Fat chance.
The staff had him for breakfast, the story embellished to the point where he and Jav were boning on one of the art room tables. But the ribbing was affectionate, punctuated by a lot of hugging, examination of his wounds, fussing and clucking and an unspoken, Whew, that was a close one.
Even Ronnie embraced him before she dressed him down. “Jesus, you scared me, I’m so glad you’re all right.” Her finger poked his chest. “No more fucking at the office, Finch.”
Corley and Juan’s lips were sealed tight around Geno’s involvement, but they didn’t waste the opportunity to throw a little shade at Stef. He took it in stride, pulled at his collar, looked appropriately sheepish but made no comment other than, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whenever you’re done.”
By late morning, he was tired. A grudging admission he wasn’t a hundred percent. A slow realization he didn’t feel so hot. He was slightly off-kilter. Slightly nauseous. Not enough of either to be debilitating, but enough to make it feel like the world wouldn’t hold still. His instincts and his knowledge kept wandering off and getting lost.
Worst of all, as the morning progressed, he felt more and more teary. His throat anxious and lumpy, his emotions poised on a precarious edge. The blow to the head had upset some sensory applecart and everything was in a jumbled mess on the floor of his stomach. Every twenty minutes he considered holing up in his office, having an ugly cry and getting it over with.
A cry over what?
He managed to eat a little lunch, then he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. But now Max was running the length of the art room and flinging arms around Stef’s legs. “Where were you? What happened to your face? Did you fall down? Did you bleed? Can I see? Did you cry?”
He climbed Stef like a tree, digging feet into Stef’s quads and sides. Stef heaved him up on a hip and kept his head back from the inquisitive pawing. “Easy, easy. Don’t touch.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yeah, but I’m okay. What do you want to do today?”
Max pointed to the sand table, then fearlessly leaned out of Stef’s arms, following his pointing finger. Stef had to scramble not to drop him. He stumbled as Max’s feet hit the floor and pattered off, dragging Stef behind by the hand.
The whole goddamn time, Geno watched. Like a vulture, the kid perched on one of the wide window sills, regressed to the sullen silence from when he’d first arrived at EP. But instead of a checked-out, thousand-yard stare, his eyes followed Stef everywhere, narrowed and calculating.
Stef did his best to ignore him, but his mind was all over the place, wondering if maybe he should’ve made it known he was in a relationship with a man.
What the hell does that have to do with how I do my fucking job?
“I have to poop,” Max said to the room at large.
Deadpan, Stef flipped a thumb toward the door and settled back to wait. Max’s bathroom breaks took at least fifteen minutes, ten of which were spent playing with the door. Like most survivors of sexual assault, Max adored a lock. Both the predictable mechanics—the comforting turn and shift and click—and the autonomous act of creating instant, inviolate privacy. He’d go in and out of the john a half-dozen times, testing the knob over and over. Extra inspection to make sure it worked from the outside and no one could come in. One last flip of the lock, just to hear the comforting, solid click and the rattle of a handle that couldn’t be turned. Then he’d take care of business.
Leaning back on two chair legs, Stef rubbed vigorously at the unwounded side of his head. The other side ached. He could use a couple Tylenol.
He looked up to see Geno glaring at him.
Jesus Christ, what?
He slapped his inner teenager out of the picture and pulled on his game face.
“Can I do something for you, Geno?”
Geno was winding a pipe cleaner around his index finger, cutting off the circulation and watching the tip turn purple before unwinding and letting the blood flow back in. “For me or to me?”
Stef kept his face immobile even as he felt the blood drain out of it.
I don’t have the skills for this today.
“Can’t believe I didn’t figure out you were gay,” Geno said.
Stef hesitated, then decided being bisexual was beside the point. “Is it going to be a problem?”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Good.”
“Just hope he lubes you up good. It’s the considerate thing to do.”
“I won’t argue there.”
Geno tossed the pipe cleaner aside, slid off the windowsill and approached the sand table. “Getting dry fucked sucks.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“You like it?”
“Being dry fucked?”
“Having a dick up your ass.”
“I don’t do what I don’t like.”
“What a fucking luxury. You get a choice and I get fucking crayons.” He tipped over a jar of pencils.
“Something about my relationship with Jav is upsetting you,” Stef said.
“You think?”
“You want to tell me about it while you’re picking up those pencils?”
“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”
“My personal life doesn’t come into play here.”
“Yeah, well, your personal life disgusts me.”
“I can understand that. At the same time, it has nothing to do with—”
“Nothing to do with me? I had seven guys rape me.”
“I wasn’t one of them.”
“You fucking make me sick.”
“I’ll be happy to sit down and talk about this—”
“I don’t want the fucking details of your—”
“—but right now I’m with another client.”
“Yeah, a six-year-old boy,” Geno said. “That’s just great.”
“Hey.” Stef clenched his fist to keep from pointing a finger. “You’re out of line.”
“I trusted you,” Geno said. “But you only hold people’s trust in your hands when you’re trying to get in their pants. Telling them how heavy it is and how you’re so aware of it all the time. Bet men just line up to fuck you after they hear that shit, huh?”
