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Crown Vic to a Parallel World: Stolen Love The third and final installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
35
Joe Says
"That is quite a work, young man." Paul addressed Joe as he pointed up at the combination mural and climbing wall that was the southern face of the Demon's Citadel Mountain. "Must have taken you quite an effort to paint." It was dark out and the mural wasn't really visible, but Paul seemed to want to make conversation and the mural was the largest physical presence other than the endless sky.
"I'm an asshole." Joe said in response.
The strangeness of the statement, the strangeness and the immensity of it, especially in response to what Paul had just said, captured my attention. For Joe to call himself an asshole was incredible because, not only did he swear, but he admitted he'd done something wrong in the same breath. That statement was enough to turn me to face him.
Joe was standing between Paul and me, and when I turned to look, I saw that Paul was looking at the other side of him, apparently drawn by the same surprise at the raw obscenity uttered by the mouth so unused to them. Joe kept his eyes on the sky and didn't look at either of us. The way he spoke, I gathered he knew that he had our attention.
"I apologized to Andy today...and his boyfriend. I told them how proud I was of Andy and how amazing it was that he was able to do what he did. I told him how impressed I was that he was able to come here from Earth and embrace the culture...the way I should have. I told my son how proud I was of him that he started his company from nothing without any help from me...or from anyone. I told them both how sorry I was for holding my love back from him...from them.
"Andy loves that boy, Comitis. It's so plain that they love each other. So what if they're both boys...men, I mean men. Who am I to judge? If a priest can reconcile himself to that lifestyle, how can I condemn it? I have to remember to love my son first and make everything else of secondary importance."
Joe shook his head but kept his eyes on the sky. "That's not right. I have to do more than that. I have to accept him...accept them both for all that they are. I have to accept their love and their life and their...uh...sexuality. I have to stop judging them for what they do and love them for who they are. Love and acceptance are two sides of the same coin and I have to remember how important it is to have both."
Joe took two big steps forward and did an about face so he could look at Paul and me. "Andy asked me to work with him on next season's collection. I'm going to work with my son on the next collection for his fashion company. He says I have artistic vision.'" Joe emphasized the words with his voice. "He wants my advice on what he calls the palette of colors,' and he even wants me to paint the murals for the fashion shows and the advertisements. He thinks my impressionistic art is just the thing to go with his designs."
The smile on my brother's face was a welcome sight. I'd missed seeing it. If only his damn beard wasn't hiding it, I would have enjoyed it much more. He seemed so buoyant, happy and excited and finally looking forward to something instead of shitting on everything that came along. I made a mental note to thank Paul as soon as I could get him alone. I wondered how the old priest would react if I kissed him with my tongue. I decided that was probably over the line and settled for planning to seize him with a bear hug instead.
Joe brought his eyes to mine and fixed me with a `Joe' gaze. "I owe you a great deal, Church." He lowered his voice to sound very like my father. "How many times can you save my life before I decide to start living it? This is the last time. Once we get Shawn back, I'm going to work. Andy and me...and Comitis to, we're going on a tour to select the next natural place to inspire Andy's fashion. He said he's done the ocean, and garden flowers, and birds, and I forget what else, but he said maybe the mountains could be next."
Joe smiled again and reached a hand up to scratch at his face. "I hate this beard." He muttered when his fingers disappeared into the nest of scraggly hair.
I lunged at the opportunity to do something for Joe and for me as well. "Do you trust me?" I asked my brother.
Joe didn't understand my question and answered before he considered what I was planning. "Of course. Why do you ask?"
I raised my right hand up next to my face, pointed my index finger, and waggled it at him. "Will you do as I say?" I asked.
Joe blanched with fear as he guessed what I planned to do. I'd trapped him, and he knew it, and I knew it, and he knew that I knew it. He had to let me do what I wanted, no matter how scared he was, because we were in the middle of a moment. For him to reject my offer of help right then would be an insult, especially as I'd phrased the question as a matter of trust. "Yes." Joe said with a voice that was as close to a squeak as his deep baritone could get.
