Waterways (28 page)

“Maybe.” Kory called up their financial aid package again. “They have a good work-study program, and if I’m on my own, I qualify for more loans.”

The fox put the paper down and nuzzled Kory’s small ears. “Okay. We’ll have fun with those next weekend. Let’s do something else fun now. Any good arguments going on anywhere?”

They read newsgroups and journals until midnight, then kissed and went to their separate beds. Kory lay alone in the darkness of the basement, wondering what it would be like to live here. It wouldn’t be that much different from living in Sal’s spare room, would it? Samaki’s parents hadn’t known him as long, but seemed more genuinely interested in his predicament and had said they regarded him as family. But he remembered, too, the small amounts of tuition for the state college, and he couldn’t bring himself to take their food.

And it was really more convenient for school. Vacations and weekends he could come over here, but it would just be better off for everyone if he stayed at Sal’s rather than here.

But when they got to school… he turned over uneasily. He’d want to be near the fox, of course, but could they keep their relationship secret from everyone in their dorm? Would Samaki even want to? Kory stared into the blackness, deeper than the fox’s fur. Samaki wouldn’t, of course. He wanted Kory to go to his prom, which Kory had not yet committed either way on. One day it seemed like a fine idea; after all, who down at Hilltown P.S. knew him there? If Samaki wanted them to know, they were his friends and it was his lookout. The next day it seemed insane to Kory. Gay couples at the prom were still news, they were strange and unusual and drew attention, often unpleasant. Why couldn’t they just be boyfriends and not tell anyone about it?

The questions had no answers, but at least they could be put off by the merciful darkness of sleep.

Sal picked him up Sunday morning, greeting Samaki cheerfully when the fox walked out with Kory to meet him. They chatted only briefly, because Kory and Sal had to get to church, but Sal and Samaki shook paws firmly as they parted. “See you next weekend,” Samaki said, waving as they pulled away.

“Nice guy,” Sal said, watching in his rear view mirror, and grinned at Kory. “I guess I can see where you’d think he was sexy. Nice butt, if you’re into that.”

“Cut it out.” Kory forced a grin, but felt himself flushing at the tips of his ears.

Church was a surreal experience. He was so used to Father Joe that going to a different church with Sal was like changing religions. The priest in Sal’s church, an old lion, reminded him of the old Father Green as he wheezed through a sermon decrying the evil inherent in all people, whereas Father Joe’s sermons had always focused on the love of God and the positives in life. Kory listened to the rheumy feline voice, whose words did nothing to help his general feeling of unease. When he tried to talk to Sal about the sermon afterwards, Sal’s only comment was, “You stayed awake through the whole thing?”

For the rest of the day, he helped Sal with chores and then talked to Nick on the phone. His brother had calmed down since the night he’d left, but still held out hope that Kory could come home. When Kory asked whether their mother had cooled down, though, Nick was silent, and then changed the subject. They arranged to go out for pizza the following Wednesday night, and Kory hung up feeling homesick and angry and frustrated, all in one uncomfortable emotional lump that sat just above his chest.

Even though it wasn’t their scheduled night, he called Samaki, needing something reassuring to counteract the rest of his day. The fox answered with some apprehension in his voice, which vanished as soon as Kory explained that he just wanted to talk about his day. He told Samaki about church, about his call with Nick, and about his general feeling of being adrift.

“You could always come here,” Samaki said.

“It’d take me an hour to get to school,” Kory said. It sounded stupid as soon as he said it, but fortunately Samaki didn’t press.

“When do you learn to drive?”

“I don’t even know how that’s going to work now. I’ll take the class at school, and Sal can take me over to get my permit, I guess.” He pressed his fingers to his muzzle, rubbing his whiskers. “I don’t wanna think about it.”

“It’s not that hard,” Samaki said. “I can come pick you up this weekend. My mom has off for some holiday.”

“Cool.” Kory smiled at the warmth that thought brought. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too,” Samaki said, and they hung up soon after, with Kory’s jumbled feelings only slightly better. He never thought he’d be thankful to go to school, but he was actually looking forward to class on Monday.

