Losing Faith (9 page)

“You were together a long time, then?” Abel asked.

“Almost nine years.”

“Wow! So what happened next?”

Cullen smiled. “Well, I exited the church, greeted and chatted with my new congregation, and periodically glanced around hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Eventually the crowds started thinning, and I’d almost given up hope. I said good-bye to the last couple, and when they passed me by, I spotted him standing off to the side, waiting for me. I swear my heart almost leapt right out of my chest.”

“Was he your first?” Abel asked.

“Sexual partner? No. First and only love? Absolutely.”

“And?”

“We chatted on the steps of the church until we both got tired of standing, and then I finally took the bull by the horns and invited him back inside. We sat in one of the pews and talked for almost two more hours.”

Cullen’s eyes were closed again, and he was smiling fondly. “He was born and raised right there on the Cape and, after graduating UMass, had moved to P-town, where he bought a small T-shirt shop on Commercial Street. A couple years later, his shop was doing so well, he bought a house three blocks from the church, and he’d made a nice little life for himself. He’d not found that special someone, which was music to my ears, but he was certainly open to it. He loved children, was a runner and an avid boater. In fact, he’s the reason we’re sitting on this boat right now. Anyway, we dated exclusively for almost a year, and as soon as marriage was legal in Massachusetts, we tied the knot. Man! We had it all. Until….”

Cullen stopped short of finishing his sentence. He opened his eyes and chugged the rest of his drink. “If I’m gonna get through this story, I’m gonna need more bourbon.”

“Can I have some too?” Abel shocked himself.

“Sure, but don’t hold me responsible for corrupting the pastor.”

“No one’s corrupting the pastor,” Abel snorted. “I’m thirty-five years old. I think I have a right to taste bourbon if I want to.”

Cullen apparently conceded because he came back up with two glasses. “Take it slow,” Cullen warned. “It may burn a little.”

Abel brought the glass to his lips and dipped his tongue into the rich brown liquid. “Sweet. Strong. So good.” Then Abel took a sip. As the liquid slid down his throat, he felt the burn Cullen had warned him about. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it warmed him all the way down to his toes. “I like it. Probably a little too much.”

Cullen frowned. “There goes the neighborhood.”

“You shut up!” Abel said teasingly, surprising even himself. Then he took on a more serious expression. “If Cole is too difficult to talk about, I understand. I mean… I get it, man. We all have things that are just too difficult to deal with or talk about.”

“No. It’s time. I need this. Besides, if I don’t talk about it, I may just throw myself another pity party and drown in my own sorrows.”

Abel’s pastoral training took hold. “I’m here for you, then, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you get through this.”

“Thank you.” Cullen shook his head. “Now where was I?”

“You guys were happy and everything was going great,” Abel reminded him.

“Yeah. We saved up enough money to buy this boat, took our first trip south for the winter—all the way to Key West, Florida. On our way back up, we stayed at this very marina for a few days.”

Cullen explained how the movie crew was filming
Safe Haven
and told Abel about how much fun they’d had, which was why he was here now.

“So we got back to P-town at the end of March,” Cullen explained. “Cole got the shop opened up and running, and we settled back into life. While we were away, Cole had organized a group of our church members to run the Provincetown 10K Charity race on June first, so we got our group together and started training immediately. In the last stretch of the race, Cole collapsed. Right in the middle of Route 6.”

Cullen’s voice started to crack. “We later found out he’d had a massive brain aneurism. He died in my arms, both of us still in the middle of the street.”

Abel was silent as he watched Cullen wipe away the tears that were streaming down his face. He downed what was left of the bourbon and flinched, and Abel imagined the burn making its way down Cullen’s throat. Whether it was the effects of the bourbon, the horrible story, or simply his compassion, he didn’t know, but he slid over, sat next to Cullen, took the man into his arms, and cradled him as he cried.

Neither of them moved for the longest time, and Abel felt remarkably comfortable with Cullen in his arms. He allowed the man the time he needed to grieve, something Cullen had probably never done properly.

