Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) (20 page)

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Authors: Scott Sherman

BOOK: Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery)
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“Yeah,” I said, “we’re lovers. But Tony’s not entirely comfortable with it. I’m the first—well, the only guy he’s ever been with. So, please, don’t say anything to him about it.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Mr. Rinaldi is always very nice, and I can see he’s a terrific father, but I’m no idiot. That’s a man who could intimidate a Tyrannosaurus rex
and
he carries a gun. I want to live.”
I laughed. “I really appreciate your sharing all this with me,” I told her. “I’ll talk to Tony. He hasn’t been open with Rafi about our relationship. I don’t think the secrecy is doing anyone any good.”
“I’ve spent most of my waking hours with kids for a few years now,” Ms. Sally said. “The thing about keeping secrets from them is that it doesn’t work. Most parents who think their children don’t know what’s
really
going on are deluding themselves. Even if it happens behind closed doors, kids have a way of knowing the truth.
“Plus, lying to children sets a bad precedent. When those kids turn into adolescents and start telling their
own
lies, the parents are always surprised and defensive, asking ‘Where did they learn that from? We’ve always encouraged openness in our home.’
“Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that. Better yet, get a mirror, honey.”
That settled it. I liked Ms. Sally. A lot. I totally agreed with her whole honesty-is-the-best-policy spiel. But she was right about something else, too: If she talked to Tony like that, he’d shoot her.
“I should let you go,” I said, observing that the kids had begun to look a little glazed-over as Rafi tried to read them
Where the Wild Things Are
for the third time. “Again, thank you. I’ll talk to both of them. I’d never want to see Rafi get hurt.”
Ms. Sally leaned closer to me. Almost nose to nose, she whispered, “Were you really his first guy?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m a homophobe or anything,” she said. “It’s just . . . I do not get the ‘gay’ vibe off him at all.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I consoled her. “He doesn’t get it, either.”
Ms. Sally giggled like a teenage girl seeing a
Playgirl
centerfold. “And what about you? Was he
your
first, too?”
“He was the first I’d been with
that
evening,” I answered, winking.
Another naughty-girl giggle. “I’m glad we talked. I think you’re going to make a great second dad for Rafi.”
I was? I hadn’t thought of myself in that role.
I hadn’t dared.
26
Daddy’s Secret
“Can we go to the park?” Rafi asked, holding my hand as we walked home from his school.
It’s kind of a miracle how a kid’s hand settles into yours. As if it were made to fit there. When holding a boyfriend’s hand, you feel his strength and tenderness matching yours. A union of equals. But a child’s hand is so small. Precious. The moment it’s in yours, you feel a primal protectiveness that gives you a superhuman sense of power. You imagine there’s nothing you wouldn’t—couldn’t—do to save him from pain.
Yet, I couldn’t find any words to open the subject of what he’d heard his mother say. Tony had put boundaries between us. I could break them, but I’d risk losing him.
Is he worth waiting for?
Mrs. Cherry had asked me.
Maybe for me,
I answered in my head. But suffused with tenderness and caring for the charge by my side, I worried
Is Tony’s guilt, confusion, and ambivalence hurting Rafi?
I could stand getting hurt. But I couldn’t be part of hurting a child.
“Sure,” I said, giving Rafi what little joy I could, “let’s go hit the slides.”
Rafi squeezed my fingers. “I love you, Kebbin.”
I squeezed back. “Me too, Rafsters.”
 