Wednesday night pizza with Nick became a regular thing, in the shopping center where Sal had picked him up on that night he’d left home. As they munched their anchovy and oyster with extra cheese, they talked about school and TV shows, and only rarely about their mother. Nick did bring up the subject a month after Kory’d moved out, when one slice of congealing pizza remained in the box.

“I guess you’re used to living with Sal now,” he said.

“I don’t really see him a lot,” Kory said. “Meals, and going to and from school. He still likes to go out at night, and I’m trying to get all these college applications done.”

“How are they going?” Nick asked.

“Ugh. I’m glad I have Samaki to talk to. So much paperwork and they all want these stupid essays.”

Nick grinned. “So use the same essay for all of them.”

“I can, for some of them. The hard ones, anyway. And I have that college prep class, which is giving me some good ideas.”

“Whitford has a swim team. If you go there, I could try to get a scholarship.”

“I’m gonna need one to be able to afford to go,” Kory said.

Nick acknowledged that with silence, looking away before asking, “Where else are you looking?”

Kory rattled off the schools, and saw Nick take mental note. “Wherever I end up,” he said, “it’d be great to have you there in a few years. Just make sure you’re well-rounded.” He made sarcastic air quotes for that last phrase. In Physics, he learned that fluid materials like liquid and gas would naturally flow to a spherical shape, and whenever Mr. Pena said “well-rounded,” he imagined some kind of spherical otter who was the perfect college candidate, all his skills the same perfect distance from his perfectly centered core.

“We should order another pizza, then.” Nick patted his stomach.

Kory laughed. “I’m glad we get to have pizza together.”

“I miss you at dinner,” Nick said.

“I miss you all the time,” Kory said. “Dinners and breakfast, and whenever I sit down to watch “Dr. Otter,” and Rob Travis says something funny and I want to turn and laugh with you about it. I miss being able to swim over to your room. Sal’s pool is big and complicated and I slid downstairs by accident three times the first week. I even miss…” He paused. “You know I make myself eat all my vegetables now?”

Nick shook his head. “I get even more vegetables now. Plus I get lectures if I don’t eat em.”

“Stuff like, ‘careful you don’t turn out like your brother’?”

“Nah. Just, ‘I try so hard to put good food on your plate.’ That kinda stuff.” He eyed the last slice. “You miss that, too?”

“I miss her,” Kory said. “Just not when I think about Samaki. You can have that slice if you want.”

Nick didn’t need any further encouragement. “How’s he?” he mumbled around a mouthful. “Surprised you didn’t move over there already.”

“Yeah,” Kory said, remembering the silence when he’d first refused that offer. “Sal’s place just works better for school, and I don’t feel bad eating their dinners. They can afford it.”

Nick looked up. “You going to get a job?”

“Huh?”

“To pay for your dinners.”

Kory poked at a piece of anchovy in a pool of congealing cheese. “Maybe.”

“Jerry Tamrin’s older brother is a waiter at DeMarco’s and he gets his dinners for free.”

“I don’t have any experience being a waiter.”

“Well, I mean, then you wouldn’t have to eat the dinners at Samaki’s. You could just stay there.” Nick chomped down the last couple bits of crust.

“Maybe,” Kory said. “It’s still a pain to get to school.”

Nick licked his fingers and shrugged. After a moment, he said, “You guys basically lived together all summer. I felt like I had another brother.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

A skunk couple Kory didn’t recognize from his high school sat down at the next table with their pizza. Kory watched them share smiles and pizza, watched the boy’s paw creep over to rest on the girl’s. He lowered his voice. “I dunno. It just was.”

Nick glanced over his shoulder at the couple, then back at his brother. He matched Kory’s near-whisper. “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Kory said automatically. Then he looked at his brother’s earnest expression. “What if it is a big deal for me?”

Nick grinned. “Then you need to get over it. What would you have done if Jenny said ‘I want to go out with you but we can’t tell anyone’?”

“It’s different,” Kory said. “Anyway, you know.”

“Yeah, but I know a lot of things.” Nick grinned.

Kory brushed his claws through the fur on his arm. “And Sal knows.”

“What about Aunt Tilly?”

He snorted, so loudly that the skunks looked over at him. He lowered his voice again. “I’m sure Mom’s told her.”

“What about—”

“What’s your point?” Kory leaned back and folded his arms.

Nick shrugged. “You left home for him.”

