"Uncle Aaron! Uncle Aaron! Cover your eyes and count to ten!"
Aaron Livesy, sitting at the kitchen table in the Barton home, placed his hands over his eyes and counted to ten as three-year-old Cassie Barton, the youngest of Adam's grandchildren, scurried around the kitchen for a place to hide.
Aaron coughed, then took down his hands and made a great show of looking around the room for the child.
"Cassie! Cassie! Where have you gotten to?"
The three-year-old giggled, pushed aside the kitchen table cloth and stepped out from under the table.
"Here I am, Uncle Aaron!"
Aaron grinned with mock surprise, plucked her into his arms and kissed her on both cheeks.
"Something for you, before tea," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, pulling out one of the many hard candies he kept stuffed in his pocket for occasions such as this.
The child clapped once, took the candy and kissed him back. "Thank you, Uncle Aaron!"
She scampered out of the room.
"You are spoiling my grandchildren," Adam said with mock outrage.
Aaron shrugged. "Somebody has to do it."
"And I get hell from the missus," Adam grinned.
They were two old men, silver-haired and wrinkled, more brothers than blood could ever make.
Aaron glanced at the kitchen clock. "It's getting late. I have to go."
He reached for his wool coat.
Adam stepped between him and the back door.
"Mate! Look how the snow is coming down. You don't want to be going out in this, not with that cough."
As if on cue, Aaron hacked once, twice, and then shook his head.
"A measly tickle. And it'd take more than a little dusting outside to keep me from my appointment."
"It's Christmas Eve. You'll miss all the kids caroling. We can go tomorrow when it's light out and all this has stopped, ya? I promise, I'll go with you."
Aaron placed a hand on Adam's shoulder.
"I won't be long, I promise."
"At least take this," he said, wrapping a thick scarf around Aaron's neck.
"Thank you, mum," Aaron mocked.
"You show your elders some respect."
"Oh – almost forgot," Aaron said, turning to the fridge, pulling out two lagers and placing one in each coat pocket. "Can't hit the road without these."
"Aaron, won't you reconsider?"
Aaron pulled him into an unexpected hug. "Enjoy your Christmas Eve with your family."
With that, he opened the door to the wintry mix, flashed a smile at Adam and shut the door quickly behind him.
Adam watched from the window as Aaron trudged through the deepening snow.
"You didn't think you would be able to talk him out of this, did you?" Adam's wife said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Adam shook his head.
"Come on now, join the family."
Adam waited and stood at the window as Aaron's figure receded into the night and he could be seen no more.
# # #
Aaron slowly made his way through the village cemetery, past rows of headstones, of those he had known and others he hadn't, some he had cared for and others he hadn't.
He stopped and sat at the bench he had placed many years ago. He pulled out the two lagers, popped the top of each one and clinked the two cans together. Taking a swig from one, he placed the other on the edge of the grave of Jackson Walsh.
"Cheers, mate," he said, smiling in the cold night air. "Bet you didn't think I was coming, right? Like I'd ever leave you alone on Christmas Eve."
He remembered that first Christmas Eve – really, their only Christmas Eve together - when he sneaked back into the hospital and they watched a DVD together.
Why didn't he just get into that damn bed with Jackson that night and hold him close until morning broke? If he had been able to comfort Jackson more that night, then maybe Jackson would never have felt …
If … If …
All these years, and the doubts still lingered.
The worst didn't come in the moments, the hours or the days that followed in the wake of Jackson's death, not in all the village confusion and condemnation, nor the arrest, the trial and its ugly aftermath.
No, the worst part of losing Jackson struck when that roar of distraction became nothing but a whisper - until that too finally faded. When the village moved on to other scandals, when even Jackson's mum Hazel wasn't there any longer, that's when the darkness eclipsed everything in Aaron's life.
It took him a long time to inch his way out.
Always in the back of his head, Jackson urged him on.
Enjoy your life.
Find someone else.
Aaron had tried. He had dated a little. He even managed two serious relationships. Each only lasted a few years, and the only fault of the blokes was that they weren't Jackson.
Aaron shifted on the bench, trying to get comfortable.
"So you'll want to know what's new," he announced.
He coughed into his hands. Where did he leave his gloves?
"Josh is a granddad. Can you believe that?" He pulled out of his shirt pocket the Christmas photo Josh sent. It captured a three-month-old gurgling with a large Santa hat crowning his head. The infant had Jackson's brown eyes. That comforted Aaron: Even though no one in Jackson's half-brother's family ever knew him, a part of him still lived on.
He replaced the picture in his pocket.
"Right. So what have you been up to? I hope you haven't been slacking off on that house of ours. I expect big things from you. Like I was saying last time, I want a big kitchen, so we can have all the Bartons over. Now I don't cook much so I expect you'll have to do that, mate. I'll pour the drinks."
He coughed, this time rough and deep, and spat onto the ground. "Boy, look at this snow, mate, it's really coming down hard."
He rose from the bench, approached the headstone and brushed the snow off the top. "Can't let this build up. Don't want you getting lost in the crowd here."
He coughed again and, not for the first time, felt a wave of weakness. He exhaled with a groan and slumped down, resting his back against the headstone. Still with that lager in his hand, he took a sip and gazed up at the snow streaking across the sky.
"Turning out to be a right amazing night, Jackson. I hope you're enjoying this."
The snow was coming down heavier, accumulating faster, whipping around Aaron, covering him in a dazzling blanket of white.
