Chapter 15:

AS HE started the solo counseling session that Trudy had arranged for Tuesday evening, Logan wanted, up-front, to get something out of the way. He took a deep breath, sat up straight in his chair, and faced his counselor head-on. “Before we get started, I wanta thank you for tellin’ me where I could find Nick yesterday. I know you didn’t have to do it, but we needed….” That admission was leading into a room marked “private,” so Logan let the thought trail off and mumbled, “Anyway, thank you.”

The look on her face prompted Logan to ask, “If I hadn’t gone along with what you wanted, would you have told me?” There was no immediate answer, so Logan clarified, “I mean, me and Nick taking a break—”

“I knew what you meant. I was just giving it some thought.” Trudy tilted her head and shifted her eyes slightly as she admitted, “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what I would have done.” She looked back at Logan, asking, “Are you having second thoughts about not seeing Nick for a while?”

Rather than admit the bald truth, that he was having second, third, and fourth thoughts, Logan stammered, “I, um… I, guess… it’s for the best. For both of us, right?”

Sounding much more like her usual assured self, Trudy said, “Yes, for both of you.”

That answer had come out a little too fast and sure for Logan’s liking, prompting him to challenge, “Sounds like you don’t think I’m good for Nick.”

Once again, Trudy seemed to be mulling over the question. Finally, she sighed loudly and said, “You must realize, whenever a child of an abusive parent gets involved with—” she shot a guilty glance at Logan before continuing, “even a one-time abuser, there are questions about…. Well, there are questions.”

Logan felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. “That ain’t why…. Nick doesn’t think of me like that. He’s as much as said so.”

“I’m not trying to say that’s what’s going on with you and Nick. I was just explaining why I had my doubts.” She actually smiled briefly at Logan before saying, “I talked to Larry about it, and from what he’s told me, it might not be the case here.”

“Wait a minute,” Logan growled. “You talked to your husband about me and Nick?”

Trudy remained unruffled as she explained, “More like Larry told me what he and Nick talked about—which was you.”

“Oh.” Logan didn’t like the idea any more than he had before but supposed he couldn’t fault her in that case. “What did he say about me?”

“I’d rather you and Nick discuss that—in a couple of weeks.” When Logan frowned at her, Trudy soothed, “Whatever the truth of the matter is about the genesis of your relationship, both you and Nick still need to deal with your issues—separately.”

Her assurances couldn’t prevent Logan from blurting, “But Nick’s gonna be…. I mean he’s kinda down right now, and he shouldn’t be all alone. Maybe I should… check in on him now and then. That’d be okay, wouldn’t it?”

Trudy let out a huff of exasperation—or was it amusement? Logan wasn’t sure, and what followed didn’t enlighten him any. “I really don’t have any power to enforce a ban on your association with Nick. I am asking you to give this break a chance, but the rest is up to you. And by the way, Nick seemed fine when I spoke with him this afternoon. He spent most of the day at the nursing home getting his mom settled in.”

Relief quickly followed surprise at Trudy’s assurance, and unthinkingly Logan offered, “Oh, you two are speak—I mean… that’s good to hear.”

One eyebrow was elegantly cocked as Trudy dryly assured him, “Yes, Nick and I are speaking. You know, in the end, this whole episode is probably going to be good for our relationship.”

Logan’s eyes snapped to Trudy’s face, and he studied her for any signs of humor, but she seemed perfectly sincere. “Yeah? How?”

“When you get right down to it, a pedestal is an uncomfortable perch for any human being.” Logan was still trying to refrain from asking what the fuck that meant when Trudy added, “You seemed surprised to find that I’m worried about Nick, too.” Once again not sounding much like the counselor he knew, her voice soft and sad, she murmured, “Can’t you at least give me that much credit?”

She waved him off. “Please don’t apologize. Besides, you’re stealing my thunder.”

“It means I want to apologize to you, Logan. I should have listened better when you tried to tell me your marriage wasn’t working for you and never had.”

If she was trying to make him feel better, that statement had the opposite effect. Logan squirmed uncomfortably under her earnest gaze. “That’s all right,” he said. “You couldn’t’ve….” He expelled a weary breath before admitting, “I can see why you thought what you did. I was doin’ my damnedest to make sure you didn’t catch on to the truth.”

“Are you kidding?” Irritation and incredulity frosted and sharpened every word. “I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself, let alone to you.”

Logan massaged his tense brow before sighing, “I don’t know. Guess I have to be.”

“You said you weren’t ready to admit the truth to yourself, meaning you’ve been hiding from this knowledge for a while?”

Unwillingly, Logan offered up the truth. “Long time. Since before I married Linda.”

“God, that must have been exhausting. There must be some relief mixed in with whatever misgivings you have about coming out, yes?”

Logan gave it some thought but couldn’t find any relief lurking in his heart. “If there is, it’s hidin’ from me better than the other stuff ever did.”

“Yeah.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Logan had thought about it, he just hadn’t come up with anything. “Sure ain’t looking forward to it.”

Trudy issued an encouraging smile as she leaned forward, briskly offering, “How can I help?”

“That’s not true. There must be something I can do. Perhaps we could try some roleplay?”

Logan was fairly sure Trudy wasn’t propositioning him—especially after recent revelations—but he wasn’t clear on what she was offering. “Try what?”

Judging by the sparkle in her brown eyes, she was now definitely amused. “You pretend I’m Linda and tell me what you’re going to tell her. And I’ll respond as if I were your wife.”

It seemed to Logan that shrinks never ran out of crazy-ass ideas. He shook his head dismissively, protesting, “But you don’t know what she’s gonna say or how she’s gonna act. How’re you gonna play her?”

“Oh, we’ll try a number of different scenarios—anger, tears, pleading, accusations….”

Now it seemed clear to Logan that what Trudy was offering him was basically an hour of hell—on steroids. “Ma’am, I can’t…. That ain’t gonna work for me.”

Though she was clearly crestfallen, Trudy soon put her professional demeanor back on and said, “All right, it’s up to you. But we still have an hour here and two more weeks of court-ordered therapy. The question remains: how can I help?”

The ensuing silence stretched out for several dozen ticks of the clock before Logan finally screwed up his courage and told the truth. “I think I’d like to talk about Daisy.”

“Yeah. There was somethin’…. See, she kinda forced me to cover up for my brother over somethin’, but I don’t really wanta talk about what. What I wanta talk about is how I felt about her askin’…. Can we do it that way?”

“You know we operate under the rule of doctor-patient confidentiality here, Logan. You don’t have to be afraid—”

“It ain’t that,” Logan explained, failing to keep the exasperation from his voice. “I just don’t wanta talk about it. Okay?”

Trudy’s brow furrowed, but after a few moments of consideration, she said, “Okay. If that’s what you need.” Logan felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as his counselor encouraged, “So, go ahead. Tell me about your sister.”

When Logan walked out of Trudy’s downtown office forty minutes later, some of his burden had been lifted. Not by a miracle of psychiatry or self-analysis, not by any epiphany, but by having a simple plan of action. Trudy had readily approved of his plan to talk to Daisy when he took the Thunderbird to Elco to get it painted. She had even done her best to convince Logan that it was a good idea to confront both Linda and Daisy immediately.

Of course, her “rip the Band-Aid off” analogy hadn’t been his favorite pep talk ever, and he still thought putting off the trip to his hometown for a bit would be best for him. After all, neither Daisy nor the car was going anywhere. What was the rush?

LOGAN HAD expected to feel nervous—and God knew he was—but the dread that clawed at his nerves as he walked towards his old apartment building on Wednesday night was an unwelcome surprise. Linda had definitely been suspicious on the phone that morning, asking several times why they weren’t meeting at Dr. Gerard’s office like before. He’d dodged the question as much as possible, and Linda had finally given up and acquiesced to a private seven thirty p.m. get-together.

Though it was approaching quarter to eight, his feet seemed made of lead as Logan slowly climbed the stairs. Still, no matter how much he dawdled, the inevitable could only be delayed for so long, and he soon found himself perched uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa. Logan took a deep breath while he watched a grim-faced Linda set a cup of coffee in front of him. She seemed unfazed by a loudly purring Boots, who was weaving in and out between her legs.

Linda settled in a chair across from the couch and looked at him expectantly. For lack of a better start, he asked, “How long will Krista and Meghan be at Girls Scouts?”

“Debbie’s mom said somethin’ about goin’ for ice cream after, so they should be a while. I don’t expect to see ’em ’til after nine.”

“She’s a girl in Meghan’s class who’s in Scouts with them. Her mom, Alison, has been takin’ all of the girls to their meetings since school started.” Linda sipped her own coffee and shot Logan a piercing glance. “But I know you didn’t come here to talk about Debbie or Girl Scouts, so why don’t you just give me the bad news?”

Logan was momentarily stunned into silence. Linda sure had learned to speak her mind since they’d split up. “What makes you think I got bad news?”

A slightly shrill laugh emanated from her. “I’m psychic, don’t you know? Logan, a man don’t arrange for a private talk like this unless he’s got bad news up his sleeve, so go ahead and spill it.”

“All right,” Logan sighed. “Thing is, Linda….” That was exactly where he’d gotten stuck every time he’d practiced this speech in his head. Guess I should’ve done that play-acting thing with Trudy. Linda was staring at him through narrowed eyes, and Logan made a split-second decision to withhold any but the most basic information until a later date. Much later—if “never” could be called later. He kept his gaze fixed on the coffee table and said, “Thing is… I don’t think it’s gonna work. You and me gettin’ back together, I mean.” Logan peered up at Linda to find her glowering at him.

He braced for the worst, but she simply sighed sadly before whispering, “Yeah… that’s what I figured. Carol—my counselor—warned me ’bout this.”

“About you bolting if I started sayin’ right out what I wanted and needed from you in our marriage. She said most abusive spouses can’t take that.”

“That ain’t…. Jesus Christ, Linda, I ain’t like that, and you know it.”

“I just can see now that….” Logan paused, searching for words that would explain without saying too much. Finally, he avowed firmly, “That you’re better off without me. We was never right for each other.”

Linda folded her arms and sullenly suggested, “Meaning I was never pretty enough for you.”

“Is it? I know everybody back in Elco used ta wonder how mousy little Linda Strickland ever caught a hunk like Logan Crane—’til Krista was born, then I guess they all counted up real quick and figured it out.”

Linda was having none of Logan’s protestations and steamrolled over his objections. “But I ain’t that drab little Linda no more. Guess it’d surprise you to know how many guys give me the eye these days. Go ahead and leave, Logan. Find another little mouse who won’t ask you for any effort or consideration, but I ain’t gonna sit on the shelf for long.”

“What’s that mean?” Linda looked at him appraisingly. “Seems like you don’t even really care. You’re already plannin’ on replacin’ me double-quick, aren’t you?” Logan failed to keep the guilt from slashing across his face, causing his wife to ask with dawning suspicion, “Or have you done it already?” When he didn’t answer, her voice rose as she challenged, “Have you?”

It took some effort, but Logan managed to refrain from squirming as he rumbled, “Linda, calm down—”

“Oh, I’m plenty calm, you cheating son of a bitch,” she barked. “Who is she?” Tears were welling as Linda jumped to her feet and faced him over the coffee table. “Some little teenage slut you picked up in a bar? Does she know what you did—”

“Will you give me a fucking break?” Logan shouted. “I ain’t hooked up with any teenage slut.” He did his best to avoid meeting her accusing stare and watched the cat slink quickly from the room, obviously unhappy with the crackling tension in the air.

Grimly attempting to salvage his plan, Logan defiantly asserted, “There ain’t no ‘she’.”

Linda stood in silence, gulping air and studying him intently. The faint glow of hope seeping through her anger almost broke him. “God, I’m sorry. Guess I really flew off the handle.” She flopped back down in her chair and hid her head in her hands. Though it was muffled, Logan still heard her say, “It almost felt good to have somethin’ concrete to blame.”

The knowledge that, without the whole truth, Linda might blame herself pierced Logan so badly the pain felt almost physical. Though some part of his mind was screaming “no,” he still forced himself to woodenly declare, “There is somethin’ concrete to blame.”

“What?” Linda brushed a blonde lock out her eyes, saying, “Me? Me wantin’ more out of this marriage than—”

“No. It ain’t that, it’s….” Logan ran out of steam, wondering how he could possibly say those words. He took one more look at his wife’s tear-stained face and started again. “There is someone else.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said tiredly, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. “There ain’t no she because… because it’s….” His gaze fell briefly to the carpet as he quietly finished, “It’s a he.” Time seemed to freeze for Logan with his admission hanging in the air while Linda stared at him incredulously for what seemed like hours.

When she spoke at last, her pleading eyes and strangled cry of “What the hell does that mean?” practically begged him to explain it away. He saw no need for any response; the words would have to stand.

“Are you tryin’ to tell me that you’re fucking a guy? My husband of twelve years is… gay?” Wild-eyed, Linda waited for an answer, but when Logan solemnly nodded, she leaped up, saying, “I can’t sit here and listen to this shit!” She moved towards the hallway, gasping, “Oh my God… oh my God… I can’t believe it.”

Logan rocketed up and blocked her way before she could leave the room, pleading, “Linda, I’m sorry. Ya gotta know, I didn’t wanta hurt you—”

He reached out a hand to her shoulder, but she slapped him away, snarling, “Don’t! Don’t you dare touch me.”

Logan stoically bore the weak punch she landed on his arm before drawing his sobbing wife into his embrace. He felt there was nothing he could do except let her cry, so he led her back to the couch and sat awkwardly beside her until the tears subsided. When she was finally hiccupping with her head thrown back against the couch, Logan offered, “Can I get you somethin’?”

Linda turned to stare at him for an uncomfortable stretch of time before answering, “Like what? Twelve years of my life back?” When he shifted his gaze to the wall, she said, “Forget it. I sure could use a beer, though.”

He came back with two IC Lights moments later and handed one to Linda. After a long swallow, she looked him in the eye and asked evenly, “It’s true, huh? You’re not makin’ this up?”

“I’ll be damned.” Linda shook her head and put her beer to her lips, muttering, “I sure didn’t see that one coming.” She cocked her head at Logan. “You ain’t nothin’ like… you know… what you see on TV and all.”

“Nope,” Logan answered shortly, hoping to keep this calmer version of Linda around as long as possible.

Another sip of beer fortified Linda enough to ask, “So what, you just figured this out recently?”

A tired shrug was his first response, followed by, “Not really. I guess I been ignoring it for a lotta years. Finally caught up with me.”

“A lot of years? Since before we were married?” There was a definite wobble in her voice. “Does that mean you never loved me?”

Logan shook his head as he chewed at a hangnail. When he’d done enough damage to taste blood, he finally answered, “That ain’t so. I did—I do love you, but it ain’t…. I just…. I never loved you like you deserved.”

A bitter snort signaled her opinion of that statement. “Too bad you didn’t figure that out before you nearly killed me throwin’ me through that dresser.”

Ignoring that, he tried to redirect the conversation by asking, “Where do we go from here?”

“You’re asking me?” Linda said. “Damned if I know.” Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, “Fuck, what’re we gonna tell the girls?”

“No shit.” Linda shot him a look that suggested Logan had taken leave of his senses. “But they’re gonna wanta know why we’re splittin’ up.”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that, I guess.” Linda ran a hand through her hair, adding, “Let me think on it, Logan.” She turned to him, asking sarcastically, “Are you in a hurry about this? You wanta run off to San Francisco with your boyfriend or somethin’?”

“Hell no,” Logan snapped. If anyone else had asked that question, there would have been grave consequences, but he clamped down on his anger and let it go. “We can tell ’em when you’re ready.”

Suddenly, Linda leaned back against the couch and demanded, “Who is this guy, anyway?”

“Oh, forget it,” Linda said, waving her hand dismissively. “I don’t even know why I asked. Just wondered where you met him, is all. Can’t picture you hanging out in some gay bar—”

“Wow, another grease monkey. You two sound perfect for each other,” Linda jeered.

Logan was tempted to tell her she was right about that last part, but he ignored the dig, figuring there was much worse she could have said. Rising from the couch, he said, “Guess I better get going.”

Logan nodded and turned to go, but the mention of his daughters prodded him to confirm their plans. “Speaking of them, you still gonna let me have ’em for the weekend?”

“Are you gonna take ’em over to meet your friend?” Linda imbued the last word with extreme bitterness and irony.

Using up the last of his patience, Logan ground out, “No.” He let that sink in and then added, “Though I was sorta thinkin’ of takin’ ’em to Elco with me.”

“I need to get a car painted at Cal Titus’s place, and I thought I’d stay with my sister when I do. I haven’t talked to her about this yet, so nothin’s certain, but she ain’t seen the girls since we left,” he finished lamely, hoping Linda wouldn’t point out the fact that Daisy hadn’t seen them all that much when they lived in Elco.

Linda stood up and gathered their beer bottles and coffee mugs and seemed to be mulling over his plan. Finally she said, “Okay. You can have the girls, but I wanta know before Friday if you’re takin’ ’em to Elco or not.” She drained her beer before turning to him. “You ain’t gonna let people back home know ’bout this, are you?”

“No, ’course not,” Logan scoffed. He took a deep breath and asked, “Are you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Linda rolled her eyes as she said, “All my life I been dyin’ to become the laughin’ stock of Elco.”

There was nothing good to say to that, so Logan pulled his keys out of his pocket and said, “I’ll see ya Friday when I pick the girls up.”

“Yeah, I’ll have ’em packed up and ready before six so you won’t have to hang around waiting,” Linda answered. It was obvious from her tone that her offer was as much for her own sake as his.

LATE THURSDAY morning, Nick jogged up the front porch steps to get another leaf bag from his stash. He stopped to gulp some coffee from his thermos before heading back to work. He’d already filled four large bags with leaves after steadily raking for a couple of hours, yet he still had quite a bit of work in front of him, which was surprising considering the size of his tiny yard. But the plot of ground was covered with oak trees, and they made their presence known each fall. Nick usually paid a neighborhood kid to rake them up, but this year he had the time to tackle the job himself.

In spite of the crisp October weather, Nick had removed his jacket, since the manual labor was keeping him plenty warm. He’d nearly filled the fifth bag when he heard a car coming up the driveway. Nick looked over and immediately recognized Trudy’s silver Honda Civic. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes at this unexpected visit. Trudy had checked in with him by phone every day since Monday, now this.

As she walked slowly over to where he stood, Nick swallowed back an impulse to tell her he still had a mother, thank you very much, and instead waved a hand at her wool suit, saying, “That isn’t the best work outfit I ever saw, but the extra rake is in the back shed.”

Trudy could barely muster up a smile at his lame quip, but she did look around and say, “The place looks good. You’ve been busy.”

