A Purple Winter Read online

  Nick eyed me for a moment, his blue eyes scrutinizing my face. “Well, shit. I can’t read and you can’t speak. Who’s gonna help me figure out the recipe I brought? I’ve never tried this soup before. Thought you were gonna read the instructions out for me. I mean—I can do it, but my dyslexia, it’s gonna take me all damn night.”

  I rolled my eyes. I knew he was playing me.

  “Ah, come on,” he said, laughing a little and nudging my shoulder with a knuckle. “Do it for me, O’Reilly.” He turned serious, slowly gliding his fingertips along my bottom lip. “Will you do this for me?”

  For him, yes, I could try again. I blew out a sharp breath and picked up the bloody book. I squared my shoulders. “An air—air—p—plane—”

  “Shh, easy.” Nick leaned in and kissed my lips. “Easy. Nice and slow.”

  I sighed. This was hopeless.

  “It’s just you and me here. Nobody else.” Nick pressed his mouth to my ear. “And your voice makes me horny. So speak, O’Reilly.”

  Emboldened, I smiled a little and stared at the text again. “An airp—plane flies against the—the wind from A t—to B in—in eight hours.” I licked my lips, feeling calmer. Stronger. “The sa—a—ame airplane re—returns from B to A, in—in the same direction as the wind, in seve—seven hours.” My heart was picking up speed. Was I reading this out loud? “Find the ratio of the speed of the airplane,” I said, all in one breath. “In still air, to the—the speed of the wind.”

  “Oh, yes!” Nick shouted, shoving me. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about!”

  I held back a victorious grin, tossing the book back on the table.

  “You have no idea what’s inside you,” Nick said, more softly, pushing a finger into my chest. “No idea.”

  I pressed a fingertip to his forehead. “And you—ou d—don’t know how smart you are.”

  Nick looked away, shrugging.

  “No…don’t.” This time I was the one to make him look at me.

  “You really think I’m smart?” he asked, looking more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him look.

  I nodded.

  “You think maybe…there’s more to us than meets the eye?”

  I nodded again.

  Nick laughed. “You wanna help me make this soup?”

  “I can’t co—ook.”

  “I’ll teach you.” He walked away to the counter. “It’s a basic Norwegian soup that my grandmother used to make back in the old country. She sent me the recipe. Her English is pretty good.” He tossed a bag of dried fruits into the air and caught it. “It’s a sot suppe. It’s like, uh, sweet. I think maybe Chef Helen wouldn’t mind trying it out for a week or something.”

  I joined him by the counter and looked down at the ingredients he’d brought. He could teach me so many things, but what could I ever teach him?

  “So, basically we’re gonna chop a lot of fruit and cook some tapioca and yeah—get things going here.” Nick was already ripping bags open. “Show me where the pots and pans are.”

  It was easy following his orders. He gave clear directions, was very methodical and picky about cuts and temperatures, but he was never impatient with me. I helped him with what he called the mise en place, and he congratulated me on my precision and cleanliness. After everything was prepped, I mostly watched him do the rest. It was a fairly elaborate soup with various steps, and at one time, we had the four burners going because Nick decided to add ingredients at every turn.

  After an hour, the soup was simmering gently and because Nick was adamant about cleaning his work station and dishes as he went along, the kitchen was almost spotless when we were done.

  “All right,” he said, checking the pot and stirring the soup a little. “We’ll let this simmer and give it a try in about thirty minutes.” He seemed satisfied.

  Myself, I was wide awake and ready for more cooking. I’d loved every moment of our evening. We hadn’t said much, but we’d worked so well together. I could definitely see us running a business as partners.

  “You know what’s tough in the kitchen?” Nick walked over to the table and plopped down into a chair, stretching his long legs and widening his thighs. The bulge in his blue jeans caught my attention. “Finding someone who doesn’t get in your way. Someone who knows when you’re going to the sink or when you’re in your zone, slicing and dicing. Most people don’t get the dance.” He raised his face and narrowed his eyes. “But you do. You glide, O’Reilly. I rarely enjoy sharing my space. But…it was different with you.”

