“I’m going to Chicago tomorrow,” Brendan told Dena as they washed dishes in her kitchen. Fenn had called Dena and Milo and Cara had come over too.
“Well, yeah, you live there,” Dena shrugged.
“I’m not going home. I’m coming right back here.”
“What the fuck, Bren?” Dena shook her head. “You’re confusing me.”
“I got a letter from Kenny.”
“Yeah,” Dena said, brightly. “Milo said something about Kenny writing you.”
“Yeah, and we talked a little.”
“He’s been up there for a while, I think,” Dena said. “I don’t pay too much attention, and I don’t stick my nose in. But I think he’s coming back here.”
“He’s written for the last year.I mean, he had written last year, but I couldn’t read the letters. Now I have, and I really want to see him.”
“Well, why shouldn’t you?”
“Because I still have feelings for him,” Brendan said. And then he amended. “I mean maybe. I mean I’m not really sure. I actually won’t know until I see him.”
“Well,” Dena frowned and thought about it. “you know, you kind of have someone.”
“Sheridan told me I should go see Kenny and see what happens.”
“Did he really?” Dena looked at Brendan, and then she said, “Of course he did. I can see him saying that. Well,” Dena passed Brendan a dish, “What do you think will happen?”.”
“I honestly don’t know. I mean, I’m sure we’ll talk. I don’t plan to go to bed with him.”
“People never do.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Brendan disagreed. “I think people always plan, and they just don’t admit it to themselves.”
“Well,” Dena thought for a moment before speaking, “I think that means you had better plan before you head back to Chicago. But you better make sure it is alright with Sheridan. You better make sure you don’t betray him.”
“I won’t,” Brendan said earnestly. “I never could.”
“He wouldn’t be the first person who loved you only to find you looking at Kenny McGrath.”
Brendan turned away.
“That was so long ago.”
“What difference does that make? You better double check with Sheridan. I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with him, but…”
“It is a very… strong relationship,” Brendan said. “And he is… more than my husband. Even more than the father of my children. What I did to you was a long time ago. We were together… not that long—”
“And without the same bond,” she finished. “I know you couldn’t have loved me as much—”
“Love has nothing to do with it,” Brendan said. “I love you now. I loved you then. It was me. I didn’t know who I was or what I was and now… well, I’m still not sure if I know that. But I know I’m not afraid of who I am. Or how I love. Only, at this point in time, Dena, I don’t want you go telling anyone else about this.”
Dena nodded.
“I get it, Bren. Only I wish you had a chaperone to go with you.”
“What about Rob?”
“Huh?”
“Howabout I just take Rob to Chicago with me for a day trip. That way I can’t get into any trouble.”
Rob, just turned eighteen, was a mediocre college student and couldn’t decide if he wanted to be a painter or a writer, so it only took Dena a moment to think about this and say, “Alright. It’s a deal.”
“Can I bring Austin?” Rob asked.
“Who is Austin?”
“Austin Bishop. You know, Lance Bishop?”
“Yeah, Dylan’s Lance.”
“That’s his brother. Can I bring him?”
“No,” Brendan said.
He didn’t feel like carting around two teenagers and he didn’t have a hard time refusing his godson.
Rob Affren resembled his father in his solid build and dark complexion. He could have been an athlete and if he wasn’t careful he might go to fat. But where Milo had flat, thick brown hair, Rob’s was dark red and his eyes were a sort of lambent green in his dark complectioned face that Brendan found strangely alarming and made him wonder, “When he’s grown, what he’s going to do to girls? Or boys?
But Rob was grown, really, and why did Bren always assume that Rob and his son Rafe for that matter, would be straight? Did he want that? He wished he could be more like Fenn who had not only assumed Dylan would be gay, but hoped for it.
“Alright, so you know how to ride the El?”
“Yeah, Uncle Bren. I just wanna hang out at the bookstores.”
“Well, then you won’t really need to ride the El. You just get off with me.”
“Are you going to be long?”