Nick leaned on his rake and looked at the house and yard with some satisfaction. “Yeah, I’ve been doing a little painting and cleaning up an’ that.” He shot his boss a slightly sardonic smile. “So did you drop in to see if I’ve been using my time off wisely?” When Trudy didn’t answer immediately, only searched his face with her large brown eyes, Nick felt a cold lump of unease settle into his stomach. “Is something wrong?”

“Sure,” Nick answered, taking a few shallow breaths to quell his rising alarm. Get a grip. She ain’t gonna fire me now. What could’a changed since Monday? I ain’t even talked to Logan since then.

When Nick dropped his rake, she steered him gently to the porch, and they both settled in on the top step, Trudy seeming unconcerned about her good suit. He stiffened his spine and looked at her, saying, “Okay. What’s up?”

That phrase sent panic racing through his veins. Bad news, said in that tone and given by one counselor to another, could only mean one thing. “One of my clients?” Trudy’s faced confirmed it. “Who? Oh, God, is it Sheila? It’s her, I—”

Nick felt like there was a disconnect between his ears and his brain. Those words didn’t make any sense—couldn’t make sense. “No, it can’t be. She’s still in Arkport, she’s with her parents. She’s—”

“According to the police report, she left Arkport over two weeks ago, but she never came back to Pittsburgh. Instead she headed to Monroeville to stay with Alex.”

“She’s been with Alex this whole time?” Nick was practically shouting, but he couldn’t help himself. “What the fuck, Trudy! How bad is she hurt?” Even as he asked that question, there was a small boy inside begging brokenly, “Please, oh, please, God, no. Please don’t let her be….”

Trudy’s words hit Nick like a block of black ice, freezing his core and knocking out all possibility of rational or coherent thought. When he brushed the tears from his face, he felt oddly disconnected from them, as though they’d been shed by another man entirely. Vertigo swooped down on him, and Nick lowered his head, trying to ride out the wave of nausea.

“Nick, did you hear what I said?” Trudy’s steady voice broke into his reverie. “I want you to pack a bag and come and stay with us for a few days.”

“No.” He got to his feet. “I’m gonna pack a bag, all right, but not so I can go hide out with you and Larry. I gotta get to the funeral.”

“The funeral isn’t until Saturday,” Trudy said, following him to the door.

“They’re doing an autopsy today.” Nick closed his eyes against the image of his beautiful friend laid out on a cold steel slab. “Besides, I don’t think it’s wise for you to attend the funeral. Not alone.”

Nick spun on his heel, snarling, “You don’t think it’s wise? You don’t think I owe that to her? After I abandoned her, threw her to the wolves like—”

“Jesus Christ, Nick, will you listen to yourself? I knew you’d try and take all of the blame. I knew it!”

“How about blaming Alex, the fucker who pulled the trigger?” Trudy grabbed hold of his sleeve. “How about blaming me, the one who told you to let her go? How about blaming Norah—”

“No,” Nick cried, wrenching away from her and moving towards the front door. He put his hand on the knob and managed to say more calmly, “I need you to leave now.”

Trudy followed him, asserting, “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

It was clear Trudy was wavering, but she finally nodded, saying, “Okay. But you call me if you need anything. And I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Then let me take you.” When Nick glared at her, she amended, “Or let someone go with you. I’m sure someone else at ACC—”

Nick whirled on her angrily. “Do you need a fucking hearing aid? I said no! Besides, you can’t insist. You’re not even my boss anymore.”

“It means when you get back to your office, you can make my leave of absence permanent.” Nick turned back to the door and opened it.

If he didn’t quite slam the door in Trudy’s face, he came close enough. When he finally heard Trudy’s car pull away, he had to fight the childish impulse to crawl into a closet or under a bed. Those had been his favorite hiding spots as a kid faced with the sounds of his dad whaling on his mom. Nick knew he was too big for hiding now. Besides, as he’d always found out, it didn’t solve anything. With no better idea, he curled up on the couch under his mom’s old afghan and fell into a troubled sleep marred by violent, blood-drenched dreams.

WHEN NICK awoke to the ringing phone, he was totally disoriented. The light coming in from the front room window was soft and dim, and he had apparently fallen asleep on the couch. Still unsure of what day or time it was, he grabbed the receiver and groggily answered, “Hello.”

The husky voice on the other end of the line was sad and somber, and the events of the day came rushing back to him. “Logan.” A shard of guilt cut some of the elation that voice brought to Nick’s heart. What right did he have to be glad about anything when Norah was dead? Especially upon hearing from a man who was—essentially—one of Alex’s brethren. Wasn’t he?

If he’d had the energy, Nick would have said something about meddling ex-bosses who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. But he didn’t. It turned out that “Oh” was the best he could manage.

“Yeah, so… she says you’re gonna be goin’ to the funeral, and I thought maybe we could go togeth—”

A second of consideration allowed Nick to admit, “No, I guess it doesn’t. Because I’m going alone.”

“Okay! I was just tryin’ to help,” Logan answered defensively. “How ’bout I come an’ get you? We can go to The Liberty Grill for some dinner.”

There was a long silence on the line before Logan said, his voice choked, “You don’t want any company, or you don’t want the company of a guy like me? Like Alex? Or your dad? Ain’t that what you’re thinkin’?”

Nick heard the hurt behind Logan’s accusation but felt numb to it. “Look, I just know that Norah’s dead, and I….” Let it happen. “…need some time to deal with that. And I need to say goodbye to her.”

“Yeah, okay.” The voice on the other end of the line was still thick with emotion. “I ain’t him, Nick.”

“I know that.” Even to his own ears, his assurance sounded unconvincing. “I’m just not…. I’m not up to talking about this right now.”

“Sure. I understand.” There was silence on the line until Logan added, “I guess you gotta take care of your business and I gotta take care of mine.”

Nick couldn’t make sense of what Logan was saying right then, and he couldn’t muster up the strength to try. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll talk to you next week. I guess.”

Though he’d slept for hours, Nick felt exhausted. After downing most of a quart of orange juice right from the carton, he fell back onto the couch and pulled the afghan back over him. As tired as he was, sleep was a very long time coming.

Chapter 16:

The Long Uphill Climb

It isn’t for the moment you are struck that you need courage, but for the long uphill climb back to sanity, faith and security.

—Anne Morrow Lindbergh

SATURDAY MORNING, Logan woke and rolled over on his sister’s rec room couch so he could squint groggily at the oversized wall clock in the dim light filtering down the open staircase. It was just after six a.m., and he considered grabbing a little more sleep since they’d all been up late into the night talking over old times. Well, truth be told, Krista had been almost as quiet as her dad while Daisy and Meghan did the lion’s share of the talking, aided by Daisy’s oldest child, Lisa, with the boys, Mark and Pete, chiming in occasionally.

The latter nephew in particular had peppered Logan with enthusiastic questions about the Thunderbird parked in the driveway. Logan had been a bit bemused by the conversation, finding it difficult to reconcile the appearance of this gangly teen with the memory of a squalling baby who, fifteen years earlier, had made a habit of disturbing Logan’s sleep.

Though the attitude puzzled him, it hadn’t escaped Logan’s notice that his brother-in-law had seemed almost disapproving of his older son’s interest in the sports car. The two men had always maintained a cordial, if distant, relationship, so he finally chalked it up to Chuck’s permanent state of crankiness, always in evidence by his habit of growling out complaints about nothing and everything in his raspy voice. Upon Daisy and Chuck’s wedding, Logan had felt welcome enough in their home to stick around until he married Linda, but not enough that he wasn’t relieved when he finally got a place of his own.

After stretching out on the tweed couch and staring at the dropped-panel ceiling for a few minutes, Logan decided that the early morning hours might be the perfect opportunity for a private chat with his sister. He threw off the blankets, pulled his jeans on, and grabbed his shaving kit before heading upstairs to the bathroom, passing silently by the front room where his daughters slumbered, snug in their sleeping bags. The house was very quiet, probably in deference to his brother-in-law, who liked to sleep late on the weekends even though Daisy had always risen with the sun. However, when Logan crested the threshold of the cluttered kitchen fifteen minutes later, he found his sister standing at the stove frying bacon while her husband sat at the nearby table reading the paper. “Morning, folks.”

“Good morning,” Daisy exclaimed. “What’a you doin’ up so early?”

For lack of a better excuse, he mumbled, “Habit, I guess. Plus I gotta get the car over to Cal’s by eight if he’s gonna get the paint job done by tomorrow.” Logan ambled into the room and stopped next to the white-enameled range, where he towered over his petite sibling. “Fixin’ breakfast already?”

“Yeah, I like to make sure Chuck gets a good breakfast in him before he goes off to work. Knowin’ him, he’ll probably skip lunch an’ all.”

Logan refrained from observing out loud that, from the appearance of things, his brother-in-law hadn’t missed too many meals in his life. Instead, he turned to Chuck, saying, “You workin’ today?”

Chuck brushed his poker-straight, thinning hair back before gruffly replying, “Yeah, I had’a let some more guys go, so there’s no one to cover the Saturday shift but me.” He shrugged before grumbling, “Not a goddamn thing I can do about it. Twenty-three years I been bustin’ my ass at that lumberyard, and now I’m back to workin’ the weekends.”

After grabbing a clean mug from the dish drainer and filling it with coffee, Logan sat at the table across from his brother-in-law. “Things still slow?”

“Hell, yeah. Can’t see orders really picking up ’til the housin’ market gets better.”

Daisy leaned down and put a dish heaped with bacon and scrambled eggs in front of her husband. Her eyes sparkled warmly at her brother as she said, “I’ll have a plate ready for you in a second.”

“You don’t have to bother, I’ll just have some toas—”

“Like hell you will,” Daisy scolded. “Looks to me like you lost some weight since I saw you last.” She turned back to the stove and plopped six strips of fresh bacon in the pan, noting, “That’s what’ll happen with a man living on his own.” Over the sizzle, she asked, “But you’ll be gettin’ back with Linda soon, won’t you?”

That was one subject Logan had no desire to explore in front of Chuck, so he dissembled quietly, “We were just talking about that on Wednesday.” Which was, if misleading, still sort of the truth. He and Linda had been talking about how that wasn’t going to happen, but still, not an outright lie. To change the subject, he asked Daisy, “Can you give me a ride back from Cal’s place after I drop off the Thunderbird?” Even though the ten-minute ride wouldn’t give him much time for talking to his sister, it would be a place to start.

“Sure thing, hon.”

Suddenly, inspiration struck, and Logan asked, “And could we swing by my shop on the way back?”

Chuck stopped shoveling in his breakfast long enough to growl, “What the hell for? Ain’t it empty?”

“Pretty much.” Logan shrugged and looked at Daisy, who was stacking hot, crisp bacon onto a melamine plate. “But I still own it, and I just wanta check it out.”

Daisy appeared to consider the request as she scooped a mound of fluffy eggs beside the bacon and set it in front of Logan. “Okay, don’t see why not.”

“Don’t see the point,” Chuck ventured, tone as sour as his scowl. “The realtor’s takin’ care of it for you, ain’t he? Nothin’ to do there, unless you’ve heard of somebody finally wantin’ to buy it.”

“Nothin’ like that,” Logan answered honestly. There hadn’t been a flicker of interest in the shop in all of the months it had been on the market. “Just wanna make sure Nate’s keepin’ the place from fallin’ down. God knows, it was close enough when I left it.” He turned to his sister, saying, “A trip to the shop won’t be keepin’ you from anything important, will it?”

“No, ’course not.” Daisy turned to her husband and said, “No real harm in me taking Logan over to High Street, is there?”

Chuck pushed his stocky frame away from the table, answering, “It’s your time, Margaret. If you wanta waste it, guess that’s your business.”

That was good enough for Daisy. She cleared her husband’s place as she promised Logan, “We’ll go right after breakfast.”

“Go where?”

The three adults immediately swiveled their heads towards the doorway, where Pete stood waiting for an answer to his question. His mom immediately filled him in on the plans they’d just made, causing the boy’s eyes to light up. “Can I go, too? It’d be cool to see ’em painting Uncle Logan’s car.”

Logan wanted to groan as his careful plans for a private talk with Daisy came close to ruin. He was silently struggling with a response, wanting to say no but unable to do so without hurting his guileless nephew’s feelings. Unexpectedly, Chuck came to his rescue. “They ain’t gonna be hanging around watchin’ Cal paint that car. And you got leaves to rake. I want that yard cleaned up today.”

“I’ll do it as soon as we get back.”

Chuck grabbed his canvas coat off the back of his chair and watched his son take a seat at the table. “No, you’ll do it first thing. What’s the rule ’round here?” Not waiting for an answer, he turned towards the door and said, “Chores first. Then you can screw around all you want.”

Feeling the need to soothe the problem he had inadvertently caused, Logan offered, “Your dad’s right, Pete. There won’t be nothin’ to see this mornin’. You can go with us tomorrow when we pick the T-bird up.”

Pete sighed with resignation but said nothing as his dad pecked Daisy on the cheek and headed off to work. After his mom laid a plate piled higher than Logan’s in front of him, he said to his uncle, “If only you’d’a waited a few more months. I’ll have my permit, and I could’ve taken it out for a spin.” He smiled shyly, asking, “Maybe you could bring it back next year?”

“I don’t think so,” Logan said. Seeing Pete’s face fall, he hastened to explain. “Remember, it ain’t my car. It belongs to my friend, Nick. I’m just helpin’ him restore it.”

“Maybe he’ll let you borrow it sometime?”

Daisy was beating more eggs in a bowl and gently scolded, “Don’t pester your uncle, Pete. This man ain’t likely to let Logan take his car all over creation. Them Pittsburgh folks ain’t like ’round here.”

Instinctively, Logan leaped to Nick’s defense. “He’s as good a guy as you’d ever find in Elco, Daisy. Better, even.”

There was mild surprise in her eyes as Daisy smiled at her brother. “Well, now, that’s good to hear. Good you got a friend like that.”

“Then maybe he will let you bring the T-bird back here in the spring?” wheedled Pete.

“Could be,” Logan offered doubtfully. How could he tell Pete that he was unsure where he now stood with this “good friend?”

A LITTLE over an hour later, Logan was lost in thought as he stood in the middle of his abandoned shop, frowning at the peeling paint and cobwebs.

“I’m sure glad Daddy can’t see it like this, aren’t you?” Daisy asked, bringing him back to the present.

“Why? It didn’t look that much better back when he had it. Dad never was one for fixing up.”

“I know that,” she laughed as she walked the perimeter of the small space. “I meant seeing it empty an’ that, you know?”

“Yeah,” Logan sighed sadly. He took off his baseball cap and scratched the back of his head. “Where’re folks gettin’ their cars fixed these days?”

Daisy stopped pacing around and stopped in front of her brother, answering, “Most everyone I know goes over to the Wal-Mart in Belle Vernon.”

“Damn, you gotta be kiddin’ me,” Logan snorted. “I hope it’s just for oil changes and small stuff, ’cause they do shitty work there. I know, I had to fix some of their handiwork myself.”

“Maybe… but they sure are cheap,” Daisy countered.

“Ya get what ya pay for.” Before Daisy could answer, Logan held up a hand and said, “I know. That don’t matter to desperate folks facin’ foreclosure or tryin’ to stretch out their unemployment checks. It’s still sad, though.”

Daisy was gazing up at him, a speculative look on her face. “So why did you really wanta come here? To see just how sad it is?”

That was the opening Logan had been waiting for, but he couldn’t seem to grab it. He looked into the round, benign face of his sister, knowing her intentions had never been anything but good towards her brothers, and his courage faltered. He shrugged and bargained for more time by saying, “I don’t know. Hard to let this place go, ya know?

“Yep.” Daisy reached out and patted his arm. “Guess it brings back a lotta memories, huh?”

“Sure does,” Logan agreed, since part of his mind was screaming “now or never,” he ventured, “Some of them… not so good.” When Daisy had no answer and resumed walking around the shop, Logan knew he had to press the issue. “Like seein’ Jerry Sievers—”

She stopped short and whirled to face him. “Don’t start on that, now.”

Logan took a deep breath before avowing, “I have to.”

A world of hurt and frustration was summed up in a single, sharp syllable. “Why?”

“Because it never went away for me.”

Daisy waved a dismissive hand in Logan’s direction. “I don’t even know what that means.” She hurried towards the shop door, saying, “We better be gettin’ back—”

Logan moved swiftly to halt her progress by stepping directly in front of her. “It means I got a lotta anger I been keepin’ in, and I gotta—” Seeing Daisy’s trembling lip and wet eyes made him pause and soften his stance slightly. “And I wanta talk about it. Finally.”

After nervously tucking a curl of soft brown hair behind one ear, she took a shaky breath and whispered, “You say you been mad all these years. Mad at Jim, or mad at me?”

“Both, I guess, but mainly him,” Logan admitted, finally breaking eye contact and staring sightlessly up at one of the fogged windows. “But I gotta know. Why?” He glanced back down at his sister, demanding, “Why’d you take his side against mine?”

“It wasn’t his side against yours,” she insisted angrily. “It was the family’s side against some stranger.”

“Jerry wasn’t ‘some stranger’ to me. He was my friend, my friend that Jim hurt real bad.” It was Daisy’s turn to look away, but Logan plowed on undeterred. “You don’t think he deserved to pay for that?”

“Oh, Logan.” Daisy looked back at him as she reached a tender hand up to his arm. “Honey, I felt awful about your friend. I really did.” Her tone turned pleading as she added, “But Jim didn’t think it through. You know what he’s like when he’s angry. He didn’t mean to hurt him that bad.”

“He didn’t mean to?” Logan sneered. “I’m sure that would make Jerry feel better about all he suffered. You should’ve gone to see him in the hospital like I did. Then maybe you couldn’t wave it all away with ‘He didn’t mean to’. What you’re really saying is that you agreed with Jim that ‘the queer’ had it comin’.”

“I am not,” Daisy protested vehemently. “How dare you say that! The whole thing didn’t even have anything to do with that. Jim was just so jealous of him—”

“What? Why the hell would Jim be jealous of Jerry?”

Looking more miserable than ever, Daisy sniffled, “’Cause of how close you two were. He told me once that you spent more time with ‘that queer’—” She stopped at Logan’s glare and amended, “With Jerry, than you did with either of us. I guess it reminded him of how it was with you and Dad.”

“Whose fault was that?” Logan snarled. “And if he was so goddamn jealous of how close I was to Jerry, maybe he could’ve hung around the garage with me some himself.” He flung his arms wide as he finished angrily, “He didn’t even try to help when I was fixin’ his car.”

“He just didn’t have a knack for it. Jim has a hard time concentrating on things—”

“You’re still making excuses for him! You picked up right where Mom left off. That thing with Jerry wasn’t the first or last time you covered up for him or took his side, just the worst.”