“That’s Mom’s deal.”

“So you had nothing to do with it.” Nick rested his elbows on the table. “You were furious when you called me about what she said about him. Remember?”

“Yeah.” Kory looked his brother in the eyes. There wasn’t anyone else he could ask this question of. “So… Nick, why do I feel so weird about going to live at his house?”

“I dunno,” Nick said. “But you should maybe figure that out, huh? Hey, ask Father Joe. He asked me to invite you to come see him on Saturday. He said something about your issues. I think he knows, too. Maybe Mom told him.”

“This Saturday?” Kory asked. “Did Mom ask him to?”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe. He’s been trying to corner me for a few weeks now.”

They walked out together to where Kory would have to catch the bus. “Okay,” Kory said finally. “I’ll go see him.”

Afternoon light set the trees in the churchyard blazing a bright, fiery red. Kory’s paws crunched through piles of yellow and reddish leaves on his way to the small office in the back. When he knocked, Father Joe came around the corner of the building, dressed casually in an oxford shirt and jeans. “Hello, Kory,” he said, and extended a hand. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“I guess my mother asked you to talk to me,” Kory said, grasping the large white hand in his brown paw.

Father Joe shook his head. “You think I wouldn’t notice when you stopped coming to church? I asked your mother, but she… well, she didn’t tell me how to get in touch with you.”

“Oh.” He knew he shouldn’t feel disappointed, but he had been hoping, without realizing it, that his mother had asked the priest to talk to him. He kicked some leaves and shrugged. “So you heard the story?”

“Not from you.”

“Oh,” he said again. Father Joe put a hand on his shoulder, gently.

“Let’s walk. I like to be outside this time of year, to enjoy the weather before it gets cold.”

They walked around the churchyard, Kory telling his story over the rustling of the leaves. He referred to Samaki only as a ‘friend,’ but told all of Malaya’s story and his mother’s reaction, his mounting anger, her sharp words and his reaction. In Father Joe’s silence, he felt a judgment, and reliving the story after so long, he felt the old anger surface again. With it now, at the priest’s side, he also felt unsure of himself. “I guess I sort of overreacted,” he said, and when Father Joe didn’t respond, added, “Are you going to assign me penance?”

The Dall sheep shook his head. “This is not the confessional, Kory. I’m disappointed that you felt you had to resort to harsh language, and that you failed to honor your mother, but I won’t assign you any penance. I suspect you’re living your penance.”

“But she was wrong too, wasn’t she?”

Father Joe sighed. “I presume you would not want me to render my judgment of you to your mother, would you? Then allow me to reserve my judgment of her for a time when she comes to seek it.”

“Sorry.” Kory folded his ears down.

The priest returned his hand to Kory’s shoulder. “I am sorry for you, Kory,” he said. “I wish I could say that the road ahead will get easier.”

He looked up and saw resolve in the wide brown eyes. “I will give you penance, of a sort, after all,” he said. Kory nodded. “But no Hail Marys, no Our Fathers. Your penance is to love your mother.”

“The prayers would be easier,” Kory said, joking to overcome his surprise.

“Of course they would. But this should not be hard. I am not asking you to forgive her, or even talk to her. I’m asking you to love her. Understand her actions. Don’t carry hate in your heart. That is not for her sake; it’s for yours. Okay?”

Whenever he thought about his mother, his chest tightened and he felt his paws want to clench. But he nodded and said, truthfully, “I’ll try.”

“You don’t try to do penance,” Father Joe said with half-playful sternness. You do it. You’re still going to church, right?”

Kory nodded. “St. Lutris.”

“Oh, Father Brewer. I do hope you’ll say my sermons are better than his.”

“I miss your sermons.” Kory grinned back up at the sheep.

Father Joe nodded. “I know it’s uncomfortable with your mother, but I’d be glad to see you here once in a while.”

“I’ll try.” He grinned. “I mean, I will.”

He’d thought that would be the end of it, until Father Joe made no move to dismiss him, instead looking up at the trees. “How are things with your friend?”

“Huh? Oh… fine.”

“Does he have your best interests at heart?”

Kory tilted his head. “I think so.”

“What I mean is, he’s allowing you to make your own choices, and not pressuring you into something you don’t feel comfortable with?”