by Scotty Cade
Abel turned to Cullen and nervously extended his hand. “Good night, Reverend Kiley. It was great to see you. I hope I’ll see you again before you leave.” Abel’s face was full of pain and misery, and it broke Cullen’s heart.
“Good night, Pastor Weston.”
Abel offered his arm to Courtney and led her back in the direction of the church. Cullen watched until they turned the corner and he could no longer see them. He sat back down on the swing and looked out over the water.
What the heck just happened? That was the most bizarre thing I think I’ve ever experienced. And where did that Reverend Kiley crap come from?
IT WAS almost midnight before Cullen climbed back onto T-Time. After Abel’s swift departure, Cullen had spent over an hour sitting alone on the swing, hypnotized by the rotating glow of the Oak Island light and the sounds of the waves crashing against the seawall. As he pushed himself back and forth with one foot, the screeching and whining of the wooden swing lulled him into a rhythm. He contemplated his departure, and just before he left the park, he made a mental note that if he ever did come back to Southport, he should bring a can of WD-40 with him.
Now safely back onboard his boat, Cullen poured himself a couple of fingers of bourbon and settled topside to enjoy the clear, brisk evening. After much deliberation and weighing of the odds, Cullen decided he would get up at first light, run his five miles, and then cast off. Maybe Charleston and then maybe even farther south. The fun was in not knowing.
Run your five miles, huh? Yeah, right! You know you’re hoping for one last chance meeting with Abel.
“So what if I am,” Cullen said aloud and then looked around to make sure no one was in earshot as he talked to himself.
After panicking about forgetting Cole and the life they shared, followed by the almost juvenile revelation that he would never forget the man he’d loved or their life together, there was really no reason to hold on to the things they’d enjoyed together or the places they had visited. Therefore, there was nothing keeping him here.
Or was there? Something was nagging at him. Or someone, to be exact. Abel. He couldn’t deny he was worried Abel was alone and wasn’t going to make it through this tough time. Could he help the man in some way before he left?
Come on! You don’t even know the guy. You met him on a random park bench, and he hasn’t opened up to you, so how can you help him?
Their meeting had been a chance one. They had simply been two strangers who crossed paths in the early morning hours. One person reaching out to another person in a moment of distress. That’s all. End of story.
Then why are you so hell-bent on helping the guy? And don’t say you’re doing this out of habit. You’re retired and no longer required to do this kind of work. He doesn’t need saving, and he’s not one of your congregation. You no longer have a congregation.
That realization made Cullen think about his own situation for a moment. How could you go from a happily married Episcopal priest with your own church and thriving congregation to where you are today? Cullen looked up to the stars. Shit happens! That’s how!
But Abel. He seems to be in so much pain. I can’t just leave him.
Sure you can! He’s not your responsibility.
Logically Cullen knew all this debating and back and forth was stupid, but his head and his heart were two totally different things.
Chapter Four
CULLEN WOKE before the alarm sounded. There were no signs of light peeking through his cabin portholes, so he knew it was still fairly early. Rolling onto his back, he stretched and looked up at the ceiling, trying to gauge how he felt emotionally. He’d slept pretty well and hadn’t been plagued by any bad dreams. That’s a start.
Cullen glanced at the clock: 5:55. Without a second thought, he hopped out of bed, made a brief stop in the head, and ended up in the galley making coffee. While he waited for the coffee to brew, Cullen’s thoughts drifted back to last night’s internal tug of war. Do I go, or do I stay? He’d gone over every pro and con, and after much internal deliberation, just before he’d drifted off, he’d made the decision that when he went out for his run, if Abel was in the park, he would try one last time to get him to open up. If he didn’t or wouldn’t, Cullen would simply go. In truth he was still feeling pretty good about his game plan. “If I’m meant to stay it will work out that way,” Cullen whispered while he poured his coffee.
Well! Listen to you, Cullen Kiley. Is that a little faith I hear in your voice?
