Date: Mon, 21 May 2007 18:08:37 -0700 (PDT) From: John Gerald Subject: Connections 21 Thanks for stopping in again! Your comments and suggestions are always appreciated, so feel free to drop me a line. She let out a loud sigh, muttering to herself. `That can't be true!" Fact present themselves in strange ways, and they don't do much to make their understanding easier. It's up to the observer to see what sense they make of them, and they offer a lot more ways of getting it wrong than getting it right. Julie struggled with her realization, and played all the facts back as she knew them. The guys had accidentally taken this box from his parent's house when Brad was kicked out. Besides what seem like some old, routine financial papers, there were a couple of non-sequitors whose presence cried out for explanation, at least in Mike's view. One was the articles on a young couple who had died in the fire, and who the guys later realized was a relative of Brads, and a not-too-well liked one at that. Another was a series of letters from a Dad to his son. From the look of the first letter, and the fact that it was tied to together with others of similar handwriting and paper, it appeared that the letters were actually one-way correspondence from a Dad to a son who was yet born. And now, it looked to her that the guy who wrote the letters was the same one who was killed in the fire. But Mike didn't make any mention of that couple being pregnant. In fact she thought he said that they weren't married. Yet, if she was right, they were going to have a child. But why hide it? They weren't married, so maybe back then, there was more stigma to being an unwed mother. Besides, if there even was a child it probably died with the mother. So far, most of this stuff was just Brad's family intrigue and gossip. While nominally interesting, still didn't give this much importance, except for one thing - there was money involved. Letters and obituaries were interesting artifacts, but nothing gives the scent of scandal and intrigue real meaning than a big pot of money. Earlier, she tried to assuage Mike's suspicions by calling out the possible randomness of it all, emphasizing a kind of skepticism that all good investigators entertain at one time or another in any case, just to keep themselves honest. But in her own mind, the money issue would connect the dots and reveal what this was really about. She was on the verge of something here, she thought, but needed more information. Her Dad had once told her that if there wasn't someone else around to bounce ideas off of, then you had to "be that other person yourself", which would only come with time. You had to let things simmer, and see what you would feel the next day or week or month about the same problem. Remembering that Mike was starting his new job in a few days, and Brad a week later, she decided to hold off broaching the subject until they had both settled into a summer routine. There wasn't any rush anyway, she thought. After all, it had already waited 20 years. "Nervous?" Brad asked, as Mike returned to their upstairs `loft' after taking his shower. Standing by the mirror over the chest of drawers that they shared, he rummaged through the common sock drawer that was stuffed with clothing inventory of both of them. "I'm trying not to be, but it's a little hard. I do OK in school, but a job is different. Real world, and all that." He finally found a pair that he wanted, a pair of simple tan argyle sox that matched the khaki pants that he had just put on. Grabbing his pair of semi-old brown loafers, he sat on the edge of Brad's bed to put on his shoes and socks. Normally, he sat on the chair at the desk, but it just felt a little better there this morning. He was pretending nonchalance, but Brad could sense his anxiety. "How do I look?" He said, as he got up and stood next to the bed, holding his hands out like he was about to be frisked by an airport security guard. "Good enough to fuck!" Brad whispered, but plenty loud enough for Mike to hear. "Well, that's not the idea, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt. If I screw up, at least I've always got my ass to sell." Brad laughed as he reached out his hand and rubbed his boy's leg, finally giving him a strong smack to his ass. Off to work you go! Remember, play nice. Make friends. And share your toys." It was enough to get a small smile out of Mike. "I packed you a lunch, if you want one." Brad said. He was lying back in his bed, a very familiar place to him during the past couple weeks. "When?" Mike asked. "I mean, when did you pack it?" "I got up early and snuck down. Just ham and cheese, with some relish and a spread, and whole wheat bread. I tried to be keto-friendly and all that. Your mom got the me the stuff." Mike sat down on the bed next to him again as he was about to rush off. He was ahead of schedule to make his bus, but on his first day he didn't want to take any chances about being late. "You didn't need to do that, you know, but