Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

June 22, 1962

Claremont, OH

There was a bright light trying to shine through my eyelids, almost as if it was trying to pry them open. I didn't want to open my eyes, I wanted to sleep, but the damn light was relentless. I squeezed them shut and heard talking. I heard my mother saying something about the fact that I moved my eyes, which seemed nonsensical, as if that was a big achievement on my part. It was clearly her mission in life to torture me, and to throw problem after problem on my shoulders to see if I would eventually break from the burden. It would be so nice if she could help me out for a change and turn off the fucking lights so I could rest. There were other noises in the background, and while I was able to discern voices in the background, the most prevalent sound was beeping. It was almost as annoying as the lights. I wracked my memory, trying to figure out where I was. I remembered my trip to Columbus and that made me frown, eliciting more comments from my mother, which made my mood even worse. Then I remembered losing control of the Pontiac, and flying through the air, and finally crashing. My mind was working slowly, which meant I must be on some sort of painkiller or anesthetic. I was able to finally get my addled brain to conclude that I was in a hospital.

If I was in the hospital and I was thinking about all of these things, that meant that I was alive. I wondered how badly I was hurt. I kept my eyes closed even as I struggled to get my bearings. I recalled my grandfather's letter, which was no great feat: every word was etched into my memory. I did not want to deal with my mother. I was too angry at her to handle her with my current, mazy state. If I opened my eyes and joined the living, who would be there that I’d want to see? My mother, or other relatives who had loved me under false pretenses, would be the likely candidates, and that meant that as soon as I started interacting with them, that’s when I’d be part of this scheme my grandfather had dreamed up. That’s when I’d begin my own participation in the lie.

The three people who I’d most want to see were the guys I’d been romantically involved with: Peter, André, and Stefan. The person I most wanted to see right now was André. Even though I couldn't tell him about my real father because of my internal promise, he’d know what to say, know how to make it seem alright. And even if he didn’t do that, at least he'd fuck me and then I wouldn't care. That made me smile, which evoked more noise from the people around me. Evidently there was to be no rest for the weary, so I opened my eyes to face the music.

The first person I was my mother, who looked unusually distraught. “He is awake! He is awake!” she said to the others, then she addressed me. “Thank God you are awake. You have been in a coma for almost 24 hours.” I looked at her, trying to find the love I once felt for her, trying to forgive her, but I couldn't. Not yet. I smiled anyway, putting on the fake façade. She was sidled away soon enough by the doctors and nurses. All of their activity was slowly pulling me out of my haze.

I looked beyond the medical personnel and saw my father, standing a bit in the background. He knew how close my mother and I were or had been, so he’d let her have the most visible role. As much as my love for her had faded, so my love for him had grown, and I focused my eyes at him, even as I genuinely smiled at him. He moved forward and held my hand, and that contact felt so good that I squeezed his hand back, savoring our connection. The doctors tried to push him away to check that phenomenon out, but I held on as tightly as I could. I stared at him as intensely as I could, locking our eyes, as if I was trying to send a telepathic message to him, a message that said “I love you.” I saw tears in his eyes. I think he got it. Even though I wasn't his real son, I vowed to myself that if I ever got out of this place, I'd do everything I could to be the best son I could be.

Then he was gone, and there was a doctor in my face now. He was an ugly older man with horrible breath. “Well son, it seems like you're going to be fine.” I chuckled to myself. So did he think he was my father too? I'll have a whole cadre of dads if this trend kept going. “You've had a bad concussion, so we'll want to keep you in here for a few days. Other than that you got off lightly. Your left arm was broken in the fall. It's in a cast now. So besides that and some bruises, you seem healthy. You are one lucky young man.”

