The Naked Remedy Read online

  As I read on, I wished I’d found his blog sooner. Every other post, I wanted to comment, but now, months after the fact, that felt stalkerish. He was going to know this nobody in the backwoods of northern California was devouring every word and picture he put on the Web without thought to the responsibilities of his own life.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t like I was doing it while I was on the job. Just every break, my lunch period, after work, and the one downtime I got when I was stuck waiting for a doctor to show up to see what was on the sonogram.

  I didn’t succumb to the urge until a post from two months earlier, where he finally came out and talked about his love life.

  Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and wish I wasn’t alone in my bed. Before the accident, I didn’t have a hard time finding a date. Since the accident, I have more friends than ever who want to support me, but finding a guy who’s willing to invest in me romantically is proving to be my Holy Grail. Hook-ups are relatively easy as long as all I do is open my fly or get on my knees. But as soon as I drop trou, the scars are a bonekiller. The only men I can find who aren’t turned off by it are the ones who are turned ON by it, and I have no desire to be anybody’s fetish.

  My heart was lodged in the back of my throat when I got to the end. Fisher was gay. He’d given no inclination to that point that he might be, and honestly, I didn’t care. He was hot, and his smile had a way of making me start imagining really ridiculous scenarios, but I was addicted to his blog for the story he was telling. I hadn’t lied with that first comment. He really was the bravest person I’d ever seen.

  Now, his admission added a whole new dimension to my long-distance crush.

  That post had more comments than any I’d seen yet. They ran the gamut, from supportive to pure assholery.

  You’ll find someone. You’re too good of a guy not to.

  You’re gay? What a waste.

  You’re gay and you don’t want to be a fetish? How is that possible when you were so clearly a cub before and a bear now? Pot, thy name is actually kettle.

  I wish you’d said you were gay before now. I wouldn’t have wasted so much time reading about some fag who probably got exactly what he deserved.

  There were too many that incited me to an uncharacteristic rage. What right did any of these people have to judge him? Here he was, opening up his life to the scrutiny of total strangers, trying to use each day as a purpose, a reason to embrace the new him. That deserved applause, not derision and definitely not name-calling.

  I could’ve answered any one of them, but I chose instead to leave an independent comment. I wasn’t going to feed the trolls and start a fight I knew before it got underway wasn’t winnable.

  I hope you know you speak for more of us than the narrow-minded few who have commented negatively here. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight, all most of us want is to have a special someone in our lives who will be there when we need them most. Dating is not just about sex, though sometimes I think a lot of gay men forget that. There’s something to be said about rolling over and just putting your arm around the person there as you fall back asleep. It’s comfort in a world that isolates us way too easily if we let it. I truly hope you find (or have found) that someone to fill the space at your side.

  I wasn’t even thinking when I submitted the comment. I was too wound up, furious with the idiots who didn’t see what Fisher was doing, to censor myself.

  When I got home from work Friday night, I just wanted to crash. I’d been able to read the blog at lunchtime, which was when I’d left my comment about Fisher’s love life, but my afternoon had gone crazy as soon as I got back on the floor. Emergency after emergency, and then my replacement had car trouble and couldn’t make it in on time so I was stuck at the hospital for another two hours while she waited for a tow and another ride. On top of only getting four hours of sleep the night before—my fault, because I’d stayed up so late reading the blog—I was dead on my feet.

  Mom looked up from her Sudoku when I stumbled through the front door and immediately winced. “Go take a shower. I’ll heat your dinner up.”

  I wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t have the energy to stop her, either. I spent the next fifteen minutes with the water temperature beating down on me as hot as I could stand, one arm braced against the olive green tiled wall in case I toppled over.

  When I came out in sweats and a ratty T-shirt from high school, Mom had everything set for me at the kitchen table. “I guess this means you’re not going out on the lottery’s tab tonight,” she said, smoothing her hand over the back of my damp hair like I was ten years old.

  My stomach gurgled at the sight of the plump meatballs that had fallen off my mound of spaghetti to hover at the edge of the bowl. I guess I was hungrier than I thought. I speared one with my fork. “Nothing’s playing anyway.”

  Instead of leaving me to eat in peace, she took a seat opposite and watched me for a minute. “When do you get a weekend off?”

  The surprise from her question slowed my chewing as I tried to figure out why she’d asked. “Probably not until school starts up again. Everybody’s booked their vacation time.” I twirled some spaghetti, trying to buy some time. “Are you and Dad going away?”

  “No, no,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “I was just thinking, it’s been a while since you’ve had a real break.”

  “When was the last time you and Dad had a break?”

  “That’s different.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Because we don’t need a vacation to have fun. We can have that here as long as we both have the day off.”

  Ah, there was the angle. Mom was working toward her “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” speech. I had to give her credit. I hadn’t heard it in over six months, not since the week after Christmas when she chided me for agreeing to work New Year’s Eve instead of finding a party to attend. I couldn’t even get mad at her when she started nagging, either. Unlike other parents, she never used guilt as a means to manipulate me. It was never “I’d love some more grandchildren,” or complaining that I only lived at home because I didn’t have a significant other who might want more privacy. One, Seth and Lisa were taking care of the grandchildren angle, especially since Lisa was going to pop any day now. Two, being single was part of the reason I still lived at home, so I couldn’t actually argue if she tried going there.