Daisy was shaking her head sadly as she entreated, “I had to stop you from goin’ to the cops. Jimmy wouldn’t’ve been able to take goin’ to jail or anything like that. I know he seems tough on the outside, but underneath he’s kinda… fragile.” When Logan’s scowl only deepened, Daisy added, “I’m sorry it seemed like I was favorin’ him, but you were always the strong one. I never really worried about you, but Jim needed me to—”

“He needed you to make him face up to even one of the messes he made,” Logan cut in, his angry words echoing around the empty room. As Daisy’s copious tears ran down her cheeks, he took a calming breath and added more quietly, “I know you meant well, but you didn’t do him any favors. Look at him now, thirty-five years old and I can count on one hand the times he’s done an honest day’s work in his life. He still bleeds you dry for money whenever he comes to town. And that’s the only time he even knows you’re alive, isn’t it? And that girl in Uniontown he knocked up. Did he ever give her any child support?” Seeing no answer was forthcoming from Daisy, whose wet gaze was fixed on the concrete floor, Logan snorted cynically, “That kid’s older than Meghan and probably never seen his dad more ’an once or twice in his life.”

Daisy’s eyes found Logan’s as she demanded, “And you think all of that’s my fault?”

“No,” Logan shouted. “It’s all his fault and his problem and you gotta stop making excuses and trying to fix everything for him.”

“I know he’s screwed up plenty, but I can’t help….” Daisy stopped to wipe the tears from her eyes before continuing. “I still love him.”

Suddenly, Logan felt like a heel for putting Daisy through the wringer, but he reminded himself that she needed to hear this and he needed to say it. “Yeah, well, love him enough to stop babying him.”

“Meaning what? Cut him off? Don’t try to help him when he asks?”

“Yes, meaning exactly that.” When Daisy just shook her head, Logan put his hands on her shoulders and insisted, “You have to try. It might be the only thing that can help him at this point. Or he might be past help, but for your sake if nothing else, promise me you’ll try.”

After staring up at Logan in silence for a few long moments, Daisy drew a shaky breath, but her voice was surprisingly firm when she said, “Okay, I’ll try.” Logan managed a small, pained smile and drew her into a hug, which she gladly accepted. Drawing back slightly, his sister looked up at him to say, “And I guess I should say how sorry I am that I forced you to go against your conscience.”

Logan choked up for the first time and could only manage a gruff “Thank you.”

But Daisy wasn’t finished. She hugged him again, throwing all of her weight into it as she asserted, “I am sorry, Logan. I’m sorry I didn’t understand that you needed me to take your side not because you were strong or Jim was weak, but because you were right. You were right about Jerry. I think I always knew that, but owning up to it meant admitting something about my brother that I just can’t… couldn’t face.”

Logan patted Daisy on the back and returned her embrace as he felt the tight knot of anger that he had carried inside him for far too long finally start to loosen. On the way back to Daisy’s house, her relieved chatter filled the car, but it mainly flowed past Logan without impact. Her words, “You were right,” were still ringing in his ears, and he suddenly knew how badly he had needed to hear that and how long he’d been waiting. He also knew they had other truths to face. Other confessions were looming on the near horizon—but not now. This weekend was for savoring one more victory in his battle to escape his stifling past.

NICK CIRCLED the block for the third time, noticing that each time he passed Flander’s Funeral Home, the crowd had gotten slightly larger. He was trying to pretend to himself that he was simply looking for a good parking spot, but even on a Saturday, finding a place to park in the small town of Hornell, New York, wasn’t really a problem. On the fourth try, he finally pulled into a spot on the street about half a block from the funeral home. After cutting the engine, he stayed behind the wheel for a moment, watching the sun drop and trying to deal with the reality of the situation. When he went into that staid brick building, there was going to be a coffin in one of the rooms, and Norah was going to be in it. How is that even possible? In what kind of fucked up world could that be real?

It wasn’t like this was the first time Nick had attended the funeral of a client. During his third year at ACC, a woman he’d been counseling had been killed by her ex-husband, and less than two years later, another client had been gunned down by her stalker boyfriend. It was an unfortunate fact that mortality rates were heartbreakingly high for women who left abusive relationships. But neither of those women had been as close to him as Norah. That reflection only served to deepen the pool of guilt in which he’d been mired since Trudy had broken the news. I guess I should’ve felt this way about those two. The only saving grace was the lack of self-blame he’d felt regarding those deaths. The thought that had been his constant companion for the last two days assaulted him yet again. I knew there was something wrong. Why did I ever let her go?

Nick glanced at his watch and saw that it was after five p.m. Norah’s family had scheduled a viewing from five until six p.m. with the funeral service following immediately after. He knew he’d delayed as much as possible. It was time to face up to this awful duty. Nick slowly got out of the car, straightened his tie, and walked with leaden steps into the funeral home. After a somber employee directed him into the correct room, Nick moved quietly inside and signed the guest book. His eye was immediately drawn to the front of the space, where the flower-draped coffin was displayed. During several sessions, Norah had talked about her family, and from her description, Nick thought he recognized her parents greeting mourners in front of the casket. That beefy man with the red-rimmed eyes had to be Butch Seebold, and the small blonde woman at his side was certainly his wife, Nancy.

Nick knew propriety demanded he offer his condolences directly, but he decided to wait until the line thinned out a bit, so he killed some time by looking for the flowers he’d sent. He finally found the arrangement of pink and white roses at the opposite side of the room, near a small sofa. Not yet feeling up to greeting Norah’s family, Nick dropped onto the couch and steeled himself for the looming confrontation.

What would they say to him? What would they say when faced with the counselor who had so badly failed their daughter? Suddenly a burst of defensive anger welled up in Nick. What about them? Didn’t they let her down, too? What happened here that she went running back to Alex after the visit? Sure, I failed Norah, but they did, too.

Nursing this embryonic grudge gave Nick the first reprieve from his solo guilt in days, so he was happy to expand upon it. Norah had always spoken well of her family, but was that the truth? Had she been hiding something from him, something dark that would explain why he’d failed to reach his client? Looking at Butch’s huge frame overshadowing his small wife, an insidious thought occurred to Nick. Wouldn’t it make a whole lot of sense if Butch was an abuser? Maybe Norah just never wanted to admit it. The more he brooded about it, the more merit the idea seemed to gain. Soon he was quivering with self-righteous anger and glaring at the front of the room. Go ahead an’ blame me. But what did you two do to her? How did your fucked-up marriage—

“Mr. Zales?” Nick looked up in surprise to find a pretty, well-groomed blonde woman standing next to him. She must have noticed his shock, since she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but you are Nicholas Zales, right? I saw your name in the guest book.”

Nick recovered enough to answer, “Uh, yes, I am.” He stood to face her, explaining, “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just wasn’t expecting anyone here to know me. Were you a friend of Norah’s?”

“No, I’m Amanda Seebold—her sister.”

“Oh, of course, you even look like her.” Swallowing past an enormous lump in his throat, he said, “I’m so sorry about Norah. I thought the world of her.” There was more he would have liked to say, but he found it impossible without starting to cry.

“Believe me, the feeling was mutual. The way she talked about you, she thought you hung the moon. That’s why it makes it so hard to understand….” Amanda stopped and wiped away the tears coursing down her cheeks before continuing. “To understand why she would go back—” The rest of her statement was lost in choked sobs, and Nick put a comforting arm around her shoulder. Amanda regained control and looked at Nick gratefully. “I’m sorry about that.”

Finally letting a few tears of his own escape, Nick said, “Don’t be. She was worth our pain.”

“Yes, she was,” Amanda whispered. Then she straightened up and looked over to her parents. Once she caught her father’s eye, Amanda waved them over to that side of the room. Nick watched in surprise as the couple broke away from the man they had been talking with and moved quickly to where he stood with their surviving daughter. “I was right,” she said to her parents. “This is Nick Zales, Norah’s counselor.”

Nick was abashed and humbled at the way Nancy hugged him, and Butch pumped his hand, saying, “It was real good of you to come all this way. Norah talked so much ’bout all you did for her—”

It was all too much for him, too much undeserved praise. Nick had to break in with a choked voice, saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss. And I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more for her. Couldn’t help her.”

Nick was suddenly engulfed in Nancy’s firm embrace as she cried, “I know, hon, I know. I keep thinking the same thing. What didn’t I give my baby? What was she missing that—” Nancy was unable to finish and turned her face into her husband’s sleeve, sobbing helplessly.

“All right, Nance,” Butch said tenderly. “Maybe you should go sit down by your sister again, okay?” He nodded goodbye at Nick and steered his wife over to the front row of chairs.

Amanda said, “I’m gonna go get my mom some water. Thanks again for coming, Nick. If I don’t get a chance to invite you later, there’s a hot supper at the Village Café in Arkport after the funeral. Please stop by if you can.”

“Thank you,” Nick said. He sank back down onto the small sofa, shame now adding further weight to his misery. His temples were starting to pound with an oncoming headache; he closed his eyes against the light from the lamp next to him and rubbed his forehead.

A few seconds later, he felt someone sit next to him on the couch and looked up, expecting to see Amanda, but the figure who greeted him left him momentarily speechless as he struggled to decide if he was glad or annoyed.

“Hello, Nick,” Sister Ciera said solemnly, though her smile was warm.

Nick wasn’t sure what surprised him more, that Ciera was there or that she was there garbed in full nun’s regalia. After returning her greeting, he gestured at her outfit, saying, “Uh, I didn’t even know you had the… umm… get-up.”

“It’s called a habit. Since I’m staying with the Sisters of St. Joseph over in Wayland, I thought I’d better dress the part.” At his puzzled look, she explained, “They’re a bit more formal than my order.”

Having recovered from his initial surprise, Nick asked suspiciously, “Did Trudy send you here?”

“No, I’m not representing ACC, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Not yet convinced, he said, “I didn’t think you and Norah were that close—” he stopped in mid-sentence as he abruptly remembered the connection. “Oh, yeah. She used to help you with the literacy classes when she first came to ACC.”

“That’s right.”

“I almost forgot that.”

Ciera was definitely more subdued than Nick had ever seen her. She didn’t answer immediately but gripped the strand of rosary beads that hung at her waist in silence before saying, “I’ll never forget.” She sighed sadly and added, “Even back then, I really thought she was going to make it.”

Nick slumped back, resting his head in his right hand, saying, “Maybe she would have. If we had…. If only I hadn’t let her go so soon. Too soon.”

“Nick,” Ciera said with a hint of exasperation. “This was not your fault. Stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong with clients.” Her hand went back to her rosary. As she fingered the beads, she said, “Speaking of habits—yours is rather destructive. Plus… you’re not as all-powerful as you seem to think.”

Rather than finding comfort, Nick was annoyed by her firm absolution. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that trying to take on all the blame presumes a power you don’t have—no human has. As much as we sometimes want to deny it, we’re mere mortals, and no matter how good or strong or perfect we try to be, bad things are going to happen. If we can’t accept that, then we can’t accept life.”

“So it’s all just random fate, huh? Nothing I could have done to stop it?”

“Probably not. And it wasn’t just random fate. It was evil, evil perpetuated by another human being. A human being over whom you had no control.”

To his consternation, Ciera’s words were reaching a part of him that Nick kept locked away, a part of him that spoke with the voice of a young boy who was tired of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and was crying out for relief. But with the promise of respite came terror, for releasing the burden also meant giving up control. Even if the power was only an illusion, he had clung to it for a long time and found some comfort there. In desperation, Nick tried to stop the control from slipping away. He stabbed back at Ciera, snapping, “So explain to me how your ‘all-loving, all-powerful God’ let this evil happen to Norah.”

Instead of rising to the bait, Ciera seemed to actually consider his question carefully for a few seconds. She stared at the coffin, answering, “I know it has something to do with the free will that God gave to Alex Bogdanov.” Her usually bright eyes were dulled with pain when she looked back at Nick. “But tonight that answer just isn’t good enough.”

After waiting in vain for a “punch line” to that last statement, Nick asked, “So what are you going to do?”

“Pray for the strength to get through this and hope I’m eventually face-to-face with God so He can explain it to me.”

For reasons he didn’t quite understand, the nun’s uncertainty comforted Nick more than any platitude ever could. Though he would never share her absolute faith in God, that didn’t mean Nick had to try and take His place. Maybe no matter what they believed, everyone still had to live with doubts and dangers.

In that moment, Nick knew he was grateful for Ciera’s company. The unlikely pair comforted each other during the evening, exchanging quiet reminisces about Norah for the rest of the viewing and standing side-by-side as the minister read the funeral rites.

Afterwards, Nick walked Ciera to her ancient Subaru Outback. Still undecided himself, he asked, “Are you going to the wake?”

“I don’t think so. It’s in the opposite direction of the convent, and I’m not up to a crowd right now. Are you?”

“I feel the same way,” he agreed. “Not up to a crowd, I mean.”

Ciera cocked her head at him. “Well, I was thinking of getting a drink. Would you like to join me?”

“What do you mean, coffee or something?”

Shrugging, Ciera answered, “If that’s what you want. I was more thinking of a gin and tonic.”

“Really?” Nick asked incredulously.

“Yes. I noticed what looked like a quiet little bar on my way here. Joe’s Tavern on River Street.”

Though the thought of going to a bar with Ciera sounded almost surreal to Nick, he could do with a drink. “Okay.” He glanced at her clothing uncertainly. “Aren’t you going to change first?”

“No. Would you prefer that I did?”

“Umm…. I meant… I didn’t think you could… that you were allowed to go into a bar like… that.”

Ciera’s grin looked almost cocky. “Are you kidding? From what I hear, your drinks are usually cheaper when you’re dressed like this.”

Nick actually managed a small laugh. “Okay, I’ll follow you there.”

Thankfully the bar was every bit as quiet and dark as they could have hoped. The cocktail waitress did seem mildly surprised when they first walked in but escorted them to a booth in the corner without comment. Their drinks, the gin and tonic Ciera had craved along with a shot and beer for Nick, arrived quickly. They sipped in silence until Nick asked Ciera how his clients were doing in his absence.

“It’s only been a week, you know. But everyone misses you.” The characteristic twinkle in her eye appeared for the first time all night. “Especially Trudy, though God knows she’d never admit it. She can be every bit as stubborn as you.”

Upon hearing that assertion, Nick almost choked on the whiskey he was downing. “You think I’m as stubborn as Trudy?” he sputtered.

“No, I think you’re even more stubborn.” She reached for her frosty glass and swallowed a bit of the cocktail before adding, “It’s one of your greatest strengths, I think. But it can also be your biggest weakness.”

Nick turned his attention back to his beer while trying to parse that pronouncement. Before he came up with a retort, Ciera asked about his mom. He bit his lip, remembering how confused and weak Agnes had seemed at his last visit. “She never really recovered from the pneumonia. I had to put her in a nursing home.”

“Yes, Trudy told me. But it’s only temporary, isn’t that right?”

“That’s what they say.” Nick polished off his beer before admitting, “But I don’t see it happening. Her coming back home, that is. The dementia seems worse than ever, and physically… she’s not doing so well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Nick nodded and signaled for another beer as Ciera offered, “Your mom’s only a little older than me. She could fight her way back from this.”

“Maybe.” Nick gave it some thought for a minute or two before demurring, “I just don’t see much fight in her these days.” The waitress put a fresh beer in front of him, and he took a gulp before snorting, “What am I saying? She never had any fight in her. If she had, she would have stood up to—” Nick caught himself before he went too far down that road. Even though he knew Ciera probably had a sketchy idea of his past, it wasn’t something they’d ever discussed.

So he was wholly unprepared when she rather matter-of-factly said, “I tell him about you, Nick.”

His head shot up, and he stared at the little nun in disbelief. “What? Who? Who do you tel—”

“Your father, of course.”

The room started spinning around him, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d consumed. Nick finally gathered his wits enough to ask, “How did you know?”

Ciera gave a short, rueful laugh. “You have the same last name, for starters. He’s incarcerated for gravely injuring his wife. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

The truth was suddenly so obvious, Nick felt foolish for not having guessed before. Ciera ministered regularly at Fayette County Prison. Of course she would have run into his father sometime in the past twenty years. However, she’d kept her silence about Sam Zales all the years she’d known Nick, and he fervently wished she hadn’t decided to break it that night. With barely suppressed fury, he demanded, “Why bother with him?”

“It’s what I do. I minister to everyone because if God doesn’t give up on people—and He doesn’t—then I have no right to do that either.”

“Are you trying to tell me he’s changed?”

“Not that I can see. He’s still very much a violent, angry, bitter man.”

“Of course,” Nick sneered. “So why the hell are you telling him anything about me?”

“Because he likes it, even if he won’t admit it. Because it helps me reach that core of humanity that’s there, even in him.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Which part, that he likes to hear about you or that there’s humanity in him?”

“Neither.”

“If you’re so sure, then there’s no harm in seeing for yourself. Is there?”

“No harm… but no point.”

Ciera looked at him shrewdly and said, “I guess the only point would be if you wanted to see what he has to say to you after all these years. But since you don’t….” She shrugged and finished her drink. “Are you almost done? I have to be getting back to the convent. I hope you’re not planning on driving home tonight.”

Though he was suspicious of the abrupt change of subject, Nick said, “Nah. I’m staying at The Sunshine Motel on Seneca.” However, she didn’t raise the subject of his father again, and he walked Ciera to her car in silence. This time they parted with a handshake.

After picking up some takeout on his way to the motel, Nick let himself into the small room and gratefully flopped on the bed. He rested for a few minutes, running the events of the night over in his head. Finally, his growling stomach demanded attention, so he got up and changed into a sweatshirt and jeans before tearing into his food. All the while he ate, Nick stared at his cell phone lying abandoned on the dresser. He was imbued with an overwhelming desire to call Logan, or even Trudy, but finally decided against it.

In the end, the number he dialed was to his mother’s room in the nursing home. His five-minute chat with her was as frustrating as ever, with Agnes fading in and out of coherence. After complaining that the nurses were trying to get her to eat “six or seven meals a day,” she was lucid enough to ask, “When’re you comin’ to see me again?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Okay, good night, son.”

“Wait a minute, Mom. There’s two things I wanna tell you.”

“What?”

“The first thing is, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, I can wait ’til tomorrow for your visit.” Without further ado, Agnes hung up her phone.

Nick stared at the dead phone in his hand for a moment before shaking his head and saying, “The second is that I forgive you.”

He started getting ready for bed, ruminating on the conversation with his mom. In the end he decided that it had been fine. After all, that last sentiment hadn’t really been intended for her benefit.

Chapter 17:

Another Heart

The person who tries to live completely alone will not succeed as a human being; the heart withers if it does not answer another heart.

