Saints of Augustine

by P. E. Ryan

  When they’d settled down again, he asked, “So how long did the fight last?”

  “Forever. Like half an hour. I don’t really get why Mom’s so mad, because it’s not like Dad lives here now.”

  “Well,” Sam said, “maybe she’s just…”

  He didn’t want to finish the sentence. He didn’t feel like sympathizing with his mom, and he was afraid of what, deep down inside, he really believed she was mad at.

  A smile spread across Melissa’s face when Sam told her about his plans that weekend with Justin. “I knew it,” she said happily.

  Sam was pouring a strawberry-banana swirl for an exhausted-looking woman with shopping bags hanging from each hand. “What did you know?”

  “That you two would hit it off,” Melissa said. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what’s crystal clear.”

  “Well, we’re just going to hang out downtown,” Sam said. “It’s not like he’s my new best friend or anything.” He wanted to ask her what exactly she meant by “crystal clear,” but decided against it. He glanced at the woman with the shopping bags. “Topping?”

  “Nuts,” the woman said.

  When she’d paid him and wandered away with her yogurt, Sam said, “Let me ask you something. This might sound kind of lame.”

  “I doubt it,” Melissa said.

  “Do you think Justin’s…obvious?”

  “Obvious? Obviously what?”

  “Gay,” Sam said. “What I mean is, do you think most people, when they glance at him, see a…gay person?”

  “Logically, yes. He’s a gay person. They look at him, and see him.”

  “Come on! You know what I’m trying to say.”

  “I think you’re trying to ask me if people will think you’re gay if you’re seen hanging out with Justin.” She had such a calm, knowing look on her face that it irritated him.

  “Well…yeah.” Specifically, he’d been wondering if his mother might think he was gay, if Justin were to meet her when he came over on Saturday. “It’s normal to worry about that kind of thing.”

  “Really? Do you have to worry?” she asked.

  Sam felt his hands start to fidget. He grabbed a rag and wiped it over the counter between them, scrubbing hard, as if the counter weren’t already perfectly clean. “See?” he said without looking at her. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. I tell you I’m going to hang out with Justin, and you start making little cracks about how I might be gay.”

  “What?” She laughed one breathy ha. “I didn’t say that. You just said it. Talk about touchy. You have to know by now that it doesn’t make any difference to me what you are. I don’t care if you want to do it with a mailbox. But as for this whole ‘does-it-make-me-gay-if-I’m-around-Justin’ thing, that’s your own craziness, nobody else’s. Who cares what other people think, anyway?”

  Sam wouldn’t have thought anything could have made him embarrassed around Melissa, but this topic, this one damn…thing…in his life was causing all kinds of new problems. He was still looking down at the counter, still wiping it with the rag. In a lower voice, he said, “I didn’t ask you if being around him would make me gay. I just wanted to know how you thought other people might react. And you’re right. Who cares?” He didn’t believe this, but he said it regardless. Then he added, in a voice that didn’t even sound like it was coming from his mouth, “I’m not gay, though. Just for the record.”

  Melissa lifted her hands, showing him her palms. “And no one on this side of the counter asked if you were.”

  His face was even more flushed now, but it was because he was angry at himself, not at Melissa. Of course he’d lied to his mom about liking guys; that made total sense. And he hadn’t come right out and admitted anything to Justin because, well, that might have given Justin the idea that Sam expected something from him—or wanted something. And the truth was that Sam himself didn’t exactly know yet what he wanted or what he was capable of doing. Or if Justin was even interested in him, that way.

  But he couldn’t even tell Melissa about any of this?

  No. Not only could he not tell her, he’d just looked her right in the face and lied to her. His mom had backed him into a corner. But Melissa hadn’t done that at all, and Sam had lied when he could have just kept his trap shut.

  She said, “We should change the subject. You’re staring into oblivion.”

  Suddenly a gray-haired figure appeared across the food court, striding toward them, and a voice called out, “Sam, hat! Hat!”

