"Was he a local boy? Did he talk like me?" I asked Pete, after he told me and Tim the story about what that guy tried to do to him in the motel room. "He said he was from Mississippi," Pete said. "Are you mad at me?" I knew I had been grumbling. I was mad, but not at him. I was mad at that asshole in the motel. When I get mad, though, I know my voice shows it. I put my arm around the little dude, and he flinched, like I was going to punch him or something. "Naw, Bubba. I'm sorry I scared you. That's just the way I talk. People tell me I sound gruff or something, but that's just the way guys talk around here," I said. "He's telling you the truth, Pete," Tim said. "He would never hurt you." I felt ole Pete relax when Tim said that. Tim is always more gentle than me. "You're mad at that guy, aren't you?" Tim said. "Yes, I am, Babe. What makes somebody like that think one of us would be interested in having sex with him just because he's horny? What gives him the right to demand sex just because a guy happens to be gay?" I don't understand it. They always go after the young and vulnerable ones, too. Like Pete. "Have you ever had sex?" Pete asked. He was pretty shy, but he was also cute. "Yes, I have, Pete. With this boy right here. We're boyfriends, and we're in love." Then I went ahead and explained the house rules about sex. "I've never had sex with anybody," Pete said. "And that's okay, too. You might want to someday, though," I said. "Chances are you will, in fact." Then I went through the whole rigmarole about "Why am I gay?" "Because God made you gay." "How did you know you're gay?" All that shit. I had just been through all of that with Todd, and there I was, repeating myself. I was turning into a damn broken record. "This really is a nice place," Pete said, when we finally got off the gay crap. "Have you ever had your own room before?" Tim asked. "I had my own room, but it was pretty much a dump. The furniture was old and beat up, and the place didn't smell very good," he said. "It wasn't nearly as nice as this." "You got any other bags besides this one?" I asked. "No. That's all," he said. "That has my clothes in it." That thing was one of those old-time handle-grip gym bags. My daddy has one he has had for a long time. His says "Emerald Beach High School" on it. He used that when he was a kid. It isn't big enough to hold very many clothes, that's for sure. "Take 'em out so you can put 'em away," I said. He opened that bag, and I could smell it from across the room. Bad! I took one of the pairs of briefs and held it up with my fingertips. It looked like he had shit himself in it. I get a little brown streak now and then, myself, especially if I fart a lot, but this was ridiculous. And there was a big ole spot of pre-cum in the front. There isn't a boy in the world who doesn't have little spots of pre-cum in his underwear most days, but, once again, this was excessive. "Did they tell you about toilet paper?" I asked. He blushed a little bit, but he also laughed for the first time. "Kyle. Give him a break," Timmy said, but he was laughing, too. "I've worn those a lot, and I haven't washed them," he said. "I can tell. I don't know if these are worth washing or not," I said. "That's all I've got," he said. "Yeah, but the store's got plenty," I said. "We're going shopping first thing tomorrow. We'll go to Wal-Mart, for starters." "I just about lived in Wal-Mart," he said. "I know. A lot of people do. It's packed every time I go in there," I said. "No, I mean, I really did almost live there. I didn't have any other place to go," he said. He told us about going there every day and shoplifting food and cigarettes. "By the way, it's okay to smoke here," Tim said. His eyes lit up. "Do you smoke?" he asked. "I don't, and he really doesn't either, anymore. Justin and Kevin do, though," Tim said. "Why?" "I was going to ask you for one. I don't have any, and I want one bad right now," he said. "We'll get you some smokes, Bubba. You got anything in this bag you really want to keep? 