by J P Barnaby
“We’ll figure it out.”
They stayed in bed, wrapped around each other, until a knock at the door broke them apart. Even then, Anthony looked at Bren one final time before they climbed off the mattress and headed for the living room. Bren looked back, and he could see his precarious sanity balanced on Anthony’s trembling shoulders.
BREN WATCHED for the next forty-five minutes as Anthony laid out the story for Darren and his partner Matt, a clean-cut black guy with hard eyes but a kind smile. They took him through it four or five times, each time getting a little more information from his tired, frightened memory. He sent them the messages from his Microsoft account. He told them about the botched attempt to visit “Jay” and how the plan was for them to meet in the deserted parking lot of the bookstore. Finally, he told them about the aborted pickup at the gas station, where Patrick’s gut had saved Bren from having to see Anthony’s picture in a completely different kind of news story.
“I just keep seeing that boy’s haunted eyes. I should have seen it in the pictures he sent to me. I should have helped him,” Anthony said, acknowledging the boy he thought had been Jay for the first time.
“You couldn’t have known, Anthony,” Matt said. He’d been quiet for most of the interview, interjecting a few clarifying questions between Darren’s. “If you’d gone with them that day and tried to help….”
“Don’t,” Bren said to Matt, stopping whatever horrifying image he wanted to lay in their minds. Then, softer, he murmured to Anthony, “Patrick and I knew something wasn’t right. We told Darren what happened that night, and they’ve been working on it. They just didn’t get to him fast enough. That’s not your fault. It’s not our fault. It’s not their fault. It’s that man’s fault. All of it.”
They were quiet for a while. The mantel clock that had belonged to his mother was the only sound in the room, reminding them that time moves on, as life had shown Bren brutally, and so would they.
“Okay, I think we have what we need for now,” Darren told Anthony gently. “How can we contact you if we need to get more information? I’m sure you’re going to have to testify to all of this at the trial too.”
“I’m staying in the apartment above the store. You can call me there, or here, I guess.” Anthony recited both numbers from memory. It concerned Bren that Anthony still didn’t have a cell phone. He’d have to add him to the store account once things calmed down. He couldn’t stand to think about Anthony running around Detroit without any way to call for help. He hadn’t had a way to call for help, and look where it got him.
“Okay. You said your parents are on the way?” Matt asked as he stood for them to leave, his pressed uniform pants starting to wrinkle around the edges so late in the evening.
“Yes,” Anthony confirmed again. It was one of the first questions the officers had asked. “They should be here in a few more hours.”
“Are you safe with them?” Darren asked, meeting Anthony’s eyes.
“Yes. They didn’t hurt me or anything.”
“Not physically, anyway,” Bren muttered, and Anthony slid a hand into his. He liked the way that felt. They didn’t let go as Bren dragged Anthony with him to show the cops out. After the door closed behind them, he turned to Anthony.
“Have you heard from them yet?”
“I got a text from Aaron that they’d made reservations at some hotel in Royal Oak. That was as close as they could get. I told him I’d text him in the morning so we could make plans. I didn’t know if you wanted them to come here, or if I should meet them at the store, or—”
Bren pulled his hand from Anthony’s and cupped his face, sliding his thumb along the apple of Anthony’s cheek. Nothing existed for him outside this moment. He knew that eventually, they’d have to deal with Anthony’s parents and Patrick and more police, but then, right then, he wanted to hold on to the feeling of Anthony’s skin.
“They can come here. I won’t let you go through this alone.”
“Thank you,” Anthony whispered.
“Why don’t we try to get some sleep? I know you said you wanted to get me into bed, but….”
“I’m exhausted, so yeah, I’d be happy to just sleep in your arms.”
“I’d love that.”
Twenty-Two
“ANTHONY, YOU’RE wearing a hole in the carpet,” Patrick commented from the couch as Bren went into the kitchen to grab him another soda.
“You mean the hole right next to the beer stain hidden by an ancient floral rug?” Anthony popped another piece of toast into his mouth as he paced. His stomach wouldn’t take anything more right then, but Bren had made him promise to eat something.
“He has a point,” Bren said as he handed the fresh bottle to Anthony.
“He’s just working himself up more by pacing. Are you sure you don’t want some eggs or something?”
“No, I’ll eat after. I promise. We can order up a pizza or something.”
“You know it’s eight o’clock in the morning? Besides, I’ve got frozen pizza in there. Just get through this, and we’ll sit at the table laughing and joking and eating.” Bren put his strong arms around Anthony’s waist, and for the moment, everything calmed in the chaos of his mind.
Patrick brushed another imaginary piece of something off the front of his shirt, and Anthony cocked his head to the side.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” Patrick asked, smoothing down his shirt.
“You brush the front of your shirt when you’re nervous,” Bren said, and Patrick looked confused.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, right there on the side,” Anthony said, pointing to the side of Patrick’s shirt.
“Right where I was shot,” Bren observed.
“What are you—?”
The doorbell rang.
Anthony didn’t drop the soda only because Bren’s arms were around him, but he startled so bad he moved them both.