“Thank you Doctor,” I said, surprising everyone, even though my voice sounded hoarse and distant to me. My parents moved forward to talk again, but the doctor was having none of it. “And now he needs to rest,” he pronounced and then, much to my relief, he hounded them out of the room. I heard them say goodbye as they left and then I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up later and it was dark. My whole body ached; the pain was intense. I lay there in agony, wondering how to contact the nurse, but I seemed to be completely alone. Then I felt a hand gently holding mind, and even though I didn’t know whose hand it was, it seemed very familiar. I turned my head to the right to see who it was, and that seemed to require a Herculean effort, and taxed me with yet more pain. The movement was worth it when I saw Stefan looking down at me, his light blue eyes both alert and concerned. I smiled at him, despite my pain.

“How did you get in?” I croaked. My throat was sore and dry.

“I used my charm and sex appeal to get past the front desk,” he said, making me laugh. The laughter only lasted for a second though, because it caused intense pain. He got a worried look on his face. “Are you OK?”

I could only manage one word in response: “Pain.”

Stefan got up and hurried out of the room, leaving me alone. I missed his presence immensely. It dawned on me that he was the only one that I had a legitimate connection with, aside from André. He was here because he was my lover, not my cousin.

He returned with the nurse. “Pain” I said to her, before she could quiz me about my various conditions.

She injected something into my IV, then the bitch actually turned on Stefan. “Young man, he's not supposed to have visitors. You'll have to leave.”

“No!” I croaked as loudly as I could. It must have been loud, because they both looked at me, startled. The pain began to fade as the medicine worked into my blood stream, but that had a cost in that my mind began to get addled again. I struggled to keep both of them, my mind and the pain, under control.

The nurse looked at me officiously. “Dr. Crampton, hospital rules prohibit guests this late at night. He has to leave.”

“I really don’t care what the rules say,” I said, even as I looked at her with my most determined expression. “He is staying here with me.”

“I'm sorry, that's hospital policy,” she said in a snippy way. God I hated bureaucrats, but I was resolved. There was no way this nurse, was going to block me on this.

“If you can’t authorize him to stay, then get the doctor,” I demanded. “He isn’t going anywhere.” I was not going to lose this battle. I did not want to be alone.

“Well I can’t do that since the doctor isn't even on this floor,” she said, in almost a smarmy way.

“I don’t really care where he is. Get him. Track him down,” I demanded. She just gave me a patronizing look, so I decided to change strategies. “Either he is staying, or I am leaving.” I started to move around, almost ripping loose my IV. It was lucky she’d put the pain killer in my IV before we had this argument, otherwise I’d just be here moaning.

“You have to lay still. You'll rip out your IV,” she objected, trying to calm me down. I kept squirming, until she caved with particularly bad grace. “Fine. I'll track down the doctor so he can explain visitation hours to you, but in the meantime, he can stay.”

I calmed down, content that my temper tantrum had worked. “Thank you.” She grumbled as she left, but I really didn’t care.

Stefan returned to his seat and held my hand. “You are going to get me in trouble,” he said, and leaned in and kissed me lightly. I kind of freaked out when he did that, worried that someone could be walking past my room and spot us, but then I calmed down. I was too happy to have him there to make an issue out of it.

“Not a chance. I'll defend you,” I said, sounding courageous. The pain medicine was really kicking in, making me feel great. “That stuff they gave me is pretty good.” I giggled, and he laughed.

“So it seems. They say you are going to be OK. You scared me to death.” He looked at me, and his expression told me something I already should have known. He was in love with me. I loved him, but I wasn’t sure if I was in love with him. This was the same dilemma I’d dealt with in Chicago, only with a bigger twist. I wondered if it was possible to be in love with more than one person. Even more importantly, I wondered if it was possible for me to love more than one person. The pain meds kicked in even more, and I left those thoughts for a time when I was thinking with more clarity.

“Sorry babe. I didn't do it on purpose. That's why they call it an accident.” He laughed with me. “How's my car?”

“You lived, but the Pontiac is no more.” That was sad, very sad. I was attached to that car, a Christmas present from my father, or from the man I called father. But if the Pontiac was totaled, I’d have to get a new one. I remembered that I had lots of my own money now, so maybe I’d go out and get that Thunderbird after all, like a true Hendrickson. I chuckled at my own weird mood and weird situation.

