Fork in the Road

Fork in the Road By Scott Turner EPILOGUE

The "Frick Fiasco," as many capital insiders had come to call it, or the "Frick Fuck-Up," to his opponents, continued to unfold throughout the summer and, as often happens, the political and legal storms collided to make a pretty rough ride for most of the main players. After a two-month investigation, District Attorney Kachelski brought indictments against Jeremy Frick and two of the more arrogant and recalcitrant caucus staffers. Four other underlings, including Penny Harrington, each worked out deals to testify against Frick and plead guilty to a single misdemeanor charge of violating the state's campaign regulations. Each one received six month's probation and a hundred hours of community service from the judge. Frick, however, vowed to fight on with a team of high priced attorneys.

In the first few days back home, Scott tried several times to call Greg without success, and had sent him two e-mails. By the end of the first week he was confused and concerned and was even thinking about driving to Mankato to find out what was going on. Late one night, his cell phone woke him up.

A sheepish and subdued voice meekly greeted him. "Hi."

"Greg! What the hell?"

"Sorry about being out of touch. I've been sorting things out around here and didn't know what to tell you until now."

Scott sat up and turned on the lamp next to his bed before reaching back with his free hand to wrestle with the pillows and prop them up against the headboard. "So, fill in the blanks, will you? I've been going nuts."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But a couple of things sort of blew up on this end since I got here."

Scott coughed and yawned. "Well, start at the beginning then."

"Okay. Nick had already found a couple two-bedroom apartments for us to look at and they looked good and affordable. The first couple of nights back here we rented a cheap hotel room, and that was all well and good. No messing around, just so you know."

Scott sighed a hint of relief. "Okay."

"And Nicky told me that he was still pursuing Patrick, his gymnast buddy, pretty seriously. But he hadn't told Patrick anything about my moving in, and he wasn't gonna tell him anything about our history...mine and Nick's, that is. He didn't want to freak him out or anything."

"Okay. His call, I suppose, but kind of tricky. I mean, not mentioning it at all is pretty deceptive, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but remember how secretive I told you Nicky can be. That's the other thing. I told Nick that I came out to Jesse and Dad. He went nuts."

"Why?"

"Well, even though we grew up in different towns they're really close to each other. Nick's dad and mine know each other, mostly cuz of our high school baseball careers, and their paths do cross sometimes. So Nicky started going ape shit with stuff like, So what if your old man runs into mine and asks why Nick is living with his fag of a son?'"

"That's nuts, not to mention pretty harsh."

"I know that. But then Nicky goes ahead and decides to tell Patrick that I'm gay and that I've got at least one foot out of the closet, and that he and I used to mess around. So, now Patrick's freaking out about our living situation."

"And, so...? Where's everything today?"

"Well, I though I was gonna have to look for other arrangements. During and after our moving in here Nick was impossible for a few days. He wouldn't talk to me, Patrick wouldn't talk to him, and all this is after we'd just put down first month's rent and a security deposit on a year's lease. Plus, I just started the new job at the restaurant. I've just been holding my breath a day at a time."

"Welcome to the world of gay drama, I guess. But Greg! You should have called. You could have come here and stayed until all the shit got sorted out."

Greg's soft smile came through over the phone. "I know. I thought about it. But that wouldn't have answered any of the questions on this end. Anyway, it looks like all's well for the most part. Me and Nicky set things right and he's about as cool as he's gonna get with his paranoia about his family. And he says he's convinced Patrick that I'm just an old friend and a roommate, and that I'm no threat to the two of them."

Scott exhaled a load of relief. "So it's all okay?"

"Well, about as good as it's gonna get for now." He snickered, "But if we were having this conversation in your bed or mine it would be better. When are you gonna come over and visit?"

Scott felt his cock crawl upward against the front of his boxers. "When you invite me," he purred into the phone. Then his upper head took over again. "But, Greg, I'm really not looking to step into some pressure cooker. You just said that it's as good as it's gonna get, for now, over there. I mean you know I'd love to see you as soon as possible, but.."

"Yeah, I hear ya'. Let's keep an eye on our schedules and keep in touch. We'll work something out soon."

Scott smiled. "The sooner the better. Hey, I gotta get up early. Thanks for calling, `cuz I was really worried. Glad to hear the dust is settling on your end. But keep me posted. Call or e-mail whenever you can. I'm open to any and all invitations."