“Anthony, you’re an adult. You know you’re safe here with us. There’s nothing they can do to make you leave. Even if they take the car, you’ve been doing just fine without one.” Patrick walked around where he and Bren stood wrapped around each other, headed for the door. “Are you guys ready?”
“Let’s get this over with.” Anthony stepped out of the comfort of Bren’s arms and stood next to him quietly as Patrick opened the door. His mother came through first, searching the small living room and then, in two bounding steps, pulled him into her arms.
“Oh my God, I thought something had happened to you. I… couldn’t. Why, Anthony? Why would you do this? Leave without a word? We were worried sick. Allen is on his way up. He should be here in an hour or so. Thank God Aaron was already there. We could leave in a hurry. Your father just threw things in the car and we left.” She rambled on as she checked him over for signs of injury.
“Mom,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine. You’ve been out here all on your own and that man…. Did you ever have contact with him, meet him? God, when I think about what could have happened to you.” The tears started then. He appreciated her holding them at bay for that long. She dissolved on his shoulder, and he noticed she seemed a few inches shorter. That’s when he realized he’d grown in the weeks since he’d seen her. Anthony looked over his mother’s shoulder and caught Aaron’s gaze. The neutrality of it gave him strength.
“Mom, I am fine. He didn’t do anything to me, and I have friends here who have helped me since I got here. This is Bren.” Anthony reached out, took Bren’s hand, and held it tightly. Then he nodded at Patrick. “And this is his brother Patrick. My car broke down in their parking lot, and they helped me. Then we became friends.”
Anthony’s mother stared at Anthony and Bren’s joined hands, and he felt the heat rise in his face.
“And Bren and I have become more than friends.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand. You’re gay? Anthony?”
“Yes. Just like A
aron. I’ve known for years.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? How did I not see this?” She asked the questions apparently to no one, since she looked only at her wringing hands.
“Because, after Aaron got hurt, you never saw me. Allen knew I was gay. I don’t know if Aaron did or not. He was pretty caught up in his own head.”
“Mrs. Downing, would you and your family like to sit down so we can talk?” Patrick asked and waved his hand around the living room, indicating the couches and the extra chairs he and Bren had brought in from the garage.
Stunned into silence, his mother moved over to one of the couches, flanked by Aaron and their father. Bren and Anthony took the love seat, and Patrick took the wingback chair. The other chairs sat unused like an absent audience. Bren didn’t let go of Anthony’s hand but rested their clasped hands on his leg.
“How about you take us through it, sport?” his father asked, speaking for the first time.
“You call me that like I’m still twelve, Dad.” Anthony took a deep breath and wondered where to begin. Should he tell them about the party? About Chase? Everything in his life had led up to this moment. He decided to start at the point where his story really began.
“When I was ten years old, the world changed. My big brother turned into a different person, and I got thrown into the basement where the monsters were. I was scared of every noise, every shadow. It took years before I was able to really sleep again. By then I’d started drinking so I could make it through the night.” Anthony didn’t look at his father, or his mother. His gaze remained fixed on Aaron. Aaron would understand, at least this part. “Then, Allen left and Aaron left and I was all alone. I felt more alone than I thought possible.”
“Why didn’t you come and talk to us about it?” His father reached out a hand to him but then pulled it back when he realized Anthony wasn’t interested.
“Because, by then, I was just another broken kid right out of rehab. The only time you ever talked to me was to tell me to get my shit together and go to college. It felt like you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”
“Anthony—”
“Please let me finish.” He drew in a shaky breath. “The night before I left for Detroit, I snuck out and went to a party with Chase. Only by then, it wasn’t really sneaking out because no one cared if I was there or not. Anyway, we went to this party and something happened between us. Something sexual. I’ll spare you the details.”
Bren shifted on the couch, and Anthony tightened his grip on Bren’s hand.
“He… he told everyone at the party what happened and was cruel about it. When I got home, I was upset and angry. I couldn’t sleep. I logged on to my Xbox, and Jay messaged me like he always did. He told me that he wouldn’t hurt me, that he cared about me. I was so sick of being invisible and unwanted. When he said I should come to Detroit and stay with him for the summer, I didn’t think about the consequences. I just packed up the car, and I went.”
Anthony left out the part about stealing from them so he didn’t have to tell Bren and Patrick. That moment felt like a lifetime ago. He wasn’t that angry kid anymore.
“Anyway. There was some construction on the highway and I got diverted. The car was acting up, and I got off to get gas. When I started out of the gas station, my transmission blew and I coasted into the parking lot at the liquor store.”
Anthony could still feel the terror of that moment, not knowing what he should do or where he should go.
“I didn’t know what to do. It was late, and I hadn’t slept the night before. I rolled the windows up and locked the doors, and then I tried to sleep. Patrick woke me up the next morning, banging on the window to see if I needed help. He called a mechanic friend of his to look at the car and then offered me a place to stay and a job while I saved up the money to fix the transmission.”
“I don’t understand, Anthony. Why didn’t you call us if you were in trouble?” His mother’s tone of voice begged him for answers, her voice breaking with the strain of the accusation in those words.
