Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Gary switched off the car engine and sat, hands on the steering wheel, gazing at the house. Its cream exterior, sloping roof, red-brick chimney, and warm red roof tiles made it appear inviting, a home.
Which only goes to prove how deceptive appearances can be.
The external temperature had to be in the mid-to-high seventies, a beautiful day in Springfield, Mass.
, but Gary knew once he crossed that threshold, none of the day’s warmth would make it inside.
The sunlight would do battle with his mom’s blinds and curtains, and the blinds and curtains would emerge victorious.
He gave himself a swift mental kick. I’m not being fair. Then the front door opened, and Gary’s procrastination was at an end. His dad stood in the doorway, arms by his side, no hint of a welcome in either his expression or his body language.
Get in there and do your duty. Because that was all this was, pure and simple.
A duty visit. Every time Sunday lunch rolled around, he’d drive an hour and a half—if he was lucky—hoping that in the intervening days since his previous visit, something had changed.
He’d sit there in his car, staring at his childhood home, the same thought as always in the forefront of his mind: This time it will be different.
He’d learned to live with disappointment.
Gary got out of the car, locked it, and walked along the path that led to the gable-ended front porch with its gleaming red front door, its curved stone steps, and its two stumpy pillars, on top of which sat terracotta pots containing manicured shrubs.
The house was asymmetrical, but the front yard was not.
Trimmed bushes squatted in front, small and rounded on either side of the steps, larger and more oval toward the corners of the house.
Gardening had become his dad’s only pursuit since retirement, but it wasn’t a passion with him.
Gary knew better. It was merely a means of keeping his mind occupied.
I’m just the same, though. Work kept the pain at bay. And when work ended….
He raised his hand in greeting, and his dad’s nod lightened his heart a little.
“Hey.” Gary smiled. Then he remembered, and turned on his heel to return to the passenger seat for the flowers he’d chosen.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Dad’s flat tone drifted across the front lawn as the bouquet came into view.
“I wanted to. As soon as I saw the lilacs, I knew Mom would love them.” Their delicate color stood out against the cream roses and pink carnations.
Dad’s smile was a welcome sight. “Yeah, she will.” He stood aside to let Gary enter, then closed the door behind them, barring both sunlight and warmth from entering. “Your mom’s in the kitchen.”
Gary sniffed. “Is that roast chicken?”
Dad’s wry chuckle evaporated yet more of the tension that had been building inside Gary since he’d left his apartment. “Is it Sunday?”
It was an old joke. The menu hadn’t changed since he was a kid, when he and Brad would—
He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.
Mom stepped into the hallway, her eyes brightening momentarily at the sight of the flowers. “How pretty. Thank you.” She accepted his kiss on her cheek and took them from him. “I’ll put them in water.” As she retreated into the kitchen, she called out, “Shoes.”
Gary fought the urge to roll his eyes. Telling her he was thirty-eight and capable of remembering such ingrained routines would have cut no ice.
“I was out back, cleaning up.” Dad inclined his head toward the rear. “Come see what I’ve been doing.”
He followed his dad through the dining room to the french doors, their path flanked by the sideboard and the piano, both surfaces covered with framed photos.
Gary didn’t glance at them, not even once, because he knew each by heart, the same as he knew once a week, his mom would take out a soft cloth, pick up each and every one of those frames, and wipe them with care and love.
They are pleased to see me. He knew that too, but he was also aware theirs was a perfunctory reception.
He wanted to yell at them, to break through the seemingly impenetrable wall of sorrow they’d erected around themselves.
He wanted to shake them, to look them in the eye and shout that they still had him.
In the end, he’d do none of those things. He’d share his news, they’d talk about current affairs, what was happening in the neighborhood, his dad’s numerous and constantly evolving plans for the garden, but they were going through the motions.
Nothing got through.
They died when he did.
Gary pushed his plate away, conscious of his mom’s gaze on his half-eaten meal.
He’d been hungry enough when they sat at the table, but the sight of that empty chair killed his appetite.
Mom hadn’t set places for four, but she might as well have done; an unseen figure had joined them, one who didn’t eat, didn’t speak, but whose chill presence could not be ignored.
One day. I’ll break through one day. Because I’ll find that bastard, and then you’ll see me. Then you’ll know me again. And Brad will be at peace.
