Hold Me Now

HOLD ME NOW

Stephen Gauer

HOLD

ME

NOW

a novel

FREEHAND BOOKS

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Freehand Books

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STEPHEN

     GAUER

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Edited by Robyn Read

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Cover photo by Julia Skopnik zweifellos.mondbetont.augpunkt.de

Author photo by Carlos Osorio

IN MEMORY OF

AMELIA BRUCE,

THE BRAVEST

OF US ALL.

______________

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

About the Author

Cover

Half Title Page

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

About the Author

Guide

Cover Page

Half Title Page

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication Page

Contents Page

Acknowledgements

Start of Content

About the Author

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS. When I enrolled in the MFA Creative Writing program at UBC in 2003, I became interested — for reasons I still don’t fully understand — in crime stories involving murder and, more specifically, the reactions of the victim’s family once the killer was arrested and put on trial. I wondered, how extreme does the desire for revenge become when a spouse or child has been murdered? Can the surviving loved ones forgive the killer? What stops them from seeking revenge? But also, can the desire for revenge and the ability to forgive coexist or does one cancel the other?

I looked for stories that featured the experiences of someone close to the murder victim. Several crime stories in the Vancouver area fed my interest and turned it into a fascination. In one, a wife whose husband was killed by a young neighbour during an argument at a house party not only came to forgive the perpetrator but eventually toured the province with him giving lectures on alcohol abuse. But the story that ultimately propelled me to write a novel about forgiveness and revenge was the murder of Aaron Webster, a forty-two-year-old gay man who was beaten to death by four young men in Vancouver in the fall of 2001. Webster’s death shocked the city and drew media coverage from across Canada and the Us. The first of four suspects was arrested in 2003, and trials continued through 2003 and 2004, when I began work on this book.

The Webster story inspired the central event of my novel, and then I created a cast of characters to dramatize the questions that fascinated me: how would this type of crime shape and change the lives of a victim’s family and friends? What happens to family members — of the victim and accused — who fall outside the spotlight of media attention? I found myself developing a father character, who became the protagonist of my novel.

I feel it is important to emphasize that Hold Me Now is not a fictional retelling or specific recreation of the Webster story, although I was fortunate to have access to court material from the Webster case that helped me accurately portray the medical and legal context of the murder in my novel. I have cited a generic sentence from the coroner’s report, while other material from that report and also from Judge Romilly’s Reasons for Sentence, which included excerpts from a defendant’s confession, were extremely helpful to consult.

Hold Me Now began as the thesis for my MFA degree, and later an amended version won the 2009 Prairie Fire Short Fiction Contest. I drew on both to finish the project, which became this novel. I thank Prairie Fire and Michael Winter for their kind support. For their contributions to the novel, I thank Keith Maillard, Nancy Adams, Robyn Read, and Judith.

1. ENTERING THE RESTAURANT was like stepping into a long black box. Brenner couldn’t see at first, the light was so dim, and then his eyes adjusted and he saw paper lanterns the size of steamer trunks floating in the fragrant air. The noise was tremendous. Every table seemed to be jammed with Asian kids, all talking and laughing at the same time. Young women shouted out orders in shrill, high-pitched voices. Far in the background some kind of electronic music throbbed on the sound system.

A slim man in black stepped forward to greet them. Brenner and his son took their shoes off, and then a young woman led them to a small table where they sat on cushions with their legs tucked in a shallow well beneath the table. Brenner found this uncomfortable but said nothing. He and Daniel took turns choosing restaurants, and he had made it a rule never to criticize his son’s choice. His daughter wouldn’t have picked such a dark and noisy restaurant. Elizabeth liked calm and quiet, the slow pace of a leisurely meal, as much as he did.

Is that the owner? Brenner asked. He looked over and saw the man in black smile and bob his head as he led a quartet of chattering girls to a table in the rear. He looked vaguely familiar. Brenner was puzzled by this and then realized the man looked like a young Marlon Brando.

Yeah. Daniel was playing with the glass candleholder in the centre of the table, tilting it back and forth in a way that Brenner found irritating. He stared at his son, expecting Daniel’s eyes to meet his.

He doesn’t look very old, Brenner said.

He’s old enough.

Do you know him?

Sort of. He’s a friendly guy.

Brenner looked around. They were surrounded by teenagers, Japanese and Chinese he assumed, and maybe Korean as well. He and Daniel were the only white customers in the place. He must have looked alarmed because Daniel suddenly put the candle down, reached over and touched his hand, and said, Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. The noise, the music, the heat. Daniel leaned forward and whispered, The fact that we’re the visible minority here.

I don’t care about that, Brenner said, although that wasn’t completely true. He noticed and he cared, and he knew why the city had changed in the last ten years and the reason was immigration and so many young people from Asia. There were moments walking down the sidewalk or waiting at a traffic light when he would look around and see only Asian faces and feel a split second of disorientation, as though the city he knew had been replaced by a different one.

