Chapter Three
Two hundred yards from his parent’s motel, Riley spotted his mother standing tip-toe at the top of an unsteady ladder while trying to change the motel’s twenty-foot sign. He nearly dropped his coffee in his lap. What the—? He shoved his coffee cup in the holder and floored the gas. His car bounced over the speed bump at the parking lot’s entrance and coffee flew out of the cup. He threw the car in park under the sign and jumped out. “Mom, what are you doing?”
“Papito, hold the ladder,” she ordered in Spanish.
Riley jogged to it and grabbed the sides, placing one foot on the bottom rung. “Why isn’t Nik—Cai doing this, mom?” Hadn’t he said he was working here?
“He’s at his other job today,” Pops said as propped the restaurant door open with his chair. He pulled on his gloves, and then wheeled across the lot.
“It’s not safe up there for her, Pops.”
“I already told her.”
“What you should be telling me is that you installed the grill as I asked, Jorge. Then ask your son why he has not gone to confession while a nonbeliever has confessed his sins just yesterday.”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Riley said, prepared to lecture her about hanging up on him this morning. She reached for the furthest end of the sign, stretching her leg out and wobbling as she screwed a bulb in. “I—Mom!” He was sure that an EKG would’ve shown him flatlining for a second. “Mom, come down from there!”
“Isabela, let the boy do that.”
“Boy?” She descended the ladder as if she were royalty from heaven, looked her son up and down, and then hmphed. Grabbing the dishrag off her shoulder, she wiped her hands. “Our son is not a boy. He is a thirty-year-old man who needs to go to confession. Nikolaj is a boy. A very sweet, very young boy.”
His mother thought he was a lecher. “There’s nothing going on— You know what, mom, it’s none of your business.”
“I made it my business.” She pursed her lips, grabbed the handlebars of his father’s chair, and wheeled him inside.
Riley glared at the sky and counted. When he got to five, he caught up with them in the kitchen.
Without missing a beat, his mother said, “Help your father.”
“He’s dressed for work, Isabela.” Pops got a wrench out of the homemade toolbox attached to his chair. A silver tuft escaped the oiled helmet of hair on his head.
“I can stay a while. Kelly’s kid is sick, so she’s running late. That the new grill?” Riley opened the large box near the range and put the metal rods and pieces in his father’s lap. To his mother he said, “I need to speak with you about Cai.”
“You already spoke to me. I said no.” She tossed him the dish towel. “Stay clean.” Then she left.
Riley straightened and threw up his hands at her retreating back, then turned to his father. “I just asked her to wait a couple of weeks before letting him come around. You’d think I asked her to hide a body in the ice machine. Or told her I was gay again.”
“Unscrew those bolts and give me the casters.”
That was it? “Pops, he’s trouble. You know the kind of trouble he gets into. Don’t tell me you agree with her on this.”
“Hijo, in case you’ve forgotten, I was a cop. I know who he is. I also know he’s part of this family now. No one to blame but yourself when we treat him like it.”
“I’m trying to protect her.”
“The other day, she announced he needed Jesus and shoved him into the confessional. His eyes were the size of teacups before she locked him in with Father Wolff. You should be protecting him from her .”
“How do you suggest I do that? Tell her I’m going to bang him up against the freezer if I see him here?”
“Shock does not work on a woman who birthed eight children. It will remind her you’re single. Do you want to poke around in that cage? I remember the yelling match between you two the last time she interfered with who you were dating. You barely came to visit for a month. Let’s not go through that again.”
Riley held the brackets while his dad bolted the rods in place. “Yeah, I remember.” The screaming. The crying. The endless trips to church. It wasn’t even a date. It was a hookup his mother ran into on her way to bring him leftovers.
“Be happy she’s not insisting on the priesthood. Small steps with your mother, mijo.”
“And Cai?”
His father shrugged. “I don’t see what you see.” He laid the wrench on his lap before he added, “But I don’t know what you know, either. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
* * *
At three-thirty, Cai clocked out for lunch, then sat on a bench outside the art store. He crossed his legs and stared at the street art on the building across from him. A lone Latino boy had been painted against the edge of the bricks, surrounded by gang signs and dirt. His purple backpack dragged sadly behind him.
Every day Cai found something new to love about the mural. Today, it was a little hole in the sneaker on the boy’s foot. A car zoomed past, radio blaring, smoke billowing out of the crack in the window. The driver’s attention never wavered beyond the view in front of him. How is it possible to ignore this mural?
Julian plunked next to him. “What are you doing?”
“Admiring the wall.”
“Is that some sort of Zen thing?”
Cai looked at Julian and pointed straight ahead. “The wall.”
“What’s interesting about gang signs?”
“It’s not just gang signs. Look at the mural . It’s a statement about the struggle to be more while surrounded by people and influences that drag you down.”
“I promise to look. In about three months. It’s bloody freezing out here!”
“You’re picking me up in a few hours. Why are you here now?” Cai unwrapped his scarf and wound it around Julian’s neck, then flipped up his own collar.
“I’m going to be late.”
“And you’ve come to tell me in person because you’re above twenty-first century technology?”
Julian slapped a paper bag against Cai’s chest. “Made you lunch, didn’t I, you ungrateful, sarcastic little bugger.”
“Thanks.” Cai grinned as he opened the bag. The moment of joy passed. He wrinkled his nose, mouth falling into a scowl. “Carrots?”
“Not just carrots ,” Julian mimicked a whine that made Cai laugh again. “Celery sticks with peanut butter and a portabella mushroom sandwich and curried tofu salad.”
“Um...” Cai’s stomach churned. “Thank you?” he said quietly, trying to hide his dread.
“Going to sit here and make sure you eat it, too.”
Cai pulled out a carrot and chewed while Julian huddled into a wooly ball. These weren’t so bad at least. Should he eat slowly until Julian got too cold? Then he could chuck the rest. Or shove everything in quickly to get it over with?
“Been thinking about what you said this morning.”
Conversation meant Julian was sticking around. Cai looked dejectedly at the bag of vegetables. “Which part?” he asked, quickly tossing a celery stick over his shoulder.
“I reject your rejection.”
“Um...”
“Guess why?”
“My stellar fashion sense?” Cai indicated his paint-speckled jeans and the yellow tassels dangling from his chullo. He knew Julian hated all of it.
“Obviously. Other than that, and my fetish for awkward boys who vomit rainbows, I quite like making you laugh and blush. Yes, exactly like that.” Julian pointed. “And you quite like my enormous cock. Therefore, we belong together.”
“Julian—”
“That’s the fourth veg that’s flown over your shoulder. Is there a gaggle of bunnies behind us? It is ‘gaggle’, isn’t it? A herd? A mob of bunnies?”
“I—” The kiss smothered Cai’s response. Warmth spread in his chest. He brought his hand up, mitten pressing against Julian’s cheek.
“Right,” Julian said with a stuttered breath. He pulled off the scarf and laid it in Cai’s lap. “Your lips are cold. You should go inside. And eat your veggies. We’ve a long night ahead.”
“Doing what?”
“Going to church.”
After Julian left, the wind crept inside the collar of Cai’s coat. He picked up the scarf to wrap it back around his neck. Julian’s expensive aftershave lingered in the red and white wool. He clutched it for a second before tucking it in the paper bag and going back to work.