MEET THE SHARPES

4. The Rainbow + The Echo

Maxim and Antwan alternated watch shifts until morning. They roused each hour, tapped the sleeping husband on the shoulder, and leaned their head back and began to snore.

The next morning brought warm sunlight in through the high windows of their lavish hideout. The natural light made its way down to the marble floors and framed the two of them in a mosaic of broken reflections.

"Morning, sleepy head." Maxim mused.

"I wasn't asleep. I was praying." grumbled his husband.

Maxim laughed and stretched out his legs. Antwan groaned in his disapproval as Maxim blossomed into a convulsing yawn against his back.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Fine." responded Antwan.

The Sharpes cleaned up their palate and moved the house with steel wool. Maxim accepted a blue bottle of sweet-smelling antiseptic spray and he understood. They were never here.

"Can't be too clean." Antwan instructed. "They've been gone for a month."

"They use a cleaning service." Maxim yawned. "It's good."

"Eden cancelled the cleaning service two months ago. That's what I'm telling you." Antwan chided. "Maybe if you listened to me--"

"I got it, Ant." he spat.

Antwan shrugged and set off up the stairs. His heavy stomps reverberated like cannons, and he muttered his discontent. Maxim shrunk with every venomous glare until his husband disappeared down an upstairs hallway. His nonchalance often enraged his husband but this time it was his actions which kept Antwan away.

Maxim trailed up the stairs. He adjusted his surreptitious gait to a hefty saunter and climbed to the second floor. He let his boots thud to the floor when he reached the second-floor balcony and peered down the palatial hallway. He started down the arch passage. He passed sets of double doors with oak facades. They stood ajar and Maxim could make out radiant rooms with lace duvets and gauzy accents and a shiver went up his spine. He was grateful for the agreeable taste he shared with his partner and made a mental note to bring it up later when Antwan was in a better mood.

He crept toward a set of masterfully ornate doors engraved with life sized shapes of rearing horses. Maxim pushed the door open further and was greeted by a colossal bed. Its four embellished columns reached for the domed glass ceiling. Gauzy white curtains hung from black metal rods and shielded the mattress from view. Maxim swiped back the veil and a plump raccoon snarled at him.

Maxim jerked the curtain closed and turned for the bathroom door. He peeked inside and found the shadow of his husband's broad shoulders cutting a ghostly shadow across the tiled floor. Antwan's thickset torso was pressed against the wall as he sat on the edge of the black jacuzzi tub. His elbow rested on his knee, and he gazed out the frosted window while his index finger traced the trigger of a bronze gun.

"Ant." Maxim called. "We survived the night. Can we talk now?" What I did was reckless and stupid...Ant?"

"Did we mean nothing to you?" whispered his husband.

"It's not that black and white, man." Maxim sighed.

"Then make it that simple, Max! Make it as simple as you did when dredged up several chapters of our old lives—lives we buried years ago!" Antwan cried.

Maxim claimed the spot in front of him and pulled Antwan's legs into his lap. He wound Antwan's ankle in a clockwise motion and his husband shut his eyes.

"So, nothing I said last night resonated with you?" he asked. "You're perfectly content with our happy, suburban, black picket fence fantasy?"

"What fantasy, Max? This is the life we built. The house, the kids, down to the neighborhood, this was our dream. This is what we talked about on every assignment. The dream that kept us alive. Is that all we are to you? A fantasy?" Antwan asked.