by A. M. Arthur
“Dunno. I don’t get good grades.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“My teachers’.”
Alessandro rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Of course it’s their fault. Couldn’t possibly be that you do your homework at the last minute and that you never study for tests.”
Tony snorted. “Why you gotta be like that?”
“Look, tough guy, blaming other people for your laziness isn’t going to fly for long. You really want all these same teachers again next year, because you flunked?”
“Won’t happen.”
“You won’t flunk?”
The look Tony shot his way clearly said that he was an idiot. “No, cuz even if I do repeat, it’ll be at another school, so who cares?”
The lightbulb went off for Alessandro and he blocked Tony’s attempt to go up the porch steps. “Why do you think you’ll be in another school next year?”
“That’s how it works, right?” Tony’s bravado cracked a little. “You stay in a place until you wear out your welcome and then you get shipped to another house. Nothing ever stays the same.”
“If you shape up and stop acting like a jerk, you might not get sent away.”
“Go to hell.” Tony tried to dart past him again, but Alessandro held his ground.
“Eunice is good people, Tony, and for some reason, even Molly seems to like you. Don’t screw this up. Don’t give the state a reason to change your placement because you think it’s going to happen anyway.”
Tony glowered, silent for so long that Alessandro finally relented and allowed the kid to pass. Yelling at Tony hadn’t been on the agenda for this afternoon. He hadn’t had much of an agenda past making sure the kids were okay when they got off the bus.
Justin was giving him a hard time because he felt guilty—it was the only explanation that Alessandro had for his asshole-ish behavior. Not that Justin had ever been a friend, but the vague threats were ridiculous and infuriating. Unless something else was going on that Alessandro didn’t know about. He didn’t have a clue as to what, though.
Tonight might be a good time to hit some of the local hangouts and get a gossip check.
His cell phone rang with the electronic tone he’d chosen for Jaime. He let it go for several seconds before answering. “Hey.”
“Hey back.” Jaime cleared his throat. “Listen, you’re allowed to have a bad day, especially when someone’s needling you, I get that, but next time don’t take it out on me.”
The rushed, breathless way Jaime got all of that out made Alessandro smile—like Jaime was scared of being so confrontational. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay. I’m just…worried.”
“I’m sorry I worried you. I was stressed about something, and I reacted without thinking.”
“Justin Maddox?”
A sour taste filled his mouth. “Yeah. Bastard knows how to get under my skin.”
“Yeah, mine too.”
“Did he say something to you?”
“The usual.”
“He knows we’re seeing each other.” Alessandro braced for a negative reaction, assuming Jaime wasn’t aware that Justin knew. Alessandro wasn’t exactly a catch, and his reputation wouldn’t do much for Jaime’s street cred—although he had a feeling Jaime didn’t care what other people thought about him. At least, not the people outside of his small inner circle of friends. But Alessandro cared, and he didn’t want Jaime to suffer for his stupid-ass choices.
“Justin made that abundantly clear this morning,” Jaime replied. His voice was even, conversational and not accusatory at all. “He seemed confused as to who fucks who, so I invited him over to watch.”
Alessandro couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. Not only at the visual of Justin’s face at seeing such a thing, but also at the perfectly deadpan way Jaime had probably said it. “Did he take you up on the offer?”
Jaime snorted. “I’m surprised he didn’t punch me in the face.”
The idea of Justin hitting Jaime made Alessandro’s blood burn. “If he ever hits you, I’ll break his neck.” The fierce possessiveness in his voice stopped Alessandro cold, and it must have surprised Jaime, too, because he didn’t reply right away.
“That goes ditto for me,” Jaime said quietly. “So don’t go getting into any fights, because I’m not that good at the neck-breaking thing.”
“It’s one of the things I like about you.”
“That I’m a wimp?”
“No, that you’re kind. I’d hate to see that change.”
Another semiawkward silence ensued, and Alessandro wished they were having this conversation in person. At least then he could end the silence with a hot kiss or four.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jaime asked. Are we okay?
“Yeah, just a bad day. I’ll call you tomorrow after work.”
“Sure. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Alessandro put his phone away, feeling a little bit better than he had twenty minutes ago. He didn’t want Jaime to be angry with or scared of him, and he didn’t want Justin to be a barrier between them. He simply wanted to live his life and leave the past behind.
Only the past seemed determined to reappear and be a problem.
Chapter Eleven
Going into the bakery at three in the morning with Shannon was not the best plan in the universe, but it was either get up really early with her or walk there later in the pitch-dark. And while Jaime was ninety-nine percent positive he’d be just fine on that walk, a tiny, single percent of his mind was nervous about the idea. He didn’t expect Justin and his pals to be lying in wait to jump him. He also didn’t want to take the chance, even in a small town.
Especially in a small town, when no one but a few local cops were likely to be awake.
He stumbled in through the back door behind Shannon and made a line straight for the coffeemaker. Once a pot was percolating, he put on an apron and helped her get the batters mixed for today’s batches of muffins. Despite the hour, he enjoyed these rare mornings together, just the two of them, preparing the day’s goods. Rusty showed up at five to begin preparing his Saturday specials, which made the small kitchen a little too crowded.
