“Not to mention it’s the centerpiece of the Sky to Sea trail loop,” said Sam. “Blow out Wilde Park, and you’ll have a trail that begins and ends at a SuperLoMart.”
“Maybe that’s Longhoffer’s plan,” said Jake glumly, thinking of the bike and foot trail that was nearly complete after fifteen years in the making. Sky to Sea had been the brainchild of one of the last living town founders, who had left a substantial portion of his estate to the city—including all of McDougal Lake—to be used as a park. The multi-use trail would be an unbroken circle bordering the city, including miles of beach, lake, and mountain land. Bit by bit, the city had been purchasing property to finish the trail, and it was now nearly complete.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Reed doesn’t strike me as the naturalist type. Did you know there are over fifty species of birds and well over three hundred examples of native flora and fauna in Wilde Park alone?” Sam asked. “The trails are all maintained on a volunteer basis and there are monthly work groups there to make sure that trash isn’t left behind and the park is kept up.”
“Are you their spokesman or something?”
“No, but when I read of all their troubles, I joined the Save Our Park Foundation.” He paused for a moment as their food arrived. “Er, so did you. In fact we donated fifteen hundred dollars to the cause.”
Jake nearly spit out his drink. “Fifteen hund—I don’t have that kind of money lying around!”
Sam shrugged. “You don’t. We do. It was for a good cause.”
Money was one of the unspoken things about their relationship. Jake made good money from the state working as an on-call mate or, more often, his usual job of quartermaster on the Chelan, but he couldn’t compete with Sam’s income. As one of the top maritime designers in his field, Sam was in demand and commanded prices accordingly. He no longer had to worry about cash. Sam had made a personal goal of being able to retire by forty, and he was well on his way to making it. Jake had taken a leave of absence from work and wasn’t contributing any money at the moment, so it bothered him to be relying on Sam’s income.
“He’ll never get it through,” said Jake, thanking the waitress as the food arrived.
“He might. Longhoffer isn’t afraid of bulldozing his own agenda through. I’m not at all convinced going to the town council form of government was entirely a good thing,” said Sam, shaking some ketchup onto his plate for his fries.
“Particularly now, split down the middle. Only Walter Lugar is sort of the middle of the road. Verna Monger, Reed Longhoffer, and our happy neighbor Leona Weinberg are all die-hard conservatives, and Emma Kennedy and Randy Burrows are die-hard liberals. Walter definitely votes from his convictions. I’ve seen him side with Longhoffer and the others a few times, and I’ve seen him side with Kennedy and Burrows,” said Jake.
“He’s with Kennedy and Burrows most of the time. He leans toward labor, the environment, and preservation. I think the park issue is a dead split, though,” said Sam. “Good fries.”
“I suppose we should attend more town meetings.”
“Non-political you?”
“Oh, I’m plenty political, so much it almost got me expelled in high school, if you’ll remember,” said Jake. “I was known for my acidic editorials against censorship, pro stances on gay rights, and the environment. Not exactly a popular stance in a mill town.”
“You weren’t exactly ‘out’ in high school though. I mean, you never actually hid it…”
“No, I wasn’t. Not exactly, anyway. I don’t think anyone thought about it one way or the other. If they did, my friendship with the captain of the football team kind of squashed it.”
“An unlikely ally, considering he was your first boyfriend.”
“Which no one knew,” Jake said. “Excellent fish and chips.”
“Anyway, I think it’d be good for you to get more involved with our adopted home town. Particularly with lunkheads like Weinberg, Longhoffer, and Monger in there. I dread what’ll happen if they get another conservative on the board. I know for a fact Walt Lugar is getting tired of the backstabbing and the partisan politics of it all.”
“How so?”
“He told me down at the shipyard the other day. This thing on the park has really exhausted him.”
Jake shook his head. “That’s too bad. Walter’s a good man. I’d hate to see Longhoffer and the others drive him off.”
“As would I.”
