Yet the man who seemed like a hero to him was Robin, whose exquisite, tender care of a dying woman shamed him in a fundamental way. He blew out a thin stream of smoke and watched the clouds, which were high and moving fast.

The sound of his aunt wrestling garbage cans came to him too late to hide his nudity. “What the hell are you doing?” she called up to him.

He grabbed a bit of the dainty lace curtain and covered himself. “Sorry Aunt Lyndee. I’ll cover up.”

“Not that, are you smoking?”

“Yes ma’am. Sorry. I’ll blow out, but I’m incapable of quitting at this point.”

She marched across the yard with a martial look on her face. “I’m bringing you up a beer and we’re going to have a talk.”

“Not tonight. Mom’s restless, and so am I.”

She paused right beneath him, in the pool of light cast by his window. “All right.” Still standing there she gazed up at the sky. “Looks like rain. Clouds are moving fast.”

He looked around and finally found an area of metal flashing that he could use to stub his cigarette out. “Everything is moving fast.”

“Don’t you put that out on the sill, we just—”

“I didn’t; it’s fine.” He started to get up, trying to keep himself covered.

“Never mind, I’ll get you an ashtray, just keep the window open, Petey, and blow the smoke out. Keep your door closed. It’s bad for your Mom so I’ll get you a fan.”

He stared at her, wondering why she didn’t just tell him to suck it up and be a man. “Thanks, Aunt Lyndee.”

She gave him one of those smiles that reminded him of cookies, probably because when he was little, a smile like that often meant home baked treats were in his near future. “Robin smokes too, what is it with you kids…?”

He watched as she walked beneath his window and under the roof, listening as doors opened and closed. He could hear little flutters of activity everywhere she went. Since she seemed to be headed his way, he pulled on his jeans and buttoned them up.

Seconds later, there was a knock at his door. He opened it to find Lyndee holding a fan, an ashtray, and two bottles of beer.

“Thanks,” he said as he took each item from her. He put the fan and the ashtray on the nightstand, and sat down on the bed. When he relieved her of the beer, she shrugged out of her coat and placed it on the doorknob.

“I’m not here to talk. I just need to relax some. Okay with you?”

He indicated that she should sit down and when she sat on the bed, it dipped precariously. Her small round body—so different from his mother’s petite, dolllike frame—settled comfortably in front of him. She twisted open her beer, and then made a strange face, comical, as though she’d forgotten something. She reached for her jacket and dug in the pocket until she brought out a sandwich-sized baggie of homemade cookies.

For a reason he couldn’t explain, a thousand different places flashed through his mind; vast deserts, ancient streets, oceans full of fish, and clear blue sky. He saw everywhere he’d ever been and nowhere all at once.

Terrible beauty and incomprehensible ugliness.

Aunt Lyndee’s cookies might just have broken his heart, if only because they seemed to be squeezing all the air from his lungs. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek, then twisted off the cap of his own beer.

Sometime after he fell asleep Peter felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He surprised himself by thinking for a change before he caught it to break its owner’s arm, probably because the now-familiar aroma of hand sanitizer teased his nose. He opened his eyes to find Robin’s worried face close to his.

“Why don’t you come with me? Maybe you can help me get your mama to settle down.”

Peter took in the careful way Robin said those words and added up what he wasn’t saying. “Is it bad?”

“It’s not good.” Robin waited while Peter pulled on a shirt. Somehow he’d fallen asleep in his jeans, probably while talking to his aunt. It surprised him how quickly he’d let down his guard in this place.

“Can I…? I just need to brush my teeth.” Peter stalled as they left the room. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Robin nodded, already heading back through the door of his mother’s room.

Once inside his Aunt’s bathroom Peter reached for his toiletry kit. Besides brushing his teeth, he felt the need for a shave. As if he were going for inspection, he tried to make himself as presentable as possible, carefully scraping the foam from his skin with his razor. When he was done he looked in the mirror and tried to decipher what he saw there.

Certainly he was a military man. His haircut said it all along with the olive drab T-shirt and dog tags he wore. But he was also a hometown boy, the product of this tiny enclave of tough-minded Midwesterners who expected him to fill his father’s shoes, and a gay man who longed—more and more frequently—for a companion to warm his bed and share his life. Someone like Robin who was attractive and compassionate. Fearless. He straightened his shoulders as he left the bathroom.

When he entered his mother’s room the only light came from the glow of a lamp next to the bed. Both Robin and Lyndee were there, one on either side of the bed with the railings down. Robin lifted Shelley while Lyndee smoothed the fabric of her nightgown, and still his mother fussed and twisted, her face a mask of pain.

“Hurts,” Shelley murmured when Robin set her gently back down. Robin’s face was full of concern as he stroked the short hair on her head.

“I know, my Shelley. It’s because you’ve just taken your painkillers. You’ll be feeling better in no time now.”

Peter watched as his mother, soothed by the words, instinctively leaned toward Robin. He didn’t blame her, the musicality of the voice and the tender, caring way Robin touched her made him want to lean in too.

Lyndee looked up and what Peter saw in her eyes told him this was the beginning of the end. He’d read the damned pamphlet she’d given him, but he’d known anyway. He’d seen death, both quick and slow, and understood the signs.

“Peter, I think maybe Robin could use some help and I’m feeling exhausted.”

Peter doubted his indefatigable aunt had ever had a moment when she lacked energy, but he didn’t call her on it. “I’m here, you can get some shuteye. I’ll help— if Robin tells me what to do.”

Robin nodded. “Not much we can do, hmm? Wait for the meds to kick in.” He spoke directly to Shelley. “We’ll try to keep you comfortable until you can rest. Right princess? My Shelley is she-who-must-be-made-comfortable tonight. Yes?”

Peter saw his mom try to grin but it turned into a grimace. “Clothes…No clothes…can’t breathe…” Shelley tried to pull off the nasal canula and Robin gently but firmly replaced it.

She picked at the fabric of her gown again, and Robin’s gaze met his. He nodded, and together, they coaxed the offending garment off, slipping the wide shoulders over her arms and pulling it carefully down her body and past her feet. Peter averted his eyes, mortified by his mother’s nudity, further dismayed at seeing her in an adult diaper. Robin’s hand brushed his, snapping him out of the moment.

Maybe Robin had touched him on purpose to give him strength, but the inevitable result was that he snatched his hand back as though it burned, terrified that his mother would see the longing he felt and understand what it meant.

Robin’s eyes met his briefly and he saw a flare of annoyance, or maybe it was only resignation and regret. They worked in silence from then on and when Shelley was finally sleeping comfortably Peter went back to his room alone to get some more sleep. He didn’t expect that Robin would return to the bed they’d

shared just a few hours before, but he still listened for footsteps in the hallway or the light snick of the doorknob before it turned. Eventually, he realized he was holding his breath. His bed felt bigger and colder without Robin in it, and when he finally slept it wasn’t deep.