“I don’t think so,” Brendan said. “Why don’t you call me when you’re finished with the bookstore or wherever.”
“It might be wherever,” Rob said. “Mom never lets me go anywhere when we go to Chicago.”
“What about Maggie?”
“Shit—I mean, shoot! She’s as bad as Mom.”
“Alright, well don’t get yourself killed is all,” Bren said.
At the station on State Street, Rob and Brendan fought over the CTA maps and how best to get to where they were going.
“Addison is on the Red Line,” Rob said.
“Yes. But we’re going to West Addison and that’s on the Brown Line.”
“How do you know? Are you just guessing cause I don’t see anything about Brown Line on Addison.”
But after a while, Brendan said, “Look, Addison on the Brown Line.”
“Well, should we leave this station?”
“We can switch later on. Let’s take the Red for now.”
Rob looked over the routes.
“Right on, Uncle Bren. We’ll get off on Belmont. Looks like we’re having an adventure.”
“We are totally having an adventure,” Brendan reported when they had been walking two blocks down Addison, and finally caught a bus. They had to stand up and as they approached their stop, Rob swung toward him and, pointing ahead said, “What’s that?”
“That would be an El track.”
“We so took the wrong El,” Rob murmured.
“I thought that was the furthest west El,” Brendan said.
“Sir?” Rob asked the driver.
“What?” he grumbled.
“Excuse the fuck out of me,” the boy murmured to Brendan then said out loud, “What El line is that we’re passing.”
“That’s the Blue Line.”
“Ah,” Brendan replied. He pulled the cord, and a moment later they got off on a busy street studded with black chewing gum and smelling slightly of urine.
“I think if we had walked to Clark Street we could have caught the Blue line. It’s a subway downtown. It’s kind of the worst. Smells like piss.”
“Chicago smells like piss,” Rob said. “But I love it. Hey, can I go over there?”
Rob was pulling away from Brendan and Brendan grabbed him and said, “I don’t know where over there is. Let me find out where I’m going, and then you can go where you’re going. Your mother would kill me if something happened to you. I should have left you in Hyde Park.”
“Then you would still be lost, riding the wrong El. And I don’t want to see dinosaur bones or giant train sets.”
Ten minutes later, Brendan was looking at a wood faced apartment building with a steep stair and checking the house number against the envelope he held.
“Well, here we go,” Brendan said.
And so they went up the steps and Brendan saw three buzzers, one for each apartment, he assumed. He buzzed the one that was Kenny’s and waited for a voice from the intercom. But there was no intercom to be seen, and so Brendan waited a while and then said, “Let’s go.” But Rob said, “We haven’t even waited very long.”
And just then the door opened and it was Rob who shouted, “Uncle Ken!”
“Brendan,” Kenny said, and then remembered himself and looked down at Rob.
“Rob. Guys,” he opened the door a little, “Come in.”
“Badass. Awesome, Kenny!” Rob exclaimed as he moved through the apartment.
Brendan walked around, hands behind his back like a visitor at a gallery until Kenny, nervously, said, “Have a seat you guys. Let me get you something to drink. Give me your jackets.”
Kenny lived on the third floor of the building and his apartment was wide and sparsely furnished, but filled with paints and canvases. Brendan gave Kenny his jacket, and sat down in a low chair looking out onto Addison. A bus passed. Rob ignored both things Kenny said and followed him into the kitchen going on about their El ride and the bus they had taken.
“Yeah, always take the Blue Line, no matter how gross it is,” Brendan heard Kenny say.
A few moments later, Kenny came out, followed by Rob, and he had juices on a tray with crackers.
“We can get a little fancier if you want,” Kenny said, “Later.”
They sat around eating crackers and drinking, but Rob wasn’t a complete fool and it wasn’t long before he realized he was dominating the conversation.
“Look,” he said to Kenny, “if you can tell me something cool to see around here, I’m going to get up and give you and Uncle Bren some time to talk.”
“Uh, there’s a record store around the corner and an art store at the end of the block.”