  “I certainly am,” Sam mumbled in response to Melissa, reaching under the counter for the symbol of Goody-Goody pride.

  “Hello?” His father’s voice sounded as if it were being broadcast from the bottom of a swimming pool.

  “Dad? It’s Sam.”

  “Sam! Hold on a second, this connection is terrible. I’m going to switch channels.” There was a beep and a click. When his dad came back on the line, he sounded better. Closer. Though there was still a slight buzzing sound in the background. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “Hannah gave you the message to call, I see. I told her not to forget.”

  “Yeah, she gave me your message.”

  “So how’s the last leg of your summer going? Are you getting revved up for school yet?”

  “A little.”

  “And how’s Jasbo?”

  “Fat. Why are you going to stay in London all the way to Halloween?”

  “Oh—so Hannah gave you the entire message. I told her not to tell you that part. I thought you should hear it from me.”

  “When I got home the other night, she was crying.”

  For a moment there was only the distant buzzing sound over the line. “Sam, I know it seems like I’ve been gone a long time—”

  “You have been gone a long time.”

  “Well, I guess in a way I have, yes. But this trip is a great opportunity for me. I’ve been gathering a lot of material for my book. Part of it’s about the construction of Westminster Abbey, and I’ve had access to some valuable resources I wouldn’t have at home.”

  “I thought you were over there because of David’s job,” Sam said, a little confused and slightly irritated.

  “We are. David’s consulting work has extended into October, which is why we’re staying. But I’m also doing some valuable research.”

  “Are you going to move there?”

  “No! Lord, no, Sam. That hasn’t even been a thought. Listen to me—I’d never move to another country while you and your sister are living in St. Augustine. I couldn’t stand to be that far away from you. Honestly, this is just a long trip that’s turned out to be even longer than I originally thought. The worst part about it that I miss you kids so much. My gosh, you’re going to be a senior when I see you again. That’s pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

  Why were his eyes getting damp? Sam rubbed each of them with a knuckle and said into the phone, “So you’re not moving over there?”

  “Absolutely not. It upsets me that you’d even be worried about that. This trip…this trip just came at a really good time for me, Sam. You know how rough the waters were there, for a while. Between your mother and me—you and I have talked about that. I mean, what I said was true, the research opportunities are great. But it’s also been good for me to change my environment. Temporarily. You know, like getting some fresh air when you’ve been in a dusty room. That didn’t come out right, I don’t mean that living there with you guys and your mom was like being in a dusty room. I just needed to clear my head. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, staring across the living room at the mirror set into the curio box that hung over the television. In the mirror, he looked puny, like one more curio. He dragged a hand through his blond hair, and it fell back down over his forehead, limp.

  “How’s your mom doing, anyway?”

  “You talked to her the day before yesterday, didn’t you? Hannah said you two had a big fight.”

&nbs
p; His father cleared his throat. “That Hannah. She’s following in your footsteps, I guess, going to be a reporter. She sure gathers her facts like a journalist. Yes, your mother and I had words. But I’m asking you. Is she doing okay?”

  “She has a boyfriend,” Sam said. He hadn’t planned on mentioning Teddy. But an anger was stirring around inside him now, mixing with the sadness; he didn’t feel like treading lightly. “His name’s Teddy. He’s a real jerk.”

  “Ah. I didn’t know that.”

  “He’s sleeping here.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t have to know everything about your mother’s life, Sam. I was just wondering if it seemed like she was doing okay.”

  “I guess,” Sam said, staring at himself in the mirror.

  “I respect her privacy, just like I’d respect anyone else’s. So this man, this boyfriend, is he…living at the house now?”

  “Practically. He has an apartment, I think, but he’s over here all the time.”

  “Hannah didn’t mention that.”

  “I would have thought she did. She’s crazy about the guy.”

  “Huh. Tell me something, just out of curiosity. What does Hannah call him?”

