Message of Love (23 page)

“Maybe some other night.”

“Let me ask him, after we take a, what’s it called? A disco nap.”

Gerard sighed, stretched his legs. “You know, I really admire you. I always have.”

“Really? For what?”

“You’re …what’s the word? Stalwart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Strong; steadfast. You’re so protective of him. I knew when we met, you were always going to be there for him. It was so funny you being jealous of me. I would never–”

“I’m sorry. I was so stupid. But I don’t see that as being strong.”

“Maybe not, but you are, and you know, it’s not about him or you. It’s what’s between you, the connection. People can see it, even when you’re trying to act casual. They don’t want you, or him. Well, some do. But I think it’s more… they want that energy, that ungraspable …something between you two.”

“Is that love?”

Gerard smiled as he patted my shoulder. “Maybe someday you’ll find out.”

Chapter 29

May 1982

“Those daffodils are a bit brash, don’t you think?”

Mrs. Kukka knelt before the flowerbed, giving the brightly colored blooms a doubtful glance. I’d helped her plant the bulbs back in the fall, but she wanted to trim the grass around them. The canvas pad below her knees was similar to one my mother used in her own garden, but our landlady’s was more worn from years of use.

Crouching beside her, I compared the new plants jutting up next to the settled blossoms of more subtly tinted plants; the ferns, lavender and wild thyme. She’d even let a cluster of wild daisies spread beyond the outskirts of the lawn, and a few varieties of common moss had formed a fuzzy coating over a few decoratively placed rocks.

We had pruned the side yard’s clusters of jasmine and a lovely blue ceanothus bush, the clippings of which she saved for later. “Perhaps some bouquets for a few of my friends, oh, and in the living room,” she said.

But the daffodils did sort of stick out. “They’re definitely perky,” I surmised, not wanting to be critical.

“I suppose we should give them a chance.”

A month before, when she had casually mentioned that she needed a few gardening supplies, I offered to drive the van with her to a shop outside of the city. Everett perked up at the mention of shopping, and the three of us had made a day of it.

“You know, Eugene’s ashes were buried right under that redbud.” She nodded to her left toward the small tree at the edge of the front yard’s garden.

I didn’t remind her that she had already told me that, but simply admired its still-flowering magenta buds. In my mind, I was playing the Latin-naming game, but without Everett nearby to coach me, the terms eluded me.

“I’m so glad I found those clippings,” she said.

“Which ones?” The week before I’d helped her carry a few boxes downstairs in the hallway. I’d peeked inside one, found a series of magazines and newspaper clippings sorted in manila folders. The next day, they were gone.

“The ones about that disease. You boys need to be informed. Part of my husband’s work, the basic sanitary structures prevented so many cholera and malaria outbreaks in some of those countries he visited. You know, an anthropologist isn’t supposed to interfere with a culture, but sometimes he would just rail over the ineptitude of those governments, as if they were deliberately allowing those poor people to die.”

She wiped her hands of dirt, then fumbled to rise, until I helped her up.

“A little gardening tip for you; ashes don’t make the best fertilizer, no matter what anyone says.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now, how about you get the hose and we give it all a sprinkle.”

As I walked around the side of the house, I admired the simplicity of Mrs. Kukka’s plants. At first it had seemed somewhat haphazard, the arrangement of various clusters of flowering plants and shrubs. The trees offered a bit of shade without darkening the window views, and it all seemed to have a sort of balance.

As I handed her the hose, uncoiling it to stretch to the front yard, she continued one of her stories about her husband.

“He was always off on some adventure,” she said as she used a finger to tighten the water’s spray. “We often set in new plants, but never anything too exotic.”

“Did you travel with him a lot?”

“Oh, sometimes. Most often I had my own work at Penn.” She turned to me, almost soaking my leg before giggling lightly and turning the hose downward. “It must be so wonderful to have the world ahead of you, you boys.”

I smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I just hope we can figure out what we want to do after school. Ev wants to go to grad school, but I just like getting my hands dirty. All this studying’s getting to be a bit much.”

“You know, it takes finding a balance.” And then she offered another bit of advice. “You have to figure out where you can both be happy. Are you excited about working in the park?”

“I guess so.”

I had told her about my job interview at Fairmount Park, how I’d barely gotten hired. Despite being qualified, there simply weren’t that many openings, and my work would probably be relegated to groundskeeping, at first.

“You know, if the nature study out in the woods doesn’t work out, you could always give landscaping a try; it’d keep you in the city, if that’s what you boys decide on.”

“Well, thanks. That’s…I’ll consider that.”

Her suggestion did sort of make sense. Instead of trying to take on an entire forest, shifting to a smaller goal, the beautiful microcosm of nature before us, contained in one home, began to resemble a possibility.

Later that afternoon, Everett returned from his second to last final exam. “Cause enough for celebration,” he declared.

We sat on the porch, sipping lemonade that Everett had spiked with a little bit of vodka he’d pilfered from a gathering of Mrs Kukka’s colleagues. We’d offered Everett’s video player, and a former professor showed converted films of his documentation of tribal dances from Ghana.

“Anyway. What’s the job? So, you’ll be doing what, weed-whacking?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

“Forgive me for saying it, but it sounds beneath you.”

“It’s more money than I could ever make at another state park, and I don’t want to be gone all summer again.”

“But you won’t come to the kid’s summer camp.”

“Aw, Ev. I loved it, but it’s just not gonna work out. I’m sorry.”

Everett sighed. “Well, the kids’ll miss you. Kenny’ll miss you.”

“Please don’t guilt-trip me.”

“I’m… Reid. I’m just trying to make plans. I can probably get something like that in the city, some summer school program. I’ll check with the Magee folks.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure. I’m just making it up as I go.”

We settled, sipped out drinks.

“The garden looks great.”

“Thanks. She’s been growing it for years, told me about some earlier versions.”

The last of dusk’s sunlight glinted off the tops of nearby trees, giving them a golden shimmer, then fell away. A warm breeze passed, whirling across the porch.

“So,” I said, after a moment.

“So, if we don’t go back to work with the kids, do you wanna go camping this summer?”

“Sure, if I can take a few days off. Where?”

“Jacob and his lady pal mentioned Susquehannock.”

“Did they? That’s a mouthful.”

The sprawling trio of forests, including Elk, Sproul, with two smaller parks to the west, were high up on my to-do list. I’d never camped there. It seemed perfect. Going with a straight couple who knew who we were, and were cool about; it seemed great.

“So, I could get the camping stuff when we go back home, unless we go someplace west, closer.”

“Why don’t you help us figure that out, Ranger Reid?”

I would have preferred to go alone with Everett, but if there were an emergency or anything, we’d have backup. Our previous few overnight treks were more limited, keeping near flat park areas. We took trails, but wide ones. I refused to carry him on any smaller trails. I told myself that he understood. He acted like he did. I was just happy that he wanted to make plans where we could be together.

“Are they gonna drive?” I asked. “We should take the van.”

“Well, yeah. I kind of already offered it.”

“Oh. You already–”

“Well, yeah, but I told them I’d ask you first.”

“Well, it’s your van.”

“Yeah, but it’s your camping equipment.”

“Can you make sure it won’t break down again?”

“I guess I’d better,” he said.

“They have their own stuff, too?”

“Yeah, Jacob said he does.”

“They better. I’m not sharing a tent with anyone but you.”

“I’m sorry, I just–”

“No, it’s cool. It’s cool. When do you want to go?”

“Memorial Day Weekend?”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. It would be the most crowded weekend of the season. Amateur week. Beer cans. Human raccoons.

“Uh, how about a week later?” I suggested.

“Uh, why?”

“It’ll be a lot less crowded.”