Jaime wandered into the dining room to make sure everything was in its place from the day before. Only half the lights were on—he’d hit the rest when they actually opened—and a good glow from the exterior streetlights filtered in through the front windows. He gazed at them for a moment, and at the squiggly shapes on the floor, until he realized why it looked strange.
Someone had written something on the window outside.
Curious, he unlocked the front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The air was crisp, almost chilly, and perfectly silent. Not a rumble of an engine or even a dog barking. The surreal feeling of that dark hour before dawn enveloped him and sent a tingle straight down his spine. He moved farther onto the sidewalk and then turned around.
In jagged purple letters, someone had painted “Fag” on the front window of Baker’s Dozen.
Jaime stared at it for so long without breathing that he got light-headed. He turned in a complete circle, staring out at a street full of silent, dark businesses as though the perpetrator had lingered to admire his handiwork. He looked at the word again, hoping he’d misread it. Hoping he’d imagined it being there at all, but it remained. Purple. Ugly. His stomach twisted up tight, and the chilly air sank into his bones.
Someone had defaced his sister’s business. Because of him.
Movement behind the glass alerted him to Shannon’s approach before he could stop her, warn her or otherwise try to hide the vandalism. She came outside, her face twisted in confusion.
“What’s wrong?” Then she turned and saw it, and her face blazed red with anger. “Jesus Christ!”
“I’m so sorry, Shan.”
She faced him with wide, glossy eyes. “Why are you sorry, Bug? You didn’t do this shit.”
“I migh
t as well have. It’s there because of me.”
“It’s there because someone is a fucking asshole, that’s why it’s there.” She yanked her cell phone out of her apron pocket.
Jaime grabbed her hand. “Who are you calling?”
“The cops, dummy.”
“No.”
“Bug—”
“No.” He squeezed her hand, working to put more conviction in his voice than he actually possessed. “I don’t want people talking about this.”
“This is vandalism. It’s not a prank. It’s a crime.”
“I know that.” Something tightened his throat, and he swallowed hard, unwilling to cry in front of his sister. “Please, for me. Let’s just clean it up before the sun rises.”
“What all’s going on out here?” Rusty asked. He shoved through the front door, his apron dusted in flour and splats of something wet. He spotted the painted word and let out a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a thing.”
“We need to clean it,” Jaime said.
Rusty scratched at the paint with his fingernail. “Turpentine should do the trick. I got some in my truck. You two go inside and I’ll take care of it.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.” Rusty slapped him on the back, a friendly gesture, but his mouth was set in a hard, angry line. “Go on in, you kids.”
Jaime didn’t know what to say, so he went inside with Shannon. They finished their prep and filled the glass case with fresh muffins, cookies and pastries. Rusty came inside to wash up at quarter until six, then went straight into his kitchen to complete his own prep. Jaime tried to thank him, but Rusty waved him off with a grunt.
No trace of the ugly word remained when they opened at six, and the day kicked off to its usual slow Saturday start. They got busiest around eight, when folks were rolling out of bed and starting their day, but a few old-timers still came in at opening time for coffee and muffins.
Every time the door chimed, Jaime’s head whipped toward it. He didn’t know who he was looking for. He had no doubt in his mind that Justin was somehow responsible for vandalizing the bakery, but his imagination saw an ugly, burly man with a dangerous sneer and black coat—a true villain. Someone who stood out in a crowd as the bad guy in any scenario. Unfortunately, in real life, the villain was rarely that easy to identify, and it hurt to think that anyone in town could have painted those letters.
He stopped by a booth of regulars to refill their coffee mugs. The four men in their seventies had been staples of Baker’s Dozen for years, almost since the day they opened, each having lived in Perch Creek their entire lives. He’d listened to their stories every Saturday for as long as he could remember, hoping only that he was lucky enough to live to see such an age. To have so many experiences to share with a much younger generation.
Jaime couldn’t imagine any of them being cruel enough to paint “fag” on the front of the bakery.
Or Ben Bukowski, the manager of the local bank, who came in every Saturday to pick up an order of mixed pastries for his employees.
Or Cynthia Jackson, head of the post office branch and president of the PTA, who was eating a bowl of homemade granola with fresh strawberries—one of the morning specials.
No, not everyone could be the villain in Jaime’s story, but he didn’t fool himself to think they’d be as nice to him if they knew he was gay. The world was slowly changing, but not fast enough. And not everywhere.
* * *
Tailing someone without being seen wasn’t as easy as the movies made it seem. Alessandro figured that out Saturday morning when he followed Tony to the park. Eunice had given him permission the night before to go there with his friends for three hours between breakfast and lunch. Said friends included the infamous Joe Parsons, and that prompted Alessandro to do something he never imagined he’d do: spy on Tony.
To be fair, it was a public park. If Tony spotted him, he could probably talk himself out of trouble. The plan was simply to observe. He wouldn’t even get close enough to accidentally eavesdrop. Maybe he was being overprotective and slightly crazy, but he had good reason. His family was being threatened.