“That miserable bitch,” Tony said later that night.
My thoughts exactly.
Rafi had fallen asleep with Tony ten minutes ago on my bed. Tony’d snuck back out and lay with me on the sofa bed as I snuggled against his rocklike yet still comfortable chest. I’d just filled him in on what Ms. Sally had told me at Rafi’s school.
“To let Rafi hear that—what the fuck is wrong with her?”
“I know,” I said. “
Faggot
is such an ugly word.”
“Still,” Tony said, ruffling my hair, “Rafi was right. You are my ‘bestest friend,’ you know.”
I crooked my neck and playfully bit one of his nipples.
“Ouch,” he said. “And, uh, yum.”
Like many men who’d primarily had sex with women, Tony had no idea his nipples were erogenous zones until I introduced him to their usefulness a few months ago. Now, he was a bit of suckle slut.
“It’s not funny,” I said. “You have to talk to Raf. And you have to figure out what you’re going to say.” I told him Ms. Sally’s thoughts on kids knowing the score even when their parents thought they didn’t.
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to push me on this,” Tony growled.
“I’m not saying you have to take out a full page in the
New York Times
announcing your involvement with me,” I said. “But you have to think about your son. Eventually, someone is going to tell him about you—about us. Would you rather you be the one to do it, or leave it to his mother or his friends?”
“I don’t think I need to tell my five-year-old son about my sexuality,” he said icily.
I pulled myself away from him and sat up. “Is that all this is about to you? Sex?”
Tony looked tired. “You know that isn’t true. Don’t play word games, Kevvy.”
“It seems to me,” I said, getting up. “You’re the one who’s playing games. The worst kind, Tony. The kind where no one wins.”
“Kevvy, don’t be mad at me.” I wasn’t used to seeing Tony so vulnerable. “I don’t know what to do, all right? I don’t have a . . . map for this.”
“So, trust me. Talk to your son. Tell him how you feel about me. How we feel about each other. Let him know that what he knows to be true, is.”
“He’s a kid, Kevvy. He doesn’t need to know about . . . homosexuality.”
Tony had been raised a strict Catholic. I wasn’t sure what he’d known about homosexuality himself before I’d sucked his dick at the age of sixteen. Even afterward, I think he thought it was some kind of fluke or wrestling move.
“You don’t have to explain the intricacies of anal intercourse to him, Tone. He just needs to know he’s in a place with two adults who love each other and who love him, too. That we’re both there for him. He’s just been through your separation with your wife, Tony. He needs stability. He needs to feel secure.
“He also deserves to know that not everyone thinks it’s okay for two men to have that kind of special love. That people might say mean things. Even his mother. But he needs to hear from you that
all
love is good and to be celebrated.
“He’s young enough that you still have the chance to shape his moral center. If he senses shame and secretiveness from you, he’ll be anxious and think what you’re doing is wrong. But if you’re open and honest, he’ll feel safe and strong.”
In my head, Stephen Sondheim’s seminal “Children Will Listen” played. As sung by Barbra, natch.
“But that window won’t be open forever,” I continued. “Eventually, someone is going to define our relationship for him. Wouldn’t it be better coming from you?”
Tony rubbed his temples, wincing.
“Let me do that,” I said. I sat beside him and dug in, rotating my index fingers in small circles just behind his eyes.
“Mmmm, that’s good,” Tony moaned. He was quiet for a few minutes while I worked the tension out of his forehead.
“I want to do the right thing,” he said eventually.
“I know.”
“I do love you.”
“I know that, too.”
“Let me think about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
I massaged deeper, using my thumbs to press the top of the bridge of his nose, another acupressure point for relieving stress.
Tony was quiet, his eyes closed. For ten minutes, he said nothing.
I cherished his silence. In the past, he’d avoided this conversation. I was touched by how much consideration he was giving it now. I knew his stillness meant he was really thinking about what I’d said.
Until he started to snore and I realized he’d fallen asleep. Probably nine minutes ago.
Gently, I cupped his face between my hands.
Why did loving me have to cause this good man so much torment? I wished there was something I could do to take away his pain. To make this all easier for him.
I realized my thoughts walking Rafi to the park earlier today were wrong.
It wasn’t children that brought out our protectiveness.
It was love.
On his other visits with Rafi, Tony was always careful to return to my room before he fell asleep, so that his son wouldn’t see us in bed together.
I considered waking Tony so he could make his usual retreat but decided against it.
If Rafi saw us together, maybe it would save a lot of discussion. And we could all move on.
Unfortunately, one of us was about to move on a lot sooner than I’d hoped for.
 
