Come Unto These Yellow Sands (12 page)

“What?”

Swift filled Max in on the entire circumstances of his meetings with both Nerine and Dr. Koltz.

“That’s weird,” Max commented, sounding more like his old self. “You didn’t say anything that might have given the impression you knew where Tad was?”

“I’m sure I didn’t. The whole reason for talking to her was to see if she knew where he was. I don’t know if it’s some kind of homophobic subtext to all this. Koltz practically accused me of abusing my position to…” It was too painful to complete the thought.

Max got the message anyway. “You’re shitting me.”

“And then Cora said a couple of things. Not directed at me. At least I didn’t think so at the time. Poetry being for pansies.”

Max grunted. He probably agreed with the sentiment. “What brought that up?”

“The fact that these days Tad doesn’t seem to have anything in common with his old buddies. Then again she didn’t know Tad had a—” He stopped too late.

“That Tad had a what?”

He was going to be in trouble again if he admitted to Max that he’d kept quiet about discovering Tad had a girlfriend no one apparently knew about. But this was how he’d got in trouble before—keeping things from Max.

Swift said vaguely, “I think Tad might have been in love.”

“With you?”

Swift’s jaw dropped at the weird expression on Max’s face. He stuttered, “No, not with me. Are you saying
you
think I’d have sexual relations with a student?”

He must have looked sufficiently distressed—and hurt—because Max said instantly, “No. I do not. But kids do sometimes develop obsessions for their professors.”

“There was nothing like that. Tad’s straight.”

“Maybe not. Maybe his family knows something you don’t.”

“I think I’m in a better position to judge
that
.”

“I’m not so sure. You can be…”

“I can be what?”

“Oblivious.”

“Oblivious?”

“You pretty much live in your own world, Swift.” It was blunt but void of aggression. It was simply an observation.

Swift frowned. “Everyone does.”

“Not quite to the extent that you do.”

Swift mulled this over. Patently, Max wasn’t trying to hurt or offend, and maybe there was some truth to what he said. Swift wasn’t sure. If Max thought Swift was self-absorbed now, he should have seen him a decade ago. By that old standard, Swift was practically Mother Theresa.

He conceded, “I don’t think Tad is gay and I don’t think Tad has a thing for me, but maybe—well, no maybe about it—something is going on here I don’t understand. Either someone doesn’t want Tad found or someone wants to make sure I keep a safe distance from him. Or maybe both.”

“I want you to keep a safe distance from him too,” Max said. “No more asking questions, no more poking around.”

“I was…trying to repair some of the damage I did.”

Max’s gaze didn’t waver. After a very long moment he said, “I know.”

Swift looked away. He nodded.

Max rose at last. “I have to go log this stuff into evidence.”

Swift looked up at him. “Are you—you’re not going to arrest me?”

Max shook his head.

“No drug test?”

“No.”

He could have cried with relief. Happily he didn’t. The night had been humiliating enough. “How are you going to explain that?”

“I’m the police chief. I don’t have to explain anything. If the voters don’t like the way I do my job, they can vote me out in two years.”

Was it that cut-and-dried? But things
were
cut-and-dried for Max. Cut-and-dried, black and white. In some ways that was part of what Swift liked about Max. It was also what scared him about Max.

Max continued to look at him in that unfathomable way. Swift searched for something to say, some neutral topic. “Who won today’s election for mayor?”

“No one yet. They’re doing a recount. It’s too close to call.”

Swift nodded. He watched Max walk to the door. His heart sank. What did he want? He should just be grateful Max was letting him off the hook. But he was greedy. He wanted more. Even if it was just a few minutes of Max sitting beside him.

Max opened the door. He glanced back at Swift, hesitated.

Swift waited. With one thing and the other, it had been a long day.

Max said gruffly, “I could…come back. Later.”

Swift stood. “I thought you—I thought we were finished.”

Max’s mouth curled in self-mockery. “So did I. We were. For the first two hours after I threw you out of my office. But…”

“But?”

Max shrugged. “It’s not over. For me.”

It was more—a lot more—than he had expected. “It’s not over for me.”

