Shattered Glass (30 page)

“Don’t think I am.”

“Why would you hope that? Do you think something’s wrong with being gay, Cai?” The temptation to ruffle his hair was extreme enough that I gripped the edges of the sofa on either side of me and scrutinized the wet spots of paint spattered on my sheets.

“Oh…no.” He laughed again. “Just…well, better chances, right?”

“Chances at what?”

“Love?”

He blushed brighter and laughed harder at my look, wiping the back of his hand along his forehead and leaving a cheerful, blue stain of paint behind. “Cai, I might just join your cult.”

“My…cult, s—Austin?” He bit one side of his lip. Was that something he’s learned from Peter? Or Peter from him? Cai’s gesture was unique in the way his nose wrinkled up. It was adorkable. I definitely wanted my kids to be like this one.

Minus the whole cold-blooded killer part.

Unless they were girls and just starting to date. Then I might arm my kids with grenades.

“So what are you going to do with my wall?” He followed my gaze, head tilting in deliberation. “Something like Starry Night with a more modern gothic feel?” My head canted the opposite of his as I, too, examined the blue space. “Not that tree, though. It’s too creepy.” “The dark, deformed church?” He murmured. “Kinda makes a beautiful sense, don’t it?”

I closed my eyes and pictured Van Gogh’s masterpiece. The small peaceful town, the brilliant blues of the tumultuous sky, and the golden moon and stars. Among all those bright, hopeful hues, the tall dark tree-like structure could be a distorted version of the church below.

“You think churches are evil?”

Instead of answering he said, “I didn’t kill him, sir…Austin.” He had the softest voice, his accent buried beneath breath. I strained to hear him.

“You’re pleading guilty.”

“Yessir. Ms. Jackson didn’t approve, either, but then I told her I did it. And how it’d be easier to prove than innocence.

Don’t think she believed me.”

“
You
gave her the strategy?”

He started another blush, piling it on the others. Soon, I was

going to have to turn up the air conditioning, before he overheated the house. “Yessir. But I don’t want you to think I killed him. I would have. But I didn’t. But Miss Jackson can’t let me lie in court, you know?”

Which was more shocking? The ‘I would have’, the ‘I didn’t’, or the strategy?

Or was the most extraordinary thing that I believed him?

“I can understand those feelings.”

“Think so?”

“No,” I said.

We stared at the wall. The coffee maker huffed and puffed in the background before exhaling in completion. Then silence.

“I was saving myself,” he murmured. “Antiquated and silly, but I was.”

Before I could joke about antiquated being a big word for a sixteen year old, I told myself Cai could school me seven ways to Sunday with his IQ. While my brain scrambled for something clever to say, he schooled me in another way.

“Did you know that diagnosing bipolar disorder in children is nearly impossible?”

Interesting subject change. I wasn’t sure how to go with it.

“No, I didn’t.” I’d let him talk, that was how.

“I tried to kill myself once. Peter stopped…um…hustling, then. After that…he watched me so closely. Kept track of everything. My moods, my actions, the way I slept. Always right beside me and checking my temperature by kissing my forehead or sitting by me at night. Then he started going with Iss more.

Dealing drugs. That’s how he got caught.” He picked a loose thread off his knees and chewed it. I stayed silent. “Iss— Peter

told me. He told me to stay away from Iss. But Peter’s love is like a vise, and it squeezed so hard.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s not your fault, Cai.”

“It is,” he nodded vigorously. “He told me to stay away from him. I just was so tired of everything. Of being smothered. Told what to do. Don’t stay out late, Cai. College applications, Cai.

Don’t go to Rachel’s house, she’s bad news. Take your meds.

Stay away from Iss.”

“It doesn’t matter if you went in Iss’s car to defy your brother, or even that you stayed in Iss’s house. Iss was more than fifteen years older than you. He was a big guy. And, most importantly, you didn’t want it.”

Working on Vice, I knew the only way to get this through Cai’s head was to repeat it over and over. For everyone around him to repeat it. It had to be ingrained. Thoroughly. Much as I wanted to hug him and stop that flow of tears, having a man touch him might trigger something. So I sat there and stared at the wall as his tears fell and hoped my words comforted him.

