Kick at the Darkness (34 page)

“That’s the Pilgrim’s Monument in the center of town.”

“I thought the pilgrims landed in Plymouth.”

“Ah, that’s what Plymouth wants you to think. They did end up there obviously, but they stopped here first. They just didn’t like it much. We used to joke that it was too gay for them, so they sailed on to somewhere more boring.”

Adam chuckled, squinting at a small wooden shack perched on a hill in the dunes that came into sight as they climbed a rise. “How about that?”

“Dune shack. There are a few of them. Ten, maybe? Twenty? I’m not sure. Tiny little things. Some of them are artist retreats, but there are a few still owned by families called the Descendants. Their great-great grandfathers or whoever were squatting on this land before it became a national park. Their families are still allowed to use them, but they can’t make any additions to the shacks or bring in electricity. The shacks have to stay the way they were. They can use generators, but that’s it. And if their direct line of descendants die off, the shack goes to the artists.”

“How long do the artists get them for?”

“Oh, just a week or two. It’s run by a non-profit and people apply every summer to get a chance to stay.” He knew he should probably be talking about all of this in the past tense, but couldn’t quite do it.

Adam gazed up at the shack. “What kind of artists?”

“Any kind, I think. Poets, painters.” He smiled. “Filmmakers too, I bet. I guess now we could stay as long as we wanted.”

“There’s someone up there.”

Parker stopped and squinted. Then he spotted the shack door opening. A figure emerged—a woman by the looks of it, but he couldn’t be sure. For a moment, they watched each other, the woman silhouetted by the cloud-flecked sky. Then she raised her arm high. Parker and Adam waved back solemnly.

Then they walked on, their fingers entwined.

When they returned to the beach, Parker spread out the little blanket he’d taken from the Cape house and pushed Adam back onto it. They kissed and touched, fingers sneaking under clothing, their moans carried on the wind as they got each other off with mouths and hands. No matter how many times they’d had sex, Parker yearned for the press of Adam’s body and the taste of him on his tongue.

The sun seemed impossibly large here at land’s end, streaking a pinky red across the fluffy clouds. Parker sat back between Adam’s legs, Adam’s warm breath tickling his ear. He shivered as the wind picked up. “Winter will be here soon.”

“It will.” Adam absently caressed Parker’s wrist with his fingertips. Then he froze. “There’s a boat out there. See the sail?” He pointed to the tiny smudge on the horizon.

“A boat.” A surge of excitement—of hope—flowed through Parker. “We could find a boat. My parents’ yacht would be at the marina back in Chatham, but there are plenty here.”

“Could you sail it? I don’t know anything about boats.”

Parker sat up and faced him. “Definitely. I used to sail all around the Cape. Sometimes by myself. One summer we went all the way up to Nova Scotia.”

“I wonder what it’s like up there now.”

“There are a couple of islands. Prince Edward and the bigger one.” Parker struggled to remember the name. “Newfoundland! It’ll be cold though. If we go up there and the infection’s taken over, we could get trapped by the ice.”

“South, then?”

Parker nodded, excitement growing as a new plan took shape. A new purpose. “South. All those islands in the Caribbean. Maybe some of them are safe. Maybe all of them.”

“Only one way to find out.”

He took a deep breath. “Are we doing this?”

“Would you rather go back west instead?” Adam asked.

Parker shuddered. “No. We know what’s there.” He looked out over the water, watching the sun disappear in a symphony of fiery color. “But this way could be a whole other world. We could stock up in town, scrounge up anything that’s left. Food and clothes—extremely fashionable clothes, I might add—sailing supplies, maps.” He turned back to Adam. “What do you think?”

Adam took Parker’s face in his hands and kissed him soundly. “I think we’d better find a boat.”

“Here comes the tide.”

Parker stood braced at the wheel of a forty-foot sailboat. Its sails were still neatly tied, and it sat on the soggy bottom of the harbor, waiting for the sea to return. It was almost nine o’clock in the morning on a gray day.