thanks." He bent down and gave Brad a peck on his forehead and got back up again." "I didn't want you to starve. And I kind of like making sandwiches." That was an understatement The `spread' that Brad had put on the sandwich was a special kind of herb mayonnaise that he found a recipe for. As far as ham and cheese went, It was just a `sandwich' like a Lexus is just a `car.' "I should be home around 6 or so." Mike said as he got back up off of the bed and zipped up his backpack. "Make sure you stretch before doing your exercises. Other than that, remember not to move around a lot, and --" "MIke!" Brad gave him a look of mock exasperation. "OK! OK! I'm going. See you tonight, babe." Mike just nervously chuckled, but did manage to smile back. He gave Brad a kiss and then tweaked his ear before he bounded down the stairs, followed closely by Tony, stopping only in the kitchen to pull the uber-sandwich out of the fridge and slip it into his backpack. Against orders, at least Mike's orders, Brad lifted himself up out of the bed when he heard the door bang shut behind Mike, shuffling over to the front yard dormer window to watch him walk down to the corner bus stop. Backpack slung over his plaid shirt, his brown hair neatly clipped, the tan loafers. Nothing real dramatic, except of course that it was the start of Mike's career. With thoughts toward putting together a `family album' sometime in the future, he took a picture with his camera phone. With Mike gone, he spent a good part of the day downstairs. He was allowed, even encouraged, to start moving around more as soon as he felt comfortable. It was advice that he couldn't have welcomed more as he unilaterally decided to increase his prescribed exercises and added a few of his own from his normal workout, at least upper body stuff that he could perform without equipment. Tony was a big help or a big problem, depending on the activity. He kept Brad silent company whenever he was practicing walking in the backyard, just sitting on the sidelines watching him. But whenever Brad got down on the floor or the ground for stretching, the dog couldn't help but think is was the signal to play and would be all over him, pawing, licking, scratching. "By the way Mrs. Kovar, don't tell him I was doing some of this other stuff, OK? He might get a little upset that I'm not staying in bed more." Mike would be home soon, and Brad wanted all the witnesses to have the same story. "Of course. I think you're correct in, how do you say it, `pushing yourself.' I'm not sure that you could stay up there and not go crazy, anyway," she said, joining in his conspiracy. "I'm feeling pretty good now. The leg doesn't really bother me, but I've just got to be careful of the stitches. I'm glad they'recoming out soon." Mrs. Kovar was preparing dinner and had moved over to the stove. "You'd better get upstairs now and wait for him, unless you want him to catch you down here," she said with a conspiritorial smile. He just chuckled in return, grabbing a kolachy off of the counter as he hobbled back upstairs. Instead of waiting in bed, he leaned on his hardly used crutches, watching out the window with a view down the street, waiting for the right time to snap his matching return picture. Finally hearing Mike himself trudging up the stairs, he scurried back into bed, feighning a motion to get back up again just as Mike came into the room. Throwing his bag onto the bed, he silently walked over to Brad, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed giving every impression that that he had been there all day. He stood up as Mike came over, still not saying a word, but pulling him into a tight embrace. "I'm just there as a sexual object, a boy toy for the partners. They want me to work naked. What should I do?" Mike said, as he nuzzled his head into Brad's shoulder. Brad gave him a reassuring squeeze. "This is how the real world works, pup. All you can do is say `yes,' and put out." Mike pushed him away, his mouth gaping open in mock indignation, then put on his best warm smile and pulled Brad close again. Brad just held him some more, rocking him in his arms again, pausing for a few moments before he spoke again. "So how did it really go?" Mike held the embrace for a moment longer, silently. Finally, they released and Mike began the after work ritual of changing his clothes, starting with sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking of his shoes. "Well, I think I did OK. They had a lot of problems with a graphic program called Photoshop, which is used to make fancy presentations. Anyway, we use it lot in school, so I think it looked like I knew what I was doing. They had a big presentation to get ready for, so I guess I pulled them through, at least that's what they told me." "I'll tell you more babe, after you tell me how your day went. Oh, yeah, and by the way, the sandwich was great. I didn't even get a lunch hour, I just at my desk. They even brought me a coke so I could keep working. They all