Shoulder Season Read online

  His heart felt soothed, and he wondered, if they did stay together, whether all of their disagreements or misunderstandings or near quarrels would be solved in this way, with a little talking and a bit of compromise, and responding as if the other person acted out of generosity rather than selfishness. He kept coming back to the idea of them staying together, though he had no real idea how it could happen, except that it felt right to think of it that way. But rather than unload all of the thoughts in his churning brain, he took Solvin in his arms and settled back against the seat. Solvin’s shoulders fit into the curve of the body as they had from the beginning, and he was warmed from the slight chill that came through the rain-streaked windows, both by Solvin’s closeness and his own thoughts of the future. The drive would take as long as it would, and when they stopped, there’d be more good Icelandic food and Solvin’s beloved black beach.

  THE RESTAURANT turned out to be more cafeteria than sit-down dining with waiters taking their orders. But the food, lamb stew and french fries and iced tea, was delicious, and the room was filled with warmth and steam and the smell of onions frying. Plus it was good to sit and look out the windows and watch the rain scatter itself over the beach that, from where they were sitting, Ben could only see a slice of.

  Soon they were finished eating and ready to go, and Solvin gave the cab driver several folded krona for coffee and something sweet, and as the driver had a paperback book in his hands, he seemed happy to be where he was and waved them off so he could get back to reading.

  “I’m not sure how far out I can go,” said Solvin as he took Ben’s hand. “I didn’t bring my cane, I just realized.”

  “Maybe you’re needing it less,” said Ben. “But I’ll be your cane, okay? We can link arms, and if I have to, I can carry you.”

  “Carry me?” asked Solvin, laughing. “I’m all muscle here and no lightweight.”

  “I can carry you piggyback for a ways, don’t you fear.” Ben smiled as he said this, for no reason at all but because he felt like smiling. “Come on, let’s go see your black beach.”

  Hand in hand and then arm in arm, they made their way along the path from the restaurant parking lot to the beach. The path as it rose up to go over a small hill became more and more a track of small black pebbles made of lava. Once they were over the hill, the wind from the beach and the rain from the gray skies hit them both in the face.

  “Are you sure?” asked Ben. The black beach seemed to go on for miles in either direction and looked pretty rugged.

  “Yes,” said Solvin. “We’ll just go out to where that line in the sand is. See it? That’s as far as the water has come today, because with my ankle, I would not be able to outrun any sneaker waves.”

  “What’s a sneaker wave?” asked Ben. In his mind, he imagined it to be a wave that was wearing sneakers like guys wore on basketball courts.

  As they walked down the slope of black pebbles, he could kind of see what Solvin meant. The waves rolled up from the sea and crashed onto the beach in a constant cycle, where each wave circled like bits of cut glass, coming closer and closer to the tourists on the beach until finally the waves reached them and spread out like white lava. The tourists ran shrieking as if it were all in fun, and the waves barely touched them, though Ben could see that if a wave caught you unawares, it could drench you from head to toe at best or, at worst, drag you out to sea before you even had a chance to cry for help.

  “Yes,” said Solvin. “It’s not a tame ocean, that’s for sure.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” said Ben, though he was not sure what he meant by that. “Come on, lean on me a bit, and we’ll walk as far as we dare.”

  They linked elbows like an old married couple and walked down toward the line Solvin had indicated. Overhead the sky raged with rain, though every now and then a pale space would open up in the clouds, and it would rain a little less and the air around them would brighten. On either side of them rose columns of basalt, and over on the left were two tall stacks that jutted out of the sea. Ben thought he might ask what those were, but the sharp wind blew all the sound of voices away until it left only the roar of the ocean as it crashed onto the beach.

  Ben’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, but as his arm was linked with Solvin’s and their hands were clasped together, he didn’t want to let go, so he didn’t. It was probably only Alan leaving an angry message, anyway.

  They watched as a group of tourists, three young men about their age and dressed in anoraks and fleece and stout boots, taunted the ocean as they went down to it. And just as Solvin had told Ben, a silver-white wave practically stood up, launched itself at the black beach, and threw itself at the three men, who shrieked and shouted and tried to outrun it, but to no avail. All three of them were tossed off their feet, and for a moment were half-buried in the foamy surf and were in danger of being dragged out to sea.

