Truth and Consequences

by Sarah Madison

  I took a bite of toast and noted, with fascination, that John was staring at me with both eyebrows raised so far they disappeared into his hairline. At least, I thought it was at me. I glanced over my shoulder to see what he could possibly be looking at with such surprise on his face, but there was nothing but empty tables and people milling about the buffet. I shrugged and picked up a piece of bacon, cooked to crisp perfection.

  I didn’t give up on getting him to talk, though. He’d been about to tell me something—something momentous, something important—before we were interrupted by the cost-cutter versions of Mulder and Scully that morning. After breakfast, back in the room, I tried again.

  “You had something to tell me earlier. Before the Bobbsey Twins showed up to interrogate us. What was it?”

  “Ah, that. Nothing. Nothing that can’t wait, anyway.”

  “Was it about last night?” Doubt instantly assailed me. “It was the spanking, right? You didn’t like that. I get it. I’m not into it myself. I just thought maybe, you know, the pain aspect might put you in the headspace you wanted—”

  He’d been checking his messages on his cell, but at my words, he tucked the phone inside his jacket and crossed the floor to take hold of my arm and pull me in for a kiss. “Last night was amazing. Don’t ever doubt that. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”

  I astonished myself by blushing like a schoolgirl. I could feel the heat rush into my face. “Um, yes, well. As long as you don’t—” I cut myself off before I completely undermined the air of confidence I’d faked the night before.

  “As long as I don’t what?” Definitely Smile Number Two this time, the one with the bedroom eyes and the lips full of promise. And maybe there was just a glint of teasing in his eyes as well. Like he enjoyed putting me on the spot.

  “Never mind,” I said, adopting a lofty tone. “I prefer to keep you guessing. But if you’re not going to tell me what was on your mind earlier, then you at least owe me information of some kind.” I picked up the bathrobe I’d worn the night before and began folding it, forcing it to fit into the small bag I’d brought with me.

  “I do.” His tone was flat. Not quite a question. I could almost see the wheels turning as he weighed his options. Obviously he was no longer willing to tell me whatever it was he wanted to discuss that morning. Like a gambler surveying his hand, he seemed to be deciding what card he could get away with offering instead.

  I fixed him with a glare. “Now’s as good a time as any. We’re private here. We can’t be overheard. Tell me about your sister’s murder.”

  He went over to the window and leaned into the frame—much as he’d done that morning—and looked out on the street below as I gathered up the few things we’d left lying about the room. I thought it might be easier that way, with me ostensibly busy, listening with half an ear, checking the drawers and the bathroom one last time.

  “You brought your laptop,” he observed as I tucked it in its protective case and set it down beside my other bag.

  “Yes.”

  “To a romantic weekend at a hotel. You brought your laptop to a hot, sexy getaway.” I could hear the amusement in his voice, bubbling through his determination to be serious.

  “Doesn’t everyone?” It hit me a moment later, what he’d actually said. “So, you think the weekend was hot and sexy?”

  “Yes.” His expression softened into an embryonic smile, so subtle it didn’t deserve a ranking.

  I felt the heat rush into my face again and busied myself refolding the second bathrobe so they would both fit into my bag. “Notice I didn’t turn it on, not even once.”

  “We need to get you a tablet.”

  “I prefer a real keyboard,” I sniffed. There was no way to pack both bathrobes into my suitcase. I contented myself with putting them back into the original bag from the shop downstairs.

  While I did so, John started speaking of Rachel, and how, at thirteen, he was supposed to have been watching her. But he stayed behind at a friend’s house, playing video games, and Rachel had left without him, never to be seen alive again. I nodded as he spoke, still intent on collecting all our things. It had a familiar feel, as though I’d heard it before. I looked up when his voice caught.

  “At least, that’s what I told the cops. It’s what I believed myself too. Or told myself, at any rate.” He twisted the lever for the blinds, letting in sunlight and then shutting it out again. Now open. Now closed. With a sigh, he turned away from the window to cross his arms and lean against the wall beside it. “What I was really doing with Tommy was fooling around.”

