Saints of Augustine (11 page)

He jumped and lobbed the ball toward the hoop. It popped off the rim and bounced like a rabbit over to the cinder-block wall that bordered one side of the park.

New game,
he said, walking toward the ball.
It's called To Hell with You.

He dug the ball out from behind a palmetto bush.

He didn't feel like dealing with the hoop anymore. It looked way too small for the ball to get through, anyway. To Hell with You would be a warm-up game. A fierce drill of chest passes. He walked down to a spot where the bushes stopped and it was just open wall. He dribbled, passing the ball from his right hand to his left. Then he caught it, lifted it to his chest, and as he fired it toward the wall, he said, “To hell with you.”

It shot back, and he caught it: a dead, clean stop,
and a great sound, his hands against the burnt-orange rubber skin. He launched the ball again.

“To hell with Kate.” As if it were metal and his hands were magnets, the ball shot straight out from the wall and into his palms.

He launched it harder. “To hell with my dad.” Caught it. Launched it. “To hell with Wade.” Caught it and launched it again. “To hell with Derrick.”

The ball stung his palms when it made contact. He launched it as hard as he could against the wall.

Suddenly it felt as if the entire joint caught up with him. A flood of heat rose from his stomach and funneled up his neck, filling his head.
I don't want to be here
, he thought.
I should be in bed.
The three blocks to his house seemed like a long, open field dotted on either horizon by tiny houses on a treeless landscape.
Go home
, he told himself.

Then the ball appeared out of nowhere and smacked into the side of his face. The pain, just like every other sensation, was amazing.

So, Justin's e-mail began
, I'm a little rusty at this, but here goes….

Sam stared at the screen. He was sitting at his desk, one of his knees moving up and down. How was he so lucky? Justin McConnell was the coolest guy he'd met in a long time; he was great-looking and funny and smart. Why in the world would he want to hang out with Sam?

Sam's knees were scissoring up and down now beneath the desk.

He glanced behind him to make sure his bedroom door was closed. The last thing he needed was his mom coming in and seeing an e-mail like this on his screen. Not that the subject line read
INVITATION TO A GAY DATE
, but still he didn't want her coming in contact with
anything
even remotely connected to…that part of him. It
was
a part of him, right? It wasn't going to go away. And since he'd met Justin—no, be honest, it was long before that, ever since his falling-out with
Charlie—it had been more and more difficult for Sam to pretend, even to himself, that he was attracted to girls. They left his mind whenever he started to fantasize, and now he was beginning to wonder if they'd ever really been in there at all. But his mom couldn't know about it. Not after what had happened with his dad, and certainly not after he'd denied it so fiercely during their argument a couple of days ago.

And whose business was it, anyway?

He clicked reply, then stared at the blinking cursor for a minute. Finally he typed:

He clicked send, and just before the e-mail zapped off into cyberspace, it looked like the dumbest thing anyone had ever typed.

Justin's response was rendered like a telegram:

Sam replied with his address, logged off, and changed into his running shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. His Discman still wasn't working, but he didn't care. He was so charged up, he could barely get his shoes tied.

 

When he came back from his run, Hannah was curled up on the floor in front of the television. He heard her sniff loudly, and when he looked at her face, he saw she'd been crying.

“Hey,” he said, “what's wrong?” He sat down cross-legged next to her. His mind immediately went to Teddy. Teddy had done something to upset her, Sam was sure of it.

But Hannah said, “Dad, that's what's wrong.”

“What about Dad? Is he okay?”

“I guess so.”

“What do you mean, you guess so? Did he call?”

“Yeah. He said for you to call him day after
tomorrow, in the morning. It's too late now because of that time-zone thing.”

“Well, what's up?”

“He's staying in that stupid city another
month
.”

Sam was drenched with sweat. He dragged the sleeve of his T-shirt against his forehead, but the sleeve was already soaked. “Hannah, we already knew this. He told us he was coming back late September.”

“Not anymore. I talked to him, and he said he has to stay longer. Now he won't be back till Halloween.”

“What?”

“Clean your ears,” she snapped; she'd gotten that line from him. “He won't be back till
Halloween
. When Mom heard me talking to him about it, she practically ripped the phone out of my hand.”