“Your car is dead and you are laughing? What kind of heartless bastard are you?” Stefan joked, enjoying my good mood. We both laughed together, only stopping when the doctor interrupted. At least it wasn't the ugly guy with halitosis.

“I understand you are causing problems in my hospital,” he said imperiously.

“It was not my intention to cause problems,” I said calmly and logically. “I simply want my cousin to stay here with me.” I looked at him as clearly as I could, trying to hide how stoned as I was from the meds.

“And as the nurse told you, that's against the rules.” No wonder the nurse was such a bitch about it. She had to deal with this guy. I couldn’t make out his actual name on this nametag, but I did see the name of the hospital: Claremont General.

“If you can't bend the rules for me, maybe you can bend them for my father. He donated the money for one of the wings in this hospital, possibly this one. Please feel free to call and wake him up.” I said this calmly, not in a threatening manner.

He glared at me. “I'll be right back,” he said. No more than a few seconds later he came back in. “The young man can stay with you, but he has to stay in your room.”

“I can do that,” Stefan said in perfect English. Damn he was getting good. The doctor gave us both a dirty look, then huffed out of the room.

“That was pretty cool. You showed him.” He wanted to gloat over the victory.

“Money and power go hand in hand. You just have to be careful to use it correctly. When I see him later, I'll make a point to thank him and make him feel good about doing me a favor. Too much attitude gets you in trouble.” He looked at me with a funny expression, one that switched to annoyance, and I hurried to explain myself. I didn’t want him to think I was going back to my prior mode where I preached to him from on high. “I'm sorry; I wasn't trying to lecture you. I was more thinking out loud.”

He smiled down at me. All night I dosed in and out, and all night he stayed there with me. Finally, as morning rolled around, I made him go home and get some sleep. The doctor came in to see me as he went off duty.

“Doctor, thank you so much for letting my cousin stay with me. After the accident I just couldn't stand the thought of being alone.”

He looked at me thoughtfully, and then smiled. “Well, sometimes the rules have to be bent a little bit.” I couldn't agree with him more.

June 26, 1962

I sat in a wheelchair reading the paper, waiting to be released from the hospital. I'd just finished an argument with my mother about going to Chicago. I was bound and determined to get out of this city with all of its little secrets and scandals as soon as I could. She didn't see how I was going to drive with a broken arm, and she was adamant that I was not going to fly. This month there had been two crashes, both Air France 707s. In her mind, there was no better airline than Air France, and if their planes were dropping out of the skies, surely all of them would soon follow. I’d given up on that argument, but it was only a temporary retreat. She could say whatever she wanted, but as soon as the July 4^th festival closed down, I was going to Chicago.

I refocused on my paper. The Supreme Court just issued two decisions sure to piss off the Baptists in town. First, they'd declared that mandatory prayer in school was unconstitutional. Then, as if to pour salt in the wound, they'd declared that photographs of nude men were not obscene, thus decriminalizing nude male pornographic magazines. I thought about what good news that was for me, and that improved my mood considerably.

My parents came in after completing the discharge procedures. They were followed by a nurse, who officially freed me from hospital bondage. It was irritating the way they made me roll out of the hospital in a wheel chair when I was perfectly capable of walking, but I'd bent their rules enough already. After a short drive home, and an effusive greeting from Vella, I was able to escape to my bedroom. I smiled at these four walls and just enjoyed the peace, the tranquility, and the absence of bossy nurses.

That lasted for a couple of hours, but then I got bored. I got up and wandered around, and that got me a stern lecture from Vella on how I needed to rest, but I ignored her. It seemed that I hadn’t completely escaped from bossy nurses. But I handled Vella by politely ignoring her admonishments, and explained to her that I felt fine, which was true, even though I was still a little stiff and my left arm was temporarily useless. It was incredibly serendipitous that I had hurt that arm and not my right one, since that meant I could still write and do things with my dominant hand.

