Hold Me Tight (Greenpoint Artists) by Quinn Talia

Author:Quinn, Talia [Quinn, Talia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Exeter Street Books
Published: 2014-01-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

The hospital room smelled of disinfectant and bitterness. Geoffrey Gallagher, Elijah Jacoby’s partner, was propped up in his hospital bed, his head back against a pile of pillows, listening to an iPod with his eyes closed.

Flower vases filled the space, along with a legion of get-well cards taped to the white wall. Geoffrey’s roommate was watching something on TV and ignored Miles as he walked past holding yet another bouquet to add to the profusion.

Miles stood by Geoffrey’s bed, uncertain. Should he alert him, or would it be better to let him enjoy his quiet meditation in peace? Finally, he set the flowers down on the end of the table and found a piece of stationery to write a note.

“Planning to sneak out without telling me?” Geoffrey, eyes now open, plucked the earbuds out of his ears.

“You looked so serene, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of time to listen to music. And podcasts. And read books. And web surf. And sleep. Come, sit.” He patted the bed.

Miles sat.

“So how’s the job? You holding it together without Elijah?”

“We miss him, but we manage.”

Geoffrey laughed, a sharp bark that turned quickly to a cough. “Don’t bullshit me. You miss him, maybe, but you’d be the only one.”

Miles regarded the other man, curious now. “You’ve been together a long time, haven’t you?”

“That we have.”

“Do you love him? Despite his…quirks?”

“His abrasive, dictatorial ways, you mean?” Geoffrey’s mouth softened. “He’s the only thing that keeps me going. I know what’s going to happen to me. It’s not pretty. I’d take a shortcut, but it would devastate Elijah, so here I am.” He shrugged as if he were merely discussing eating a sandwich versus skipping lunch. “I don’t know if we get to choose who we love.”

“You don’t think?”

Geoffrey turned his iPod on, paging through photos. He offered the device to Miles. It showed a picture of an outrageously young Jacoby, arms around an equally young Geoffrey, both with thick heads of hair and broad, delighted grins.

“Provincetown, late ’70s, shortly after we met. I was scared to death of a long-term relationship with another man.” He mock-shuddered. “I was a science teacher at a parochial school in Queens. They would have pilloried me. But something about Elijah; his sardonic wit, his dark seriousness…” He shook his head. “He was like my drug. My annoying, bossy, finicky drug.”

“How did you handle the school? Did you stay in the closet?”

“For a while. Too long, looking back. I eventually changed jobs, went to a hip private school in the Village. They loved that I was gay. It gave them cred. But you didn’t come here to hear me reminisce. You came to ease your conscience and maybe hear some gossip, right?”

Miles cocked his head. “What do you know?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe what people tell me in here.”

Geoffrey was a raconteur, and Miles sat back and enjoyed the performance, handing the older man a glass of water when he coughed, and laughing with genuine pleasure at the incisive irony of Geoffrey’s observations.

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