by A. J. Thomas
“… Doug, you didn’t answer me.” Brittney was staring at him with raised eyebrows.
He hadn’t even heard her. Just as he always had when she would manage the conversation for both of them, he’d tuned out what she was saying. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Do you want cream and sugar in your coffee?”
“Black,” he said quietly. “Please. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to do something nice for you,” she explained. She set a cup of coffee down by his plate, next to a glass of orange juice. “As an apology for how I acted in the hospital. I hadn’t heard all of the gossip about the man from California. I didn’t know he was a police officer, or that he was your friend. I’m sorry I upset you, and I’m sorry that I offended him.”
The nervous, and strangely sincere, expression on her face surprised him.
“I know that we’ve had our share of problems, Doug, but I really think that… that we should try again….”
“I can’t do this anymore,” said Doug, surprising himself.
“Doug?”
“I don’t talk the way you do,” he said quietly. “I can fake it, but I don’t like to. The painkiller makes it hard. I’ve never been able to talk to you.”
“You have always been so quiet. I’ve never cared about that, though. You were like that in high school too. I figured it had to be a cowboy thing—that you just came from a family of strong silent men. Your father was always quiet too, but I remember your mom was a sweetheart.”
“Three years,” he said, laughing. “We dated three years, all in all, and we don’t know a thing about each other.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I might be the only person in town who does know you!”
“No,” he interrupted her before she could keep arguing. “You don’t know anything about me, and I don’t know you. The only thing I know about your hopes and dreams is that you wanted to be a cheerleader in college, and that was nine years ago.”
“Come on, Doug, you know me. And I know you. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I?” he glanced down at the plate of meat and eggs again. “I don’t think I am. Can I trust you? I can’t. I know it. I don’t know why I’m even asking. You should go.”
“Doug, I know we’ve had problems, but if you can’t trust me, who can you trust? What is it?”
“Brittney….” Doug looked up at her, wishing he didn’t feel like such a freak. “I’m a vegan.”
“A what?”
“I don’t eat animal products. I haven’t eaten meat since I was sixteen.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! You raised beef cattle for a living! We went out to eat all the time in high school. You always ordered regular food!”
“I always ordered french fries and Dr Pepper,” he pointed out.
She opened her mouth to argue, and then she stopped. “That’s why there wasn’t any milk in your fridge, wasn’t it?”
He nodded slowly.
“What on earth do you eat? There’s nothing in your kitchen!”
“I admit, I need to go shopping….”
She stared at him for a minute, pressing her lips tightly together, as if she was trying not to giggle. “Dinner at my parents’ house must have been hell for you! My mom thought you hated her pork roast. Why didn’t you ever say anything? How could you think a little something like that would make a difference to me? I can whip up some oatmeal so you can at least get something to eat. Really, to think you went all this time without telling anyone!”
She kept ranting, and Doug had to hold up his hand to slow her down. “It gets worse.”
“Worse?” She giggled. She picked up his plate and took it back to the counter, then started shifting pots around again.
“If this gets around, I doubt it will be safe for me to stay in Elkin….”
“Really, Doug, I don’t think avoiding meat is something people feel that strongly about. If you’re really worried about it, though, I can keep it quiet.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m gay.”
The pots stopped clanging.
“I know that’s not true, Doug.” She flashed him a flirtatious smile.
“I wanted to be straight in high school,” he admitted. “In college, I thought maybe I was just bisexual, but….” He shook his head hopelessly. “I’m gay.”
“You can’t be gay.” She laughed nervously. “No. You can’t be. We’ve had sex, Doug! Last time I checked I didn’t have a penis!”
“I’m sorry, Brittney. I wanted things to work between us. I wanted to be straight. I’ve spent my entire life being ashamed of the fact that I’m not. I just can’t pretend anymore. I can’t try pretending again. I can manage it for a few weeks, but then I start getting resentful and frustrated, and then I end up snapping at you when I can’t get a word in any other way, and it just goes straight to hell….”
“You….” She sat down at the table and took a long sip from her own coffee. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t act gay.”
Doug didn’t want to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t help it. “You know, leather pants and flamboyant mannerisms aren’t really a requirement for the label.”
“I mean, you hated shopping with me! If you’re gay, you’re supposed to be willing to go shopping!”
“I don’t hate shopping.”
“You hate shopping for anything other than climbing gear and ammunition! And parts for your truck!”
That made Doug smile. She had noticed some things after all.
She set her coffee down and folded her hands together. “Do you realize what this means? It really was all your fault that things didn’t work out!” After a moment of glaring at him, she relaxed and smiled. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? If you hadn’t become an asshole within two weeks of getting back together, every time we’ve gotten back together, we could have been friends.”
"If anyone finds out, my life is over. You can’t be a gay cop in a small town, Brit. You can be a gay cop in Miami, or I guess in San Diego, but working in Elkin is hard enough because I’m a Native American. The last thing I want is for everyone in town to think I’m not only a petty thief and drunk, but also a child-molesting faggot like Peter Hayes.”