But you love sashimi, right Dad? It’s fabulous here.

Brenner nodded. He tried to focus on the pleasure of the meal they were about to eat and the fact that they would have only a hour together before they went their separate ways for the evening. He would see Gwen later, cook for her, make love to her, spend the night. Daniel would go out with friends. Perhaps he would sleep with one of them. Did he have a lover? Brenner had no idea. But Daniel certainly had a lot of friends. Whenever Brenner suggested they spend the evening together, go to a movie or a concert, Daniel was always busy. Brenner wondered if being gay took you into a world where friendship was infinite. Did that mean the sex was infinite too?

He wanted a beer. He waved at one of the servers to come over. As she bent over the table, the girl brushed against Daniel’s shoulder. She had long black hair pulled into a ponytail and the perfect unlined face of a child. She wore loose pants and a black camisole that exposed her delicate neck and shoulders, the smooth collar of bone, her slender arms. Two beers, please, Brenner said.

What kind? she asked.

Brenner studied the beer list and picked a local name. Is that all right, Daniel?

Daniel was studying the menu. Sure, Dad, whatever you like.

Brenner repeated the name of the beer to the girl, who nodded quickly and disappeared. He looked at his son. Daniel’s face shone brightly in the glow of the candle. Brenner realized he could no longer see the small boy in his son’s face. There were lines that he hadn’t noticed before, across the forehead, around the mouth. Daniel had his mother’s fair skin and soft hair. Brenner could not remember the last time he had touched his son’s face.

So how are you? Brenner said. The seat was uncomfortable. He shifted his right leg, kicking Daniel in the foot by accident. Daniel pulled his foot away.

I’m good, Dad, I’m really good.

Work is going well?

"Work is fine. We’re busy. Nobody’s been laid off this quarter. Of course you never know. You never know what the bosses are going to do. We thought just for fun, if they do have to lay somebody off, then everyone in the office should get to vote for the unlucky bastard, you know, like on Survivor."

Brenner wasn’t sure what show his son was referring to, but said, Yes.

You know that show? Daniel said.

Well, sort of.

Dad, you don’t watch television.

I think I may have read something about it. I’m sure I’ve read something about it.

The girl with the ponytail came back with two tall glasses of beer on a tray. As she leaned down to place the glasses on the table, Brenner saw several Japanese characters tattooed on her back, near the top of her spine. He stared at them and wondered what they meant. He wanted to ask her but thought she might be offended. When he thanked her for the beer, she flashed a brilliant smile and disappeared again.

So you’re busy. He wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to pry. He didn’t understand why Daniel told him so little about work. He had a good job in a software company. Surely there were stories to tell, even a little gossip perhaps; Brenner didn’t mind gossip as long as it wasn’t particularly vicious or nasty.

What?

You’re busy at work.

Yes.

A long silence between them reminded Brenner how noisy the restaurant was. He wondered whether the owner would turn the music down if he asked him to. He took a long, delicious sip of beer and reminded himself that two glasses would be reasonable, but three would test the limit. Daniel, he noticed, drank very little; Brenner appreciated that his son set a good example at their dinners by nursing a single drink through the entire meal, and never lectured him on the evils of alcohol. He looked up again at his son. He worried about AIDS. And your health? How’s your health?

Dad, I’m fine. My health is fine. I’m working out. Did I tell you that? Look. Daniel pulled the sleeve of his T-shirt over his shoulder and then held up his arm and flexed his muscle. Bicep curls. Twenty-five pound dumbbells. Three sets, ten reps, three times a week. Aren’t you impressed?

Brenner shrank into his seat. He felt more embarrassed than impressed. Why did Daniel do things like this? To make him feel uncomfortable or simply to shock people? One of the girls at the next table stared at Daniel’s bicep and started to giggle. Daniel didn’t notice.

You could do weights, Dad. It would help your sailing.

I don’t think I want to do weights.

You’re not too old, if that’s what you’re worried about.

I’m not worried about that.

You’d look fine in a tank top . . . no, a sweatshirt would suit you better. Warm-up pants and a sweatshirt. You’d be right in style.

I don’t think I want to do weights, Daniel.

Come on Dad, loosen up a little.

Brenner said nothing. He did not want to loosen up. He only wanted to have a reasonable, intelligent conversation with his son but this was proving to be more difficult than usual. Daniel rolled his sleeve down and they were silent for a few moments. Brenner studied the menu. The server came back and they ordered half a dozen plates of fish and vegetables to share. Brenner loved sashimi so he ordered the salmon and ahi tuna. Daniel’s favourite was a spicy eggplant ragout so he ordered two plates of that.

So work is fine? Brenner started again. He always gave it three tries before giving up.