I got a surprise that afternoon when my father came home to surprise me. “I took the afternoon off,” he told me, getting a huge smile in return. “You feel like going out?”

“I'd love to get out of here for a while,” I said quickly, before my mother could begin to protest. My father was sensitive to her concern, though, so he smiled an apology at my mother, but I didn't bother. I was having a hard time hiding the feelings I had for her: the anger and the disgust. I was still a little relieved when we managed to escape and drove down the hill in his blue Cadillac.

“I talked to the insurance company, and the Pontiac was totaled. I thought we’d go out and get you a new car. You want another Pontiac?” I felt myself move from happiness to almost elation. Not only did I love car shopping, but it was also one of the things that my father and I bonded over. We were both car nuts.

“I still like those Thunderbirds. The new model is really keen,” I said matter-of-factly, looking sideways to see his grimace. I started laughing. “I'm just kidding, Dad. Let's check out the Chevy dealer.”

That got a strange reaction from him, although less than the mention of buying a Thunderbird. At least a Chevrolet was a General Motors product. I could see his mind whirling with the social implications of that decision. Chevrolet was General Motors’ entry level brand. He was already irritated with my mother for driving and Oldsmobile instead of a Cadillac, and now his son wanted to trade down from a Pontiac to a Chevy. People in town may start wondering if business was bad.

He kept those thoughts to himself and took me to the Chevrolet dealer as I requested. He’d expected me to look at Impalas, but that’s not what was on my mind. I’d liked the Corvettes since they came out, and if I’d have probably bought one instead of the Pontiac but for the fact that they were smaller and had less room. But I reasoned that in a city like Chicago, having a smaller car would be handy, and it’s not like I was planning to haul a bunch of stuff around anyway.

My father had been hilarious. He'd walked into the Chevy dealer like he was slumming, but once he checked out the Corvette and actually drove it, he was sold. An hour later I was the proud owner of a brand new, red 1962 Corvette. The only thing about it I didn't like was that it had an automatic transmission, but with my arm in a cast, a stick would have been pretty hard to manage. I could have had them track down one with a manual transmission, but I strategized internally that since the car had an automatic, maybe my parents wouldn’t object to me driving to Chicago after the 4^th of July. My father wouldn't let me drive it home because I was still doing pain meds, but the dealer promised to deliver it tomorrow.

1962 Chevrolet Corvette

We had lunch together, and I decided that this news from my grandfather had, in addition to rocking my whole world, made me appreciate my father's sterling qualities. He was a hard worker, intensely loyal to his family, considerate to his wife (maybe too much so), and seemed to genuinely care about people. Not just us, his family (I had resolved to continue the charade, so I fully immersed myself in the role), but his employees and even his fellow townspeople. Even if he wasn't my biological dad, I loved him.

July 4, 1962

The last few days had been deadly dull, except for my new car, which I'd started driving as soon as I got it. My mother tried to argue with me, but I decided that at 26, I was old enough to be in charge of my own life. Ever since I’d read that letter from my grandfather, I'd been reminding myself over and over again that I planned to keep my true paternity a secret, and I vowed that I'd act the same as I did before. I was doing well with everyone except for one exception: my mother. I'm sure she noticed that I didn't converse with her like I used to, and that I casually disregarded all of her advice and suggestions. There was a price to pay for her slutty ways. I was doing my best, and it would have to be good enough. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to trust her, and I wasn’t sure if I could forgive her, but maybe with time, I could at least become a better liar.

