LB Gregg 04 In and Out

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He stared patiently.
Oh sweet ever-loving hell.
I cleared my throat and managed to speak. I appreciate your calling, Father, but I
have nothing to confess. Except pissing in his geraniums three summers ago after a
particularly energetic Memorial Day volleyball match with Porter. And sodomy, of
course. I hate to state the obvious, again, but I m not Catholic.
We all have sins. His voice dropped and, coming closer, the older man gripped
my sleeve with a gnarled and spotted hand. Alarmed, I tried to yank free. He hissed,
Someone told me. Someone has pointed a finger at you.
Jesus. What was this? Rosemary s Baby? I nearly crossed myself. They were
mistaken or lying.
Father David s wide eyes bore into mine. Confession is a sacrament. As if that
explained everything. You can come to the church and speak with me.
Again I remind you that I m not Catholic and I have no sin to confess. I appreciate
your& offer& but I have no idea what you re talking about.
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The garden. Someone saw you.
Who? Who would go to the priest and not the police?
I m not at liberty to say.
I almost asked him about the seal of sacrament. Well that s impossible. I haven t
been outside
Father David raised a tangled, know-it-all brow at me.
My excuse was now flimsy. It was as substantial to him as his confessional was to
me. Anyone watching the house Father David immediately sprang to mind would
have seen me leave with Adam in the Jag, privacy glass or no, on two separate
occasions. He would have easily spotted me through the windshield. Nosy neighbor
my own personal Gladys Kravitz. I needed hemlocks on the north side lawn to protect
my privacy.
I d speak with Adam. I cleared my throat. What exactly did they see?
You with the shovel; your car parked below. Last Saturday before dawn.
Are you insane?
It was a legitimate question.
No, Holden. I m not the one who is insane. The priest smoothed his collar. If you
have need of me, I m at the church all day. Think about it.
Sure. He toddled across the lawn. I was still shocked at the man s gall. He d
called me a crazy murderer and still walked into my house to save my soul.
Gall? Hell, the man had balls.
Who had spoken to him? Who had they seen in my yard last weekend? Porter?
Maybe it was John. He was blond. He was tall. In the dark, maybe the beard was hard
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to see at night. He had the means, the opportunity, and the motive.
John. I just& couldn t accept that.
Blond. Not brunette. Not the dark haired man in my bed on the third floor.
While I stood lost in thought with the door wide open another first Mitzie
jogged along South Street. She wore black running shorts and a lime green sports top
and matching sneakers. Her shiny hair was in a ponytail under a red ball cap.
Thayer s ball cap. Even from this distance, I knew it was his. Loss hit me for a second
time since dawn.
Mitzie jogged up the driveway as grief hazed my vision. She waved, slowing to a
walk, and I& closed the door with a careful click. I climbed the two flights to the master
suite, wishing Porter would take care of his wife. No. I wished he d care for his wife. My
brother was probably too busy lining up the next Mrs. Worthington.
Only fifteen minutes had passed since I left my bed and I was tired. I shucked off
my pants and crawled back between the sheets into my spot beside Adam. I lay, arms
behind my head, and stared at the spotless ceiling. Don t you have school?
Adam groaned and cradled a pillow over his ear.
I had to smile. He was hung over, well and good. Your skin is clammy, and baby,
I hate to be unromantic, but you smell. Do you want to take a shower?
I had to be the worst morning after conversationalist in Connecticut. I had no idea
what to say and wondered if it even mattered because Adam wasn t reading my
discomfort.
I need aspirin, Tums, water and sleep. I need thirty minutes. My ass is killing me
you could have warned me. My head is killing me. My stomach is& but I m not
whining, Mr. Holden. I know how you detest that.
He was a funny thing or maybe I was the only one who understood him. I do
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In And Out
detest a whiner. I ll kick your ass out of bed for crying.
You could try. Actually, you probably could kick my ass, the way I m feeling.
Probably, but I won t. I like you here. I stumbled over that admission while I
stroked the back of his hand. His fingers gripped mine and we lay peaceful and sure.
That old grief for my long lost brother finally eased, and Adam s companionship lulled
me into something careful and new.
He moved closer, pushing the pillow away, and wriggled his leg over my mine. His
knee came to rest on my thigh and his hair tickled me. Adam tucked himself under my
jaw& making himself right at home.
How s your head? I had to ask.
Better now that the bell isn t ringing, but I feel like shit. I don t usually drink
much.
This will come as a surprise to you but me either. I keep to my cocktail at night.
Sometimes a scotch.
Adam breathed heavily and nodded into my neck. Yeah. Too much history.
Yeah. History. And the present.
Because of your brother?
I frowned. Are you clairvoyant now?
No. Practiced. My father& wasn t easy.
Mine either. Although, from what I hear, not like yours.
He nodded against me. It s in the past I m all right, just careful.
I stared at our entwined hands where they rested on top of the pale bedding. His
palm covered my hand, the back tan, but not rough or worn. It was tender with bold
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L.B. Gregg
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