Greg yawned. "Okay. I'm ready to doze off myself. Thinking of you, ya' know."

"Me too, you. All the time. G'night."

They both stroked one off, each one thinking of the other, before drifting off to sleep.

Scott traveled back to Madison in June to give his sworn statement regarding the goings-on within the caucus. He was surprised by the low-pressure, almost routine nature of the meeting and he was out of the conference room much more quickly than he'd expected. He stayed in Madison for a couple extra days to hang with his roommies. Brett had moved completely out of the apartment by this time, leaving Craig there alone for the summer. That Friday night they hit State Street together and soon found themselves having been `over-served' by some dastardly bartender. Scott actually convinced his buddies to visit a gay bar just off the square. As they neared the door, Brett tapped Scott's shoulder. "I'm not gonna get groped or anything in here, am I?"

Scott laughed and shrugged. "I dunno. Only been here once, but don't flatter yourself. I'd say the odds are very, very low. You've got `straight' written all over you, and aside from that, you're not that good lookin'. Then again, some guys have awfully low standards." As he swung the door open, he leaned back and whispered, "But trust me... guys really do give better head than women do." Brett's jaw dropped, but then he grinned a little.

The place was packed with gay men and lesbians of every age and manner, from lispy, bawdy, flaming queens to bears, bikers and studly-looking jock types in tight jeans and tees or muscle shirts. Scott goaded his roomies into challenging several members of a women's softball team in a few rounds of Cricket at the dartboard. After six games, it was three to three. Scott was suddenly inspired for a tiebreaker and announced to the women, "Ladies!! My straight friends here are throwing down the gauntlet!" Craig and Brett both froze in mid drink. "I'll happily put up the quarters and bet all of you gals that these two breeders will prevail in the seventh round of this noble battle. The loser buys a full round of shots for the winner. They win, and you owe us three shots. You win, and we owe you a dozen. Send us your best two marksmen...uhm, markswomen...oh, fuck... marksperson or whatever and let's settle this." The gals cheerfully accepted the challenge and the guys promptly went down in flames. Fifteen shots and thirty dollars later they were headed for the door with Scott still laughing. "God, I'm so embarrassed! I can't take you two anywhere! Beaten soundly by a bunch of girls!"

Brett, true to form, snorted, "I'm not so sure about that."

Before going home, he called Grant Cornell and they had lunch together. Grant filled him in that Bruce Weeden had parlayed the caucus story into the managing editor's position with the "Cleveland Plain Dealer," and would be out of the capitol by the end of the summer. But Bruce was good enough to recognize Grant's work on the story and recommended the newly graduated journalism major to replace him at his desk in the press room under the dome. He'd be the youngest member of that corps ever. Life was good.

Over the course of the summer and fall, the tension between Scott and Maureen thawed. His dad's campaign sometimes criss-crossed hers and once Scott had given his sworn statement, the legal and political concerns he'd once had were a thing of the past. Long before election day they were old friends again, and Scott was that much wiser to the ways of insider politics.

Following the Fourth of July parade in LaCrosse, in which both Big Scott and Maureen tromped the streets and worked the curbs, Scotty and his matronly mentor found themselves sipping from water bottles under the same tree near the Mississippi River. Scott looked over and smiled. "Good thing this whole Frick thing blew up when it did, huh? It ought to blow over before the folks go to the polls in the fall."

Maureen sipped her water and shrugged. "Yeah, honey. I guess so. We'll see." He could see it in her eyes that she knew where he was going with this.

"It's a good thing somebody gave the D.A. a strong suggestion to look into the whole mess when she did. Good thing for everybody, I'd say, wouldn't you?"

Maureen tried to look serious as she thought it over. "Well, Scotty, it's unfortunate that it happened at all. But, on balance, I'd say it's good that it came to light. And, if this SHE or maybe this HE that you refer to had any help along the way in sending Mr. Kachelski in that direction, I'd say that's a good thing too."

Scott laughed before taking another gulp. "C'mon Maureen. Quit yanking my chain! This is me you're talking to!"

She winked and then patted his back. "Scotty, my dear, I know very well with whom I'm speaking, but I'm sure that I have no idea what you're talking about."

Scott laughed and shook his head. "Gotcha, Maureen. Whatever you say."