—Pearl S. Buck

SUNDAY EVENING, Nick pulled into the driveway of his house feeling both physically and emotionally drained. When he’d arrived in Pittsburgh five hours earlier, he’d headed straight to the nursing home to see his mom. After his epiphany of forgiveness—for both of them—he had expected the visit to be… different. He wasn’t exactly sure in what way he’d expected it to be different, or significant, but it didn’t really matter since it had pretty much been the same as all his other visits to the nursing home. He, ever the dutiful son, had helped feed his mom lunch and watched some old movies with her, all the while initiating several fruitless conversations with Agnes, who seemed frail, confused, and withdrawn.

Having failed to find the comfort he was looking for in a visit with his mom, Nick rested his head against the steering wheel as a wave of overwhelming isolation swamped him. His mind immediately turned toward Logan, the one man who’d managed to completely and thoroughly breach the lonely shell Nick had spent years erecting around himself. Yet as much as he yearned for Logan, he recognized that there was now a distance in their relationship, a distance Nick had put there when he’d conflated Logan with Norah’s murderer and his own father.

Part of Nick wanted to wipe that moment away, to loudly protest to his own conscience that he’d been upset when he’d made that connection, had been merely lashing out in pain, and that no such doubts existed. But he couldn’t. For too long he’d lied to himself, swept all uncertainties under the rug, and now there was a price to be paid for that longstanding denial. If he and Logan were to last—and Nick could admit that he wanted that more than anything—then they had to face those questions together.

Even as he started to face up to that harsh reality, silently Nick protested, Does it have to be tonight? He felt chilled, heart and soul, and he ached for the warmth of Logan’s presence. Having at last decided on a course of action, Nick snatched his overnight bag off the passenger seat and hurried to the house. By the time he reached the entrance, he already had his cell phone out and paused only to flip the hall light switch on before punching in Logan’s number.

Logan answered after two rings, but rather than the “hello” Nick expected, he got, “I know I said we’d be there by now, but we ran into some traffic, Linda.”

“Uh, what?”

“Nick?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Aww, shit. Sorry. I thought it was—girls, would ya pipe down? I’m on the phone here.”

Logan’s daughters could be heard offering not-very-contrite apologies in the background. Since he had no desire for an audience, Nick said, “I guess I caught you at a bad time. Give me a call when you can talk.”

“Sure thing. Won’t be that long.”

Nick stuck his phone back in his shirt pocket, relieved to have made even minimal contact with Logan, and philosophically decided to take the opportunity to unpack and do some laundry. After he started the first load, he headed upstairs to the kitchen and made a sandwich out of salami that smelled like it was still okay to eat. He started reflecting disconsolately on the empty week that stretched ahead of him when he was blindsided by a sudden thought. Shit! I quit my job. I don’t have another week off, I have… forever off. What the fuck was I thinking?

After Nick was done smacking himself, both metaphorically and literally, he made a vow to call Trudy first thing in the morning and see if he could retract that impetuous resignation. Fortunately, the ring of his cell phone stopped him from dwelling any longer on his possible state of unemployment. A glance at the screen confirmed that it was indeed Logan returning his call. “Hey, Logan.”

“Hey, Nick. Sorry ’bout that earlier. I didn’t bother lookin’ at my phone ’cause I was on the road. Just assumed it was Linda callin’ again ’bout us getting back from Elco so late.”

“Is that where you went this weekend?”

“Yeah. How was your—how’d you make out at Norah’s funeral?”

How the hell could Nick sum up the mixed bag of emotions he’d experienced over the past forty-eight hours? “It was okay. Hard, for real. Seeing her in the coffin and meeting her family sure tore me up, but I’m glad I went.”

“I still don’t think you should’ve gone alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. Ciera was there.”

The silence on the other end spoke of Logan’s surprise, but after a few seconds he breathed, “Oh. That’s good. I guess?”

Not bothering to hide the wonder in his own voice, Nick answered, “Yeah, it was.”

Another awkward pause ensued, and Logan offered, “If you was with Sister Ciera, then I suppose ya had ’nough talkin’ this weekend.”

The halfhearted attempt at humor fell flat, but Nick heard the question behind it—Are you ready to talk to me?—so he answered it. “Not to the right person.” The only answer was a sharp intake of breath from Logan, so he persevered. “I know how early you have to get up for work, but do you think you could come over, or I could come to your place if you just give me direc—”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Great.”

To distract himself from his almost painful eagerness for Logan’s arrival, Nick busied himself with more laundry and other chores. He was in the basement hanging up some damp shirts when he was startled by the blast of a horn from outside. Nick ignored it at first, thinking it was for a neighbor, but when the sound repeated, he jogged up the steps and peered out the front room window.

In the dim glow from a streetlight, Nick could make out the Thunderbird—as he’d never seen it before. Every other thought flew out of his head. He banged out the front door and ran up to his now shiny red car. He and Logan stood across from each other, separated by the car, twin grins of pride and satisfaction illuminating their faces. Nick was nearly speechless. He ran a reverent hand across the hood, saying, “I can’t…. I can hardly believe it’s the same car.”

Logan stared down at the gleaming sports car, nodding in apparent agreement, but then squinted up at him. “It ain’t, thanks to us.”

“Damn skippy,” Nick answered with a smile. And suddenly he was moving towards Logan, who was already on a collision course with him. In seconds, he was hugging the solid warmth of that man to him with a fierce, desperate need. Nick buried his face in Logan’s neck, knowing that their problems loomed as large as ever but also knowing that this feeling, this solace, this rightness was worth fighting for. With one arm slung over Logan’s shoulders, he said, “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

THE GREETING was everything Logan could have wished for, especially when Nick kicked the front door shut behind them and immediately pushed him up against the wall, diving for his mouth. All Logan could do was sag back against the ancient wallpaper and go with the flow. He groaned into the kiss as Nick’s tongue demanded entrance and greedily plundered his mouth before moving to plant a series of sucking kisses along Logan’s stubbled jaw.

Abruptly, Nick pulled back and trained on him a laser-intense flash of eyes gone black with intensity. “You know we gotta talk later, right?”

Logan emerged from his daze of lust just long enough to answer, “Yeah, I know.” But he didn’t let go of Nick’s arms. In fact, he held on tighter. There was no way he was letting go, not when he finally had this man right where he needed him after being too long apart.

Nick leaned back into the embrace, rumbling in his ear, “The operative word being ‘later’. Now is for—”

“Fucking,” Logan growled back.

“And there was a time I thought you weren’t so eloquent.”

Logan barely noticed the joke, since the jester was dragging him up the stairs as he said it. Soon they reached the bedroom, and Nick immediately tore his oxford off and started to work on Logan’s snap front shirt. Logan let him have his way, since his own hands were busy yanking Nick’s jeans open. With singleminded intent, they managed clumsily, haltingly, with frantic kisses drawing the process out, to get rid of all bothersome clothing. When he pushed Nick’s naked body down on the bed and climbed on top, Logan felt like he’d found the oasis in his own personal hell of a desert.

Nick was groaning, “Need you bad, babe. I gotta—”

Logan cut him off with a kiss before whispering in his ear, “Me, too. Gotta have you inside me, all I been thinking about.” Recognizing Nick’s intent to move, he pushed him back with a none-too-gentle shove, mumbling, “There’s somethin’ I been wantin’…. I wanta try….” Never articulate to begin with, Logan found it almost impossible to spell out his plans for their coupling.

A wanton grin slid across Nick’s face as he murmured, “Okay, we’ll do it your way.” He leaned up and kissed Logan before saying with a sexy smirk, “Whatever that is.”

Logan answered by using his body to pin Nick flat against the bed, enjoying the skin-to-skin contact, sweat-damp, strong bodies glued together from chest to thigh, both panting from the electric charge as their erections pressed together. They gasped and moaned in each other’s mouths, Nick pushing up desperately, sending a spike of increased arousal through Logan.

With a shaking hand, Logan fumbled for the lube in Nick’s nightstand and prepared himself as quickly as he dared. Finally he crawled up his lover’s body until he was straddling him. Logan levered himself up on strong thighs before sinking down, tortuously slow, onto Nick’s engorged cock. The sear of heat and stretch of fullness was everything Logan had been dreaming about, though the look of surprise and wonder on Nick’s face was better than any dream he’d ever had.

The friction Logan felt riding Nick this way was painfully wonderful in its intensity, and he increased the rhythm of his movements as he leaned in for another bruising kiss. When Nick started working Logan’s cock, the pressure was already building, and shudders of desire went through his body. He was faintly aware that he wasn’t going to last very long, but he kept pistoning up and down, harder and more frantic, grabbing at Nick’s sweaty, slick skin for a grip.

Nick pulled him down for another kiss, biting at his tender lips, rougher than before, answering Logan’s own burning need. Nick’s eyes glittered with hot, dark desire, and something else, something he’d never recognized in those depths. The realization caused him to gasp for air. Logan leaned his forehead against Nick’s and stilled for a moment, trying wordlessly to let Nick know: Me too. It’s more than just this for me, until moving became an imperative and he went back at it, even more frantic than before, almost uncontrolled.

Nick threw his head back, arching up as he came, a white-hot flood pushing up into Logan, who couldn’t help but follow, coming so hard his world narrowed to just him and his blinding orgasm until he collapsed onto Nick, their bodies forming a sweaty tangle, heartbeats thudding a matching tempo, both shuddering with aftershocks as they came back down to earth.

WHEN NICK woke, he found half of his body covered by a slumbering Logan. Extricating himself from the position proved tricky, since the two of them were glued together by a mixture of dried sweat and semen. When he did push away, it felt like two pieces of Velcro pulling apart, and either the sound or the sensation served to awaken Logan.

Nick smiled into those sleep-dazed, lust-sated eyes. “Hey, I was gonna get a drink. Want somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Logan rasped. “I’m pretty parched.”

“Guess we both lost a lotta fluid,” Nick answered. “How does a beer sound?”

“Sounds good.”

Nick dashed downstairs and grabbed two IC Lights out of the fridge. When he returned, Logan was sitting up against the headboard, looking much more awake. Sliding in next to him, Nick passed one of the beers over, then opened his own. He took a long swallow before getting down to business. “Did you go to Elco just to get the car painted, or was there something else?”

Logan fortified himself with a taste of his beer before replying, “I mainly went to talk to Daisy.”

“’Bout what?”

“Jerry Sievers.”

Though Nick wasn’t sure what he had expected as an answer, that was a surprise. “What did you…. So what happened?”

“I told her that she had no right to blackmail me into keepin’ quiet about what Jim did to my friend.” Nick nodded in agreement, about to voice his approval, but Logan plowed ahead, his tone and face growing more agitated with each word. “I said she’d been covering up for Jim his whole life and it’s time for her to stop. And….” Logan shook his head and swallowed hard, as if it was too difficult to continue.

“And?” Nick prodded.

A shaky breath, and then he answered, “And I told her how mad I been all these years. Mad at Jim, sure—but her, too.”

“How’d she take it?”

“She was hurt, tried to push it all away—pretended it didn’t matter anymore—but I kept at her, and she finally admitted that she’d been wrong. She even apologized.”

Nick bit his lip as he mulled over Logan’s report. “Do you feel better now?”

There was no immediate answer forthcoming. Logan’s crinkled brow showed he was giving the matter some thought. He gulped more beer before replying, “Yeah, I do. It really cleared the air between us. Felt good, but there’s more.” A weary sigh escaped from Logan as he put the bottle back to his lips.

“More what?”

Logan ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair, answering, “More I gotta tell her….”

“Meaning you didn’t tell her ’bout bein’ gay, huh?” ventured Nick.

“Nope.”

“That’s okay,” Nick offered, along with a firm pat on the arm. “You can’t do it all at once. Or all by yourself. Even I finally figured that out.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that this weekend, I decided Trudy was right. I need…,” Nick sighed but forced himself to say it out loud, “to see someone.”

“What?!”

Nick was momentarily confounded by Logan’s burst of indignation, until it clicked and he hastened to explain. “A counselor, Logan. I’ve decided to see a counselor and talk out all that stuff about my mom and… my dad. I’ve had that all walled away too long. Now I need to deal with it.”

“But… you know all that stuff, right? You are a counselor,” Logan stated firmly.

After releasing a slight snort at Logan’s confidence in him, Nick clarified, “It doesn’t work that way. You gotta talk these things out with what we call ‘a disinterested party’.”

After considering that justification for a few seconds, Logan said, “This is hard stuff. Fixin’ your life.” He turned solemn eyes on Nick. “Ain’t it?”

Nick’s laugh this time was obvious. “Sure is.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh,” Nick shrugged as he said, “I was thinking of this joke we used to tell in grad school.” Sheepishly, he turned to Logan and asked, “How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?”

Logan cocked his head at Nick, his expression almost suspicious. “I don’t know, how many?”

“Just one—but the light bulb really has to wanta change.”

With furrowed brows, Logan answered, “Huh?”

“It’s what we always say about our patients. They can only change if they really want to. There’s no magic to it, just a lotta hard work.”

Logan seemed to take a moment to ponder that pronouncement. Then he speared Nick with an intent gaze. “I know what you mean. I’ve changed a lot since the thing with Linda, and it sure was hard work. Hardest stuff I’ve ever done.” Nick nodded in agreement, though Logan’s statement hung heavy in the air, and he evidently felt the need to resolutely add, “Not that I was ever really… a bad guy or anything. I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m like Alex… or your dad. I ain’t.”

It nearly killed Nick to speak his mind on that point, but this was one wound that had to be bled out. He finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the floor. “I know you aren’t… but you were. Even if it was only for a moment, you were on that day.”

A sullen frown clouded Logan’s face as he pulled back and glared at Nick. “So that’s it for you, huh? I’m never gonna be anythin’ but the guy who hurt his wife. Case closed.”

Rather than offering more ire in return, Nick calmly asserted, “That ain’t what I’m sayin’. You can be the guy who’d never do anythin’ like that again—”

“Of course I wouldn’t!” Logan polished off his own beer and slammed the empty down on the nightstand for emphasis.

“Why?”

Logan stared at Nick uncomprehendingly. “Why what?”

“Why won’t you? More to the point, why did you?” Logan turned away in palpable anger, but Nick held him back with a firm hand. “No, you can’t run away from this. We gotta talk it out.”

There was a long minute as Logan stared at the wall, obviously ready to bolt any second. Nick held his breath until his lover turned back, saying, “Okay. Guess you’re right.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “But I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“A long time ago, I asked why you did it, and you didn’t give me an answer. Now I gotta know. I’ve gotta understand what drove you to that.”

The bedroom was silent except for the faint background noises of the neighborhood drifting in from the windows until Logan grunted, “I was mad.” He paused for a moment, then added, “All the time.” Nick nodded encouragingly, and he continued. “Mad at myself, mainly, for bein’… bein’ gay.” Logan stared down at the bed covers, the tension in his jaw clipping his words. “It was hard, hiding all the time—from everyone, even me. And underneath that, I was scared all the time, too. Scared someone would figure it out and I’d end up….”

“Like Jerry?”

“Yeah. The only place I ever felt like I could relax was my garage.”

“And Linda took that away from you,” Nick ventured.

Logan nodded, saying, “Yeah, that made me mad at her, too, but I couldn’t tell her—too afraid she’d figure somethin’ out.” A sad sigh escaped as Logan explained, “And it wasn’t just giving up my garage. It was coming up here, too, where there’s always people around. Always watchin’ me, pryin’ and pokin’ at me.” In a choked voice, he said, “The mill was the worst, havin’ to shower with all them guys every day, and they was always throwin’ around words like ‘faggot’ and ‘cocksucker’.”

“Yeah,” Nick snarled. “I remember.”

“That’s right,” Logan exclaimed in surprise. “You know what it’s like. I was so fuckin’ glad to get out of there, but Linda wouldn’t let it go. She was wild for me to get back in and make that good money again. She sure never let me forget how I let the family down losin’ that job—that’s what she was doin’ when I lost it. But I couldn’t go back there. I knew for sure if I did I was ’ventually gonna get found out and….”

“And end up beat up—or worse.”

“Yep.” Logan’s jaw was clenched, and he was back to staring at the blanket.

“I think I understand now. You were like a powder keg, Logan. If only you’d have done something—anything—about it, then you wouldn’t’ve ended up hurting someone who loved you.”

There were unshed tears in Logan’s eyes as he said, “I’d give anything to take it back. Anything. But I can’t. For the rest of my life, I gotta live with knowin’ how bad I hurt Linda—and my daughters.”

Nick tried to pull a resistant Logan into his arms. He persevered until the other man relented, though the body he held was still poker-stiff. Nick murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you made me tell you?” Logan spat.

“No… I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, all those years.” Logan relaxed against him fractionally, and Nick whispered in his ear, “Are you still mad about bein’ gay? Still afraid?”

Nick’s hands were tracing soothing whorls over Logan’s chest as he waited for an answer. The tension gradually seeped out of Logan, and he settled back firmly against Nick, answering, “Every day less and less.”

“Because of…?”

Logan shook his head as if that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard, though his answer was imbued with keen affection. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe ’cause of you, ya idiot.”

“Good.” Nick turned Logan around until he could kiss him long and deep. “That’s why—that’s why you’re the man who won’t ever do anything like that again. You’re not fighting alone anymore.” Another kiss, and Nick could admit, “And neither am I.”

His heart swelled almost to bursting when Logan pulled back and gave him a shaky smile. “When I’m with you, I ain’t afraid and I ain’t mad. In fact I’m….” He let the words trail off, choosing to tell the rest of his piece by ravishing Nick’s mouth.

Nick was glad to celebrate their successful talk with another bout of lovemaking. This time the sex was slower, sweeter, each man seeming determined to draw it out as long as possible. Before they both drifted off to sleep again, Nick clasped Logan to him and avowed, “I’m happy when I’m with you, too. Happier than I’ve ever been before.”

AS SOON as Nick walked into the North Hills restaurant, Willow, he spotted Trudy at a table near the window. An exuberant young waitress promptly seated him across from her and gave him a menu while efficiently reciting the specials. After she went off to get Nick a Coke, he looked around, saying, “This place is pretty busy for a Monday, huh?”

Trudy sipped her ice water before answering, “There aren’t too many nice places to have lunch around here.”

Nick turned back to face his boss. At least he hoped she was still his boss. “Any particular reason you wanted it to be a nice place? You’re not trying to soften the blow, are you?”

He found her response of rolled eyes oddly reassuring, especially since she followed that up by saying, “If you’re asking if you still have a job, the answer is of course you do. I never took your resignation seriously. Not for a second.”

Sighing with relief, Nick asked, “Then you’re treating me to lunch because…?”

“Because I want to. And if you keep acting so suspicious of my good will, I might be tempted to withdraw the offer.”

“Okay, okay,” Nick laughed. “Good to know I could still afford it if I had to, though.”

They exchanged little more than idle chitchat as the waitress brought Nick’s beverage and took their lunch orders. But after he’d asked about the well-being of his clients and Larry, he felt it was high time to get to the root of this meeting. “So, come on, Trudy. What’s this all about?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. After the funeral, I mean.”