“It would be easier if someone would just bump the conservatives off, Starting with our neighbor. Or is that bordering on being anti-Semitic?”
“You won’t get an argument out of me, and no,” Sam said. “She isn’t Jewish. Her husband was, and he was a peach of a fellow from what I’ve heard. She made him convert. The rumor, according to my mother, was that she married him for his money. So no, it isn’t anti-Semitic to want her bumped off.”
Jake looked at him, surprised. “You, oh Ghandi-like one, are endorsing violence?”
“Don’t be daft, Jacob. I’m just saying that in…a mythic kind of way, it would solve a lot of problems.”
“Wouldn’t it just?”
They finished their meal in near silence after that, enjoying the food and the ambiance of the Bitter End. Dusk fell quietly, the sky faded to purple while the wind kicked up crimson leaves outside the door of the bar.
They paid their bill and said good-bye to Caleb and were just about out the door when they heard him yell, “Son of a bitch! O’Conner, you—you—”
“Yes?” Sam asked innocently.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?” Sam said with a wink as he and Jake exited the Bitter End.
Shaking his head as he watched the couple leave, Caleb returned his attention to the chessboard where he was now in check.
Chapter Three
Since they had been discussing it, Jake and Sam stopped by Wilde Park on the way home. They decided to make a quick walk of the main trail, listening to the gentle trickle of water as Enetai Creek gurgled its way to the bay. The air smelled slightly of wood smoke and salt water, with a hint of the coming frost. The stars were burning sharp and clear and a gentle breeze ruffled the cattails and low alders along the gravel path as they walked.
“I can’t stand the thought of this park being plowed under,” Jake said again.
“Well, hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“Here’s hoping. Jake furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly, trying to hear something more clearly.
“What is it?”
“I thought I heard something,” he said, pointing off the pathway. “Over there in the brush.”
Sam pulled out a Maglite from the pocket of one of the waistcoats he always wore. Jake found himself again thinking of them as something along the lines of Mary Poppins’s carpetbag—there always seemed to the right tool, appliance, or flashlight appearing from Sam’s black vests.
“See anything?”
“No…wait a minute…okay, you, come out!”
A bulky woman dressed in duck boots emerged from a thicket of salal and sword ferns. She wore a heavy green plaid skirt covered by an open wool overcoat the color of bruised plums. Perched on her head was a green bucket hat. Her green eyes seemed slightly out of focus and she had a smudge of dirt on one cheek. Her aged face was wary, but had once been pretty, with very distinctive cheekbones and a strong, noble chin, but now it was pallid and slightly sunken, with deep lines around the eyes.
“You gave us quite a scare, Gladys,” said Sam.
“I thought you were Paige Farelley,” she said warily. “Have you seen Paige Farelley?”
“No, Gladys.”
She pointed a rather battered black umbrella at Jake. “How about you? Have you seen Paige Farelley? Have you?”
“No Gladys, I’m afraid not.”
“You’d tell me if you did though, wouldn’t you?”
They nodded in unison.
Gladys Nyberg stood up straight, a haughty expression crossing her face.
“I thought you’d say that,” she said.
“What are you doing in the bushes, Gladys?” asked Sam.
“I’m on my way home. This is a shortcut. I had to make sure you weren’t Paige Farelley before I went home. She’d follow me.”
“Hmm. Well, you can see we’re not Paige Farelley, so you can go on home now. You’ll be safe.”
She looked suspiciously at Sam. “I know about you two.”
“You do?”
“You’ve got a dog.”
“That’s right,” said Jake, looking to Sam for help.
“He’s a nice dog. Is he with you?”
“No, we had dinner out. He’s at home where it’s warm.”
“You take care of him,” said Gladys, stepping into the bushes again and disappearing from sight.
Jake let out a deep breath, suddenly realizing he’d been holding it for the last several seconds. “What was that about?”