“You’re the expert.”

“I mean, if it’s not–”

“No worries. I’ll tell them I can’t, use some medical excuse, a rehab appointment or something. Always works.”

I grinned. “Yeah, but ask them. It’ll be fun.”

“Cool.”

I got up, leaned over and hugged him, and thought to call it a night, but Everett was doing a little happy dance in his chair, pumping his arms up and down.

“Plus, the idea of Jacob humping his date in the next tent sounds pretty sexy.”

“A fourway via proximity?” I joked. “I mean. Yeah, sure…you slut.”

“Whore.”

“Hey, I never charged admission.”

He chuckled, inched his chair closer to mine. While I longed to keep this sweet moment, savor it, I had to ask him.

“Hey, since we’re discussing sex…”

Everett offered one of his Groucho eyebrow-raised double-takes.

“Not like that. Did you read those news clippings Mrs. Kukka saved for us?”

The small stack had grown, and I’d noticed that Everett had moved them to his accordion file with his debate topic clippings. The label read simply “?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty creepy,” he turned away, swirled with the ice in his glass.

“So, what do you think?”

He glanced at me, offered merely a raised eyebrow. “As I said; creepy.”

“But is it just about gay sex?”

“One article talks about blood. Another goes on about these multiple infections, mostly pneumonia, and some weird bird flu.”

“But do you think it’s just some combination of STDs that could–”

“I said I don’t know, Reid. You’re the nature expert. I haven’t even taken a Biology class since I was at Pinecrest. Maybe it’s like those tree diseases you studied, how it just spreads through squirrel shit.”

“That’s not–”

“I said I don’t know.”

“Okay. Sheesh.”

“One thing’s for sure. We might want to curtail our ‘dalliances,’” he said with a declarative tone.

“Okay then.”

“Let’s just–”

“Talk about something else?”

“Yes.”

Ice clinked as he took a last sip of his drink, even though his glass was empty.

“Do want some more?”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, I do.”

He pushed off behind me. I didn’t look back. The sun had set, but a few blooms in the garden seemed to glow in the fading light.

After a few rounds of phone tag, the summer’s weekend plans bounced back and forth with various interferences; Jacob’s girlfriend’s internship at a medical laboratory, Jacob’s brother’s wedding, Everett’s Pittsburgh visits, and my work schedule.

We finally decided on the weekend after the July Fourth holiday. It seemed a long way off, but worth it. I made notes to myself to get a few new camping gear items.

I was casually checking the messages on the answering machine, expecting yet another change of plans via Jacob’s almost flirtatious tone, when I heard one from that Sweigard guy.

“Everett. Look, I really would like to see you. I know… I know it’s been a long time, but please. Call me.”

I almost erased it; almost.

It wasn’t until he got home from an afternoon of his final exam at Penn that I silently pointed to the answering machine, then left our bedroom.

Pretending that I wasn’t listening as Everett replayed the message, I made us lunch, telling myself that the sound of that stranger’s voice didn’t disturb me.

When I returned with the tray of sandwiches, he hadn’t moved.

“I’m doing this.” He stared at the phone.

“You want me to leave?”

“No.” He sighed with a resolve, then an almost pained determination, and dialed.

After a series of awkward greetings, one-way pauses, forced laughter and a few minutes of watching Everett nervously fold his legs, peel off a sock, pick at a toenail, I felt like a voyeur.

“I’ll have to ask my boyfriend.”

A pause.

“Yes, I have a boyfriend.”

Pause.

“Two years.”

I held up three fingers.

“Three years.”

A longer pause.

“No, he’s coming, too. Hey, what about…? When is Gay Pride?”

Another pause.

“You don’t …? Well, we’d like to … Maybe.” He looked up to me. I nodded. “The last Sunday? Okay, for the weekend.”

After a few repeated goodbyes, he hung up the phone and seemed relieved.

“You want to go to New York City?”