He laughed as he picked at his salad. “Okay, so I have to backtrack here.” He looked at Barb and Peg. “Do you remember seeing him in his swim trunks when the church had that outing at the lake last summer?”
“Not particularly,” Barbara said. “We were all in bathing suits.”
“I do,” Peggy said. “Only because I had to keep telling Tom not to stare. He does have a nice physique.”
“It’s better than nice. David’s body is beautiful…” Tom brought a bent finger to his mouth and bit down on his knuckle. “And oh, my God…those scars on his pec. I love how they show up light against the dark skin of his chest.”
Barbara scrunched her face. “Scars?”
“Yeah, Peg remembers. He has four thin lines about three inches long, on a diagonal across his very well-developed pec.” Tom bit his knuckle again. “He comes from a ranching family in Wisconsin. Sheep farmers, I think he said.”
“How fitting,” Barbara commented. “He grew up tending sheep, and now he’s in the ministry—a shepherd like Jesus, still leading his flock. How’d he get the scars? A farming accident? “
“No. A mountain-lion cub hiding in the barn swatted him. It happened when he was a boy.”
“I don’t remember him telling us that!” Peggy said.
“He didn’t. Not that day. But I’ve seen him shirtless since then.”
“You have?” Barbara shot him a reprimanding big-sister look. “When was this?”
Tom shook his head at her. “You know, you never listen to me when I talk about him.”
“That’s because you’re always talking about him. It’s hard to pay attention to his Sunday sermons with you whispering your decadent fantasies in my ear.” Barbara drained her beer glass and tilted it toward him. “You’re going to hell, you know.”
“I know.” Tom bit his knuckle again. “A couple of times I’ve passed the church on my way over here and seen him splitting logs outside the rectory and—”
“You stopped to say hello,” Barbara finished for him.
Tom grinned and they all laughed. “Anyway, those scars make him identifiable. I’ve memorized every inch of the reverend’s body from the waist up. Every inch, okay? So flash forward to two nights ago.” He drew in a deep breath, his eyes bulging with excitement. “I was up late looking on Scruff.”
“What’s that?” Riley said.
“One of those online hook-up sites for men.”
Barbara shot him a disapproving glance.
“Anyway, I came across this picture of a guy with no face. The photo was cropped at the neck and crotch.” Tom sipped his beer, pausing for dramatic effect. “It was him. Reverend David Cortez. I’m sure of it.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Peggy asked.
“I told you, I’d recognize his body anywhere. I saw the scars on his pec.”
“Holy cow,” Riley said. “What’d you do?”
“Well…whew!” Tom stopped and fanned his face with a hand. “I’m getting worked up just talking about it. There was no name, nothing in his profile to give him away. It just said self-employed and living in western Massachusetts. So I messaged him and just wrote, Is this David?”
“And?”
“And the next morning I checked the site, and his whole profile was gone. Gone!”
Peggy looked at Barbara. “Holy cow is right.”
“The cow might be holy, but apparently the reverend is not.” With a look of disgust, Barbara dropped her half-eaten slice of pizza onto the plate. “If this is true, it’s very upsetting.”
“What’s upsetting? That David’s gay?” Tom asked.
“That he’s on hook-up sites! That you’re on hook-up sites.”
Tom laughed and pointed with a thumb to Riley next to him. “What about Wiley Riley here?”
“Riley doesn’t have a choice but to conduct her private life incognito.”
This was true. Other than online sites, grocery stores and bars as far away from home as possible were her only options for seeking the physical company of a woman. And even then, she had to assume an alias, pretend she lived out of state and happened to be visiting a relative in the area. No relationships. That was her rule, a genetically imposed rule and the only way to keep her secret safe.
“But Reverend Cortez is Presbyterian.” Barbara pressed. “He’s allowed to be openly gay, allowed to marry, so why wouldn’t he want a husband, a monogamous relationship, a loving union that would be in accordance with his religious and spiritual beliefs?”