She kissed his cheek. "But SHE probably needs to become a better listener to those she loves and trusts."

Scott hugged her and returned the peck on the cheek.

And Kelly Abbott showed up again in Scott's life that summer. She was working full time on Maureen's campaign from the office back in her senate district. She was living in Maureen's house, just a dozen blocks from the Turner's, and was managing the activities of most of the campaign's volunteers from there. One evening they had dinner together at a local Chinese restaurant and, during their conversation getting caught up, he came out to her. After the initial shock wore off, Kelly grinned a naughty grin. "Well, you sure as hell could have fooled me! There was more than one night that we...well...you were so..." she leaned over and whispered, "...you were an animal!"

Scott blushed and smiled back. "You inspired me, you vixen. Take it as a complement that you could get a gay man to do all those things with you."

Kelly giggled. "Actually, I guess I'm relieved. I thought that that awful final episode between us at The Concourse meant there was something wrong with me." Then she caught herself. "Not that I think there's anything wrong with you, Scott, it's just that..."

He interrupted. "I get it, Kel'. Don't sweat it. It's all good." He gave her bits and pieces about his time with Greg and their bittersweet parting a month earlier saying he wasn't sure where it would all lead, but that he was okay with where things stood. He intentionally neglected his full history with Marty, but then gave her the latest update on Jill. The date had been set for her transplant, and they agreed to find time to drive down to Madison and see them after the procedure was completed and she was well enough to have visitors.

A couple weeks after settling in back home, Scott got a postcard from Australia. "Turner," it read. "We just wanted to share the good news. Glenn and I have planned a celebration here in Melbourne to announce and affirm our commitments to one another for the rest of our lives. Australia is about as fucked up as the U.S. is when it comes to marriage and civil unions, but we're going to do it anyway. Legal recognition may or may not come our way, but we don't care. Glenn agreed that we could do it on July 4th, so we're also celebrating our own little `Independence Day.' Of course, my family won't be attending, but we'll be back that way around the winter holidays again. This time, though, we'll be wearing rings. We'll give you a shout when we're back in the Dairyland. Glenn starts his new teaching job soon, and I have about a year before I can finish my MBA. So, life is good. Hope it is there in snowy Wisconsin, too. All our best." It was signed by both of them, "Kip and Glenn."

Scott smiled. "Good for you guys."

Three weeks later a thin package arrived, postmarked DeLand, Florida. Inside was a CD that "The Tellers" had just released; with several of Alex's solo tracks. He'd made a point of including his single cover of an old Beatles tune that Scott was fond of. Even Big Scott and Suzanne loved the mix of songs, styles and voices. There was also a picture of Alex and Austin at the entrance of the Universal theme park, and a short note. In one hand was written, "We're arguing about the best time to visit the frozen tundra in search of a real polar bear. We'll let you know." A different hand had scrawled, "See? I have a card now too!" There was a business card embossed with "Austin Cambell, Wine Aficionado Extraordinaire." Scott laughed out loud.

Jill's transplant took place as scheduled during the first week in July. Marty called or e-mailed Scott nearly every day. She was due to remain in the hospital for up to six weeks, but was in strict isolation due to the risk of infection from outside sources. Scott wanted to send flowers, but Marty assured him she'd only be able to look at them through a window if an orderly or nurse brought them by for her to see. Instead, two weeks after the procedure, Scott and Kelly took a day and went to Rockford together where they bought a red maple sapling. Under Ashley's direction and Lil' Scotty's clapping and playing in the dirt, they planted Jill's "Recovery Tree" in the Anderson's front yard. Then they coaxed one of the neighbors walking by to take some pictures of them and the tree before heading up to the UW Hospital. After a thorough washing and donning masks, hospital robes and gloves, they were allowed a short visit. Jill was obviously very ill, but was in good spirits. Marty was obviously very exhausted, but his spirits were exactly where they always were. He was overjoyed at seeing Kelly, but couldn't even really kiss her on the cheek because of the mask. He did his best anyway and then gave her a big wet one after the'd left the room. And Scott had the pleasure of changing his godson's messy diapers in the family room down the hall. At this point, the kids weren't allowed into mommy's room at all, much to Ashley's consternation. She had the nurses pretty much wrapped around her finger, but they refused to budge on the visits into Jill's room.

