"Whisper of the Wind"

Chapter 29

"Something to Remember Him By"

January 2025

Gresham:

We stood motionless, locked into a shy embrace for a long time. Everything external melted away from what we were together in those moments. I could tell Leather was in physical and mental pain. He was wracked with trembling as his mind fought for control of his body, and I knew there was nothing I could do for him except hold on.

I gripped him firmly, just above his middle, hands reaching upward, barely touching his shoulder blades. Even that first day when I had knocked him for a loop in Spider Leg #1, he hadn't seemed this tall. Long and lean and craggy, his head might have been in the clouds, for all I knew. I had to tilt backward at an angle in order to look into his face.

Finally he lowered his head to my shoulder and stood there like a big, clumsy-graceful, loose-limbed scarecrow. He breathed deeply, recovering his composure. His beard bit into the skin of my neck, but I would not flinch. If he needed me to hold him up, balance him on his sound leg, I was up for the task. If he needed to weep, I could sustain that too.

He straightened at last with a heavy sigh. I saw him dig into his jacket pocket for his pills. He shook the bottle twice, perhaps judging the number still left. He took two pills dry and tipped his head back to swallow, a familiar delaying tactic. He did that a lot. He returned the bottle to his pocket, but would not meet my scrutiny. He grasped the handle of the cane from where he'd hooked it over his arm and maneuvered slowly back to the old yellow chair. He lifted his leg onto the stool, closed his eyes and leaned back.

I stood still beside the worktable and watched him. I didn't speak at first. The next words, if any, were up to him, if there was going to be a conversation. I was already regretting the tumble of words that confessed to him how I felt. This was a man who did not suffer fools gladly, and I could almost anticipate his disapproval and disdain at the way I'd blurted out that I loved him.

Christ, Gresham! Why didn't you just tell the man you wanted to screw him right here on the damned work table? What the hell is wrong with you?

After a minute or so he opened one eye and squinted up at me with a snarky, tolerant look on his face.

Ah damn! Here it comes …

"I love you too," he said very softly. He then closed the eye and combed his face of all expression. "You get to me …" The last part was scarcely above a whisper.

I know for certain that my mouth dropped open.

What??

He looked up at me again …both eyes this time … judging my reaction … and smiled briefly. "But it's not what you think."

"Then what??"

"You're a sucker for a sad face … just like he was. You thrive on need. I can give you that in spades! I've already figured that out, and you have too if you think about it."

"I don't know what you mean …"

"Sure you do. I saw it in your face the day you knocked me on my ass. But I don't want to be your 4-H project."

"What's that supposed to mean?

"It means …" He paused a moment, considering. "I'm not gonna earn you brownie points for giving a sad old man a new lease on life. Aint gonna happen. Right now I corner the market on pathetic figures, and I aim to keep it that way. Get it?"

"Leather, you're not a sad old man. You're a royal pain in the ass."

"Exactly!" There was a twinkle stirring in his eye. "I don't need saved. I don't need sympathy, and I don't need somebody to stand off to the side poised to catch me when I fall. If I go on my ass, I'll pick myself up. You're going to be a doctor, dammit! That's not just a stroll in the park. It takes a long time and a lot of sweat and a lot of compromise. Don't blow it! Don't fall in love and get all goo-goo eyed.

"Jesus, Gresham … you're young enough to be my daughter … maybe only a couple years shy of being my granddaughter. Given the age difference, I could get arrested for statutory rape! So we'll never be a 'couple'. Don't even think about it!"

"How do you know I …?" I felt myself getting angry.

"Pffffht!" He snorted with a sarcasm that said I was talking nonsense. He glared at me the same way my Dad used to glare at me when I thought I was conning him out of … or into … something.

"Ahh, you're such a romantic little girl," he scoffed. "I had to deal with one of them on my service once before, and she drove me nuts. But I wasn't about to let myself get trapped that way. Not that I wouldn't have liked to … now and then … but I don't have much left on the credit side anymore except my honor. I'd like to hang onto some of that, maybe …"

"You sound like my Dad. Do you have kids?"

"See? Already you're comparing me with your father. Another reason why the romantic angle would never work. If I'd had kids, I'd probably have drowned 'em at birth! Kids are okay in minimal doses, but I won't put up with their crap."

"Yeah … " I said with chagrin. "I remember! Selfish, huh?"

"You got that right!"

"So why did Dr. Wilson stick around?"

The lights in his eyes changed suddenly to something that spoke of a deep and ongoing sorrow. I regretted bringing it up.

"Dr. Wilson," he finally said, "was a basket case with a Hebrew conscience."

"Huh?"

"He knew when he was needed. He called me an idiot at least once a week. And he filled up all my empty spaces."

"What happened to him? No one will give me a straight answer. Will you?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I was sooo in love with him … all through sixth grade. I carried his picture in my history book. He was beautiful …"

Leather's face softened appreciably. "Yeah, for a sappy cow-eyed moron, he was okay."

"I cried for a week when I heard he was dead. And I cried for you when I thought you were dead. But here you are …"

"For what it's worth, Wilson isn't dead either ..."

"I knew it! But he was hurt, wasn't he? That's where you go every month, isn't it? To see him?"

"You been talking to W. T.??"

"Yeah, but talking to him is like talking to a brick wall. He won't tell me anything."

"He's been a good friend. Guess I can tell him it's okay now."

"So what happened to Dr. Wilson?"

Leather pushed himself out of the yellow chair and straightened in slow increments. He planted the cane's rubber tip near the toe of his right shoe and switched the subject like a water tap going from hot to cold.

"We didn't get much work done around here today," he murmured, looking around. He stood in the middle of the floor propped up with the cane, and I figured he'd decided he'd talked enough about things that made him uncomfortable.

"Leather? Dr. House?" I was trying not to be solicitous, but I knew I was.

He turned slowly and affixed me with a sad, cold stare. "Not anymore today," he finally said. "I'll get with W. T. and see when it'd be best to fill you in. I gotta go, Gresham. I'll see you tomorrow."

He slung his backpack onto his shoulder. Slowly he picked his way to the other side of the room, turned down the dehumidifier and pushed the button for the elevator. The rumble of its mechanism echoed through the spider banks and the door opened before him.

He stepped in, and when the doors closed over him, he was looking at me with sad, speculative eyes. Those eyes seemed a direct pipeline to his aching heart.

I stood still and waited for the elevator to come back down again. I wondered, not for the first time, where in hell things could possibly go from here …

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