'Cause if you don't, I say we throw the whole thing away and start fresh," I said. "I think my jacket is still good, but it's not in there," he said. "I was wearing it when I got here, and I think I left it downstairs." "We'll evaluate it on a case-by-case basis," I said, playing the fool. It made him and Tim laugh, though. "Those jeans you got on don't look too bad. How long you been wearing 'em?" "About two weeks, and they're my best pair," he said. "Take 'em off, and I'll go wash 'em. Give me the rest of the clothes you're wearing, and I'll throw them away, too. You can get a shower while these are washing. I'll bring you some clean underwear, socks, and a shirt," I said. "You want me to get undressed right in front of you guys?" he asked. He said that pretty cute. "Let me tell you something, Bubba. You don't have anything we ain't seen a million times. We're pretty casual about nudity around here, and you'll be fine with it, too, eventually. But here's what you can do. Go on in the bathroom, undress, and get a shower. Before you get in, just throw the clothes out to us. When you finish your shower, just wrap a towel around yourself to come out. We'll have clean stuff here for you. Not the jeans. Those'll take a while. But underwear and a shirt," I said. "Okay. That's better," he said. "Will you stay in here while I take a shower?" he asked Tim. "If you want me to, I will," Tim said. "I do," he said. I thought he was beginning to trust us a little bit, maybe. I went downstairs. I started the washing machine and put the jeans in. Then I got to thinking, He's so much smaller than the rest of us, we don't have any underwear in the house that'll stay up on him. I started going through the bag to see if there was a pair worth keeping, at least for now. I found one that didn't have any holes and that wasn't tissue-paper thin. They were filthy, so I tossed them in with the jeans. The rest I threw away. "Justin, gimme a pack of smokes. The new boy needs 'em," I said. He was in the den all by himself. "Kyle, please don't make me get up. They're in the top drawer of my bureau. Just take a pack," he said. "Okay, thanks, Bubba. He'll pay you back," I said. "Where's everybody else?" "They went to Mass. It's Saturday night," he said. "How come you didn't go?" I asked. "I have to go tomorrow, and so does Kevin. It's Lent, you know. We have the Scrutinies. Don't you remember that? I don't know why Kevin went tonight, unless he forgot about tomorrow," he said. "Oh, yeah. Me and Tim'll go with you tomorrow," I said. I went back upstairs. I stopped in Justin's room for the cigarettes, and I borrowed one of his ashtrays and a lighter, too. Then I went into our room and found a nice, thick, long-sleeve jersey for Pete to wear. I knew it was going to swallow him, but that was the smallest thing I had. In fact, I had outgrown it a while back, and I hadn't worn it in over a year. I got him some socks, too. He was already out of the shower by the time I got back to the room. I gave him the clothes, and you'd have thought I had given him a mink coat or something. He was pretty excited about the smokes, too, and he said that regular-size Marlboro Reds in the box were his favorites. You and every other kid in the world, I thought, but I didn't say it. "We aim to please, Bubba. The jeans and one pair of your underwear will be ready in a little while. I decided to wash up the best pair of underwear because we don't have anything around here that would fit you," I said. "Why are you guys being so nice to me?" he asked, after a long pause in the conversation. "Because you're our new little brother, that's why," Tim said. "You've come to a whole different kind of place, Pete. You'll see." We flipped on the TV while we waited for his clothes. When I thought the clothes would be done in the washer, I went downstairs and put them in the dryer. Then I stopped in the kitchen and put together a little snack for us. "Justin, do you want a Cuban sandwich?" I called out to him. "What is it?" he called back. "It's a sandwich," I said. "You know, bread, meat, cheese, a pickle." "Yeah, make me one," he said. He had come into the kitchen by then. "They're already made. Fresh from the deli. I'm going to warm 'em up, though," I said. "Okay. You want a beer?" he asked. "Yeah, crack me open one," I said, and he did. "So what are you and Tim doing? Keeping the new guy all to yourself?" he asked. "Naw. Come on up and meet him. We were going through his clothes, and I threw away all but one pair of jeans and a set of briefs. They were for shit. He needs all new ones," I said. "Imagine that! A boy showing up here without clothes," he said. We both laughed. "I know it. Some people," I said, and we laughed again. "You going shopping tonight?" he asked. I glanced at my watch, and it wasn't even seven o'clock yet. Wal-Mart is open twenty-four hours a day. "I hadn't thought about it, but it's still real early. You want to go?" I asked. "Yeah, I'll go. The rest of 'em won't be home for a good while, and there's nothing good on TV. Might as well," he said. "You realize what we're doing, don't you?" "What? Talking about shopping?" he