The blood that had drained out of Stef’s face now drained out of his gut.
Looming above him, Geno had gone pale as well. In a simple chain, Stef linked up the boy’s stunned expression to the kitchen, to Jav, to the lost notebook, to words Stef had shyly written on a piece of graph paper. Shocked by his own ardor. Embarrassed at his lack of eloquence.
“Nobody ever wrote me a love note before,” Jav said after reading it, his voice a little gruff. He read it again, then folded the graph paper and tucked it precisely between the pages of his little leather tome. Putting it among his most private thoughts like loving Stef was one of his best ideas.
“How do you know?” Stef said quietly.
Geno swallowed. “Know what?” But all his bravado was gone and his voice trembled at the end.
“How do you know what I told him about trust?”
The blood returned to his stomach, angry and boiling now. That notebook was off limits. Stef didn’t know what was in there. He wanted to, but hell if he’d ask. It wasn’t something you asked for. It was a privilege earned and double hell if he’d fucking snoop before he earned it.
This burgling punk snooped. Read every page, and the things tucked between pages. Now he knew things Stef didn’t. He had information Stef didn’t believe himself worthy of yet.
It was worse than if Geno had fucked Jav.
Or raped him.
Well, no, not really. But in a way, yes, he did. He fucked Jav’s mind without permission. That fragile, weird, complex, curious, passionate, beautiful mind. Parts of which were still such a myste
ry to Stef.
“You read that without his consent,” Stef said. “Or mine.”
At consent, Geno, merely pale before, went white.
Stef’s anger melted away, leaving only a profound sadness wrapped around his throat like a turtleneck shrunk too small in the dryer.
“You still have it?” he said, chiseling each word out of the air.
A long stare-down before Geno nodded.
“You have between now and three o’clock to put it on my desk,” Stef said. “Then I want to see you in Ronnie’s office. We have some things to talk about.”
In a way, Geno wished Stef had simply beat the shit out of him, rather than his cool and professional handling of things.
Sitting in Ronnie’s office with Stef and the EP director, Geno couldn’t have constructed a more perfect reenactment of his high school fuck-up with Carlito, when their parents were called in after they took tests for each other. It sucked then and it sucked now.
Floating in a surreal bubble of anger and guilt and shame, his mouth mumbled apologies until he shut down, shut up and nodded like a robot as Stef declared their working relationship could use a breather. No time limits set, just a vague interval until everyone’s emotions had calmed down. Geno would work with Beau, and maybe work out whatever issues he had with Stef’s sexuality.
The theft and snooping of Jav’s notebook wasn’t mentioned, for which Geno had to be grateful, but it pissed him off he had to be grateful. He was high on emotion and short on humility right now, with an overwhelming desire to cut his losses and get the hell out of this place. But he couldn’t. He was barely two months into a six-month sentence and he had nowhere else to go.
And I like it here.
Which only made him feel worse, like he’d deliberately pissed his own bed. Once the torturous meeting was over, he hid out in his room the rest of the day. Sulking, sure, but he wasn’t hurting anyone, so the world could kiss his ass and leave him alone.
I fucked up.
“Yeah,” Stef said about the high school debacle. “That’s one you eat for a long time.”
Geno resisted an urge to spit on the floor, his mouth coated with such a sour and shamed flavor, he might never eat again.
He disappointed Stef and it tasted like shit.
Now Stef would tell Jav that Geno took his book and that was going to suck.
Jav probably wouldn’t work in the kitchen anymore, or he would and it would be awkward as fuck. Which would make Stav pissed at Geno, too.
He sucked.
Everything sucked.
A soft knock at the door. Not a soul existed on the planet Geno wanted to see. He’d prefer a proctology exam to visitors right now. Still, his feet were moving, his hand was turning the knob and he was opening it.
It was Chaow. The young Thai man stood at the threshold, cupping a bowl in his palms. In it, three plump yellow matzo balls in golden broth. Tiny chives sprinkled on top.
“I for give,” Chaow said, holding it out.
Geno stared into the bowl, then at Chaow, who didn’t meet his eyes.
“I for give,” Chaow said.
“You forgive me?”
“I give. For you.”
Slowly Geno took the bowl, then the spoon Chaow offered. “Thank you.”
“Eat,” Chaow said. “It’s good. You feel good.”
Geno’s fingers pressed into the bowl’s smooth sides.
Eat. It’s good.
A remembered echo as Geno, now master of the henhouse, offered food to the tired, grieving rooster that was Nathan.
Here, Dad. I made you this.
Eat something.
Is it good? Do you like it?
Do you like me?
His eyes filled with tears. “Thanks,” he said, every cell in his hungry body wanting his father back. Wanting his life back.
“I for give,” Chaow said, and slipped away.
Geno sat at his desk and ate the soup. He felt better.
Not good, but better.
He put his shoulders into line and made a few decisions.
He’d work with Beau and not be a dick about it. If he saw Jav in the kitchen, he’d apologize. He’d own his shit and not jeopardize his chances of getting out of here.