  “Teddy. That’s his name.”

  “I see. Well, you can keep me posted on any updates in that area. Why don’t you like him?”

  “Because he’s a—” Sam caught the word homophobe just before it left his mouth. Suddenly he didn’t want to talk about Teddy any longer. “He’s just a jerk. So you’re really going to stay till the end of October, Dad?”

  “Just till the end of October. Then I’m back, I promise. To be honest, I wasn’t that happy when I first heard about the extra time. I miss you kids and I’m ready to come home. But there’s this research.”

  “You don’t have to make anything up. I know why you’re there, Dad.”

  Another pause. “What do you mean?”

  “Because you want to be with David. That’s why you’re in London.”

  “I’m researching a book, Sam.”

  “I know. But you also want to be there with David. I know, that’s what I’m saying. I’m fine with it.”

  His dad paused. “Okay. We can talk about this some more when I get home, all right?”

  “I’m fine with it, because…”

  Sam hesitated. The line went back to its buzzing sound. He understood what his father meant by feeling closed in and then suddenly wanting to change things, get some fresh air. Sam felt like a door had just been opened in front of him—he’d been the one who’d opened it—and he was staring through it into a totally fresh, new space. But he wasn’t ready to step into it. He might never be ready.

  “Because why, Sam?”

  “I just miss you, that’s all.”

  “I miss you, too. Listen, we’re all doing fine. Don’t you worry. It’s going to be Halloween before you know it, and you’ll be sick of the sight of me within a week.”

  “Okay.”

  “We should hang up now, though, because this is costing a fortune. I love you. And you tell your sister I love her, too…. Sam? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” Sam heard himself say from a great distance, as if he had an ocean between himself and his own voice.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “We’ll talk soon. Good-bye.”

  “’Bye.”

  The line went dead, and the door in front of Sam slowly swung closed.

  Saturday was only two days away. He had plans to spend an afternoon with Justin McConnell, and here he was walking around in a terrible mood, bothered by practically every aspect of his life. Cheer up, would you? he told himself. Who wants to go on a date with someone who does nothing but mope around? It was at least a full minute before he realized he’d thought the word date and hadn’t immediately gotten uncomfortable or anxious. Once he realized this, he became uncomfortable and anxious.

  Over the next twenty-four hours, Sam’s mind seized on the fact that he was one big walking, talking contradiction. He’d lied to Melissa, one of the best friends he’d ever had, about being gay. He’d lied to his mother. He’d almost admitted being gay to his father but had thought better of it. And not only that, he’d decided that all of that was the right course of action. Lying was the way to go. Keep a lid on it, he thought, at least until you graduate and maybe get accepted to a college somewhere far away from here, far away from Florida, where you can settle in, screen all your new friends to figure out who you can trust, and then maybe—maybe—start thinking about letting a few people know. Slowly. One at a time. That is, assuming the whole issue didn’t just dry up and blow away, so that he could wake up one day straight. Which would be a relief. Maybe.

  The contradiction part came in when he thought of how excited he was about spending the afternoon with Justin McConnell.

  He was determined to enjoy himself with Justin. He needed to de-stress, and the second-best way he knew how to do that was to run. He ran—twice in one day. Then, tired of his Discman being kaput, he decided finally to spend a little of the money he’d been putting away this summer. He rode his bike to the electronics store near his neighborhood.

  He was looking at a display of Discmans and, next to it, a glass case filled with expensive iPods, when he heard a familiar voice.

  “There’s nothing wrong with it. I still have the receipt.”

  Sam looked over at the register. A tall guy in jeans and a Ron Jon’s T-shirt was standing with his back to Sam, talking to the cashier. It was Charlie Perrin.

  “Look,” the cashier said, almost laughing, “you bought this three months ago—”

  “Two and a half,” Charlie said. “Just over.”

