Destiny (Waiting for Forever) (10 page)

His anger ended the conversation until we pulled up in front of the Sunshine Center Homosexual Reformation Facility. My stomach dropped as I looked up at the imposing building. Maybe since I already knew what kind of services the facility provided, I had a different perception, but to me, it looked like a prison. One large building stood out among other smaller structures in the otherwise peaceful countryside. The sleek and modern design contrasted sharply with the smaller, seemingly older homes farther up the street. Everything around the compound of buildings was quaint, having more of a small-town feeling, which made Jamie’s prison that much more oppressive.

My heart hurt at the thought of Jamie spending an entire year trapped there by people who were supposed to love him. In the back of my mind, it reminded me of the Hudson House where I had been placed as an orphan. Staring at the center, I couldn’t stand the thought that parents would willingly send their child to that goddamned place. In Jamie’s case, they’d cast him aside simply for being different. It just made me want to find him, to hold him, that much more.

“Christ,” Mike muttered before grabbing the door handle of the Jeep and swinging it open with a little more force than necessary. I followed, and soon we were walking up to the door. Mike had put on a brave face, but he was pale. It felt like we were marching across the battle line into the midst of the enemy. The thought that we might not make it out did flit through my mind, like once we went in, they would hold us there until we conformed, until we were straight.

“Ready?” I asked Mike as I opened the door, taking a deep breath, trying to build my resolve, and he nodded.

We entered a huge, expensive-looking lobby. When my eyes adjusted to the difference between the bright sunlight and the indoor fluorescent lighting, they were drawn to the focal point of the room: four huge photographs on the wall. They began about a foot from the ceiling and ended at about waist height, hanging perfectly vertical with mere inches between them. Obviously hung to promote the fundamental principles of the center, the first depicted a very happy-looking man and woman with two small children. The second image showed a large church steeple, while the third appeared to be two men playing basketball. The last image showed another couple in a loving embrace. The attractive man was kissing the woman’s forehead and holding her intimately.

The message was clear—family, God, heterosexual.

I glanced at Mike, who rolled his eyes as we walked toward the reception desk, bypassing the empty chairs and couches that sat patiently about the room waiting for the center’s next intended victim. The gray-and-burgundy theme throughout the space seemed more repressive than welcoming. It felt like church. I’d had enough of church to last me a lifetime. The only other occupants of the room were a receptionist and a guy sweeping the already immaculate floor.

“Welcome to the Sunshine Center. How can I help you?” the ridiculously eager woman behind the desk asked before we had even reached it. She was the epitome of conservative class, with a prim and proper blouse buttoned all the way up, complete with a shiny cross on a chain. A perfectly tight bun held her hair away from her face, which appeared to be free of makeup. She looked more like a Sunday school teacher than a receptionist. I pulled the envelope from Jamie’s letter out of my pocket and held it up.

“I’m looking for Jamie Mayfield,” I said quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guy stop sweeping. Mike rubbed the side of my leg inconspicuously with his finger, and I found the gesture comforting.

“Are… are you a family member?” she asked nervously. Her response seemed odd to me. The question was routine, but she looked almost frightened by it. Something was wrong; I could feel it.

“No,” I said simply, not wanting to give her any more information than was necessary.

“I’m sorry, I can only give out information to family members,” she replied dismissively, looking a little relieved. As we stood in front of the desk, she began to shuffle papers, trying to look busy. I guess she was hoping that we would just give up and go away.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Ma’am,” I said, putting as much drawl into the word as I could, “I just traveled all the way from Alabama to see him. He’s been my best friend since we were eleven. I’m sure if you told him I was here, he would want to see me.”

“I can’t do that,” she said, not looking up.

“Why can’t you do that?” I asked, starting to get angry, wanting to hear her admit that he’d left. I knew he wasn’t here, so I was just looking for a place to start.

“Because he isn’t here,” the boy with the broom said loudly. Giving the receptionist a scathing look as she gasped, I walked over to the boy. I heard the receptionist pick up the phone to call someone.

“Do you know where he went?” I asked, trying not to get my hopes up. Dressed in a long-sleeved, white, collared oxford and perfectly pressed jeans, the boy turned and leaned his broom against the wall.

“You must be Brian,” he said quietly. My heart leapt. If he knew my name, he must know Jamie well.

“Yes, I’m Brian. Please, do you know where he is?” I asked, almost begging him to answer my question. The boy leaned in so the receptionist, who was no longer on the phone but watching us, would not overhear him.

“I know he made some kind of deal with the food-delivery driver to take him to San Diego when he left a few weeks ago. He didn’t have anything but the clothes he came here with, so my guess is that he ended up in a shelter. There’s no way he went back to his parents. They imprisoned him here for his entire senior year of high school. He should have been having the time of his life, but instead he doesn’t even have a diploma. His stupid parents turned a bright, happy kid into a homeless high-school dropout,” he whispered, and I nodded, my throat constricting painfully. “Jamie’s room was next to mine, and we talked a lot. At least when my parents forced me into the center, I had already graduated. It’s not going to change anything, but I’m just too much of a coward to leave like he did.”

“Thank you,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Mike took his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a card.

“If you do decide to leave, call him. He can help you,” he told the boy. I glanced at the card and saw that it was Leo’s. “When does the food guy usually come back?”

“He won’t be back for a couple of days,” the guy said and glanced nervously over my shoulder before turning and grabbing the broom.

“Do you know the name of the company?” Mike asked quickly as I looked over my shoulder and saw several men in suits coming toward us.

“PQF,” he whispered and started sweeping furiously. I thanked him again in a whisper and moved away.