“Paige Farelley? I’m not at all sure anyone really knows. Gladys hasn’t ever hurt anyone. Oh, she’s smacked people with her umbrella a time or two, but no one who didn’t deserve it. Really, she’s harmless. Just talk to her kind of slowly but not condescendingly and you’ll be fine.” He thought for a moment. “And don’t lie to her. She seems to know when she’s being lied to.”
“I can’t imagine having a reason to lie to her,” said Jake. “She likes Barnaby?”
“Oh yeah, she loves him. And he’s quite taken with her.”
Jake felt himself relaxing. If their beagle liked Gladys Nyberg, she must be okay.
They continued down the shadowy path, which would eventually lead them back to the parking lot on Ashton Avenue. They walked close together, their breath hanging in pale clouds about them as the temperature continued to drop. The creek gurgled and muttered to itself, and, in a fit of romanticism, Sam stopped in the middle of the path and planted a sloppy kiss on Jake.
“What was that for?”
“Nothing at all. I’m just very thankful to have you as my husband, is all.”
Jake knew he was blushing. “Me too. This last year has been great.”
“It has at that,” said Sam, knowing the feeling sprang from more than the fear from the previous year, when Sam had very nearly lost his life.
“You know what I mean. If anything I feel closer to you than I ever have.” He paused, sitting on a damp log on which frost was already forming, looking into the swirling depths of Enetai Creek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know,” said Jake.
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere, remember?”
Jake smiled. “I know. But after last year, I want you to know I don’t ever take you for granted.”
Sam shrugged. “I know you don’t. I never thought you did.” He sighed, exhaling a great cloud of steam into the night sky. “This is getting all too serious.”
“I agree. I’m also freezing my ass off.”
“And a lovely ass it is too.”
“Thank you,” he said, chuckling. “Seriously though, what I mean is this, Sam. I love you and want to be with you always.”
“I feel the same, Jake. I really do.”
They embraced for a moment, slipping off the half-frozen log, quickening their pace back to the parking lot. They were just about to round the corner when they nearly ran smack into a slight, pointed figure in a long green tweed coat with matching hat and purple ascot walking a charcoal grey standard poodle.
“Oh, good heavens!” squeaked the man.
“Professor Mills?” Jake said.
“Mr. Finnigan?” His voice had always reminded Jake of what a hedgehog must sound like were it able to talk—slightly nasal but at the same time cute.
“It’s me and Sam, Professor. How are you?”
Professor Mills adjusted his ascot. “Ah, there you are. Hello there! I’m fine, fine. And how are you both?”
“Well, thank you,” said Jake.
“How are you adjusting to town?” Sam asked.
“Oh, the house is lovely, just lovely. The greenhouse, alas…so tiny!” Professor Mills lamented. “But the place in the mountains was just too big for me to handle any longer, and I really couldn’t afford help. Gretel can only help her old master along so much,” said the professor, patting the poodle.
“We’ll have to have you up to the house so you can see where some of your stock ended up,” said Sam.
“Oh, I’d like that very much, thank you. I’m afraid right now that I must get Gretel through her paces in the park,” he said, brandishing a pooper-scooper. “Then it’s off to bed for us. It’s chilly tonight. I hope she doesn’t take too long.”
“Good luck,” said Jake, as the professor and his dog disappeared down the shadowed path.
A few more yards brought them out into the parking lot where the professor’s tidy red Toyota Prius stood parked next to the Electric Blue PT Cruiser.
“Kind of an odd fellow,” Jake said once they had gotten into the car.
“He is. I’ve always attributed that to his intelligence being off the charts. He was a brilliant teacher. And a wizard with plants,” said Sam.
“What was he a professor of?” He pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto Ashton Avenue.
“His PhD was in engineering and calculus. I had him for the engineering part. I always thought he had one in botany, but he referred to the greenhouse he had as a hobby so I’m not entirely sure.”
“Ugh…poodles,” said Jake. “Actually, it’s not the dog so much as those stupid haircuts.”
“I know it. Gretel is a sweet dog.”