“Did you talk to Ciera?”

“No.”

“Really?”

In the face of Nick’s skepticism, Trudy finally admitted, “She e-mailed me.”

“Aha, so that’s what triggered this lunch.” When Trudy shrugged in response, Nick asked, “You didn’t have anything to do with her being there, did you?”

“No,” she said, a slow smile creeping across her face. “I guess God really does work in mysterious ways.”

Ignoring that salvo, Nick said, “What did her e-mail say that has you buying me lunch?”

“She’s worried about you blaming yourself for Norah’s death. We both are.”

“Maybe you two should worry about Norah, not me.”

“Pray for the dead but fight like hell for the living.”

“What?” Nick stared open-mouthed at Trudy’s apparent non sequitur.

“One of my favorite quotes from Mother Jones.” When Nick sighed in frustration, Trudy explained, “I can’t do much for Norah anymore, but you, I can help. At least I hope so.” They were interrupted by the arrival of their food, but as soon as the waitress left the table, she continued, “I’m more convinced than ever that you need—”

“Counseling,” Nick finished for her. He let Trudy glare at him for a second before innocently asking, “Know a good one?”

It was Trudy’s turn to be surprised. “What? Do you mean….”

“Yeah, I’m ready. I want to do it.”

“Wow, I should have treated you to a nice lunch a long time ago.”

Nick took a bite of his meal, saying, “The chicken’s good, but that wasn’t what changed my mind. I decided this weekend.”

“Well… that’s wonderful news. And to answer your question, I know of several good people you could work with. When I get back to the office, I’ll send you a list.” They ate in silence for a second before Trudy asked, “Can I ask what happened this weekend that brought about this sudden change of mind?”

“I don’t know. I guess it was… Ciera.”

“What did she say?”

“It wasn’t so much anything she said—though she said some good stuff, surprisingly enough. It was how glad I was to have her there, after telling myself—and everyone else—that I had to face Norah’s funeral alone.” Nick took a sip of Coke in an attempt to dislodge the lump in his throat before admitting, “I guess I realized that maybe I don’t have to do everything myself, handle everything myself, face everything alone. In fact I feel kind of stupid about how long it took me to see that.”

“The lessons of childhood are hard to escape.” Nick looked up at his friend and mentor, seeking clarification. With a gentle smile, she explained, “The people you depended on most back then burnt you. Badly. Your father worst of all.”

Nick was tempted to tell Trudy about his recent thoughts around the subject of his dad, but as she went on to say more about some counselors who might be right for Nick, he felt the moment had passed. Besides, as he’d told Logan, he didn’t have to do it all at once. If he was really going to start healing that scared, angry child inside of him, maybe it had to start with baby steps.

He did, however, have something he could offer Trudy in exchange for lunch. At the next break in the conversation, he asked with deceptive airiness, “Guess what I spent the morning doing?”

Trudy raised one eyebrow, answering with a laugh, “If you were with Logan, I really don’t want any details.”

“I wasn’t with Logan,” Nick protested in equal good humor. He sobered slightly as he admitted, “But I was last night.”

“I figured,” she returned, exuding nonchalance.

“Oh, you’re always one jump ahead of me.”

“Not really. I still haven’t guessed what you were doing this morning.”

Nick flicked a slightly sheepish look her way before saying, “I started reading your book.”

“I’ll be damned,” Trudy exhaled.

“I can see you guessed that I never read it before,” Nick said.

“Yeah, I guessed.” She nodded and then tilted her head in a gesture of genuine curiosity. “So, what did you think?”

“It’s good. Well researched and thought out….” Nick put his fork down and leaned forward, his voice earnest as he added, “I don’t agree with everything—”

Trudy smiled wide, retorting, “Of course not.”

“But you make some good points.”

She raised her glass in a gesture of salute, saying, “I’m eager to hear your rebuttals.”

“Good. Because you will,” Nick promised.

“I never had any doubts.”

From the warmth in her tone and eyes, Nick knew that Trudy was offering full confidence in him, personally, as well as his strong opinions. To let her know he understood, he said, “Thanks. For everything,” with all the quiet emotion he could muster.

Chapter 18:

Turn on the Light

Fear grows in darkness; if you think there’s a bogeyman around, turn on the light.

—Dorothy Thompson

AT THREE minutes after six p.m., Nick careened into the asphalt lot in front of the non-descript office building on Duff Street located in the Penn Hills section of Pittsburgh. As he parked his Jeep in one of the back rows, he wished for the umpteenth time that he’d been able to find a counselor closer to work. Nick jammed his hands in his pockets, shielding them from the biting January cold, and sprinted to the front door, all the while figuring chances were good that his lack of punctuality wouldn’t be an issue, anyway.

A few seconds later, he pushed through the heavy glass door of the corner suite on the third floor and smiled at the receptionist, Debbie Gill, sitting behind the front desk. “Is Dr. Kochmann running late tonight, by any chance?” Nick asked.

“Of course,” came the tired-sounding reply, though her apparent exhaustion didn’t keep Debbie from offering kindly, “But only by about ten minutes today.”

“Not too bad,” Nick murmured.

By the time he’d hung his coat on the rack and checked the messages on his cell phone, Nick heard Dr. Eric Kochmann’s office door opening. He watched as the previous client exchanged a few parting words with his therapist, glad for the chance to study the man unobserved. Even after three months of working with Eric, Nick still found him something of an enigma.

Though his academic reputation and credentials were both impeccable and impressive, he looked and acted—to Nick’s way of thinking—more like a high school wrestling coach than a counselor specializing in abuse victims. Eric barely came up to Nick’s shoulder, though he out-weighed him by a good thirty or forty pounds. Not that he was fat, far from it. The man was powerfully built, looking like an oversized fire hydrant. The resemblance was further enhanced by the fact that what hair hadn’t gone white was almost that same color red.

Dr. Kochmann ushered Nick into his office with the usual apologies and asked him about his week. Nick settled into the comfortable leather guest chair and chatted extensively about the latest challenges at ACC. Eric listened attentively as Nick described his latest client—a woman who had moved into the shelter to escape her husband with whom she had a see-saw history of abuse and reconciliation.

The stocky therapist offered a raised eyebrow as he observed, “Sounds like she might be another Norah in the making.”

Nick still wasn’t used to speaking of Norah so casually and found that his counselor’s relatively mild statement nearly winded him. While he was scrambling for a response, he looked up to find Eric watching him expectantly. “You bastard,” Nick huffed. “You did that on purpose.”

“So you admit she’s still a sore subject?”

It occurred to Nick, not for the first time, how much better he liked this sort of conversation from the other side of the desk. Finally he grumbled, “Yeah, I guess so,” thereby rescinding his claim from last week that he was “pretty much over” Norah’s death.

Eric’s tone softened considerably. “It’s okay, healing can be a slow process. It takes… whatever time it takes. You just have to start owning up to what you’re really feeling and stop claiming to be where you wish you already were.”

“That’s what you think I do?”

Rather than flipping the question back at him or extending a noncommittal answer, Eric bit off each word of his bald reply for emphasis. “All—the—goddamn—time.”

Nick couldn’t help but laugh and retort, “You’re not supposed to say shit like that to a patient.”

“And the fact that you know that allows me, hell, compels me, to do otherwise.”

After a second of thought, Nick answered, “No use showing another magician how to pull a rabbit out of a hat.”

“Pre—cisely.” Eric nodded before leaning forward and asking earnestly, “And how’s your mom doing?”

That question, Nick had been prepared for. As evenly as possible, he answered, “Not good. She had a stroke. Well, a mini-stroke.”

“Jesus,” Eric exclaimed. “When did that happen?”

“Probably a few weeks ago, though it just got diagnosed this week. One of her doctors thinks she’s been having these mini-strokes for a while. This just happened to be the worst episode.”

Eric’s face got even graver as he asked, “Did this doctor tell you that having multiple TIAs can be a precursor for a major stroke?”

Nick ran the unfamiliar acronym over in his head a few times before asking, “TIA?”

“Transient Ischemic Attack. It’s the medical term for a mini-stroke,” Eric clarified.

“Yeah, they told me.” Nick swallowed to moisten his dry throat before continuing. “I know she’s in a downward spiral. We’re making arrangements to transfer her to the permanent ‘pavilion’.” He snorted humorlessly. “Pavilion! What a fucking stupid name. They make it sound like I’m sending my mom off to a grand ball, not trying to find someplace where she can die out of everyone’s way.”

Eric shook his head sadly. “I know how rough this is on you—”

“Damn it,” Nick interjected. “I wish everyone would stop saying that!”

“All right, good point,” Eric answered. “We may not know exactly how you’re feel—”

Interrupting again, Nick shot back bitterly, “Good thing you don’t.”

Eric regarded him closely for a second before asking, “Why? Why is it a good thing?”

Nick bit his lip—hard—and raked his hand through his hair. “Because… because if you only knew.” There was no immediate reply forthcoming, and Nick recognized that Eric was using silence as a prod. An old, albeit effective, maneuver since Nick finally continued, “I’m sorry about my mom getting sicker, sure. And I’m miserable knowing she’s coming to the end. But also….” Nick refused to meet Eric’s eyes as he forced out, “Relieved. Yeah, I’m a little bit relieved that she won’t be moving back in with me.”

When Nick did look up, he found Eric shaking his head. “Tsk, tsk. You’re relieved? That all of the years you’ve spent as her primary caregiver are coming to an end? Do you know what that makes you?”

“What?” Nick sat up straight, bracing himself for some of Eric’s now familiar bluntness.

“Human. It makes you a human being—with all attendant frailties. I know how much you hate the very idea—”

In some ways, Eric’s attempt at validation hit Nick harder than condemnation would have. “Aw, Eric, cut the crap.”

“The only crap is your denial. You’ve spent the last twenty years trying to be goddamn near perfect. As if perfection would protect you from any more pain, or somehow atone for something you know wasn’t even your fault.”

“No, not entirely—”

“Not at all!” Eric insisted loudly. “If a client came to you with a similar story of having provoked abuse by ruining one of her husband’s tools, you wouldn’t stand for that bullshit for one second.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Nick sighed. “You’re right. I’m not responsible in any measure.” Even to Nick’s ears, that sentence came out sounding rather wooden.

“Every time we talk about this, you say that, but I can tell you don’t mean it. What’s it going to take, Nick? What’s it going to take to convince you?”

Nick slumped in the chair, feeling exhausted by the subject but recognizing Eric’s frustration was valid. Still, he had no good answer for him. “I don’t know.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding sardonically, “If I did, I probably wouldn’t need you.”

Rather than being offended, Eric’s smile seemed to indicate nothing more than gentle amusement. He sipped from the ubiquitous mug of coffee on his desk before saying calmly, “Take a second and divorce yourself from the emotions of this situation. Pretend that a client came to you with a similar story and was being as stubborn as you are. What would you say to her—or him? Yes, him, let’s make it a male client.”

“Eric, I don’t think—”

“Indulge me. Just close your eyes for a second and put yourself behind this desk. Envision this client, a young man about your age. You’re three months in, and there’s no movement on the subject of his culpability in the abuse he’s suffered at the hands of a rather brutal boyfriend. What would your diagnosis be?”

Grudgingly, Nick played along. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, envisioning the scenario exactly as his therapist had suggested. After a minute or so of mental roleplay, Nick was surprised how clear the issue had suddenly become. He looked up at Eric with a start.

“Yes?”

“I’d suggest that he’s clinging to the guilt because it at least gives him some power in the relationship. If he admits he had no blame, then he also has to admit he was pretty much powerless… helpless.”

“Wow.” Eric sounded duly impressed. “You are a damn good therapist.”

Nick couldn’t stop a small laugh from escaping as he jibed, “Not therapist, counselor. I’ve only got a Master’s degree.”

“I find those conventions idiotic.” Eric’s dismissive tone sobered. “But getting back to the subject at hand, you’ve just diagnosed yourself beautifully for me, I think. Let’s go with that. Why is admitting that lack of power so frightening for you?”

Nick offered his therapist a noncommittal shrug while he searched for something to re-direct his attention away from the current line of questioning. When Nick’s eyes lit upon the nameplate on the heavy maple desk, he said, “It must’ve been rough growing up with a name like Kochmann, huh?”

“So you want to talk about my father’s legacy rather than your own? As much as I’d love to, you’re paying me. Or rather, your insurance company is.”

“We weren’t talking about my father.”

“Don’t I know it. That’s all we never talk about.”

The scowl Nick shot Eric was fully echoed in his irate answer. “We’ve talked about him plenty—in excruciating detail.”

“Yep, all of the details, but none of the feelings. When you come right down to it, your therapy has revolved around a big black hole called Sam Zales.”

“I’ve told you, it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s as good as dead to me.”

“Is that right?”

Nick ground out, with barely contained fury, “For fuck’s sake. You better not start nagging me to go see him like everybody else does.”

Eric leaned back in his chair as he assured Nick. “I had no intention of doing so.” He tilted his head in slight bewilderment. “Who is nagging you to go see your father?”

“Well,” Nick drawled, momentarily stumped. “My Aunt Hetty did, when it all first happened. And my mom does—you know, when she thinks she’s back in that time.”

“Uh huh,” Eric answered skeptically. “Who else?”

“Sister Ciera….”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Nick paused while he re-ran that conversation through his head. “Sort of. She suggested it—in a roundabout way—when she told me she knew him.”

“And she won’t drop it?”

“No. She only said it the once, but—”

“Man, if you consider that nagging, then it’s a good thing you’re not married,” Eric quipped. “I hope Logan knows how sensitive you are about taking the mildest of suggestions.”

Nick laughed. “I’m sure he’d tell you it doesn’t matter since I’m as stubborn as a mule.”

“Then I tend to agree with him. So what’s your problem with the good sister’s proposal? It seems like she suggested it, you said no, and that was the end of it, right?”

“It’s hard to put into words.” Nick shook his head in frustration. “It’s not just what she said. It’s that… I know she thinks I should—go see the old man, I mean. Everybody thinks that, even if they don’t say it.”

“Fascinating.”

Nick found Eric’s secretive smile infuriating. “What’s so damned fascinating, Mr. Spock?”

“Well, I know you’re smart enough to figure it out, but we’re almost out of time. So I’m going to come right out and tell you. It sounds to me like most of that nagging may be internal.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, do you want to see your father, Nick?”

“Hell no!” Nick’s visceral, knee-jerk reply was more habitual anger than anything else. When Eric’s only answer was an appraising stare, Nick heard his conscience whispering the truth to him, softly, but still too loudly to ignore. “Aww, shit,” he groaned, putting his head into his hands.

“What?”

A heavy sigh escaped as Nick looked up at Eric, admitting desolately, “I don’t want to want to go see him.”

“But you do?”

“Yes,” Nick spit out through gritted teeth. “Why? Why do I want to? Why the fuck should he have—”

“That power over you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not fair, is it? It would be nice if you could just wipe him out, erase the influence he’s had on you. But you can’t.”

“No, I can’t. Hell, my job, my life, even… even Logan—it all goes back to him in some way.”

“But your job, your life, Logan—those are all good things, aren’t they? In your own stubborn way, you’ve been able to wrestle that dark angel to the ground and get your blessing from him.”

“How biblical. I didn’t think you were a religious man.”

“I’m not, but I did have a very Lutheran upbringing.” With deliberate emphasis, Eric added, “You never really escape it.”

“No, I guess you don’t—can’t,” Nick confirmed, fully appreciating that his therapist wasn’t speaking solely of his own past.

“So what’re you going to do about this epiphany of yours?”

Nick looked at the clock before answering. “I don’t know, but I’ve got a week to think about it.”

“What you should be thinking about is whether meeting your father face-to-face might actually release the grasp he has on your imagination.”

“I don’t see how letting him—”

“You’re not letting him do anything. If you do this, it won’t be for him. It will be for you. I know you’re afraid that by going to see him, you’ll be giving him power he doesn’t deserve. But Nick, the truth is—as you’ve just admitted—he already has that power. Maybe this is your chance to take it back.”

LOGAN PULLED up in the driveway of Nick’s house later that same night, feeling exhausted but satisfied. He’d just spent the last three hours finishing the replacement of a coworker’s fuel injection system—the end of a week-long task. He wasn’t really bothered by the fact that the moonlighting had made for some long days. Not only was the extra money welcome, but he’d thoroughly enjoyed the work—unlike the labor he had suffered through at his day job.

Though it was a few weeks into the New Year, the after-Christmas bargain hunters were still scouring the garden center, and Logan had recently spent the greater part of his days restocking shelves and fixing displays that looked like they’d been under siege from an enraged battalion.

As content as his exertions at Acken’s shop had left him, Logan ambled to the front door nagged by concern over the discussion he’d had with Dave when he’d gotten to the shop. He shook his head as if trying to physically dislodge the dilemma, resolving that he’d figure out later what to do about Dave’s announcement. Logan couldn’t help but notice he still had a tendency to shelve problems rather than confront them immediately. A prime example being that, for weeks, he’d been studiously ignoring the fact that he had a key to Nick’s house, spent five or six nights out of every week there, and was, for all intents and purposes, living with Nick.

Though his days of therapy had come to an end, the habit of self-examination remained strong enough for Logan to admit that he and Nick should have a talk about their living arrangements. Unfortunately, his six months with Trudy hadn’t given him the mettle to really force the issue. And it did seem like it might be Logan’s job to do so, since other than handing over the key and accepting Logan’s regular offers to pay for groceries and help with chores, Nick hadn’t broached the subject either.

Logan laughed to himself, thinking that if he had hooked up with a woman this same way, they would have had a serious talk a long time ago. Oh, yeah, you could bet on that. He did suddenly wonder how anything significant got settled between two guys. Would they be sharing this house for the next couple years, both pretending that a casual encounter had somehow stretched into a two-year-long date?

Whatever the answer to that question was, Logan had no intention of resolving the matter that night. Between hectic work schedules for both men and a weekend with his girls, Logan hadn’t spent any quality time with Nick in almost a week. And that was too goddamn long. His libido had been simmering the entire ride home, and the sight that greeted him in the front room turned the heat up even more.

Nick was stretched out on the couch, perusing a dusty-looking textbook. As soon as he caught sight of Logan, he dropped his book on the coffee table and smiled broadly. “Hey! You’re earlier than I expected.”

“Yeah, managed to finish up tonight,” Logan answered, crossing the room in three quick strides. He bent down and kissed Nick, catching him as he was sitting up. Logan slid in next to the welcoming warmth and, without further preamble, attacked Nick’s neck, alternating hot, wet kisses with teasing bites.

“I was gonna ask if you were hungry,” Nick gasped. “But—”

“Hungry for a piece of you,” Logan rumbled, his nimble fingers busily undoing buttons and exposing more skin to his assault. “Ain’t seen you in way too long.”

