sleeping patterns, not his entertainment.
When Kadin entered and crossed to where Gregory was sitting, he placed his
laptop on the table and forced a smile. But on his way there, his head had been down and
he hadn’t bothered to say good morning to anyone in the hallway. He always felt down
after seeing the children. Their serious expressions and their frowns and sighs remained
in his head and weighed him down for days afterwards. He knew they worried about him,
and there wasn’t much he could do about it.
But he couldn’t let Gregory see this dark mood, so he leaned over the nurse’s
shoulder to read Gregory’s blood pressure, and said, “Looks good today.” His voice was
animated and his hands were on his hips. Gregory’s vital signs were normal. Physically,
Gregory didn’t have a single problem that caused concern.
The nurse laughed and said, “It’s probably better than mine.” Then she pulled the
strap off his arm and asked him, “How are you feeling today? Any complaints?” Gregory tilted his head and looked up. She was one of those nurses who had a
tendency to shout at the more advanced patients when she spoke. She meant no harm, but
from the way his eyebrows lowered and scrunched, he made it obvious she was annoying
him. So he pointed to a tray of breakfast food on the table and said, “I’ve already said I’m
not paying for anything I didn’t order and won’t eat in the morning. I don’t know why
you people don’t write these things down.”
She put her hands on her hips and said, “Breakfast is good for you. It’s the most
important meal of the day.” She was joking with him. But he wasn’t laughing.
Kadin lifted his palm and gave her a look, then said, “You’re not being charged,
Gregory.” Then he said to the nurse, “Could you please take his tray away now? He’s had
his coffee.” He winked at her, only pretending to be stern so Gregory would think he was
watching out for him.
She shook her head and lifted the tray. She smiled at Kadin, then turned to
Gregory and said, “I’ll be back later today to check up on you.”
When she was gone, Gregory folded his hands on his lap and watched out the
window. The sky was overcast and the grounds were empty. “Looks like rain,” he said.
The corners of his mouth turned down and he sighed. He was always better on sunny
days.
Kadin opened his laptop and smiled. “Once you hear the rest of the story, you
won’t care about the weather.”
Gregory faced him and said, “Ah, well, the story. I’m curious about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Was the woman in the story, the fiancee, a lesbian?” he asked. Kadin blinked at him and smiled. He was never sure how much information
Gregory retained from day to day, or if he’d retained anything at all. “No one was ever
really sure,” Kadin said. “In those days, people didn’t discuss things like that out in the
open.”
* * * *
On the Wednesday after Easter, Gregory and Kadin were in the barn preparing the
horses to go out for a late afternoon ride when they heard a car pull up to the front of the
house. The barn was off to the right side of the house, beyond the back walk. They could
hear tires cracking on the gravel, and a flock of black birds flew out of the tall oak near
the gate. “I’ll go see who this is,” Kadin said. “I’ll be right back.” He patted Gregory on
the ass and kissed him on the cheek. Gregory was wearing a tight pair of tan slacks.
When Kadin saw him throw the saddle over the horse, he couldn’t resist a quick feel.
Kadin walked on a slate path to the side of the house. There was a long, black
Cadillac sedan parked out front. He heard the motor switch off, then watched a pale,
middle-aged woman get out of the car and shut the door. She wore a tailored navy blue
suit with a short Chanel jacket. Her navy high heels matched her purse and her blond hair
was pulled back in a tight French twist. She didn’t see Kadin approaching her when she
stared up at the front door and sighed.
Kadin cleared his throat and said, “Can I help you?” But he knew who she was
now without having to ask. When he saw her almon-shaped eyes and the way she stood
so perfectly still and stoic, he remembered her face. It all came back to him in a flash. He
remembered her from the night he’d brought Gregory home late that first summer they’d
met, the night before they’d dragged him back to Atlanta against his wishes. She’d been standing in front of Miles’s house with her arms folded across her chest that night. She
didn’t bother to make eye contact with him, but he’d never forget her expression of
disgust and contempt.
She turned and looked directly into his eyes, clutching her purse to her stomach.
“I’m Monica Rochester.”
He nodded and smiled. “I’m Kadin Mulroney.” She hadn’t aged since he’d seen
her last.
“I know who you are,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I’m here to see
Gregory.” He voice was soft and direct.
“He’s in the barn,” Kadin said. “I’ll get him.” Then he left her there and went
back to the barn.
When Kadin told him his mother was outside waiting to see him, Gregory’s face
fell and he punched a stack of hay next to the horse’s stall. He didn’t want to go at first,
but Kadin explained to him calmly and rationally that the best thing he could do was to
go out and face her. He hesitated for a few minutes, but finally agreed to go as long as
Kadin went with him. “I’m not going through this again twice in my life,” he said. “I’m
old enough to know what I want now, and I’m not going to let her change my mind. I’m
not going back to Atlanta with her this time.”
They met her at the front gate, then Kadin led them into the house. There were no
hugs or kisses between mother and son. He took them into the living room and asked her,
“Can I get you something?”
She gave him a quick smile and said, “I’d like to speak with my son alone,
please.” She wasn’t being rude; her voice was agreeable and her tone was easy. Kadin was fine with that. He didn’t really want to be there. This was between
Gregory and his mother. So he started to back out of the room. “Then I’ll just go into
the…”
But before he had a chance to finish his sentence, Gregory said, “No. I want
Kadin here.” He tilted his head and gave Kadin a stern look.
