immediately tried to navigate himself onto the other side of Michael. Before he could get all the way over, Ronan put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and said, “You’re fine right where you are.” Ciaran assumed the gracious comment was meant to impress Michael, but he latched on to it anyway.
Penry, overhearing some of what Ronan said, turned around, not letting go of Imogene’s hand of course, and said, “I’m fine too, but yesterday my eyes were so sensitive to the light I felt like Nakano! Thought I was going to have to wear sunglasses today. Isn’t that weird?”
Once again Ciaran was speechless, so Ronan spoke. “You’re a weird bloke, Penry. What do you expect?”
“That’s what I told him,” Imogene said, tossing her head around. “I said, ’Pens, you’re a right sod weirdo.’ “
Penry didn’t even hear the jeer, just his nickname, and when Imogene twisted her head back to the front, he informed his friends, “She calls me Pens.”
Ciaran forced a smile and when Penry turned back around, he glanced at Ronan. Ronan, however, aware of Michael’s presence, didn’t acknowledge Ciaran or the fact that Penry had suffered an aftereffect from Nakano’s attack that he hadn’t anticipated. He took a deep breath, hoping the others would think he was breathing in the country air and not recognize it as a worried sigh, and wondered just what else he had ignored.
The one person he couldn’t ignore was Michael. Across the street from the Eden Arms hotel was a small English garden that was still lush despite the lack of colorful flowers that usually filled the ground during the spring and summer months. This time of year the garden was more a cavalcade of greens and browns, not as vibrant but still robust. Ronan and Michael sat together on a bench, and Ronan couldn’t decide which was more beautiful, his boyfriend’s sweet grin or the majestic weeping willow that was the centerpiece of the garden. Its trunk, surrounded by a pile of fallen leaves, thrust upward about three stories and then exploded into a spray of curved branches that created a domelike effect. As if he were reading Ronan’s mind, Michael looked up and could see slithers of blue peek through the willow’s makeshift ceiling. He felt like he was looking at a piece of heaven.
“Catching up on Oscar?” Ronan asked, holding a brand-new copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Instinctively, Michael patted the now-empty pocket of his jacket from where the book must have fallen. “You got me.” A bit embarrassed that Ronan found out he was reading his favorite novel, Michael looked away and swallowed a mouthful of hot cider until he could think of an excuse. The liquid filled his throat with warmth and the courage to just be honest. “Can you believe I’ve never read it?”
Ronan examined the cover. A beautiful young man with haunting green eyes stared out at him, and behind the man a portrait of his inner self, decayed and grotesque. Ronan shivered, not because of the chilly air, and leafed through the book as if looking for a specific passage, stopping only when he came to the piece of paper Michael was using as a bookmark. It was Ronan’s drawing. “You know,” Michael said, “maybe if we put that portrait in the attic I can stay forever youthful?”
I can make you stay forever youthful and beautiful and happy if you just let me. Ronan heard the words so clearly in his head he wasn’t sure if he had spoken them aloud. “It could happen?”
Michael’s face turned serious. “You’re forgetting one thing.”
“What?”
“I don’t have an attic.” Ronan didn’t laugh along with Michael right away, but Michael found his comment so funny, he didn’t notice. “Hey, maybe there’s an attic in the cathedral; we can put my portrait up there! I can be forever youthful and holy at the same time.” If Michael knew that Ciaran was watching him from across the garden, he probably wouldn’t have let his hand linger so long on Ronan’s knee when he gave it a little squeeze. But at the moment, he felt like he and Ronan were the only two people in the world. Ronan felt the same way, which was why he was able to push the conversation into more serious territory.
“You laugh, but if the soul is immortal, why not the body?”
But Michael was having too good a time with his boyfriend to be coaxed into having a provocative conversation. “Because if the body were immortal and eternally youthful, there would be no need to ever get a facial, and I’m kind of looking forward to having one when I’m a middle-aged gay man.” Michael’s silliness was infectious and Ronan found himself chuckling despite the serious thoughts that were embedded in his mind. “So please, Ronan, don’t take that dream away from me.”