When the food arrived, the girl carefully moved their candle to the side of the table and arranged the plates in the centre. She had a pouch on her belt stuffed with chopsticks. Brenner asked for an extra pair. He pushed the two sets of chopsticks to one side and admired the display in front of them. He loved the perfect presentation of Japanese food in beautifully decorated bowls and small plates, everything arranged, everything exactly as it should be, everything given the same careful thought as the work he did, which also depended on the mastery of detail. Weren’t the contracts he devised and constructed and carefully arranged on the page as perfect, in their way, as these plates of food?

Daniel sampled each dish and then put his chopsticks down. Isn’t this great? You know what I really want to do, Dad? I want to record a CD. I know somebody with a home studio so I could do it for almost nothing. You record the tracks into the computer, mix them, and then burn a CD. You do the whole thing right on the computer. And I’ve got enough songs now and I’ve worked out all the arrangements. I can do this. I know I can do this.

Not all of Daniel’s enthusiasms were equally sound. Brenner knew he had to tread carefully. Daniel had been mad about music from the age of twelve, when he bought his first guitar.

He wrote songs about sidewalks, doomed lovers, avalanches, and seashells, among other things. Elizabeth called them quirky and beautiful. Brenner wasn’t so sure. Brenner thought his son had a small talent for music but he knew that to think of it as anything other than a hobby would be disastrous. He looked at Daniel and said, But it must take a lot of time. And you’re still paying off the loan for the guitar.

Daniel sighed and reassured his father he could make the CD and keep up the payments. I can even pay you off early, maybe in a couple of months, he said.

We agreed on a two-year term, at a hundred a month.

But I have the money —

We should stick to the terms of the agreement, Brenner said. Besides, it’s a good exercise for you, putting the money aside every month to pay off the loan. The discipline — that’s what’s important here.

But I don’t need the discipline.

I’m sorry but you do need the discipline.

Like a bad little boy?

This isn’t a joke.

I know, Dad. This is a Serious Parental Moment.

Brenner sighed. He blamed himself for Daniel’s slipshod attitude toward money and financial responsibility, yet he could never quite pin down where he’d gone wrong. He’d done his best to set a good example. At Daniel’s age, he had been married with a child on the way, a mortgage, and a five-year plan to make partner at the largest law firm in the city. Louise always said, It’s a different world, when they discussed Daniel, but what did that mean really? Every generation finds a new world waiting for it. His father had survived the Depression; wasn’t that a different world? Isn’t life always a challenge?

Daniel seemed to soften, and leaned toward Brenner. You’re right. I should try harder with money.

I can help you. At your age you’ve got a huge head start compared to somebody with a family and a mortgage. You can be socking away regular amounts every month that will support you in your old age. Start early and you’re set for life. We can work on a budget for you, a retirement savings plan, some solid investments . . .

For a moment Brenner felt hopeful. You couldn’t live a happy life unless you had the money demon under control, and if Daniel would allow him to help, then progress was possible. It was never too late to start. Daniel was still under thirty. You start with small steps and the next thing you know you’re leaping over mountains.

Brenner sipped more beer. The third glass tasted even better than the second, which in turn had tasted better than the first. Perhaps the beer was getting colder or perhaps he was getting warmer. The sashimi had been delicious. They ordered two more plates. Brenner asked his son if he wanted another beer.

No, Dad. I’m fine.

Brenner felt a sudden wave of well-being. He looked around the restaurant again, this time with an affection and understanding that had been missing half an hour before, and decided that exotic was the perfect word to describe it. Sitting at the table drinking cold glasses of beer and eating delicious raw fish, surrounded by exuberant youngsters speaking languages he did not understand, he felt as though he had been whisked off to Japan and welcomed into the heart of Tokyo or Kyoto. He’d never actually been to those places, but he’d read enough about Japan to know what it was like. The noise, the heat, the shrill voices of young women, the incessant roil of laughter at every table — all of these elements seemed quintessentially and happily Japanese. I feel like I’m in Tokyo, Brenner said, smiling again at his son.

Daniel returned his smile. Did I tell you I might be going to London in the summer? But only for a week.

London —?

Yeah. With Mom.

Ah. He struggled to stay aloft on the wave of well-being, then felt it ebb away.

She’s fine, by the way.

That’s good.

George is fine too.

Good.

He still wants to go sailing with you, you know.

Excellent.

He will call you.

Will he?

That’s what he said.

Did he say that, or did your mother say that?

No, he said that.

So you’re going to London with your mother?

Yes. She offered, so I said I’d think about it, but there’s not really that much to think about because why wouldn’t I go? I’ve got some vacation time coming.

But you haven’t even been at that company a year.

You make arrangements, Dad. Everybody does it. I can get the time off.

The museums in London are first-rate. And you must go to the British Library and see their copy of the Gutenberg Bible.

I’ll try, Dad. But we only have a week.

Your mother’s seen it. The trip we did in seventy-two when we were still in law school.

They were silent again. Brenner