Max met him halfway. The sweetness of that first kiss made Swift’s eyes sting. He’d been so sure this was lost forever. So sure he was alone in his longing and regret. But Max was holding him as though Swift were safely returned from some long and perilous journey. And so it felt to Swift. He hugged Max tight.

“I’m so goddamned
sorry
,” he muttered into Max’s neck. “I never meant to hurt you. Never you.”

Max’s words reverberated against his face. “Me too.”

Swift raised his head, and Max reached up to stroke the hair back from Swift’s forehead. “I know what you were saying yesterday. I think I understand.”

“Thanks.” It felt inadequate. He’d never expected understanding from Max. Forgiveness if he was very lucky. Understanding? He wasn’t even sure he deserved it.

Max let him go reluctantly. “I have to go. I’ll be back though.”

Swift nodded.

Max said with impatient affection, “And for God’s sake put some socks on. Your feet are blue.”

Swift smiled for what felt like the first time in a long time. He nodded again.

After Max left, Swift stood gripping the doorknob, feeling the warmth from Max’s hand against his skin.

Swift tried to wait up. He showered and shaved, changed into clean sweatpants and replaced the sheets on the bed with fresh ones. He considered what he would cook if Max arrived hungry. The fridge and freezer were always packed with food. He could probably cook Max almost anything he wanted.

But after the first hour he began to worry that Max wouldn’t come back. Maybe he’d be too tired. Maybe he’d have an accident on the way. Or maybe, when Max had time to reflect, he’d decide that on second thought being involved with Swift was more trouble than it was worth.

Swift should have taken the time to explain his actions. All he’d done was offer excuses and say sorry, and no one knew better than Swift how little sorry really meant. He should have reassured Max that he understood where he’d gone wrong and that he’d learned his lesson.

Anxiety triggered need and the nagging want was made worse by the knowledge of the cocaine that had been hidden downstairs. What if more cocaine was stashed somewhere in the house? Max had stopped looking after he found the baggie in the bathroom. Maybe there was more.

Swift battled and won the desire to start looking, but the fight drained him. He was overtired, stressed and craving. He knew from experience the best way to deal with this was to sleep. So he climbed back into the freshly made bed and stared up at the tall arched window with its blue-and-red stained-glass panels.

It would be nice to believe in something like God. To believe some higher power with a greater purpose was concealed behind the violence and chaos. Once upon a time Swift had believed in poetry. Now he wasn’t sure he even believed in that.

People did terrible things to each other—and half the time they did it by accident.

He sifted over the day’s events. None of that had been accident. Why had Nerine turned him in to Dr. Koltz? Why did Dr. Koltz dislike him so much? Why did Dottie dislike him so much? Why had Cora planted the coke? What kind of a threat did he present that so many people wanted him…gone?

It couldn’t all be related to Tad. Dottie hated all addicts on general principle. He could safely discount her antagonism. Dr. Koltz? Maybe he thought Swift was overpaid for what he contributed to the university. Maybe he was homophobic. But Nerine? And Cora was definitely on Tad’s side, so why try to torpedo the only other ally Tad had?

It didn’t make sense.

Swift remembered Mario Corelli from the times he and Max had eaten at Mario’s restaurant. Corelli was a handsome, personable man. He’d reminded Swift a little of Dean Martin, charming and boozy but rougher around the edges. Corelli joked with the guests and watched his staff like a hawk. Everything had to be perfect from the breadsticks to the fresh flowers.

Even if he did slap his son around now and then or borrow a little from the mob once in a while, odds were he wasn’t an evil man. True evil was pretty rare in Swift’s opinion. Corelli had been well liked locally and two women had loved him. Even his son probably loved him. Almost certainly loved him. It wasn’t easy to stop loving your parents.

That didn’t mean Tad hadn’t killed his father. Swift had loved his own father but his actions had contributed to his death. He knew Norris was in poor health, knew Norris worried about him.

He closed his eyes. It wouldn’t help anyone to think of this now. He couldn’t deal with anything else tonight. To calm himself he mentally recited Wilfred J. Funk’s 1932 list of “most beautiful words”. It was his mantra on restless nights like these. Ten words that generally knocked him unconscious if he concentrated on them hard enough.