asked. "Exactly. And you're going for pure recreation," I said. We laughed our asses off. "Please don't tell anybody, okay? Don't 'out' me, Kyle. I'll have to kill you, if you do," he said. More laughing. "These are ready. Let's go. Grab a couple of cokes for Tim and Pete," I said. "Pete, I want you to meet a very special guy. This is our brother, and my best friend, Mister Justin 'Alabama' Davis. Justin, this is Pete. What's your last name?" I asked. "Hendricks. Hi, Justin. Is 'Alabama' really your middle name?" Pete said. Pete still had the towel around his middle, and I saw that little wee-wee push against it when Justin shook his hand. He's gay, all right, I thought. "No, 'Alabama' ain't my middle name. I wish it was. I got a real one, I think, but I don't remember what it is," he said. "For real? You don't remember your middle name?" I asked. "Of course I remember it, Kyle, but I ain't telling you. I don't tell anybody," he said. "What confirmation name did you pick?" I asked. "Now, think about it. What do you think it would be?" he asked. "'Kyle?'" I asked. "In your dreams, Bubba. I chose 'Brian,'" Jus said. "Oh, Jus, that is so sweet. Does he know yet?" Tim asked. "No, and y'all don't tell him, either, you hear?" Justin said. "Oh, we won't, Jus. That is so romantic," Tim said. "Brian is his boyfriend. That's what this is all about," I said to Pete. "Come on. Let's eat before this food gets cold." "This is good. What'd you say this is again?" Justin asked. "It's a Cuban sandwich. They are good, aren't they?" I said. "It's the bread that's so good. Crispy, but not like that French bread in New Orleans. That stuff's almost too crispy," Jus said. "I know. That's why I heated the sandwiches. To crisp the bread. They always serve their sandwiches hot, or warm, anyway," I said. "Well, they sure are good," he said. Pete plowed right through his, and he looked like he was still hungry. "Did you get enough?" Justin asked him. "I could eat another one. This is the first thing I've had to eat today," Pete said. "Shit, Pete, man. Why didn't you tell me that?" I said. "Let me go make you another one. Anybody else?" "As long as you're making, make me another one, too," Justin said. "Me, too, Babe," Tim said. "Okay. Round two, coming up," I said. "Justin, come down with me." "Okay," he said. The buzzer for the dryer went off right when we walked into the kitchen. "What the hell was that? Is somebody trying to break in the house?" Jus said. I laughed. "No, dummy, that's the dryer. I washed some of his clothes," I said, still laughing. "Get 'em out, while I make the sandwiches." "These ain't clean," he said, holding up the briefs as he walked back into the kitchen. "You want to wash 'em again?" "I think those are permanent shit stains. They ain't coming out," I said. "They smell clean," he said. "They'll be good enough for tonight," I said. "We'll buy him all new, and he can throw those away." "Look at this. This here's a cum stain," he said, showing me the front of the briefs. "What do you expect, Davis? He's a boy," I said. "Well, I'm a boy, too, and I don't have cum stains on my underwear," he said. "Pull down your pants. Let me inspect," I said. He laughed, and I laughed, too. "You dumb fuck," he said. "So, what do you think of him?" I asked. "I don't know. He seems like a nice guy, and he's pretty cute, too. He boned up when he shook my hand; I know that," he said. "I know. I didn't think you noticed," I said. "Oh, yeah. That's the kind of thing I notice every time, Bubba. You never do that, though, do you?" he said. "No, Justin, I am finally able to touch the palm of your hand without getting an erection," I said. He laughed. "Being serious, he seems like a good boy," Jus said. "Of course, Sean seemed like a good boy at first, too. I guess we'll see." "I know. Jus, we should have caught on to Sean from the start. He was too slick," I said. "I know, and this one definitely ain't slick," he said. "How much longer you got to cook those?" "They're ready," I said. "You want another beer?" "Naw, gimme a Sobe," I said. "Ooh. That's what I want, too. I'll get one for Tim and Pete, too," he said. We took the clothes, the sandwiches, and the four drinks upstairs. Pete got dressed the rest of the way, and then we ate. "What is this drink?" Pete asked. "It's a Sobe. Some kind of mixture of tropical fruit juices and herbs. Mine's a Tsunami. That's a big wave. See the little lizard surfing on the bottle. It's orange cream, which I guess ain't all that tropical, but it's got two herbs in it, too: Guarana and Taurine. I don't know what that is, but it tastes