“And?”

“And I was just like, hel-lo, I'm talking on the phone.”

“No, I mean what happened when Mom talked to him?” Sam asked.

“They had this total fight.” She wiped her nose.
Her hand squeezed a button on the remote clutched in one hand, and the channels started rolling.

Sam grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.

“Hey!” she said. “What is this, National Grab Day?”

“What did they fight about?”

“She asked him—” He shushed her a little. She lowered her voice. “She asked him if he was staying over there because he wanted to, or because David was there.”

“What did he say?”

“He must have said both, because she got mad and told him ‘both' was ‘just terrific.' Then she started talking about you and me, and she said Dad was choosing David over us.”

“She said that?”

Hannah nodded.

“Wow.” He wasn't sure what to think. On one hand, he was glad his mom had said it, because his dad had been gone half the summer already and it was crazy to think that he wouldn't be back till Halloween, that he was
choosing
to stay away that long. But on the other hand, Sam felt that his mom
shouldn't have made the remark at all. It didn't seem fair, because it wasn't like their dad had stopped being their dad; he was just away. This was all really about David, Sam suspected. Which meant that it was all
really
about his dad's being gay.

His brain was just getting around to wondering how Hannah was piecing all this together when she asked, “Why does Dad like David so much?”

Sam swallowed. He handed the remote back to her. “David's a nice guy. What, you don't like him now?”

“I didn't say
that
.” She turned the television back on and started absently clicking through the stations. “He's nice. I like him. I just don't see why Dad needs to be in London. David's the one who had to go. And why can't Dad do book research here?”

“Maybe the research is better in London right now.”

She glanced at him and all but sneered her lip. “No, it's not.”

“You don't even know what book research is.”

“Yes, I do.”

“What is it?”

“It's when you…when you…lose a book twice…and you search for it again.” She started laughing, even though her eyes were still damp from crying. Sam cracked up, too, which made her laugh even harder.

When they'd settled down again, he asked, “So how long did the fight last?”

“Forever. Like half an hour. I don't really get why Mom's so mad, because it's not like Dad lives here now.”

“Well,” Sam said, “maybe she's just…”

He didn't want to finish the sentence. He didn't feel like sympathizing with his mom, and he was afraid of what, deep down inside, he really believed she was mad at.

 

A smile spread across Melissa's face when Sam told her about his plans that weekend with Justin. “I knew it,” she said happily.

Sam was pouring a strawberry-banana swirl for an exhausted-looking woman with shopping bags hanging from each hand. “What did you know?”

“That you two would hit it off,” Melissa said. “It
doesn't take a rocket scientist to see what's crystal clear.”

“Well, we're just going to hang out downtown,” Sam said. “It's not like he's my new best friend or anything.” He wanted to ask her what exactly she meant by “crystal clear,” but decided against it. He glanced at the woman with the shopping bags. “Topping?”

“Nuts,” the woman said.

When she'd paid him and wandered away with her yogurt, Sam said, “Let me ask you something. This might sound kind of lame.”

“I doubt it,” Melissa said.

“Do you think Justin's…obvious?”

“Obvious? Obviously what?”

“Gay,” Sam said. “What I mean is, do you think most people, when they glance at him, see a…gay person?”

“Logically, yes. He's a gay person. They look at him, and see him.”

“Come on! You know what I'm trying to say.”

“I
think
you're trying to ask me if people will think
you're
gay if you're seen hanging out with
Justin.” She had such a calm, knowing look on her face that it irritated him.

“Well…yeah.” Specifically, he'd been wondering if his
mother
might think he was gay, if Justin were to meet her when he came over on Saturday. “It's normal to worry about that kind of thing.”

“Really? Do you have to worry?” she asked.

Sam felt his hands start to fidget. He grabbed a rag and wiped it over the counter between them, scrubbing hard, as if the counter weren't already perfectly clean. “See?” he said without looking at her. “This is exactly what I'm talking about. I tell you I'm going to hang out with Justin, and you start making little cracks about how I might be gay.”