Tom shrugged. “Maybe he’s like me. Maybe he just can’t find that special one? But I’ll tell you one thing,” he said with a blushing grin. “If the reverend proposed, I’d marry him in a heartbeat, sexy scars and all.”
Tom and Riley walked out together that evening and stopped in front of his car. “Thanks for making pizza and…you know…the DNA test.” Riley blew out a breath of air. “I’m nervous about this. And about the results.”
“I got this, okay? Don’t worry.” Tom opened the car door, tossing a bag and his pizza pans into the back, then turned to hug her. He squeezed her tight and whispered in her ear, “Bite me.”
She laughed into his neck. “I’m not going to bite you.”
“Have you ever thought of biting a woman you like?” he asked, still holding on to her. “Maybe by the time she found out you were a werewolf, she’d have turned into one herself, and then the two of you could live happily ever after.”
“I haven’t met a woman I’d like to bite. Besides, that’s not how it happens, Tom. “
He pulled back, looked at her, then laughed and squeezed her again. “Oh, come on. Let’s try it and see what happens. Bite me. Right there on the neck.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“Just a nibble?”
“No.” He made her laugh, and she pushed him away and smacked his shoulder. “And what if a bite did change you?”
“Into a werewolf? Are you kidding? I’d love to be one. Who wouldn’t want to experience that sense of raw strength and power…those animalistic urges. It must be exhilarating.”
Riley left him and walked to the car parked behind his. “Yeah, sure…as exhilarating as it is depressing.”
* * *
Peggy was in bed watching the news and dozing when Barbara got out of the shower and came out of the bathroom. She stood there drying her hair, another towel wrapped around her torso, talking to herself.
“What are you mumbling about?”
“I don’t know. This whole thing with the reverend isn’t sitting well. It seems fraudulent, like he’s living a double life. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sit through another sermon without imagining him having anonymous sex with multiple partners.”
“Well, don’t judge him. I’m sure he has his reasons for not coming out to the congregation. He preaches acceptance, but, you know, it’s not always easy for any of us to practice what we preach. Maybe he’s ashamed, conflicted about his own sexuality. You know I always say that shame is the most underrated emotion, the one every gay person struggles with growing up in a society that teaches us to be ashamed of what we are.”
“I know, Peg, but the minister of our church on hook-up sites?” Barbara walked over to Peggy’s side of the bed and stood there looking at the television, half-listening to the weather and toweling her hair. “I think what bothers me is the fact that straight people, specifically right-wing conservatives, think of us as immoral, sex-crazed, obsessed with carnal pleasures. You say the word homosexual, and they think Sodom and Gomorrah. Having the right to get married is an opportunity to educate those self-righteous ignoramuses, to show them that gay couples are no different from them, and that we can be as monogamous, spiritual, and family-oriented as they are.”
Peggy looked at Barbara’s bare legs, her gaze wandering up to the droplets of water still clinging to her shoulders. She was feeling more amorous than tired now, and on impulse she reached and yanked the towel from Barbara’s midsection. “I agree with you, baby,” she
said, looking up at her with a seductive smirk from where she lay on her back, “but right now I’m thinking I’d like to hear more about Sodom and Gomorrah and those carnal pleasures you mentioned…so get your sweet ass in this bed.”
Chapter Four
A young girl was squatting in the parking lot when Riley pulled in from an early lunch on Monday. She lifted her aviator sunglasses, trying to make out what the kid kept picking up from the pavement and tossing into the raised flowerbed by the office entrance. A woman in a sleeveless shirt and cropped pants, presumably the mother, stood a few feet away with her back to the girl, a cell phone pressed against her ear, a finger held to the other, as though having trouble hearing the person on the other end. And when the strap of her handbag slipped off her bare shoulder, she hiked it up with an aggravated huff that suggested she was irritated, maybe arguing with someone.
