Chapter Seventeen

It was one of those days with the promise of summer that always showed up in May. It gave people the false hope that summer had finally arrived.

Truman wasn’t fooled. But it didn’t change the fact he was going to take Odd Thomas out for a walk by the Ohio River and enjoy the dusk and the temperature hovering near eighty degrees.

He hadn’t been down there in a long time, not since he’d told Patsy about the boy he used to meet there, along the pebbled shore. It was too painful of a reminder. But now that Truman was more confident in himself, he could let go of the pain and see that denying himself this small pleasure was only giving the boy power over him he didn’t deserve. The boy hadn’t earned it—or Truman’s heart.

He and Odd wound their way down the bank overlooking the river, Odd leading the way through the barely there trail through the trees. They’d traveled this course many times together before, so much so that Truman often wondered if he and his dog had made this path.

He let Odd off his leash, and the dog forged ahead, racing down to the rocky river shoreline before Truman was even halfway there. The dog had an odd shape, befitting his name, but that sucker could move.

Truman hurried after him and, once at the bottom, with the clean yet slightly fishy tang of the river rising up to greet him, stood for a while just watching his four-legged buddy frolic at the river’s edge. Odd tore back and forth, ears back, kicking up pebbles, then halting abruptly to sniff at some detritus that had washed up on shore—a piece of driftwood, a cardboard milk carton, cans, and even an old tire. On the last he lifted his leg, as if in contempt for littering.

But the garbage that managed to invade the shore couldn’t take away from the river’s beauty, and this spot—a special “secret garden” that belonged to him and Odd Thomas alone.

Truman made his way to the big log he liked to sit on, reminded by the ashes from a recent fire that he was not the only one to visit this particular part of the shoreline. But he knew he was one of the few, because he seldom encountered anyone else there.

Except for that one boy…

Truman wasn’t so sure he wanted to think about him now, though. Not when a warm breeze, moving across the water, buffeted his body in a most delightful way, with its promise of summer. Not when he could look out at the brown-green flow of the river as it rushed by, in a hurry perhaps to make its date with the Mississippi. Not when Blue Point Island, just across from him, excited his imagination, tempting him, as it always did, to brave the current and swim to its shore. The island was small, tree covered, and completely uninhabited. It seemed to withhold secrets in its dark shadows and thick woods.

But Truman didn’t dare get in the water. Those currents, in actuality, really weren’t so lazy. They were fierce and had claimed more than one kid his age and younger. No, the river was like that boy—there he went again, thoughts drifting back to last fall, when they used to meet there—beautiful to admire from afar but deadly if you dared to attempt an embrace.

Truman leaned over and picked up a stick, tossed it for Odd to fetch. The dog gave out a single bark and tore after it. Tail wagging, he brought it back to Truman and dropped it at his feet.

“Ah, not enough of a challenge for you?” Truman stood, turned, and flung the stick toward the woods behind him. He didn’t expect it to go too far, because he didn’t have much faith in his ability to throw—he’d been told more times than he could count that he threw like a girl—but the stick, end over end, disappeared into the woods.

Odd rushed after it, kicking up sand behind him, with a high-pitched bark that was more like a scream. He disappeared into the woods, and Truman continued standing, waiting for him to come out.

It seemed to take longer than it should have. The light faded behind him, the setting sun staining the sky with golden light, interspersed with patches of electric blue and strands of cloud. The darkness and the shadows cast by the trees in the woods made him lose sight of Odd Thomas.

He began to worry, just a little. He’d heard tales of river rats the size of small dogs living around there. Maybe a horde had gotten hold of Odd.

Don’t be ridiculous, Truman scoffed at himself. He’ll be back any second.

And he was. But he wasn’t alone.

Holding the stick in his hand, with Odd trotting beside him, looking up at him with damned adoring eyes, was the boy.

A smile, involuntarily, came to Truman’s face, and he quickly shut it off. He tried to look as though he didn’t care, but he felt like any second now he would begin shaking. He wanted to believe he didn’t care but knew it for a lie.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. No one, Truman knew, would believe that the boy, his first sexual and love experience, was Kirk Samson, high school senior and quarterback of the football team. The same boy who’d tortured him countless times at school, verbally and physically.

Who would have thought this monster could sneak into Truman’s life, stealing not only his body but also his heart?

“Nice greeting,” Kirk said.

He threw the stick down the riverbank for Odd, and Truman sucked in a breath at the graceful power in Kirk’s form. He was only seventeen but already had all the markings of a man—the broad shoulders, the muscles, the strong jawline and Roman nose. The wind lifted strands of his wheat-colored hair. Truman thought if he were directing a film of Kirk Samson in this moment, it would be in slow motion, with soft focus, while strains of violin music swelled.

The audience would be totally taken, totally charmed.