Her smile faded and she bit her lower lip. “I really shouldn’t have said that….”
“No shit.”
She shook her head. “I am sorry. You can’t mean what you’re saying, though. That would mean you’re always going to be alone….”
Doug tried to shrug, but hissed as the pain in his arm exploded all over again.
“Stop that! If it hurts, don’t do it!” Brittney snapped. She shook her head and picked up her coffee cup again. “Why does it matter, anyway?”
“Department barbeques,” Doug said slowly. “They’re bring-the-wife-or-girlfriend kind of events.”
“They’re also not vegetarian events! The only thing you could eat there would be corn on the cob, and that’s smothered in butter half the time. You’re better off just saying no thanks to the barbeques and finding somebody to spend your life with.”
When she was quiet for a moment, Doug smiled. “I always bring a cucumber and tomato salad so I’ve got something to eat. They’re all potluck.”
“Stop avoiding the issue!”
“I’ve got to go to the department barbeques. They build camaraderie. When I get called to a bar fight, or to investigate a domestic disturbance that blows up, and I need back up, I don’t want to wonder if anyone is going to show up or not.”
“No!” Her friendly smile turned into a sharp glare. “They wouldn’t dare! Besides, you’re a hero, Doug! After the sheriff told everybody you’re the best officer he’s got, do you think a single one of them would treat you different just because you’re gay? And if they do, so what? It’s not your fault if they’re assholes. You shouldn’t have to spend your entire life alone because they can’t keep their nose out of your sex life!”
See
ing Brittney’s wrath directed against the rest of the world, instead of toward him, was weird. Suddenly, he remembered why he had found her so attractive in high school. She was ferocious enough that she came across as masculine, in her own way.
“I would like it if we could be friends,” he said quietly.
“It’s bound to work out better than being lovers,” she admitted. “But you shouldn’t keep pretending. What if you meet someone you really like? If you’re still telling the whole world you’re straight, you could miss out on a chance to actually be happy.” She shook her head when she saw the way his shoulders slumped. “You already have, haven’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Who was he?”
Doug sighed. “The guy you scared out of my hospital room three days ago.”
Across the table, Brittney squeaked and covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes bulged. “The tall guy from California? The one with the sun-bleached hair?”
Doug tried to shrug again. “I know it’s stupid. As soon as he deals with his brother’s estate, he’ll be gone. He’s just….” Doug shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about Christopher, to remember just how hopelessly stupid he was being about this whole relationship. “He’s perfect.”
“Wow.” She barked out a laugh. “You really are gay, aren’t you? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen a smile like that on your face before. You love him.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t! And I said such horrible things to him…. Did I mention that I am really very sorry?”
“You did.”
“Well, I am. And I even screwed up my apology!” She went back to the stove and made Doug a bowl of oatmeal. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“Liquor. Once I don’t need the Vicodin anymore.”
“Don’t be an asshole, Doug. What are you going to do to convince Mr. Bleach Blond to stay?”
“He’s got a job in California, a life in California. He can’t stay. And he isn’t exactly looking for a relationship, either. It was just supposed to be a casual thing, you know?”
“Casual? He camped out at the hospital when you got shot. He was there when I left the first night. He was still there when I showed up the next morning.”
“He’s a friend.”
“You ripped an IV out of your arm to try and go after him,” she pointed out. “I admit, that probably should have been a clue right there.”
“It would be weird to go after him all the way to San Diego. If you had a one-night stand that lasted for two weeks, would you relocate just on the off chance something might come of it?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. She set a bowl of oatmeal down in front of him. “You okay with the syrup?”
“Perfect.”
“If it were me, I think I’d try to stay in touch, to see what might grow. Long-distance relationships aren’t always an automatic failure.”
“He doesn’t want a relationship,” Doug tried to explain. “And we were getting awfully close to relationship territory. I told him I couldn’t do it anymore.”
Brittney actually pouted.
“It was the right thing to do,” Doug insisted. “I’ve been so lonely, for so many years, that I fell head over heels with the first nice guy I hooked up with. I don’t need your pity on top of it.”
“Tough. Friends get to feel sorry for each other.”
After they finished breakfast, Brittney helped tidy up the kitchen and then announced that she had to run. “You should come into town today, just to get out of the house. Oh! They arrested Reverend Liedes today. Of course, no one’s saying why, but everybody knows. And the judge won’t sign off on a warrant, so the sheriff is bitching about having to release him within twenty-four hours.”
“They arrested Liedes?”
“Yeah. You see things about priests molesting little boys on the news, but you never think it’s the type of thing that can happen in your own backyard.”
“I guess.”
He walked her to her car, shocked that they hadn’t ended up screaming at each other. He was even more shocked when she kissed him on the cheek. “You know, if it lasts for more than a week, it’s not allowed to be called a one-night stand anymore. It’s a rule. If you talk to Mr. Bleach Blond again, apologize for me?”
