by Kelly Utt
Bea blushed and slogged Travis on the arm, teasing.
“Ouch, you brute,” he joked as they came upon the very sort of unisex restroom Travis was referring to. John’s office was on the other side of the building, and Bea didn’t think she’d ever been on this side. She was unfamiliar with the layout. “Hey, here it is,” Travis said. “Let’s go in.”
Bea paused, thinking about how little time they had. But she wanted Travis again. She quickly acquiesced. “Okay,” she said. “After you.”
Taking the lead, Travis leaned with his weight and opened the door, one hand still intertwined with Bea’s. The door latch caught at first, like maybe it had been locked, but the force of Travis’ push had jimmied it. Unencumbered by the latch, the door burst open, swinging wide on its hinges. As it opened fully, Bea and Travis saw a sight they never would have expected. The small space was filled with two men, naked and sweaty in a compromising position. Both men kept their eyes closed at first. They were too immersed in their lovemaking to notice the onlookers at the door. Heaving and thrusting vigorously and clearly enjoying himself, the man on top finally slowed to a stop as he glanced up and a look of horror spread across his face.
“Beatrice?”
“My God, John,” she replied, covering her mouth with one hand. “And... Kyle.”
39
It all makes sense, Bea thought to herself as Travis shut the door, giving John and Kyle their privacy.
“Babe,” Travis said, looking deeply into Bea’s eyes to see how she was taking the revelation. “Are you okay?”
Bea stumbled backwards, leaning against a wall in the hallway as she struggled to get her bearings. The lack of romance, the friend-like rapport, and John’s building frustration with their marriage all fit like a puzzle, suddenly complete with the insertion of one final, missing piece. “I am,” Bea said. “I truly am. It was never about me. It wasn’t my fault! But wow. I can’t believe I missed this.”
John rushed into the hallway, frantically piecing his clothing together. “Beatrice, I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounded more sincere than he had in ages. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so, so sorry.”
Travis stepped back, while Bea stepped forward. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “It’s fine,” she said, stepping closer to John and taking his face in her hands. “John, it’s fine. I didn’t know...”
John began to cry now, big, fat tears. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said between sobs. “I’m… I mean, I’m… Well…”
“You’re gay.”
John nodded his head up and down to confirm, Bea’s hands wiping his tears as her own continued to fall. “Yes.” He leaned his head down on his wife’s shoulder as he cried. She cradled him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders and rocking him back and forth.
“John Hughes, don’t you be sorry,” she said through her own tears. “This is who you are. You said I couldn’t understand you. But now I do.”
“Oh, Bea,” John said. It was the first time she could remember that he’d called her by the name she preferred. Suddenly, he didn’t seem like a condescending father figure. Suddenly, he seemed like a cherished friend. She loved this man. And now they could love each other properly, as dear friends and co-parents to a wonderful boy.
Kyle emerged from the bathroom, more put together than John, but still disheveled. He looked at John and Bea embracing each other and was unsure of what to do or say. His demeanor was different than it had been at Honey Hog and Lorraine’s. His adversarial air was gone.
“He’s…” John began. “Kyle is my…”
“He’s your love,” Bea said, finishing her husband’s sentence. “I get it.”
“Oh, Bea,” John said again, crying like a baby now.
“Shh,” she said as she pressed her husband’s head against her shoulder and continued to rock him. “I’ve got you. We’re okay. We’re all okay.”
Travis stepped towards Kyle and extended a hand. “Kyle, man, I’m sorry I was short with you earlier. I didn’t know…”
“No problem,” Kyle said, shaking Travis’ hand. “We’re good.” Even his voice was different than it had been before. He sounded calm and relaxed, without pretense.
“You called it, man,” Travis continued. “Bea and I are together, and John didn’t know.” Travis turned to John and Bea, who then turned to face their lovers. “John, I owe you the truth,” Travis added. “I love Bea with all my heart. We’re beginning a life together. And I hope that you and I can be friends.”
“Yes, I’d like that, too,” John said. “Here I suspected you were the person behind the videos. I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m glad we all know the truth now.”
“Wait,” Bea interjected. “What do you mean about the videos? Do you know who is behind them?”
“Oh, you don’t?” John mumbled, looking nervously at Kyle.
“No,” Bea said, confused. “We’ve had our phones off all afternoon. I wanted a clear head before my statement. We haven’t seen the last video or any news about it. So, please fill us in.”
John looked up at the ceiling, muttering. He didn’t seem to want to say it.
“It was me,” Kyle blurted. “I was jealous.”
“Wow,” Bea said.
“I know. I’ve loved John for a long time. I wanted him to leave you so we could be together, and he was always too wrapped up in his public image to do so. He didn’t think he could remain mayor if he left his wife and came out as gay.”
“I know how that goes,” Bea said, cracking a smile. “The public image part, anyway.”