As was he? Truman didn’t know. He’d spent the whole winter and most of the spring convincing himself he didn’t care. He wanted to believe that his association with Kirk was toxic and that no good could come of it. Yet seeing him here tonight, in this place Truman once thought of as their own—their trysting spot—brought back the complicated and potent brew of desire, puppy love, and hopelessness he had felt when they were meeting up on a regular basis.

Kirk turned and smiled at him, which caused Truman, just like the books said, to feel a little weak in the knees. He strode toward Truman, and Truman couldn’t help but notice how the faded and ripped jeans hugged his strong thighs, the way the Cleveland Browns T-shirt gripped his upper body, revealing its form and definition. But what caught Truman most were the boy’s pale green eyes, like emeralds.

Truman gulped and wondered if he could manage an intelligible word.

“I hadn’t seen you in such a long time,” Kirk said. “And it was so warm out, I thought I might catch you down here.”

Kirk’s smile widened, and Truman could almost make himself believe it was sincere. Because the weak-in-the-knees feeling showed no signs of going away anytime soon, Truman plopped back down on the log.

“Isn’t our timing excellent?” Kirk padded through the pebbles and river sand in his flip-flops and sat down next to Truman. The scent Kirk gave off was heady, a mix of grass clippings, soap, and something Truman couldn’t quite identify but that was undeniably male.

Truman didn’t, couldn’t, say anything for a long time. But at last he found the answer to Kirk’s question. “Our timing has always sucked.”

“Oh, come on now, buddy. I was hoping we could let bygones be bygones. It’s been a few months since we were alone together like this. Can’t you just let it be…” Kirk shrugged and pointed to the span south of them, the bridge that connected Summitville to the northern panhandle of West Virginia. “Be water under the bridge?”

Truman had to laugh. “Water under the bridge, huh? Do you know what I went through because of you?”

Kirk scoffed. “Everybody at school knew. You were such a drama queen last winter.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe you.” Truman shook his head, slowly but surely coming to the life lesson that very ugly things could be wrapped in gorgeous packages.

“What?” Kirk asked innocently, smiling his megawatt grin again.

But this time the smile did not melt Truman’s heart. It just looked desperate.

“What?” Truman repeated. “Yeah, everyone at school knew because of my drama queen antics, as you call them. And let me tell you, buddy, that this bitch is proud to wear that label.”

Kirk leaned back and away from Truman just a bit.

“But you know what everyone didn’t know?”

Kirk shook his head, but Truman could see the light of realization dawning in those incredible green eyes.

“Everyone didn’t know that I attempted to kill myself because of you. Because you hurt me and made me feel worthless.” Truman shook his head. “You used me and tossed me aside, like a piece of that garbage there.” Truman pointed to a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke that had washed ashore, half filled with dirty water and river silt.

Kirk started to open his mouth to speak, but Truman halted him with an outstretched hand.

“Let me finish.” He lowered his voice a notch, but not the intensity with which he spoke. “You know how many people I told about you? Not one. Not even my mother, and we’re like this.” Truman crossed two of his fingers to illustrate his point.

“Don’t ask me why I protected you and your precious reputation. You certainly didn’t deserve it.”

Kirk leaned back even farther. In a voice that was a tad anxious and just a little breathless, he asked, “You’re not thinking of telling anyone now, are you?” He peered into Truman’s eyes. “Because you know, don’t you, that not a fuckin’ soul would believe you.”

“Maybe not.” Truman’s face lit up, and he grinned. “But I wonder how many people know about that port-wine birthmark on your hip bone?”

Kirk gnawed his fingernails and spat something onto the ground. In a low voice, he said, “Anyone who’s been in a locker room. It wouldn’t prove a thing.”

Truman shrugged. “Maybe not. But I think it might start some people thinking. Doubting. I mean, look at Mr. Bernard. He’s all man, and he came out of the closet, even with having had a wife and two kids, and no one was really all that shocked.” Truman stared off, trying to peer into the shadows the trees made on the island across the water. “Not everyone is a sissy like me. Not every gay person. Maybe you shouldn’t be so afraid of who you are. People might not be as hard on you as you think. They certainly wouldn’t be as hard on you as you were on me.” And it was Truman’s turn to stare pointedly.

Kirk didn’t say anything for a while. When he spoke, though, he surprised Truman.

“Oh, you’re so sure of yourself. But just because you think I might not understand you, don’t get all high and mighty on me and think I don’t know myself. Maybe I just don’t know who I am yet.” He glanced over at Truman. “You’re lucky that way. You may have been the butt of jokes and got beat up on the playground a lot, but people always knew who you were. You had no choice but not to hide it. In a weird way, I envy you that.”

Truman was shocked. He said softly, “Believe me, it’s nothing to envy. Did you ever cry yourself to sleep because every kid in your class thought it was funny to call you a girl? Did you ever take an extra half hour to walk home from school so you could cut through the woods, hiding from those who would beat you up? Did you ever get down on your knees and pray to God to change you? To make you like everyone else? Did you ever wish just to be normal?” Truman stared at Kirk and saw no light of empathy or recognition dawn in his eyes.

