Sadie Stories

by Zachary Zilba

There was something in the air on that cool day in late August. The temperature had descended into the low sixties, and a steady chill had engulfed the village. One might guess that Sadie itself knew it was about to lose several residents and this wretched cold was a bite of resent. She was already mourning those who would leave her.

  Warmed by the heaviness of his black leather jacket, Corey made his way up the cobblestone passage to Rachel’s front door. He could hear the muffled sounds of the piano chords being struck somewhere within. He took the brass knocker into his first and struck it against the door three times. He put his hands in his pockets to shelter them from the brisk wind that seemed to collide with the house, scatter around the porch, ricocheting off anything solid, before finally escaping from the confines. He waited for the piano to quiet, that would be his assurance that Rachel had heard him. Only, the piano continued playing. It was a delightful tune, one that sounded familiar but he couldn’t place.

  He peered through the window adjacent to the door into the foyer. He could not see her. He knocked once more, harder this time with his fist. She still didn’t answer. He took the doorknob into his hand and gave it a slight jostle. The door must have been ajar because it quietly swayed inward.

  Corey poked his head around the corner, inspecting the surrounding. “Rachel?” He called softly, as not to frighten her.

  The sounds of the finely tuned piano played on. It was a lovely song, and he hated to compete with it by use of his own voice. It would be sacrilege to pollute the flawless hums of the music with uninvited words. He stepped inside, making sure to close the door with ease. The first thing he noticed was the luggage sitting on the floor beside him. There were two suitcases with two stuffed duffel bags propped unsteadily atop them along with a tattered pink Teddy Bear. It was missing one eye and its ratted fur had faded with age. He knelt down and picked it up. Much like the owner, it was once brand new and confident in its beauty. Untouched by the dust and grime that tends to gather. Dirt usually always washes clean. Sometimes it stains, leaving a reminder of how it got there to begin with. Rachel, much like the bear, had seen hard times, been accosted by trials and tribulations, but they both had survived. She had undoubtedly had that bear since she was a little girl. Snuggled with it at bedtime. Cradled it when crying. Threw it when mad.

  Corey tempered a giggle and placed the bear back upon the cases. He stood up straight and taking a few silent steps into the living room, he stopped just beyond the archway.

  Her back was to him, so she was not aware of his presence. However, he was content just watching her, as her hands danced playfully across the keys of the piano. He was pleasantly surprised by her demonstrated expertise. The way her fingers undulated so masterfully, creating such a stunning harmony. It was almost bewitching. One could easily lose themselves in such a delicate sound. She could have been the Pied Piper in a past life. Her performance came to a gradual close, and her hands rested at her side.

  Corey leaned against the cherry wood frame of the archway, smiling. “You’re really good.”

  Rachel heard his voice, and yet she didn’t turn to greet him. Not even with a welcoming grin. She thought that she should be happy to see him since it could be the last time, but she wasn’t happy at all. It would seem that all that had transpired over the last month or so had driven a wedge between them, and the horrible revelation that occurred just last night had only driven it deeper, expanding the distance between them. She had no reason to be angry with him. It’s not as if he knew what was going on. She knew he would take no active role in betraying her, but with him came the sadness and the memories of her past with Gabe. Corey represented the end of that which she strongly wanted to put behind her.

  He was a little disheartened by her silence, though he didn’t let it show. His only option was to somehow fill it. “I was worried about you. Your Mom came over to my house. Apparently she and my Father had some plans. She told me you would be here.” It was as if the frigid air from outside had somehow breached the housing. He pulled the folds of his coat together awkwardly as he continued, “I knocked but you didn’t hear.”

  “I heard you.” She informed, just loud enough for him to hear.

  He acquired that horrid sinking feeling. Okay. She heard him, but didn’t want to answer. He got that much. But did she not want to answer specifically because it was him, or would she have ignored anyone who came.

  The way she sat, still facing the opposite direction, not wanting to look at him, or even acknowledge his presence told him that she wished he hadn’t come there. She acted as if he were a stranger. They were friends. He cared about her and would not stand to be written off like some casual acquaintance. “Are you angry with me?” He questioned hesitantly, afraid of the reply. “Honestly Rachel, I didn’t know anything about-“

  She raised her tone only slightly to stop him. “I know you didn’t.” Her voice trailed and then she fell silent again.

  Corey hoped she would give him some clue that would explain her distance. However, that old bothersome emptiness occupied the space between them once more. She did not explain. She did not move. He lingered uncomfortably in the atmosphere she presented, not wanting to leave, but knowing he should. “What’s happening here?” His chin tightened and his mouth turned downward into a frown. He had never seen her this way, and it caused him an insurmountable amount of anguish. To think that she would be leaving him, and she couldn’t even bear to look at his face. “You don’t want to be my friend anymore?” He asked in such a turbulent manner that, even upon hearing himself speak, made him want submit to his sorrow.

  Rachel hung her head, folding her hands in her lap, watching her fingers come together. One tear manifested itself over her lash and fell onto her thumb. She wiped it dry with the other. “I can’t look at you,” she whispered, bereft of any consolation.

  “Why?” Was all he could say without crumbling.

  Rachel pulled down the wooden flap over the keys carefully. She closed her music book and leaned forward, propping her elbows on the stained surface. She held her hands over her mouth to conceal the insubordinate lament that blemished her face like a scar. She didn’t want it, and yet no matter how she tried, she couldn’t rid herself of the mark she had been left with.

  Corey stared at her hard, attempting to strip away the thick layers that had ossified her in a dense shroud of embitterment. Everything that had happened seemed to toughen her exterior, making it all the more arduous to find the real her hidden beneath. She was in there, somewhere. It riled him, even to consider that the Rachel he loved so dearly was imprisoned within that tomb of hatred.

  “What have I done?”

  She did not answer.

  Suddenly, he felt a swelling of anger. He had done nothing to deserve such treatment. He had loved her, cherished her friendship, and he his following words came directly from his inability to discern the source of his anger; whether it was her, or the events and made her this way toward him. Regardless, he believed she should not have allowed it to come to this. She should not have allowed herself to be so irreparably torn that even what they had shared would now be unsalvageable.

  “I’m sorry about what happened. You have every right to be hurt. You can sit here and wallow in your pity and that’s fine, but don’t you dare hold me responsible.” Corey shot, just to show her he could be just as unmerciful as she was.

