Bonds of Earth (30 page)

“Not really,” Michael muttered.

“John called me yesterday, checking to see if your body had turned up. We had a lovely chat.”

Michael winced. “Marvelous.”

Millie handed him a cup of strong black tea. “Are you going to let him know you’re alive, or shall I?”

“I will,” Michael said. He took a sip of the tea, relishing the bracing burn as the liquid went down his throat. “Stop nagging.”

Millie glared at him, and Michael subsided. “Sorry.”

“You deserve to be nagged to within an inch of your life, but I’m not going to do that,” Millie told him. Shooing him out of the kitchen, she pointed him toward an overstuffed chair. “Sit.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Michael asked warily.

Millie’s smile was frankly terrifying. “I’m going to listen to you, darling,” she drawled, “while you tell me all about it.”

“Oh, Christ,” Michael said, flopping into the chair. “I changed my mind. I think I’d prefer the nagging.”

B
Y
THE
time dawn was rising over the city, Michael had guzzled his way through two pots of tea, his eyes were dry and itching from a lack of sleep and an excess of emotion, and he was beginning to feel like nothing so much as a wrung-out dishrag.

“So, Mother,” he rasped, “how many Hail Marys?”

Millie laughed. “I can honestly say that’s one costume I’ve never worn, and I’ve worn quite a few. If you’re looking for absolution, you’ve come to the wrong place.” Millie leaned back in her chair, watching him. “The trouble is, I’m not quite sure what you
are
here for.”

Michael sighed. “A boot in the arse?”

“I suppose,” Millie mused. “It would seem the best option, since anyone showing sympathy or understanding still makes you run for the hills. I had hoped you’d gotten over that.”

“I was working on it,” Michael huffed.

Millie cocked her head. “So of course our question is, what’s prompted this latest setback? Some things remain constant: your sister is still—pardon my French—a cow, John’s still putting up with you. But today you graduate from medical school, and you’re about to be handed a dream job—not one that will make you rich, certainly, but one that will grant you financial independence from your moderately successful—and very handsome—boyfriend. Your stubborn Irish pride will finally be satisfied, and you can begin fresh.”

“Sounds like I’m getting nearly everything I’ve ever wanted,” Michael muttered.

“Yes, exactly,” Millie drawled. “I knew you’d work it out on your own eventually.”

Michael frowned at her. “I don’t understand.”

Millie pinned him with her gaze. “It’s very simple, darling. You’re a veteran of two wars: the one in Europe and the one that kills queer boys the world over. There are bodies strewn from the Bowery to Belgium, and you don’t even have the comfort of a mind-numbing faith to explain why you’re not one of them.” Leaning forward, Millie flipped open the cigarette box on the table in front of her and took one. On instinct, Michael fumbled for his lighter and lit it for her. He noticed his hands were shaking.

“When I first found you,” Millie continued, “you reminded me of myself at that age. Oh, you were quite a bit more rough-and-tumble, of course, but still. It was like looking in a mirror, and it scared the hell out of me, because it reminded me of those days, of how it was.”

“You’ve never told me about that time,” Michael murmured.

Millie laughed. “It wasn’t much different from what you experienced, I expect. There were plenty of Italian boys looking for a good time even then, but they were new and exotic, and so goddamned beautiful it made your heart hurt. As long as you were pretty and they were the ones who fucked you, having another man didn’t bother them in the slightest. They were young and sex-starved, so they were very enthusiastic about it. Not always terribly concerned with getting you off, but it wasn’t usually difficult to work up some enthusiasm of your own when they were that delicious.

“Of course, there were also the sailors and the marines. God, the seafood was abundant; the Great White Fleet indeed. But you had to be careful with them. They weren’t all accustomed to the demimonde, especially the young ones who had joined up from some hick town where they’d never even heard of a fairy. They preferred us because they thought they couldn’t get the clap from other boys and we gave absolutely top-notch head, but some of them were—uneasy about it, probably because they enjoyed it more than they wanted to admit. We learned from the older queens that as soon as you’d collected your money, you got the hell out of there, because the next thing you knew you’d have a black eye, and
oh
, how that would eat into your profits!” Her laugh was a parody of merriment. Michael’s gut churned at the sound.