“You saw me this morning.”

Logan pushed his lover down on the couch while wrenching his mouth away long enough to complain. “All I saw was you running out the door.”

Nick’s answering chuckle was positively pornographic. “Why don’t you just say we ain’t fucked in days and you’re horny?”

Though he was now almost fully occupied with unzipping his jeans with one hand while the other stroked Nick’s rapidly stiffening cock, Logan managed to breathe in his ear, “I’d rather show you.”

“Good thing I closed those curtains,” was all the permission Logan needed from Nick to start full-scale removal of clothing.

Moments later the sensation of complete skin-on-skin contact was so heady that Logan almost forgot his plans for the evening, but after a few seconds of rutting against Nick, he found the willpower to come to a full stop. Logan took a second to drink in the sight of Nick in the dim light—pale skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat despite the freezing temperatures outside and eyes gone black with urgent desire—before swiftly moving into position and sinking down until they were fully joined.

Nick’s look of surprise was everything Logan could have hoped for. “What…? When did you—”

“Slicked myself up at the garage before I headed home. Almost came just thinking of what I was gonna do to you.”

“Don’t tell me you used motor oil—”

“Vaseline, asshole.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

Logan reached down and grasped the base of Nick’s throbbing prick. “Keep it up and I ain’t gonna let you come.”

“But if I don’t keep it up—”

There was one sure way of shutting his man up, and Logan knew it. He swiftly pistoned up and down while moving his hand to the entrance of Nick’s body, satisfied when he saw those dark eyes roll into the back of his head. Logan’s last rational thought before he gave himself over to the tide of pleasure was an inchoate yearning to somehow take more of Nick inside him—and keep him there forever.

NICK STROKED his hand up and down Logan’s flank, enjoying the peace of the moment and the feel of the strong body on top of his every bit as much as the release of orgasm. “Wish it could just stay like this.”

“I think your legs would ’ventually go to sleep,” Logan quipped, though his sarcastic reply was belied by the soft light in his eyes as he looked up at Nick.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. When it’s just you and me, there ain’t no questions or problems buzzing round. Everything’s easy.”

There was more urgency in Logan’s tone than Nick would have expected had he simply been voicing agreement with Nick’s statement. “Sounds like you got something on your mind. What’s up?”

Indecision flitted across Logan’s face, as if he was struggling with giving a fully honest answer. “Give me a minute,” he mumbled before untangling his legs from Nick’s and standing up to slip into his jeans. “I could use a beer, how ’bout you?”

“Sounds good.”

Shortly, they were seated on the couch, bare-chested, drinking beer in silence so thick that Nick had begun to worry that something truly serious was in the offing.

Finally Logan said, “Had a talk with Dave today.”

“Dave Acken?” When Logan nodded confirmation, Nick continued, “About what?”

“He’s putting his shop on the market, and he wants me to buy it.”

Elation, composed of half relief, half excitement, coursed through Nick. “That’s a great idea. You had me worried. Thought it was something bad.”

“It is bad!” Logan jumped up and started pacing the room, pausing only to scowl at Nick. “Great, huh? Are you crazy? I ain’t got that kind of money. And what do you think—the guy who does buy it, is he gonna give me the run of the place like Dave does? Hell no, he ain’t, so now I’m not gonna have any place to work on cars. I’ll be back to what I can get done in driveways and—”

Nick stood up and stepped into Logan’s path, placing his hand on his shoulders to halt his restless wandering. “Hold on there, Mr. Doom and Gloom. How much money are we talking about, to buy Acken’s shop?”

Logan looked at Nick like he was explaining gravity to a four-year-old wanting to fly. “Plenty. Beat up as it is, with all his tools and stuff, Dave’ll want at least a hundred and fifty grand.”

“Well you don’t need the whole thing up front, only a down payment.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Logan snapped. “Well, let me it make it clear to you then, Zales. I ain’t even got that. ’Specially since I can’t seem to unload my old shop in Elco.”

A near-veteran of interpreting Logan’s moods, Nick recognized his peevishness as more fear and insecurity than anger. Since he remembered from college and graduate school how it felt not having the money other people took for granted, he didn’t take the show of irritation personally. Fortunately, over the years, Nick had developed a knack for dealing with this very issue in creative ways. “Logan, how much could we get for the Thunderbird now?”

“What’s that got to do with—”

“Just answer the question.”

Logan scratched his chin, obviously giving the matter some thought. “The shape it’s in now, you could get $25,000 easy, $10,000 more if it goes to auction.”

“There we go,” Nick exalted. “There’s your down payment.”

“How you figure? That’s your car. You already gave me the money you owed me.”

“I can get back my original investment, and there’s enough left over for your down payment. Besides, I think of it as our car. We did that together—turned a pile of junk into something beautiful.”

“That’s real nice, but it doesn’t really change the fact that you’re giving me charity.”

“Jesus!” Nick threw up his hands in frustration before offering, “Then call it a loan. You can pay me back after you start making money—which, as good a mechanic as you are, won’t take long.” Nick watched anxiously as Logan chewed at his hangnails—always a sign that he was mulling something over.

“I don’t know,” he drawled. When Nick couldn’t suppress an audible huff of irritation, Logan hastened to explain, “I’ve seen money come between people, and I’d sure hate…. I’d hate to mess up… us.”

Touched more than he wanted to admit by that sincere declaration, Nick grasped Logan’s arm firmly, promising, “It won’t.”

“Besides, you love that car. I can’t let you sell it for me.”

“Not as much as I—” Nick’s throat dried up, and he couldn’t force out the rest of that sentence. He took a deep breath as he thought to himself, If not now, when? One swallow, two, and then he said it. “Nowhere near as much as I love you.”

To Nick’s eternal shock, in a barely audible tone, Logan answered, “I love you, too.” Louder and more resolute, he added, “That’s why I can’t let you do this.”

“If you love me like I love you, then you should know that selling the T-bird won’t bother me!” Nick insisted. “Don’t you see? This is your chance, and I’d give anything to help you take it. You hate that job at the garden center, and you love fixin’ cars. If you buy Dave’s place, you can do that full time, and you’ll be living closer to ho—to here.”

Logan’s laugh rang out, brightening the dim room considerably. He was evidently anything but offended by Nick’s Freudian slip. “And I’ll be living closer to home—you can say it. I know I’m pretty much livin’ here.”

“Yeah, I guess you are.” Nick suddenly found it easy to admit the truth, though he was starting to feel overwhelmed by the swell of emotion and sought some breathing room by grabbing his shirt off the floor and shrugging into it.

From over his shoulder, he heard Logan say, “So… while you’re figuring what I owe for my half of the mortgage, you might as well add in what I need to pay you on that loan every month.”

Nick whipped around, gaping at Logan, who was retrieving his own shirt as calmly as he’d made that last momentous statement. “So you’re gonna—that means you’ll do it?”

“Sure.” Logan smiled sheepishly as he stepped close and pulled Nick to him. “You’re one persuasive man.” He punctuated his pronouncement with a quick kiss.

Though he returned Logan’s embrace wholeheartedly, Nick couldn’t stop himself from murmuring, “To everyone but myself.”

Logan held Nick out at arm’s length and studied him carefully. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“The hell it don’t.” Logan dragged him over to the couch and pushed Nick into a seated position while he parked himself nearby. “Come on, you’re always making me spill my guts. It’s your turn.”

Nick reclaimed his beer from where it had been abandoned on the coffee table and took a few sips before starting. “Tonight Eric and I talked about me going to…. You see, it turns out that maybe I want—that maybe I should… go see my father.”

The shock was plain on Logan’s face. “What? Why?”

“A lot of reasons,” Nick answered pensively, then paused, trying to remember them himself. “So I can see for myself that he’s not really some fire-breathin’ dragon, that he’s just a weak old man. So I can tell him what he did to my mom is really why she’s dyin’ now and that’s on him. So I can hear what it is he’s had to say all these years and prove to myself that it doesn’t mean anything—whatever it is. And that he doesn’t mean anything to me, like I’ve always said.”

Logan squinted at Nick thoughtfully. “Okay… then if you have to, do it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Nick laughed bitterly.

“Hey, Bud,” Logan drawled as he put an arm around Nick’s shoulder. “I know what it is to be scared.”

“I’m not scared of him!” Nick protested vehemently, jerking away from the arm encircling him.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Logan assured him, refusing to let Nick shrug away. “But I think something about seeing him bothers the hell out of you. I don’t know what it is….”

Nick ceased his struggles and leaned back into Logan, whispering, “I’ll be giving him what he wants.”

“And?” When Nick didn’t answer, Logan prodded, “I don’t get it.”

“Growing up, all I ever wanted was to hurt him like he hurt my mom.” Nick clenched his fists in reflexive anger, unwanted memories assaulting him from all sides. “To make him pay,” he bit off. “But I couldn’t.” Nick sighed before continuing in a deceptively calm voice. “One time I tried to get between ’em, and he threw me ’cross the room like a rag doll. Later my mom begged me to never interfere again.”

“So you’ve been tryin’ to punish him by not going to see him all these years?”

“Yeah.” Another bitter laugh escaped from Nick as he admitted, “It sounds almost stupid when you say it out loud.”

“Nah, it’s not stupid. I get it now.” Logan took the beer from his hand and put it on the end table before drawing Nick fully into his arms and then easing them both down into a reclining position. Nick snuggled gratefully into Logan’s embrace, and then he heard him ask, his breath puffing softly into Nick’s hair, “So what’re you gonna do?”

Safe in his lover’s arms, Nick was finally able to say, firmly and unequivocally, “I’m going to go see the son of a bitch.”

Chapter 19:

And the Truth Will Set You Free

…And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

— John 8:32

EVERY DAY since that fateful session with his therapist, Nick had planned to call up Fayette County Prison and investigate the arrangements for visiting a prisoner. Yet the last weeks of January and every single day of February had slipped by without him doing it. Yes, Nick had many legitimate reasons for the delay—the pace at ACC was as hectic as ever, his mom’s condition continued to worsen to the point where every day might be her last, and there was the bustle and excitement of Logan buying Dave Acken’s shop and starting his own business. However, Nick was self-aware enough to know, deep down, that all of those things were mere excuses. Even though he hadn’t faltered in his resolve to visit his father at last, he still hadn’t managed to convert that resolution into the reality of seeing Sam Zales in person.

Eric was now at the point of true exasperation, and in their next therapy session, he instructed Nick to pick a cut-off date. “Set a fucking deadline or admit you’re never going to do it,” were his precise words.

“All right,” Nick snapped, his ire matching Eric’s. “I’ll do it next week. I’ll call tomorrow and—oh, shit,“ he exclaimed.

“What?”

“Next week Logan’s sister is coming to visit, and he’s going to—we’re going to tell her.” When Eric continued to regard him with a somewhat jaundiced expression, Nick explained, “About us. You know, being together.”

“How long is she staying?”

“One night.”

“And this grand one-night visit leaves you no time in an entire week for a ninety-minute round trip to Fayette County?” Eric asked archly.

“It isn’t that, it’s…. Well, coming out to your boyfriend’s family is enough excitement for one week, don’t you think?”

“For Logan, yes,” Eric sighed. “For you? I’m not so sure.” He sipped his coffee before asking, “Nick, what’re you really waiting for?” As Nick frowned and ran a hand through his hair, Eric prodded, “Don’t think, just answer. What is it you’re waiting for?”

When he complied with the psychiatrist’s instructions, to his surprise, Nick heard himself blurting, “I’m waiting for my mom to die.” A near-gasp escaped after his candid utterance. “Wow,” he said softly.

“Wow, indeed.” Eric leaned forward, demanding eagerly, “Expound on that immediately—don’t take any time to put your rather impressive defenses back up. Why do you want to wait?”

“I don’t know,” Nick answered honestly.

“Yes, you do. You just don’t know that you do.” When Nick rolled his eyes in response, Eric suggested, “You’re waiting so you can accuse him of her murder—is that it?”

“Maybe.”

“That didn’t sound very convincing. It seems that you might have to give this some thought after all.”

Neither man said anything as a few minutes ticked by. At last, his mind working furiously, Nick drawled, “I guess…. I guess it would be like… like tying up all of the loose ends. Closing the book on that whole chapter of my life, for once and for all, you know?”

“I do know,” Eric agreed. “You like things clearly delineated, all boxed up, neatly squared away. That’s probably one of the reasons that you’re such a master of compartmentalization. But life can’t always work that way.”

Somewhat stung by that observation, Nick protested, “I know that!”

Eric’s wistful smile was almost fatherly as he agreed, “Yes, you know that in the abstract, and I’m sure you recognize it about your clients’ lives. But in your own life, it’s what you always strive for.”

Nick couldn’t find it in him to refute that observation. “Okay, so? So what does that mean for me?”

“It means you need to get past this inclination. Medical school may be a long time behind me, but I can tell you that your mom could die tomorrow, or next month, or the month after that. This delay is blocking you from progressing in your therapy. In this instance, you cannot wait. You need to pick a firm date, pick it now, and stick with it.”

The truth of Eric’s firm pronouncement left Nick with no wriggle room. He gave it some thought, and though his idea was initially nothing but pure sarcasm, the date held a twisted appeal. A wry smile bloomed on his face as Nick proposed, “How about the Ides of March? That’s a nice, auspicious day.”

Eric cocked an eyebrow at Nick and gave a short laugh. “Okay, as long as you promise me no daggers will be involved.”

“No worries, Doc. I’m sure they have metal detectors there.”

A FEW days after Nick’s decision, Logan heard a car pull into the driveway of the house in Observatory Hill. When a quick glance out the front window confirmed that it was indeed his sister’s Nissan Pathfinder, he took a deep breath to settle his nerves and went out onto the porch, trotting down the steps with a show of eagerness he didn’t actually feel. Logan greeted first Daisy and then his niece with a peck on the cheek. He transferred his sister’s overnight bag from her possession to his own, asking, “Did you’ins have any trouble findin’ the place?”

“None at all,” Daisy answered, craning her neck to take in the neighborhood before following her brother up the porch steps. “Your directions were real easy to follow.” She then turned around and addressed her daughter. “You could take that damn iPod thing outta your ears and say hello to your uncle, Lisa. Thank him for putting us up.”

Lisa deigned to remove one earbud and protested, “I did say hi, and he’s not putting me up.” With the merest suggestion of smugness, she added, “I’m spending the night at Carlow.”

“Well, it’s thanks to him that I don’t have to pay for a hotel while you’re doing this slumber party thing at that college.”

“Mo—ther!” Lisa huffed. “It’s an overnight in the dorms, not a ‘slumber party’.” The teenager looked at her uncle, explaining, “It’s to give us an idea of what it will be like next year. You know, living on campus and that.”

“Oh, God,” Daisy addressed her brother. “If she’s this impossible now, I can’t wait to see what a swelled head she’ll have when she’s actually going to college.”

Logan ushered his family into the house, staying determinedly silent as the two women continued to bicker.

“I think your head’s swelled worse than mine,” Lisa accused. “Wasn’t me that told every last person in Elco, Roscoe, and Stockdale about me getting into Carlow.”

“Well, ’scuse me for bein’ proud of my daught—” Daisy suddenly seemed to notice her surroundings and interrupted herself with a startled, “Oh. This is real nice and homey, Logan. When you said you had moved in with your friend, I have to admit I was picturin’ some bare, ugly bachelor pad.”

“Nice, Mom,” Lisa intoned sarcastically. “Why don’t you tell us how you really feel.”

“Oh, you hush. I can say what I want to my little brother, can’t I, Logan?”

As Logan gave his sister a wan smile and answered, “Sure can,” he couldn’t help but wonder if the reverse were true.

Twenty-five minutes later, they had dropped a very happy Lisa off at Carlow University, and Logan directed his sister on how to get through the maze of streets onto the Penn Lincoln Parkway so they could head to the Southside and see his new shop before meeting Nick for an early dinner at The Liberty Grill.

“Good Lord, Logan,” Daisy exclaimed. “Do you fight this kind of traffic every day?”

Logan shrugged off her concern. “Nah. As early in the morning as I head to the shop, it ain’t so bad.”

“Never took you for a city boy. What possessed you to buy this place, anyway?”

“It seemed like—” Logan stopped himself short and amended, “It was the right opportunity. I like the place, it’s the right size, and… and I think I can see my way clear to turning a profit real soon.”

Logan recognized that Daisy had offered him an opening into the matter at hand—the real reason Logan was now living in Pittsburgh—but his plan had been to speak to Daisy in the quiet of his shop, not while his sister was navigating unfamiliar roads. To distract her, he said, “Besides, with Lisa at that city college next fall, ain’t you glad I’m livin’ not too far away?”

“Guess so.” Daisy snorted in apparent amusement. “Maybe she’ll even treat you better ’an she’s been treatin’ me and Chuck.”

“Aw, she seems like a pretty good kid,” Logan demurred.

Daisy’s lips were set in a hard line as she concentrated on the bridge traffic. As soon as they crossed over the Monongahela, she relaxed slightly and explained, “Well, she’s gotten awful mouthy lately. As I’m sure you noticed.”

“That seems to be the way of a lotta kids these days.”

“Not your two.”

“Not usually. But I see signs of Krista headin’ that way. Meghan, too, sometimes.”

“Are they takin’ the separation hard?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Logan admitted, wiping his sweaty palms off on his denim-clad knees, his anxiety ratcheting up with each passing mile.

“Logan,” Daisy ventured, in a hesitant yet hopeful tone that let her brother know exactly what was coming next. “Ain’t there no chance that maybe you and Linda could work things—”

“No,” Logan interrupted firmly, wanting to cut this conversation short—for the time being.

“I never would’ve thought Linda was the kind to hold such a grudge.”

“It ain’t her—make a right here, on South 18th street,” Logan directed, deciding he could hold off any further explanation until the frank talk he had planned. By the time the Pathfinder was heading up the steep driveway of his shop, his dread had grown until he felt it as a choking cloud, filling the car and fouling the air until Logan felt lightheaded from the effect. He strove mightily to appear nonchalant as he jumped out to open the garage door and let his sister pull into one of the shop bays.

Fortunately, Daisy seemed so occupied by her inspection of the recently renamed “Crane’s Auto Clinic” that she was oblivious to his display of nerves. After twenty minutes of idle chitchat mainly composed of verbal comparisons of the present place to his shop in Elco, Daisy finally said, “It seems real nice, Lo.” She looked at her brother, who was perched on the edge of the ancient desk he’d inherited from Dave. “Though the location ain’t too convenient. I mean, you sure can’t park any cars on that driveway, can you?”

“Nope,” was the only answer Logan managed, as his mouth had gone dry as dust as soon as he had entered the shop with his sister. Indeed, all of his contributions to the conversation thus far had been mostly monosyllabic.