I pulled Joe under the garage light so I could see him better. I had him press his lips together and hold his breath. When he did, I shot a wide pattern sweep of white magic at the lower half of his face and removed his beard from his nose to the collar of his shirt. Joe's beard vaporized without even the singed stink of burnt hair, leaving him with the closest shave he ever had and no razor burn.
He gasped when I told him he could breathe and seemed to sag with the relief of the fear he'd been holding onto. Paul echoed Joe's gasp at the sight of Joe's disappearing facial hair and Joe reached up to touch the results of my magic. "Much better." Joe admitted when his breathing resumed its normal pace.
"I agree." I agreed aloud.
Joe walked around to the Vic and crouched to examine himself in the sideview mirror on the passenger door. "Yes," he ran exploratory fingers across his now-smooth jaw, "much better." Joe stood up and gestured to Paul and me as we watched him. "Now I need some new clothes so I can be on the cutting edge of high fashion, like my brother and my priest."
Paul's face hardened at the mention of his vocation...what I hoped was his former vocation. Joe's expression fell when he noticed the change in Paul's. "I'm sorry," he corrected himself, "I mean, my brother and my friend."
"No offense taken, young man." Paul rushed to reinforce the still-fragile Joe.
Joe went back to inspecting his face in the small square of glass that was the sideview mirror and Paul asked a question of me. "Is that how you shave, with your magic?"
"No, I haven't shaved in years, since before I was married." I went on with my explanation before Paul could ask. "I used to be hairy, not quite sasquatch, but pretty well covered. Shawn isn't much into hair, so I let him use his magic to suppress it wherever he didn't want it." I raised my shirt to make my point and showed off my smooth, muscled torso. The only visible hair was a narrow treasure trail from my naval down to the waistband of my pants. I had hair under my arms, but I didn't lift my shirt enough for Paul to see that.
I ran my hand down my stomach. "I don't even have to trim, and if Shawn decides he wants something different, he can un-suppress it wherever he wants or suppress more of it. He could even make it come in thicker. I could be a tame bear or as smooth as a newborn from head to toe if that's what Shawn wanted."
"What about what you want?" Paul asked.
"I want what he wants." I replied and lowered my shirt.
The door between the garage and my kitchen opened. The action paused conversation long enough to see who was coming through it. It was Cellarius carrying a plain black suitcase with Joe's initials stenciled near the handle in silver block letters. I imagined the trunk release button in the cab of the car and pressed it with magic to open the trunk lid for the butler. He nodded gratefully and stowed Joe's suitcase. He shut the trunk with a click when he finished. "Will there be anything else, sir?" He asked.
"No thank you." I used the normal note of dismissal for when Cellarius performed a much-needed service for me.
Cellarius bowed shallowly from the waist and started to retreat from the room. He stopped before he had his hand on the door and turned back to address me again. "Sir," he prompted, and a rare expression of uncertainty passed over his face, "I know you will save him."
I stared at the old man without knowing how to respond to him. I'd forgotten how much he cared about Shawn. A memory flashed in my mind. It recalled the first time I'd met the butler, when he pulled my face down to his with a fistful of my shirt and threatening me with vague consequences if I ever hurt the boy he helped to raise.
I realized that I'd been so lost in my own worry and grief, I'd forgotten how much Shawn meant to others. I felt bad having left Cellarius out of so much. I felt especially bad because he was the one that first alerted me that Shawn's plane was down.
I tried to apologize to him, but he wouldn't have it. I tried to make it up to him. "Come with us." I offered.
Cellarius refused sharply, like what I offered was akin to asking him to desert from the army. "My place is here." He insisted.
"To HELL with this place!" I insisted back with a flippant and angry wave at the house. "Let them look after themselves. Shawn'll be thrilled to see you."
"SIR!" Cellarius barked, or at least he addressed me sharply. I doubted the reserved man was capable of barking. He softened his tone and came around the car to stand very close to me. He didn't look up. Instead, he chose to speak his piece into my chest.
"Sir, I love that boy like he was my own flesh. I've come to see you as a good match for him. He loves you. He will be thrilled to see you, sir, not me. I will be here waiting for him when he returns. While I wait, I will remain at my post. Truly, it is right for me to do so. I will look after them, so they may focus on the task of rescuing him. That sir, is my contribution to the effort, and I will thank you not to belittle it."
