Maybe I’m on the wrong dock.
Abel looked around the marina, still in disbelief, hoping above all hope he’d taken a wrong turn in his haste to get to Cullen. But no such luck. The boats that had been on either side of
T-Time
were still there, bobbing gently in the waves.
On unsteady legs, Abel ran to the fuel dock. No
T-Time
. He ran to the pumpout station. No
T-Time
.
He’s gone! He’s really gone.
Abel mechanically patted his pocket for his cell phone but remembered he’d put it in the cardboard box with the others.
Damn, Abel!
It belonged to the church anyway, so there was no need to go back for it.
Feeling helpless, Abel walked slowly back up the dock and sat on the steps of the office. He looked at his watch and then looked at the hours of operation affixed to the glass door.
Damn! They don’t open for another forty-five minutes.
But a white envelope stuck in the door caught his eye. He looked closely, and Cullen’s slip number was written on the outside of the envelope. He glanced around to make sure he was alone and quickly retrieved the envelope and opened it.
Dear Hank,
I’ve decided to move on to Charleston for the rest of the winter. You guys have been great, and I appreciate everything you and your staff did to make my stay in Southport a good one. You have my credit card on file and my permission to charge any remaining balance, and you have my cell if you need me for anything else.
Thanks again,
Cullen Kiley
T-Time
Slip C-24
Abel breathed a sigh of relief, folded up the letter again, slipped it back into the envelope, and shoved it under the door.
At least you know where he is. Now what are you gonna do about it?
Abel took his time walking home. There was no rush, and he needed time to think.
Why did Cullen leave?
Did it have something to do with the intervention? Had Agnes butted her big nose into his business and told Cullen what was going on? They had worked him relentlessly last night, so he wouldn’t put it past Agnes to work Cullen as well. It was definitely a possibility.
Abel hadn’t consciously made up his mind, but
if
he decided to drive to Charleston, he could be there in less than four hours. Cullen had told him the trip to Charleston by boat on the outside, as he’d called it—meaning in the ocean—was just under eight hours. But if he went on the inside and followed the Intracoastal Waterway, it was a two-day trip.
When Cullen got home, he fired up his laptop. He searched for every marina between Southport and Charleston and printed the contact information of each. Next he went to Google and typed in “marine forecast.” Something called NOAA came up as the first site, so he clicked on it. It asked for a region, which he chose, and then provided a marine weather forecast. Winds out of the SSE at ten knots, seas one to two feet.
“That doesn’t seem so bad,” Abel said out loud. “I’m gonna bet he went on the outside.”
Abel closed his laptop and sighed. “Time to pack.” Two hours later, Abel had packed his Honda Accord with what few belongings he had. It was mostly clothes and shoes, jammed in on top of his stereo, computer, and printer. It was amazing how few roots he’d put down here, almost like he knew he was only passing through. When he was done loading the car, Abel locked the front door and slipped the key through the mail slot. He turned around and gasped to find Dottie was standing on his porch. How had he not heard her walk up the stairs?
“Abel?”
“Oh! Hi, Dottie.”
Dottie looked at his packed car and back at him. “What’s going on?”
“I resigned from the church today, Dottie.”
“Why?”
Abel hesitated, trying to decide the right way to handle this. Of course he settled on the truth. “You’re probably going to hear sooner or later, Dottie, so I’ll just save a stop on the gossip train. I’m gay.”
It felt good to say the words to someone other than Cullen. “I’m gay, Dottie,” he said again.
“I heard you the first time, Abel. But what does that have to do with you quitting the church?”
“You know the church’s beliefs about homosexuality. Pastor Williams thought it best if I move on.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dottie said, surprising the hell out of Abel.
“Dottie!” he said.
“I’m sorry for my language, Abel, but that dinosaur of a pastor has really gone and pissed me off this time. What hypocrites!”
“Hypocrites? What do you mean?”
“Abel, if you knew half the stories running around town about the Pastor and
his wife
, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“What stories?” Abel asked, identifying the shock in his voice.