had pre-made sandwiches from the corner store, so mine was best-in-class." "Did they ask you where the sandwich came from." Mike giggled. "um, well first someone asked me if I made it." "Then?" "I told them my boyfriend made it for me." "And?..." Mike put his arms on Brad's shoulders. "I'll tell you after you tell me about your day," he said, turning the tables. "First of all, did you stay in bed?" Brad beamed a smile back to him. "All day. Just me and my Bible." Mike, caught off guard, just looked down and chuckled for moment, then caught his gaze again. "Yea, right. Now tell me the truth: how many times did you masturbate today?" Brad paused, contemplating his answer. "Before or after lunch?" "Before." "Left or right hand..." Mike wrapped his own non-sticky hand around Brad's head, pulling him close and rubbing their noses together, not able to contain his smile. "OK, seriously now,' Mike said as he put on a more serious tone. "Did the exercises go OK? Did you walk more? Did you study for the LSAT?" Brad let go and sat back down on the bed, motioning for Mike to take a seat beside him. "Yea, I did all the exercises, and a few more. It actually feels OK, maybe a little sore now and then, but I'll be all right to get to work next week. I really can't wait, just to meet the new people and all. And we could use the money, too." "Don't worry about that part, remember I can always sell my ass. Just get better." Mikes hand was on Brad's legs, very gently caressing the area around the wound but avoiding ground zero itself. "So what about the LSAT? How is it going? At least that's one way that you can make productive use of your time." "Lucky I picked up a couple of study guides before I got hurt. I think, or I should say, I hope that they'll be helpful. I've really got to nail that thing, since our school doesn't exactly have a national reputation for academics. It seems to be a different way of thinking than I'm used to, kind of a different way of approaching problems. But it's interesting, so I think I can actually tackle this and not get bored to death like a lot of people do. But enough about me." He tugged on the back of Mike's t-shirt, as he continued to peel off the clothes. "So pup, back to you. You actually outed yourself on your first day. Do you feel OK about it? Did it go all right?" He thought that Mike's self-confidence and pride was great, but it was a risky thing to do, especially on the first day. This wasn't San Francisco or New York. "There were just 2 of them there, and they both kind of just smiled at first. Then the one, a woman who's been there a while, asked if you would take lunch orders." Mike said. "I guess I could, but they don't have the kind of currency that you pay with," Brad replied, as he reached over and tried to put his hands down Mike's pants. He was promptly slapped away. "When I pay with that kind of price, I want a lot more than a sandwich. I want a 5 course meal." Brad carefully laid back on the bed, laughing, reaching his hand to scratch Mike's back as he made himself comfortable. "So you think it's OK, then?" Mike didn't answer at first. He paused in that pensive way that was uniquely his. "You know, I don't care, and I guess I feel like I shouldn't have to. If anyone else said their boyfriend or girlfriend made them a sandwich, the issue would be the nice gesture, not that he or she is gay. So I'm going to live, or at least try to, as if it doesn't matter." Brad continued to stroke his boy's back. Now, Mike was teaching him things about being gay. It looked like Brad's own first days at work had gone pretty smoothly, too. Because of the crutches, he was confined to desk duty for the first few days, but it was clear that the job would eventually demand more mobility than that, which he was more than happy to oblige. Besides Mike, Julie was also anxious for this progress for other reasons. She hadn't heard much about the box from either of the guys since she and Mike were on their shopping spree, but the quiet didn't help to allay her own deep suspicions. If indeed the future father in the letters is the same person as guy killed in the fire, it was clear that he truly was deep in love with her, assuming that this guys sacrifice of himself in the fire meant something. She didn't consider what happened to the baby, as she just assumed that it died with it's mom in the fire. Mike didn't mention anything in the obituaries about a child, which would have been the first thing on the morning news, especially considering the drama of the event. But it did seem a bit strange that nothing at all was mentioned about any pregnancy. But then again, she was getting all of the information 2nd hand from Mike, and even this was sketchy. Now she was the one who couldn't let this go. "Mirek? It's me. How are you guys doing," Mike heard on the phone. "Jules! Hi!" Mike silently motioned to Brad, who was laying in bed, his crutches finally retired to the closet after 3 weeks. "We're doing great, at least so far. Brad