Tony joined a cluster of kids near the tennis courts, hanging close to the north corner of the chain-link fences that surrounded them. Alessandro hung back and sat down on a park bench facing the courts, with a fairly active playground of children in between them. He’d know if they moved, but they shouldn’t notice him watching from so far away.
The tallest of the five kids had a shock of white-blond hair and wore a black T-shirt. He seemed to the one the other kids hovered around, like moths to a candle, and Alessandro would bet a week’s tips that he was Joe Parsons. He held his hand out to Tony. Tony took something, then ducked his head. He came back up with a lit cigarette in his mouth.
Alessandro gripped the edge of the bench with both hands so he didn’t launch himself across the playground to yank the cigarette out of Tony’s mouth. He was ten, for crying out loud, and he was smoking. Or pretending to smoke to impress his buddies.
The group’s laughter drifted past the screams of a pair of toddlers begging their mothers to push them higher on the swings. Joe was holding court, that much became quickly obvious. He pulled something up on his cell phone, then passed the phone around. All of the boys, Tony included, seemed to get a huge kick out of whatever they saw—a photo was Alessandro’s best guess. Porn, maybe, or a voyeur shot of someone’s big sister in her underwear. Alessandro well remembered being twelve and first discovering that girls weren’t quite as icky as he always thought. He hadn’t been as fascinated with them as his classmates, for obvious reasons, but he’d been good at faking it.
Tony had said he wasn’t interested in sex or girls yet, and Alessandro believed him. That didn’t stop his so-called friends from exposing him to it, without an intelligent adult around to make sure Tony understood things and was receiving correct information. And the simple fact that Tony was smoking in broad daylight, when any police or court officer could see him, meant Alessandro hadn’t gotten through to him about shaping up and keeping his placement with Eunice. Tony was skating and he didn’t seem to care if he crashed.
One of the boys in the group, a husky kid with longish black hair, said something that earned him huge guffaws from everyone except Tony. Tony’s hands balled into fists, and for one moment, Alessandro expected him to throw a punch. Instead, he said something that turned the group’s laughter back on the husky boy and earned Tony a slap on the back from Joe.
Still assuming the blond kid was Joe.
The phone found its way back into Joe’s possession, and the conversation continued. More cigarettes were smoked. The longer Alessandro watched, the bigger of a jerk he felt like for spying at all. The only check he could put in his personal plus column was that he now had faces for some of the kids Tony hung out with.
Someone settled on the opposite end of Alessandro’s bench. He barely noted the new presence, assuming it was the parent of one of the playground children. Until the bench resident spoke.
“Setting your sights on kids now?”
The voice made Alessandro’s skin crawl. He didn’t give Justin the satisfaction of looking at him. “The bench seemed lonely,” he said. “I thought I’d keep it company.”
“Right. So you playing bodyguard for the guinea kid?”
“Fuck off, Justin.”
“Just making conversation.”
“Go make it with someone who wants to talk to you. I have nothing to say to you or about you, not to the kids, the cops or anyone else.”
Justin was quiet a beat. “Keep it that way. There’s nothing to say anyways.”
“You’re right.” There was plenty to say, only Alessandro had made a promise years ago to keep his mouth shut. “So why don’t you back the hell off and leave me alone?”
“Because I don’t like you here, Silva. You never should have come back.”
“I didn’t have a choice. Sully died, and Eunice needs me. I’m not you, Justin, I
don’t have money, and I don’t turn my back on people who need me.”
Justin made a noise in his throat that might have been a growl. “Then help her out and get out of town.”
“Why? Can’t stand having one of your dirty secrets walking around?” Talking to Justin made him, once again, think of Brittney Mattson. His odd recollection of Brittney had prompted him to go on a gossip dig last night, but he hadn’t turned up much. Had a kid, never left town. Nothing else, as though everyone in his age group had collectively forgotten she ever existed.
“No one wanted you here when you were a kid, and no one wants you here now,” Justin snarled. “All you do is get the people around you hurt.”
Alessandro’s skin crawled, and he finally looked at Justin. Glared at the side of his head as if he could make the asshole’s brain explode with the power of thought. “If anyone I care about gets as much as a skinned knee, I’ll be there asking you why.”
“Get anywhere near me, Silva, and I’ll make sure Eunice loses those kids and never takes in another foster brat.”
Only a sheer burst of self-control kept him from reaching across the bench and punching Justin in the face—mostly because it wasn’t an empty threat. Justin’s father had power. His friends had power. Justin was a professional fuckup and a full-time jerk, but he was connected.
Justin stood up, his posture rigid, still not looking at Alessandro. “Get out of town, Silva.”
He waited until Justin walked away before he allowed himself to move. He unclenched his fists, worked the kinks out of his neck. Fury radiated through him like poison. He wouldn’t let Justin Maddox run him out of town but he didn’t like knowing that staying put kept people he cared about in Justin’s path.
Tony and his friends were gone. He scanned the park. No sign of the group, which was probably just as well. He checked his phone as he started walking home. Jaime would still be at work for another two hours, and he really wanted to talk to him. Needed to talk to someone about all of this and to get advice. The trouble was, he didn’t know anyone who could be a neutral third party and really listen.