  There was the sound of a door being open and Nick and I looked at each with wide eyes.

  Seconds later, my mother stood in the kitchen doorway. “Oh—” She drew back, tightening her robe around her neck, “—didn’t know you had company, Derek.”

  “Uh, hello, Mrs. O’Reilly.” Nick sat up straight. “How are you, ma’am?”

  “Are you cooking in here?” She peeked into the kitchen, but stayed in the door. “You have school tomorrow. I thought you were doing homework.”

  “I—I was—”

  “Well, apparently not.” She quickly looked at Nick, then back at me.

  “I’m trying out a new recipe, ma’am, and the soup is almost ready.” Nick rose and tucked his hair behind an ear. “My mom was cutting hair tonight and so, O’Reilly—I mean—Derek—was nice enough to let me borrow your kitchen.”

  “I see…”

  Couldn’t she leave us alone? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Couldn’t she just go back to her room and let me have this precious moment with Nick?

  “I guess I’m gonna get going,” Nick said, uneasily. He went to check on the soup. “I’ll just finish this—”

  “No, stay.” I looked over at him. “It’s f—fine.”

  In the doorway, my mother seemed to flinch, but she didn’t argue. “Don’t stay up too late and make sure the burners are all off before he leaves.”

  He? He had a name.

  Then she was off to her bedroom again. Embarrassed, I went to the table and brusquely shut my math book closed.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nick said, gesturing for me to come closer. “I want you to taste this soup.”

  I was still fuming, years of resentment threatening to come gushing out. Who did she think she was, anyway? She judged Nick, but she didn’t even know him. She could have asked about the soup. Or even offered to taste it. She hadn’t even inquired about the reasons why he was making the bloody soup. He was such a magnificent person and she couldn’t see it. Could she see me, her own son? Or was I simply some teenager disturbing her precious grief?

  “Hey…” I glanced up to see Nick watching me with ardent eyes. He slowly walked up to me. “She pisses you off, doesn’t she?”

  I shrugged, trying desperately to push the hurt down. Couldn’t ruin this wonderful evening with my family life. Or absence of it.

  “Do you ever talk to your old man about it?” Nick stood real close.

  I hadn’t seen my father in months. Sometimes it felt like years. Then when he was home, we didn’t connect much. I was an intuitive dreamer, while he was a practical one. Everything I did or read, was wasted time to him. He wanted to see me take on the world by force. But all I wanted was to solve its mystery or dream it away. He’d call me a philosopher. And he’d always meant it as an insult. I didn’t fit in with my own family. Wasn’t cherished by my own flesh and blood. What were the odds I’d actually succeed in life?

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now,” Nick said, “but I don’t like the look in your eye.”

  I didn’t have what it took to fight the fight. To survive. All I craved, yearned for, was to be someone’s most beloved. To belong to someone.

  “Man, say something.” Nick took hold of my face. “Why do you look so sad?”

  I tried breaking away from him, because his soft tone and insight were bringing tears to my eyes. I wouldn’t, couldn’t cry.

  Nick stopped me from leaving, pulling me back and into his a
rms. “No, no, don’t run from me, O’Reilly. Don’t.”

  I jerked back, the emotion choking me. “Lea—eave me alone,” I snapped. He had so much and I had nothing. And I wanted him. Needed him. But he could turn his life on a dime and leave me. Could just leave me. My heart would be wrenched out of my chest. I’d never forgive or forget him. Everybody always left. No one ever stayed. What about me? Wasn’t I worth anything to anyone?

  Nick moved away. “Look, I didn’t mean to be so pushy. I get like that.” He went to the soup and turned the burner off. “I just—I thought maybe you needed to talk.” He tossed the wooden spoon into the sink.

  Panicked, I took a step to him. “No, I’m s—sorry.”

  Nick turned and gave me a long and deep look. “Can we taste this soup or what?”

  I nodded, smiling a little. I walked over to him and opened a cupboard, fetching two bowls. Inside my soul, the hurricane had passed. I locked the debris away, out of sight.