Abel rubbed Cullen’s back and ran his fingers through Cullen’s thick black hair, anything he could do to help comfort his grieving friend. How earth-shattering all this must have been for him. To lose his father, his mother, and then Cole. There was no question in Abel’s mind about why Cullen felt God had turned his back on him.

Abel didn’t think he would have felt any differently. But all his training, as well as Cullen’s, taught them just the opposite. Taught them that God had a plan. He always had a plan, and human beings weren’t privy to it. God had needed Cullen’s parents and Cole, and it wasn’t for them to understand. It was all part of the big picture.

But in this case, Abel just couldn’t see it. What words could he find to help Cullen through this? Cullen wouldn’t accept the usual “It’s God’s plan” speech, and Abel wouldn’t give it. After all, he had his own issues with the big man. But he needed to say something. Make some sort of impact on his friend.

Cullen lifted his head off of Abel’s shoulder, and Abel immediately wanted it back there. He liked the human contact. He liked Cullen.

“Sorry,” Cullen said pulling his black T-shirt up to wipe his face.

Abel couldn’t help but notice Cullen’s taut, flat stomach, but he instinctively looked away. “No need to apologize. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you. Thank you for trusting me enough to share it with me.”

“It needed to be done. I’ve been holding all this in for so long I was close to an epic explosion.”

Abel took Cullen’s hand in his and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t believe everything we’ve been taught. I don’t believe in the big picture. God’s plan. What I do believe is sometimes horrible things happen to wonderful people. I don’t understand how some people are forced to endure so much pain while others experience so little. But that’s not for me to understand. It just happens, and all I can do is help clean up the fallout.”

Cullen squeezed Abel’s hand. “Thank you for not giving me that ‘God called them home’ bullshit.”

Abel couldn’t help but smile a little. “I wish I had the words to take away some of your pain, but I don’t think those words exist yet. Time, acceptance, proper grieving, and people who care about you are the only things that will see you through this.”

“I’ve alienated everyone who cares or… cared for me,” Cullen shared. “I’ve been so bitter.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. In fact, you haven’t alienated me. I care for you, and I’m right here.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cullen chuckled. “Give me enough time and I’ll push you away just like I did the rest of them.”

“What about Elaina?” Abel asked.

“I haven’t spoken to her in a year. When our parents died and then Cole, she turned to her faith at the same time I turned away from mine. She couldn’t understand why I was so angry at God or why I left the church. She does believe in the big picture and God’s plan. She was always a little naïve, that one.”

“Maybe she needs to believe in something so she can cope. Something to hold on to, so to speak. For some, without that something, the pain is too great to bear. Everyone grieves in his or her own way.”

“I was trained, just as you were, to handle these situations, but I no longer see it that way.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you’re just too close to a situation to be able to see it clearly.”

“Maybe,” Cullen said.

Abel smiled. “You should reach out to her.”

“Maybe sometime in the future. But not now. I’m not ready yet.”

“Okay. But just keep it tucked away in the back of your mind. I feel certain she’ll be there with open arms when you’re ready.”

They sat hand in hand for a few more minutes, the sounds of the marina surrounding them like a comfortable blanket. “I know it’s getting late and you have church in the morning.”

“I’m okay,” Abel said. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be helping you, remember?”

“Maybe we were meant to help each other.”

“Maybe,” Cullen said. “But just the same, it’s time for you to get out of here.” Cullen stood and sat right back down again. “Whoa. I think I’ve had a little too much bourbon, and it’s all gone to my head.”

Abel stood. He too felt a little light-headed, so he could imagine what Cullen must feel like. “Here, let me help you.”

He offered his hands to Cullen and pulled the man to his feet. Abel put one of Cullen’s arms over his shoulder and held on to his hand. He slipped his other arm around Cullen’s waist, and together they walked. They took the three steps to the cockpit very carefully and then worked their way through the companionway door. That one wasn’t so easy for two grown men, but they eventually made it. By the time they reached Cullen’s cabin, he was little to no help at all.