good," I said. "Mine's a Liz Blizz. It tastes like coconut," Jus said. It was white, and I wondered if it was coconut milk. "Mine is Lizard Lava. It's a strawberry taste, and the bottle says it has aloe vera in it. I guess you could use it for sunburn," Tim said. "What's yours, Pete?" "It's an Elixir. The bottle says it's orange carrot flavor. It doesn't taste like any carrot I've ever eaten," he said. "It's really good, though." "My favorite is the strawberry banana one. I think it's called Lizard Fuel," I said. "I figured you'd get around to the banana sooner or later, and, of course, that one would have to be your favorite, now wouldn't it?" Jus said. Tim, Justin, and I laughed, and ole Pete didn't know if he should laugh or not. I knew he got the joke just as good as the rest of us, but he was new. "You give me no rest, do you?" I said. "Nope. That's my job, Kyle, to tease the shit out of you," Justin said. "Pete, we tease each other an awful lot in fun around here. Especially these two, and Rick," Tim said. "Did he mean the banana thing the way I thought he did?" Pete asked. "No other way to mean it, Bubba. Of course, I did," Justin said. Pete grinned. "Okay, let's get the circle jerk over with so we can take this boy shopping. Tim, Justin and I realized we can shop tonight. It's only eight o'clock. Not even, really," I said. "Well, let's go," Tim said. "I enjoyed my dinner, Babe." "Me, too, Kyle," Justin said. "Don't mention it," I said. * * * There's a mall near us that has a bunch of discount-type stores: TJ Maxx, Ross, Steinmart, Goody's, Shoe Carnival. You can get a lot of clothes for pretty cheap. And you can get designer stuff, too, at TJ, Ross, and Steinmart. I'm talking about Polo shirts with the little polo player on the front, and all. CK stuff, too. On some of those, the label has been cut out. Who. Fucking. Cares? If I have my choice between paying $62 dollars for a shirt with a label, and $22 for the exact same shirt without the label, there isn't a choice, in my book. I know Justin doesn't like to shop any more than I do, but what we don't like is just-looking shopping. I love putting together a whole wardrobe for a new boy like Pete. What I don't like is just walking around looking at shit without any purpose. Shopping with a purpose is fun. He needed everything, so we went at it. It's technically winter in Emerald Beach now, like everywhere else in North America, but not really. I had my shirt off for half a day on St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans just a little while back, and it's already going into the second week of Break. He doesn't need winter clothes. He needs summer clothes. And that's what we bought. The problem with Pete is that he's so damn little. He's borderline too big for the Boys' Department and borderline too little for the Men's Department in most stores. The long pants are the real problem, waist and length. "Pete, I'm striking out on all these sizes," Justin said. "Have you got hair down there, yet?" He was dead serious. Me, Tim, and Pete busted up laughing when he said that. "Yeah, Justin. I'm sixteen. I've had it for several years now," Pete said, still laughing. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean nothing by that. You sound sixteen, and you got some beard shit on your face, but the size . . . " Justin said. "I'm just a small guy," Pete said. "Don't hold that against me." "Pete, why would I hold that against you? I ain't that big myself," Justin said. "To me, you're huge," Pete said. "Yeah, but without the magnifying glass, it really ain't that big," I said. Again, it was Justin and Tim laughing. Pete was confused. "Pete, I was teasing him about his dick. That thing's about average, maybe a little bit more. But the rest of him is big, isn't it? Not all that tall, but this boy is big. Make a muscle to show him, Jus," I said. "Kyle, I ain't making a muscle in this place. Are you out of your fucking mind? I'd have people hitting the floor in a dead faint all over the damn store," Justin said. We were feeding each other lines like a rehearsed comedy team that night, that's for sure. "Come on. Do it. We can ignore the women and check out the men and boys who fall down. Who knows, we might find Pete a boyfriend tonight. I think you owe it to your new brother. Come on. Do it," I said. Tim and Pete were laughing at us to beat the band. "Kyle, I'm calling your ass out to the parking lot right now on this one. Come on, boy," Justin said. I crowed right up. "You want to fight me, boy?" I said. People around us were watching. There was tension in the