Kadin stopped. Monica let out an exasperated sigh and said, “Very well. I just
thought it would be easier for Mr. Mulroney.”
Kadin smiled. He didn’t want to make things worse than they were. “Please, call
me Kadin. Let’s all sit down.” He looked at Monica, extended his arm toward a pair of
tall white wing chairs next to the fireplace, and said, “Please.”
Kadin and Gregory sat on the sofa that faced the fireplace. Of all the things Kadin
could have imagined about his life, he’d never have imagined a scene like this. The fact
that she’d even bothered to show up there at all was shocking. Most mothers in the 1950s
wouldn’t have wanted to deal with the situation at all. They would have resigned
themselves to the unspoken inevitable, and severed their ties from a distance.
But Monica wasn’t there to cause a scene and argue, and she wasn’t there to sever
ties. She sat down, crossed her feet at the ankle and said, “I’ve spoken to Betsy. I know
the wedding is off, and that you’ve decided to remain here in Savannah indefinitely.”
“Permanently,” Gregory said. He lifted his chin and raised one eyebrow in
defiance, then asked, “Why did you come all the way down here?”
She opened her navy purse and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to Gregory
and stared down at her feet. She stumbled for words a few times, then said, “When we
returned to Atlanta, letters began to arrive from Savannah.” She looked at Kadin and tilted her head. “I knew who they were from, so I threw them away without reading them,
and never gave them a second thought.”
“You just threw away my mail?” Gregory asked. He stretched out his arms and
looked to Kadin for support.
But Kadin smiled and said, “Just listen to what she has to say without getting
emotional.” Then he looked at Monica and said, “I have three children of my own. I
probably would have done the same thing.”
She sat back straight in the chair and said, “I thought I was doing the right thing.
Then when you left for the Army, the letters continued to arrive: one each day for an
entire year. I was amazed.”
Gregory lifted the envelope she’d handed to him. It had been opened neatly with a
sharp letter opener. “Then what’s this?” he asked. “I thought you said you threw them all
away.”
She sighed. “All but this one,” she said. “It was the last letter to arrive. Of course,
I had no idea at the time it would be the last letter.” She looked at Kadin and said, “I
opened it and read it. I’m not proud of this, but I was curious.”
Kadin smiled. He shrugged and said, “Don’t give it a second thought. I would
have done the same thing in your position. I’m not embarrassed by anything I wrote in
those letters. You could have read them all, and they would probably have bored you to
death.”
Kadin wasn’t stupid man. He’d known what he was doing when he’d sent those
letters to Gregory. He’d also known one of Gregory’s parents might open them and read
them. So he never wrote anything that would be embarrassing or in bad taste. Given the nature of their relationship, because they were two men, he’d known he had to be careful.
He’d wanted respect from Gregory’s family back then, and nothing else. His letters
weren’t filled with the typical romantic words and phrases you’d find in a letter from a
lovesick man. He didn’t write about how much he missed their passion and how he
couldn’t live without him in his arms at night. Instead, Kadin wrote about their unusual,
wonderful friendship. He wrote about his plans for the future and his goals as a lawyer;
he even went through all the details about how he’d renovated the house and how he was
hoping Gregory could offer him some design advice. He wrote about many practical,
everyday things that happen to people, to gain their respect and to keep his connection
with Gregory alive. But he never once wrote a single line or word that couldn’t have been
read aloud at any Sunday church service.
“Why did you save this one?” Gregory asked. His voice was calmer now. He was
genuinely curious. “Why did you drive all the way down here to give it to me now?”
“It felt like the right thing to do,” she said. “And I wanted to see where you were
living.” She looked around the room quickly, then said, “Now that I’ve given you the
letter and I’ve seen this fine home, I’m going to head back to Atlanta before it gets too
late.” Then she stood from her chair and evened out her skirt.
Kadin stood and said, “You’re sure I can’t get you something?” He knew she
wouldn’t ask for anything, but he still offered.
Monica waved her hand and walked to the front hall. “I’m fine.” Then she turned
back to face Gregory. He was standing now. “Gregory, walk me outside.” She smiled at
Kadin and said, “It was good seeing you.”
“You, too.” When she was gone, Gregory walked back to the kitchen where Kadin was
opening a bottle of beer. He was still carrying the letter in his hands. “I’m going to take a
walk down to the creek to read this,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
Kadin leaned back against the counter and took a hard swallow of beer, then said,
“Take your time.” He remembered almost every word he’d written in that last letter, and
it made him smile to think that Gregory was finally going to get a chance to read it after
all these years.
Chapter Fifteen
In the late afternoon, the rocky creek seemed to mellow as yellow rays from the
warm sun poked through the tree trunks. The still surface glistened and the downstream
currents were smooth and exact. In the distance, an unseen bird was chirping something
that sounded like “cheeseburger.” One couldn’t find a more peaceful place in the world to
sit quietly and think.
When Gregory sat on a flat rock at the edge of the creek, he was still holding the
letter in his hand. The last letter Kadin had sent him that year. He stared at the top edge
and ran his fingertips across the opening. It had been so carefully sliced; the thin slit
across the top of the envelope was straight and even. He pulled the letter out slowly. The
plain white stationery felt thin and watery now. It smelled a little like the mothballs in the
back of his mother’s winter closet. It had been folded directly in half, and the seam was