Abel all but carried him to the bed and sat him down. He pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillow. He gripped Cullen’s T-shirt and pulled it over his head, biting his lip at the sight of his broad, well-defined chest with a sprinkle of hair between his pectoral muscles and a line of hair that ran down to his stomach and disappeared into his jeans. Abel swung Cullen’s legs around and laid the man down gently. He thought about removing Cullen’s jeans but didn’t think he had the courage.

After pulling the covers up over Cullen and tucking him in, Abel went to Cullen’s dressing area and opened the cabinet behind the mirror. He located a bottle of Advil.
He’ll need these for sure tomorrow morning.
He then went to the galley, got a bottle of water, and placed the bottle of pills and the water on Cullen’s bedside table. Cullen was out like a light.

Abel took the opportunity to study the man’s face. Even in his sleep, he looked broken and troubled. His brows were furrowed, and his forehead was creased like he was in deep thought. This evening when Cullen opened up to him, Abel had understood his loss, and he could certainly relate to Cullen’s feelings of abandonment.

With no other reason to stay, Abel turned to go. But he stopped suddenly, leaned down, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips against Cullen’s forehead. He held them there for a few seconds. Cullen’s skin was warm and soft, and it felt so good to have the human contact. “Good night, my new friend,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

But Abel didn’t straighten. His eyes trailed down Cullen’s handsome face and stopped at Cullen’s full lips. Without conscious thought Abel gingerly pressed his lips against Cullen’s in a brief, gentle kiss. Cullen’s lips were as satiny and sweet as he’d imagined they would—the one fleeting moment he’d allowed himself to imagine such a thing. “We have more in common than you’d ever imagine.”

He stood, turned out the light, and closed the door behind him. In the saloon, he turned out all but one lamp, and then he closed the companionway door and walked down the steps to the dock. He looked back one last time and cursed himself.

After tonight, Abel, nothing can ever be the same again.

“WHAT HAVE
I done?” Cullen rolled over and cursed under his breath. His first thought was to get up, look for the two-by-four someone had hit him over the head with last night, and then finish the job. But the getting up part would be too difficult and way too painful.

He opened his eyes and squinted against a cabin full of bright sunshine.
Morning or afternoon?
One glance at the clock told him it was after eleven. He brought his arm up to cover his eyes and wished like hell he was dead. His mouth was dry and as gritty as the Mojave. His head was pounding, and his stomach was churning and weak.
Need water.

Rolling over as gently as possible, Cullen froze when he saw the Advil and a bottle of water on his bedside table.
Yes, Virginia, there is a drug fairy!
He pushed up and rested on his elbow, opened the bottle and poured three pills into his hand, popped them into his mouth, and downed the entire bottle of water. Cullen rolled over, buried his head in the pillow, and cursed the likes of bourbon forever.

THE NEXT
time Cullen woke, he rolled over onto his back, raised his head gingerly, and took stock of his physical condition. He felt almost alive. Nowhere near good, but at least alive. The headache had subsided to a manageable level, and the water must have helped hydrate him, because his stomach felt more settled as well. He was actually hungry, which he thought was a good sign.

The light still came in from his cabin portholes, but the cabin itself wasn’t nearly as bright as it had been the first time he’d woken. He rolled over and squinted to make out the numbers on the clock: 2:35.

Cullen sighed and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He was bare chested but still in his blue jeans. He rubbed his hands over his day-old beard.
You haven’t tied one on like that in fifteen years.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rested his head in his hands and struggled to put the pieces of last night’s puzzle together.

The first thing he remembered was way too much bourbon. And the next was Abel.
Abel!

The drug fairy. Oh, God help me. Abel must think I’m a complete lunatic.

I remember grilling the steaks, having dinner. Nothing out of the ordinary. Abel did the dinner dishes. We headed topside.

Little bits and pieces started to come back to him.
I came out to Abel.
More bourbon.
I told him about Cole.
A lot more bourbon.
Oh, and Abel had a glass of bourbon too. Shit! I corrupted a pastor.
And then Cullen’s chest tightened as he remembered what happened next. Being held tightly in Abel’s arms while he cried like a baby.
Way to go, Cullen!
That’s twice you’ve broken down since you arrived in this godforsaken town.
And yes.
Cullen looked up.
I do mean God forsaken town.