air. I saw one of the guys around us go to the floor manager and talk to him. "No, I don't want to fight you. I want to have a smoke. You want one?" Jus said. "No, but I'll keep you company," I said. Several older ladies who had been listening, clapped. Justin put his arm around my shoulder. "This here is my brother and my best friend. We'd never have a fist fight," he said, and the ladies clapped some more. "You guys scared the shit out of me," Pete said. "Pete, you need to get used to it. They don't usually do it in public like this, but, as far as I know, they've never touched each other," Tim said. "We did one time, Tim, but I deserved that," Justin said. "Do you remember that?" "Yeah, I do, Jus, but we weren't friends yet when that happened. That was the morning we became friends, wasn't it?" Tim said. "Absolutely. I remember the date. It was June 13th. That was the turning point of my life. I'll never forget that day," Jus said. I wanted to change the subject. It was getting a little too personal, with Pete there and all. "I think we can get Pete some pants at the real mall in town tomorrow," I said. "They can do alterations, and these places can't. Plus, we can get alterations from the hotels. We need to buy him a suit, anyway. Let's go get the shit we picked out in this store and go home. The rest of them are there by now. Pete still hasn't met his brothers." Justin and Pete had long since finished their cigarettes, and we went back inside the store. All the stuff Pete had picked out was exactly where we had left it. We paid for it, and we headed for home. I thought the shopping trip that night was very productive. I charged every bit of it on the household credit card. We didn't skimp. We got him 24 pairs of underwear and socks. Fourteen nice shirts. Four pairs of jeans. Eight pairs of shorts. Three pairs of shoes. Two belts, one black and one brown. And one navy blue pair of Docker pants. That will probably hold him for now. Back at the house, we introduced Pete to Brian, Denny, Murray, and Todd. We had a good time with them, laughing and joking. Justin and Brian made ice cream for us that night, and Tim and I both got bananas standing up, between the two big mounds covered with coconut. Pete didn't know shit about what was going on, but he'll learn. I loved my brothers so much that night.
Pete seems like a really nice kid. He's small, compared to the others. Of course it might just be that they are large. He's very shy, but now and then he lets us see a glimpse of his personality, and it's cute. Kyle and Tim take their duties as mentors very seriously, as I knew they would. They took him shopping the same night he got here, and they fixed him up with the clothes he needed. For all the money Kyle has at his disposal, he's very conservative when it comes to clothes. He always looks good, and his clothes are usually designer brands, but he prefers to shop at the semi-discount places than the big department stores in the mall and in town. I've noticed he seems to have a particular fondness for shoes. He probably has a half-dozen pairs of deck shoes, for instance, and in the summer, he wears a different pair every day. The cowboy boots Justin gave him are his favorite foot apparel, but, since he wears only shorts about eight months of the year, those have limited usefulness. The second day he was here, they took Pete to get a haircut, and he looked pretty good once that was done. Evidently they bought him a razor, too. He cleaned up real nice. I got Pete registered for school. I didn't have the paperwork yet on that first Monday morning, but Sally Ortega took my word for it. "If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" she asked. "The problem is what to do with him." "What do you mean?" I asked. "Well, it's February, and he doesn't have a credit to his name. He'd be a junior chronologically, but he hasn't been in school since the eighth grade. And I'm taking it on faith that he passed the eighth grade. I mean, there's no way I'd send a sixteen year old to a middle school, that's for sure. I have the prerogative as principal to place him anywhere I deem appropriate, but I certainly don't want to set him up for failure by placing him in classes he can't handle," she said. "Yeah. I see the problem," I said. "There's a high school in town that's an alternative school. They have a whole different curriculum than the so-called 'regular' high schools have. They also have performance-based graduation. The problem is, you want him here with his brothers, don't you?" she said. "Exactly. He doesn't have his license, and he