  Rachel jumped up hard, her legs knocking the piano stool back about a foot. Back she spurned like a tyrant, “You think you have me all figured out, Corey. You think that you know me, and you don’t. You don’t know me anymore. I’m not wallowing in the throes of misery like you assume. What is there to be sad about? You seem to have all the answers? Tell me? Gabe? You want me to cry over Gabe? A guy who treated me like shit on his shoes, then laughed behind my back while telling you how much he loved you? Is that it?” Her face burned with anger, “I have a lot more stamina than that. I’m not a weak little fledgling. I can handle myself.”<
br />
  Corey fired back, “If you’re so strong then why are so defensive? I asked a simple question, all it requires is a simple answer, and you don’t even seem capable of giving me that. I did nothing to you. I stood by your side and I was your friend. Why are you taking this out on me?”

  She began to grind her teeth, her veins pulsating with anger, “I want to forget this. I want to forget Gabe, I want to forget Angie. They do not deserve to be a part of my thoughts and every time I see your face or hear your voice, I am reminded that he betrayed me because of you.”

  Her fierce admission stole his breath for a moment. Corey was held firm in the grasp of her sight, unable to move any part of his body. Finally, he shook himself free of her and took a step backward. “You’re right Rachel. I don’t know you anymore. I’m glad I don’t because you’re just as warped as they are.”

  “You were his lover, Corey!” Rachel shouted, “You were my boyfriend’s lover. This may be difficult for you to process; I understand that because you didn’t grow up here. You weren’t around for the past eighteen years. You never saw how much I truly cared for him. How I depended on him. I’m not particularly proud of having been so- so needy, and even though I found my own feet to stand on, I still loved him. He was all I ever knew. This isn’t California, where people drop in and out of your lives like formal guests. This is Sadie. We tend to apply a little more substance to our relationships. This is home to me. The people that I’ve seen on a daily basis for my whole life are home to me. That’s how I feel. That may be a warped perception of reality to you, but you and me come from two different corners of the world. It’s not so easy to just let go as if it never mattered. I’ve faced this thing dead on and it hurts. It really hurts. And whether you like it or not, you are a part of it.”

  Corey protested, “You’re making me pay for what he did.”

  Agitated by his apparent blindness, his inability to see beyond the surface, Rachel found her patience wearing thinner. It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand that upset her so, but that he was mentally incapable of feeling what she was feeling. It seemed unfair, that she be the only one left to suffer the consequences of the immoralities of someone else. It seemed ongoing, like an ache that could be cured, but was not allowed to be. He was the salt in her wound. “What did you lose, Corey? Are you hurting? No. And you know why? Because you had nothing invested. You didn’t share with him what I shared. You can walk away from this completely unscathed, right into the arms of Thomas, without ever looking back. You have nothing to hurt for because you lost nothing. Unlike you, I have no one to turn to. The one who was to comfort me is the one who violated me. Am I right?” She asked.

  Corey broke their stare, not able to find his tongue to speak with. He shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands to his chest, only to let them fall limp once more. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Rachel. What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell me, Corey. Did you love him?” Though she never even twitched, her eyes ripped through him, determined to find an answer, even if he didn’t offer one in words.

  Corey would not lie to her. He knew that what he had with Gabe was incomparable to what she had shared with him for the better part of her life. Telling her was hard, because in some manner, it gave her argument credit. “No. I didn’t love him.”

  “And you didn’t sleep with him?” She drilled before his last word even finished.

  “No.”

  “I did. I loved him... and I believed he loved me. So don’t stand there and try to tell me that I’m crazy for wanting to cast it away from me. I have a right to. I may have been naive before, but I embraced my relationship with Gabe as something that was irrefutable. It was true. It may have had its peaks and valleys, but it was genuine. Then you came here, with your open minded views, spreading the gospel of the new world. You know nothing about the orthodox of this place. And then, the one thing that I treasured the most was compromised; it was proven false, and because of you. It wasn’t by any fault of your own, but you’re the harbinger, Corey.”

  Corey shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He had been called many things in his lifetime, but never a harbinger. He had never been accused of wreaking havoc in someone’s life. He did understand Rachel’s defense. He knew that over the last summer her entire life had changed. That she was tormented by the figments of her past. It must be so frightening... to suddenly realize that your story book life has come to an end, and you have been left unarmed to fend for yourself. Corey was sorry for her losses. He wished that he might find something to say that would ignite the fires of the girl he once knew. Bring her back. Yet, another part of him revolted, counteracting his compassion. No matter how the picture was painted, he was still being persecuted for Gabe’s actions. This alone infuriated him. He was fighting a losing battle. Somehow, he had been the consort of her deceivers.

  “I’m sorry I shattered the glass walls of your little palace, Rachel. I didn’t intend on coming to Sadie just to reveal the falsities, or throw the errors of your trustful ways in your face. I didn’t want to come here at all. The only thing that made my life tolerable was knowing that...-“ He began to cry. He never imagined that he would have to struggle to keep her, “-that you were my friend. I know that this is really difficult for you. That’s why I’m here. I don’t claim to be on equal ground as you right now. I know that you’ve lost so much more than I have. But, just because you don’t feel that I’ve endured enough pain because of this, don’t take away your friendship from me as punishment.”

  Rachel sighed unforgivingly, “Is that what you think I’m doing, Corey? Punishing you? Jesus! Could you just stop thinking about yourself for one second! I don’t hate you. I don’t hold you responsible. You just portray a part of my life that has proven ill-fated. I need to have confidence in myself, and I can’t do that knowing that you were there when I fell. I can’t move ahead holding on to someone who represents so much pain. Got it? That’s all there is to it. I don’t want your help, and I don’t want you to be sorry...” A moment of silence manifested, and before it could be regarded as a break in the tension, she finished it... “I just want you to go away.”

  Exasperated, Rachel turned toward the window watching the leaves drift one by one from their branches. She knew that she was being cruel, and while it conjured up feelings of remorse, she knew it was necessary. The old Rachel still dwelling inside, pushed far into the shadows of her mind, wanted to cry with him. She wanted to hold him in her arms and weep, and know that it was okay. But she was overpowered by the new Rachel, the one that had seen far too much to go unaffected. She couldn’t go backward. She wouldn’t let the vulnerability show. Never again would she put herself in the position to be laughed at, or victimized.

  Corey was thunderstruck by her impertinence, by her uncaring readiness to dispose of him. This fed his anger. “You’re not harming anyone but yourself.” He said, the sentence flowing from his mouth without any hint of disruption that would insinuate his stirred emotion.

