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He leaned forward over the red-checkered tablecloth. “Oh, I want to see.”
She reached down to dig in her purse to find the small photo album she carried everywhere. She brought it out and held it so Chris could see as she thumbed through its plastic sleeve pages. Here Sammy was at three on a merry-go-round at the annual St. Rocco’s carnival in August; and there he was a couple of years later, looking solemn in a pressed button-down shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors, waiting to go inside Garfield Elementary for his first day of kindergarten. At seven, swimming at the public pool at Thompson Park, just up the hill from them. At ten, his face illuminated by the glow of a birthday cake’s candles. “I always make his cakes. He loves chocolate with maple frosting. And no ice cream! Nah, it has to be orange Jell-o.” She went on to show him several school pictures—all the way up to the last one, the seventh grade class portrait.
“He’s a handsome boy. Looks like you.” Chris winked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Probably more like his dad.” She immediately regretted saying that since she knew she’d forever be uncertain about Sammy’s paternity. “He’s not around.”
“Does he at least take an interest in the boy?”
She shook her head. “Hey, I’m out of wine.” She held up her glass.
He refilled it.
And perhaps it was the wine, but she suddenly felt the urge to talk about Sammy and what she now had confirmed.
“He’s gay. He just told me.”
Chris leaned back, thinking. “And you’re okay with that?”
Trudy was worried there would be a flaw in what seemed like the perfect man. “Of course I am. He’s my boy, my heart. Who he does or doesn’t love or feel attracted to makes no difference to me. I’d love him if he had three eyes and a finger for a nose.” She guffawed and thought she should make this her last glass of wine. She picked up the photo album again and held it out. “The object of his affection.” It was a picture of Sammy and Jeb, taken just a few days ago, as they sat on the back porch, playing Trouble.
Chris took the album from her hands and studied the picture. He then handed it back and said something that caused Trudy’s heart to swell with gratitude.
“Sweet.”
The one-word pronouncement brought a tear to her eye and an idea to her head. “Hey,” she blurted, without pausing to think much about it. “What are you doing on the Fourth?” The holiday was coming up. Right away, she mentally scolded herself—it was too soon to be introducing Sammy to a new man. Yet he was so sweet and nice, and had no problem with him being gay.
“Nothing much. You?”
“The boys and I are going to picnic and watch them from my top-secret bluff over the river. Best viewing spot in town.” She leaned forward, saidshhand put a finger to her lips. “You can only come along if you promise not to tell anyone where it is.”
He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. Just let me know what I can bring.”
“Put that thought out of your head right now. You let me treat you next time. I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay. Sounds great. Thanks. But please, let me do the driving. The van has more than enough room for us and whatever we bring along.”
This guy is too good to be true. When’s the other shoe gonna drop?
They moved on to other topics—their mutual love of dogs, which prompted Trudy to show him pictures of Vanilla; their thoughts on Ronald Reagan and his presidency and how Trudy thought he was all about the rich; favorite music, TV shows, and movies. They had so much in common.
He drove her home, walked her to her door, and gave her a chaste, closed-mouth kiss. His hands didn’t roam. He didn’t hint he wanted to come in. “I’ll see you guys on the Fourth. Give me a buzz if you change your mind about me bringing something. I make a mean deviled egg.”
He was, as he’d been all evening, a perfect gentleman.
She never saw him again.
Chapter 5
Now—Marc
“Whatdoyoudowhen the person you admittedly love morphs into a best friend or a roommate?
What do you do when, after many years of sharing the same bed, the same bathroom, the ups and downs of any relationship, and the endless days and nights together merge into one?
“What do you do when those days and nights no longer satisfy?
“Where do you turn?”
