes. I added some shading by smudging the pencil with my pinkie finger. Ben’s tights lefttoo muchto the imagination, in my opinion, but with my father watching, I stopped myself from adding the outline of his cock. Dad and I were close, but we weren’tthatclose.

I spent some time adding details to his face. I loved this part, bringing a character to life; the curve of his lips in a coy smirk, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The hollow at the base of his neck that I yearned to taste.

Dad was quiet for a while, and when he finally spoke, it wasn’t to say anything about my artwork. It was much more personal. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for how he makes you feel.”

My hand paused mid-stroke, pencil hovering over the paper. “I don’t. I mean, he doesn’t make me feel—” Dad blew a raspberry, and I laughed. “Okay, he might make me feel something.”

“I know. I’d have to be blind not to see the longing looks you two give each other. You should hurry up and make a pass at him before he finishes the job and moves on.”

“Right…” I said slowly, spinning my wedding band around my ring finger. “I think Embry would’ve liked him. Don’t you?”

I looked over at my dad, and he smiled at me, offering me love and support in our shared grief. “Yeah, he would’ve.” He rubbed my back. “I’ve thought about moving on myself, you know.”

That surprised me, but I didn’t know why I hadn’t asked him about it sooner. “Oh yeah?” I asked coyly. “Anyone special in your life?”

He waved me off, rolling his eyes. “No, but your pops didn’t want me to grow old alone. And Embry wouldn’t have wanted that for you either.”

I nodded absently, still fingering the ring. I hadn’t taken it off since I saidI do. It was tied to my husband, but he couldn’t walk this path with me anymore.

“It’s time, Shane.”

The ring was a symbol of my first love, but taking it off didn’t mean it never happened. Nothing could erase those memories. Embry lived in my heart and always would. He lived in our son.

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