  “I’d rather have the privilege of harming myself than giving someone else the chance to do it for me. At least now I won’t have to question why.” Immediately after saying it, she had begun to wish she hadn’t. Though it was the honest truth, it would make her look feeble. Already she was letting someone get to close. The few seconds that followed passed like years. Again, the silence bit at them like a rabid beast, threatening to tear them limb from limb if they dared challenge it with utterances. Somehow it had an awareness here, like it was gaining strength with each sterile moment. There is no worse enemy than an unwelcome silence. It has an unadulterated power, leaping at words, sending them back into the throat where they remain unspoken.

  Corey felt he had too much to lose allow the silence to render him mute. If he would have just walked away from her, the regret would haunt him, she would haunt him. If there was one thing he had learned in Sadie, it was that more ghosts lived here than people. Rachel was a ghost now.
The result of all that had fallen away. Seeing her this way sent a shiver of dread over his flesh. The last thing he wanted to do was leave this place with a demon on his shoulder, so he said all there was left for him to say. “I understand. If you feel that, every time you look at me, all you’ll see is the blade that severed your lifeline, then I’ll go. I just have one more thing to say. I think it’s the best thing I could have done for you. Maybe, from now on, you’ll be able to stand without crutches and you won’t be so quick to blame everybody else when you fall. Just start watching where you step.” He didn’t wait for a response before he found his way to the door and left her behind.

  He did not see that Rachel had come after him. Only a few feet behind, by the time she got to the open door, Corey was halfway across the lawn, still walking.

  “Corey!” she bellowed, her rumbling voice barreling through the air like a freight train. Startled birds fluttered from their nests, unsettled by the sudden shatter of serenity.

  Corey stopped dead, slowly pivoting on one foot which, unlike the rest of him, instinctively wanted to return to her. He didn’t. He recognized that voice, but the woman it belonged to was a stranger.

  Rachel, grounded in her looming stance, adorned with a curt expression, found the reins of her dominance, and she used them. “Don’t ever come back.”

  Without a rebuttal, Corey continued on his way. The once abhorrent gouge that had left them each standing on opposite ends of a broken land was no longer the object of his hatred. Now, it was a divider of purpose, one he greeted with pleasure. He didn’t want to be close to her. Not now, not ever again. As far as he was concerned, his friend was gone. All that remained was this ghost, this foreign soul thriving in the body she once resided in. The Rachel he knew would never say such awful things to him. This spontaneous deduction, one made in a frenzy of mangled thoughts, was all that would present him with enough confidence in his decision to walk away, and not have her memory follow him. He did not know her anymore. He was delighted he didn’t. This alien meant no more to him than he did to her.

  It was an attempt to lessen the value she held in his life. To separate the one he loved from the one who so voraciously rejected him, to regard her now as two distinct entities. One he loved. One he loathed. It was the only way he could forgive her... and forget her.

  Back inside the empty house, on the landing at the turn of the staircase, Rachel stood unmoving. The undeniable breaking of her already fractured heart, made for an infinite sadness, one so treacherous, she believed it would never leave her. Unlike the people she had ordered away, this hole inside would not dissipate, it would not go as easily. It only made her conviction in her decisions more trying. Should she have let Corey stay? No. No, it was best that he was gone. It was all for the better. No more Gabe. No more Angie. No more Corey. No more lies. Betrayal. Fear. Confusion. It had left with them. And just as they had passed in and out of her life, so would this intolerable pain. After all, by her own experience she knew that nothing lasts forever. Nothing.

  Gabe sat in the dark, on a pile of boxes in the corner of his bedroom. He seemed in a daze, with his head back against the wall, his arms resting loosely across his legs. The pictures and posters had come down from the walls. His clothes had been emptied from the closet. Everything he owned had been stuffed into random cardboard cases scattered across the hardwood floor.

  Though the giving sun was spreading it luminescence throughout the countryside, he chose to shut it away. His shade was pulled over the window, guarding him from the brightness. The few thin rays that escaped through its eaves had been successfully intercepted by the drapes before reaching his eyes. It was like a cave. His breathing seemed to echo off the cold surfaces of everything bare. The walls. The floor. The surface of his chest of drawers. Any movement was somehow magnified a thousand times, so he tried to stay perfectly hushed. He liked it better that way. So quiet. So still.

  In a way he wanted to preserve this solitude, deem it holy so no one would dare compromise it. Not with the thudding of footsteps or the incessant ramblings of voices meant only to fill vacant airspace. Always saying so much, and yet saying nothing at all. The receiver hearing every flux of the spoken tone, but uncomprehending. Just noise... all white noise. Perhaps the most significant sound of all is that of silence. Certainly it is the most beneficial. Just imagine, being all alone in an empty room, with nothing but your thoughts. It allows an inward examination of everything you are, and all the mediocre objects that create your internal atmosphere. It doesn’t matter so much what you’ve hung on the touchable walls of your house. More importantly, what you have hung on the walls of your heart. What portraits adorn your memory? What emotions do they stir? Do they symbolize the happiest moment of your life, or the saddest? Do they rouse a smile, or conjure a tear? As these thoughts set adrift on the waves of his mind, Gabe found that a profound melancholy had overwhelmed him.

  In his quiet searching, he saw that nothing he had achieved in his life met him with the degree of satisfaction that he so yearned for. They were drowned out by the grim reminders of his failures that were simply to defiant to be locked away. Most harrowing was the conclusion that he had failed himself, and had only himself to blame. All of these years, years he could never reclaim, were gone. Time, when he should have been trying to find who he truly was, had been wasted. Wasted on being what everyone wanted him to be. The town hero. The prodigal son. The perfect boyfriend. Always wanting more. Never really gratified. Desperately reaching out to others to fill the unexplainable void that plagued him. A void, not left by anyone who had gone, but by him. He had abandoned himself. “I’ll have to start all over... from the beginning.” He thought. It would be the only way to find the man inside that he knew was there. It would do no good to pick up from where he left off. To try and push the wreckage aside and sift through everything he’d learned, every question he’d asked, every wish he had, every idea or perception of the way he believed things were. There was too much to dig through. The only way to find himself was to begin again, without any one to distort his view, or mold him into their version of what’s right.

  From this point on, he would have to play it by ear. Be his own educator. Make his own decisions. Find strength in his own reasoning without needing someone else to verify or authenticate it. He didn’t have to meet anyone else’s standard. He had to live for himself. It was a rebirth. A clean slate. The first step he would take would be that of distance. A detachment from everything familiar. Now, everything foreign would be his teacher. New faces. Fresh opportunities. And nothing of old to remind him of where he came from, or who he once was.

