Chapter Sixteen, Part III

Still Valid

His uniform hangs from the wardrobe door. His suitcase remains open on the luggage stand. His shoes are lined up beneath the desk, one beside the other.

Adrian closes the door behind him.

For the first time in several days, there is no sound of Jack moving in another room. No low voice from the kitchen. No hand reaching for him without warning.

Adrian places his bag on the floor.

He remains standing there in Jack’s shirt.

The fabric still carries the faint smell of him. Soap, skin and something warmer beneath it that belongs only to Jack.

Adrian closes his eyes and presses the collar briefly against his face.

Then he takes the shirt off.

The room feels colder without it.

In the bathroom mirror, he studies the marks the weekend has left behind. A faint bruise near his shoulder. Redness along the side of his neck. The small, unmistakable evidence of hands and mouths.

He touches one of the marks.

For a moment, he feels Jack’s weight again. His breath. The rough sound of his voice saying Adrian’s name.

Adrian turns on the shower.

By the time he dresses, the room has returned to order.

White shirt. Dark trousers. Belt. Watch.

His uniform jacket lies across the bed.

Adrian picks up Jack’s shirt and folds it carefully. He does not put it with the dirty clothes but places it at the top of his carry-on, separate from everything else.

His phone shows three messages from work and one from Thomas.

You alive?

Adrian types a reply.

Yes. Flying home tonight.

The answer arrives almost immediately.

And?

Adrian looks at the screen.

Then he writes:

And I will tell you when I get back.

Thomas responds with a single message.

That serious?

Adrian does not answer.

***

Jack drives away from the hotel with both hands on the wheel.

The passenger seat looks wrong.

Adrian’s coffee cup is still in the holder. His sunglasses lie near the gearshift, forgotten in the rush of arrival.

Jack considers turning around.

Not because of the sunglasses.

The hotel is still visible in the mirror when his phone begins to ring through the truck’s speakers.

Sam’s name appears on the display.

Jack answers.

“Hey.”

There is a pause.

“You sound strange,” Sam says.

“Good to hear from you too.”

“Where are you?”

“Driving.”

“From where?”

“San Francisco.”

Another pause.

“You dropped him off.”

Jack glances towards the empty passenger seat.

“Yeah.”

“How was Cambria?”

“Good.”

“Just good?”

Jack drives through the next intersection.

“No,” he says. “Not just good.”

Sam is quiet.

“What happened?” she asks.

“A lot.”

“That is not information.”

“It’s all you’re getting while I’m driving.”

“Is he all right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”

Jack looks at the road ahead.

He thinks of Adrian waking beneath him. Adrian’s mouth. Adrian in his shirt. Adrian standing outside the hotel and refusing to say goodbye.

“Yeah,” he says.

Then, because it is Sam, he adds, “I think this one matters.”

The silence on the other end changes.

“Oh,” she says.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said 'oh.'”

“It seemed appropriate.”

Sam waits a moment before asking, “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“That sounds healthy.”

“I mean I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“Also unexpected.”

“He’s going to try to get another Los Angeles trip.”

“And then?”

“And then I see him.”

Sam’s voice softens.

“That simple?”

“No.”

Jack thinks of rosters, oceans, airport parking and all the things neither of them can control.

“But that’s the next thing.”

“All right.”

Jack drives another mile.

Then he says, “Do you know where my passport is?”

Sam does not answer.

Jack checks the display to make sure the call has not disconnected.

“Sam?”

“I’m deciding whether to ask the obvious question.”

“I don’t need it right now.”

“That was the obvious question.”

“I just want to know where it is.”

“Why?”

“In case of.”

“In case of what?”

“I don’t know.”

Sam laughs quietly.

“You really do have it bad.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“It’s probably in the drawer in your office.”

“Which drawer?”

“The one with the tax papers you refuse to organise.”

“That narrows it down to four.”

“Try the bottom one.”

Jack exhales.

“Thanks.”

“Jack?”

“What?”

“I’m glad.”

He looks at the empty passenger seat again.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

When Jack reaches home, the house seems unchanged.

The workshop is still locked. Mail sits inside the door. The kitchen clock is four minutes slow, as it has been for months.

Jack carries his bag inside and places Adrian’s sunglasses on the kitchen table.

Then he goes into the small room he calls an office and opens the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.

The passport is beneath a folder of insurance documents.

Jack takes it to the kitchen and opens it beside Adrian’s sunglasses.

The photograph is terrible.

The expiry date is not.

Jack takes a picture with his phone.

***

Several hours into the flight, the cabin has settled for the night.

Adrian is standing in the forward galley when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He takes it out. A message from Jack appears at the top of the screen.

A photograph fills the screen.

Jack’s passport lies open on the kitchen table. Adrian’s sunglasses are visible beside it.

Beneath the picture is a message.

Found it.

A second message appears.

Still valid.

Adrian looks at the photograph for several seconds.

Then he types:

Good to know.

Jack answers:

In case of.

Adrian smiles.

He writes:

I’ll bid for the LAX trips when the roster opens.

The reply comes before he has put the phone away.

Send me the dates.

Adrian types:

I may not get them.

Three dots appear immediately.

Send them anyway.

Adrian slips the phone into his pocket and looks through the small window in the forward door.

Far below, the lights of the continent move slowly beneath them.

The distance between them has already begun.

For the first time, it feels as though it has an end.