“And then one of us, a sweet young fairy by the name of—the name of—God, you know, I don’t remember—at any rate, she decided that she was in love with one of her regulars, a marine from Ohio or Idaho—one of those O states in the middle somewhere. We tried to tell her not to be stupid, but she was convinced he was in love with her, too—he was always so kind and tender with her afterward, even kissed her. So one day, she told him.” Millie’s gaze became unfocused, as though she were looking at something far away. “And then he strangled her.”

“God, Millie,” Michael breathed.

Millie blinked rapidly. “She was a slight little thing—probably took him no time at all. At least I hope not. Apparently she looked a lot like his girlfriend back home in the O state. He couldn’t fuck her, of course, so he found the next best thing.” She stared at her teacup, held between her hands. “Gwendolyn, that was her name. Gwendolyn. How could I have forgotten?”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, then realized he had nothing at all to say. He shut it again swiftly.

“So you see, darling,” Millie was saying, “I’m not unfamiliar with the constant, nagging feeling that you’re not good enough, that God or Fate or whoever you want to blame has made a horrible mistake and you should have been among the casualties. And there have been a great many casualties over the years. Too many.

“You might say, then, that I sympathize. But the truth is, as much as I’d like to, I don’t.”

Michael’s head snapped up.

Millie spread her hands. “Michael, I’m fifty-two years old, and I’m starting to show it, no matter how much I trowel on the makeup. Love isn’t going to start beating down my door, and even if it did, I’d probably shoot it down before it reached me; I’m suspicious of strangers. But you—” She offered a wan smile. “—you are far too young to be this tragic. Given that I wouldn’t recognize it if it came up and punched me in the nose, it’s still obvious to me that John loves you, and you love him. If you throw away something that comes to us all too rarely, you don’t deserve my sympathy.”

Michael closed his eyes and nodded. “I suppose… I suppose you have a point,” he managed, voice faltering.

“Glad you see it my way,” Millie said, not unkindly. “Now, you must be on your way, because there’s someone waiting for you and I need my beauty sleep. Not to mention the fact that if I don’t get this makeup off my face in the next five minutes it may just stick there forever.”

They rose together, and Millie enfolded him in a hug that had Michael swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“Anytime, my darling boy,” she murmured. “Anytime.”

W
HEN
Michael opened the door to the apartment, he found another note waiting for him on a new hall table.

Millie called me. Glad to know you’re alive. It will make it much more satisfying for me to tear a strip off you when I see you.

I had to leave early to meet some friends. Your suit is pressed and on the bed. I’ll see you after the ceremony. Be prepared for shameless displays of emotion and sentiment; I’ve decided the occasion warrants it.

I love you.

Michael sucked in a breath and closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears. When he opened them again, he folded the letter carefully so that he could fit it in the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

I
T
WASN
’
T
until Michael was holding the diploma in his hands that he allowed himself to think it.

Doctor Michael McCready.

“Jesus Christ,” Michael muttered under his breath as he stepped down from the stage, his legs wobbling as he took his place with the other graduates. He had actually done it. He had realized a dream that had once seemed impossible, a dream he’d buried along with the numberless dead, just another casualty of war. He was almost afraid of believing it to be true.

The rest of the ceremony seemed interminable. He spent it restless, practically frantic with the urge to touch John, to embrace him. He had a great deal of apologizing to do, and right now the prospect of groveling at John’s feet didn’t seem humiliating at all.

Finally, the last graduate had crossed the stage and the last droning speech had been delivered, and Michael all but ran through the crowd to reach the reception area.

“Uncle Michael!” The call cut through the sedate gathering, and then there was a pale yellow missile flying into Michael’s arms. He had just enough time to brace himself before it struck and wrapped itself around him.

“Sarah!” he exclaimed, winded by the impact. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Uncle John invited us,” Sarah said, and Michael looked up to see the Abbotts standing behind her, along with John. As his gaze locked with John’s, Michael realized he was making no attempt to hide what he was feeling, but the Abbotts almost certainly knew about them already and no one else was paying them any mind. John smiled fondly at him in return, his gaze like a warm caress, and Michael felt the relief pound through his veins.