Doug stood on the front step and watched until Brittney’s car was heading down the driveway. Then he grabbed his keys, locked the door, and headed to his truck. He couldn’t spend the entire day at home without going insane. He drove into town, taking it slow, and thought about Christopher the whole way. Would it be so bad to suggest they stay in touch? He didn’t have to tell the other man how he felt, and maybe after a few months of long e-mails and late-night phone calls, he could persuade Christopher to come visit.
He smiled when he imagined what Christopher must have gone through, trying to get on with life with his right arm out of commission. He could picture Christopher trying to manage a shower, or even to button his own pants, and failing miserably. If what he knew of the man held true, Christopher would probably put on that fake smile, reach for a pair of sweat pants, and pretend that was what he’d meant to do all along. He wouldn’t break down and swear at his bathroom mirror, like Doug had.
Doug felt his chest grow warm when he remembered the way Christopher censored his own curse words whenever there were kids around.
Somehow, Doug found himself turning into the parking lot of Christopher’s hotel. He knew it was a stupid idea, but he had to at least talk to Christopher about the bullshit Brittney had said to him at the hospital. He knew that Christopher already felt responsible for his brother’s crimes. Doug didn’t want him to feel guilty over Micah Donovan’s death too. Every police officer who carried a gun knew there was a chance he might have to take another person’s life. He felt sick when he thought about it, but he didn’t regret pulling the trigger.
Brittney’s words to Christopher, though, had been playing on repeat in his head since she’d apologized to him over breakfast. The idea that Christopher might actually believe her, believe he was responsible for Doug getting shot, was something Doug couldn’t live with.
He was just going to talk to him. He might invite Christopher out for coffee somewhere public, where Doug wouldn't have any choice about keeping his hands to himself. When he knocked on Christopher’s door, though, no one answered. He knocked again, just in case, waited a few more moments, then turned to leave.
As he was turning away, a man covered in nothing but a towel and dripping trails of water pulled the door wide open. It was not Christopher. Doug stumbled backward, wondering if the painkillers were still in his system. The man in the towel looked so much like him that they might have passed for brothers. “I’m sorry,” Doug said fast. “I must have the wrong room.”
“No,” the stranger said, smirking. “You’ve got the right room. You’re him. You’re Doug Heavy Runner. And wow”—the man looked him up and down slowly, openly leering—“you are good-looking. I still say I’m prettier, but apparently butch is better than pretty. Where’s he at, anyway?”
Doug glared at the almost naked man. He had black hair that was cut short, a square jaw, and dark-brown eyes. His skin was lighter than Doug’s, and he was slimmer, but they did look similar. “You would be the asshole partner? Whatever, look, just tell him I stopped by, alright?”
“So he wasn’t with you?” the man called, as Doug hurried away.
Doug practically ran down the hall. He hurried down the stairs, then stopped at the bottom when he began to feel light-headed. He shook his head and went back to his truck.
If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed Christopher’s rental car wasn’t in the parking lot, but he had been too nervous about the possibility of seeing him again. Maybe Christopher was right about them distracting each other.
Doug was surprised to see the street outside of the sheriff’s office filled with vans and people. The names of half
a dozen televisions stations were painted on the vans, and some had satellites mounted on their roofs. People in suits were milling about, so Doug drove around and parked in the employee lot. He rang the bell to get into the detention side of the building. After a long wait, the door buzzed as the pneumatic lock disengaged. “Thank you,” Doug said aloud, knowing whoever was running the jail’s master control room could hear him through the speaker in the door.
“You made it past the reporters alive!” Daniels shouted. He was on the booking platform, lugging two boxes of old paper files toward his office. “What the hell are you doing back already?”
“I can’t sit at home anymore. Is it true that the feds arrested Reverend Liedes this morning?”
“Greg did last night,” Daniels said quietly. Doug could tell from the look on the man’s face that he wasn’t happy about it. “Get your butt in here. If you’re going to hang around getting in the way, I’m going to put you to work.”
“Whatever you need,” Doug volunteered.
“Man the radio. I have to tell Agent Belkamp you’re here. He needs to take a set of your fingerprints himself.”
“My prints? Are there chain-of-custody issues with the CDs I brought down?”
“He’ll explain it.” To Doug’s surprise, Daniels called the FBI agent on his own cell phone.
“Hey, it’s me. Heavy Runner’s in my office right now if you want to catch him.”
Doug gaped at the desk. It was so covered in files and paperwork he wasn’t sure he could find the radio. Daniels grabbed the receiver, tugged the cord free from the pile, and handed it to Doug.
“What’s all this?”
Daniels didn’t answer him. He set the two boxes down, sat in the rickety office chair, and leaned over to look at the files. The orange labels told Doug they were juvenile detention records. Daniels went through each file, flipped to the end, scanned the last discharge form, and reinserted it into the box. He went through the first box quickly, and then started on the second. Halfway through, the fast rhythm halted and he set one of the files carefully into the large stack on his desk. He pulled one more file out of the second box, then turned to the computer and typed the names on each file in fast. He put one of the files back and set the other one into a stack of what looked like a dozen files. Finally, he scribbled the name on the file on a sheet of paper, along with the name of the facility where the prisoner had ended up.