Aaron closed his eyes.
He just needed to rest a minute, that's all.
Then he'd find his way home.
# # #
Arf-arf-arf.
Somebody needed to tell that dog to shut it.
His barking was so loud, he might as well be right in Aaron's ear.
"Oy, wakey, wakey, sleepyhead."
Aaron blinked. The sun overhead was startlingly bright. He was flat on his back – he must have fallen asleep in the cemetery. A man's face popped into view.
Adam?
"Are you going to just lie there all day?"
It took a second for his features to come into focus.
"Jackson?"
"Remember me now, do you?" Jackson grinned.
"Course I remember you," Aaron answered in a voice that said what-a-stupid-question. He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck.
He was atop a grassy hill, in an area that looked vaguely like the village, but some part he had never seen before. At the foot of the hill, there was a house – a skeleton of a house, that is, the foundation set, the steps laid out, the front little more than an array of beams hammered precisely together.
"What's that supposed to be?"
"That's ours," Jackson replied.
"Wait. You've been working on that for fifty years and that's all you've got to show?"
"Here, you try building a house when your chief architect keeps changing his mind every few months as to what he wants. You remember, for the longest time you wanted a bathroom the size of an airport hangar with a Jacuzzi. Then you wanted that music room and neither one of us knows the first thing about playing an instrument," he said. "Besides, time – time passes differently here."
"This isn't Lanzarote," Aaron said, shaking his head.
"You always did have a way with the obvious."
"We're always in Lanzarote. Always on the beach. Sometimes we're swimming. Sometimes not. Sometimes more."
"When?"
"When do you think? In my dreams, numpty."
"Aaron –"
A dog bounded up the grassy knoll, dropped the ball in his mouth at Aaron's feet and leapt into his lap, licking at his face.
"Whoa, down, boy- down."
Aaron grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck. "Clyde?"
The dog barked and nuzzled against Aaron's face.
"His nose – it's cold," Aaron said, confused.
"Yeah. Dog noses usually are. Do you know how long I've been looking after your mangy mutt? High time you took your turn."
Aaron suddenly felt disoriented. This – this wasn't right. Clyde's rust-colored fur was rough, thick and matted, to the touch. Aaron pushed the animal off and bolted to his feet, scanning the area before him.
The ground was solid beneath his feet. He could feel the heat of the sun beating down on him. The air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle.
This was madness.
And Jackson just stood and smiled, watching it all dawn on Aaron.
Jackson.
His Jackson, with his brown curly hair and his trim beard, clad in that red-checkered shirt Aaron loved so much, stood there so fit and tall.
Aaron whispered his name.
He slowly extended a hand.
No.
He let his hand fall to his side.
Jackson moved forward.
"Aaron, you don't have to be afraid."
"I'm not scared," Aaron said, his voice cracking, falling back a step. "I just don't want to get too close. If I get close, I wake up. And I don't want to wake up from this, Jackson. Whatever this is, I don't want it to end."
Jackson's face radiated compassion. "Aaron, you already know this isn't a dream."
"Of course it's a dream," Aaron whispered.
"Would a dream feel like this?" Jackson said. With that, he slowly, gently took Aaron into his arms.
Aaron gasped, his cheek brushing against Jackson's soft beard, taking in the warmth of his body.
"Jackson!"
Aaron's knees buckled.
"Steady, steady. I've got you."
Aaron pulled back to look into Jackson's eyes, so deep, beautifully brown.
"Jackson, how? I-"
He caught a glimpse of his own hand, expecting to see that arthritic, age-spotted claw –and was stunned by the young, strong limb. He glanced down and realized he was back in his dark hoodie and his track pants, tucked into his socks.
"Age is really is just a state of mind," Jackson smiled. "Unfortunately, so is fashion sense. What ever did I see in you?" he teased.
"Jackson. It's really you."
"You nutter. Who were you expecting?"
"This place – is this –"
"Home," Jackson answered, waving a hand to encompass the unfinished house and the property as far as Aaron could see. "This is ours. There's even a garage for you to work on all those bangers you love so much." He started off down the hill.
"No, wait."
Jackson paused as Aaron struggled to find his voice.
"I want you to know - everything I did, every person I ever met, I always thought of you, what would make you proud. Did I – did I get it right, Jackson? Did I make you proud?"
In all the years he had endured since losing Jackson, this was the one question that haunted Aaron.
"You have nothing to explain to me. I was there," Jackson said, placing a hand on Aaron's chest, over his heart. "With every step, every thought, I was with you."
He gently wiped Aaron's face. "No more tears, Aaron. You and I, we're done with all of that."
"Just tell me again: This is real?"
"You tell me," Jackson replied. And then just like he did that night outside Bar West, back when they were both so young and the future was unwritten, bright and limitless, he cupped his right hand to Aaron's cheek, leaned in and gently pressed his lips against Aaron's.
Aaron closed his eyes and sighed.
"You are never leaving me again," Aaron said. It was part plea, part command.
Jackson's face crinkled into a smile. "Not even for a minute, mate. Not ever. C'mon. I can't wait until you see the back yard. I put in a gazebo I think you're really gonna love."
"A gazebo?" Aaron scrunched up his face. "I don't even know what that is."
Jackson laughed good-naturedly.
"I'll show you," he said, reaching for him. "I'll show you everything."
Jackson Walsh and Aaron Livesy, hand in hand, walked down the grassy knoll and into eternity.
# # #