What woman?
The woman in the photo. Next to Sean.
Mike takes in a shuddering breath.
He drops his hands and he—
He’s lying on his back and blinking up at white lights and there’s people moving around him, above him, and there are machines, he knows there are machines, but it’s hazy and he’s confused and he—
He’s in the diner.
He’s in the diner.
People are eating around him. The forks and spoons scrape along plates and bowls. It smells like bacon and coffee. He drops his hand to the table. It’s sticky under his fingertips, like syrup was spilled a while ago but not yet wiped away. It’s real. He feels it. He knows it.
As was the woman in the photo. Standing next to Sean. He can see it in his head clear as day. His head is throbbing, yes, right behind his left eye, but he can see it. Happy and Calvin and Donald and Sean all standing in a row. And there was a woman, an African Queen, and she was there too, standing right next to Sean, and she was in love. With whoever had taken the photo, she was in love with that person. Walter didn’t know who it was. Walter, who said he took the photo of the woman in love with the photographer. He took all these photos, and he didn’t know who the woman was.
Nadine, Mike thinks. Nadine the African Queen.
Hidden away, sight unseen.
“Hey.”
Mike sucks in a breath. His hands are shaking on the table. It’s like he’s been startled awake.
Sean’s standing there, head cocked. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Mike says, but it’s weak and rough. He tries again. “Yes. Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Sean says, and Mike’s heart trips all over itself. “You looked a little lost in thought there.”
He was lost in something, that’s for sure. Because he knows what he saw. Or what he thinks he saw. Or what he imagined he saw. He says, “You know how it is.”
“Sure,” but it’s said cautiously, and Mike knows he’s probably still a little wide-eyed at the moment. “Sorry it took me so long to get over. Busy morning, big guy.”
“It’s all right. It happens.”
Sean sits down across from him with a groan. Their knees knock under the table, and Sean’s foot is against his. It’s good. It’s right. Mike loves it. Mike’s also still thinking about the photos on the wall and if there are any others that are folded away, hiding their secrets. He shouldn’t be. He really shouldn’t be, because there’s only so many hours in the day he gets to be with Sean, but it’s there. It’s there and he can’t stop thinking about it.
Because he wants to know if Nadine the African Queen loved someone as much as her face said she did. And if she did, who did she love like that?
He told himself it’d get better.
It’s gotten worse.
He looks at Sean, and Sean smiles at him, and he thinks of the Harvest Festival, only five days away, and he wonders what it would feel like to dance with him. To hold him close and sway to the music. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more, aside from Sean himself.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Sean asks.
“You,” Mike admits, rubbing the back of his neck. And it’s the truth, even if it’s only partial.
There it is. There’s the just-for-Mike smile. “What about me?”
“Dancing.”
“Dancing? You want to dance with me, big guy?”
“Yeah,” Mike says. “Yeah, I’d like that.”