Claremont seemed to be excited about its big party, and like most things in this small Midwestern city, the festival followed a time-honored pattern. It would start with a big parade that wound through downtown and ended at the Claremont Commons, a fancy name for the city park that was located in the center of town. My parents would ride in the parade in a Cadillac convertible, which was my father’s way of thanking the dealer he bought his cars from. The other town dignitaries like the Schluters and Hendricksons would be in the parade as well, interspersed between floats and the high school band. From the parade at the beginning to the end of the festival, the entire production was incredibly feudalistic. All the wealthiest people in town, along with local businesses, provided free food, soda, and beer for the populace, who proceeded to get shitfaced, make asses out of themselves, and puke all over the place. There are always a few who really excelled at embarrassing themselves, and their stories became town legends for at least a few years. I thought that, as boring as things were here, the purpose of this whole thing was to give people something to talk about. Last year Mike Ayers, a mill worker in his 30's, decided to strip off all of his clothes and walk around the park chatting to people as if nothing was wrong. The whole town found out that he had a pretty nice dick. The year before that, Jenny Crandle staggered into the dessert table and smashed the big cake to the ground, much to the irritation of the baker. Like most of the town, I was wondering what some idiot would do to scandalize everyone this year.

I skipped the parade as my single act of rebellion and opted instead to meet everyone at the Commons. I ran into tons of people I hadn't seen in a long time: Former teachers who were proud of me, friends who were married with kids, and old ladies who had known me as a child and thus felt obliged to pinch my cheeks. I played my part as the scion of one of the leading families. I made polite conversation with everyone, pretended to like their babies, and let the old ladies pinch my cheeks until I looked like I was wearing rouge, but I found my patience with the entire production fading fast. Normally, I would track down my mother, but even if I wanted to spend time with her, she'd be busy. Her role in this, as a leading society matron, was even more intense than mine. Instead of spending time with my parents, I decided to try and find Stefan, since he’d be under the same obligations that I was to see and be seen. He’d be even more sick of it than I was. I began to plot about talking him into taking a break from this nightmare so we could sneak back home for a quick fuck.

I spent a good hour wandering around the park. I'd had enough beer that a bathroom break was now in order. The bathroom in the Commons was toward the back of the park and shielded by shrubs, as if the people were ashamed of having potties out there so they hid them. In fact, they made an excellent cover for guys to cruise there, which happened occasionally. I never cruised there myself, though. It was much too close to home, where I was too well known.

As I passed through the barrier of shrubbery, I noticed three big guys hovering around another young man, taunting him. The ringleader of the taunters was Jeff Hayes, Frank's younger brother. It seemed that all the Hayes boys were bullies, so it didn't surprise me to find him there leading the crowd. I didn't know the two guys with him, but bullies always had a gang of followers who were, by definition, brainless. I took a minute to look at Jeff Hayes. He was even bigger than his older brother, and he had that same devastatingly handsome Tony Dow look going on, except Jeff had dirty blond hair, which made him look even sexier. He wore a white T-shirt with rolled up sleeves that exposed his bulging biceps, his golden tan adding a nice sheen to his body. Aside from appreciating Jeff's masculine beauty, I was rather uninterested in the whole scene until I realized that their victim was Stefan.

Tony Dow

I moved in rapidly then, getting there just as Jeff pushed Stefan hard, knocking him down. Stefan banged his head on the ground so hard I thought for a second he was unconscious until I saw him move uncomfortably.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jeff?” I demanded, even as I put myself between him and Stefan. I was in his face, yelling at him, which must have looked pretty hilarious to a bystander: a short, slight, dorky guy with his arm in a sling, challenging Jeff Hayes, a 6’5” hulk of bulging muscles. Jeff and his friends looked at me in complete surprise, but I was worried about Stefan, who was sitting up, looking dizzy. “Are you OK?” I asked him in French. He nodded. I turned back to Jeff.

Before I could lay into him, Jeff got a nasty sneer and got in my face this time. Our noses were probably about an inch apart. “This queer was staring at my cock and licking his lips. He wants to blow me, the fucking faggot. Any faggot in this town is gonna get his ass kicked.” The smell of beer on his breath was overpowering. He was hammered, and that was going to make this just that much more difficult.