First Anthony looked at Patrick, whose earnest and kind eyes met his.
Then he looked at Bren, who smiled in that soft, secretive way.
Finally, he opened his mouth and said the words that would make them all hate him.
“I stole money from your room in order to make the trip. I figured you didn’t want to have anything to do with me after that. Your kid was an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a thief. Aaron pretty much nailed it on the phone last night.”
He looked away from Bren, away from Patrick, away from all of them and stared at a picture of a much younger, smiling Bren and Patrick sitting on the shelf across from him.
“Anthony, had I known you were leaving, I’d have given you the damn money. You really think a couple hundred dollars was worth more to me than the safety of my son? Is that how little you think of me?” his mother asked, clutching at his father’s knee.
The burning that had been welling in Anthony’s throat won out, and tears slipped down his face.
“I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to feel like this. God, all I wanted was peace.” He turned and buried his face against Bren’s chest.
Patrick stood up. “Okay, why don’t we take a break for a few minutes? Would any of you like something to drink? We have soda, tea, water, and Bren probably has some coffee in there.” He waited next to the chair for someone to break the terrible tension choking them all.
“I’ll take a soda, Sprite or Coke if you have it,” Aaron finally said, and Anthony looked up at his brother.
“Sure, I’ll take some coffee if you find some,” his father offered. “And I think Michelle could do with a little too, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Patrick escaped the room, and Anthony imagined him filled with more glee than he had a right to. Bren simply stayed still, continuing to hold Anthony against his warm, safe chest.
“You’re not going to hate me because I stole money to get here?” he whispered to Bren. “Maybe you won’t be able to trust me again.”
“Hey, none of that. You were a scared kid looking for a way out. You’re so much different now than when you rolled into that parking lot. I hope you see it.” Bren kissed his forehead, and Anthony took a full breath again.
“What about you?” he asked Aaron.
“If that’s the worst thing you do in your life, I’ll be a happy person.” He shrugged. “I’m more pissed off at you for what you put our family through in the last few months.”
“I can accept that,” Anthony admitted. “If you accept that I’m pissed off at you for what you put me through for the past eight years.”
“I’ve always accepted that. You’ve hated me since you were fourteen. I accepted it a long time ago.”
“I don’t hate you. Okay, maybe I did. But I don’t anymore. I’m happy you found Spencer and a way to have a life again. Speaking of, where is Spencer? Is he okay?”
“Yeah, I was just staying with Mom and Dad because he’s in California. His aunt Nell had a baby girl. He went out to help and see them.”
Anthony almost smiled at that. “That’s sweet. It sounds like you guys are really settling in. Happy.” His smile fell away. “I’m just hoping you’ll see that I’m happy too.”
“Okay, then, when your friend comes back in here, tell us about it.” Aaron leaned back to rest against the back of the couch. Anthony could tell his brother had taken something to deal with the changes he’d had to endure in the past few hours. He tried to hold on to his anger, but gratitude took its place.
They didn’t talk while Patrick made coffee and shuffled sodas to Aaron and Bren. Anthony grabbed his too, just for something to hold in his hands while they waited. Finally, after time had solidified and beat them to death with the creamer spoon, Patrick came back in with a tray holding three cups of coffee and various accessories. He’d just set it on the low table in front of the couch when the doorbell rang again.
“It’s Allen,” Aaro
n confirmed.
Anthony got up to open the door while Patrick served his parents coffee they probably wouldn’t drink. He didn’t want to face Allen’s wrath, not after Aaron, not after his mother. He stretched out the walk to the door as long as he could, but eventually, he reached it. The knob had barely turned in his hand before his brother stood before him on the porch. He didn’t get a word out before Allen threw his arms around Anthony and held on for all he was worth.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Allen whispered, and even with the barely there sound, he could hear Allen’s tears. “I thought something had happened to you. It almost killed me.” He let Anthony go and stepped back just enough to see his face. “I thought we were a team? Why didn’t you call me? Why?”
Anthony couldn’t stop the racking sobs as he grabbed his brother again. There were no words, just terrible painful waves of anguish and regret. The one person in his life who had been there for him, and Anthony had let him down. He didn’t regret his choice, though. That choice had led him to Bren and to Patrick and Sean and Sandy and all the other friends he’d made there. He had more friends in their quiet little Detroit suburb than he’d ever had back home.
“I needed a life of my own. It didn’t work out the way that I planned, but this is a good place for me. I fit here. I’ve never fit anywhere,” Anthony whispered. “Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry I scared you. I just… I needed to get out. You know what that feels like.”
“Yeah, I do.” Allen pulled back to wipe his eyes on his shirt. “So, can we come in?”
“Sorry.” Anthony laughed for what seemed like the first time in days. He stood back to let Allen come in with a woman Anthony didn’t quite expect. They met eye to eye, being the same height, but the similarities ended there. The pale silk scarf she wore against a soft, pink sweater gave her an air of sophistication. Long legs filled out perfectly fitting jeans leading to warm leather boots absent of scuff or wear.