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"So help me, God." His eyes come to mine.
I smile. "That's what we're saying, yeah? You believe He’ll help you, don’t you?"
He nods quickly, his eyes gleaming.
We’re walking toward a garden of shrubs. For a minute, it’s just our soft footsteps on the grass, in this same stretch of lawn where the car ran me over. I inhale through my nose, looking out at the nearby road before locking my eyes on the grass blades. I won’t be afraid of that shit.
Luke continues, "So, people will ask why I should be able to have a partner, and a family, if I can't do it the way they think is right. And I can talk about not judging one another. But at the end of the day, there will be doubters. Always. This is the point history has brought us to. Interpretation, guidance from the church—and this is how things have evolved. There's nothing anyone can do about it."
"Except be honest,” I say. “And be brave as hell. And that's what you're doing."
"I'm not."
"You are, dude. Don’t sell my guy short. You're miserable, uncomfortable, tired. And brave. And I love that about you." We stop in the grass, in front of a weeping willow. My eyes lock onto a black car that’s moving smoothly down the road, about three hundred yards away from us. The lawn is still covered with rainbow flags. The car moves past us. I cup Sky’s cheek, and we kiss softly...then more deeply.
"Let's go to my office, Rayne."
His hand tightens around mine, and he leads me to a door I’ve never noticed before.
“There are exit points all around. You probably haven’t noticed,” he says.
He touches the finger pad, and I realize it’s just like the one at his house. That thought moves through my mind: that his fingerprint is the key to this entire kingdom; this place is his domain in every way. Of course it hurts to feel rejected here…to be attacked here.
Sky leads me to a stairwell, and we go up the stairs two at a time. He pulls me, almost too fast, through a hall, and I can tell without actually recognizing the scenery around us that we’re moving toward the pastor’s wing.
“Lots of people aren’t here. At a banquet,” he says, reaching down, where I notice his pants are tented.
Fuck yes, McD. Give it to me. On the pastor’s desk.
We start kissing by a padded bench, and after that, we can't stop. Luke is right: the pastor's wing is empty. We’re grabbing at each other as we round a partial wall and sight his office. There’s a woman standing near his door in a green suit.
Her eyes pop open wider as she sees us. "Hello."
Luke’s face goes grave. “Mrs. Corningwell."
"Pastor McDowell."
Oh my God, his pants are still tented. I step partly in front of him so he can fix that, pretending to squint at something behind the woman.
"I came by to discuss the donation,” she says pertly.
I can see Luke's face pale. "Sure. Of course."
"I'll catch ya later." I choose my words with care, in case she happens to be someone who doesn’t know about him being gay yet, and so if she does know, she won’t necessarily know that I’m me. That is, assuming she missed that giant boner.
I feel melancholy as I take the stairs back down toward my area. It's a heart thing, not a head thing. I understand why we have to be so careful, and I want that—for him. But I guess if I'm honest with myself, it's been tough to be here at the church with things like they are. It's nothing like before, when he was always sneaking down to see me. There's no forbidden element, no heart-pounding thrill stoked by an expiration date. And that's okay. That's not what I wanted. Never has been.
In return, though, I guess I thought we'd feel more...real.
I'm not upset with Luke—or anyone—but he was right when he said that bit about the closet. It feels like we've both got one leg out and one leg in. As I walk through the empty halls and echoing corridors, I can't help thinking of myself somewhere else—working in some San Francisco studio. I see a cloudy sky on a windy, atmospheric day. I'm going in by myself, and I'm going home after dark. Maybe I see Luke in bed that night but—
Don't do that shit. You're not even gonna go there, Vanny.
I had the co-op back home, at least.
Do. Not. Go. There.
I will have Luke here, I tell myself sternly. I feel so sure of it, even as I glance down at my left hand, seeing the bare finger.
I knew this would require patience. That coming back to work, for him, is facing demons. He’s shown me—more in the last day than ever before—how fucked up he feels about it all. And so of course he needs to tread carefully. I take a deep breath, blow it out, and veer off course into one of the restrooms. When I was a kid, I noticed splashing myself with cold water could help me get out of a mood, so that's what I do now. I splash my warm cheeks and wash my hands, and I tell myself I've got this.