  No, Mom’s case centered on me. “You deserve someone to make you happy,” she always said. “You’re young, you should be out having fun, not sitting around, watching game shows with your parents.”

  I’ve always wondered if she’d stop trying if she knew I was gay. Our tiny town has a grand population of six thousand people within city limits, and I can’t claim to personally know another member of the LGBT tribe if my life depended on it. Who was I going to date?

  But that would require telling her, and as ready as I’d been last Christmas, I couldn’t do it yet. I was too afraid of how she and Dad would react. Our pastor at church had sparked a few conversations during services over the last couple years about the national attention gay marriage was getting, and though they never really agreed with him out loud, they never said a word against him, either.

  If they decided to disown me, life here would be a nightmare. Everybody knows everybody else. I’d be ostracized. There was no telling what would happen at work. I didn’t think I’d get fired, but homophobic patients might ask to have someone else do their ultrasound. If that happened enough, I could lose my job anyway.

  So I kept it vague. Life was easier that way.

  Not happier. Just easier.

  “Maybe I’ll look into something in the fall.” I forced a cheeky grin. “Seth will probably want a break from the baby by then, don’t you think?”

  Mom sighed and rolled her eyes. My misdirection worked, though, because she switched the subject to Lisa and how we were all going to have to chip in to help because she only got so much mate
rnity leave…

  I zoned out and ate. Same old, same old.

  Dad came in as I was washing out my bowl, looking as wrung out as I felt. Any worries that he was complicit with Mom on the subject of my solitude vanished when he grabbed a Bud from the fridge and disappeared without even a grunt in acknowledgement.

  Ah, looked like the entire Booker clan was going to have a raucous Friday night.

  When I flopped onto my bed, I had forgotten about the blog and everything online-related. I was almost asleep when my phone pinged from my pants pocket. Rolling onto my side, I peered at the garment I’d left piled on the floor. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a text. My small handful of friends was all from work, and none were the type to bug me on a Friday night. More likely, it was new email. Whatever it was, there was no way it was important enough to check, except for the fact that if I didn’t plug my phone in to charge overnight, it would be dead tomorrow in case I did end up venturing out of the house.

  Digging the phone out of the pocket, I thumbed open my email as I trudged to the desk. I stopped short when I saw it was a response to my comment about Fisher’s love life, but hit the link to read it without pause.

  It was from Fisher.

  Thanks. You have no idea how badly I needed to hear something like that tonight.

  My exhaustion forgotten, I switched out my phone with my laptop and went back to my bed to log on. Within seconds, I was on the Naked Remedy site. The comment had come within the last minute. The time difference made it after midnight in Florida, but Fisher was obviously still up.

  I replied to his comment with my pulse pounding.

  Considering what you’re doing by putting yourself out there like this, it’s the least I can do.

  I almost added more. My fingers hesitated at the period. I wanted to tell him how much I identified with what he was writing, even though I couldn’t even imagine going through what he had. But everything that came to mind sounded trite or pandering, and afraid that I’d chicken out of saying anything at all, I sent off what I’d already typed out.

  Then it became a waiting game.

  Would he write back?

  What could he possibly say? I hadn’t exactly given him much to work with.

  Shit.

  I should’ve asked a question or found something else to draw him out. It was too late for that.

  Shit.

  Shaking my head, I closed my laptop, determined to be the bigger man and not sit there like an idiot for a comment that was probably never going to come anyway. I was halfway off the bed when my phone pinged.

  Nobody in the western world has ever logged onto a machine as fast as I did right then.

  I’m always here if you need to reach out. It’s a long, long road when you travel it alone. Just hit the Contact Me.

  I’d seen him make the offer to other commenters along the way, as well as remind people in his posts that anyone who wanted to talk to him just had to use the form on the site, but having him extend the same offer to me felt bigger, more significant than those other insistences. I know it was because of the crush I was harboring. I wasn’t so blinded not to see that. But that didn’t change how it felt, or how close to tears I got at the thought of someone out there who I could say anything to.

  It had been a very long day, and I was too tired not to have all my emotions so close to the surface.

  My reply was short, but heartfelt.

  Thanks. I’ll remember that the next time the road catches me out.

  Though there was no reason for him to come back, I kept my laptop out just in case. Sleep didn’t seem so important anymore. Besides, my fantasies about how further contact might play out were more interesting than any dream could be.

  I believed that until I crashed an hour later, my computer still open next to me, my hand resting on the keyboard. My imagination was as invested in the potential Fisher offered as my emotions had been. It took a wild ride through the Everglades as I stole Fisher away for a date to get his mind off whatever had happened on his disastrous Friday night.

  I’m pretty sure I spent most of the night with a smile on my face. Sleeping or not.