“I’m not a gossip, Abel, but I hear things. And apparently the Pastor’s prostate cancer treatment a few years ago left him impotent, and it’s pretty common knowledge that since then, Agnes has been carrying on with Burt Townsend every time the pastor leaves town.”
“What? Burt Townsend? That widower who lives on Nash Avenue?”
“That’s him! But yet they send you away because you’re gay?”
“Technically I resigned. But if I hadn’t, they would have fired me anyway.”
“Those bigots,” she hissed. “Abel. Please reconsider?”
“But what about the congregation?” Abel asked. “Wouldn’t they have a problem with this?”
“Some of the old schoolers who aren’t as hip as I am might. But they make up such a small part of the congregation now. Especially since you’ve brought so many young people and life into our little church. Abel, you’re the best associate pastor we’ve ever had, and I don’t want you to go.”
Abel swallowed the lump bobbing up and down in his throat and threw his arms around Dottie’s neck. “Thank you. I had no idea you felt that way. I thought everyone loved Pastor Williams.”
“Oh shoot, Abel, everyone simply tolerates him. Did you not notice how many more people there were in church yesterday? That was all because you were in the pulpit. Wonderful sermon, by the way.”
“Thank you. You have no idea how much all this means to me.”
“Well, you deserve it, and I’m sorry I haven’t told you how much we appreciate you before now. We all just assumed you knew.”
“It’s okay, Dottie. It’s been that way all my life. Everyone apparently just assumed I knew.”
“Oh, Abel.” Dottie kissed his cheek. “You will be missed. But if you wanna stay, I know I can get more than half the congregation to stand up for you. Of course you know the archaic rules of the church. You couldn’t be open with your lifestyle, but you would still have your job. And more importantly, we would still have you.”
“Thank you, Dottie, but the job here is not that important to me. I will miss you and some of the congregation, but I’m tired of living a lie. I’ve hidden this all my life, and I’m done with that.”
Dottie dipped her head. “I wish it wasn’t like this, Abel. I wish everyone could just be loved for who they are. But things are changing. However slowly. It may not happen in my lifetime, but you’ll see it. I’m sure of it.” She hesitated. “Do you know where you’re going to settle?”
“Not sure. Right now I’m headed to Charleston, and if everything works out the way I’m hoping, I may settle in New England come the spring.”
“I wish you all the best, and I hope this all has something to do with that handsome Reverend Kiley.”
“It certainly does. And thank you, Dottie. You’ve been a great friend.”
Dottie smiled warmly, squeezed both of Abel’s hands, and kissed him on the cheek again. “You be happy, son.”
“I’ll do my best.” Abel bounced down the steps, hopped in his car, and pulled away from the curb with renewed hope.
After stopping at the local Radio Shack, where Abel picked up a prepaid cell phone, he drove along Hwy 17 and dialed every marina in Myrtle Beach. Cullen had told him that was the halfway point to Charleston, and he wanted to see if there were any reservations for
T-Time
in case Cullen did travel along the Intracoastal. But he struck out on every call, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Next he moved on to Charleston proper. There were only a handful of marinas in Charleston Harbor, so Abel started with the A’s. He called the Ashley Marina. No reservation there. Next was the Charleston City Marina, and lo and behold…. Abel smiled broadly when the dock master said they had a reservation for a boat named
T-Time
, and it was scheduled to arrive between three and four o’clock.
Cullen! You may send me packing, but I’ll never know unless I take the chance.
WITH A
heavy heart, Cullen sat at
T-Time
’s helm in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, with nothing in sight but glistening water in every direction. The seas were calm. The winds and current were favorable, and
T-Time
was on autopilot with a course set for the inlet to Charleston Harbor.
With such good conditions, there was nothing to keep Cullen’s mind off of Abel. And damn if he didn’t have another seven hours of
nothingness
until he reached Charleston. That would give him plenty of time to second-guess every decision he’d made in the last year and a half. Starting with his leaving Southport and Abel behind.