As soon as Riley cut the AC and turned off the engine, the sweltering heat began to seep into the car. It was hard to believe it had poured all night. The puddles that had collected in the parking lot this morning had all but evaporated in the blazing sun, and wavering ribbons of heat rose from the asphalt where the girl crouched. Riley grabbed the ice-filled container from her cup holder and headed for the door, sucking up the last of her sweet tea through a straw as she passed the woman. A loud and embarrassing slurping sound escaped from the cup as she drained the ice, and the woman spun around to look at her through dark sunglasses. Riley stopped sucking and gave an apologetic shrug, the straw still in her mouth. It seemed the woman might have laughed if she hadn’t been on the phone, or in a better mood. She managed a forgiving smile though, a slight wave of a limp wrist, before turning back around. “We’ve been through this…I know what to tell them,” Riley heard her say to whoever was on the line.
She sauntered past the woman, stopping when she reached the girl, who couldn’t have been more than ten years old. “What’cha doing?” she asked.
The girl glanced up. “Saving earthworms. The rain washed them out here, and they can’t get back to the dirt. They’ll die if I don’t help.” She held up her arm, dangling the last one for Riley’s inspection.
It looked cooked—well-done and well past saving—but then it twitched, and the girl, as surprised as the worm probably was that it was still alive, jumped up and beamed. Riley found herself caught between delight over the child’s compassion and the sight of her happy blue eyes. The biggest, bluest eyes she’d ever…
Something was strangely familiar about them, like she’d seen the girl somewhere. But before she could place her, that fleeting sense of déjà vu passed, and she watched the kid walk the worm over to the shaded bed of colorful flowers. Riley followed, smiling as it joined the rest of the invertebrate rescues. A good dozen must have lain there, all hydrating and beginning to tunnel as the wet soil revived them.
“That’s very kind of you,” Riley said. “Most people wouldn’t stop to help an earthworm.”
“I don’t like to see them suffer. Besides, they’re very important. My mom keeps them in the compost pile. Did you know that they aerate the soil by moving around? And they eat rotten food and turn organic waste into humus? Their poop is extremely nutritious. It feeds the flowers and vegetables and makes the garden grow.”
“Is that so!” Riley couldn’t help but laugh. “Your knowledge is quite impressive…and so is your compassion for living things.” Riley glanced at her watch. “Well, you have a good day now. I know these worms will.”
The girl brushed her hands off. “Are you here to see Dr. Spencer, too?”
“Actually, I work with Dr. Spencer.”
“You’re a therapist?”
“I am.”
“Does that mean you—”
Before the girl could finish, her mother called out. “Edy, honey? Don’t bother the lady.” Now it was the woman giving Riley an apologetic shrug.
Riley held up a hand. “No bother. It’s always nice meeting a kid who’s going to help save the world one day.”
Edy…why was that name familiar? And then it clicked. She’d heard it from Peggy. The girl was Peg’s new client, which meant the woman on the phone was Mrs. Barrett, her twelve thirty appointment. She smiled at the kid, then glanced at the earthworms disappearing into the flowerbed, rooting for their recovery as she hurried inside.
A man was coming out of Peggy’s office, and the kittens who had just finished lapping up their lunch were noisily mewing for attention. Miriam looked up from the reception desk.
“I think the Barretts are on their way in,” Riley said. “Would you please give the kid something to drink after she washes her hands?”
They had a Nespresso machine up front and, during the summer, always a fresh pitcher of lemonade for the kids who came in. Most therapists strictly adhered to a no-drinking, no-eating, no-distractions policy, but Riley and Peggy both agreed that a little hospitality went a long way in helping clients relax. Playing with toys, manipulating objects always helped children talk, and adults were no different. Having that cup in hand to gaze into, drink from, fiddle with, somehow let the words flow more easily.
“Why should she wash her hands?” Miriam asked.
“She’s out in the parking lot saving worms washed out by last night’s storm.”
“Worms?”
“Earthworms. A bunch were stranded in the hot sun after last night’s rain. She didn’t want them to die. They’re very important, you know. Great for the garden.”
“Aw…Edy’s so sweet. She went nuts over the kittens last week. She’s very gentle with them.”
“Hmm. Cute kid.”
“And those eyes of hers. Aren’t they gorgeous? Just like her mother’s.”