  Just then, a gentle knock came to his door. Though barely audible, it called his attention toward that direction. He watched as his mother gradually appeared from the other side as it slowly opened, stopping only when the knob touched the wall behind it.

  “Gabe?” She summoned timidly, as if unsure if it was him she saw in the shadowed corner. Her high pitched voice almost made it as though nothing had ever happened. It was sweet and floated to his ears like the song of a bird.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Uh-huh...” Gabe answered.

  She waddled past the frame and closed the door quietly, shutting them both inside. She turned to him and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She took a step toward him, surveying the blackness. “It sure is dark in here. You got a headache?” She queried as only a concerned mother would.

  Gabe pressed his head back against the wall. “No.”

  “Oh... well... wouldn’t hurt to open the blinds then, right?” She chirped as she moved to the window, taking the cord into her hand to draw it up.

  Gabe jumped forward to stop her, as if the sunlight would melt him. “NO!” He yelped abruptly then recoiled apologetically, “Don’t... please.”

  Mary stopped cold, startled by his sudden demand. She couldn’t see his face, but the sound of his voice troubled her.
<
br />   Easing back into his makeshift seat, he realized it was unnecessary to be so adamant over such a silly thing. Apologetically, he shifted in his position. “I just prefer it closed. It’s easier to think in the dark.”

  Needing no further explanation, Mary retreated from the window. She stepped toward the bed, carefully avoiding the scattered stuffed boxes. She nested herself into the feather mattress of the bed, her feet barely touching floor. She had so much to say, and yet she couldn’t make sense enough of the questions to ask them with any assurance. Despite this being her son, she felt abnormally inhibited. Mostly because this was the very first time she had been confronted with such sensitive topics. Even when someone’s standing was in question; it was often talked about outside their hearing range, and usually frivolously. Alleged facts were alluded to. Never stated. And never before had they dealt with someone so close to her. Someone she would have to defend. It was quite the predicament for Mrs. Cavanaugh. The woman who, even on the rarest of occasions, wouldn’t even think a taboo thought without rushing to repent. She had always been a righteous woman; no one who knew her would deny that. Her heart was of a kind nature. Probably, the worst thing she’d ever engaged in was a bit of idle gossip with the geese of the neighborhood. It was meant for their own amusement, not to incur harm on the subjects of their ritualistic discussions.

  Something about the wonderment of another life outside her own fascinated her. Not knowing the truth, just speculating, made it more absorbing. It was an innate reaction, having grown up in this tiny world of Sadie, unaware of others in a most ignorant way. New people were like a breath of fresh air in a clouded room. She never expected to have something like this touch so close to home. Stress was not even in her vocabulary, except when too many guests showed up for the Christmas dinner, and there was not enough food. This was real, and a woman of her limited means, and lack of skill, didn’t exactly know how to cope. To an outsider, it would seem odd that she could muster the courage to come to someone in peril. Even if it were her own child. It was new territory for her, and she hadn’t before encountered such an obstacle. Prior to this moment, everything had been easy. It was a tragic blessing, for it had left her unprepared... unqualified.

  Mother. The very term epitomizes humanity. How much more human can one be if they’ve known the beauty of sharing their body with another. An unequivocal love, unsurpassed by anything impressed by outside influences. God made Mothers to give nature a voice. This was the awakening of instincts, as Mary realized that, no matter what was raging inside Gabe’s head, he was her son. She loved him no less than before, nor would she ever. She didn’t care what the neighbors twittered about, or what misconceptions people would have. She had this starving need to know... to help. “How come you never told me?” She asked.

  “You wouldn’t have understood,” he whispered immediately.

  “You didn’t give me the chance. It doesn’t matter whether I understand or not, I would have wanted to help you.”

  Gabe leaned forward, his head down. “It’s too late now.”

  Mary studied his posture, the way he hung in the corner like a forgotten fixture of their household. It deeply saddened her to see him this way. She felt that she should have known something was wrong. They had always shared a strong bond, how could she have not. “It’s only to late when you’ve given up. I haven’t given up on you. I want you to tell me what I can do... tell me how I can help you?” She pleaded, unwilling to allow the notion that they had grown apart. To her, it was an asinine thought. She wouldn’t let it happen.

  Gabe peered up at her from under his thick brow. He saw the desperation, the inherent love pouring from her eyes. After all she had seen the night before, even after all she knew, she was trying so hard. She still loved him. He moved from atop the boxes and sat down on the bed next to her, taking her hand. He said nothing, but began to tremble as he stared at her. His eyes sparkled as they grew heavy with tears. Subtle, pained noises escaped him as he attempted to restrain, but he was weakened. He was crying.

  She wrapped her arms around him, enfolding him in an embrace only a Mother can offer. Pulling him close to her, she caressed his back gently, wishing she could somehow share his burden, take his suffering away. It struck her as unnatural that she couldn’t. The helplessness that presented itself ravaged her. All she had were her words, “It’s okay, baby... it’ll be okay.” She rocked him as though her were a newborn as he wept, she nestled her nose into his hair and kissed him, holding her lips there, holding him tighter.

  “Hi, this is Thomas Bradford calling. I was just wondering if you guys had arrested my Father again?” Thomas asked casually, as one does when asking the same question for years. Between his own past interludes with the Sadie Policed Department, and his Father’s all too common DUI’s and disorderly conduct raps, he had assumed a natural report with all of the officers. Knew most of them by their first name. Not much to brag about, given that there were only three active cops in the entire county.

  Today he was talking to Sadie’s only female police officer, Ninette Widman. He could remember the bizarre reactions of the local residents when she joined the force. Everyone believed she was about to give PMS a new name. Word of mouth spread fast about her new occupation and rumor had it that the members of the local Men’s League were petitioning the town council to have her removed from duty. It was something Thomas just heard in passing. Couldn’t even remember where.

  After leaving him on hold for a good thirty seconds, Officer Widman returned to the telephone, “You still there, Thomas?”

  Thomas walked to the window and drew back the curtains, peering out into the yard, “Yeah, I’m still here,” He replied.

  “I checked the log sheet and we don’t have any arrests listed. I’m sure if he would have passed through here I would have noticed. Maybe he’s somewhere drying out,” She offered, half laughing at the idea.

  “Maybe.” Thomas retorted seriously.

  His Father had been gone for two whole days now, and while it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to suddenly become absent like this, Thomas always knew where to find him. Jail. The fact that he wasn’t there seemed to disturb him more than if he would have been. “Thanks Ninette. I guess I’ll keep waiting for him. If one of you pick him up, call and let me know, Okay?”

  “We always do, Thomas,” She sighed.