“Gentlemen, this is a private facility. If you’d like to talk about how we can help you, then you are welcome to stay; otherwise I must ask you to leave,” the taller man in the middle said lightly while the men on either side of him watched. Mike turned on them before I could grab his arm to pull him away.

“I happen to like how God made me. I am not in need of your brand of help,” he said and then, apparently prone to theatrics, grabbed my face and caught me in a brief but satisfying kiss. Trying not to laugh at the outraged looks the men were giving us, I grabbed Mike’s hand and tugged him toward the door.

“You will go to hell for your Godless ways!” the man in the middle yelled, red-faced, as we reached the door.

“Then I’ll meet you there, you sanctimonious prick,” Mike said loudly as we walked out.

We didn’t talk on the way back to the house. Mike drove through a fast-food place, and we picked up a couple of burgers I knew I’d be too queasy to eat. When we got up to the common room, Mike checked the Internet and found a customer-service number for the food service company. Without even hesitating, he dialed the number.

“Hello, this is John out at the Sunshine Center in La Mesa? Yeah, I need to talk to our regular delivery driver,” Mike lied in a voice that was a bit more nasal than his normal voice. His body was tense, but I just sat quietly and waited. The anticipation made my stomach ache.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. Everything was fine with the delivery. In fact, I wanted to thank him for going the extra mile for us. Is he there?” Mike was improvising, and I hoped the guy wasn’t still out on a delivery and that he might be able to tell us where to find Jamie.

“Great, sure, I’ll wait,” Mike said, and his posture relaxed. He held a hand over the phone and told me the guy had just come in from a delivery and someone was going to get him. We waited for nearly ten minutes, and I started to wonder if maybe they’d called the Sunshine Center to check out our call. After a few minutes, Mike put his hand on my knee to stop it from bouncing.

“It’s okay,” he mouthed and reached up to tousle my hair with his free hand. I smiled and leaned back into the couch, trying to relax. We were the only ones in the common room. Most of the guys were either working or getting ready to go out. They always seemed to be busy doing something.

“Yes, I’m still here,” Mike said, sitting up straighter. “Thanks.” Another pause, and then the driver must have been on the other line. “Hi, my name is Mike, and I was wondering if you could help me. Please, just hear me out. You gave a guy a ride from the Sunshine Center a couple of weeks ago. He’s my brother, Jamie. I’m trying to find out if he’s okay. Please, I need to know he’s okay. Where did you drop him off?”

I waited, holding my breath, my fingers clutching the edge of the couch cushion.

“Yes, I know where that is. Did he say where he planned to go from there? I understand. Thank you so much,” Mike said and snapped his phone shut. Turning to me, he said, “The guy left him over by the baseball stadium when he made a delivery to the docks, but he doesn’t know where he went after that.” Jumping off the couch, I headed for the door.

“Hey, that’s a lot of ground to cover, and it’s going to be dark soon,” he told me, and I paused. “You need to get a plan together. Start with a list of the shelters in that area. There are a lot of homeless in San Diego; I doubt anyone is going to notice one teenage guy. Do you have a picture of him?”

“Yeah, I have one,” I told him. I knew he was right. I was being emotional, and I needed a plan, but it was the first real lead I’d gotten on Jamie since I’d arrived. It infuriated me that we were in the same city and I had no idea where he could be.

“Great, go scan it and make a few copies. You don’t want to lose your original. Then do an Internet search for homeless and GLBT shelters in San Diego and make a list. I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow, but you can get over to the stadium on the bus.” Mike stood up and stretched, his shirt lifting over a chiseled stomach dusted in fine, light-brown hair. I looked away quickly.

“Well, I think I’m going to leave you to it and go upstairs to jack off. Being around your hot little ass all day has made me pretty horny,” he said casually, and I blushed scarlet. Tripping over my own feet on the way to the computer, I avoided looking at him as he chuckled. “Damn, you’re cute when you’re flustered. Sure you don’t want to come upstairs with me?” Mike had been flirting with me since I’d moved in. I had thought after I told him about Jamie earlier that day, he would stop.

“I… uhm… no, I should really…. I need to do these searches and… and stuff,” I stammered, feeling stupid that I didn’t know how to banter. He’d been so nice, helping me look for Jamie. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him I wasn’t interested, but the only person I wanted to mess around with was Jamie. He laughed and went upstairs as I started working on the computer.

Six

“H
OW
’
D
things go?” Mike asked as I handed him the MP3 player when he got in from work. I was standing in the kitchen putting together a sandwich from the deli meat I’d picked up earlier in the day. Since I couldn’t find a job, I needed to make the money I had last as long as I could. I’d done the math earlier in the day, and between rent, food, laundry, and bus fare, it wouldn’t be very long.

“Apparently the college students have descended on this area like locusts. I didn’t find anything,” I told him, grabbing one of the sodas I’d put in the refrigerator earlier, intending to go upstairs and sulk. Mike took the plate I had just balanced dangerously on top of my can and put it on the table next to a takeout container.

“Hang on, let me get a beer and we’ll talk,” he said, opening the refrigerator door as I passed. I couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that escaped as I flopped into the chair in front of where my sandwich sat. The frustration wasn’t with Mike. I needed to find something, because the conversation I’d had with Mr. Mayfield scared me. If he, with his money and connections, couldn’t find Jamie, how the hell was I going to?

Emilio and Tony, who had also just come in with Mike, dropped their takeout containers on the table across from our seats. I’d never seen the guys really eat at the table; usually they took their stuff over to the TV and ate while they watched. Mike watched me looking around the table and laughed.