“I guess you do,” Kyle replied. “It wasn’t my finest hour. But John had told me what happened at Eagle’s Point. I was so desperate for him to leave you and the office of mayor so we could be together that I hatched this plan to ensure I’d get him all to myself. It was the only way I could come up with. I’m sorry, Bea. I was desperate.”
“Wow,” Bea said again. It was hard to find other words.
“I’m resigning,” John said. “I drafted the letter this afternoon and submitted it less than an hour ago. If you don’t mind me crashing your press conference, I’ll announce my resignation to the public.”
“Are you certain you want to do that?” Bea asked. “I know how important your job is to you.”
“I am,” John said. “Kyle and I are in love. He deserves a partner who will put him first. No job is more important than that.”
Bea smiled and looked over at Travis. She was happy that John got it. Finally. He was becoming a better man, and it made her proud. “Then I wish the two of you all the best,” she said.
The four of them chatted for a few more minutes, happy and relieved to have everything out in the open between them. Bea could tell that they would all get along well, and that they’d make a great group of parental figures for Max. All was well that ends well.
“I hate to break up this party,” Travis said. “But, babe, you had better get out there. It’s time.”
“You’re right,” Bea said. “I’ve got to face the music.”
“I’m right beside you,” Travis said.
“Me, too,” John echoed. “Let’s do this.”
Before they could turn to walk back to the front of the building, they heard a woman’s voice shouting.
“Wait!” she yelled. “Please! Wait!” Bea wondered if it was another reporter angling for a private interview until she recognized the woman’s voice.
“Gabby!” Bea shouted as her friend rounded the corner and came into view. “What are you doing in here? I’m about to go out there and confess.”
“You will do no such thing,” she said as she flung open her leather satchel and pulled out a manila file folder. “And hello, everyone,” she said, looking at Travis and Kyle. “I’m not sure who you two are or what is happening here, but we’ll have time for introductions later.”
Travis and Kyle nodded their understanding.
“What?” Bea pleaded.
“I have the best news for you. And
I do mean the best.”
“Okay, get on with it, Gab,” Bea said.
“I’ve just come from the Norcal Federal Prison near Sacramento. I found the guy. It’s all documented right here. He didn’t die!” A hush fell over the four of them as they listened, in complete and total shock. “He didn’t die, Bea. He didn’t die. You didn’t kill anyone.”
“But how…” Bea asked. “I hit him with a baseball bat and pushed him over… I saw...”
“I don’t know all the details, but he’s alive. And he’s a very bad man.”
“My God,” John mumbled.
“The injury you gave him caused him to seek treatment at a clinic, and that’s how he was apprehended. A young nurse who said the man gave her the willies convinced her supervisors to check into his record,” Gabby explained, her voice somber. “His DNA matched that found on the bodies of two young children who were kidnapped in Marin County. They washed up in San Francisco.”
Bea thought she might vomit. She was revolted by the vile man’s actions. Two babies, taken away from their families… and killed. “My Max… My God…” Bea muttered. “How sick.”
“I know,” Gabby said. “I spoke with the warden. It was all I could do to get through the meeting without hurling into his trash can. It’s sickening. But you know what this means?”
“I do. She’s a hero,” Travis proclaimed. “That’s my girl.” He leaned over and kissed Bea lightly on the lips. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”
“Exactly!” Gabby said, jumping up and down. “And now I know who this one is. Travis Earl, huh?”
“Pleased to meet you, Gabby,” he replied with a smile.
“John’s gay, we’re divorcing and will remain friends, and this is his partner, Kyle,” Bea added, gesturing. “Now you’re all caught up.”
They all laughed. It felt good.
Epilogue
Bea canceled the press conference, noting that the claims in the video had been debunked and that she had no additional comment. Instead, she reserved a table for ten at Honey Hog where her big, happy family enjoyed a nice dinner together without incident.
John gave the people of Rosemary Run the chance to prove that they could accept his relationship with Kyle and amicable divorce from Bea while he remained in the office of mayor. He tore up his letter of resignation just in time and was pleasantly surprised when they did exactly that.
Bea and Travis followed by John and Kyle had beautiful, meaningful wedding ceremonies with receptions where they all danced until dawn. Assisted by Ruth’s real estate firm and Natalie’s title company, the couples found new homes just down the street from each other where Max can go back and forth as he pleased. Max positively blossomed under the love and protection of so many happy people, eventually deciding to attend art school like his mother.
Explaining that Freddy Denton had left money for just such an occasion, Lana paid cash for a building downtown to house her daughter’s new art gallery. Ruth and Natalie threw Bea a fabulous party to celebrate the grand opening. Now, Bea regularly hosts events so popular with townspeople and tourists alike that there is typically standing room only as crowds clamor to purchase her works of art.
The painting Bea created of the old couple on the bench hangs in a prominent spot in her gallery, reminding her every day of the beauty that lies in growing and changing, and the irreplaceable worth of a dear, treasured friend.
THE END.