Brendan stood up, pulled out his wallet and stuffed some money in Rob’s pocket.
“Go get yourself something decent, and don’t tell your mother we let you roam the city.”
“And take your phone with you,” Kenny reminded him.
Rob nodded his head and his hair bobbed in his face.
“I think I’ll get myself a hat,” he reflected, and making a salute, he headed out the door.
It was a few moments later, when they heard the door at the bottom of the stair close, and Brendan could see Rob heading down the corner that Kenny cleared his throat, rubbed his hands together and said, “And now, for us.”
Kenny had always been tall and athletic, sort of like a rugby player with his thick dark red curls, strong limbs and yes, excellent ass, the first thing Brendan had noticed when he had followed Kenny into the apartment. There was silver at his temples and Brendan thought, “We’re getting old now. Older at least. And Kenny is a year old than me.” He looked the same except older and the age looked good, like he’d grown into himself and the boy Kenny Brendan had known and loved and lain with for so many years was a shadow of this Kenneth McGrath.
“I know you, Brendan Miller. I’ve known you for years.”
Brendan blinked at the ceiling. His left arm was twined with Kenny’s right, the side of Kenny’s body was pressed to his. He’d always been the thin one, and Kenny had always had that athlete’s body, the sturdy flesh on beautiful thighs and rounded, dimpled buttocks, even his curly hair, well rounded, athletic hair, rugby playing hair.
“Well, then do you know what I’m about to say, now?”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“You’re going back to Rossford,” Brendan turned to him.
“What?”
“I’ve been working on this case, This isn’t fair.”
“What does fair have to do with anything?” Kenny said. “The only time we had a fair relationship was when we weren’t with each other. No…”
“Kenny.”
Kenny lay back in bed pulling the covers over him.
“No,” Kenny said.
Brendan sat in his chair, aware that today he’d worn the trousers and the dress shirt that Kenny always loved, even worn a tie as if he was going to work. Kenny always loved those things. And he looked Kenny up and down. Kenny in his tee shirt with his well muscled arms coming out of them, and then his eyes traveled, frankly, to the bulge between his blue jeaned legs planted wide apart. He remembered going into a honky tonkg in southern Indiana with Kenny and dancing with him delighting in hips that swiveled and moved about long before Luke Bryan ever got on a stage and did thing.
“You look so fucking good,” Brendan said, frankly.
“There have been times,” he told Brendan, “when I let you have the illusion of running things. And you may be a great attorney and everything. But this time I put my foot down. We stay together. Some people are okay single, but we’re no good apart. We’ll work out something, but whatever we work out involves us being together.
“And now I’m going to bed.”
When Brendan sat upright, his fingers linked, he heard Kenny say, “And you can go back to work.”
Brendan raised an eyebrow, looked at the form of Kenny covered in a blanket, and then climbed out of bed, reaching for his underwear and trousers.
He held that memory, tracing the form of Kenny’s body in those days before Sheridan, when Kenny McGrath was his only love.
“Why did you not want to see me?” Bren asked him. “Why, after writing, when I said I wanted to see you did you put it off?”
Kenny said, “Why didn’t you ever return my letters?”
“My questions first, though.”
“Fine,” Kenny replied. They were both speaking in almost whispers. “But in the end you had better answer mine.
“I wrote you because I always think about you,” Kenny said. “I think about you everyday. The thinking got to be too much.”
“What happened to Jonathan?”
“Nothing happened to him. We had some good years,” Kenny said. “But I don’t think I’m really meant for anyone. I would say I can’t make things last, but maybe I can make them last just long enough. You know? When things ended, I wasn’t sad about it?”
“Were you sad when things ended with Ruthven?”
“I don’t know that things were ever serious enough with Ruthven to say they ended, and as far as I know he’s still with Logan. Imagine that.”
“Well, then what about us?” Brendan said.
“You’re asking a lot of questions when you were just supposed to ask one.”
“Alright,” Brendan said, running a finger under his lower lip. “But answer me anyway. Were you sad when we ended?”