Cellarius spun on his heels and walked away from me with silent, but rapid steps. I was stuck for something to say in response until he reached the door again and I knew I had no time left for thinking. "Cellarius!" I called after him as he went through the door. He stopped and did a neat about face, then he waited, framed by the doorway into the kitchen beyond.
I made him wait while I rubbed my neck and thought of what to say. When nothing much came, I tried for an apology. "I didn't mean to...I'm sorry. He...Shawn I mean, he loves you too. He told me...you made it alright, when his mother couldn't. He said it was you who made it alright, when he was a kid...when his father...you know." I took my hand from the back of my neck and waved it in the air in a vague gesture to indicate Verpa being mean to Shawn.
Cellarius stood in the doorway with no change in his posture or expression to show that he'd even heard what I'd said. After a long time, he bowed slightly. "Yes, sir. Thank you...for telling me. I'm glad I was able to make it...`alright,' as you said." He backed into the kitchen and shut the door between us.
"What was that about?" Paul asked as I stared at the closed door.
I sighed out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and turned to Paul. "What?" I asked.
"That," Paul pursued the question he'd already asked, "what did he make alright?"
I spent the next hour looking at the stars with Joe and Paul and telling them Shawn's life's story, from his birth to when he left home to live with Ars in the capital. Joe grew very quiet as I unraveled the knotted mess that was Shawn's childhood. Paul simmered with anger. "Imagine," Paul spat as I wrapped up the tale, "having a boy as fine as Shawn and treating him in that manner. The man deserves to be scourged. No wonder he's so universally despised."
Paul seemed to take Shawn's story very personally and I wondered why. The anger he displayed was powerful in its intensity. "Paul?" I asked and set a hand on his shoulder. The shoulder I touched shook with rage. Paul settled under my hand and turned his expressive face toward mine.
"Young man?" He asked when I'd pulled him from his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he seemed to deflate, "it's just...when I think of so many who have to grow up without...like the boys I knew at school, or...or like I had to." He trailed off and heaved a sad breath before he spoke again. "If I had a child, I would love that child with my whole being. No matter what their life brought them, the one thing that child would always be able to count on, would be my love."
A half-strangled sob surprised both Paul and me and drew our attention to Joe. He was crying and trying to pretend he wasn't. Paul raised his eyebrows at me in an unspoken question. I thought the best thing for us to do was for Paul to read Joe and try to cut through the question and answer phase of comforting him. I didn't want to tell Paul what to do aloud, because I didn't want to expose my idea to Joe. I pointed at my head and pointed at Joe.
Paul shook his head that he didn't understand. I pointed at Paul's head and at Joe's. That only elicited another headshake from Paul. I threw my hands up in frustration at the obtuseness of the normally perceptive man.
I tried charades. I pointed at Paul several times until he pointed at his own chest. I nodded and he nodded. He understood I meant for him to do something. With that settled, I held my left palm in front of my face and traced lines on it with my right fingertip like I was reading from a closely written list. I looked at Paul and at my hand and back and forth until he mouthed `read' at me.
I nodded like I was trying to nod my head off my shoulders. Paul pointed at his chest and mouthed me' and read.' I nodded some more, and he nodded back. Then I pointed at Joe and mouthed him.' Paul cocked his head at me in confusion and I almost screamed in frustration. Finally, I mimed the whole thing and mouthed the words while I did. I pointed at Paul, read from my hand, and pointed at Joe, then I put my hand on Paul's head to indicate his mind. You read him.' I mouthed and put both my hands on Paul's head.
The meaning seemed to hit him all at once and he slapped his forehead with his hand. He pointed at his chest and mouthed `idiot,' then turned to Joe to see what he could learn. Paul moved around in front of my sniffling brother and his face drew down in a deep frown. "You're not a failure as a parent!" Paul admonished Joe who was hiding his face behind his hands. "You were just a little misguided for a while."
"TWELVE YEARS!" Joe dropped his hands from his face and shouted at Paul. The magnitude of the mistake he'd made seemed to hit him afresh and he buried his weeping face in his hands again.