I squinted at the digital clock across the room as if by squeezing my eyes together the numbers would make more sense. 3:15? In the morning?
So why was Tony getting dressed?
“Is the apartment on fire?” I croaked.
“Sorry, babe.” He sat on the sofabed and kissed my forehead. Now that he was closer to me in the darkness, I could see he was dressed for work. “We have another floater. I gotta go.”
There were downsides to being in love with a cop. “S’okay,” I said, already drifting back off to dreamland.
“Listen,” he said, apparently unfazed by my looming unconsciousness. “Rafi’s only been here a couple of times now. If he wakes up there alone, he’s going to be scared. Do you think you could go lie with him in your room?”
“I don’t know if I’d get any sleep. Is it like being in bed with you?”
Tony looked mildly scandalized.
“I mean, does he also hog all the blankets, dummy?” I hit him with a pillow.
Tony grinned, his hair mussed by my attack, making him look extra scrumptious. “I’m afraid it’s in the Rinaldi genes. Sheet-stealing, chocolate-loving, heartbreaking scoundrels, we are.”
I reached out my hand and Tony helped pull me to standing. Then, before I knew it, he swept me into his arms and carried me into my bedroom. He laid me gently next to Rafi. Sure enough, the kid was cocooned in every blanket on the bed. Tony saw me notice and shrugged.
“I’ll get you one,” Tony whispered, reaching out to unravel his son.
“Just grab one from the sofabed,” I whispered back.
“Good idea. And, listen, I hate to take advantage of you, babe, but if I get hung up, can you bring him to school in the morning?”
I didn’t know if I should be touched that Tony trusted me with all this parental responsibility, or pissed that I was only entrusted with it when it was convenient for him. “Sure,” I said, slurring slightly with sleepiness.
Tony kissed me again. “I’ll get the blanket.”
I was dead to the world before he returned with it.
27
Sleep Over
I crashed quickly but it was a restless, shallow slumber. Two hours after Tony left, I didn’t so much wake as admit defeat. Too wired to go back to sleep, but too tired to bother with the lights, I stumbled from bedroom to bathroom, peed for what felt like three hours, and made my way into the kitchen.
Daylight was just starting to muscle its way through my blinds. Speaking of muscle, when was the last time I’d gone to the gym? True, I no longer depended on a tight body to make a living, but that didn’t mean I was willing to let myself go all Kirstie Alley, either. Bleary as I was, I knew a good workout would make me feel better.
I chugged a glass of milk and rinsed out the glass. Invigorated by the prospect of getting my exercise done for the day, I headed to the bedroom to throw on some sweatpants and a T-shirt. My gym was just down the block, so I wouldn’t even bother with a jacket. If it was cold, I could walk faster.
I flicked on the light. The gym was one place where I paid no attention to fashion. If my clothes fit and were clean, they’d be good enough for me. I was putting on my tee when I heard a cat mewling from my fire escape. It wouldn’t be the first time a stray had found its way up there, only to complain to find itself so unexpectedly far from the ground.
This one was loud, though. He sounded like he was right inside the apartment.
Now that I was paying attention, I realized he was also speaking English.
“Daddy?”
I was pretty sure that ruled out a cat. Or a bird. Or even a parrot.
That was definitely a human being.
Holy shit.
Rafi
.
I had totally forgotten Rafi.
Oh. My. God.
Tony wasn’t back, and I was about to leave a five-year-old in the apartment alone.
Worst. Parental. Substitute. Ever.
I briefly wondered if I should just strangle myself with my T-shirt right now. It was already conveniently placed around my neck.
“Da—” Rafi began again, his voice rising higher. A slight note of hysteria was creeping into his tone.
Okay, Kevin, stop thinking about yourself. This kid needs you.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, moving to sit next to him on the bed. I tousled his hair in the same way Tony did mine.
“Hi, Kebbin!” he said with relief, remembering where he was. “I didn’t see my daddy.” He didn’t have to add how that made him feel.
“He had to go out and help some people who needed him,” I said. Rafi’s known his daddy as “one of the good guys” his whole life. “But he made sure I was here to keep you company.” I lay next to him.
“It’s a good thing he did,” I added, in a whispery, just-between-us confession. “He knows I get scared being by myself.”
Rafi giggled. I looked at the clock. It was just a little after five. Rafi should have slept at least till seven. My guess was he’d have fallen right back into dreamland had Tony been in bed with him. But finding himself alone, Rafi cried out.
“You want to play a game?” I asked. I patted my chest and Rafi settled against me. I put my arm around him.
“I love games,” Rafi said, his voice conveying exhaustion and excitement in equal amounts.
“I bet . . .” I said, pausing dramatically as if about to offer a truly thrilling proposal, “I can stay quiet longer than you can. Deal?”
“Deal,” Rafi said, thinking himself very grown-up.
“Okay,” I said. “You count it down. From three to one. After that, the next one who makes a sound loses.”
“Bet I can be quiet longest,” Rafi boasted, yawning halfway through.
“We’ll see. Okay, start the clock, Rafsters.”
“One . . . two . . . twee!” he announced confidently.
All right, he didn’t get the whole “counting down” thing quite right, but ending on the adorable “twee” was better idea, anyway.
I clamped my hands comically against my mouth and bulged out my eyes, as if struggling to stay silent. Rafi lifted his head and giggled.
I shot a warning look—no noises! Rafi clamped his lips together and rested his head back on my chest.
I stroked his hair.
Five minutes later, I won. Turns out that not only did Rafi steal the blankets like his dad, but he snored like him, too.
Lucky kid. I felt more awake than ever.
I couldn’t believe I’d almost left the apartment while he was in my care. What was I thinking?
I wasn’t. But, in my defense, Tony hasn’t exactly been making me feel like I was a significant person in Rafi’s life. Last night and this morning were the first times he’d given me sole responsibility for his son’s welfare. Look how close I came to blowing it.
But I didn’t.
There is, I thought, feeling the warm body next to me and the weight of his little head against my heart, a kind of magic in this. A level of trust and unconditional love that you just don’t experience from anyone other than a child. A special brand of blessing.
But it’s a burden, too. I was
really
looking forward to going to the gym. I felt like I
deserved
it. While I wished I were selfless enough not to resent it, I did feel a little “stuck” here. Literally, as I was afraid to get up and disturb Rafi’s sleep.
Sleep
. God, that sounded good. Too bad it had deserted me. There’d be no returning to slumber now, not with my feelings of guilt, appreciation, resentment, and happiness running around my head like a bunch of unruly toddlers determined to keep me awake.
Still, it was nice to lie there with this toasty warm little guy nestled against me. He smelled good, like the bubble gum shampoo I’d used on his hair last night with an undertone of that scent unique to loved and happy boys. What was that fragrance? Smooth, new skin, clean sweat, innocence. Even his snoring was sweet, not loud like his dad’s but rhythmic in its regularity. Not noisy enough to drown out the sound of his breathing, that relaxing metronome of respiration, in and out, in and out, in and out, in and
 