“Yeah?” Riley twisted her mouth, drumming her fingers on the counter.
The phone rang, and Miriam answered, then cupped a hand over the receiver. “It’s Dr. Landau. She has Mr. O’Brien there but needs to ask you something before she sees him.”
Denise was a psychiatrist with whom Riley and Peggy worked in tandem to treat clients who were prescribed medication. “I’ll take it inside,” she said, and walked down the short hallway to her office. She closed the door, tossed her keys onto the desk, and picked up the phone.
“Hey, Denise,” she said, cradling the receiver between her neck and shoulder while she tucked her shirt into her pants and straightened herself. These slacks that had been perfectly pressed and tight fitting this morning were now wrinkled and loose at the waist. She’d remind herself never to buy a linen suit again. “Hang on just a second while I pull Mr. O’Brien’s file.”
* * *
Fiona held the door open for Edy. “Go straight to the bathroom and wash your hands.”
“Hi, Miriam!” Edy said, instantly distracted by the kittens and making a beeline for the cage.
Fiona put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and steered her away. “Hands first,” she ordered, then pushed her sunglasses up on her head and smiled at Miriam. “She’s here for Dr. Spencer, but I have an appointment with…Ms. Dawson, is it?”
“Yep. They’ll be with you in a few minutes. Is it all right if I give Edy lemonade?”
“Oh, sure…that’s very nice of you.”
“You can have a glass, too, or feel free to make yourself coffee.”
Fiona looked at the Nespresso. “I’d actually love a cup.” She was the only one she knew who could drink hot coffee all summer long. “Do I have time?”
“Sure. You can take it in with you.”
“Can I?” Fiona wasn’t sure what the rules were or what to expect. She hadn’t seen a therapist since the age of sixteen. That hadn’t gone well. Neither had conversion camp the following summer. And how odd that this new therapist’s last name was Dawson. It stirred memories of the best and the worst time of her life. Unfortunately, the best was short-lived, and the worst got even worse by the day, if that were possible.
Edy came out of the bathroom and rushed over to the kittens. Fiona sighed as she watched
the coffee dribble down and fill her cup. Being here was pointless. She would have preferred to take her coffee outside and sit alone in the shaded woods behind the building while Edy was in session. Edy really did need to talk to someone, that was for sure, but her father had forewarned her about discussing the family’s business, and Fiona doubted that Edy would open up to Dr. Spencer. No matter how much they needed help, they were afraid of disobeying Jim and had arrived today well-rehearsed.
* * *
Fiona’s husband had been in an agitated panic ever since a caseworker from child services had knocked on their door to investigate a report of abuse. Edy told her guidance counselor that her father had hit her mother, but smooth-talking Jim had played the report down, insisting that Edy had misinterpreted what she saw. In front of the caseworker he apologized profusely to Edy, emphasizing how hard he had been working and how he didn’t mean to fight with Mommy. And while the caseworker spoke with Edy privately, Jim regarded Fiona with a threatening stare. She knew better than to corroborate her daughter’s story. Going against him would only incite more rage.
Jim assured the caseworker that this would never happen again. But the man wasn’t completely fooled. There had been a prior case several years ago. In the end Jim gladly agreed to eight weeks of anger management and counseling for Edy and his wife—anything to have this case closed. But when the caseworker left, Jim went ballistic.
“This is what you do to your father? This is how you show your appreciation? I spend half my life on the road, driving a goddamn truck across the country to put a roof over your head, and I have to come home to this? His hands were balled into fists, his face red as he paced back and forth. He rushed toward Edy, and when he raised his hand to slap her, Fiona blocked him with her own. “Don’t you dare hit her. If you want to hit me, go ahead, but if you so much as touch her, I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you.” He’d hauled off and slapped Fiona instead.
Edy began to cry. “Go ahead,” he said. “Go to school tomorrow and tell them I hit Mommy again. You know what’s gonna happen? That man’s gonna come back here and take you away. Not me. You understand? He’ll take you. And you’ll never see your mother again. Is that what you want?”
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