A piece of me felt bad for my brother but a bigger piece felt that he deserved at least some punishment for what he did, especially if that punishment was self-inflicted. The entire household had suffered under the thick pall of his foul moods for over a decade. Andy had suffered acutely because of Joe's selfishness.
I refused to comfort him emotionally. Instead, I focused on some small physical comfort that I could offer. I built a box of magic for him to sit on so he wouldn't have to worry about keeping his feet under him. I went to where Joe and Paul stood, eased Joe down on the box, and drew Paul away from the bitterly weeping man.
"But..." Paul objected weakly as I led him into the garage.
I shook my head at my friend. "Let him have his cry." I said and sat on the hood of the Vic.
Paul lowered himself to sit on the other side of the hood, careful to avoid the hood ornament, and cast his eyes toward Joe. "It seems wrong." Paul whispered to me.
I tossed my hands up in a meaningless gesture and shrugged without offering any words of wisdom. I didn't have any to offer. I knew what I thought, but I didn't know how to express it without sounding shitty. I decided it was best to let it lay. I hoped that once Joe wept, he'd better appreciate the opportunity we were giving him to make things right.
I was in the middle of those thoughts when the door to my kitchen opened again to permit the rest of the party bound for Litus Descendit to enter the garage. Andy made his way to the front of the group and crept to stand at my elbow. Comet was next to him. "What's wrong with Dad?" Andy asked in a whisper.
"He just realized how badly he fucked up." I explained to my nephew.
"What should I do?" Andy asked.
I took a breath and sighed it out and thought about the right thing to tell the boy. `What should he do?' I asked myself and wondered what the right thing was. One right thing was not to keep the whole group as an audience to Joe's tears and his son's reaction. I shooed the others to one of the egg vehicles and told them to head for the hanger. I said that we'd be along shortly and waited for them to leave before I returned to Andy and his question.
I thought about the right thing for another moment. Whatever it was, it had to balance the right amount of kindness with the right amount of fairness and also take Joe's fragility into consideration. I came up with an idea. I brought Andy around in front of me and got Comet to stand with him. What I said, I said to both of them.
"You can comfort him, but you can't forgive him. Knowing you made a mistake and feeling bad about it doesn't earn forgiveness. He has to work for that. It's the work that makes it worth it. Do you understand?"
Andy's face wore a very unhappy expression. It was that expression that told me he understood but didn't like the idea. Andy had a great deal of empathy, and it was going to be hard for him to withhold his forgiveness. "Com," I addressed his boyfriend, "what do you think?"
Comet wrapped his arms around himself in a tight self-hug and bumped his hip against Andy to get his attention. "I agree with Uncle Church." Comet said timidly, like he didn't want to upset Andy. "He's made you miserable...for a long time. I'm sorry he's upset, but...there's more to it than that."
"He's right." I agreed and crossed my arms over my chest, unconsciously mirroring Comet's posture. "Give him a hug, tell him you love him, but that's all. If he asks you to forgive him, tell him that depends on him, because it does."
"I agree." Comet said again.
"With Uncle Church." Andy teased and poked his boyfriend in the side with a playful elbow.
Comet stammered a little and got caught choking on about three versions of my name all tied up with mister, uncle, sir, and my first name. I patted Comet's shoulder sideways. "Uncle Church is fine if that's what you want to call me." I said to try to soothe the nervous boy.
Comet thanked me bashfully and turned his attention back to Andy. "Let's take care of your dad." He said and they went to put their arms around Joe.
It took several minutes, but the two boys were able to get Joe settled down. Paul watched with me until they escorted my brother over to the Vic and got him in the back seat on the passenger side. Andy climbed in beside him from the driver's side and Comet followed, after he stowed the luggage in the trunk.
"I guess that's our cue." I stood off the hood of the car. Paul got in the passenger side front, and I climbed in behind the wheel. I started the car and shoved the rearview so I could see Joe in it. "OK?" I asked him.
"I will be." He wiped his face on his sleeve.
`About fucking time.' I thought, probably with less charity than I should have felt. I didn't say anything. I corrected the mirror and put the car in gear to drive us out to the hangar.