has actually got to work in one piece in spite of the two extra legs, but from now on he's rejoining us bipeds." "That's great. What about you? Do you like the office?" They spent the next few minutes catching up, with Julie bring them up-to-speed on work and the wedding, but she had a more pressing issue that she wanted to get into, and evenutally manouvered the conversation there. "Could I ask you a couple questions about the papers that you guys found?" she asked. "Sure. I've been so wrapped up with the job, and taking care of studly here that I'd nearly forgotten about it, or at least tried to. What's up?" "Well, if I remember right, "she started, in a very dry, straightforward tone. Julie was usually a very voluble person, but when she got focused the emotion was somehow stripped away and she was nothing but cold facts. "You mentioned that her name was Veronica, Veronica Stewart, is that correct?" "Yea, I guess her Mom and Brad's mom were cousins, I think that Brad remembered that their mom's were sisters, or something like that." "Did you also mention that the letters that the guy wrote mentioned someone named Ronnie?" "Yes, Ronnie. But I don't know who he is." She paused for a second before she spoke. She still wasn't sure of exactly where this was going, and didn't want to presume too much at this juncture. "Mirek, do you know that `Ronnie' is a short form, a diminutive as you'd say, of Veronica?" She didn't hear anything on the other end, except the sound of someone inhaling deeply, "No, I didn't. But what does that mean? That they knew each other?" "The letter said something about Ronnie asking someone to stop kicking, right?" Beside what this new piece of knowledge meant to the mystery of this box, it also betrayed another one of those gaps in his experience that reminded him that he was still sometimes a cultural tyro, with the mild disorientation that thought sometimes brought him. "Yes, but I don't know what that means, I mean I think this Ronnie person was saying something about kicking." "Mirek, if Ronnie is who I'm thinking of, and a can put `kicking' into the context of someone talking about a baby still in the womb, then Ronnie is very likely the mom." He froze for a moment. A thought occurred to him that almost made him fall out of the chair, but some self-preservation mechanism just as quickly put it out of his mind. But it still took him time to recover. "but Julie that would mean that that woman from the fire was pregnant. But she died, so the child would have died with her. But besides, though, there is no mention of a kid. None. And that would have been a huge deal, no?" "You're right, and that's what's been bothering me. If there was a kid, why no mention of it?" It was time to dig deeper into this, they both agreed, and the only outstanding item in the box that still held its secrets were the letters. They both knew where Brad stood on the matter, but there was more than just money involved now, there was probably a person, a child. And they both also somehow suspected that whatever this was about, that its affects on Brad would be more than incidental. And maybe he himself did, too. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Brad pondered Mike's request to go back into the box. But Brad's hesitation wasn't about respecting this Robert guy's privacy anymore, though that didn't exactly encourage him, either. Serious stuff was going on here. Brad felt like they were on the edge of a cliff Going around behind Brad's back to do this was not an option for Mike -- that was the nature of their relationship. But even the mere seconds waiting for the response seemed like forever to him. "Do you think we should invite Miss Marple to join us?" Brad asked. Mike's tight jaw loosened in relief. "I think that she'd prefer the young and nubile Nancy Drew, but it's up to you. I think that she'd be a big help, though. You know, it's in her blood." Brad laughed, lightening up the mood. In spite of all of his reservations, he acquiesced almost more for Mike than for anything else. Whatever was here, he decided almost unconsciously, they could let sleeping dogs lie and just give the box back. Besides, it could be really uncomfortable, whatever comes out of this. But he could see Mike sensed something big here, almost a crime, and he know that he couldn't let that kind of thing go. "Well, give her a call. If she could come over this next weekend, maybe we could all go through them together, then bounce ideas off each other. Sound OK?" "Sounds good," Mike said, as sat down next to Brad on the bed, bumping their shoulders together. "I know this isn't easy for you, we don't know what's going to come out of this. But I think that we'll all be better off knowing the truth. You still OK? He got a small, weak smile in return. "Of course, I'll be fine. Let's just see where this goes." Passing out the letters like a deck of cards hardly seemed appropriate, but that was Mike's initial impulse. This was also a game of chance, and