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Extended Epilogue
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Prologue
It was a cold November night when Marcheline Fay last saw the man she claimed had fathered her only child. She had left him under the cover of darkness, having stuffed everything she owned into an old Ford Pinto and driven away. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the biting wind and the weight of the bags in her hands, her pulse racing faster than the rhythm of the rustling leaves. She’d barely made it out without being caught.
Evanston, Illinois was a leafy suburb north of Chicago with good schools and low crime. It was everything Marcheline’s parents had dreamed of before the family emigrated from France when she was a baby. Soon after arriving in the United States, they had opened a bakery selling traditional recipes from their homeland and were living the American dream. Marcheline had grown up lonely since her parents were at work most of the time, but it had been a small price to pay for financial stability and more room to stretch than they’d had back in Paris. Her parents loved her. She knew that. But something had been missing.
Her mother had warned her about getting involved with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. And the warnings weren’t without merit. There had been gang activities, alcohol and drug addictions, and violence to contend with. Grim stories filled the nightly news. But Marcheline had gotten involved with such a boy, anyway. She thought she’d known better. After all, she had spent most of her life in America, and there was a lot that her French parents just didn’t understand.
Marcheline was barely seventeen when Chester Loor had charmed her, his handsome features and rich brown skin, darker than her own, standing out as compared to the light-skinned kids who filled the streets of her neighborhood and the halls of her school. Chester had seemed exotic. Maybe it was because Marcheline longed to be in better touch with her African roots. Or maybe she just wanted to be with someone who looked like she did. Whatever the reason, she had thrown caution to the wind, sneaking out with Chester against her parents’ wishes and without their knowledge. He had turned out to be just as bad for Marcheline as her mother had predicted. And then some.
Now, as an adult with a grown daughter of her own, Marcheline wasn’t proud of her choices during that time in her life. In fact, she tried not to ever think about them. She had turned things around for herself and little Sabine, moving to Northern California, attending college, and eventually settling in the quaint town of Rosemary Run and opening a winery. It had been difficult to accomplish so much as a single mother, but Marcheline had persevered, following in her parents’ footsteps and emulating their strong work ethic. She had grown Maison du Vin to be one of the most successful wineries in the region, entertaining tourists from around the world and exporting bottles of her product nearly as far.
Things had been close enough to perfect. Until Sabine got married, had a baby of her own, and grew curious about the man who had given her life. At odds with Marcheline on getting in contact with her father, one day on a whim, Sabine found a sealed envelope in her mother’s belongings addressed to a mystery recipient named C.M. Loor in Chicago, Illinois. Acting hastily and without asking for Marcheline’s permission, Sabine added a stamp to the envelope and dropped it into a blue mailbox stationed outside of the Rosemary Run Post Office. Little did Sabine know, her foolhardy choice would soon threaten to destroy Marcheline Fay’s carefully constructed life and endanger them all.
1
Oblivious to the danger that awaited her, Marcheline was enjoying a productive morning in the office. She was seated at her desk on the winery grounds, overlooking her two-hundred-thirty acres of rolling vineyard. She’d had the perfect picture window specially constructed a few years prior when she had left her original, smaller office building and commissioned the new headquarters.
Business was booming, so Marcheline didn’t feel guilty about spending extra for the luxury she enjoyed. She
was in a place in her life where she had enough savings and assets to provide a cushion even if business took a downturn and she had to weather leaner times. She’d had a number in mind and once her net worth surpassed it, she gave herself permission to splurge here and there.
At first, it was hard to get used to spending money on herself for more than the bare essentials. Marcheline had grown-up pinching pennies and watching her spending carefully under her parents exacting eyes. It hadn’t happened overnight, but eventually, Marcheline had found herself living more comfortably than she’d ever imagined. Luxuries like heated floors, smart security systems, high-tech kitchen gadgets, and weighted blankets were things she hadn’t even dreamed of. But once she tried some of the creature comforts her wealthy friends raved about, Marcheline saw the appeal.
She sometimes felt like Oprah Winfrey, making lists of her favorite things and giving posh gifts to her friends. Oprah hadn’t seemed to harbor guilt about enjoying her wealth, Marcheline reasoned, which made her an ideal woman to look up to. Oprah had worked hard, just like Marcheline, and by all accounts deserved the money she’d earned. Marcheline even looked like Oprah, her strong cheekbones, dark skin, sturdy figure, and commanding presence making her hard to ignore. Deciding Oprah was as good an idol as any, Marcheline had followed her example when it came to questions of how to exist as a wealthy woman in this man’s world. She had even pretended to be Oprah sometimes, gazing into the mirror and rehearsing affirmations until her own confidence had settled in deep.
On this morning, it was early October and harvest season was in full swing. Marcheline’s staff was busy picking grapes and getting them into the fermenter. The fruit was at the peak of ripeness, and this year’s harvest looked good. They would make a lot of wine out of the grapes that were being pulled from the vines each and every moment. The entire team was proud of the product. And the employees were happy.