Melody.

Golden.

Chimes.

Luminous.

Mist.

Tranquil.

Murmuring.

Lullaby.

Hush.

Dawn…

Swift opened his eyes. The tableside lamp was off. Max stood beside the bed. He stripped in quick, efficient moves, the muscular planes of his body silvered by moonlight.

Pulling back the blankets, he slid into bed, reaching for Swift.

The mattress dipped and they rolled into each other’s arms. Max’s body radiated warmth. His scent, musky and male, in pleasant contrast to the crisp smell of the sheets, found Swift.

They kissed, but it was a gentle kiss and there was no urgency. They were tired and they were…healing. They had time. And time was the most beautiful word of all.

Chapter Ten

Your space pod has crash landed on the lush and beautiful planet of Timblaine. The planet seems very much like Earth with one exception: the purple and yellow skies have been invaded by deadly space dragons. The fierce dragons threaten Timblaine’s very existence. You agree to join in the battle to save Timblaine—but there are things your alien hosts have not told you.

So what else was new?

By Wednesday midmorning, news was circulating that Nerine Corelli had won the race for mayor. Was that the sympathy vote or did people really believe Nerine would do the best job?

Swift had not voted. He didn’t keep abreast of civic affairs, so maybe Max was right. Maybe he did live in his own little world. For years it had taken all Swift’s strength and will to keep that little world clean and intact. If he was self-absorbed—and he probably was—it wasn’t in the normal way. It was his intention to keep from hurting or disappointing anyone again. Whether the living or the dead. To do that…took a hell of a lot of focus. But if he managed to make it look casual, like he was just an ordinary egotistical prick, that was an achievement.

He wondered who Max had voted for.

When he thought of Max he could feel his face creasing into a self-conscious smile. He couldn’t help it. It was such a relief that they were back to…whatever they were.

Despite everything else going on, the thought of Max was like an anchor. Swift had never thought of happiness as a weight before, but that’s what it felt like. Something solid and real to steady him, ground him. Not that you could—or should—rely on another person to keep you straight, but it helped that there was someone to whom his staying straight mattered.

After his first lecture of the morning, he returned to his office and sat watching the clock and waiting for Ariel to call with news of Tad.

“Bernard Frost,” Dottie announced over the intercom.

Swift swore under his breath. He pressed the button and picked up.

“Swift,” Bernard replied cheerfully to his terse greeting. “I should apologize. I didn’t realize you weren’t allowed personal calls.”

“I’m…huh?” Swift said intelligently.

“That dragon lady who answers your switchboard seems to think you’re getting too many personal phone calls.”

Swift spared
switchboard
an amused thought before Bernard’s comment fully registered. “Is that what she said?”

“Words to that effect. I’m sorry if I—”

“No. Of course not. Not at all. I’m allowed to—I’m an instructor here for God’s sake.” Swift was nearly stuttering his anger. Anger and bewilderment. Who did Dottie think she was? She was a glorified office clerk. How fucking dare she imply anything? How fucking dare she
think
anything?

He missed Bernard’s next few remarks as he dealt with his righteous indignation. He probably got fewer personal phone calls than anyone in the entire English department. Not that that was the point, but it added to his ire. And his worry. Because if Dottie was being so flagrantly disrespectful, maybe she knew something Swift didn’t.

Like his days were numbered at CBC?

He realized that Bernard was still talking. “What? I’m sorry?”

“The poems for the
Blue Knife
collection. Have you thought about what we discussed the other day?”

“Are you serious?” Tension over the situation with Dottie—among other things—edged Swift’s voice.

“I don’t mean to nag, but you did say you’d think it over, my dear.”

“I meant one day in the future. Not this week. This week is not good. I’m not sure this year is good.”

“Ah.”

Ah?
WTF? No way had Bernard called to ask about those damned poems, because one thing he wasn’t was obtuse.

Swift forced his voice to evenness. “What’s going on, Bernard?”

The pause sent a prickle of unease down his spine. “I told you I spoke to Marion.”