  But while Ben was watching this spectacle of stupidity and was glad the three young men made it to safety, an unseen wave came up at them from the other side, and before Ben could react, the icy-cold foam was up to their knees. Without thinking, Ben grabbed Solvin around the waist and pulled hard, and turned and ran up the beach with the waves tearing at his ankles. Solvin, realizing the danger, did not argue or protest but hung on to Ben’s shoulders as best he could until they were well up on the beach and out of reach of even the longest wave.

  Panting, Ben lowered Solvin to his feet and winced, as he’d wrenched his shoulder. But better that than him or Solvin getting swept out to sea, never to be seen again.

  “Are you all right?” asked Solvin. “Did you hurt your shoulder? You did, didn’t you?”

  “Just strained it,” said Ben as he rubbed it through his jacket.

  It was then he realized he was drenched up to his knees and that Solvin was as well, and if they stayed out any longer, they were only going to get colder and wetter. With the restaurant nearby and the cab driver waiting to take them home, they were not in any real danger, but it probably wouldn’t do either one of them any good to catch a cold. What was more, Solvin was balancing on his left foot and trying not to show his right ankle hurt.

  “Did I hurt your ankle carrying you?” asked Ben. But it was easy to see he had because Solvin made a face, grimacing.

  “I don’t need to be carried,” said Solvin. He shook his finger at Ben. “So no more carrying, but I do need help back.”

  Ben stepped close, pulled Solvin’s arm over his shoulder, looped his arm around Solvin’s waist, and together they limped back to the parking lot, where the cab driver was waiting. Solvin spoke to the cab driver, Andri, who went to the trunk of the car and brought out a fleece blanket, which he handed to Solvin. Then he waited while they took off their boots and socks, partly so they wouldn’t have to wear them on the long cab ride home, but also so Ben could crouch down and look at Solvin’s ankle. Solvin’s foot was pale and there was some swelling around the bone, but only a little.

  “You want to take your pills now?” asked Ben. “I could get you some water.”

  Andri tapped Ben on the shoulder and said something in Icelandic as he handed him a bottle of water.

  “Takk fyrir,” said Ben as he handed Solvin two pills and the bottle and then gratefully took the cloth bandage Andri handed him. He carefully wrapped Solvin’s ankle and then patted it gently.

  “This was a dumb idea,” said Solvin as Ben gathered their things and put them in the trunk.

  Ben came back around and got into the back seat with Solvin. The cab driver closed all the doors, got in, and started the engine, and thankfully the heater. They drove along in silence for a while, following the two-lane blacktop back to Reykjavik.

  “It wasn’t a dumb idea,” said Ben. “It was beautiful, just like you said.”

  “We should have stayed farther up, but I wanted you to be able to go down to the ocean, and I think you wouldn’t have gone without me.”

  “I wouldn’t have, you’re right,” said Ben. He wasn’t sure what to fee
l about what Solvin had done, but as Solvin reached out his hand, Ben took it, cupped his hands around it, and brought it to his mouth to kiss and blow warm air across. “I’m glad we went, but we should make sure you’re all healed before we do it again.”

  “Will we do it again?” asked Solvin.

  Ben looked at him. Solvin’s eyes were sad, and his blond hair was damp with sea salt, and he was looking at Ben like Ben had all the answers. Ben didn’t, but he did know one thing. He wanted to go to the black beach and wear his Icelandic sweater while having coffee with Solvin and do everything Solvin found lovely and good about his home country.

  “Yes,” said Ben. “Yes, I think we should.”

  He tucked the fleece blanket more firmly around Solvin’s shoulders and pulled Solvin into his arms, and sighed, feeling exhausted but happy. His adrenaline had certainly gotten going during his rescue on the beach, and now that it had faded, it left him feeling relaxed and hungry.

