Oh, how Ben hated to be right sometimes. He placed the painting back in the car and knelt next to Adrian, doing the only thing he could come up with to help; he reached around the shaking form and held him while he wept.
It was curious, that the man didn’t question him, didn’t call him a liar, just believed in what he said and took it as the truth it must’ve been.
Eventually, the sobs wrecking Adrian’s body subsided enough for Ben to coax him to his feet and walk him into the house. They trudged up the stairs and into a living room that was pretty much like Ben would’ve thought, based on what he knew about Adrian; traditional country with some whimsical details and bright spots of colors here and there.
Ben sat Adrian on the couch—also leather, just better quality than the one in the barn—and went to the kitchen he could see through a double doorway. He found bottled water in the fridge and took a couple, then saw a roll of paper towels on the counter and grabbed it too.
Adrian hadn’t moved from where he’d left him, sitting on the couch with his face in his large palms, shoulders heaving with the deep breaths he was trying to take but shuddering every now and then.
Ben sat next to him as gingerly as a man his size could, and opened one bottle, then held it out for Adrian. “Here.”
Adrian took the water with a shaky hand, murmuring, “Thanks” before guzzling down half of it in one go. Then he turned to look at Ben who tore a piece off the roll of paper towels. Giving Ben a smile that wobbled a little, Adrian accepted the offered piece and blew his nose, then used another one to wipe his face.
“His name was Gavin,” Adrian said after a while.
“I called him Sal,” Ben couldn’t help but comment.
“Oh?”
“Someone Adrian Loves.”
It seemed to take a moment for Adrian’s grief-stricken brain to work that out, but when he got it, he smiled at Ben. “I like that. And I did love him, once.”
“I think we need a story for the cops. But why isn’t anyone missing him?” Ben asked, having already wondered about that, but he’d felt bad to even think such thing, so he hadn’t asked Sal—Gavin—himself.
“He was a foster care kid, originally. Bad family first, no family now. He ended up traveling around the country when he was old enough. He was a survivor, someone very happy-go-lucky despite everything,” Adrian spoke as if remembering stories from Gavin’s past. He leaned back and drank more water, then continued. “I’m thirty-one now, and I first met him when I was twenty-six and he had just turned eighteen. He was traveling through Kentucky, fresh out of the foster system, and he hitchhiked to Lexington in my car one night. I was horrified a kid his age was doing that, and stupid of me, I brought him here. He tried to seduce me even that first night. Took him leaving and coming back twice in the next two years to succeed.” Adrian’s tone was proud, as if he’d given the kid hard time and not given in to the temptation.
“That’s him over there,” Adrian said, pointing at a framed picture on a shelf in the corner. “The one on the middle shelf.”
Ben got up and went to take a closer look. He smiled at the photo. Spike the dog being cuddled with a gangly, handsome young man. “He was good-looking.”
Adrian chuckled. “He knew that too.”
Ben moved back to the couch, and Adrian began to tell the rest of the story. “He traveled a lot. Did odd jobs here and there, hustled too, I’m sure, when he got desperate. But he kept stopping by after that first night in my bed. In the last three years, he spent more than six months total here. He always said he’d die on the road and I might never know.” That’s when Adrian sobered and looked at Ben almost beseechingly. ”I once told him to come haunt me so I’d know.”
“I’m not making this up, and this isn’t a joke,” Ben said slowly, calmly, as honestly as he could.
For a moment, Adrian stared into his eyes, before nodding. “Thank you.”
“I’m giving you the painting back. I don’t want him haunting my place when it’s you he’s supposed to be with.”
“We weren’t in love. At any point, really.” Adrian’s sudden statement made Ben turn his head to look at him. “I was the closest to having a family he ever had, and we had great times. He was playful and fun, and kept me sane sometimes when I hit what he called my ‘storm season’. Sort of a creative funk, if you will, that can depress me.”
Ben didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded and watched Adrian scratch his beard a bit as he glanced around the room as if he was searching for something.
“He wasn’t even my type, to be honest. A scrawny kid, quite flamboyant when he wasn’t in his self-protective mode. I’ve always liked older guys, who look like me, you know? Beary types.” Adrian shot a little glance at Ben, and Ben realized he was scoping the situation.
“I’m…,” he began, but then stopped. He peered at Adrian and corrected himself. “I was going to say I’m not gay, but I suppose I can’t hide from myself for much longer. I find men attractive, but the ‘obviously gay’ ones freak me out. A lot.” He was relieved to see Adrian grin at his air-quoted words instead of being offended.
“Good,” he just said, then turned back to Gavin’s picture and said, “I need to google the story you found. Figure out how to explain I might know who he is. He didn’t always carry an ID, and I know he stayed in pretty funky places.” Adrian’s nose wrinkled in a way that seemed alien on a man his size, but was adorable nonetheless. “It’s unlikely that they haven’t found who he was, but then they wouldn’t have known to notify me either, so…. He’s in the system for the foster care, but that’s in Alabama, not here.”
“If his prints aren’t in any database for adults, I doubt he would be recognized. Or he could’ve just dropped through the cracks anyway,” Ben agreed. “Do you have a laptop?”
Adrian pointed him to the computer in his little study and went to get the painting from Ben’s truck. Ben knew he was back, because all the lights in the house went suddenly on in a weird,whoosh.
“Jesus Christ!” Adrian startled.
“It’s just Gavin, he kept flickering the lights at my place too,” Ben called back.