“Absolutely not!” he mumbled and put the thought right out of his head.
Cullen sipped on his second cup of coffee and watched the bright orange-and-gold hues of a beautiful dawn filling the eastern sky. When he saw the arc of the sun peek over the horizon, he downed the rest of his coffee, went down below, and changed into his running clothes.
It was still a little chilly when Cullen stepped off the boat, and he was thankful he’d worn a long-sleeved running shirt. He started his exercise application, attached his cell phone to his right bicep, put his earbuds in, stretched, and took off down the dock. Well, Kiley. Let’s get a move on and see what the day brings.
Cullen exited the marina at a brisk pace. He turned right on East Bay and ran along the front of the Municipal Marina. He figured taking a longer route would give Abel a little extra time to get to the Riverwalk—if indeed he was planning to go there. And if Abel happened to be there and they started talking, it would most likely be the stopping point for Cullen, so he wanted to get as much of a run in as possible before he reached the park.
After a half mile, Cullen turned left on Caswell and enjoyed the charming little neighborhood of clapboard houses painted in various pastel colors, all with white scroll work and lattice trim. After three more miles, he turned right onto South Atlantic Avenue and started working his way down to the Riverwalk. As soon as he rounded the corner, he could see the water off in the distance, and his heart started beating faster in anticipation of what he would find when he got there.
When Cullen was about a half mile from the water’s edge, he started his sprint. He was tired of the building anticipation, and it was time to know if Abel was there or not. He pushed himself as hard as he could and sprinted across East Bay and into the park. He took to the sidewalk and almost stopped dead in his tracks when he rounded the turn and saw a guy sitting on one of the park benches. From the guy’s body language and the sun reflecting off of his reddish-blond hair, Cullen could tell it was Abel. By the time he got there, his heart was nearly leaping out of his chest, and he was having a hard time breathing.
“Hey,” Abel said, handing him a cup of coffee.
Cullen waved him off and dropped down next to him. He lowered his head between his legs and tried to catch his breath.
Abel laughed. “You don’t have to fake fatigue this time.”
“Not… faking.” Cullen gasped for air. “Sprinted… the last… half mile.”
Abel stood and put the two cups of coffee on the sidewalk. “Do I really need to call 911 this time?”
Cullen waved his hand in the air. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.” No matter how out of breath Cullen was, he didn’t miss how great Abel looked. He appeared to be very comfortable in a dark green V-neck sweater that really brought out the color in his eyes, blue jeans, and brown leather driving shoes with no socks. He’d been handsome in his suit, of course, but this was a different kind of handsome. More relaxed and youthful.
“If you say so.” Abel sat back down and picked up his coffee cup.
Cullen stood and paced back and forth on the sidewalk. Three minutes passed before he started to regain some sort of even breathing. When Cullen looked up, Abel was smiling and sipping his coffee.
“What’s so funny?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah! Why do you torture yourself like that?”
“Oh, please,” Cullen smirked. “I do it to try and compete with age and gravity. Why do you do it?”
&nb
sp; Abel chuckled and once again offered Cullen the second cup of coffee. “I don’t.”
“You apparently do something. You’re in great shape.” Cullen accepted the cup.
“Thanks. The gym is my poison. Most days, at least an hour. Maybe two.”
“Well, it shows.” Cullen held up his coffee cup. “By the way, what’s this?”
“A peace offering, I guess.” Abel paused. “I really hoped I’d see you again before you left so I could apologize for being an ass last night.”
Cullen sat next to Abel on the bench and nodded. “Yeah? What was that reverend crap all about? You know very well I’m retired and on not so good terms with the man upstairs.”
Abel turned and looked Cullen in the eyes. “I’m really sorry. It was just an attack of paranoia.”
Cullen tilted his head. “Paranoia? I don’t understand.”
Abel hesitated.