“Peter never cries.’ He laughed, smudging his face again as he wiped it with the meaty part of his palm.

“I’m sure he does. Just not in front of anyone.” Cai shook his head, inhaling the paint fumes that were making me lightheaded.

“You really don’t know him.” Movement out of the corner of my eye had me checking his fingers, they drummed against his knee in a tidy rhythm, until he reached into the front pocket of his overalls and pulled out some more Pixie Stix.

Without glancing over, he offered some to me. I plucked one

out of the fanned bundle and ripped the top open with my teeth.

Both of us tipped our heads back and poured the sugary powder onto our tongues. My mouth watered, creating a paste that made my tongue shrink with its tartness.

“This is vile stuff,” I slurred, swallowing ungraciously.

“It’s awesome. You’re just too old.” “Old? You little shit.” I tossed the crumpled wrapper at him, bouncing it off his head. If not for the crusted tears on his face, the moment might have been funny.

Out of the blue he extended a key, lifting the palm of my hand to accept it. “What’s this?”

“When you came by Saturday, Peter kept trying to get you out of the house.”

“Yes?”

“You need to see why. And bring it back here.” The smile he gave me was a mixture of naughty and shy.

I squinted at him and stared at my palm to consider the key.

“It’s not a porn collection or sex toys is it?” “You really don’t know Peter at all,” he mused. “He’d never keep that stuff where I could find it. But that right there? That’s the key to knowing Peter.”

The brass teeth grinded against my skin as I fisted it. My ticking pulse could be measured with parade drums. I was so eager to drive to their house, calling Cai on his terrible play with words slipped my mind.

Did I Just Agree to More Pussy?

As I stood and readied to leave, Cai spoke up again. “I have an ulterior motive for having you go to the house.” “Of course you do,” I said. “You wouldn’t be Peter’s brother without an ulterior motive for everything.” Cai’s attention fastened to his knees. “That wasn’t very kind.”

“You’re right.” Properly chastised, I sat next to his feet. “I’m not a very kind person, Cai.”

“Cruelty is an effortless answer to fear.” “Who said that?”

“Um…me?”

“You’re too wise for your own good.” “You’re too cynical for yours,” he tossed back, blush and half-grin firmly in place.

“The motive?” I veered us back to the original topic.

“Begone?” Which brought a raised eyebrow from me, followed by a, “My cat,” from him. My lips turned down in distaste. He winced and added, “She’s litter box trained.” “I don’t care if she can flush the toilet. I hate cats.” “Oh…um…okay.” His smile dimmed to a point and disappeared. I checked my shoes for puppy fur, and Cai for my footprint.

“I guess it’s independent?” I sighed.

“She. And yes. She sleeps a lot, too.” His hopeful lip-bitten smile drew a resigned shoulder—slump from me.

“Keep her in the guest room?”

“Yessir.”

He looked so happy. I wanted to roll my eyes. “She has a carrier?”

“Yessir, in Peter’s room, under the computer desk.” “And stop calling me sir?”

“Yessi— Austin.”

“Kid?”

“Yes?”

“You’d better fucking cure AIDS or something.” I got up to leave.

“Austin, sir,” he stopped me again. I gave up on getting him to stop calling me sir. And nearly abandoned the prospect of leaving.

“You have a dog, too?” I asked. “Maybe parakeets and a family of illegal aliens in the basement? Or genetically engineered humans that you’ve created to answer everything in the form of a question?”

He blinked and stared. I was either not funny, or he felt very

guilty. “Don’t snoop?” He said—or asked—even his commands were questions.

“The ‘key to Peter’ is just out there in the open ready to be seen?” I answered dubiously.

“Did you know Peter didn’t finish school past seventh grade?”

Rubbing my face with both hands, I decided Cai was going to parcel out information in bundles of riddles. He would be a great teacher, though, if he went that route; he would always lead the students to discover the answer rather than being told it. “No, I didn’t,” I replied. The knowledge made an awful sense and brought back my protective feelings toward Peter.