certainly doesn't have a car," I said. "Not only that, I think he needs the support of the other kids in the family who are here. And of you, too." "Well, he'll certainly get mine," she said. "Don't worry. We'll work something out, and if he's twenty when he graduates, he'll just be twenty. So what?" I smiled. You are quite a lady, I thought. They cobbled together a course of study for Pete at Beachside, just as I knew they would, and he seemed to adjust to the routine of school easily enough. We set up his ATM account, just like the other DCF boys, and he has started working out in the weight room with the rest of us, too. He's shy and rather quiet, but he also looks happy. He has a great receptive sense of humor, and he obviously enjoys the teasing and banter that go on all the time. It looks like we've lucked out once again. * * * During the second week of March, I got a phone call that I wasn't expecting but that I somehow instinctively knew was inevitable. It was from Barbara Kelly, Sean's mother. "Hello, this is Kevin Foley," I said, after Mary Ann told me who was on the line. "Kevin, it's Barbara Kelly. Sean's mother?" "Hi, Barbara. How are you?" I said, all cheerful. "Not good, Kevin. They found Sean, and he's been beaten to death," she said. My heart stopped. "What?" I said. "Yes. In Santa Fe, New Mexico. They called last night. The police . . ." she said, and then she dissolved into tears. "Barbara, I'm so sorry," I said. "For all the problems, we genuinely loved and cared about Sean." "I know you did, Kevin, and he loved you and Rick, and some of the boys, too. Last night, after I calmed down from my initial shock, I went back to the emails from him that I had deleted without reading. Most of them, I think, were in the 'trash' file of my email client. I read every one of them, and what emerged was the picture of a boy who was deeply, deeply troubled. He had nothing but good things to say about you and Rick, and he seemed to be especially fond of two boys named Kyle and Justin. He complained bitterly about the fact that they were 'taken,' but he liked their boyfriends, too. He told me about an intimate encounter he had had with a stranger in New Orleans and about how Kyle and Justin had made sure he was safe. If only they had been with him in Santa Fe," she said, and the tears started again. When she calmed down, I asked, "Do you know any details about what happened?" "Some. They found him in a fleabag motel that rents by the hour. There was evidence of a male sexual encounter, and the police will use that evidence for DNA identification. The problem is, if there's no DNA record of the murderer, they may never find him. There's a videotape from a surveillance camera at the motel desk, but Sean booked and paid for the room with his credit card. That's the kind of place it was, where they would videotape the guests checking in. There are no pictures whatsoever of the other person. The desk clerk has verified that it was, indeed, another man, but he couldn't give the police a detailed description of him. He said Sean requested four towels, instead of the standard two that came with the room, but that's really all they have," she said. "Barbara, I'm just so . . ." I started to say. "You're crying, aren't you? Kevin, those tears mean the world to me. To know that you loved my son enough to cry over his passing means he made a difference in at least one person's life. I blame myself and my husband for the way Sean turned out, but it was never intentional on our parts. You have to believe that. I was a terrible mother, and we were terrible parents, but we didn't realize it as it was happening," she said. "I know that," I said. "Anything yet on the arrangements? We're going to be there with you," I said. "Oh, thank you, Kevin," she said, and the tears began again. "I was hoping you would." "Of course we will be, and we'll bring some of Sean's friends from here with us, if we can," I said. "Thank you. Frederick and I are flying to Santa Fe this afternoon to identify the body and bring our boy home. Beyond that, nothing is set," she said. "Let's stay in touch every day. Do you have a cell phone?" I asked. "Yes. Here's the number," and she gave it to me. "You have my cell number, don't you?