  He thought about how much money he had left and whether Solvin could be convinced to let him pay for dinner when he realized there was a vacant spot where his cell phone should be. Shifting a little to one side, he determined that, yes, it was gone. All his contacts, and photos of him and Alan, and all the voice messages from Alan, and the angry texts, and the petulant emails, all of it was gone. Well, if he went online, he could probably find a record of some of them up there in the cloud where all such things were said to exist forever. But for now the phone and all the residual connections to his old life were lost forever. Though, all things considered, he felt pretty good about that.

  WHEN THEY got back to Solvin’s apartment, Ben made him change into dry clothes and went to his apartment to do the same. When he came back over, it was still raining, and the door was open, so Ben stepped in and closed it behind him. Solvin was standing in the middle of the room, talking on his cell phone. It was obviously someone he knew, for there was a smile on his face and his voice was animated. When he saw Ben at the door, he waved him in and slid his arm around Ben’s waist.

  “Ja, ja,” said Solvin.

  This was followed by more Icelandic, and then Ben heard the word mama followed by more words, and realized, all of a sudden, Solvin was talking to his mom. When he heard his own name, he was sure of it, and his face felt hot because he didn’t know what Solvin was saying about him, though by the sound of this side of the conversation, it couldn’t be bad.

  “Bye-bye, Mama,” said Solvin, then he pressed the phone with his thumb. “She says hello.”

  “Your mom?” asked Ben, just to be sure.

  “Yes, she says she owes you a sweater for saving my life today.”

  “She doesn’t have to give me a sweater,” said Ben. “I would have done it anyway. Besides, should you be standing on that ankle?”

  “No,” said Solvin with a wide, sassy grin. “But there’s a wider bandage in the bathroom cupboard, if you wouldn’t mind rewrapping it?”

  “Then we can have something to eat,” said Ben. He went into the bathroom, found the cloth bandage, and came out to shove Solvin back on the couch. “Now sit still, please.”

  Ben knelt at Solvin’s feet, pushed up the leg of his sweatpants, and carefully wrapped Solvin’s ankle. With a pat, he stood up and leaned forward to kiss Solvin quite slowly, but before he could stand up again, Solvin had pulled him down to the couch. Ben didn’t struggle at all as Solvin covered his face with kisses, only laughed deep in his chest and felt absolutely happy in a way he’d not felt for a long time.

  When Solvin pulled back a little, Ben held his face in his hands and smiled.

  “What shall we have for dinner? You’re still out of eggs, and there are no more cans of soup.”

  “Pizza,” said Solvin.

  “Pizza?” asked Ben. “In Iceland?”

  “Only the best,” said Solvin with a wink as he grabbed his phone from the side table.

  Ben watched as Solvin ordered the pizza in Icelandic, and though he was quite, quite sure it wouldn’t be as good as pizza ordered in the States, he kept his mouth shut. Besides, it would be fun to try something new, which could turn out to be good. Which was how his trip to Iceland had been overall thus far, so why wouldn’t it continue to be the same?

  They cuddled on the couch, watching another English crime drama Solvin liked while they waited for the pizza to arrive. When the doorbell rang, Ben leaped to his feet and paid the delivery gal out of his own pocket rather than let Solvin pay for it; he tipped her as well for coming all that way in the rain. The box was damp in his hands, and when he opened it, the pizza looked rather more floppy than it should have, but he cheerfully got them plates and arranged a slice on each before putting the box in the oven on low. Then he presented Solvin his plate of pizza.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” asked Solvin, his eyebrows going up.

  “In the oven, warming up,” said Ben. “I’ll take it out after five minutes or so, and it’ll taste better, I promise. Just look at this.”

  Making a joke out of it, Ben sat down and lifted his slice of pizza from his plate. It sagged in his hands and was cold and flabby, but he couldn’t have expected an arctic country to easily get the hang of a dish that was invented in a Mediterranean climate. Solvin laughed as he bit into his slice, and together they ate and watched TV and polished off the rest of the pizza as soon as Ben decided it was heated up enough.

  “It really is better warm,” said Solvin as he wiped his hands on the towel Ben had brought over.