“Even back before we left home, he had a lot of trouble with school. I think he was glad not to have to go to class. But Joe made him and Darryl both enroll in high school. He was sixteen, and they put him in remedial classes because he was so far behind and didn’t read well. He just couldn’t catch up. He never asked for help. After a few months, he dropped out. But Joe made him get his GED.”

“Whatever you’re trying to tell me is not computing. Are you saying Peter isn’t smart, Cai?”

“No. I’m saying Peter hated school because he couldn’t do most of the work. And he only let me help him with a few college courses when he was near failing. He won’t ever ask for help for himself. But he’s smart. A different kind of smart than you or I. He doesn’t think like we do.” “Cai?”

‘Yessir? Um…Austin, sir?” He winced again.

“
No one
thinks like you.” That brought on another blush. I

hesitated. “Anything else before I try to leave,
again
?” He shook his head no, and became immersed in the blank wall. I grabbed the remote and flipped on the television.

Just for fun, I clicked until I saw a cartoon. Cai’s attention slowly drifted to the screen. I left him watching Scooby’s and Shaggy’s fearful run from a zombie.

I decided to do my morning run by jogging to the house the boys shared. I estimated it to be about two miles, not even close to my usual workout. By the time I arrived, I’d barely broken a sweat. To prolong the run I did a few laps around the nearby park.

Cheesman Park had a haunted history involving unmoved graves and ghosts. That sordid tale was nothing compared to the rumors about the park now. This century it was known more for gay cruising.

Much like the bar where Darryl worked, rumors abounded of casual sexual encounters in parked cars or in the clusters of trees encircling the park. My first lap revealed they were more than rumors.

As I rounded a corner, a guy in his mid-to-late thirties zoomed toward me with his shirt off. My pace slowed as we made eye contact. I made the mistake of following the curve of his neck down his chest and over his sculpted stomach. It was the first time since meeting Peter that I’d allowed myself an open admiration of another man. The breath I held released when he passed, and I picked up my pace. Seconds later, he joined me at my side.

“Hey,” I said, hiding my surprise behind a smile. Dark hair, hazel eyes, very muscular. Hot body. My cock seemed to agree. I was embarrassed by my attraction. Maybe I hadn’t fully embraced the gay.

“Hey, yourself. I haven’t seen you here before.” “First time.”

“That so?” Other than his body, he wasn’t gorgeous. Not ugly in any sense, just a regular guy, like me. “Well, First Time, I’m Interested.”

Don’t say it, Austin. Don’t say it. “Where?” A white set of teeth and small crinkles at the corners of his eyes said he approved of my answer. “My car’s on the east end of the park.” He pointed directly across from where we were. I kept running. Thinking. Running.

Fantasizing.

My heart beat more rapidly from envisioning his mouth wrapped around my cock than the physical exercise.

It was established that Peter and I weren’t exclusive. He’d given me the same idea. We barely knew each other. But I wasn’t ready for casual hookups if I was embarrassed by just admiring a guy. Instead of letting my cock lead the way, I mentally kicked myself and said, “I think I’m taken, man, sorry.” Mr. I’m-Interested just smiled and jogged on as I slowed.

Goddamn Peter for being the one I wanted.

My eyes never strayed from the path after that. I stretched my usual hour run into nearly two hours. Thirty minutes of which I sported a woody capable of impaling anyone who ran into me. It was not a comfortable feeling. At least my sweat cooled against the summer sunrise. When my legs began to protest, I turned out

of the park and walked the remaining blocks to the townhome.

Letting myself into Joe’s house, I returned the key back into my sock and took a look around.

For three young men living together, the house was remarkably clean. Cai’s paint cans were the only clutter in sight, and even they were semi-neatly stacked in the far corner. The TV was maybe a 32” screen, at least five-to-ten years old. The furniture was threadbare, and bits of paint dotted its pilled, green-plaid surfaces. On the battered coffee table, a fan of men’s magazines was on display next to a stack of cork coasters.