“I didn’t think so.” Odd came bounding back, and Truman picked up the stick and flung it again. He wondered if the dog would ever reach an age where he would tire more easily.

Kirk leaned in close. “Look, I’m sorry your life has been hard. I just mean, you don’t… I don’t know, have to carry around a secret like I do. You don’t have to wonder if no one would like you or want to be with you if they knew the truth of who you were. If they knew the kind of porn you looked at on the computer.” Kirk snickered. “Or the shit that creeps into your dreams at night.”

Truman patted Kirk’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay. Even if you come out. You know why? Because you’re gorgeous. You’re confident. You’re sexy. Coordinated. People will always be drawn to you. No matter what. You’ll see. Someday you’ll come out, and you’ll have a bunch of gay friends, and they’ll all be just like you.”

Truman picked up another stick, made lazy designs in the sand at his feet because he couldn’t bear looking at Kirk. “Unlike me, who has to rely on being a ‘free spirit,’ or, no, ‘interesting’ in order for people to take notice. Even if you came out, which you will eventually, you’ll look down on me, you and your perfect gay friends. You’ll still laugh.”

“No. No we won’t.”

Kirk slid an arm around Truman, and Truman didn’t know whether he should shrug it away or lean into the embrace. He was about equally divided, which put him in a tough spot for decision-making. So he just sat there, listening.

“I’m not a good talker like you,” Kirk said. “But I think what I’m trying to get at is you’re a brave kid. You have the courage to be you.”

“Did you read that somewhere? Have you been watching that TV show? Becoming Us?”

Kirk chuckled, “No. No, I mean it.”

He leaned in, and before Truman could even ready himself, Kirk kissed him. It wasn’t a friendly little kiss either, but a hungry one, with tongue and an almost ravenous intensity.

Truman couldn’t pull away. Everything got blurry, got confused. And because he didn’t pull away, the next thing he felt was Kirk taking his hand. For a moment Truman thought, How sweet, he wants to hold my hand, and then reality reared its ugly head as Kirk moved Truman’s hand to his crotch. Truman felt Kirk’s erection straining against the worn denim. And for a moment he considered doing what he knew Kirk wanted him to do, what he’d done so many times in the past. He could pull the dick free of its material confines, slip quickly to his knees, and take it into his mouth, sucking, swirling his tongue, teasing it until it spurted into his mouth.

There was temptation to do that again. If Truman really wanted it, could he call it being used? Weren’t they both getting something out of it? His fingers pressed against the denim, and Kirk let out a small groan.

But then Truman remembered all those other times and all those other blowjobs. What happened after Kirk came in his mouth? Quick wiping up, sheepish grin, and vanishing into the woods.

Truman knew how the scene would go because it had been repeated so many times.

So he leaned back and disengaged his hand from Kirk’s. “No. Not this time,” he said, even though there was a pang of regret nagging at him.

“What do you mean?” Kirk asked, his words petulant, a little angry. He reached over quickly and gave Truman’s crotch a little squeeze. Truman was equally hard; he knew it. Kirk said, “You know you want it.”

Truman stood, and as if to show his allegiance, Odd Thomas came to sit quietly at his feet. “No, Kirk, I don’t.”

“Why not? C’mon…” Kirk urged.

Truman shook his head. “It would be just like the other times.”

“No, it won’t. I promise.”

“You’re just saying that because you need release. Go find it somewhere else.”

Kirk’s mouth dropped open. Truman realized he’d never refused him before. Had anyone had the nerve to refuse Kirk Samson? This must be a humbling experience for him.

“C’mon,” Kirk continued to whine. “No one has to know.”

“And that’s just the problem.” Truman took a step back, farther away from Kirk, and looked down on him. “No one ever has to know. You want to live a secret life when I’ve worked hard to make sure who I am is out in the open. I’m not ashamed. God made me who I am. He made you too. I’m not gonna hide anymore. What you do is up to you.”

Kirk tugged the zipper of his pants down. Truman couldn’t help but look.

“Please,” Kirk begged. “Just once more. For old times’ sake.”

Truman shook his head. “You’re pathetic. I gotta go.” He started walking away. Odd was immediately on his feet and following.

“Why not, Truman?” Kirk called after him.

Truman paused at the entrance to the woods. He put his hands on his hips. “You know, you’re just pretty enough that even I might be tempted to make the same mistake again. Break my own heart again. Feel ashamed again.” Truman paused, considered the budding trees above. Then he looked back at Kirk. “But I won’t. And do you know why?”

Kirk shook his head.

“Because I got me a boyfriend, Kirk. And to be with you? Well, that would be cheating.”

And Truman began the ascent up the riverbank without waiting to see if Kirk had a response.