“Still, it looks like the old owner at least put a new coat of paint on the place for you.”

“Actually,” Logan started, the word barely recognizable since his voice had cracked and wheezed with anxiety. He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and tried again. “Actually, it was me, me and Nick, that painted the place just two weeks ago.”

Still wandering the small space, Daisy laughed brightly, observing, “You and this Nick sure have become thick as thieves, haven’t ya?” Not pausing for a response, she went on, “You haven’t had a friend like that since—”

Logan knew Daisy had stopped abruptly rather than give the obvious name, it still being a sore point between them, but he was having none of it. “Since Jerry Sievers,” he finished for her.

“Yeah, well….” Daisy trailed off, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Did you get all these tools—”

He would have gladly let Daisy redirect the conversation, but their visit had already run double the time Logan had allotted for it and it was entirely possible that Nick was waiting at the diner for them by now. With a monumental effort, Logan walked over to stand beside his sister and forced himself to interrupt her by observing, “You know… they’re kind of… you might say, they’re kind of… similar.”

Daisy’s mind had obviously skipped on ahead, since she turned to Logan with a puzzled frown. “Who’s similar?”

“Nick and Jerry.”

“Yeah, I guess. You restored a car with both of them, right? Though with this Nick guy, you actually got to finish—”

“I meant that… that…. You know how everyone always thought Jerry was gay?”

Daisy had gone very still. Almost timidly, she said, “Yeah?”

“Well, Nick is,” Logan stated, in the firmest voice he’d managed in almost an hour.

“Oh.” Daisy nervously straightened the straps of her handbag on her arm before saying, “I guess you’re gonna run into that kind of thing—I mean here in Pittsburgh they probably feel that it’s—or they’re more, you know—” It was obvious that she was fumbling for something inoffensive to say—and failing badly. “I mean, I guess as long as he doesn’t bother you none about that, I guess there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“It don’t bother me—”

Suddenly Daisy stepped even closer to her brother and put both hands on his arm. “Logan, please don’t take this the wrong way. I am glad you got such a good friend, but… but you two livin’ together, well, it strikes me as kind of a bad idea. Him bein’ gay and all, if someone were to find out about him, folks might get the wrong idea. About you, I mean.” She licked her lips nervously and added, “You know?”

Logan looked down at his earnest, beseeching sibling and smiled sadly. “They won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” Daisy took her hand off Logan’s arm and drew an unsteady hand through her hair. “I know what I’d think,” she muttered darkly.

“Then you’d be right,” Logan said with quiet determination. Then he watched as the color drained out of Daisy’s shocked face. He took advantage of her speechless state to clarify, “I’m gay, Daisy. That’s why I’m livin’ with Nick. We’re together now—”

“Oh my Gawd,” Daisy screeched, a hand flying to her mouth. “How could this happen? How could this happen, Logan? What did this guy do to you?”

“He didn’t do noth—I been this way a long time—all my life as far I can tel—”

“That ain’t true! You’re married. You got Linda pregnant—twice!” Daisy whirled away from Logan, her chest heaving with gasping breaths.

“It doesn’t matter.” Logan moved towards his sister and turned her around to face him. He kept his hands—gentle but steady—on her shoulders. “Believe me, none of that was ever what I wanted.”

“Then why’d you do it?” Daisy asked petulantly.

“Because what Jim did to Jerry all those years ago scared the shit out of me. ’Cause I couldn’t accept who I was—thought it was better to hide and pretend.” It was Logan’s turn to be beseeching. He looked down into his sister’s tear-stained face, saying, “I can’t live that way anymore. It nearly killed me—nearly killed Linda, too. And I don’t just mean from when I hit her.”

“Logan, I just don’t….” Daisy paused to wipe her damp eyes. “You got any water ’round here?”

“Sure thing.” Logan bounded over to the water cooler in the corner by the desk and brought back a cup for his sister.

After she’d drained the whole thing in one gulp, she whispered, “It’s gonna take some getting used to. This idea is sure gonna take some getting used to.”

“I can see that. And I’ll give ya all the time you need.” Logan pulled her to him and gave her a quick hug, relieved that there was no apparent resistance. After he released her, he asked, “You ready to meet Nick?”

Daisy gave a shaky laugh. “Guess I better be.”

The meal was kind of a penance for Logan, even though he glowed with pride at how Nick managed to charm Daisy into, if not comfort , at least a semblance of it. His boyfriend definitely shouldered the burden of the conversation, peppering Daisy with questions about Logan’s childhood, her children back in Elco, and Lisa’s plans to study nursing. He augmented her answers with stories about his own college days and so many anecdotes about The Liberty Grill that Daisy seriously asked him if he had a financial interest in the place.

Nick smiled broadly as he looked around at the restaurant. “Well, as many meals as I’ve had here over the years, I’m sure I paid for that new section they put in.” He paused and pointed towards the back of the diner. “But they didn’t even have the courtesy to name it after me.”

Suddenly a booming voice interrupted the conversation. “Maybe not, but I am thinking of calling an order of a loaded cheeseburger, mac and cheese, with a double-thick chocolate shake ‘The Zales Special’.”

Nick’s laugh rang out, and even Daisy smiled at the infectious sound. “Larry, who the hell is ever gonna order that? Besides me.”

“Take your homage where you can get it, son,” Larry answered as he slid into the booth next to Nick and introduced himself to Daisy. Logan relaxed even further when Larry picked up the conversational baton. He and Daisy ended up sharing stories about the joys and sorrows of raising “mouthy” children and the horrors of college tuition.

Logan offered to drive Daisy’s Pathfinder back to Observatory Hill so she wouldn’t be navigating city streets in the dark. On the ride home, he was slightly buoyed by her apparent change from sorrow and confusion to quiet thoughtfulness. “Are you gonna want to tell the rest of the family any time soon?” she asked anxiously. “I mean, do you want me to tell Chuck and—”

“No. You’re it for a while.”

“Does Linda know?”

“Yeah. I told her. Figured I owed her that much. But I don’t want anyone else knowin’ ’til I tell Krista and Meghan.”

“When’re you gonna do that?”

“Probably late this year or early next year sometime. Nick says we should see how well they adjust to the trauma of the divorce first.” When Daisy simply nodded, he couldn’t help but venture, “What did you think of him? Nick.”

Daisy sighed and shook her head. “I gotta admit, I’d be—well, it’d be a whole lot easier if he was just your friend, but….”

“But?”

“But he does seem like a… a good guy. Real friendly and what Mama used to call ‘personable’.”

“For real,” Logan agreed.

“He sure ain’t what I was expecting, though.” Logan tensed a bit, waiting for Daisy to continue. “I sure didn’t expect him to be sooo—” As she drew the word out, Logan mentally supplied several possible options: masculine, educated, talkative…. He was shocked to hear her finally finish, “…damn good—looking.”

“What the hell does that mean? You didn’t think I could get—” Logan stopped himself since they were veering into decidedly uncomfortable territory.

Daisy reached over and patted his leg. “Honey, I didn’t mean that. I mean, if you can get past the gay part—and I guess I’m gonna have to—you done good. Real good.”

Logan felt a crooked smile form on his face. “Yeah, I did.” As he steered the car towards the expressway, he murmured, “It took long enough, but I did.”

LATER THAT night, lying together in the quiet of their darkened bedroom, Nick pulled Logan to him and whispered, “All in all, that went pretty well, huh? As well as we could’ve expected?”

“We’ll see. I think she’s still in shock.”

“Shock is the best we could have expected.”

“Well, then it went great,” Logan offered sarcastically.

“You’re never happy.”

“That ain’t true, and you know it. Not anymore.” Nick took the way Logan settled more firmly against him as an illustration of his point.

After drinking in the peace he always felt with Logan’s body pressed against his own, Nick’s mind drifted from the relative success of the evening to the task that still lay before him. “Wish I had any hope that my thing could….” He let the thought trail off, immediately regretting that he’d raised the subject at all.

“Could go that well?”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re so sure it won’t, then why do you even wanta—”

“I have to. I can’t really explain it, Logan, but I have to do this.”

“Okay.” Nick felt Logan’s strong, comforting hand run up and down his side. “So, next week, huh?’

“Yep. It’s all arranged.”

“Sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“No. Hell no.”

“You don’t have to do everything yourself anymore. You said you realized that now.”

“I know, you’re right. But this I do.”

Nick heard a frustrated sigh followed by a resigned, “Okay.”

The bedroom was silent for a while, and Nick wondered if his lover had fallen asleep. “Logan?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for offering.”

Logan pulled one of Nick’s hands to his mouth and kissed it. “Any time.”

Nick responded by pressing soft kisses into the back of Logan’s neck. He had meant it to be a quick thing but then found it hard to stop.

“Nick,” Logan whispered, “I don’t wanta—”

“I know, you don’t wanta do anything while your sister’s in the house. I got that; I’m just cuddling. Okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry, it just makes me nervous knowin’ she’s right down the hall.”

Nick snorted quietly. “Imagine how she feels.”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, you could always move into the other bedroom like you’re gonna do when your daughters visit.”

Logan turned quietly in Nick’s arms, and in the dim light from the street lamp outside, Nick could just make out his smiling face. “Are you tryin’ to get rid of me?”

“Oh, you’re too smart for me. You guessed my nefarious plan.” When Logan shook his head in mock disgust and flopped back over, Nick pulled him back into a spoon position. After a few moments, a mischievous devil prompted him to whisper in Logan’s ear, “Of course, it is kinda torturous having you this close and knowing I can’t do anything. Maybe we could just—”

“One night ain’t gonna kill us,” Logan murmured.

“That which doth not kill us makes us strong.”

A sleepy “What?” came drifting over Logan’s shoulder.

“Nietzsche,” Nick explained, obliquely.

“Gesundheit.” Nick shook with silent laughter, prompting Logan to add, “Go to sleep.”

AS NICK walked up to the surprisingly innocuous-looking prison building, he found that he could remember nothing of the drive there—always a sign that his nerves were running high. He responded by silently repeating to himself the litany Trudy had offered as her parting advice. What’s the worst that can happen? He’s already done his worst, and I survived.

Repeating that over and over kept him calm throughout the tedious check-in procedure, and in a much shorter time than Nick could have expected, he found himself sitting in what appeared to be the world’s ugliest high-school cafeteria. It was certainly nothing like he’d seen in the movies. No Plexiglas, no booths, no phones, just a series of long tables and blue-gray plastic chairs. Several people were already huddled in conferences at some of the other tables, the inmates recognizable by their drab garb but generally otherwise unremarkable. If it weren’t for the armed guard at the entrance, Nick could almost convince himself he wasn’t sitting in a prison visiting room.

When, after a few minutes’ wait, a pot-bellied, gray-haired man of medium stature and build sat across from him, Nick initially stared at the stranger uncomprehendingly. He was waiting for the man to explain what the delay was when he spoke. “Look at you. Finally grew into them ears.” That voice, at least, hadn’t changed a bit. “Hey, Nick.”

“Oh. It’s you.” Nick was at a loss for how to address Sam Zales, so he simply said, “Hello… there.” He looked him up and down and wondered if the man had shrunken in fact or simply due to a child’s distorted memory. “You’ve changed, too.”

Sam sprawled out in what Nick immediately recognized as false bravado. “Yeah, time in the joint’ll do that to you.” His father continued with patently fake heartiness. “Took you twenty years to find the place, huh?”

“I knew where to find you, I just never wanted to.”

“So why now?”

Since the truth still seemed complicated and nebulous even to him, Nick replied, “I just came to tell you that you’re about to officially become a murderer.” When Sam only nodded in response, he felt compelled to add, with icy emphasis, “My mother is dying.”

There was absolutely no emotion audible in the reply that was lobbed back from across the battered table. “I heard. That nun told me.” When Nick immediately rose to leave, Sam asked, “You come all the way for that? You ain’t got anything else to say?”

Nick sank back down into the hard chair, asking, “Like what? ‘I forgive you’?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I never did nothin’ to you.”

“What?” Nick’s raised, angry voice drew a frown from the guard; with great effort, he modulated his tone before continuing. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“All that stuff that went on, that was between me and my wife. No one else.”

“You and your wife—and me, the neighbors, the cops, the DA, a Grand Jury—”

“Kid, you don’t have to remind me of all that stuff. I get enough of that every day. How ’bout we talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like what you been up to all these years.”

Since the answer that came immediately to mind, Trying to avoid this day, was nothing Nick wanted to say out loud, he shrugged and said, “Taking care of Mom and working. Before that… school.” Nick was almost appalled to realize that his two-phrase answer had neatly and truthfully summed up most of his life.

Sam nodded almost eagerly, saying, “Yeah, I heard. That nun, she says you went to college, and even past that.”

“She has a name, you know. Sister Ciera.”

“Whatever. So, all that schoolin’—is that why you ain’t had time to get married or have kids or nothin’?” When Nick didn’t immediately answer, Sam added, “Or are ya gonna tell me that’s ’cause of me and your mom?”

Nick hesitated only a second more before answering firmly, “No, it’s because I’m gay.”

The surprise was plain on Sam’s ruddy, unshaven face. “No shit!” Almost to himself, he muttered, “Guess I get the blame for that, then.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Nick snapped. “Not that I care if you don’t understand—or approve.”

To Nick’s surprise, Sam simply shrugged. “Guess I got no room to talk.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nick,” Sam drawled, leaning forward conspiratorially, “what the hell do you think I’ve been doin’ for sex these last twenty years?”

“I never gave it any thought.” Nick rubbed his forehead in disgust, adding, “And I wish to God it had stayed that way.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you, your highness. When’d you get so snotty and full of yourself? Guess it’s all them fancy degrees you got makes you think you’re better ’an everybody else.”

“I never needed a degree to think I was better than you, Dad!” Nick didn’t even discern the raised eyebrows and stares from the room’s other occupants, so stunned was he that he’d let that title slip out, unbidden but unavoidable.

“Bet it don’t hurt though, right? Especially when that Sister Ciera,” Sam imbued the term with bitter sarcasm that Nick barely noticed since his father went on to add, “told ya she was teachin’ me to read.”

Nick was shocked into near incoherence by his dad’s confession. “She never—why would she need to—what are you talking about?”

Sam pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his worn denim work shirt and lit one with fumbling fingers, berating himself with a quiet oath. “Fuck.” After a long drag, he seemed to regain his composure and squinted at Nick, saying, “Nothing. Forget about it.”

“Dad, you can… you could read… I remember….” Nick faltered as he tried to confirm his supposition by searching his memories for an image of his father reading something—anything. Finally he said, “You used to sign contracts. I’m sure I remember—”

Assiduously avoiding eye contact by studying the smoking cigarette in his hand, Sam muttered, “I could sign my name, yeah, but your ma, she always had to read them contracts for me.”

As Nick struggled to assimilate this new information into his worldview, one thought predominated. “You’d think you would’ve been grateful to her—”

“For what?” Sam spat. “For holdin’ that over my head?”

“Mom wasn’t like tha—”

Sam either hadn’t heard or didn’t care for Nick’s response as he bulled ahead, snarling, “So what if she gave me that little bit of help? It was still me doin’ the work—me puttin’ food on the table and a roof over both your heads.”

“What you put over ‘both our heads’ was violence and fear,” Nick insisted bitterly.

“So truth comes out,” Sam sneered. “That’s what you came here for. You waited twenty years so you could sit there and tell me how I ruined your life.”

The last few words had been spoken with a sarcastic whine that wormed its way under Nick’s skin. He leaned forward and glared into his father’s bloodshot eyes. “No. Not anymore.” Suddenly the truth crystallized for Nick. “I came to tell you I’m not going to let you do that anymore.” He stabbed an accusing finger across the table. “It was your decision, your doing, and your fault. You did ruin her life—and yours. Over a fucking stupid hammer that probably cost less than the carton of cigarettes you’ve got back in your cell.”

The mocking, arctic laugh that erupted out of Sam was one of the ugliest sounds Nick had ever heard. “Jesus Christ, is that what you think? You still believe that fucking hammer story? Now how ’bout some blame for your mom,” Sam jibed. “Never once in all these years tellin’ you the truth.”

Nick swallowed hard and stared at his father, desperately trying to figure out the old man’s game. Whatever it was, he decided not to play. He offered coolly, “If there’s any truth about that day that I don’t already know, it’s thanks to your handiwork that Mom wasn’t… isn’t capable of telling me.”

Sam leaned back, taking an indolent drag off his cigarette before saying, “It wasn’t the hammer, kid. It was the suitcase.”

“What? What suitcase?”

“I caught her. Packin’. She was gonna leave me—and you.” Sam shrugged and looked over Nick’s shoulder, eyes slightly unfocused. He appeared to be fighting a losing battle to seem untouched by the memory, since each word he offered was laced with more poisonous anger than the last. “I made ’er unpack it all; stood there and watched to make sure she done it. But she said she’d do it again soon’s my back was turned. Said I couldn’t watch her all the time.” Suddenly Sam leaned forward and coldly confessed, “That’s when I done it, you know. That hammer I’d picked up outta the yard just happened to be handy.”

The anger that boiled up in Nick was more for that nonchalant admission than the realization that he’d been living under the strain of a malicious lie for most of his life. “Why the fuck did you say—”

“That story me an’ my lawyer cooked up? He said it’d look less ‘premeditated’ that way.” Sam snorted bitterly. “Lotta good it done me.”

Venomously, Nick shot back, “I can tell how sorry you are about what you did to my mother.”

“I never said I was sorry. What kind of man lets his wife leave ’im?”

“The kind of man who… is a man….” Nick shook his head. “There’s no use even trying to explain it to you.” He rose to leave and looked down at his still seated father. “So… goodbye, Sam. Oh, and when you get out? Don’t look me up.”

Sam stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Thanks for nothin’, kid.”

Nick turned to leave without another word, feeling freer with every step he took out of that room and away from the man who had been, on the merest biological technicality, his father. On the drive home, he veered off the road that led to his house and turned the Jeep towards the nursing facility where his mother lay slowly dying. Visiting hours were almost over, but the receptionist buzzed him through without comment.

He walked softly into the room where only the shallow rising and falling of his mother’s chest told him that he wasn’t too late. Nick sat down by her bed and took the cold, bony hand that lay on top of the blanket into his own strong, warm grasp. As he started to methodically rub her fingers, he saw his mom’s eyes drift open. “Nick,” she croaked.

“Hey, Mom. How’re you doing?” When Agnes’s only response was a fretful shake of her head, Nick brought the frail hand to his cheek and whispered, “I came to tell you how proud—” His voice cracked as he felt tears well up. Slowly and with great effort, he tried again. “How proud I am of you—for leaving that son of a bitch.”

Nick’s statement seemed to rouse his mom, and she turned her watery, unfocused eyes on him. “I was gonna go back for you, Nicky. I wasn’t gonna leave you—”

“I know, Mom. You did—you did come back for me—don’t you remember? That’s why I’m here now.”