  “Ah.” I got it now. It explained so much about him. I stopped pretending to pack and sat down on the end of the bed to face him. “And when you found out Rachel was dead, you couldn’t admit that, not even to yourself.”

  He shook his head slowly. “No. It was easier to pretend it never happened. That I didn’t feel that way about guys. Because on some level, I thought it was wrong, and that because I’d gotten carried away and let Tommy—” He broke off, his expression rippling with controlled emotion. Honestly, he looked as though he might start crying.

  “You thought Rachel died because of you. Because you were gay.” My words were soft.

  He nodded several times, a short bob of his head as he blinked and looked away.

  I went to him and held out my arms. “C’mere.”

  He took a step toward me, arms still protectively crossed, still not meeting my eye, but that was okay. I folded myself around him and waited him out, waited for the resistance to melt. He rested his chin on my shoulder and sighed. “If you call me ‘babe’ or ‘sugar,’ I will hurt you.” His threat gusted past my ear.

  “How about asshole?”

  “Better,” he snorted. He pulled his arms out from between us and wrapped them around me to hug me back. I recalled an article on the benefits of hugging, and how humans need a minimum of four hugs a day just to survive. It occurred to me that John was seriously hug deprived. Had to be. That’s why he always approached it as though getting a flu shot.

  He snorted again and pushed me back, still holding on to my arms. At least he was smiling.

  “Obviously we’re going to have to work up to prolonged hugs. I can see that now.” I couldn’t imagine carrying all that needless pain and guilt bottled up inside, festering like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

  “After Rachel died, Mother started drinking, and Dad couldn't take it. He left. I fought it a long time. The idea of being gay. I tried to make a go of it with Nancy. I told myself that occasionally getting off with a guy didn’t mean anything. It was just stress relief.” His face looked haunted by old memories. Still, he hadn’t let go of one of my arms, so I took that to be a good sign.

  “But you stopped denying it.” I frowned, trying to picture when I came into things. Nancy hadn’t known he was gay until their conversation in the hospital. I remembered that much. And he’d told me he only recently came to terms with it himself.

  He nodded, gave my arm a little squeeze, and let go. “When I met you. You’re kind of hard to resist, Jerry Lee.”

  The smile on my face must have been the dorkiest one ever, because something in my chest expanded and burst out of the tiny cage it had been shut in for so long.

  Until the memory of one of our earlier conversations punched me in the gut.

  “Your sister’s murderer. You said you knew who did it, but couldn’t prove it.”

  He nodded, clenched his fists briefly, and visibly forced himself to relax. He told me about the reunion, and how he remembered seeing a van the day of her disappearance. That led to the two of us figuring out who her killer was. “But without any proof….”

  “So you haven’t told your mom.” I could see his point. I’m not sure what I’d have done myself. Tell Jean that her daughter’s killer had been identified, but there was no way to bring him to justice? Yeah. Not a fun conversation.

  “If I tell her my suspicions, it won’t bring her closure,
and it will only ruin the lives of his family. I can’t tell her.”

  I wasn’t so sure. She was a lot tougher than he thought she was.

  “And none of this was what you wanted to tell me this morning?” I made a little circle with my hand to include our conversation.

  I’m sure some people thought John had an excellent poker face, but once you got to know him, his tells were obvious. The twitch of one corner of his mouth into a half smile? He meant that to be reassuring. The tightening of the skin around his eyes however, meant he was holding something back. Still.

  John was disconcertingly cute when embarrassed, I’ll have to say that much. Color suffused his cheekbones, and he looked like a small boy caught stealing apples from the neighbor. “Um, no.”

  I stared at him, folded my arms, and impatiently tapped one finger on my cast.

