The mid-40s are that time in a gay man's life when his major paradigm shifts from sexy to Sansabelts. But when Barry Grooms's partner of twenty years is killed on Barry's forty-fifth birthday, his world doesn't so much evolve as it does explode.<br><br>After navigating through the surreal conveyor belt of friends and family, he can't eat another casserole or swallow much more advice on what constitutes grief. Still numb, he leaves his homestore and design business in the care of others as he escapes to Key West, then New York. There he gets a thankless new job working for a crazy lady in a poncho, then has too many drinks with a narcissistic Broadway actor. Next it's a nude exercise class that redefines flop sweat, and from there he's on to a relationship with a man twenty years his junior.<br><br>Yet no matter how great the retreat from the man he used to be, life's gravity spins Barry back to the small town where he grew up for one more ironic twist that teaches him how to say goodbye with grace.

The Cool Part of His Pillow

The male newsstand worker slides open a Plexiglas panel to accept cash. Through it, he tells me, “No school.”


He must be her father. They share a unibrow on the same broad forehead that is the color of perfect toast.


I say to the girl, “No school is always good. What’s your name?”


She says something like Hella Pelme. I lean in.


That’s what it sounds like, this time. Whatever she’s eaten, heavy with unidentifiable spices, warms my face.


“That’s pretty. That’s like Hayley. My mom’s best friend in the whole world is named Hayley.”


This seems to delight her. A bubble of spit forms on her lips.


“You have a really good no-school day,” I offer.


The girl dances an Ariel figurine from The Little Mermaidon a peeling ledge. That’s when I notice that her left leg is tethered by a black strap to a post.


Chapter 54