Sarah drew back, her own smile wide as the Hudson. “Grandpa’s been looking forward to it all week. He said he wanted to see a doctor who’s not ‘an old quack’ for a change.”

“I can speak quite well for myself, thank you, Sarah,” Abbott muttered, taking a step forward and extending his hand to Michael. “Congratulations, son,” he said. Michael stared at his hand like an utter fool before he reached forward and shook it firmly. Next came Mary, her warm embrace and whispered congratulations making his eyes sting. Finally, he turned to John, who was looking at him as though he’d thought he might never get another chance.

Stepping forward, Michael hooked a hand around John’s neck and tugged him in, and John’s arms went around him without hesitation.

“You did it,” John murmured in his ear. “I couldn’t be prouder.”

“We did it,” Michael whispered back. “And I love you, too. More than you will ever know.” John’s arms tightened, then released him.

“Well,” John said, voice ragged and eyes suspiciously bright, “what do you think of Sarah’s new dress?”

Grateful for the distraction, Michael turned his full attention to Sarah and was astonished at her grown-up appearance. She was even wearing a touch of makeup. “Well now, when did you become such a fashionable young woman?” he asked.

“It’s your fault—yours and Uncle John’s,” Sarah replied. “I bought it with the money you sent. Isn’t it beautiful?” She twirled in it, the skirt flaring to reveal her knees as she did.

At Michael’s pointed glance, John nodded once in acknowledgment. Michael hadn’t heard anything about a dress, but then he hadn’t been expecting the Abbotts either. “It’s very beautiful,” he agreed. “A suitable match for the elegant lady wearing it.”

Sarah giggled and said in a stage whisper, “I know Grandma thinks it’s quite scandalous, but she didn’t object when I picked it out. She says that modern women need modern clothes.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at Mary, who pursed her lips. “I may have said something along those lines. I’ll have you know I was a girl once too, back in the Dark Ages.”

“Some of those young bucks like it a little too much, if you ask me,” Abbott said gruffly. “Especially that William of hers.”

“He’s not mine,” Sarah countered darkly. “Not anymore.”

John frowned. “Why, what happened? I thought you two were great friends.”

“Who the hell is William?” Michael demanded, fighting the growing feeling that he had been missing a great deal lately. John’s pitying glance seemed to confirm it.

“He’s a blockhead,” Sarah said with unusual vehemence. “We were talking about our plans for college, and he was shocked I actually wanted to study the sciences. He thinks that girls are stupid and cannot learn science! I said, well, it seems I’ve beaten you in quite a few tests over the years, what about that? And he said that’s only high school, it’s not
real
science. I asked him what about Madame Curie, then? She did
real
science, and he answered that her husband had done everything and that she only helped him! Anyway, he’s not worth the bother. I’m done with him forever.”

“Never say never,” Mary murmured. “He’s young. He may grow up yet.”

“Well, I can’t be waiting around for that unlikely event. I have things to do,” Sarah told her primly. Turning back to Michael and John, she said, “I sent letters to over twenty colleges, and I’m waiting to hear back. Do you think I’ll have to go to a girl’s school, Uncle Michael? They don’t usually have much of a science department, and that worries me. Do you suppose you could write a letter of reference for me?”

Michael glanced at John, and the barely repressed mirth in his expression was all it took to send Michael into gusts of laughter. John soon joined him.

“What’s so funny?” Sarah squeaked, her glare darting between the two of them.

Michael smiled and shook his head as he put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, m’dear. It’s only that we remember when you hardly said a thing. Now you’re overflowing with words, and it’s wonderful.”

Sarah bit her lip, then ducked her head and smiled. “Oh, I see.”

“And I’ll be very pleased to write you all the letters you wish.”

“Thanks, Uncle Michael,” Sarah said, grinning. “I can’t wait for next month—you’ll be coming up to Hudson to attend my graduation, won’t you?”