Page 22 of Hushed

I put my arm around him and don’t miss that he tenses just for a second. I think of all the ways I could reassure him, but then I stop myself. I don’t think he’d believe me right now, anyway.

Chapter seven

Bastien

It turned out that last night, there was a Shakespeare in the Park rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that seemed way too on-the-nose for me to cope with while I was also trying to come to terms with the fact that Levi might be just a little bit on the crazy side of puckish. That evening, I quietly disposed of any business cards from Fairhaven. Right now, my ID still connects me to Portland, Oregon. I think I still have my old faculty ID from McCradden-Kisner in there, and for the first time, I am actually glad the place closed down, and the department webpages are returning a 404 error. That is the version of Bastien Saint-Jacques he needs to know about. It’s the only one that keeps me safe.

But the truth is that, even after that, I really like him. This morning we went to the Library of Congress, took a tour of the Capitol building, in which I felt woefully intimidated and distinctly foreign, and ate street food on a park bench. And now we’re in the Air and Space museum, Levi’s got his hand in mine, and we’re both gawking at the Spirit of St. Louis, which is hanging from the ceiling. Well, Levi is gawking. I gawked for a few seconds, but then realized that I was much more interested in Levi. In some of the other venues, Levi was appropriately awed and kind of sheepish, but this makes him glow. He bounces on his heels, readjusts his panda hat, cranes his neck to look at something, and then turns and looks at me. “I always wanted to learn how to fly,” he says.

“Really?”

He nods. “I know it’ll never happen, but it just seemed like the coolest thing ever to do. I checked out every library book in town about airplanes. I kinda hoped…” He steps back and stares at Lucky Lindy’s plane. “Well, anyway, I missed my chance.” He looks back up and starts rattling off facts about the plane.

I follow his gaze and allow myself to get lost in a little fantasy. A birthday supper, maybe. An envelope on the table. Levi saying that I shouldn’t have gotten him anything and me saying that it’s a gift card for socks. And then the unveiling, that moment when he looks down at the instructor name and his name. How much would that cost? I want to take out my phone and do a quick search right now. Even though it’s just an illusion, I want to live in that moment, picturing his face as he realizes what I’ve done.

“You’re looking like you’ve got happy thoughts,” Levi says.

I look down from the wings and propellers. “It’s easy to think happy thoughts when you make me so happy.”

I’m supposed to make it sound glib and flippant. At least that was the way it was supposed to work in my head. But his face flickers with emotion and he looks down at our hands. “You make me happy, too,” he says.

I feel like the entire museum has gone silent around us. The air around me feels thick with joy. There is so much of it that it’s actually painful. It stabs me in the chest. I look down at our clasped hands as well and I don’t feel like a sophisticated man of the world. I run my thumb over the back of his hand. “Tell me more about the planes, since you have, apparently, an encyclopedic knowledge of aviation.”

“You sure I’m not boring you?”

“You’re not.” It comes out as a statement of fact. This means something to Levi, and, therefore, I want to understand parts of it for his sake. I think of listening to Levi talk over dinner in our townhouse about his first flight lesson, and then the first time he got to take the Cessna out onto the tarmac—does Fairhaven even have a regional airport, or would we have to go all the way to Lynchburg for it? Never mind, it’s my fantasy, and I’m in love with it, and—

Oh.

I cut off the thought ruthlessly. On Sunday I am getting into my car and we are going our separate ways. It might be intoxicating to imagine myself building a life with him, but he’s not a stray cat. I can’t take him home with me just because I like the way he purrs.

I look at Levi as he pulls me toward one of the exhibits, and at that moment, he looks over his shoulder and smiles. I’m pretty sure my insides turn into jelly, so when he later tucks me in front of him and puts his chin on my shoulder so he can whisper facts about the 1928 Ford Tri-Motor Tin Goose, I don’t think I register a single word he says except for the words Tin Goose. He’s pulling me into his world and I want to come along.

“At the other museum near Dulles Airport, they have a space shuttle and the SR-71 Blackbird and a real Concorde. Would you mind if we go to that tomorrow?”

“Of course! I can’t wait.” And I mean it.

Levi kisses me on the cheek. “You’re the best, Bastien. Let’s look at the 1903 Wright Flyer. And the space capsule.”

I look where he directs me to. Some part of my brain must be active, because I think I ask questions. He smiles at me a lot and goes into a lot of technical detail about aviation that I didn’t really think I needed to know. But I don’t care, because he is so clearly into this. His keen interest is infectious. We stay in the museum until they kick us out at 5:30, and then find a place that serves questionable hoagies.

“Where to?” I ask as we stumble back onto the streets. I’m kind of hoping he’ll say that we should head back to the hotel, but he hesitates and looks at the sky.

“I have an idea. You in?”

“Always.” I don’t know why I say that with no hesitation, but right now, there’s no place I wouldn’t follow.

He leads me south. We walk by the White House and the President’s Park toward the Washington Monument. The heat coming off the asphalt makes the town shimmer, so that when we are able to duck into the tree-covered pathways in the park, it feels at least five degrees cooler. I peer at the Lincoln Memorial, which I can see through the trees. I turn and look at Levi. “What now?”

Levi looks up at the sun, and then takes me by the hand again and leads me toward a memorial at the opposite end of the reflecting pool.

“Which president is this for?” I ask, looking at the semicircular arrangement of pillars.

“It’s the World War II Memorial,” Levi tells me.

I look at the markers on the pillars and realize that they’ve been given the names of states. Levi doesn’t look at them. He’s already looking past me, at the grass, trying to find the right plot of earth to stake a claim to. Children splash in the fountain despite half-hearted attempts by park rangers to enforce the no-wading rule. The late sunlight catches on the spray from the fountain, creating tiny rainbows that wink in and out of existence. A light breeze carries the coolness from the water toward us, providing momentary relief from the heat.

“Huh,” I say, watching the kids in the pool.