“Kebbin!” Rafi called, amused at the reversal of roles that found him waking me up for school. “It’s time to get up, sweepyhead!”
I groaned and looked at the clock. 7:37. Enough time to get ready, but we’d have to hustle.
So much for being unable to fall back asleep. Maybe this is why people had kids—for their narcotizing abilities.
He’d rolled on top of me and pressed his nose against mine. “He wwwooo. . . .” he said. “Is there anybody in there?”
“I’m up, I’m up,” I grumbled. Not that I was really mad. I thought Rafi was enjoying playing the bossy parent, though, so I thought it was only fair that I acted the truculent kid.
“On your feet, soldier,” he commanded. “We have to go to school.” He straightened up and grabbed my hands. “C’mon.”
I let him pull me up to sitting and blinked a few times. “All right,” I said, “you got me. I’m getting up.”
“Good boy,” Rafi said, in his manliest voice. “You don’t want to be wate for school, do you?”
“No,” I said, deciding there was no reason to point out he was the only one going to school. “Have you made breakfast yet?” I asked him skeptically.
“No, Kebbin. I can’t make breakfast. That’s your job!”
“Fine,” I said. “You get dressed and I’ll make breakfast for us. But first . . .” I let the tension build.
“What?” Rafi finally asked.
I flipped him off me and on to his back.
“It’s attack of the Tickle Monster!” I cried.
Rafi squirmed and laughed with delight as I alternated my attacks between his tummy, underarms, and legs.
“C’mon,” he ordered after a few minutes of this. “We have to get weady!”
“All right, boss. You need my help getting dressed?”
“Kebbin,” he said with exasperation. “I’m a big boy now. I know how to get dwessed.”
Not so big that you can pronounce it, though.
Which I thought was just about perfect.
 
Ms. Sally gave me a wry smile as she saw me approach with Rafi.
“Is that bed head I see?” she asked wryly.
“On me or him?”
“You,” she asserted. “He looks perfect.”
It was true. I’d paid a lot more attention to his grooming this morning than mine. The price of being a parental stand-in, I conceded. First I’d skipped the gym, then my shower. Apparently, good child rearing was an exercise in sacrifice.
Her knowing look implied I’d come to this messy end after a night of impassioned lovemaking with Rafi’s sexy dad. I would have hated to disappoint her with the dreary truth: Tony and I had a conversation followed by conflict followed by sleep. Then, I helped his son get to sleep and ready for school. Not quite the bawdy man-on-man action she’d been imagining.
Instead, I echoed her observation. “Yeah,” I said, “he does look perfect, doesn’t he?” I’d taken extra care getting Rafi ready today, dressing him in a nice outfit he’d left over on a Sunday when Tony’d taken him to church, and slicking his hair back with about fifty dollars’ worth of Clinique for Men styling products. He looked like a miniature businessman on his way to close an important deal. He was so cute you could die from him. A fate I wished upon his “faggot”-flinging mother.
“See?” Ms. Sally asked. “Didn’t I say you’d make a great second dad?”
“You did at that,” I commented. “And if the job opens up, I’ll be sure to apply.”
Ms. Sally regarded me curiously. “I thought you and Mr. Rinaldi were . . . you know.”
“It’s complicated,” I said. “
He’s
complicated.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But he’s not stupid. Hang in there, sweetheart.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek.

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