“Bren, I don’t even know when we ended. Did we end when I followed you to Chicago and almost died here? Or did we end when you came back to Rossford and we tried to live together.”
“I feel like we ended the night I came into the house and Ruthven was fucking you.”
“No,” Kenny said, nonplussed. “We were already over. We were over and I had already had an affair with Chad, and you already knew about it and, though you never talk about it, I’m sure you’d already fucked Sheridan a couple of times.”
Brendan opened his mouth and Kenny said, “But why fling mud at each other when the real point is I have no idea when we were ending, but I know when we were definitely over, and didn’t you feel a relief?”
“No,” Brendan said, and wondered if that was true.”
“I did,” Kenny said. “I was sad, but I felt like I’d been trying to hold us together for years.”
“I held us together.” Brendan insisted.
“Did you?”
“Of course.”
“How could you? You were always busy flying away.
“But,” Kenny went on before Brendan could say anything else, “you asked me why I wrote you and it was because I couldn’t stop thinking of you. And, I certainly did wonder if you ever thought about me.”
“Of course I think about you.”
“Maybe,” Kenny said. “But what was the other question you had for me?”
“Why you didn’t call me back?”
“Because what was the point in talking?” Kenny said. “And what was the point in looking back? I know why I was looking back. My present was gone. Jonathan was gone and it made me miss the past. And you are the past. So you were in my thoughts. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I realized, when we talked, that this was stupid. But now you should answer my question. Why are you here?”
“Because,” Bren began, then started over, “Because.”
“I’ve never seen you in a courtroom, but if this is how you are… I’m amazed at your career. And by the way, does Sheridan know you’re here? I mean, you brought Rob, so you’ve been to Rossford. Did you tell Sheridan you were going to Rossford, and then come up here?”
Brendan blinked at him and Kenny said, “Well, is that what happened?”
“Sort of,” Brendan admitted.
“Well, why didn’t you tell Sheridan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
When Brendan said nothing, Kenny said, “The thing about you, Bren, is you’ve always been able to keep your own counsel when you want to. That’s how you and Sheridan are alike. You’re both very secretive. I wonder how many secrets you keep from each other.”
“Are you through?”
“Did you come here to fuck me?”
Brendan said, “I don’t know.”
Now Brendan realized Kenny had been looking at him like a cat with a canary, and Kenny had never been like that. Bren had always been the powerful one. But suddenly the look on Kenny’s face changed, and he said, “Well…. Do you want to?”
“Huh?” Bren blinked, looking instantly confused.
For a bit Brendan’s mouth was dry. He looked Kenny up and down.
“I was thinking about that time… at the gay honkey tonk. You had those faded black jeans on. I was thinking about a lot of stuff. I’ve been thinking about it. Since you wrote me. All the way up here. I wondered if I would feel the same way.”
Brendan didn’t speak, but Kenny looked at the floor and saw Brendan’s foot doing that frantic tapping—like Thumper from Bambi—that was a dead giveaway.
“If I told you,” Kenny began, “to go to bed with me… you would do it? You would look at your watch, think about how soon Rob was coming back, and then decide we would fuck in my bedroom?
“I always thought I had no power,” Kenny said. “The whole time we were together I always thought I loved you more than you loved me—”
“That’s not—”
“And it might be true,” Kenny said. “But I know that I always had the power in one way. And I’ve decided, that’s a power I’m not going to give up right now. We’re not going to have sex. I think maybe I wrote you because I wanted you. And I do want you, but I want you the way Chay still has Sheridan… Or Fenn has Tom. I was hoping that after sex and marriage there would be something left of us. Is there?”
Brendan had listened like one enchanted, his mouth a little open, passing a vague judgment on everything Kenny said, knowing that whatever Kenny wanted, he would indeed have given Kenny. And he had to catch up to Kenny’s question. It was a moment before he said, “Yes, Ken. Of course there’s something else left of us.”
“Great,” Kenny said. “Then why don’t we put on our coats, go outside and find out what it is.”