In the meantime, he might be able to get out a little bit. He knew some of the other residents, after hitting the two-month milestone, had been allowed to volunteer outside EP or even get part-time jobs. Juan worked at a barber shop. Patrick had a little gig at an animal shelter. Jeff shelved books at the Muhlenberg Library. Everything had to be vetted and the hours were limited. But it could be done.
He’d ask.
He was allowed to.
“Honey, I’m home,” Stef said.
From the couch, Roman shook his head, dog tags jingling, then hopped off Jav’s legs. Jav shook his own head and sat up. He’d slept so hard he drooled.
“What year is it?” he said.
“Twenty sixty-two. We cured cancer but have a new super herpes virus.”
“Whew. I didn’t miss it.”
Stef sat on the couch, letting the dog come up between his knees. “Yes. I missed you too.” His hands scratched Roman’s coppery ruff and ears. “Was it hard to be here with Jav all day? Was he depressed?”
“Depressed, but productive,” Jav said, stretching. “We ran three miles this morning, did laundry, cleaned the bathroom and food shopped.”
“Roman did laundry?”
“Then he walked the whole High Line with me this afternoon. Dinner’s in the oven. Beer’s on ice. Maybe I’ll leave this whole writing gig and be your domestic sex slave. Want to adopt some kids?”
Stef reached for his messenger bag. “I brought you a present.”
“You wish to give me a present?”
He drew out a small book and held it up. “Yours, I believe?”
Sometimes you looked at something and knew what it was, but it took several seconds to realize you knew what it was. Jav blinked at the brown leather covers. Once. Twice.
My notebook.
“Dude,” he cried, falling off the couch.
Stef stretched his arm long, holding the book out of reach as Jav went crawling up his chest. “How bad do you want me right now?”
“Where the fuck did you find it? Let me see.”
Stef switched the book from one hand to the other. “I don’t feel the right amount of gratitude here.”
“Oh you’ll get gratitude, don’t worry. Give me that. Jesus Christ, I don’t believe it.” Jav wrestled the notebook out of Stef’s teasing grasp and sat back in the couch cushions, fanning the pages against his thumb. His chest caved in with relief, sending up a cloud of happiness that nearly choked him.
Thank God. Oh thank fucking God.
“Where’d you find it?”
Stef got up and headed toward the kitchen. “Told you the day we met. I’m not an art therapist, I’m a professional thief.”
“What? Come on.”
Stef popped a beer and drained nearly half of it. “Let’s say it was in the wrong hands.” He leaned on the counter with a rough exhale and rubbed at the back of his head.
“Feel all right?” Jav asked.
“Yeah. Just one of those nights.” He cracked open the oven door and peered inside. “You’re roasting a chicken?”
“Pigeon. Roman found it in the park. I figured we should start eating on a budget if we lose my income. Of course, circumstances have changed dramatically since then.” Notebook still in hand, he hopped over the back of the couch and went to get his arms around Stef.
“Thank you,” he said. “I loved you before but now I worship you.”
“I know.”
“Where was it? Tell me.”
Stef wiggled out of the embrace and took a pull of his beer. “I
can confirm you lost it in the kitchen at EP and it was found by a young, mutual friend of ours.”
“Geno?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
Jav’s eyes widened. “That little punk,” he said. “Think he read it?”
“Can neither confirm nor deny,” Stef said. “Though I can say it’s odd to hear a little punk quote an extremely private, embarrassingly klutzy note you wrote to your lover.”
Jav’s entire body cringed. “Oh Jesus, really? No.”
“Yeah.”
“Dude, that ain’t cool.” Jav found the pages where the piece of graph paper was stuck. It was awfully close to that ridiculous little passage with Geno’s name. Did he read that?
Fuck. Oh well, it wasn’t making fun of him. It wasn’t insulting, it was just stupid.
And Jesus Christ, it was private…
“Good thing I won’t be in the kitchens anymore,” he said.
“I’m taking a break from him myself.”
“Really?”
Stef killed his beer and turned to get another one. “Had a little meeting with Ronnie and it’s for the best. I’m annoyed with him on a personal level now and until I get over it, I won’t be effective on a professional level. I’ll be bringing my shit into it.” He made an apologetic gesture with his bottle. “I can’t say much more than that.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I mean, not fine, but I got this back.” He hugged Stef. “You got it back for me.”
“It’s what I do.”
Stef’s body felt stiff in his arms. His tone was slightly edgy. A clever Stef impersonation with something essential left out, enough to make him weirdly not himself.
“You feel all right?” Jav asked again.
“Mostly right. I want to eat. Possibly I’ll want to get laid later.”
“Get plates,” Jav said, heading for the oven.
A long beat where Stef didn’t move from the counter or say anything.
“What?” Jav said, catching Stef’s penetrating look.
“You going to carry that around all night?”
“What? Oh.”
Jav looked at the notebook, still in his hand. He had to admit a reluctance to put it down. But he did, and served up dinner.
A Charm of Finches Page 40