  “Thanks.” Thomas hung up the cordless phone and lingered in the curtains, half hoping that his Father would drive up. He could barely remember the last thing they said to each other. What he did recall was, that he left right after the inbred missionaries. But, his last words remained vague. He knew that Thomas was angry. Perhaps that frightened him. Maybe he went to some hotel to straighten out his head. Or, just as likely, maybe he went to some hotel somewhere to get sloshed. Wherever he was, he would be back soon, even if just to send Thomas off.

  His Dad may have been a pathetic excuse for a parent, but Thomas had always felt that, deep down inside of him, there was a flicker... a undeniable ounce of fatherly love. Something told him that his father would come home to say good-bye. Especially now, since he claimed to have seen the light, or whatever. If he wanted so badly to fix the past eighteen years, reconstruct the ruins of their relationship, he would be there. Never before had he ever wanted anything more. No wish, nor prayer had ever been so strongly imprinted on his heart, as the one asking for his Father’s return. Thomas did love him, even more than he believed he should. That brutish man was all he had ever known. It would be impossible not to love him. And it was because of this anomalous love, that Thomas knew his father had to love him too. Even if he didn’t want to.

  He would wait there, standing in the large living room window. Possibly even rest his weight in the oak sill if he grew weary. But he would not leave that space. It would be his Father’s face as he came up the walk, not knowing Thomas was watching from beyond the scratched pane, that Thomas would take away with him. Undoubtedly, it would be sweet
est memory. He waited until dark, watched the sun fade into soft pastels and slowly drench the street in black. He watched as the outside lamps lit up simultaneously. He listened to the Grandfather Clock announce each hour as it came and left. Though he was hungry, he had no appetite. It came in strides and then ebbed again, and he would forget about food altogether.

  It was just after nine o’clock when Lola Collier’s last client left. It was a younger woman with hair the color of a corn silk, and a petite frame. Lola escorted her to the Red Minivan parked on the curb. They had a brief conversation, laughed at something funny, and the girl proceeded to kiss her twice, once on each cheek before leaving. Lola, with her crooked hand high in the air, bid her farewell, even though the girl was soon to far away to see her. She lowered her hand and glanced up at the sky, the cool air tickling her nostrils as she drew it in, replenishing her senses.

  On this night, she was dressed in a long, silk, white gown. From her collar spilled a shimmering lavender sash which was wrapped once around her neck. Both ends hung over her shoulders, climbing down her back to her ankles. It was so strange, as she stood there on the edge of the street, afloat on invisible gusts of wind, how she adjusted her head just slightly, and stared directly at Thomas. It struck him as peculiar the way she seemed to know he was there all along. Like some supernatural awareness drew her to him. She smiled and motioned for him to come out.

  Thomas broke from his stone cast and walked out of the house, across the lawn and into the street where she met him halfway. The first thing that called his attention was her overly painted face, accentuating every crevice of her worn skin. It was as if she purposely promoted her wrinkles, not as a sign of age, but of longevity and pride. It could have been just vanity, only she knew. Despite the reasons, it was typical Lola fashion. Supremely ostentatious.

  “Ohhhh, young Thomas.” She declared as she held out her hand for him to take with his own. “I have been wondering about you. I must say, I was a trite disappointed when you didn’t come back to see me.”

  Thomas grinned, “I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy. I’m leaving for school in the morning and it’s proven to be a very hectic process.”

  Lola tossed her head back dramatically, “Oh, of course. Well, since you’ll soon be leaving me I insist you come in and have a drink. We’ll toast to your impending future.” Without waiting for agreement, she began dragging him up to her house. She talked the entire way. “I was tempted to pay you a visit. I was hoping to find out how your situation unfolded. It’s not polite to leave a woman dangling in anticipation. It’s just like writing a great symphony and never finishing it. The imagination cannot compete with the beauty of truth. Good or bad.”

  She opened her door and shuffled into the house. She released him from her dominating grasp and hurried to the bar in the corner, leaving him to tend to himself. She didn’t offer him a seat, nor instruct him in any manner.

  Hoping he was not being to obtuse, he took a seat on the chaise lounge. Lola took two shot glasses from beneath the counter and placed the on the surface. First, she poured herself a glass of vodka, downed it, slammed it back down, smacked her lips together savoring every drop then poured herself another, all before addressing him. “What can I get you, darling? I have vodka, whisky, and, if you’re feeling very unpoetic, I believe there’s even a bit of beer in the refrigerator. Pick your poison.”

  “I’ll just have some water... if you don’t mind,” he answered hesitantly, as not to appear rejecting of her offer, or snobbish.

  She gave only a blank look, and then nodded in acknowledgement. “Water it is!’ She said, reaching for a crystal bottle, emptying the contents into a shot glass. Only Lola would serve water in a shot glass. As she pranced across the marble floor, holding it outward, she spoke. “So, my dear, tell me about this love of yours. Did you tell him?” She pried as he took the drink from her, and she floated down beside him.

  “I did.”

  “And?” Lola pressed.

  “And then...” An enchanted expression appeared on his face. He was reliving that evening, every moment resurrected with pristine clarity. He gazed at Lola with a humble grin. “He told me.”

  Lola clapped her hands in explosive delight, “I knew it!” She declared ecstatically. She flew up from her seat, raising her arms to the sky in praise, “I knew you could do it!” She leaned down toward him, wrapping her arms around him, giving him a congratulatory kiss on the head as she held his face in her hands. She looked into his eyes, as if she could see through them to his soul.

  “You have conquered the fates, Mister Thomas.”

  “What?” He asked, able to smell the vodka on her breath she was so close.

  “People believe that the fates are working for them, but what they do not know is that fate is a great deceiver. The Ancient Grecians believe that every man born unto this world belonged to the fates; that every soul was destined for a tragic ending, the ultimate being death. The Fates are an evil trio of deadly maidens thought to have been here before time even existed. They can tempt you, and mislead you; they guide all men to sorrow. Little do they know how truly weak they are, for the gift that goodness bestowed was that of iron will. For many that will lies dormant and we become subservient to a secret calling, unaware that we can break free. You did it, Thomas. You beat them. You have won.” She rejoiced quietly.

