Thirty-Five
ADAK
I called the GM of the Carolina Blue Hawks the morning after we arrived at Rake’s. They’d already seen the news about the car bombs. When their first question to me was, “Are you and Oren okay? Do you need anything?” I knew I was making the right decision. They will be a good home for us.
We talked about the contract for a few minutes with the agreement that we’d have a larger discussion when we arrived in North Carolina in a couple weeks.
The only thing I asked was that they didn’t announce the move until I’ve had a chance to speak to the Bobcats.
I wanted to tell management in person and then my team.
However, we were staying out of Anaheim until the police apprehended Frankie.
The fucker was hiding.
While we remained at Rake’s house, Oren and I spent a lot of time reassuring our friends that we were safe and virtually touring houses on the market in North Carolina.
We’re concentrating around Jordan Lake, but hoping to find a close-knit community like the one I live in now.
It would be too much to ask for gay neighbors on either side of us like we have in Anaheim, but one can hope.
We return home after eight days; but only after they finally arrest Frankie and put him in the same prison where his father was murdered. Since I can see Oren’s discomfort in the house, I decide not to leave him home alone.
As we were being informed of Frankie’s arrest, Oren voiced his concern about Dane working there and how he might let Frankie escape.
Jack told us that Dane’s been on a leave of absence since their father’s murder.
It’s not clear whether he’s concerned for his own life or if he couldn’t be in the place where his father worked.
Apparently, Dane hasn’t been back to the house since Jessup’s death either. He’s been staying with a friend and has had no contact with Frankie. The text Oren received from him right after Frankie’s had apparently been a coincidence.
I’m not sure how much of that I believe. Coincidences like that aren’t common, though I trust Jack when he assures me he’s specifically had tabs on Dane since Jessup’s death. They were close. His murder hit Dane hard.
Since I don’t want to put Oren on the spot and bring him to the arena with me and I equally don’t want to leave him alone in my office while I speak to management, I drop him at Nutter Bean with his friends where Shelton assures me he has a stun gun and Greta is legally carrying at all times and has been since Oren’s father’s first outburst in the shop years ago.
This is obviously news to Oren, since he looks at Greta with both wonder and terror.
She smiles and insists, “I have a permit, promise.”
I feel comfortable leaving Oren there to hang out with his friends. Huntley will be there soon, too. Oren plans to tell them all we’re moving once they’re all together.
Today is the day for announcements. Once I’m done with this meeting with the Bobcat’s management, I’m getting together with the team for a barbeque. Lamar volunteered to host, for which I’m thankful, since too many cars on our street would cause the neighborhood a lot of stress right now.
The familiar faces gathered around the conference room table give me pause. They’ve been good to me. I truly hate leaving them, and I’ve been dreading this conversation for days.
“Where you going?” Bozendorf asks when I don’t speak right away.
“What?”
He gives me a smile. “Your safety is more important than your location. I know that neither you nor Oren have been safe here for the last month. While it’s felt a little arbitrary and perhaps distant with the attacks all being verbal and expressed online, that changed recently with the car bombs right in front of your house.
Personally, I’d be concerned if you chose to stay. ”
I close my eyes, bow my head, and nod.
“We also know that you’d never leave Anaheim without an extreme reason that can’t be overlooked,” Radcliff says. “Your loyalty to our boys, to us and this franchise, is absolute. You’ve made that clear with everything you’ve ever said.”
“I’m relieved you know that,” I say.
“We do,” Bozendorf says. “So, which of the rumors is true? Which offer won out?”
“For the record, I only received one offer. I’m not sure where you’re getting your gossip, but I think there’s just a lot of speculative chatter,” I tell him. “I’m going to Carolina.”
“As far from California as you can get,” Radcliff says with a chuckle.
“Honestly, that’s one of the most appealing parts of the move. I need to get Oren out of here. Away from every reminder of the hell he’s lived through. Moving to another neighborhood, even on the other side of Anaheim, isn’t going to ease his mind. Especially not now.”