“They really are adorable, aren’t they?” Imogene observed.
Penry turned to see who his girlfriend was talking about. “It’s nice to see Ronan happy again. He was miserable after that row with Nakano.”
Imogene put a spoonful of whipped cream into her mouth, the crowning glory of her coffee concoction. “I think Michael’s perfect for him. When you’re the strong, silent type like Ronan, you need a boyfriend who’s more gregarious, bit more of an extrovert. Plus, Michael’s a lot cuter than Nakano, don’t you think, Ciaran?”
Startled because he was only half listening, Ciaran wasn’t sure what Imogene was rambling on about. “What?”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she chastised. “You don’t have to be gay to notice if a bloke’s handsome or not, right, Pens?”
Penry shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a good-looking chap, I guess. Not as handsome as me, but then again, who is?” Ciaran welcomed the opportunity to laugh, anything to hide how he was truly feeling at the moment. Here he was sitting among his friends and yet he felt very much alone. Imogene and Pens were so smitten with each other, there were moments when Ciaran felt like he had crashed their own private party. A few feet away, Fritz and Phaedra were sharing a bench and that all-important first conversation that was magical because it was filled with both awkwardness and awe. And across from him Ronan and Michael were giggling and talking and touching. He heard a rustling in the trees and looked up to see a bird bouncing from branch to branch as if it were lost and was trying to find its way. I know just how you feel, Ciaran silently remarked.
“Imogene,” Phaedra called out. “You promised to help me pick out a dress for the festival when I reached my goal weight.”
“Okay, but, um, don’t you have five more pounds to go?” Imogene teased.
Feigning outrage while everyone around her laughed, Phaedra tried to keep a straight face. “I am three pounds away! Now come on. I’ll buy you something with my mother’s credit card.”
“Perfect! I wanted to get elbow-length gloves but ran out of money,” Imogene replied, then instructed, “Boys, we’ll catch up with you in an hour in front of the Apple Tree.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!” Penry replied, signing off as if she were a four-star general and he a common private.
“You’ll pay for that later, Pens,” Imogene shouted as she grabbed Phaedra’s arm and the two sauntered off toward the few gift shops that populated Eden.
“I’m counting on it,” Penry mumbled to himself.
“And you promised to help me buy some lab supplies at that old apothecary store.” At first Ciaran didn’t realize Ronan was talking to him. “I have to buy a flowmeter test tube and you’re the only person who knows what that is, so come on.”
Ciaran heard some chirping and looked up to see that the bird was now settled and sharing a branch with another, more vividly colored bird. “How can I deny my expertise to someone in need?” He looked away before he could see that they flew off in different directions.
“Thank you,” Ronan said, and then mouthed the same words to Michael, who nodded and smiled, both unaware that Ciaran witnessed the exchange. Ciaran realized his earlier assumption that Ronan’s words were merely meant to impress Michael were true. His hurt only deepened when they were out of earshot from the others and Ronan whispered to him, “And let your big brother buy you some lunch. Lord knows I don’t spend any quid on food.” His kindness was just a game.
Michael smiled, watching them turn the corner. As much as he enjoyed Ronan’s company, he could let him hang out with his brother for an hour. It wasn’t like anything exciting was going to happen while they were apart.
“Hawksbry’s a poof!” Fritz shouted, pointing down the narrow alley that separated the coffee shop and an antique store that, despite the OPEN FOR BUSINESS sign in its front window, was pitch black inside.
“What are you talking about?” Penry asked. Then he saw. “Oh my God!” It was indeed the headmaster, Alistair Hawksbry, walking down the alleyway arm in arm with another man.
“I knew it!” Fritz declared. “I always knew it! Hawksbry’s a homo.” Then Fritz remembered he was standing next to Michael. “No offense, mate, but he’s always so neat and tidy. It’s just not right.” So much for a kinder,