Here we go again. “Look, Abel. My plan is to leave Southport this morning. I came by here for one last opportunity to see if I could help you in some way before I left. But if I have any chance, you’ll have to open up to me. If you don’t feel comfortable enough to do that, then I’ll be on my way. It’s that simple.” Cullen looked away. “I have my own demons to fight, ya know?”
“Please, don’t go.” Abel said it so low Cullen almost didn’t hear him.
“Abel.” Cullen sighed.
Abel took another sip of his coffee.
Cullen did the same and waited patiently.
“Last night at Bible study….” Abel’s voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. “We were debating homosexuality and the Bible. Pastor Williams argued against it, of course, and I was appointed to argue on its behalf. And by the end of the night, he had a bunch of the attendees about to get pitchforks, light torches, and drive the bad homosexuals out of town.”
Cullen chuckled as the scene unfolded in his head.
But Abel stood and started pacing in front of the park bench. “Leviticus 18:22. ‘You shall not lie with a male as with a woman. It is an abomination.’ And 1 Corinthians 6:9–10. ‘Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived. Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners will inherit the kingdom of God.
“These were just a couple of the verses he used. Can you believe the Bible lumps homosexuals in with thieves, adulterers, prostitutes, and alcoholics? Not to mention slanderers and swindlers. And don’t get me started on what they said about Sodom and Gomorrah. Do you know the formal statement on homosexuality from the Southern Baptist Convention?”
“I don’t,” Cullen said.
“I do. Because I was forced to memorize it. ‘We affirm God’s plan for marriage and sexual intimacy—one man, and one woman, for life. Homosexuality is not a “valid alternative lifestyle.” The Bible condemns it as sin. It is not, however, unforgivable sin. The same redemption available to all sinners is available to homosexuals. They, too, may become new creations in Christ.’”
“Sit, Abel.” Cullen stood and took Abel by the shoulders. “In the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, God sent a couple of angels disguised as men to Sodom, where the men of Sodom threatened to gang rape them. The angels blinded the men, and then God destroyed the city. Abel, for centuries this story has been interpreted as God’s judgment on homosexuality. But gang rape was the only form of same-sex behavior that was threatened.”
Abel sat with an expression of surprise on his face.
“Furthermore,” Cullen continued. “The recap of the story found in Ezekial 16:49 highlights what I believe is the real point of the story. ‘Look, this was the iniquity of your sister Sodom: She and her daughter had pride, fullness of food, and abundance of idleness; neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy.’ So in other words, everyone using this story as evidence of the sin of homosexuality, in my opinion, is missing the point entirely.”
Cullen sat down again and looked at Abel.
When their eyes met, Abel said, “Wow, I sure wish I’d had you with me last night.”
“Come on, Abel. You know as well as I do the Bible contradicts itself over and over. For every verse that can be used against homosexuality, there are two verses that dispute that claim or contradict the original verse. Anyone arguing on behalf of or against anything can find all the ammunition they need, all in one place. And in my opinion,” Cullen said, “God wrote the Bible to be an all-inclusive Word that can be interpreted in many different ways. The only problem with that is everyone seems to interpret it to suit their immediate needs.”
“But can’t they say the same about homosexuals?”
Touché! A reluctant smiled tugged at the corner of Cullen’s mouth. “Sure they can.” Cullen looked out over the water and blinked against the sun reflecting off of the rippling waves. “Two years ago I would have told you that my God loves everyone. He made us all the way we are, and no one has the right to judge anyone else for who they are or who they choose to love.”
“And now?” Abel asked.
Cullen stared at a sailboat idling along the river, fighting the current, its large white sails luffing in the light breeze. “I still believe God made us who we are, and I also still believe that none of us have a right to judge another.”
Abel sighed. “But you no longer believe that your God loves everyone?”
“No. I guess not.” Cullen looked down into his lap. “But”—he looked at Abel and held up his index finger—“not because of their sexuality or who they love.”
“Why, then?” Abel asked.
