“I owe this art to a lot of people. The subjects in each piece, of course. My dog Chinchilla, or Eric, who was a father, a hero, and much more to me. Even strangers, like the old woman I saw lying in the grass at the park, staring up at the clouds and giggling like a little girl at what she saw there.” Tim paused, searching the crowd again. “So many people have inspired me, but only one gave me the courage to show what I had painted to other people. I hope he’s here somewhere tonight, and as I finish this clumsy speech, I’d like you all to clap for him, not for me. Thank you, most of all, to Benjamin Bentley.”
The audience burst into applause. Ben blushed, even though he was effectively incognito. Tim turned off the mic and gave a little bow, and people slowly began to disperse. Some remained behind to talk to the artist. Ben watched them with envy. How easily they could walk up to Tim without being overwhelmed with a decade’s worth of feelings.
Tim chatted politely, shook hands, listened, nodded, and all the other gestures a gracious host was supposed to make. Occasionally he would risk looking away from them to search the room again, looking slightly more disappointed with each failure. Nerves buzzing, Ben walked to the center of the room where he could easily be seen.
Tim nodded and said goodbye to an elderly gentleman, and tried again. This time he found Ben, and without the slightest reservation, ran to him and scooped him up into his arms.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Tim said, spinning Ben around a few times before setting him down again. “And even more glad that you’re late! I just gave the most embarrassing speech!”
“I thought it was really good,” Ben said, grinning when Tim turned bright red.
“I thought for a second that Allison had changed her mind.”
“Where is she anyway?” Ben asked.
“Running an errand for me,” Tim said enigmatically. “Hey, have you seen much of the paintings?”
“A little,” Ben replied, “but a tour from the artist himself would be very informative.”
Tim guided him around the gallery, usually zigzagging from room to room and moving in a counterintuitive fashion. One painting would remind him of another, causing him to drag Ben off in a completely different direction.
Seeing Tim so enthusiastic about his work was amazing. He wasn’t shy at all in front of the large number of people examining his art and listening in on his explanations. Occasionally a bystander would ask a question, which Tim would answer with gusto. This was a stark contrast to the self-depreciative artist who had once kept his paintings locked away in a garage.
“There’s one more piece I’d like to show you,” Tim said. “Something really special to me.”
Ben was led through the gallery to a room not intended for the public, and out a door to the parking lot. Spotting Tim’s car was easy enough. It was the newest, shiniest car there.
“Have any idea what sort of car this is?” Tim asked as he opened a door for Ben.
“Nope.”
“Care to know?”
“Not really.”
Tim chuckled. “It’s a Bentley. I figured it was the next best thing to the real deal.”
Ben tried to roll his eyes but ended up smiling instead.
As they began to drive, Ben started to feel concerned. As happy as he was to see Tim again and as irrefutable as his feelings for him were, Ben was still married, even if only to a ghost in his heart. Going home with Tim tonight didn’t feel right. It was all too soon, if there would ever be a right time at all. He was about to ask to be taken back to the gallery when the car turned into Ben’s subdivision. Could Tim really know where he lived? He kept silent, not giving any indication, but still Tim managed to pull into the right driveway.
“What are we doing here?” Ben asked.
“I wanted to show you a special painting of mine,” Tim said.
“You mean the one you gave me for my birthday,” Ben said, catching on. He couldn’t help but swoon a little at the romantic notion. “You can’t have it back you know,” he said in mock seriousness.
Tim merely smiled and stepped out of the car. “Lead the way,” he said.
Well, at least Tim didn’t have a key to his house already! Ben led them to the living room and turned on the light. Samson woke up from his favorite place on the couch and blinked at them. He was getting on in years and was a bit raggedy, but he still had a lot of spunk. Ben felt a momentary surge of guilt and looked over at Jace in his frame. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all.
“Jace--” Ben began.
“--was a good man,” Tim continued for him. “The best, in fact. I would never dishonor his memory and I will never, ever be able to replace him. No one could.”
Samson meowed, jumped off the couch, and went straight to Tim. He rubbed up against him affectionately before doing the same to Ben. He looked at the pair of them, purred, and hopped back on the couch to continue his nap.
Maybe it would be okay.
Ben turned to point out the painting, but it wasn’t there. Something new hung in its place. In a way, it was the very same piece of art that Tim had given him all those years ago, but realized in his new style. Instead of two hearts, there were now two hands clutching at each other. One was strong with thick fingers, the digits of the other thin and fair. Ben raised his own hand in amazement, recognizing the second as his own. Tim had captured its likeness perfectly.
The hands were bathed in radiant light, incorporating the exact colors of the old painting. This was a message perfected, an expression of what Tim felt for Ben, but this time unhindered by fear and free of uncertainty. Ben stared at it, feeling as though he had finally heard the words from Tim that he had so longed for.
Tim reached over and took Ben’s hand, positioning it in his own so that they matched the painting. “I love you, Benjamin Bentley,” he said. “I should have told you that twelve years ago. I’ve always loved you.”
All his doubts, every fear, even the smallest insecurity inside Ben gave way to the unstoppable, immutable, uncompromising force that is love.
“What now?” Ben asked.
“Now we start over.”
Tim leaned forward for a kiss, eyes dancing with hope and affection. Ben regarded him for a moment, seeing only the cocky teenager he had once dared to love, even though it had always been against the odds. Then Ben closed his eyes and leaned forward.
And so they began again.
__________
Also by Jay Bell, The Cat in the Cradle
Dueling with mad magicians, battling possessed beasts, and surviving endless hostile landscapes? Easy. Loving someone you weren't supposed to? That was hard.
A faceless killer terrorizes the Five Lands, one set on killing the ten Oligarchs, masters of elemental magic. It is from this murderer that Dylan, son of the Blue Oligarch, is forced to flee. Only Tyjinn, a brash and unpredictable bodyguard, stands between Dylan and certain death. Rather than play it safe, Tyjinn makes an unusual proposal; to hunt the hunter. This isn't the only unorthodox idea he puts forth as an attraction blooms between the two young men. In the midst of uncountable obstacles and unforgiving odds, can Dylan really afford to recognize his own feelings?
The Cat in the Cradle is Jay Bell's debut fantasy novel. The novel takes the reader on an exploration of the Five Lands and the different realms of the strange and fantastic Oligarchs. Each Oligarch possesses a different colored loka that enables them to wield a unique style of magic. Dylan, aided by his talking cat Kio, must prevent the lokas from falling into the hands of a power hungry killer before the Five Lands is brought to its knees. The print version of The Cat in the Cradle features 25 original illustrations, one for each chapter.