“They caught Frankie,” Bozendorf says.
“That man isn’t right,” I say. “I’ve been watching clips and shit of this man. I’d be surprised if someone doesn’t cry that he’s mentally unsound and he receives a light sentence.”
“And the other brother?”
I shrug. “My contact at EEPD says he’s shut himself up after Jessup’s death. The youngest brother was actually on his way out of the state, his own escape. He was on the phone with Oren when the bombs went off. Poor kid thought he was listening to his brother’s death.”
A shudder ran through the room.
“I can’t imagine,” someone murmured.
I nod. “Yep. So… this is the best decision for us.”
“I agree,” Bozendorf says. “It sucks for us, but you have our support. When are you telling the team?”
“Tonight. I invited them for a barbeque, and Gibbs took over all planning and hosting responsibilities as soon as I suggested it.”
A quiet chuckle surrounds me. “They’re going to miss you, Coach,” Radcliff says.
It isn’t until I leave the meeting that I realize Demitri wasn’t there. Likely, that’s why I feel peaceful about the way it went.
I’m met with teary faces when I show up at the coffee shop.
There are a lot of concerned patrons as they’re handed their drinks by someone who’s crying.
It appears they knew what was coming and had showered Oren with goodies.
He has two big boxes that I take from him to load in my car while he’s surrounded in a group hug.
While he’s bundled in their arms, Huntley breaks away to stand beside me. “Thank you for taking care of him when we couldn’t. We tried, you know. But… we just didn’t know what to do when Jessup showed up with a whole herd of policemen. Where do you turn when he has the law on his side?”
Nodding, I agree, “I know. I can’t imagine how defeating that felt for all of you.”
“He deserves you,” Huntley says quietly. “I’ve never seen him smile the way he does now. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s not once looked like he does. I barely recognize him. Please give him the world, Adak.”
“That’s a promise I will never break,” I say.
We don’t speak again. Oren hugs Huntley tightly, and they promise to catch up on Second World often. All the time. They promise this goodbye isn’t forever; they’ll get together again.
Then my teary-faced boyfriend is in my arms as I walk us outside. The sun is out, but I’m not sure Oren feels it.
“It’s okay, baby,” I tell him. “You’ll see them again.”
“I know,” he says, sniffling. Trying to catch the tears before they fall. “They gave me boxes filled with slutty shorts, leggings, and underwear.” His laughter is watery. “Just in case I was too afraid to buy more.”
I chuckle, kissing his head while I buckle him in. “Did you tell them you’d already ordered some?”
He laughs, wiping at his face. “Yeah. I thought they were going to scream in excitement.”
“I can’t wait to see you wearing them.”
He smiles, his face blotchy pink with red eyes. “I love you.”
For a second, I rest my head against his. “I love you.”
After I pull us into traffic, I say, “I have somewhere I want to go before we head to Gibbs’s. We’re a little early, anyway.”
“Can we stop at the dollar store too?” he asks.
I nod, even as I glance to see his popper ball in his hand. Though his hand is still. There’s no rhythmic popopop ing going on.
We stop there first since we pass one and Oren jumps out, saying he’ll be right back. He returns five minutes later with a bag. I raise my eyebrows when he sets it at his feet, and I spy what looks like a hundred popper balls.
“You know that they likely exist in North Carolina too, right?” I ask as we back out.
He laughs. “Yeah. They’re not for me. They’re for the team.”
I grin as we silently drive down the busy roads.
Even as we pull into the cemetery, Oren doesn’t ask where we’re going, though it’s clear he doesn’t know and is curious.
I did some research and found what I was looking for quite easily.
Seeing that he doesn’t recognize his surroundings tells me that if he’s ever been here, it was when he was too young to remember.