But as big and drunk and pissed off as he was, there was no way I was backing down. I didn't let anyone get away with invading my personal space in a threatening manner. Yet even though he had seriously pissed me off, I characteristically buried that and put on my smooth social persona. “Jeff Hayes, this is Stefan Schluter, my cousin. Stefan, this is Jeff Hayes.” If Jeff had been sober, he would have understood that by doing that, I’d let him know that by messing with Stefan, he was messing with me, and if he’d been less clueless, he’d have realized that he was inadvertently challenging Claremont’s entire social order.

Stefan moved forward, politely holding out his hand, but Jeff slapped it away. “I ain't shaking hands with no queer. Probably had his fingers up some guy’s ass.” His friends laughed at that, but Stefan and I did not.

Slapping Stefan’s hand away had moved Jeff away from me, giving me back some of my personal space. “I suggest that you learn some manners, Mr. Hayes,” I said, using my cold, level voice. If he would have known me, he would have seen the anger beneath the veneer, and he would have known that this was when I was at my most dangerous.

“Yeah, or else what? You gonna kick my ass? Bring it on pretty boy.” He moved forward and stood about a foot in front of me again, looking as menacing as he could.

“You're a real hero Hayes. Pick a fight with a guy half your size whose arm is in a cast.” His friends snickered behind him, which just fueled his anger. “I think that instead of dealing with you myself, I'll just have your dad kick your ass for me.” That worried him a bit. He'd probably learned to be a bully from his brothers, and they'd learned it from their dad.

“Yeah right. My dad ain't gonna kick my ass over some stupid French piece of shit.” I just looked at him and his friends and said nothing. He'd stepped over a whole bunch of lines, but no good would come from staying here and arguing with him.

“Come on Stefan,” I said to him, and we walked off. Jeff and his buddies watched us leave. I could tell Jeff was going to say something else, but one of his friends whispered in his ear and he wisely shut his mouth.

I looked at Stefan as he walked along next to me. He was rubbing the spot where his head had hit the ground. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

“I am fine,” he said simply, in a clipped manner that was unusual for him.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, as if I was responsible for the behavior of this entire shithole of a town. “Those guys usually aren't such assholes, they were just drunk. They won't cause you any more problems.” There was fire in his eyes, a blazing anger I’d never seen before. He was really pissed off, but he didn't say anything.

I led him over to the Crampton Construction tent, where we’d be in a safer environment so he could pull himself together after his encounter with Jeff Hayes. We gave my father a brief greeting, but he was busy being the civic leader that he was. We were both hungry, so I introduced him to some of the local cuisine. I think his favorite food was barbecued ribs while my favorite thing to do was to watch him eat them. He tried to be so fastidious, but you just couldn't do that with ribs, so I spent most of the time laughing at him as he tried not to get the sauce all over him. After we finished eating, he seemed to be in a much better mood.

My mother hadn’t been at the Crampton Construction tent, which wasn’t terribly unusual. My father tended to stay at his tent while my mother toured around, calling on other people. We finally found her at one of the tents set up by Hendrickson’s Mill, talking to Barry Schluter. It amazed me that she could endure the heat of the day yet still seem so cool and collected. My mother, looking sleek as usual in a form-fitting, short-sleeve dress, greeted us cheerfully. Her dress was light blue, and she had red and white shoes and a red and white purse to go with it. She would have looked ridiculous on any other day but the 4^th of July, but today, her outfit just made her seem as tasteful as ever. How ironic that she would be here, at the Hendrickson tent, and not over with my father at the Crampton Construction tent, I thought to myself acidly.

“Are you boys enjoying the festival?” she inquired cheerfully. She looked around to see if any of her friends were around so she could show me off.

“Some thugs just beat me up and knocked me down,” Stefan said in English. “I bumped my head pretty bad.” He rubbed his head for effect.

Barry Schluter's face started to turn red. He had a pretty volatile temper. “Who knocked you down?” he asked, almost in a yell, but not quite. Stefan shrugged, so Barry looked to me to answer his question. This was not good.