the stakes could be pretty large here, too. Instead, he took the 6" stack of letters, carefully unwrapping the string that Brad had used to re-inter them into the box, and gave each of them a roughly equal portion of the letters. Mike himself had gotten the a couple of the ones that they had originally read, but he was he had a different role now. Instead of a casual reader, he had become an intense and involved one. "Hey pup, Brad said to him quietly, almost in a whisper. "Your jaw is clenching, you're tense. Relax, OK?" At the same time, he had reached over and put his hand on his neck, gently massaging him. Rolling his head back into one of his favorite massages, he momentarily put the letters into his lap. "Sorry, I guess I'm just getting into it, that's all. But feel free to keep doing that." "When you're done reading, Mirek!" Julies teased, as she was about to pick the letters up off of his lap and put them back in his hands. "We're on company time here, at least my company." "OK, OK. Just therapy." He started arranging his stack. "Guy just can't enjoy himself sometimes. I hope Roger know what he's getting into!" he said laughing as he got back to work. A stillness took over the room as each of them started into their stack. Mike had the feeling of an archeologist discovering a new tomb, revealing a world that had been buried for centuries, or in this case a more modest two decades. Tony sat quietly next to Brad's legs, his head mostly resting on his paws but partially on Brad's sock-clad feet. Mike had silently moved onto the floor, next to Julie as they carefully unfolded each letter. Julie leaned back up against the chair legs, her pile next to her on the floor. Out of some subliminal impulse of respect, she made sure that the letters were on the carpet and not directly on the painted wood floor. Every few moments, one of them would quote a touching line or two from one of the letters, yet nothing that had given them any more information. "His hand writing is very interesting, very deliberate. I guess you can tell a lot about a person from their handwriting, but I don't know much about the `science' of that at all," she said with an edge of skepticism in her voice. "There's a name for that, I just don't remember what it is. I'm not sure that cops believe in it, at least like they believe in lie detector tests, but I suppose there could be something to it. After all, you can tell something about a person's mood from their voice, so I guess it's just another kind of voice.' Mike said, "I suppose," she responded, not completely convinced, but willing to entertain the possibility. Mike and Julie continued this debate for the next several minutes, until Mike realized the Brad hadn't contributed anything, an unusual silence. "Brad, find anything there?" Mike asked, still looking at the letter in his own hands. No response. Mike finally glanced up and Brad looked like he was in a daze. He was looking at a letter, holding it in his hand, but at the same time not focused on it. "Babe, you OK? Did you find something there?" Mike had put his letter to the side as he looked directly at Brad, who was still staring, and silent. "Babe, ..." Mike was about to continue, when he heard a very raspy sound come of Brad's mouth. "I think..." Brad started, as he then paused to clear his throat. "...I think that if there was a baby was born to this woman, I know who it is." Having already scooted over to be closer to Brad, Mike gave a light punch to his leg. "What do you mean? Who?" He could see Brad swallow, and almost even hear the moving of his throat. "I think it's me." This kind of statement would have normally knocked Mike over, except that he so keenly felt Brad's distress the knew that he'd have to hold it together -- for both of them. "Let me see that, babe, " he said, as he took the letter out of Brad's trembling hand. Well, kid, we kind of did it today. I guess we have to have a "Plan B" if something happens to us, so, just in case, we've made arrangements for you. I should apologize in advance, but I don't know what else we could do. My sister will adore you, of course, but she's only 15 now, and not quite ready for this kind of responsibility. Besides, if my folks ever found out about this they'd probably get scared and lock her up in a convent. I've already told you why I can't tell our families about you, at least not yet, but your' mom's cousins has somehow found out and, in her slimy and ingratiating way, has convinced Ronnie that she's on our side. Your mom is the cleverest and sharpest girl in the world, guy. She taught me so much, and she'll do the same for you. But her cousin is her one blind spot. One of those religious zealots who's Christian charity is in inverse proportion to her self-righteous priggery. You'd hate her little Ralphie as a big brother, too. Luckily, there's only the tiniest chance that anything would happen. Oh by the way have we told you your name yet? Braldey. Hope you like it! Love Always, Your Dad.