So many people love him. And it’s because he returns that love. He shines with it.
I’m lucky he turned that light on me for even a minute.
It’s early evening by the time I arrive to the address, and I chuckle to myself as I roll to a stop. It really is in the middle of nowhere, like my grandpa complained about. But it’s a gorgeous area, surrounded by miles and miles of old forests. Peaceful.
An old country house sits at the edge of the forest and a meadow. There’s a big wooden fence around a spacious yard, like a fortress, and a cobblestone path that leads to the front door.
And everywhere, I spot flowering plants, from the shrubs and trees to the vines up the side of the house. Plants spill over the fence, line the drive, and frame the windows.
Hell. Nicholas would love this place. I even recognize a few flowers, I realize. The easy ones, the roses and sunflowers and stuff. But I wouldn’t have known a couple of months ago.
I get out of the truck. I don’t know what in the hell I think I’m doing. Allen might not even live here anymore. But I’m desperate enough that I’ll look just about anywhere for an answer, and something brought me here.
After I knock sharply on the door, an old voice calls out from inside.
“Hold your horses, will you!”
I stick my hands in my pockets, and eventually, the door swings open. I see a short old man with pale skin, thick glasses, and tufts of gray hair sticking out the side of his head. In a tie-dye T-shirt and blue sweatpants, he peers up at me.
“Yes?”
I swallow. “Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for someone named Allen.”
He pushes his glasses up, takes me in one more time, and knocks them back down. “I’m Allen. And if you aren’t Randy’s grandson, then I’ll eat my shoe.” He gestures quickly. “Come in!”
I blink, surprised.
Allen’s house is like being inside a hobbit den, coziness clearly being the top priority. The old oak beams are exposed across the ceiling, and there seem to be knitted blankets draping every couch and comfy old armchair.
“I’m Clay,” I tell him as I follow through the maze of the house. “You knew about me?”
“Clay! I can’t say I ever expected to meet you. But after Randy passed, you crossed my mind.”
“He left me the house.”
Allen stops and turns to me in the middle of the kitchen. “I know. I might have left Buffalo, but I didn’t sever everyconnection I have to the gossip mill. I’m not a puritan.” He wiggles his nose. “Tea?”
I clear my throat. “Sure. Thanks.”
As Allen goes to making the tea, I try to take everything in. He’s not at all what I imagined from my grandpa’s journals. I imagined some virile sex god, but Allen is gentle and fussy, kind of dorky, too.
He gestures to the counter. “Sit,” he says. “And what brings you to our doorstep?”
I sit down. “I’m not sure. I’m about to leave Buffalo. I’m selling the building to this architect, Jacob,” I venture, figuring he might know.
Allen turns from the tea kettle. “Jacob’s a kind man,” he says simply. “I’m glad the building is staying in good hands. You were saying?”
Swallowing, I decide to lay it all out there. “I’ve been reading a journal my grandpa kept. It was from when he broke up with you.”
Allen hums. “Difficult times.”
“Yeah. Sounds like it. You two weren’t in touch after that?”
Probably easier that way. If I can’t have Nicholas, I don’t know how I could be his friend, watch him with other guys. It would kill me.
“We had a few moments. Phone calls, mainly. Lunch once when we were both in Toronto at the same time. But mostly, our lives went in different directions.”
I nod. “Right. Life moves on.”