“What?” She laughed one breathy
ha.
“
I
didn't say that.
You
just said it. Talk about touchy. You have to know by now that it doesn't make any difference to me
what
you are. I don't care if you want to do it with a mailbox. But as for this whole ‘does-it-make-me-gay-if-I'm-around-Justin' thing, that's your own craziness, nobody else's. Who cares what other people think, anyway?”

Sam wouldn't have thought anything could have
made him embarrassed around Melissa, but this topic, this one damn…
thing
…in his life was causing all kinds of new problems. He was still looking down at the counter, still wiping it with the rag. In a lower voice, he said, “I didn't ask you if being around him would make me gay. I just wanted to know how you thought other people might react. And you're right. Who cares?” He didn't believe this, but he said it regardless. Then he added, in a voice that didn't even sound like it was coming from his mouth, “I'm not gay, though. Just for the record.”

Melissa lifted her hands, showing him her palms. “And no one on this side of the counter asked if you were.”

His face was even more flushed now, but it was because he was angry at himself, not at Melissa. Of
course
he'd lied to his mom about liking guys; that made total sense. And he hadn't come right out and admitted anything to Justin because, well, that might have given Justin the idea that Sam expected something from him—or
wanted
something. And the truth was that Sam himself didn't exactly know yet
what he wanted or what he was capable of doing. Or if Justin was even interested in him, that way.

But he couldn't even tell
Melissa
about any of this?

No. Not only could he not tell her, he'd just looked her right in the face and
lied
to her. His mom had backed him into a corner. But Melissa hadn't done that at all, and Sam had lied when he could have just kept his trap shut.

She said, “We should change the subject. You're staring into oblivion.”

Suddenly a gray-haired figure appeared across the food court, striding toward them, and a voice called out, “Sam, hat!
Hat!
”

“I certainly am,” Sam mumbled in response to Melissa, reaching under the counter for the symbol of Goody-Goody pride.

 

“Hello?” His father's voice sounded as if it were being broadcast from the bottom of a swimming pool.

“Dad? It's Sam.”

“Sam! Hold on a second, this connection is terrible. I'm going to switch channels.” There was a beep
and a click. When his dad came back on the line, he sounded better. Closer. Though there was still a slight buzzing sound in the background. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Hannah gave you the message to call, I see. I told her not to forget.”

“Yeah, she gave me your message.”

“So how's the last leg of your summer going? Are you getting revved up for school yet?”

“A little.”

“And how's Jasbo?”

“Fat. Why are you going to stay in London all the way to Halloween?”

“Oh—so Hannah gave you the
entire
message. I told her not to tell you that part. I thought you should hear it from me.”

“When I got home the other night, she was crying.”

For a moment there was only the distant buzzing sound over the line. “Sam, I know it seems like I've been gone a long time—”

“You
have
been gone a long time.”

“Well, I guess in a way I have, yes. But this trip is
a great opportunity for me. I've been gathering a lot of material for my book. Part of it's about the construction of Westminster Abbey, and I've had access to some valuable resources I wouldn't have at home.”

“I thought you were over there because of David's job,” Sam said, a little confused and slightly irritated.

“We are. David's consulting work has extended into October, which is why we're staying. But I'm also doing some valuable research.”

“Are you going to move there?”

“No! Lord, no, Sam. That hasn't even been a thought. Listen to me—I'd never move to another country while you and your sister are living in St. Augustine. I couldn't stand to be that far away from you. Honestly, this is just a long trip that's turned out to be even longer than I originally thought. The worst part about it that I miss you kids so much. My gosh, you're going to be a
senior
when I see you again. That's pretty exciting, isn't it?”

Why were his eyes getting damp? Sam rubbed each of them with a knuckle and said into the phone, “So you're not moving over there?”

“Absolutely not. It upsets me that you'd even be
worried about that. This trip…this trip just came at a really good time for me, Sam. You know how rough the waters were there, for a while. Between your mother and me—you and I have talked about that. I mean, what I said was true, the research opportunities are great. But it's also been good for me to change my environment. Temporarily. You know, like getting some fresh air when you've been in a dusty room. That didn't come out right, I don't mean that living there with you guys and your mom was like being in a dusty room. I just needed to clear my head. Does that make sense?”