  “Seriously, Lee. I need some time to check something out. You’re not going to believe me as it is.” Cupping my head, he drew me in for a kiss. Then he was all businesslike, picking up my stuff and heading for the door. “C’mon. We need to check out before they charge us another night. Besides, you want to return that car, right?”

  “Right.” I didn’t openly sigh. After all, he’d shared quite a bit. He probably needed to go do something physical and potentially dangerous to build up his “cool” points again.

  He bumped shoulders with me as we left the room. I’m sure it was deliberate.

  Chapter Nine

  THE HOUSE was empty when we got back. Apparently Jean’s night out had been a good one, and she was enjoying a leisurely morning with Charles. While John went out for a run, I headed downstairs to feed the cats. Oliver was stomping around the bottom of the stairs as I came down them, rubbing his face on the lower banister and crying piteously. Phoenix was nowhere to be seen, which was unusual. I supposed she was a bit freaked about being left in a strange place.

  I found her crouched under the sofa, eyes like giant black holes. She refused to come out, and I couldn’t reach her, so I resorted to my usual cat-catching technique of opening a can of food. Oliver raced into the bathroom and began greedily gobbling his share. It took Phoenix a bit longer, but she finally came slinking through the door. She nibbled at her food, but with the nervous apprehension of a gazelle at a watering hole.

  Oliver hissed at her as she sidled up next to him, and for a moment, I thought she was going to run off again.

  “He’s not beating you up, is he?” I asked. “Say the word, and I’ll kick his ass for you.”

  Not surprisingly, Phoenix said nothing. Instead, she crept up to the dish again and began eating with more enthusiasm.

  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the stress of relocation was causing some tension between them, but I was. I hoped they’d work it out without me having to resort to finding a cat whisperer. I’d probably never had cats that didn’t get along, but I’d heard it was a nightmare of yowling, emergency trips to the vet, and finding piss where it was least appreciated.

  I unpacked my things and took a shower. By the time I was done, the cats had finished eating, and I collected and cleaned their bowls. That left me an open path to the sink, where I could shave without throwing my back out. The most superficial bruising on my face was nearly gone, though I’d be feeling the deeper ones on my arm for months. They felt like they went all the way to the bone. The bald patches on my head were another thing, and the bruise on my collarbone made me realize I was lucky it hadn’t been broken as well. It’s a wonder my courage hadn’t failed me the night before. I didn’t look like boyfriend material at the moment.

  The phone number on my cast belied that little spate of negative self-talk, and for grins, I dug out a marker and added the phone number 867-5309 to it. Hey, I amuse easily. So sue me. I sorted through the clothes I’d bought for something fresh to wear and bundled the rest to do laundry. I gathered John’s clothes from upstairs, where he’d dropped them when he changed to go running, and brought them to the basement to add to the wash.

  While the laundry was running and the house was quiet, I thought I would catch up on my journal—only I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t like me to misplace things, but I wasn’t living alone any longer. Jean frequently would come downstairs and pick up half-full water bottles and empty the trash. No doubt she’d moved it. I’d have to ask her about it when she got home.

  John came back from his run and took his shower. A freshly showered John was a hard thing to resist, and we spent several long minutes kissing in the kitchen while the new coffeemaker brewed a fresh pot of java. Things were just starting to heat up between us—as well as the coffee—when we heard the sound of Jean and Charles coming in the front door.

  John moved away, trailing his fingers across my arm as he went, a touch full of both promise and apology. He was seated at the table when Jean and Charles entered the kitchen.

  “Coffee?” I asked, as they came into the room.

  “No, thank you,” Jean declined with a smile. “We had a late breakfast.”

  Charles merely shook his head when I held up the pot in a silent offer. Jean gave him a sideways glance, and he cleared his throat. “Your mother and I were planning to go to the country club for a round of golf this afternoon. We’d very much like it if you joined us, John.”

  John fixed Charles with a steady gaze and replied, “Thank you, Charles. Though, I’m not sure Lee is up to playing golf. What with the cast and all.”