I looked at my mother helplessly and she shrugged her shoulders, an almost imperceptible gesture, to tell me there was no hope of avoiding an honest answer. “Jeff Hayes”, I told him.

“I'll be right back,” Barry told us, grabbing Stefan by the hand and heading toward Bill Hendrickson. Bill was surrounded by some of his employees and a few other townspeople, all of whom were trying to kiss his ass. My mother and I shared a concerned look, the first real communication we'd had since “the letter”. We meandered over to where Barry was yelling at Bill Hendrickson, not close enough to get involved, but close enough to rudely eavesdrop.

“Dammit Bill, that Fred Hayes is a thug and he always has been. I know it, you know it. Hell, we all know it. And his damn kids are just as bad. His son Jeff just shoved my grandson down and damn near gave him a concussion. Can't you control those guys of yours? Or are you going to sit by while they terrorize the whole goddamn town?” I heard Barry’s words, but I was more focused on Bill Hendrickson. Now that I knew he was my real father, I looked at him in a different way, as if to search out more of those physical similarities I’d imagined in Columbus. He was tall, blond, and beefy, with a beer gut that wasn't out of control, but still noticeable. He was a handsome man now, but when he was younger he must have been stunning. I put that in the back of my mind as something to consider when I was damning my mother to hell for sleeping with him.

Bill Hendrickson was a good ol' boy, and always ready to calm a situation and make a deal. He completely ignored Barry and focused on Stefan. “Well hello there Stefan, it's nice to meet you. I'm Bill Hendrickson. I own the local mill over there by the river. I'm sorry if some of our extended family from Hendrickson's Mill roughed you up, but don't you worry, it won't happen again. You stop by some time and I'll give you a tour. Maybe we can even have lunch.” It was pretty unlikely that Bill Hendrickson would take time out of his schedule to have lunch with Stefan, but his charm had certainly worked. He shook Stefan's hand and Stefan beamed a smile at him. It almost seemed like Stefan was hitting on him, which made this whole thing even weirder.

Bill Hendrickson had worked his magic. He had charmed Stefan, and had handled the situation so adroitly it had taken all the wind out of Barry’s sails. “Thanks Bill,” Barry said. “Sorry I got so heated. Those Hayes have been a problem in this town for a long time. I hope you can square them away.”

Bill patted Barry on the shoulder like one oligarch comforting another. “No problem Barry. I'll handle it.” My mother and I cringed, while Bill searched the crowd, looking for Fred Hayes. The look of irritation on his face when he did was a little scary. He'd probably rip Fred Hayes a new asshole, and then Fred would pass that on down to Jeff.

Stefan and I escaped from that nightmare scene and started walking around again, just the two of us. I tried to be pleasant, but I was too upset to really let my social persona out. “Is something wrong?” he asked me.

“Remember how I told you about power and how you have to be careful when you use it. This may have been one of those times.” I knew it didn't come out right, but I decided that no matter how I said it, he would have been pissed.

He turned to me, showing me that angry look I hadn't experienced since before we left for Chicago. “Is this the part of the day where you mount your high tower and pronounce judgment on me and point out all the things I've done wrong?”

This was not the conversation I wanted to have with him. “Look Stefan, I'm sorry. That came out wrong. You're doing great. In fact, I can't imagine anyone doing any better. There's no way you could know the repercussions of your grandfather's actions.” He looked at me dubiously. “You'll cut me some slack? I'm not quite myself these days. You know I'm very proud of you.” That seemed to do it. He smiled at me, and we strolled on.

That night, during the fireworks, we sat in the Commons with the other people, enjoying the show that consumed 5% of the town budget. Other than the exploding fireworks, it was dark, and I felt Stefan’s hand gently grab mine. I leaned over and whispered in his ear: “This isn't the first time I've been with you and seen fireworks.” He giggled at my lame joke.

That night we got permission for him to spend the night and when he entered me, I saw the fireworks all over again.