coalesced in front of him like a disembodied spirit. “There’s hot chocolate in the kitchen.”
I gave him a two-fingered salute and went inside to pour myself a steaming cup of cocoa.
The kitchen smelled of sugar and warm milk. A pot of hot chocolate simmered on the stove. Draped across the back of my chair was my father’s leather bomber jacket, the one I’d been wearing when I found Josh. Unwilling to part with it, I’d stuffed it into the back of the closet when soaking and scrubbing failed to remove the stains.
I checked the cuffs for blood. They were clean.
I put it on and stepped back out onto the porch.
“Hey,” I said.
Jay looked up. Smiled. “You found it.”
“How’d you get rid of the blood?”
“Enzymes.”
I laid my hand over my heart and bowed my head in his direction. “I owe you one.”
“You owe me more than one,” he said, grinning. “But anyway, you’re welcome.”
Upstairs, I lay on my bed and studied the Parker file. Started with the police report and worked through it page by page and photo by photo. I didn’t take notes. Not yet. Later, I’d attack the file with colored pens and highlighters, but for now, I just wanted to get a feel for the case.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the phone ringing, a gust of cold air, the front door smacking shut, footsteps, Jay’s voice. Casual, then concerned. It was the change in his tone that caught my attention. He sounded like he’d just been invited to his own execution.
I pushed aside the file I was reading and went to lean in the doorway of the kitchen, where he was setting the receiver back in its cradle.
“Trouble?” I asked.
He tucked one hand under the other armpit and stared at the wall in front of him. His face was still red with cold and his hair was rumpled. The knit cap he’d been wearing lay on the counter beside the phone, like a deflated caterpillar.
“That was Greg.” His voice sounded strained. “I don’t think you’ve ever met him. Dylan got him in the settlement.”
I nodded. There’s always a settlement. After every breakup, mutual friends choose one member of a couple over the other. It happened when Maria and I divorced, and it’s just as true of gay couples as it is of straight ones.
“What did he want?” I said.
He squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a small shake. Then, “Dylan’s dying,” he said.
Dylan. The biker boy with the bleached blond hair. The fucking bastard who’d given Jay AIDS.
“Good,” I said.
He looked at me sharply. “He’s got no place to go.”
“What about Greg?”
Jay picked up the caterpillar cap and twisted it in his hands. “Greg’s a fabulous person, but he doesn’t deal well with suffering.”
“And the punk he left you for?”
“Bailed when Dylan started to show symptoms. Poor Dyl. I don’t think anyone ever left him before in his life.”
“Poor baby.”
“You think I’m a sap.”
“He gave you AIDS.”
“He didn’t mean to.” He turned the cap inside out, rubbed the ribbing between his fingers. “I need to do this, Jared.”
“Do what?” I asked. Jay looked at me, and it suddenly came clear. “You mean, bring him here?”
“He’s all alone. There’s nobody to take care of him. Can you imagine what that must be like?”
“Let his family deal with him.”
“His parents are dead. Car wreck. They hadn’t spoken to him since he came out.” He looked away, but not before I saw the muscles in his jaw twitch. Jay’s parents had washed their hands of him when he’d told them he was gay. “He doesn’t have anybody else,” he said again.
I ran my tongue between my teeth and upper lip and tried to think of something clever to say. Instead, “It’s your house,” I said. “You can bring anybody into it you want.”
He said, “You’ll love him, you know. You think you’ll hate him. You’ll want to hate him. But you won’t.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“It’s not all altruism.” He
I gave him a two-fingered salute and went inside to pour myself a steaming cup of cocoa.
The kitchen smelled of sugar and warm milk. A pot of hot chocolate simmered on the stove. Draped across the back of my chair was my father’s leather bomber jacket, the one I’d been wearing when I found Josh. Unwilling to part with it, I’d stuffed it into the back of the closet when soaking and scrubbing failed to remove the stains.
I checked the cuffs for blood. They were clean.
I put it on and stepped back out onto the porch.
“Hey,” I said.
Jay looked up. Smiled. “You found it.”
“How’d you get rid of the blood?”
“Enzymes.”
I laid my hand over my heart and bowed my head in his direction. “I owe you one.”
“You owe me more than one,” he said, grinning. “But anyway, you’re welcome.”
Upstairs, I lay on my bed and studied the Parker file. Started with the police report and worked through it page by page and photo by photo. I didn’t take notes. Not yet. Later, I’d attack the file with colored pens and highlighters, but for now, I just wanted to get a feel for the case.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the phone ringing, a gust of cold air, the front door smacking shut, footsteps, Jay’s voice. Casual, then concerned. It was the change in his tone that caught my attention. He sounded like he’d just been invited to his own execution.
I pushed aside the file I was reading and went to lean in the doorway of the kitchen, where he was setting the receiver back in its cradle.
“Trouble?” I asked.
He tucked one hand under the other armpit and stared at the wall in front of him. His face was still red with cold and his hair was rumpled. The knit cap he’d been wearing lay on the counter beside the phone, like a deflated caterpillar.
“That was Greg.” His voice sounded strained. “I don’t think you’ve ever met him. Dylan got him in the settlement.”
I nodded. There’s always a settlement. After every breakup, mutual friends choose one member of a couple over the other. It happened when Maria and I divorced, and it’s just as true of gay couples as it is of straight ones.
“What did he want?” I said.
He squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a small shake. Then, “Dylan’s dying,” he said.
Dylan. The biker boy with the bleached blond hair. The fucking bastard who’d given Jay AIDS.
“Good,” I said.
He looked at me sharply. “He’s got no place to go.”
“What about Greg?”
Jay picked up the caterpillar cap and twisted it in his hands. “Greg’s a fabulous person, but he doesn’t deal well with suffering.”
“And the punk he left you for?”
“Bailed when Dylan started to show symptoms. Poor Dyl. I don’t think anyone ever left him before in his life.”
“Poor baby.”
“You think I’m a sap.”
“He gave you AIDS.”
“He didn’t mean to.” He turned the cap inside out, rubbed the ribbing between his fingers. “I need to do this, Jared.”
“Do what?” I asked. Jay looked at me, and it suddenly came clear. “You mean, bring him here?”
“He’s all alone. There’s nobody to take care of him. Can you imagine what that must be like?”
“Let his family deal with him.”
“His parents are dead. Car wreck. They hadn’t spoken to him since he came out.” He looked away, but not before I saw the muscles in his jaw twitch. Jay’s parents had washed their hands of him when he’d told them he was gay. “He doesn’t have anybody else,” he said again.
I ran my tongue between my teeth and upper lip and tried to think of something clever to say. Instead, “It’s your house,” I said. “You can bring anybody into it you want.”
He said, “You’ll love him, you know. You think you’ll hate him. You’ll want to hate him. But you won’t.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“It’s not all altruism.” He
Similar Books