  Chapter 3

  By the time I left for work on Sunday, I was caught up to present day on Fisher’s blog. I left more comments, but none had garnered a response like my first two had. While it would’ve been nice to start a dialogue with someone, I was more proud of the fact that I was commenting at all. My comfort level was rising. I’d even mentioned I was gay in one. It was easy to feel safe enough to speak aloud when Fisher did everything he could to make people welcome.

  Without a new post to read, it was my first lunch break in days where I didn’t have my nose buried in my phone. I had company within minutes of sitting down. Janet, one of my favorite pediatrics nurses, took the chair opposite mine with a bright smile.

  “Just the person I was hoping to find today,” she said.

  I stirred my ramen, still waiting for it to cool. “Something wrong in peds? I thought Alyson had you guys covered today.”

  Janet waved a wrinkled hand in dismissal. She was a tiny thing, with snow-white hair cut into a pixie and dancing blue eyes, like she had a secret she’d spill if you offered the right bribe. Though she didn’t look the traditional part, she was the grandmother to everyone under the age of fifty in the hospital, whether you wanted her to be or not. I liked her in that role. She loved off-color jokes and big hugs, and if she was overdue to retire by at least two years, I was glad of it just to have her around.

  “It’s not about work,” she said. “You’re still not seeing anybody, are you?”

  Janet was the only person at work I’d let talk to me so bluntly, but I still felt my cheeks go red. “No. Why?”

  “Because my granddaughter’s about to lose her mind from being stuck with me and Lew for the past week. I was hoping you could take her out tonight or tomorrow, let her hang around someone closer to her own age for a few hours.”

  She’d been talking about the visit for months now. Though the granddaughter lived in L.A., she’d had a nasty break-up with a boyfriend around Christmas. I was convinced she accepted Janet’s invitation to come up during the spring in a moment of weakness. Nobody came to Coughlin because they really wanted to.

  The bigger problem here, however, was not about how bored the granddaughter was. It was Janet’s expectation that I would go out with her. I had no reason to say no, except for the fact that I didn’t date girls, a detail Janet wasn’t privy to. There was no way for me to get out of this without tarnishing my friendship.

  “There really isn’t that much to do in Coughlin,” I tried.

  “Trust me, she knows that. And this won’t be a real date or anything like that. Desiree’s swears she’s off men for the time-being.”

  That was a mild relief. “Then why did you ask if I was seeing anybody?”

  “Well, just because you and Desiree know it’s not a date, that doesn’t mean a girlfriend would be okay with you taking another girl out, now does it?”

  When she put it like that, it made more sense. It gave me a headache thinking about it, though. Sometimes, the politics behind dating were incomprehensible.

  I agreed, albeit reluctantly. We planned for me to come over that night and pick Desiree up, which gave me a whopping seven hours to figure out what we were going to do.

  When Mom heard about my plans, she lit up. “You should take her to that new restaurant out on Dixon. I hear they have great Italian.”

  “The point is to have fun,” I stressed. “She can eat anywhere.”

  “You’re not going to feed her at the bowling alley, are you?”

  “Only if she says that’s what she’s in the mood for.”

  I bussed her cheek and scooped my keys from the coffee table before she could hold me up with more questions. Mom followed me to the door like I was heading off to prom, calling out, “Don’t worry about how late you get home!”

  My worries were bigger than inadvertently wa
king my parents by slamming the front door after they’d gone to bed. For the entire drive to Janet’s, I weighed my options, itemizing them into a list to see how they stacked up against each other.

  Bowling. Not likely to have anybody under the age of fifty.

  The Wooden Nickel. The only bar in town I liked, but I was driving so I wouldn’t be able to drink. If Desiree decided to get wasted, I’d have to keep an eye out that she didn’t pick up the wrong guy. Coughlin was filled with them.

  The movies. Safe. Boring. She didn’t need me to do that.

  After that, I drew a blank.

  It was a very short list.

  I still hadn’t reached a decision when I got to Janet’s, but when I knocked on her screen, I was startled when a girl with blue spiked hair who didn’t even come up to my shoulder answered the door instead of Janet.

  “You must be Ark Boy,” she said. I gritted my teeth against the nickname. There isn’t a Noah joke I haven’t heard. But then she smiled and she looked so much like Janet, I couldn’t hold on to my annoyance. “I’d call you a godsend, but that’s too obvious, even for me.”

  This joke made me laugh, and I decided in that second I liked this girl, even if this not-a-date was in a different hemisphere from my comfort zone. “That makes you Desiree, then.”

  “Dez, please. Only Grandma calls me Desiree.” She pushed the door wider and swished her hand to get me to come inside. “She and Gramps went out, by the way. League night. So if you want to hang here for a while instead of trolling this berg, you don’t have to worry about her hovering.”

  Before arriving, I would’ve thought Janet’s presence would make the night easier, but Dez put me at such ease, I didn’t miss it. “She said you wanted to get out of the house.”

  “I’m more interested in a conversation that doesn’t include any mention of doctor appointments, TV shows that have been off the air for more than twenty years, and how the drought took all the fun out of gardening.” She frowned. “You’re not an Andy Griffith fan with a green thumb, are you?”