Scott and Kelly had a bite to eat with Marty, Ashley and Lil' Scotty in the hospital's cafeteria before driving back home. John and Meredith joined them late, followed by Marty's mom, Shelly. Shelly was due to re-marry a really great guy in August, and both Scott and Kelly promised they'd be there. Marty said that the doctors were hoping to release Jill within the month to return to Rockford, but that it would be four, maybe six more months before she would be able to get out and about and that going back to work in a restaurant was practically out of the question. Continued chemo might be required, he said, depending on whether or not the donor marrow decided to raise hell with the rest of Jill's system. Ashley patted Scott's knee. "But she's gonna be okay now." She smiled a loving child's smile at her Uncle Scott. "She has a tree now. The tree will grow and so will mommy."

As much as she had initially hoped that the caucus ordeal would be over and forgotten by election time, the drama proved to be a real boon to Maureen McCarthy and Governor Ted Hackett. During the announcement of the indictments against Frick, District Attorney Kachelski publicly and loudly lauded the support and cooperation of Maureen and her staff and he praised the new legislation she'd introduced to stiffen the state's campaign finance and ethics laws. He enthusiastically endorsed her bid for Attorney General. Governor Ted Hackett quickly jumped on the bandwagon to tighten the laws and together he and Maureen donned the law and order' and clean government' badges in the summer and fall campaign.

The following January, the day after Hackett was sworn in for his fourth term as governor, and Maureen had taken the oath for her new position as the head of the state's Justice Department, Kachelski was named Deputy Attorney General. Scott could only chuckle at the announcement.

Big Scott's campaign was remarkable only for its lack of controversy. With the support of the district's outgoing senator and a popular governor who was steaming toward reelection, he enjoyed a deceptively easy walk into office against a very bland opponent. Even Marshall Oakes got on board in support of Big Scott and was rewarded with Maureen and Big Scott's support in his bid for the county board.

"Don't be deluded by all this calm, ya' old fart," Scotty had warned him more than once. "It's a different game once you get into the shit in Madison. You're gonna have somebody with tons of money and influence busting your balls over a single vote and you'll wish you were back home again writing wills and defending the downtrodden."

His dad would laugh and punch his arm. "Listen to you, you little smart assed shit; acting like the `sage on the stage' at the age of twenty."

Just before the election, Jeremy Frick was found guilty of four counts of violating the state's campaign finance and ethics laws and sentenced to five years in a minimum-security state prison. The State Bar Association promptly stripped him of his law license as well. Scott scoffed, "Should've been more."

After the election, Big Scott hired an associate to carry on the law office's business while he was in Madison. Stacia Montgomery was a sharp looking blond whose skirts fit her fine, in Scotty's opinion, and she had an impressive rack framed by the lapels of a nicely tailored jacket.

The addition of a new member to the office and the knowledge that Big Scott would be in Madison at least three days a week for the next four years, or more, gave the boss's executive assistant all the leverage she needed. "Mr. Turner!" Daisy practically shouted with a finger waving in his face, "You want me to break in and train this new chickadee in the `Ways of Daisy' and in working a good law office, AND handle a whole mess o' your clients by myself? And all the while you're gonna be down there in Madison makin' all big and everything with all those mucky muck fakers. Either Daisy gets a raise, or Daisy retires...here and now!" Big Scott smiled, raised his fees a little, cut some office expenses and offered her another seven grand a year. She was worth it, and he figured it'd only be a few years before she'd retire anyway. Plus, he knew that at least half of it would go to her church. It was closer to seventy percent.

Scott returned to Madison for the new school year in mid-August. He needed to get ready for the WSA's part in new students' welcome and orientation, and then he'd have to make sure everything was set for the fall elections. He smiled wide when he first saw the new bronze plaque adorning the front wall of the small building: "Jamieson Hall." He loved the plaque and it felt good to be a true lame duck.' True to form, Walter had left everything ready to go, neatly stacked in the office downstairs and upstairs on Scott's desk, complete with a to do' list. All Scott had to do was round up a few of the other members to volunteer to staff the tables for a couple of days down at The Union.

After returning to the apartment and burning a couple of hamburgers on the grill with Craig, his cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"

"Hi, Scotty! It's Abby! How are you, dear?"

"Well, son of a...er, gun! Abby Svendsen! How the heck are you? What a great surprise!"