  “Fine. But the store policy is three weeks for returns. We can’t just take back a stereo anytime someone feels like returning one.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it. It works fine. I have the speakers in the car.”

  “Sorry, our policy is firm.”

  “Can I—can I talk to the manager about this?”

  “I am the manager.”

  Sam didn’t want Charlie to see him. He moved cautiously toward the back of the store. It was a small place, tucked into the middle of a strip mall, and there was nowhere to place himself out of sight of the register.

  “What if I still have the box?” Charlie asked, raising his voice a notch. “I have it at home. I just don’t have the Styrofoam packing.”

  “Son, how plain can I make this? We don’t refund purchases made over three weeks ago. I’m sorry if you’re not happy with your stereo, but you shouldn’t have taken three months to figure that out.”

  Charlie’s sneakers shifted on the gray carpet. He put his hands low on his hips and turned away in frustration. When he did, his eyes landed on Sam across the length of the store.

  He froze.

  Sam quickly looked away, staring at the wall of Discmans. He heard Charlie huff, and in his peripheral vision he saw Charlie turn back to the cashier.

  “There’s nothing you can do?”

  “Try the pawn shop out on U. S. 1. They’ll probably give you something for it.”

  Just leave, Sam told himself, while they’re still talking. He hesitated another moment, then made a bee-line for the door opposite the register. He could see before he reached it that Charlie had lifted the stereo off the counter and was turning away.

  They almost collided.

  “Um,” Charlie said, taking a step backward. “Hey.”

  Sam pushed the door open halfway and held on to it, focused dumbly on the stereo in front of Charlie’s stomach. After a moment, he glanced up at his face. The skin around Charlie’s right eye was ashy. The cheek beneath it was swollen and red. The sight of the black eye was startling. It made Sam feel guilty, somehow, as if he’d punched Charlie himself. He pulled his gaze back and saw that Charlie was watching him stare at the eye. One of Charlie’s feet had moved forward and caught the door, holding it open so that Sam could let go of
it.

  What happened? Sam wanted to ask. Did you get in a fight? Did someone deck you? Charlie’s lips were parted, but he wasn’t saying anything. It took Sam another moment to remember that Charlie had spoken to him, that he was waiting for Sam to reply. “H-hey,” Sam said weakly.

  Charlie turned his good eye down to the stereo. He looked back up. “So…how’ve you been?”

  “Great,” Sam said. There was so much more to say, but nothing would come. He stared at Charlie for a few more awkward seconds, then cleared his throat and managed, “I’d better go.”

  “Yeah, me too. This thing’s kind of heavy—”

  But Sam didn’t wait for Charlie to finish his sentence. He turned away and walked quickly over to where his bicycle was chained to the rack in front of the strip mall.

  He knew Charlie was walking over to his car. He knew Charlie was balancing the stereo on one knee as he fumbled for his keys. Sam wanted to help him. But more than that, he wanted to get out of there fast.

  He pulled the chain off his bike, climbed on, and pedaled away without looking back.

  11.

  (You have to own some of this.)

  Charlie sat behind the wheel of the Volkswagen, staring up at the second floor of the dumpy-looking apartment complex where Derrick lived. He’d been hoping Derrick wouldn’t be home, but there was the silver Eclipse parked in front of the building, and the lights were on in the front window of number 14. It had been three days since Derrick had come to Charlie’s house—with Wade-the-barnacle stuck to his side; three days since he’d given Charlie his vague warning: Pay up or “it could get messy.” Whatever that meant. Another black eye, maybe (this one caused by something other than a basketball). A broken arm. What did they always do in the movies—break a guy’s knees? Give him cement sneakers and toss him into a river? In Charlie’s case, it would be Matanzas Bay. Fish would eat his skin and muscles, and only his skeleton would be left at the bottom, sticking out of a block of cement, waving with the current.

  But no. Derrick wasn’t that hard-core. Besides, if he bumped Charlie off, how would he ever get his money?