  For reasons unbeknownst to himself, Thomas understood what she was saying. That people unwittingly give into fate; accept it as their own, when the odds seem to be against them. And just as testified in his own case with Corey, he was led astray from the true possibility by what he interpreted as something beyond his reach. Something to good for him. Even when, the entire time, Corey felt the same way. It would have been easy for Thomas to remain unheard, oppressed by a deceptive circumstance. One created by the fates. And then, on that night, when Corey appeared in his room, Thomas knew he would not let him leave without telling him he loved him. It was as though he had torn himself away from the inherent fear what may have been, and he spoke words that, by fate’s wishes, wouldn’t have been spoken otherwise. It was just a matter of swimming against the current. Walking into the wind. Taking a chance in lieu of letting the chance be taken away... by a fate we accept as unchangeable.

  Lola continued exuberantly, “There’s a difference between fate and destiny, Thomas. Fate is something already created. Destiny is something we create ourselves. Fate is the path already paved. Destiny is the choice to get off that path and make our own.” She stood erect once again; “Remember that,” She ordered as she swooped around and settled near the phonograph in the corner.

  Thomas was astounded by the idiosyncratic honesty he found in her words. To anyone who didn’t know her, the message relayed would be blindly accredited to age, or mental anguish. But Thomas knew that this grand woman knew secrets that nobody else knew.

  Lola positioned a new record over the spindle, “If I had been aware of that fifty years ago, I would have made something of my life. Instead-“ She took a cigarette and placed it in the long holder, lighting it, then exhaled dramatically, “I gave up my first love, married men who I believe in, and each time got kicked in the teeth. Now look at me. An old woman... alone... surrounded by trinkets of my past, the treasures of wealth, and I am not happy. I do not remember... what that’s like anymore.” She cradled her bosom, drifting away, trying to regenerate a feeling that had evaded her. She must have done this thousands of times. Observed a moment to remember, and yet each time, she failed.

  Thomas rose to his feet and moved across the room to stand with her, “I think you’re wrong Lola.”

  Shocked by his objection, she could not immediately retaliate. Instead, she laughed awkwardly, and caroused over to the bar again, “I have lived plenty of years to know the difference between what makes one happy, and what does not.”

  Thomas stayed by the phonograph, watching her intensely, “You know a lot of stuff. I’ll give you that. But, I don
’t think you as unhappy as you believe you are. I just think that you’ve forgotten how.”

  This rang true to the woman, especially since it had been years since she was veritably happy. She went from marriage to marriage, lover to lover, country to country, searching for that which seemed so far. She had spent so long hiding in attics, obliging the demands of others to actually sprawl on her own blanket of splendor. Not since she had been a girl had she been so filled with joy. “Well then, my child, why don’t you tell me how then?” She said condescendingly, pouring herself her drink.

  “Your music makes you happy. Dancing makes you happy. Sharing it with others makes you happy. This life that has brought you here makes you happy. You can dance, you can do whatever you want, and there’s no one to tell you that you cannot do it. You don’t have to hide... anymore. That should make you happy.”

  She thought hard for a moment, the innocence in his voice could draw a woman to tears. She stepped back toward him, a pleasant grin offered in appreciation of it. “You are wise beyond your years, kid. I look back at my life and see all the things I would have done differently. Knowing that I will never have the chance to do that has broken me inside. I’m never going to find love; it’s too late for that. I shall never have children, or grandchildren. I always wanted a son. I would have wanted him to be just like you,” She caressed his hair, “Strong and handsome. Kind hearted with a perseverant spirit. You could be the child I never had, Thomas.” She tilted her head and studied him closely, as if trying to locate some physiological feature she recognized as hers.

  “Well, you have me now,” Thomas stuttered, hoping it hadn’t sounded too absurd, “I- I never had a mother.”

  And it was at that very second that they decided to be to each other what had previously been denied. Mother and son. It was an agreement sealed not with words, but an embrace.

  “I will be happy, now.” Lola said, experiencing a resurgence of that old feeling.

  “Me too,” Thomas replied.

  Lola removed herself from his hold and moved back toward the bar, her cigarette ashes dropping carelessly as she walked, leaving a trail behind her, “I will be happy with my new son, with my music. My life will be happy. BOOZE, makes me happy.” She decreed spryly. As she sorted through the bottles at the back of the bar, she glanced out the window above it and saw Corey walking off of Thomas’ lawn.

  She turned to him curiously. “There’s someone outside.”

  “Who?” Thomas asked.

  Lola twisted back toward the window. “Someone leaving your yard. A dark haired child.”

  “It’s him. It’s Corey! I want you to meet him!” Thomas announced as he raced to the front door.

  “Well, I want to meet him!” She retorted, as though insulted that he would think otherwise.

  Thomas pulled open the door and hurried out onto the porch, grabbing hold of the pillar to balance himself above the wooden steps. “Corey!” He wailed into the night.

  Corey, having already passed Lola’s house on the opposite side of the street, turned to find Thomas. He saw him standing there, on the fourth and final step of Lola Collier’s porch. For a few fast seconds, he thought nothing of it, and he started in Thomas’s direction. And then suddenly, he came to a jolting halt. It was not all that terribly long ago that Thomas had informed him of that woman. The murderer.

  “Come here, I want you to meet someone!” Thomas requested.

  Corey stood solid, not making any progression toward his lover. It was like his feet had been welded to the street. What was Thomas doing there?

  “Why don’t you come here?” He asked innocently, trying to seem uninfluenced by the stories he’d heard.

  “Just come over here.” Thomas insisted excitedly.

  Okay. He would walk to the bottom of the steps. No further. Then he could be assured a good head start in case he had to make a quick getaway. He knew he wasn’t in good shape, but he was positive that he could outrun an old lady. He hoped.

  With careful, stealthy steps, he inched closer to Thomas, before finally standing below below him. “Uh... What- What are you doing?” He inquired nervously.

  “Come inside. Lola wants to meet you.” Thomas prompted.

  Corey didn’t answer right away. He lingered there, pinching the legs seams of his jeans at his sides. He leaned over and peered into the open doorway behind Thomas, “C- Can’t she come out here?”

  “Oh, don’t be a chicken!” Thomas laughed as he reached down, grabbing Corey’s arm, yanking him up the stairs, dragging him into the house. He slammed the door and took the more passive approach by holding Corey’s hand. He did not bother looking at his face. If he had he would have seen nothing but sheer terror. Poor little Corey. Wide eyed and flush faced. He could not say anything contrary to Thomas’s boldness, for he was already at ground zero. At least Thomas could have left the door open. Corey now wished he would have taken track in school.

  “Lola, this is my Corey...” Thomas introduced proudly, as he pushed Corey in front of him for unobstructed observation. The same words shuttled through his mind. “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”

  Lola slowly traipsed toward them, blowing out a puff of smoke. She looked him up and down, and back up again. Corey was waiting for her to pounce. Her very demeanor frightened him beyond means. Her heavy make-up looked like a crispy mask of sundried skin. Now he knew what happened to Baby Jane!