  Nick wrapped his arms around me, stuffing his nose in my shoulder. “You’re intense, you know that?” He held me tight, his chest pressed up against my back. “You make me lose my cool.”

  I squirmed and turned around to face him.

  Nick smiled. “What?”

  “Ki—iss me.”

  Without a word, he grabbed my thighs, picked me right off the floor, and sat me on the counter behind us. He was much stronger than I thought, and a little shocked, I held my breath, waiting for his next move. Nick pinned my arms up against the cupboard, pushing himself between my thighs. He leaned in and slowly ran the tip of his tongue up my throat and chin, pausing over my mouth, but not touching it. Breathless, I closed my legs around him, locking him in. The taste of his tongue made my head swim, and Nick grunted, kissing me deeper. I relaxed, opening my thighs and mouth for him, ready to let him do as he willed with me, but Nick slowed down, releasing my arms and shaking his head. His eyes were still full of sex. “What it is about us?”

  I ran a hand through my hair and winked at him.

  “Oh, don’t you dare wink or you’ll kill me.”

  I laughed, winking again.

  Nick put his hand on my thigh, the heat of his skin shooting straight through my pants. “Now give me a few words and this night will be perfect.”

  I tossed my chin at the pot on the stove. “Let’s taste this s—soup.”

  “That it? That’s all I get?”

  I swung my foot and kicked him gently.

  Chapter 8

  “You gotta see him, then you’ll understand.” In the long warehouse hallway, Nick looked over his shoulder at me. “You’ll see.”

  When I’d come out of school this afternoon, I’d found him leaning up against his car door in the school’s parking lot, looking both gorgeous and dangerous. I’d nearly run to him, but had managed to keep myself together. I’d climbed into his car and hadn’t even asked where he was taking me. I’d hoped it was at the other end of the world, so we could drive forever.

  “Follow me.” Now, Nick led the way down the hall. We we’re in a big building near the canal, some kind of warehouse or factory. I peeked into open doors down the long corridors that were soaked in winter’s light. There were musicians here. I could hear someone playing a cello.

  Nick stopped and put a finger up to his lips. He was in his big swede coat and his hair shone like white gold in the dusty air. “Stand right here.”

  The thick wooden door was closed, but there was a small window in it, so I stood where Nick told me and looked into the large room. The wall in the back of the room was a mirror, and in it, I could see David. David dancing.

  “His dad won’t let him, but he comes here anyway.” Nick was whispering into my ear, standing close behind me. “He’s got a fire in him. Do you see it?”

  David was jumping across the room, his long legs opening and closing in mid-air, and then he was spiraling, turning and spinning on the tips of his black ballet shoes. He was wearing tight black shorts and a white tank top, and his body was like a tightrope being pulled between heaven and earth. I watched his face—his furious expression—and saw that he was like Nick. They were made of the same dark materials.

  “He dances every day. Sometimes he walks here. Nothing stops him.” There was admiration and envy in Nick’s voice. “Do you know there isn’t much excellence left in the world?”

  Yes, I knew. And I also understood how much Nick craved excellence.

  “But David is naive, O’Reilly. The irony is, that it’s that body of his, that very body that could take him to the top, he abuses the most. He’ll give it up on a silver platter to any man who gives him an iota of affection.” Nick pressed his mouth to my ear. “He isn’t strong the way you are. Where you bend, David breaks.”

  Feeling Nick at my back, I stared at David, at the desperation in his movements. David’s black eyes were like hot coals in his pale face. Did Nick warm himself to his fire?

  “I don’t want you to hate him,” Nick said, wrapping his arms around me. “And there’s no need for you to be jealous.”

  David was walking to the door. I barely had time to move out of the way before he stepped out. He was still catching his breath and there was a film of sweat on his chest. He made a little moue. “Will you give me a ride, you blond beast?” He slung his long black coat over his magnificent body and gave me a long appraising look. “Well, evidently I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.” He smirked. “Thank God you’re easy on the eye.”

  Nick reached over me to ruffle David’s sweaty hair. “Let’s take O’Reilly to our spot.”