On more than one occasion, his hands were on the wheel and about to change course and head back to Southport. But why? What good would that do him? He had no idea where Abel was. And even if he did, would Abel want to see him? On one hand he felt like he was deserting Abel, but on the other hand, if what Agnes said was true and Abel wanted him to go, he had to respect his wishes. Either way, going back now wouldn’t get him the answers he needed.
At one point Cullen thought about contacting the Southport authorities, but there was the simple question of whether the church had done anything legally wrong. Cullen had no doubt they had acted unethically, but there was no penalty by law for that. But what if Abel hadn’t been coerced into going into that horrible therapy? What if he went willfully?
A chill ran up Cullen’s spine when he remembered what he’d read about the methods used in that particular therapy. Prior to the 1980s, some of the methods included masturbatory reconditioning through electric shock applications to the genitals, and nausea-inducing drugs and prolonged ice baths administered simultaneously with the presentation of homoerotic stimuli.
Luckily for Abel, after 1981, clinical techniques used in the U.S. had been mostly limited to counseling, visualization, social skills training, psychoanalytic therapy, and spiritual interventions such as prayer and support groups. But Cullen also remembered there were still some reports of aversive treatments by unlicensed practitioners.
He decided that, as soon as he got to Charleston, he would try to look up conversion therapy facilities in upstate North Carolina to see what he could find, but he also knew with today’s HIPAA laws, no one would give him any information about whether Abel had actually been admitted. But he would at least know if the clinic or facility was a reputable one.
As the hours passed, Cullen checked and rechecked his instruments, making sure he was still on course and everything was as it should be. He looked at his radar for any blips indicating another vessel in the vicinity, but within a fifty-mile radius, he saw nothing but a blank screen. It was just Cullen, his boat, and the sea, but he didn’t feel uneasy or alone. In fact, like most times when he was at sea, he felt deeply spiritual. With the beauty of the vast ocean surrounding him, how could he question what God had created? But that had been when he wasn’t worrying about Abel.
Even with Abel front and center in his reflections, he still thought a lot about his faith. How he’d turned his back on God, all under the premise that God had turned his back on him. The more he searched his soul, the more he realized that yes, God had taken Cole from him, but he wouldn’t have even known Cole if God hadn’t brought Cole to him. A Bible verse from Job 1:21 suddenly came to mind: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Cullen felt the urge to raise his hands to the heavens, something he hadn’t really done since he’d left the church. But instead he started by openly acknowledging how selfish he’d been for focusing solely on his loss instead of feeling grateful for the time they’d had.
In their nine short years together, they’d experienced more love and joy than many people get in a lifetime. Because of Cole, for the first time in Cullen’s life, he had loved completely and felt loved unconditionally, and that was something many people, like Abel, never got to experience.
Additionally Cole had died doing something he absolutely loved. At the hospital the doctors had assured Cullen that Cole had not suffered anything more than a flash of a headache before he dropped, another way Cole had been so lucky. Many people suffer long illnesses and slow painful deaths, and Cole had suffered neither.
Haven’t we all prayed for the Lord to have mercy on us when our time came and take us quickly and painlessly?
God had given that to Cole.
Cullen sat back in his captain’s chair, linked his fingers together, and laid them across his chest.
How could I have missed all of these blessings?
Was I so blinded with grief that I blocked everything else out completely?
Hypocrite was the first word that came to mind. Over the years, he’d counseled so many grieving loved ones about the will of God and his plan, but when it came time to put his money where his mouth was, he’d failed miserably.
If this was a test, you seriously blew it, man.
Cullen was startled out of his thoughts by the beeping sound of his autopilot. He silenced the alarm and looked at his GPS display. The message was flashing. “You have arrived at your destination.”
What?
Cullen looked up, and he could clearly see the rock jetty marking the inlet to the Charleston Harbor just about a mile ahead.
I can’t believe I’m here already.
He looked at his watch: 3:15. Where had the time gone?