Agnes’s brow crinkled in confusion. “I did?” When Nick nodded at her, she managed a weak smile as she whispered to herself, “I did… of course, I did. I wouldn’t leave my boy… not for long….” She smiled again at Nick and managed to brush away one of his tears. “Don’t cry, son. We’re both safe. We’re gonna be all right, now.”

“Yeah… we sure are.” Her eyes closed again, and Nick’s whispered “Mom” failed to wake her. He stood up and leaned down to kiss her, saying softly, “Good night. I love you, Mom.”

By the time Nick parked in front of his house, he was able to calmly think back on his conversation with his father and feel some gratitude that at least one of the Zales men had gotten something out of the visit.

Epilogue:

One River

And see the confluence of dreams

That clashed together in our night

One river born of many streams

Roll in one blaze of blinding light.

—George William Russell

NICK WAS reviewing his schedule for the day when he heard a soft knock on the doorframe of his office. He looked up to find Trudy standing there. Her normally sunny expression was clouded by serious brown eyes, and her head was cocked as she studied him in an obvious display of concern. Though he knew it was a slightly irrational response, Nick was irked. He was thoroughly sick of concern and sympathy, so he attempted to derail Trudy by extending an airily cheerful greeting. “Hey, boss lady, what’s up?”

Trudy entered the room and seated herself across from Nick, answering, “I didn’t expect to see you here so early today.”

His first impulse was to feign ignorance, but he immediately discarded that idea as futile. Finally resigned to the inevitable discussion, he said, “I guess you never been to one of those interments?”

“No, no one in my family has ever been cremated.”

“It takes all of twenty minutes. Including the trip to the cemetery.”

“I thought there would be some sort of service—”

Nick leaned forward in his chair and interrupted, “We had the memorial on Monday, remember? I know you do. With all the food you and Larry brought, Logan and I will be eating leftovers for weeks.”

“Still, for all intents and purposes, Nick, you buried your mother today. There’s no reason to rush back—”

No longer able to contain his growing frustration, Nick snapped, “I didn’t—” He managed to stop himself and took a cleansing breath before starting over. “Look, I buried my mother a long time ago. Today was just a formality.”

“I understand.” Trudy reached over the desk and put a gentle hand on his arm. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to block out your grief.” Her gaze grew more searching as she continued, “We both know you have a habit of acting more okay than you really are.”

The exasperation Nick felt was swamped by Trudy’s genuine anxiety for his well-being. Besides, it was impossible for him to argue against her last point. “You’re right, but… for one thing, I’m getting better about that, and for another, I really don’t think that’s what’s going on with me. I’m actually okay.”

Though Trudy was nodding in apparent agreement, she asked, “And why is that?”

In order to give an honest answer, Nick was forced to give her question some thought. As difficult as it was to articulate his multi-layered feelings about his mother’s passing, he finally said, “I guess because it ended better… better than I could have hoped.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She died in peace, Trudy.”

“Because of what you found out at Fayette County Prison?”

“Yes.” Nick’s eyes shifted to his desktop as he briefly recalled his mother’s final days. “I think that was a lot of it, what I told her after I saw my father.”

“So you’re glad you went to see him?”

“Some good came of it,” he acknowledged reluctantly. “Yeah, I’m glad.” Nick looked up and caught Trudy’s fleeting smile. “And if you’re waiting for me to admit that I put if off for way too long—”

“I wasn’t going to say that!”

“Oh, you were thinking it.”

Though she shook her head in a silent rebuke, Trudy said, “I’m not going to argue about this with you, but I am glad you finally learned the truth.”

“Yeah, me too. There’s still a part of me that can hardly believe it. I never would have thought she had it in her to—well, you know.”

“It’s a hazard of our business, I think. We learn so much about reading people and about patterns of behavior that we sometimes forget that people can still surprise us.”

A sheepish smile crept across Nick’s face as he offered, “Meaning we can’t know everything—about anyone.”

“Exactly. You didn’t know the truth about your mother, I couldn’t hear the truth about Logan… and neither of us will ever really know what happened to Norah.”

Though seven months had passed, that memory was still too raw and bitter for Nick to accept any comfort on that score. “Oh, come on! I think we know exactly what happened to Norah.”

“Some. We know she met up with Alex, we know he killed her. But we sure don’t know what went on between those two events. Like why she met him—was she attempting to re-kindle the relationship, or was she perhaps seeking closure?” When Nick shook his head in vigorous disagreement, Trudy raised a placating hand. “Think about it. The most dangerous time for any victim is when they try to leave. It was true for your mom; maybe it was true for Norah.”

Nick forced himself to consider Trudy’s words and once again found himself unable to argue the point. “Maybe. At the very least, I guess you’re right. We’ll never know for sure.” Seeing Trudy’s triumphant smile, he joked, “If you’re done spreading your irrefutable wisdom, I really do have work to catch up on.”

Rather than budging, Trudy leaned back, insinuating herself more comfortably into his guest chair. She regarded him silently with a raised eyebrow for a second before saying in her more familiar, commanding tone, “Actually, since you’re so ready to get back to work—”

“I don’t like the sound of this already.”

Trudy completely ignored his interruption as she continued smoothly, “I have an assignment I’d like you to take on.”

Nick found it impossible to keep the wince off his face as he protested, “Not another client?”

“Nope. A summer intern. A green kid from the pysch program at Pitt.”

“Sounds familiar,” Nick answered with a smirk. “Also sounds like a major pain in the ass.”

“They usually are,” Trudy agreed. “You’ll do it?”

“Ummm….”

While Nick was still furiously attempting to come up with a deflection, Trudy rose gracefully to her feet, saying, “Good. She starts Monday.”

“Monday!”

“What? That gives you three days, plus the weekend if you need it, to prepare.”

Nick laughed resignedly. “Plenty of time.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

As his boss reached the doorway, Nick called, “Trudy?” When she turned back towards him, he asked, “Some of these interns—they work out, don’t they?”

Her smile softened as Trudy answered firmly, “Yeah, one in particular did. He worked out pretty damn well.”

THAT FRIDAY afternoon found Logan humming tunelessly as he searched for a spot in the downtown parking lot located on Commonwealth Place. Fully aware that it was after six p.m. and Nick was probably cooling his heels at their appointed meeting spot, Logan quickly pulled into the first vacant slot he found. He remembered to snag the heavy brown paper bag off the passenger’s seat before hopping out of the truck and making a beeline for his destination: the main entrance of Pittsburgh’s famous Point State Park.

Logan’s general contentment was slowly building to elation at the thought of the evening he had planned for Nick, though a slight sense of foolishness marred his happiness. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this was a lot of trouble for one guy to go to for another—not only closing up the shop early but spending thirteen dollars for parking and twenty-five more for the food and drinks lurking in his bag. Especially since Nick always seemed perfectly content with their usual Friday night plans: delivery pizza and Iron City beer wolfed down in front of ESPN.

Sure never went to this kind of trouble for Linda, Logan mused. As quickly as that reflection had come, Logan attempted to discard it. In their last few weeks of counseling, Trudy had told him several times that unless it was possible to channel his remorse into some positive action, feeling guilty about what he’d been unable to give Linda during their marriage didn’t do her any good.

’Sides, Linda sure seems to be movin’ on with her life, taking up with that Bill fellow an’ that. With that thought, Logan managed to dodge the negativity trying to weigh him down as he darted around yet another construction barrier. He’d been warned that most of the park was still under renovation as part of a massive multi-year project to spruce the place up. The news hadn’t deterred him, since Point State Park was a place that Nick had spoken of with wistful fondness several times. Logan hoped a visit to the park might do his uncharacteristically somber boyfriend some good.

The park was located at the very tip of Pittsburgh’s so-called “Golden Triangle” and marked the spot where the Allegheny River joined with the Monongahela to form the Ohio River. In sight of this confluence, there was an iconic fountain, and Logan had initially suggested it as an obvious place to rendezvous. However, Nick had assured him that there would be an inevitable crush of people around that desirable spot on a balmy Friday night in May, and he’d proposed the reflecting pool as a better option.

There was still a decent-sized group of people in evidence when Logan arrived at the pool, but he quickly spotted Nick’s dark head bent over his cell phone. He crept up on his man as quietly as possible before startling him from behind with a booming, “Can’t leave that damn thing alone for a second, can you?”

Nick whirled around and bestowed a sparkling laugh and brilliant smile on Logan while retorting, “Just reading a text from Adam. What else have I got to do since my date was so damn late?”

“Twelve minutes ain’t so late,” Logan mumbled as Nick offered him a super-quick hug. When they broke apart, he heroically quelled the desperate urge to glance around at the neighboring strangers, but it turned out to be a wasted effort. As usual, his man read his mind when Logan least wanted him to.

“No one noticed.”

“Who cares if they did?”

“You do.” Before Logan could turn away, Nick continued, his voice warm and firm, “And it’s okay.”

Logan bit his lip as he looked into Nick’s guileless eyes. “You know, I don’t wanna care.”

“I know. And someday, you won’t—but these things take time.”

Dredging up a mock scowl, Logan growled, “This ain’t workin’ out at all.” He could barely disguise the need to smile at Nick’s sudden consternation.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m supposed to be comforting you.”

Nick shook his head as he landed a soft, retaliatory punch on Logan’s arm. “Is that what this is all about?” When Logan merely shrugged in reply, Nick demanded, “What’s in the bag?”

“You’ll find out,” Logan demurred. “Come on, show me around.” Without waiting for Nick’s response, he started for the interior of the park.

As Nick caught up with him, Logan proved he, too, could read his lover’s mind; he adroitly lifted the bag away just as Nick made a sudden lunge for it. “Stop bein’ so impatient,” he chided. Using an obvious distraction technique, he asked, “What’d Adam want?”

“He wants to know if we’re available for a softball game tomorrow afternoon.”

“Again? This so-called pick-up league of his sure picks up a lotta games.”

“Adam managed to arrange a game with some team from the pizza league. He says he’s sorry it’s so last minute, but it took him most of the day to work out the logistics.”

Since Logan had thoroughly enjoyed the few games he’d already played on the team, the news wasn’t actually unwelcome, but he couldn’t help but be amazed at the amount of time Adam spent arranging outings for his large group of friends, a group which had recently expanded to include Logan. “Geez, does that kid ever work? You know, the kind he gets paid for?”

“Oh, you know Adam….” Nick laughed ruefully, as though he’d suddenly realized that wasn’t quite true. “Well, you will. He works just enough to get by. Is that a no?”

Logan quickly weighed the possibilities before answering, “Guess we can fit in a game. That team will lose for sure without your pitching.” He was gratified at the obvious grin of pleasure his sincere compliment had elicited from Nick.

“And your hitting,” Nick drawled in return.

“Yep.” Logan felt no need to deny it. “But there’s a radiator job I gotta get done on a Jeep tomorrow morning.”

When they drew near an aging brick building, Nick interrupted their conversation to point out the Fort Pitt museum. While Logan was reading the historical marker at the front entrance, Nick asked, “You sure you got time for the Jeep and the game tomorrow?”

Logan peeped at Nick from under the brim of his Pirates cap, answering archly, “Sure—if I can get some help on the Jeep.”

Nick rubbed his hand across his lightly-stubbled jaw, giving the appearance that he was considering his options. “Sounds like you’re looking for some more free labor outta yours truly.”

Hearing no real heat in his boyfriend’s mild jab, Logan continued the good-natured repartee. “Ain’t that what you get outta me with them mechanic’s classes I’m doin’ for ACC?”

“Hey, now, ACC is a charitable institution.”

Logan’s first response was a snicker as he easily retorted, “So? So is Crane’s Auto Clinic.”

Nick’s voice got suddenly earnest when he asked, “But not for long, right?”

Happy to allay that concern, Logan answered quickly and honestly, “Nope, not for long.”

“Good.” Nick gestured towards the museum. “You wanta go in?”

“Nah, I wanta see this famous fountain of yours. It’s over that way, ain’t it?”

“It’s not my fountain,” Nick objected. He seemed to be struggling for words as he and Logan walked along the Monongahela River pathway towards the renowned feature. “Back when I first saw it, it seemed…. I just liked the way… the idea….” Nick let his deeper thoughts trail off as he simply finished, “It’s pretty impressive.”

“You started coming here in college, right?” Logan confirmed, more to get Nick talking again than for information, since he’d heard the story several times.

“Those first few months, I came here a lot, yeah. And then whenever I was feeling down.” Suddenly Nick stopped short and gave Logan a knowing glance. “Oh, like I am now. That’s the point of all of this, huh?”

“Yeah.” When Nick said nothing, Logan was worried that he’d made some sort of blunder. “Is that okay?” He breathed a sigh of relief when Nick smiled and clasped him on the arm.

“The park’s always good, but bein’ here with you is—well, it’s great. Thanks.”

“Ain’t no big deal. I been wantin’ to see this place, too, you know?” The next statement took some effort to force out of his mouth, not because it wasn’t true, but because it was. “It’s the symbol of my… my new hometown, ain’t it?”

Logan’s exertion was rewarded when Nick’s smile turned into a blinding grin. “You bet. Looks a lot better when it ain’t so torn up, though. I wonder if they’ll still have the fireworks on the Fourth of July?”

“They have ’em here?”

“Yeah, a huge production every year.” Nick’s voice grew even more animated as he suggested, “We should bring the girls. They’ll go wild.”

The “we” in that statement loomed large for Logan, and he couldn’t let it go unremarked. “We? You’d wanta come, too?”

It was Nick’s turn to look uncertain. “Umm… yeah, if that’s okay. I know we haven’t done anything with ’em together, but I thought that might be a good way to… ease into things. What do you think?”

Logan thought that whenever the subject edged anywhere near telling his girls about him and Nick, his gut still dropped like a stone. However, he could see the sense in Krista and Meghan getting to know his boyfriend before that crucial moment arrived. After all, who could really resist Nick once they knew him? “Not a bad idea. I’ll have to see if I can get ’em then. Maybe Linda will be so busy plannin’ her wedding that she’ll be glad to have a weekend free.”

“Planning her wedding!” Nick exclaimed. “She just got engaged last week.”

“Linda don’t mess around. Krista says the wedding’s gonna be in November, right after the divorce is final.”

“Didn’t she just start dating this guy in February?”

Logan shrugged. “Like I said, that’s Linda’s way. ’Sides, she’s been workin’ with Bill for over a year.”

“You met him yet?”

“Nope. The girls say he’s a nice guy. That’s good enough for me.”

“So they’re okay with all of this?”

“Too soon to tell. That’s why I don’t wanta rush—”

“I know. I don’t wanta do that either. They’ve been through enough. I’d just like to get to know the most important people in your life.”

“Besides you, you mean?”

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Keep that shit up and you ain’t gonna get one of these sandwiches.”

“Ahh, so that’s what’s in that bag. What kind?”

“Black Angus steak and cheese.”

“Holy shit! From Primanti Brother’s?” When Logan nodded, Nick exclaimed, “You went to the Strip District on a Friday night? No wonder you were late.”

“Nah, I went to the one at Market Square, but it was still packed.”

“I’ll bet. Gotta say, though, a Primanti Brothers sandwich is worth the wait.” Nick grinned and nodded at the bag. “What else you got in there?

“Some cold pop, brownies, and a blanket.”

“Why, Logan Crane, sounds like you got the makings of a picnic there.”

“Always knew you were a smart man.” Nothing more was said, as they had reached the fountain at last. Though the structure was just as impressive as he’d heard, Logan was more taken with the way his man looked as they examined it. Nick was not only smiling but seemed more relaxed than he’d been since his mom had died ten days earlier. They walked around the complete circumference of the fountain and then wandered over to the river walk.

Nick came to a halt and leaned on the railing, seeming transfixed by the sight of the rivers. Finally he turned to Logan and waved his hand towards the Allegheny. “I used to come here and think about how that is the same river that’s in Kittanning and Freeport where I grew up. When I felt scared and lost in this big city, I’d feel better thinking—” Abruptly he stopped, and when Logan looked at him inquiringly, Nick said, rather sheepishly, “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“I don’t believe that. Come on, tell me.”

“I don’t know. It’s like it sort of followed me here… and was kind of….” Nick’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “Watching over me.”

Logan could see that Nick was anxiously awaiting his reaction. In truth he was slightly choked up thinking about how alone Nick had been back then and was glad he’d found comfort where he could. With no trace of humor, he said, “I like that. I like that idea a whole lot.” Logan considered telling Nick that he understood the feeling, that he’d felt just as alone when he’d first started making those trips to Pittsburgh so many months ago. Instead he nodded at the Monongahela and said, “So that one must’ve followed me here from Elco and was watching over me.”

The warm sparkle in Nick’s eyes let Logan know he’d been heard—completely—even though Nick’s only answer was, “Sure did.”

Unconcerned with prying eyes, Logan moved close enough that he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Nick. As the two men stood at the railing together, facing out, Logan pointed at the westward-flowing Ohio River. “And how ’bout the Ohio? What’s that one been doin’?”

“It ain’t doin’ anything, Logan. That’s us.”

This time Logan couldn’t help but cock his head and give his man a quizzical stare. “The Ohio River is us?”

“Yep.”

With a shrug and a shake of his head, Logan acquiesced. “If you say so.” If Nick wanted them to be the goddamned Ohio River, it was fine with him. He gestured towards a grassy area not too far away. “Come on, I think you need some food.”

As they neared the spot Logan had indicated, Nick bumped him with his shoulder and demanded, “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

Logan put the bag down and tossed the blanket to Nick, answering, “You must be. You took up with me, didn’t you?”

When they were comfortably settled and had started unwrapping their sandwiches, Nick said, “Smartest thing I ever did.” Logan was slightly puzzled until Nick clarified, “Taking up with you—smartest thing I ever did.”

“Son of a bitch, you did it again!”

“What?”

“Stole my line.”

Nick’s smile glowed white against the darkening sky. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

Logan shot him a wolfish grin as he whispered huskily, “Now you’re readin’ my mind again.”

The talk turned to inconsequential matters: how big a job the Jeep would be tomorrow, Nick’s plans for his summer intern, and the prospects of winning their upcoming softball game. Throughout their companionable chatter, there hovered in the back of Logan’s mind the conviction that his plans for this night hadn’t been foolish at all, and that any trouble he’d gone to had been rewarded many times over.

Maybe they were the goddamned Ohio River after all.

When not writing about compelling men falling in lust and love, FELICIA WATSON spends her time chasing after her brilliant, darling, and beloved dogs, is chased by her brilliant, darling, and beloved husband, bakes pastries that would put Martha Stewart to shame, and still finds time for her day job that isn’t actually a day job—since she’s one of the many unappreciated off-shift workers in the healthcare industry.