  David hesitated and finally smiled. He was beautiful when he smiled. Almost innocent looking. “All right, then.” He walked by us, leading the way. “I call shot gun.”

  * * * *

  A phone was ringing somewhere.

  In a daze, I sat up in bed and put my bare feet on the chilled floor. I’d been sleeping? The window was dark. Was it night already?

  I was picking up the phone in the other room, but I couldn’t recall walking there. “Hello?”

  “Baby—what are you doing? Where are you going with this new twist?”

  “Aunt Fran?” I gazed around the basement. I couldn’t see anything. Not even an outline.

  “You got what you wanted. Nick hasn’t left. And he won’t leave now, the way you’ve been kissing him. So, why are you bringing David into the story and mixing things up?”

  I was in bed again, under the covers, with the phone pressed to my ear. But that was impossible. The phone cord couldn’t reach my room.

  “Derek…”

  “I wanna know him,” I whispered, my lids drooping. “I wanna know everything about Nick and that means getting close to David, too.”

  “You’re playing with fire, baby. You’re confusing things in your mind. David…he died of AIDS when he was twenty-nine years old. Nick was with him in Vancouver. You know that. You’re going in too deep, Derek. You’ve got to come back to your life now.”

  What was she talking about? How could David have died, when he was alive?

  “Derek, come back to reality. Come back to—”

  But almost violently, I hung up the phone.

  * * * *

  “Look at him. He’s so vain.” David took a long drag of his thin cigarette that smelled vaguely of mint.

  It was cold. I was frozen through, but it didn’t matter. I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets, wiggling my toes inside my running shoes. Had to keep my eyes on Nick. Had to keep him from falling into the river.

  After we’d left the warehouse, we’d driven for a while, and then Nick had stopped the car in a desolate street by a rusty pick-up truck. We’d run across a vacant city parking lot, down to the Saint Lawrence river bank, and Nick had hooked his arm into mine so I could keep up, then we’d broken into the Rapids Park. Climbing over the frost fence, I’d ripped my jeans and scratched my hands and Nick had blown into my palms and sucked on the scratch. We’d walked along the narrow wedge of land down th
e snow-covered path, with David in the middle, all the way to the end, where the path ended sharply and turned into a jagged hill of icy rocks. There, the river’s angry wild currents wrestled, creating a turmoil I’d never seen before.

  And now below me, Nick was skipping across those slippery dark stones, inches away from the rapids, soon to die right before my eyes.

  “You know he does this to tame himself. He’s obsessed with keeping control.” David threw his cigarette into the frozen shrubbery at our left. Where we stood, the point was so narrow that shoulder to shoulder, we had barely a foot between us and a sudden plunge into the icy waters.

  Nick was yelling into the wind, his voice drowned out by the power of the river. He stood so close to death, I’d stopped breathing.

  “He won’t fall.” David was watching Nick with ardent eyes. “He never does. It’s against his nature to fall.”

  “I—I can’t watch.” Yet my stare remained fixed on Nick, who was now attempting a handstand.

  “But that’s what he wants. That’s what he needs. Someone to stand back and watch him do great and impossible things.” David scoffed and dug into his coat for another cigarette. He couldn’t light it in the wind. “Come here.” Cigarette pressed between his white lips, he grabbed my wrists, pulling my hands out of my pockets. “Cup them like this. No…around my face.” I felt the warmth of the flame inside my hands and looked into David’s eyes as he inhaled a drag. His stare reached deep inside me. He was blowing the smoke away, into the clear white sky. He narrowed his eyes, his black irises swallowing his pupils. “It seems like only yesterday, you were a kid. But here you are changing the game.”

  Around us, the river swelled over the rocks, spilling and gushing, foaming at the mouth like a rabid beast. The light of the late afternoon was golden and yet every tree and bush seemed to be cut out of black cardboard paper.

  Nothing felt real. Maybe I was overdosing on fresh air.

  “Nick is gonna leave with me,” David said, searching the horizon. “That’s how the story goes.”