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "And Kevin, thank you so much. And please thank Rick for me. I'd call him, but I can't go through this again." "I understand. We're with you all the way," I said. "I know you are. Goodbye," she said through her tears. "Oh, my God!" I said aloud. "OH, MY GOD!!" I screamed. There was a light tap on my door. "Kevin, are you okay?" Mary Ann asked. "Come in," I said. Tears were streaming down my face. "Kevin. Baby. What happened?" she said. "One of my sons was murdered," I said. "Oh, my God! Which one," she asked in a panic. "Sean. Sean Kelly. The runaway," I said. "Mary Ann, this is the worst thing that has ever happened in my whole life." I put my head down on my desk, sobbing uncontrollably. She picked up my phone and punched in four digits. "Rick, get down to Kevin's office immediately. Stop whatever you're doing. This is an emergency," she said in a voice that let him know it truly was. "What?" Rick said, bursting into my office. "It's Sean. He's been murdered," I said, and then I cried some more. * * * I told the story to Rick, once I settled down, and he and I cried together. "He never deserved this," he said. "I know," I said, and he and I cried more tears for our boy, hugging each other. "I want us to get out of this fucking foster care business," Rick said. "What part do you want to get out of? Huh? The Tims? The Kyles? The Justins? The Brians? The Dennys? The . . . " "Stop it, Kevin. That's not fair, and you know it," he said. "Babe, it's a crap shoot. We're going to get a Sean now and then. Who knows? This new kid, Pete, might be another Sean, but he might be another Justin, too. Would you give up Justin?" I asked. He squeezed his eyes tight, and the tears were rolling down his face. "Kevin, you know I would never give up Justin. Why are you doing this?" "Because I love you, and because I love the fact that there's an 'us.' And because I love those boys, just as I know you do. I know we didn't make it with Sean, but look at the ones we have made it with. Jesus Christ, look at Justin. Look at Seth. Look at Alex. Look at Brian. Look at all of them. We can't let it go, Rick. I won't let it go," I said. He was quiet for a long time. "Look at Jeff. Look at Chuck. Look at Ken," he said. "I know," I said. "You're right. We can't let it go. I won't let it go, either," he said. "Do the boys know?" "Not yet," I said. "Let's get them at the house. In the den. That's where we have to tell them," he said. He got out his cell phone. He had all their numbers programmed in. "Kyle? It's Rick. We want all of y'all at the house at 12:30. Stop and pick up Popeye's or something, okay? Enough for everybody." "Sure. What the fuck's going on?" Kyle asked. Rick held out his phone so I could hear. "We'll tell you. Get the house boys there, okay?" "Okay," he said. "Rick, I hope nothing happened to no baby in New Orleans, 'cause if it did . . . " "Rob's fine, Kyle," I said. "That's good. I worry about him all the time, you know? Babies are prone to get sick," he said. "Rob's not sick. Do what I asked you, okay?" "Yes, sir, I will. Bye," and he was off. His next call was to Jeff, and he told him to get the Townhouse Boys at our place at 12:30, too. They were all there by 12:30, and Kyle looked like he had raided Popeye's. There was a ton of chicken, and more red beans and rice, Cajun rice, coleslaw, corn on the cob, and biscuits than you could account for. The chicken was all "spicy," of course, because that's the way we liked it. "What the hell's going on? Why are we doing this?" Kyle demanded. "Fix your plate. We'll tell you when we all sit down," Rick said. "Did y'all win the lotto?" Justin asked. "I wish," Rick said. "Hey, Rick, I got a clue for you about the lotto. You got to play it to win," Jus said. "Do you play it?" Rick asked Justin. "Hell, no, but I do know you gotta play it to win," Justin said. "Jus, get your plate, sit down, and shut up, okay?" Rick said. "Yes, sir. I guess this ain't a time for jokes. Am I right?" Jus said. "Yes, Justin. You're right," Rick said. Rick spoke, once we were all in the den. "Guys, I know we don't usually do this, but I want us to join hands. I want us to think about all the boys and all the men who have lived here with us. Tim, Kyle, Justin, and Brian. You guys have been here the longest. You've all seen a bunch of guys come and go. You guys have been wonderful about accepting new men into our home. Please join me in this prayer. "Heavenly Father, you made us who we are, and we can't do a thing about it. You have gifted each of us with the capacity to love, and we thank you for that grace. Please give the brothers here, and those who have left here, Your favor forever. Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty, through Christ, our Lord, "Amen," Rick and the rest said in unison. "It's about Sean, ain't it," Kyle said as soon as the prayer was finished. "Yes," Rick said. "He's dead." |