  She touched his face with the tips of her fingers, bending downward a little as to meet him eye to eye. As most everyone who wanted to look at him that way had to. He was only five foot four inches.

  He couldn’t help but stare back at her. He wanted to know what she was going to do to him.

  She pushed back a strand of hair from his shoulder, “A boy too beautiful,” She remarked, as if he were behind a glass wall, and would not hear it. “And those eyes. Black as a midnight sea. Eyes that have seen far to much to belong to such a beauty.”

  “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” He held his breath.

  “Do you like to waltz?” She asked, suddenly speaking to him, instead of about him.

  “I- I don’t know how,” Corey stuttered. The question came entirely from left field. Her ability to segue from one subject to another without falter seemed well practiced. There was something about her that laid his squandering fear to rest. It could have been her unintentional affability, or the susceptive smile she readily displayed. It was as if he were a long, lost friend, and she was welcoming him back to her. There was no customary ‘Getting acquainted’ regime.

  She took him by the hand and led him across the floor toward the phonograph. “I was just about to put on some music. I hope you like music.”

  “Yes,” Corey answered, now absolutely comfortable. He took inventory of his surreal surroundings. The high, muraled ceiling. The improvident decor. The portraits, the statues, the bookshelves, and the lights, they all seemed to have a naturalness here. Anywhere else it would have been outright gaudy, but here, it fit just perfectly. “You have a nice place,” Corey complimented as he wandered away from her to the center of the room. He glanced down to the floor and saw himself staring back. It mirrored his awe. “I can see my reflection in the floor.”

  As Lola turned the crank on the side, she hollered over to Thomas, who stood on the other side of the room. “Hit the lights, babe. I feel like dancin’!”

  Thomas hurried to the light switch and, even before Corey could look up at him, the entire house went pitch black.

  He listened carefully as the record began, scratchy at first, then smoothing out. Have always had an eclectic taste in sound, he immediately recognized it as Pachelbel Canon in D major. Though it wasn’t a part of his personal collection, it had been the entry selection for his Cousin’s wedding. The heavenly music streamed through the air, casting a spell on everything in its listening range. Corey let himself be carried away on its embellishing waves of gentle harmony. He had nearly forgotten that he was standing in
the belly of darkness. He didn’t even mind. Just as he accepted his temporary blindness, the ceiling burst forth with a brilliant white light, and he found himself standing beneath a million points of illumination. It was an unspeakable event, one that had taken him by such surprise, that he could not say anything in reference to this bedazzling view. It was like being in space, afloat on a colorless scape, uncountable star fires blazing around him. Such an amorous feeling. All of this, combined with the fragile breath of bow against string made for magic.

  Lola twirled her way over to him, her arms spread wide. She paused just in front of him, “Now, we shall dance.”

  Corey smiled; enchanted by the atmosphere she had ingeniously created. The spirited way she wisped around, as if she had wings, and the temperate, unassuming manner in which she invited him into her arms, made him eager to comply.

  Lola placed Corey’s right hand accordingly in hers, then positioned his left on her waist, and they began to waltz. “You mustn’t be afraid of moving. Let the music take hold.” She instructed, noting his reluctance to fully submit. It wasn’t long before they stepped and swayed without digression.

  Thomas watched from the side, leaning against the wall, his hands behind his back, one foot crossed over the other. He enjoyed watching them. This momentous occasion merging both young and old, faded beauty and fresh, and all the paradoxical worlds in-between. It was an event he would want to remember always. Sentimental artistry at its finest. A vision only the most incisive should behold, for no sight this sublime should be taken for granted. It was so much more than what it appeared, than what the naked eye could find. In some context, it was symbolic; One having lived life, the other just beginning. This was the collision of present and past, uniting to celebrate, and dance. The profundity of such a happening made a seemingly minute experience, become sacred.

  The song wasn’t over yet, but Lola took herself away from her partner and scuttled over to Thomas, pulling him onto the floor, placing him in front of Corey. “I want to see you two dance,” She insisted, as she flittered back toward the phonograph, stopping the music.

  Thomas and Corey shared an amused glare while Lola busily switched the record.

  “Only this time,” She continued, “We shall bless this affair with something more appropriate. But first, we’ve got to set... the mood.” She placed the needle carefully on the edge of the disc, and then raced back to their side.

  Thomas rolled his eyes in dread, “I told you I don’t-“

  “Do as I say! Corey is a splendid dancer, and it gives the music more purpose when it’s courted by lovers,” She informed assertively.

  Thomas snickered inaudibly, hesitating.

  In turn, Lola took his arm and tugged him into their circle. “Come child, don’t disobey you’re elders. I said I wish to see you two dance, certainly that is not such an preposterous request. You’d be doing a gracious deed for an old woman who may be to old to find love, but still has the eyes to witness the joy of others who savor it. So, go ahead. Proceed.” Lola directed fervently, if only to thwart his embarrassment.

  He figured he may as well humor her, for arguing was not an option. He tossed out his hands for Corey to find. Equally as abashed, Corey filled Thomas’s hands with his own.

  This traditional pose was not enough to satisfy Lola. “No, no, no!” She reprimanded as she unlatched their fingers. She pushed Corey into Thomas, and situated his arms around Thomas’ neck. “Those in love dance in an embrace. As one. You don’t want to desecrate the embodiment of the Sixties. Back then it was all about free love, and sexual liberation.” She paused to ponder the comment, a dumbfounded expression housed on her theatrical face. “Or was that the Seventies? Oh, hell! I must be older than I thought.” She was quick to release her concern. “No matter. It’s quite possible that the originator of this song has passed on to a better place. The worst thing you can do is piss off a dead man by treating his love song as though it were obsolete.”

  After arranging them in a manner that suited her, she took a step back to survey them. She smiled with pride, “That’s much better.”

  Corey and Thomas were pressed against each other. Thomas’s hands were around Corey’s waist, while Corey’s arms were wrapped around his torso.

  Lola moved around them, inspecting every inch of their posture. Neither one of them moved. “Okay,” She approved, as she careened to the musical contraption and started it then retreated to the chaise lounge where she sat. For thirty seconds it was completely quiet. The only sound was that of the static coming through the speaker. And then, it began. Every chord caught explicitly by the turntable on which it spun.

  “I will never let you go, the world may take me, may break my soul. If in the end, all that remains is you, my heart is set free and all my dreams have come true.”