“Poor humiliated dog.”
“You know what I’m thinking? I was thinking a nice slice of that pie Mom dropped by the other day would be good about now, with a big scoop of ice cream.”
“How about we drop the pie and the ice cream in the blender and make a shake out of it?” said Jake.
“Have I ever told you how much I love that wonderful creativity you have?” marveled Sam.
“The mark of a true genius is being able to combine two desserts into one calorie-laden gut bomb.”
Sam chuckled. “Home, Jacob. There’s pie waiting.”
* * *
The next morning, Sam drove down to his office at Sutherland Shipyard to do some project oversight. Jake puttered around the house, knowing from old habits that he had a difficult time writing so much as a letter before noon.
He’d only just sat down when the mail flopped through the slot in the door. Among the bills, a package from Tony Graham. Jake tore it open, finding a paperback copy of Tony’s book, Ending Stereotypes: Coming Out, Standing Up, and Being Proud, and inside that another carefully written letter which he observed with some annoyance was addressed to Jacob again, something only Sam, Rachel or his mother ever dared to call him.
Sighing, Jake tore open the letter, several pages long, all in Tony’s florid, exceedingly exact cursive.
Dear Jake,
I’m glad my letter spurred some good. I can see by your reply that there are still some hard feelings. I cannot blame you. I handled things abysmally. Please remember I was scared and not able to handle what I was feeling. I didn’t have the capacity to face the truth. Only growing and maturing has helped that, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my cowardice at ending our relationship.
You were always light years ahead in adulthood and always more comfortable with yourself, for which I was truly envious. Many, many times I longed to tell the world to go to hell and be who I was, but at that time wasn’t ready to face it. As a result, I threw away the best friendship I ever had.
I hope you enjoy the book. Your mother said she found it enlightening and tremendously insightful.
“Mother? What is she, my press agent?” Jake said aloud.
Jake turned his attention back to Tony’s letter, which once again handwritten carefully on blue stationery that distinctly smelled of Acqua di Gio, as if he’d sprayed the letter directly.
I hope perhaps so
meday soon when my schedule opens up to visit you and meet Sam. I’d like to see the man you’ve become and the home you’ve made for yourself. Again, I am so pleased you’re happy and healthy and that you’ve taken up with your physical health as well. I’m curious as to what your workout routine is like!
My own life since leaving Port Jefferson has been long and complex, of which you know a good deal. I know you’re aware of the public circumstances of my coming out and the strife it cost me, even if my career with the NFL was over. I finally found it necessary to cut a lot of ties with my pro-sport friends and pursue my PhD at Evergreen State. I’ve just finished up my doctoral dissertation. With any luck it’ll be accepted, and I’ll be Dr. Anthony Graham, PhD in Psychology with an emphasis on Gay and Lesbian Studies.
I’ve been offered jobs teaching at some of the more progressive universities and have found one I think I can settle into a nice, long teaching career at. I will be sure to keep you posted on that as soon as I know!
My personal life, ah well, there’s the rub! Lovers, yes. Husband, alas, no. I’m seeing a man right now who is fun and interesting and a good person. He works as my personal assistant, but he’s hardly someone I can picture myself sharing the rest of my life with.
My days of youth after leaving sports behind were consumed with a relentless obsession for physical perfection. While achieving this I was spotted by someone at Stud Studios, that legendary factory of male erotica. I was flat broke and they offered more money than I’d make in six months as a personal trainer, so I worked as a model for them. It wasn’t a career choice for me, but it did pay for a great deal of my master’s degree.
Stud Studios? Stud Studio was legendary for male erotica. Aside from the typical naked men calendars they produced, they also did out-and-out hardcore pornography. Jake wondered what name Tony had used and why this particular little fact hadn’t come to light before. He suspected Tony of buying up all the copies he could and having the master files destroyed. It would be just like Tony, trying to erase a potentially embarrassing element from his past.
Sinister Justice Page 2