  I noticed I’d been pointedly excluded from the invitation, but damn it, John should spend some time with his mother and future stepfather.

  Returning John’s veiled sarcasm with a swift backhand of his own, Charles said, “My apologies. I assumed Lee wouldn’t be interested, given the cast.” The look Charles gave me was coolly assessing.

  “Of course, Lee is welcome to come if he likes.” Jean’s warm invitation made up for Charles’s lack of one. “Though I imagine it might be a bit dull for you, dear. Unless you like driving the cart.”

  John opened his mouth, and I could see he was on the verge of refusing to go, which would give his mother the wrong impression of our relationship. Or rather, the right one, but not one that John wanted her to have. I had my doubts as to how well that particular secret was being kept, but it wasn’t up to me to let John’s cat out of the bag.

  “I appreciate the offer, Mrs. F, but the truth is, I think I’ve been overdoing it a bit the last twenty-four hours. You should go on. It’s a nice afternoon. I’ll stay here and take a nap.”

  “Are you sure, dear?” Jean came over and patted me on the arm, looking in my face with concern. “You do look a little tired.”

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I said, completely ignoring the little cough-snort from John’s direction. “And yes, I’m sure. Perfectly. I’m actually looking forward to it. Me and the cats, snoozing on the couch.”

  The sniff Charles made sounded distinctively dismissive, though he could have just been clearing his nose. Yeah, right. What the hell did she see in that man?

  I was actually kind of glad to see them go. Well, not John. I wouldn’t have minded snuggling up next to him on the sofa bed and drowsing away the afternoon. I was glad he was going to get out and do something with his mother, though. I wouldn’t have minded tagging along either, only, yeah. Tagging along. Driving the cart and keeping score, no doubt. It might have been fun to see if Charles would cheat at golf, but not enough to make it worth the effort.

  John caught me privately before they left. “You gonna be okay?”

  Aw. How sweet.

  I made sure no one was around before I pushed him up against the wall. “I’ll be fine,” I whispered, lips just grazing his jawline. “I’ll probably do a little online shopping.” I cupped his package for good measure and then stepped back before anyone caught us.

  He was breathing like a racehorse that had been stuffed into the start box, knowing that the bell was going to sound any second and the race would begin.

  “Hold
that thought,” I said.

  He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, though whether it was meant to stop me from taking such risks or a gesture of frustration because I’d ramped him up with nowhere to go, I couldn’t tell. If I had my way, I’d tease him constantly. I’d keep him in such an ongoing state of arousal that he’d be so primed when I finally touched him, he’d go off like a rocket. I had plans. Plans that included leather and handcuffs and those flogger thingies.

  “If you’re going shopping,” he said, leaning in close and speaking in a low, intense voice, “look into getting some leather.”

  “Ah. Great minds think alike.”

  “Not for me. For you.” He left me with a wink. Now who was ramped up with no immediate outlet for relief? Bastard.

  I felt oddly deflated after they left for the country club, and annoyed that I’d let Charles distract me from asking Jean about my journal. Reaction setting in, no doubt. I’d been a busy bee the last twenty-four hours. I needed that nap. But I couldn’t seem to settle down in the all-too-quiet house. Instead I drifted through the living room, picking up books and memorabilia as I came to them, examining them with the dispassionate eye of a crime-scene investigator—and a very good one, at that.

  I paused in front of the photos on the mantelpiece. I knew I’d seen them before. Before being released from the hospital. Knew it. Yet I couldn’t figure out how, and that was driving me nuts. I didn’t come right out and ask, because I hated having to admit the gaps in my memory, but John said I’d never been in the house before the assault. Jean certainly acted like she was meeting me for the first time the day we arrived. So how had I seen the photos? Could John possibly have copies? That didn’t feel like the right answer. It wasn’t just that the photographs were familiar. It was the faded images in their frames, and the way they were positioned on the mantelpiece too.