It was Gary’s mantra, one he believed with every fiber of his being. He loved his parents, and dammit, he wanted them back, the laughing, smiling couple who’d lit up his childhood.
The couple seated with him had died twenty-three years ago but somehow were still functioning, still shuffling through life, not living but existing.
My parents, the zombies. Except the thought contained no trace of humor.
“So are you any nearer to catching this guy?” Dad asked when Mom went into the kitchen to fetch the coffee.
Gary blinked. They never asked about his job. “We’re working on it.”
“That doesn’t sound positive. He’s killed five now, hasn’t he? There was another one a few days ago.”
“Yes.”
Dad frowned. “Well, judging by what I’ve read in the papers, he’s running rings around you all.”
Then it must be true, if it’s in the news. Gary knew better than to say such words out loud.
Dad wasn’t done. “The Boston Strangler managed to kill thirteen women before they caught him. You’re not going to let this maniac get that far, are you?”
“Dad… I can’t talk about this, okay?”
Dad ignored him. “So who’s in charge? Who’s leading the investigation?”
Gary counted to three before answering. “That would be my squad.”
It was Dad’s turn to blink. “Oh.”
Gary’s ribs felt too tight, his stomach too heavy. That hollowed-out feeling was back with a vengeance. The first time he wants to talk about my job, and why? To tell me I’m not doing enough. I’m not good enough.
And just like that, he knew that when he left them, he wouldn’t go home. He had to do something to end the day on a better note.
I need Cory.
He’d stick it out for a couple of hours; then he’d make his excuses and leave.
Gary didn’t imagine for one minute they’d be begging him to stay longer.
He scanned Cathedral Station’s patrons, those at the bar or seated at tables, but there was no sign of Cory. Music pulsed through the floor, and voices rose to be heard above it. The happy scene felt incongruous after the frostbitten hours he’d spent with his parents.
That’s why I’m here. He wanted to smile, laugh, chat….
He wanted to feel normal again.
Gary pulled his phone from his pocket and composed a quick text. I give up. Where are you?
Seconds later a reply pinged back. The patio. I’ve got you a drink.
Bless him. Gary pushed his way politely through the crowd and stepped out into the early evening air.
Cory waved from a table next to the trellis festooned with a huge Pride flag, ivy curling its way upward and outward through the wooden structure.
Black parasols covered the tables, and a railing separated them from the street.
When Gary reached the table, Cory got to his feet and gave him an exuberant hug.
“What was that for? Not that I’m complaining,” Gary added as Cory released him.
Gary feigned pain. “On second thought, I think you cracked one of my ribs.” He sank onto one of the metal patio chairs, and before he could stretch out a hand for the frosty glass of beer waiting for him, Cory placed it in his grasp.
“You look like you need that. The hug too.” Cory cocked his head. “I don’t have to ask how the parental visit went, do I?”
“No, you do not.” Cory knew the score. Gary took a long drink. He glanced at their surroundings. “Don’t look now, but I think you brought us to a gay bar.”
Cory snorted. “You bet your fur it’s a gay bar. And don’t give me that. You knew exactly what kind of bar it was. You’re a cop in this city—you know every bar. Besides, I didn’t get a text from you saying no, no, no when I suggested it.”
Of course he’d known.
“Why go to a dull and boring bar? The eye candy is way superior here.” Cory gave a nod to someone over Gary’s shoulder, his eyes gleaming.
Gary speared him with a look. “Down boy. We are not here to find you someone to go home with.”
Cory pouted. “Spoilsport. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have worn this little ensemble.” He gestured to his tight jeans and even tighter tee. “This is my best hookup gear.”
“Do you spray those on?” Gary coughed. “You got your nipples pierced, I see.” The sight unfurled something deep in his belly, a sudden rush of heat he couldn’t explain. Then Cory’s words sank in. “I can’t believe you’re still saying that.”
“Saying what?”
“You bet your fur. You were coming out with that in tenth grade. Stephen King has a lot to answer for.” Cory’s obsession with It had lasted beyond high school.
Cory glared. “Don’t you diss my hero. I treasure that book, especially after the movie came out.”
“Surely that paperback has died by now. The back cover was already hanging off by the time we graduated.”
“God bless stationery tape.” He sipped from the tall glass filled with greenery.
“What is that you’re drinking? A mojito?”