  Every aspect of the old song ripened their rapture, contributing to the bittersweet emotions that had suddenly become present. Softly they swayed from side to side, both far away from the room in which they stood. They had been taken from everything around them, transported into a place where only they existed. Their eyes were fixed on each other, drinking the other in.

  “I have a confession to make,” Thomas said, not breaking their stare.

  Corey’s mouth twitched into a grin, and then fell, “You have a girlfriend,” Corey assumed.

  “No!” Thomas laughed.

  “Please don’t tell me that Thomas isn’t your real name,” Corey begged seriously.

  “Come on, Corey. Give me some credit.”

  “Sorry. I just don’t think I can tolerate any more confessions. I think I’d be forced to join a seminary and become a nun.” He said, laying his head on Thomas’s shoulder. “I’d make a terrible nun. I’m too flawed to be holy.” He admitted, nearly sounding ashamed of the fact.

  “I have a good confession,” Thomas promised as he stroked Corey’s back.

  “Okay.”

  “I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I will never leave you. I will never hurt you, or lie to you. I remember, a long time ago, I made a wish on a star. I asked for someone to love, for someone to love me. I wished that someday, I would find someone who could make my life complete. I wanted that star to prove to me that there was something worth living for... that there was something greater out there. I never believed in wishes before. I always thought a star had to fall from heaven to make a wish come true. It seemed so sad, that, upon the death of a star, a man would burden it with his troubles.”

  Corey moved his lips, just barely, over Thomas’s neck, “Do you believe?”

  Thomas inhaled his scent, intoxicated by the sensuous warmth of his closeness. “I do now.” Corey raised his head to look at him. Never had he felt love like this before. Until now, he couldn’t fathom the magnificence of what he, himself, had been praying for so long. It overwhelmed him, this fulfillment of all he had hungered for. He never imagined the power of the gift he had now been blessed with. Never thought it could be so perfect. And, the one thing that made it all the more special, was having been proven wrong. For all along, it was this love that he never thought would be.

  It was in this time that he knew that through every past reincarnation of his soul, every form he thrived in before, it was this love that he had been searching for. Corey clenched Thomas more firmly, holding him as if he were afraid he might vanish in his arms. His insides shivered, partly from fear. He had waited so long to hear words like the ones Thomas endeared, and now that they had been said, he was afraid that he, himself, may disappear. It was all he really ever wanted, and now that he had it, what else was there to want? His longing had forever been the most substantial part of him, and now it had been appeased. So, what was left? Like all great love stories, did he have to die in the end? Had his entire life been readying him for this moment of pure contentment? Now that he found it, was he meant to move on? It wasn’t the love that left him so frightened... it was losing it. As far as he knew, nothing thi
s exquisite was supposed to happen to people like him. What price would he have to pay for such a rare thing? “I’ve spent most of my life waiting to hear that someone could love. I needed that so badly. I got so used to wanting that I stopped thinking it was possible for me. I’m afraid I’ve taught myself that things like this are not real. They only happen in romance novels and in movies and to everyone else. Not to me. I’m so used to wanting love, never expecting to find it, that I’m afraid I’m not good enough, or smart enough to deserve it, or you.” Corey said, his voice shaking. “Love isn’t about being smart, or good enough, Corey. It’s about loving someone without logic or question. It’s about me loving you for everything you are, for the way you tremble because I know that you love me like no one else ever before. I’ve never felt anything comparable to this. Something so much bigger than I am, something that I have dreamed of. And, now that I’ve tasted it, I know I couldn’t survive without it. That’s why love is so grand. It’s so incredibly delicate, that no person on Earth could even begin to understand it. It’s beyond human comprehension, beyond the stars, beyond the moon, past every known galaxy, too far away to touch, or see, but we can feel it. It is proof that there is something out there, existing with us, for us. Maybe it’s God, or some divine master of all that has come to pass. No one knows, and that’s the best part about it. I just know that I have you, and that’s all I care about.”

  “So what do we do now? What happens?”

  “I don’t know. This isn’t Hollywood. I’m not waiting for the dramatic ending, or the music to swell and the credits to roll. This doesn’t have an ending, Corey. It just is.”

  “Forever?”

  “Yes. Forever, and after.”

  “Even when I’m old and wrinkled?”

  “Even then.”

  “Even when I say stupid things? I do that, you know. All the time.”

  “Yes, Corey.”

  “What about when I embarrass you. Luck is not usually on my side. I fall down a lot. I’m neurotic and I’m flakey. Can you love a flake.”

  “I think so.”

  “How about when-“

  “Corey.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Shhh.”

  “Okay.”

  And even after the music trickled to a hush. After the silence was all that remained. After Lola fell asleep in her fixed position. After the morning birds began to sing. After the sun rose over the village, they still danced.

  It was well after seven o’ clock when Thomas escorted Corey to his front door. It seemed that neither one of them were tired, but yet the new day and all that it would bring forced them in their separate ways. It made it easier to part knowing that it wouldn’t be for very long. When they would meet again, it would be on the other side of the country, and every challenge that faced them would be defeated together.

  They stood at Corey’s front door, wrapped in one another’s hold. “I wish we could leave on the same flight,” Corey stated sadly.

  Thomas nuzzled his neck, “Our flights are only two hours apart. I suppose I’m lucky that I even get to leave on the same day. Two hours isn’t that long. When you get to the airport in San Francisco, just wait for me at the gate. I’ll be there.” He pinched Corey’s chin, trying to make him smile.

  “Will you at least come and see me off. Two hours isn’t long, I know, but I just want to see your face one more time before we leave Sadie.” Corey said hopefully.

  “I was planning on it. You don’t actually think I’d let you leave me without one kiss to tide me over until we’re together again. Just one kiss in front of all of Sadie.” He smirked with a wily look in his eye. To Thomas, that kiss would be the golden seal that locked away all things previous. The cloth that wiped his slate clean. The mark of newness.

  “So... I’ll see you at the airport then. Ten Thirty my plane leaves.” He gave him a fast peck on the lips.

  “Ten Thirty. Got it.” Thomas agreed as he began to step away. Corey reached for the doorknob, then turned away, “Don’t forget.”

  “I’ll be there. Come hell or high water. I’ll be there.” And he jogged away. “I LOVE YOU!” Thomas screamed at top of his lungs, a triumphant yell, though he had left from Corey’s view.

  Corey laughed to himself as Thomas’s bellow echoed. He watched the corner where the evergreens divided the yards hoping he would reappear. When he did not, only then did Corey vanish into his darkened house.

  eighteen

 

  And Then There Were None