The seventy-second Christmas Eve of Alan Corwin's life dawned cold and gray, though snow was not yet falling when he awoke before six o'clock. He always woke early on holidays, though he never made anything special of them now. No tree or decorations were placed in the small condominium unit he occupied in the assisted living complex.
It was on December twenty-fourth that Roger Adams had died, bald, wasted, and gasping for breath, on that snowy day twenty years ago. With his passing a light had gone out in Alan's soul, and Christmas had forever lost its meaning.
Alan always thanked his good fortune that he had made enough money in his life to retreat to a reasonably comfortable old age. His heart was weak now, and arthritis had bent him and slowed his gait, but he had retained enough health and mobility not to have to depend greatly on anyone. He preferred loneliness to the empty chatter of nurses and aides with whom he had nothing in common.
He would have no visitors-the social workers and volunteers who made the rounds had learned to avoid him on this particular day. The only person whose company he would have welcomed would have been Jeff Bennett, who lived in the next building and who was, as far as he knew, the only other gay man in the complex.
Jeff, however, having been married in a previous life, had a daughter who had whisked him away to spend Christmas with her family. He had grumbled to Alan about going. "I'd rather be here with you, guy, enjoying some peace and quiet. We could break out my twelve-year-old Scotch, pop in an old William Higgins flick," he leered. This was a comically grotesque sight, as Jeff had no front teeth left, and seldom if ever wore his ill-fitting plate. "The young guys say I give great head," he would say. "They never have to worry about getting scraped."
Yes, it would have been fun to have his friend here today, or at least it would have helped pass the long gray hours. What to do without him?
He could get on the bus and go down to the mall, which would be open most of the day for last-minute shoppers. He knew, however, that after a short while the hubbub, the music, the lights, and good cheer would depress him almost as much as being home. Still, the prospect of looking at the TV alone held no appeal either. There would be too many memories, too much temptation to sip from his own bottle.
He looked at the clock on the wall. Showering, dressing himself and breakfast had taken longer than he expected-it was already eight-thirty. Still indecisive, Alan put on his wool jacket and cap, slowly, with stiff fingers. He opened the front door of his ground-floor unit and tested the weather outside. It was cold and brisk, but not unbearable. The breeze was slight and the grayness was brightening, at least, though there was no hint of sun.
He would get out and start walking. Maybe a plan would come to him. Alan made sure he had his key before he shut the door behind him. He put his hands in his pockets and made his way to the street.
Traffic was light, as the holiday had already begun for many people. Alan walked carefully around patches of dirty snow from last week's fall, wincing occasionally as his arthritic joints protested a careless or too-rapid move. The pain medication always took a while to kick in. Nevertheless, it felt good to be out, and he kept going. Before he knew it an hour had passed. He was tired and chilled to the bone.
Several blocks from his residence there was an intersection with a shopping center on the corner, and a Walgreen's across the street. He could head there and pick up some necessities. Then he would go to the bagel shop across the street, drink a cup of coffee, and look at the traffic.
He walked more briskly, trying to keep warm. Despite his age and stooped body Alan was still an attractive man. His prominent, but well-shaped nose and square jaw formed a characterful face, the strength of which had been enhanced by the passage of years. He retained a full head of silvery hair that set off his large, liquid brown eyes.
He crossed with the light at the intersection, as traffic was heavier here. The Walgreen's was on top of a small rise, and he labored up the parking lot. By the time he entered the store he was panting.
The warmth inside was welcome after the chilly walk. The clerk at the cash register smiled at him and said hello. Alan liked her pleasant manner, though he could never quite remember her name. He turned into the aisle with the dental supplies.
A young man standing in front of the display, wearing blue jeans and a brown suede windbreaker, looked up as Alan approached. He met his eyes and smiled. "Hello," he said.
Alan stopped short. He usually didn't notice people much these days, even attractive men, but it would have been impossible not to take note of this one.
He was tall, and under his clothes Alan could tell that his body was toned and athletic. He could not have been more than twenty or twenty-one years of age, and his face was beautiful-there was simply no other word to describe him. It wasn't just the square jaw, jutting and masculine, the straight nose, or the full, sensuous lips. It wasn't just the lustrous dark brown hair that contrasted sharply with his fair skin. It was the eyes-oh, the eyes. They were large, and a rich, bright green. Roger's eyes had been that color too.
This man looked as Roger Adams might have appeared in the first flush of young adulthood, only better still. By the time he and Alan had become lovers, Roger was forty-two, three years older than Alan, still handsome but aging. It had been only a few short years later that illness had struck and gradually depleted him of his energy, his looks, and finally his independence and dignity.
The green eyes had remained, though, after the rest was only a memory. Even now Alan remembered the haunted look in them as Roger stared up at him from the sickbed, robbed of his speech by the virus invading his brain. He realized some years after Roger's death that his lover had been mutely begging for release from the prison of his body. Why had he not obeyed and done the right and merciful thing?
"Far from home and nothing on me, not even a toothbrush," the stranger said cheerfully. "How's that for disorganized?"
Alan found his voice. "Is there something I can do to help?" he asked.
The man shook his head. "You're kind, but no. I'm on a cross-country car trip to see friends. My car broke down here yesterday. Until it's fixed, I'm stranded." He paused, then said, "I stayed in a cheap motel last night, and my bag was stolen out of my room. Luckily I had my wallet in the bed with me, so at least I have money. But no clothes, no nothing otherwise."
"That's terrible, and at Christmas too," Alan said, still fascinated by this handsome stranger who looked so much like a younger version of his dead partner.
The other man scratched his chin. "Actually, there is something. You know a good place to eat? I've been running around all morning trying to straighten this mess out and I'm starved."
"Well," Alan said, thinking, "There are a couple of places near here. There's two pizza joints, one across the street, one catty corner from here next to the supermarket. Pretty nice Italian restaurant next to the first one. Bagel and sandwich place in that lot too. If you don't like Italian, there's a Chinese place a couple of blocks away, but it's not much good."
The other man laughed. "Sounds like there's lots of choices. You've been so nice. Would you care to join me?"
Alan, caught by surprise, stammered, "N-no, I couldn't possibly."
The stranger smiled. "Oh, I really wish you would, Alan."
Now really taken aback, Alan asked, "How did you know my name?"
"Oh, no mystery, I heard the cashier say hello to you when you came in," the younger man replied. He extended his hand. "I'm Roger, by the way."
"Roger?" The man bore the same name as the lover he still missed every day. Emotions long held in check began to flood through him, and it was a moment before Alan could compose himself enough to shake the offered hand. Roger's grip was strong and cool.