“I don’t know why. I told you the first day we met that I wasn’t the best guy to talk to about God. All I know is he seems to have turned his back on me.”
Abel opened his mouth to speak, but Cullen put up a hand to stop him. “But what does all this have to do with you introducing me to that girl as Reverend Kiley last night and then tearing out of here like you weren’t able to get away from me quick enough?”
“Like I said earlier. Pure paranoia.”
“Elaborate,” Cullen ordered.
It appeared Abel was trying to find the right words, so Cullen gave him a minute.
At last Abel spoke. “Well, I’d just spent two hours debating homosexuality, and I’d gotten some pretty angry comments, not to mention the mean and spiteful looks I was getting from a lot of the congregation. And to top it all off, hardly anyone spoke to me after the debate, and I started to think they were somehow seeing me differently. When Courtney followed me and saw the two of us sitting side by side, on a park bench, in the dark, my arm over the back of the bench, I panicked. I didn’t know what she thought or what it looked like to her. But I thought if I introduced you as a reverend, that might squash any suspicions she might have had.”
“Suspicions?” Cullen asked in an attempt to get Abel to actually say the words. “Suspicions of what?”
Abel hesitated again.
“Come on, Abel. Talk to me.”
“Suspicions about me. Us.”
“What do you mean, us?” Cullen pointed his finger at Abel and then at himself. “Like in us? You and me?”
“I’m sorry. I was really paranoid after the night I’d had, and I know it makes no sense, but I just lost it. Okay?”
“Okay. Okay.” Cullen forced a smile. “I guess I can see how you made the connection. Not sure I agree with it, but I can at least understand it.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I have more questions.”
“How did I already know that?” Abel’s lips curled into a half smile.
Cullen chuckled. He didn’t really know Abel, and Abel certainly didn’t know Cullen was gay, but Cullen needed to know what Abel thought of homosexuality. This could make or break whatever type of friendship they were developing, and well… he just needed to know. Choose your words carefully. You’re about to step onto thin ice. “So. Were yo
u more angry that you had to argue on behalf of homosexuality or that the entire congregation was against it?”
Abel looked like he was contemplating the question. Finally, he said, “I don’t really know the answer to that. I mean… I’ve been taught all my life that homosexuality is a sin and all homosexuals will burn in hell.”
“But in some denominations, so will people who dance or drink alcohol.”
“True,” Abel said. “Mine, to be exact.”
“What do you believe, Abel?”
Abel looked like he was about to answer when an elderly lady walked in front of their bench holding a small plastic bag in one hand and her cocker spaniel’s leash in the other. “Pastor Weston?”
Abel jumped to his feet. “Mrs. Whitley. Good morning. So nice to see you out and about this fine Saturday. Hello, Chester.” Abel petted the dog on the head.
“Likewise.”
Mrs. Whitley looked at Cullen and cleared her throat as the dog squatted to the left of the sidewalk and started doing his business.
“Oh, forgive me,” Abel said, apparently unaware of the dog’s grunts. “This is my… my….”
Cullen waited.
“…friend Cull—”
“Reverend Kiley,” Cullen said, cutting Abel off and getting to his feet.
Mrs. Whitley smiled, batted her sparse gray eyelashes, and tucked away the stray silver hairs escaping her bun. “Oh, how nice, a reverend. And I do apologize for Chester. He’s very finicky about where he poops, and this just happens to be his favorite spot.”
Mrs. Whitley opened the plastic bag and attempted to stoop down and pick up Chester’s droppings.
Abel took the plastic bag. “Oh, here. Let me do that.”
She smiled gratefully at Abel and turned to Cullen. “Southern Baptist, I hope?” she asked.
“No. Episcopal, actually,” Cullen said.
The woman’s smiled faded, and her face appeared to harden just a little. “Welcome to Southport, Reverend Kiley. I hope to see you at Sunday service tomorrow morning. Good day, gentlemen.”