We park and I move around the car to let Oren out before he can untangle his belt and move the bag that’s dumped balls all over the floor at his feet. I grab the bouquet from behind his seat and hand it to him.
Oren is still looking at me with confusion, though a smile touches his face.
It’s a short walk hand-in-hand down the lane before I find the grave I’m looking for. Dalia Laurence Prosser, 1971-1999. Oren’s breath catches when he reads the name.
“How did you know where to find her?” he whispers, his hand in mine tightening like he’s hanging on for life.
“Burial records are public,” I say softly. “Maybe I should have asked, but I thought maybe you’d want to see before we leave California.”
Oren nods. After a minute, he steps forward and then kneels before the stone. It’s simple but beautiful, ornately carved with flowers and the names of her children and husband; the stone declaring that her love for them was absolute, unconditional, and infinite.
His hand shakes as he touches his name on the stone. He closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly as a tear runs down his cheek. But that’s it. There aren’t any more tears. He places the flowers on the grass and then gets up.
“Thank you,” he whispers, tucking his face into my chest.
We stand there for a while, listening to the birds and the traffic in the distance. “Sometimes I used to wonder what life would have been like if she hadn’t died,” he says quietly. “When I got older, I wondered if she’d be upset that I’m gay.”
“I don’t think she would be,” I tell him.
“Why?”
“Because it says right there on her stone—her love for you is unconditional.”
Oren takes a deep breath and holds it for a long time. When he lets it out, he nods. “I think so too.” Another minute. “Do you think that her death caused the poison to form in my house?”
“I don’t know. But it’s no one else’s fault but those who are toxic to be that way. That’s a choice they make every day. Some things aren’t a decision—our eye color, our sexuality, our height. But your behavior, how you treat another person, the things you say—that’s all a personal decision.”
He nods, then looks up at me. “You’re beautiful and wise.”
I laugh quietly and kiss his forehead. His sense of humor and teasing never cease to make me smile.
“Ready?” I ask, hugging him tightly.
Oren nods. “Yeah. Thank you for bringing me to her.”
“I wish I had more to give you of hers,” I say.
“I found one picture when I was younger. It was with her social security card and birth certificate that I stole. Which, as luck would have it, was with the rest of ours, so I stole mine too and gave them to Shelton for safe keeping. Anyway, I have that.”
“Hopefully, someday we’ll find more,” I tell him.
“I’m not sure they exist. I kind of think my father threw them all out after she died.
Everything of hers, including pictures of us, systematically disappeared over the years except the one picture on the wall that I kind of wish I’d taken when we were getting my things.
He wouldn’t have noticed until we were long gone; if he noticed at all.
It’s almost like he forgot about that single photograph. ”
“Your father’s house is empty. We could go by and see.”
Oren chews his lips for a minute. The popopop reaches my ear and he nods. “Yes. Can we do that?”
I turn the car around and we head for his old neighborhood. It’s quiet. For a second, we look around.
“Come with me?” Oren asks.
We climb out of the car together and we head for the door. Oren digs out the spare key from a planter box that looks like it hasn’t seen a living plant in years.
Inside is… disgusting. Trashed. Like animals have been living here but have no idea how to clean up after themselves.
Oren looks around for a minute and then his eyes scan the walls.
He sighs in relief and picks his way through the trash to reach the picture.
It’s not large. Eight by ten in a slightly larger, matted frame.
He hugs it to him and then nods as we leave, locking it back up again.
“I’m just taking this picture,” he tells no one, as if someone were listening.
I open the car door for him and he climbs in. I follow and we move out of the neighborhood and head toward Lamar’s again. Oren looks at the picture for a long time. I steal glances as I drive. It’s not difficult to find Oren. What is difficult is recognizing the family in that picture.
Maybe there’s something to Oren’s question. The death of his mother allowed poison to find its way into their happy home and it became a hotbed for toxicity, bullying, and abuse. Because the family in that picture hasn’t existed since it was taken.