  “Yeah,” said Ben. He took the towel and stacked it on their empty plates on the side table. Then he sat back on the couch sideways with his legs crossed beneath him and took Solvin’s hands in his own. “What were you talking to your mother about? Besides the accident, I mean.”

  “You,” said Solvin. “She really does want to hand knit you an Icelandic sweater. I told her to pick colors that would go with the green of your eyes and your dark hair.” Solvin paused, blushing. “Not very many people in Iceland have such dark hair, almost black.”

  “You like the way I look?” asked Ben.

  “Yes,” said Solvin. “I do, I really do, but mostly I like your smile and the way it lights up your eyes. And the way you like the same things that I like, and the way you’re not in a hurry like most Americans are. I mean, not that it’s a bad thing, but things are slower in Iceland than where you’re from, and I thought—”

  Solvin stopped midsentence, and again Ben saw that dark blush as it rose up Solvin’s neck and all the way to his ears. While it was lovely (and yes, nice) to hear compliments about himself, he did not want to torture Solvin by making him perform this gentle courtship all on his own.

  “Do you think your mother would like to meet me someday?” asked Ben. He felt the tremor in his voice that made him feel vulnerable, but Solvin responded in the way he had since they met only days ago. He took Ben’s hands in his and kissed them.

  “Yes,” said Solvin, nodding as though he was quite sure of the outcome of this suggested meeting. “I told her that I care for you and that you, well, I think you care for me, and I did go on about you a bit, about how you rescued me, and our visit to the church and the statue of the boat of dreams. And then she said—she said that I best bring you to the farm so she can meet you.”

  “And so I can get her stamp of approval,” said Ben, smiling. “I’d like to get that stamp, just so you know, so I can stay in Iceland with you. Except—” Now it was Ben’s turn to pause, uncertain as to how much he could assume about their relationship. But seeing as how honesty had worked every single minute he’d been in Iceland and shared with Solvin, it would probably work now. “We seem to fit together very well, you and I, and I would move to Iceland if you wanted me to. I don’t know how I’d find a job as an engineer, but if I had to work in that pizza place, I could show them how it’s supposed to be done, and that would be—that would make me very happy. Being with you would make me very happy.”

  Solvin’s eyes lit up, and he launched himself at
Ben and tumbled them both to the couch, where they landed wrapped in each other’s arms with their feet hanging off in a comical way.

  “Except I don’t know if they’d let me,” said Ben, enjoying the idea of planning their lives together, starting right now. “I only have a tourist visa.”

  “I have a solution,” said Solvin, a little breathless. “It’s called a fiancé visa and the only reason I know is because one of my ex-boyfriends was from another country, and he wanted me to get one. They’re good for six months, and then you have to get married.”

  “I will get one,” said Ben solemnly. “But can I move in with you right away without one?”

  This question made Solvin smile wide, his blue eyes bright, and Ben kissed him soundly.

  “I don’t have very much,” said Ben. “Not even at home in my apartment in Colorado, but I guess I could get my roommate to put my stuff in storage so he could rent out the room.”

  “Or I could go with you to get your things,” said Solvin. “I’ll remember my cane, and my pills, and I promise not to drink any more beer.”

  “You’d go with me?” asked Ben. The thought was so new that it brought him up short, but before his mind began to wander, as it sometimes did, and before this could distress Solvin in any way, he nodded. “Yes, let’s do that while you still have time off. We’ll go and come back and then go meet your mom, and then you go back to work, and I’ll go make pizza or whatever.”

  “Maybe to start with,” said Solvin. He curled forward so their foreheads were touching and his breath was warm on Ben’s cheek. “But I think we can do better than that. You’re an engineer who likes to fix things, and we have plants that need engineers.”

  In one fell swoop, it seemed all of Ben’s troubles were resolved: he had a new place to live, a potential job using his degree (though there were worse things than making pizza), and a new boyfriend—correction: a new fiancé—whose mother liked to knit Icelandic sweaters.

  “We’ll get along,” said Ben almost reverently. “And when we argue, we’ll talk it out like we’ve been doing, without yelling—”