Adam poked his head out of the cabin. “You were right. There’s room for Mariah.”

“Told you. We’re not leaving our girl behind. Besides, this boat has the perfect name. It was fate.”

Adam chuckled. “I told you that was only a myth.” He ducked back down with the last bag of supplies. When he returned, he leaned against the railing next to Parker and unzipped his leather jacket. “How much longer?”

“Not long. We just need to be patient.” He winked. “First rule of sailing.”

“Guess we’ll have to pass the time somehow.” Adam edged closer.

Parker could have spent all day kissing Adam in the briny morning air. Finally he pulled away with a laugh. “If we don’t stop now the tide will have come and gone by the time we’re finished.”

Adam peered out at the water. “Is it high enough?”

“Just about.”

“Don’t you need to put the sails down?”

“After we clear the harbor. I’ll use the engine at first. We shouldn’t need it much once we’re on our way, though. We can conserve gas.”

“This is a pretty big boat. You sure you can handle it?”

“Absolutely. I’ve got a big, brawny first mate.”

“I guess that makes you captain.”

“You bet your firm, glorious ass it does. But hey, if you’re not up to first mate, there’s a cabin boy position available.”

Adam grinned. “Sounds tempting.”

They were floating freely now, bobbing gently. “Okay. Let’s do this.” With the push of a button, the engine purred to life.

As they came around the end of Fisherman’s Wharf, Adam turned to see the four enormous black and white photographs of elderly women installed on the ramshackle building there. Two smiled at the camera, while the others were pensive. “Wow,” he murmured.

“It’s called
They Also Faced the Sea
. They were Portuguese fishermen’s wives. My mom sketched it one summer, sitting out on the wharf.”

Adam pulled the camera from his pocket. “I want to remember it.”

Parker looked back over his shoulder at Provincetown and the Pilgrim’s Monument. He wondered where he and Adam would sail, and if they’d ever go home again
. No. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about them
. He had to let go. It was the only way to survive.

Swallowing thickly, he resolutely faced the bay to find Adam’s camera on him now. He blew out a breath, counting his steady exhalation. “Do you want me to say something? Tell the folks at home what we’re up to?”

“By all means.”

“Well, ladies and gentlemen…” With a flourish, Parker pointed up at a flock of geese, their perfect V formation stretching across the clouds. “We’re following these guys south for the winter.”

“Is this the stern or the bow?” Adam asked.

Parker whistled slowly. “I see I have a lot to teach my first mate-slash-cabin boy. Yes, the back is the stern, front is the bow, left is port, and right is starboard. That’s your first lesson. Good thing we’ve got nothing but time, because there’s a lot more to learn.”

Over the camera, Adam met his gaze. “Good thing.”

His heart skipped a beat, and Parker found himself smiling. “Come on, you get in it too.”

Adam moved around to stand beside him at the wheel, holding his arm out with the camera turned around to capture them both.

“Say something,” Parker urged.

“Um…hi.”

“
Hi
? That’s all you’ve got?”

Adam shrugged. “What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know! You’re the filmmaker.”

“This is exactly why I should stay behind the camera.”

Parker shut off the engine as they cleared the harbor. “All right, you can watch me do all the work here.”

He gauged the direction of the wind and trimmed the sails to take them around the tip of the Cape and out to open sea, bearing south. When he was finished tying two half-hitches on the mast rail, he stepped back. “That’s it. We’re ready.”

“Now what?” Adam asked.

Parker pointed up, and Adam followed with the camera. The wind caught the sails, and the
Bella Luna
danced across the waves.

THE END

After writing for years yet never really finding the right inspiration, Keira discovered her voice in gay romance, which has become a passion. She writes contemporary, historical, paranormal and fantasy fiction, and—although she loves delicious angst along the way—Keira firmly believes in happy endings. For as Oscar Wilde once said, “The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.” You can find out more about Keira and her books at her
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