Abby laughed at Scott's polite discretion. "Aw, say sonofabitch if you mean it, Scotty. I'm doing good, thanks. But I had to call you. I figure you're back on campus already?"

"Yep. Got back a few days ago. The cat and the dog are still sniffing around and getting reacquainted with our Madison digs. My mom spoiled them both rotten this summer, so I'm sure we'll be battling over the readjustment into their normal regimen of neglect. So, What's up?"

"You're not gonna believe this. I just got off the phone with Ted Hackett's chief of staff."

"Marsha? Whoa. She's..."

"I know. She's a raving bitch on wheels and a conniving one at that. But here's the deal: A circuit court judge in Waukesha county, the Honorable Mordacai Breech, has announced his resignation for `medical reasons.'"

Scott laughed. "Yeah, I read that. I hear that all his `medical reasons' come out of a bottle that's about eighty proof."

He could hear Abby nodding. "Me too. Anyway, that gives Hackett an appointment to make before the election in November. Guess who old Ted's going to appoint to the bench.?"

Scott thought for a second and then it hit him. "No! You gotta be shitting me!"

Abby giggled. "You really are Evelyn Turner's grandson, but you got it. Andrew J. Pennington, Attorney at Law. Can you say Judge Pennington?"

"Hoooo-llleeeee shit!" was all Scott could say.

"So guess who the guv' wants to move into the center chair on The Regents?"

"Oh, Abby! That'd be frigging great! I only got a year left with the gang, but with you as our chair, it'd be a breeze! Hot Damn!"

She sighed and paused. "One condition, Scotty. You have to agree to take over the finance committee as chair."

Scott's eyes clamped shut and his left hand rubbed his forehead. "Aw, shit, Abby. I've spent most of the past spring and summer trying to lighten my load. But changing majors and all, and with Dad's campaign still in full gear..."

"Scott, I told Marsha that I'd only take the center seat of The Regents if you'd take on the big committee."

"She must have had a friggin' cow when you told her that. I'm a trouble maker, don't ya' know?"

Abby giggled. "Not sure about the cow, but probably close. I know you're a trouble maker, and that's one of the reasons why I love ya' dear. You still remind me of your Gran' and we can do a lot of good together. Plus, it's only for a year."

Scott smiled big. "Okay, my dear. You got a deal. Tell Hackett's henchmen, or henchwoman, that we're good to go. Let's spend the year kickin' ass and takin' names."

Abby laughed again. "That's the spirit, Scotty! I'll call her back and warn her that you'll be in charge of the UW's finance committee, so she'd better play nice for a change."

Scott grinned again. "Tell her whatever you want. I'll see you at next month's meeting."

Curiosity finally got the better of him, so Scott made a few quiet inquiries as to the whereabouts of Elliot Lyman. He learned from a contact in the Registrar's office that Elliot apparently had second thoughts about graduate school at the UW. It seemed that he'd decided instead to enroll in a Master's of Divinity program at a small seminary in Indiana. Apparently, the young Holy Roller and soldier of God was going to follow in his father's divinely ordained footsteps. `Praise the Lord!' Scott chuckled.

The next morning, after making a few calls and securing the needed help for orientation, Scott went to the bookstore. He pulled out his first semester schedule: one course in political science with his old friend Professor Cushing; three education classes in adolescent psychology, instructional modifications for special education students and public school law. After scanning the shelves and filling a cart with several tomes from the world of education, he fumbled in his wallet for the credit card he used for school stuff. He looked at the strange titles in his load, none of the authors being familiar to him. He muttered to himself, "Jesus Christ, Turner! What have you done? You're out of your league." He smiled as he began stacking the books on the checkout counter.

The clerk scanned the books and began bagging them. "Another Ed. major, huh?"

Scott nodded. "Yep. You too?"

Mason, by his nametag, nodded back. "Elementary Ed. Going to start my student teaching with second graders in a couple weeks."

Scott blew out a sigh of admiration. "Whoa! I couldn't do it man. Those kids kind of scare me. I have a young niece and nephew, sort of, and they're both gonna be hell on wheels when they get to school. There's a special place in Heaven for you folks who work with that age all day."

Mason continued working through Scott's stack of books with an appreciative grin and his eyes widened. "Holy cow! Teen psych, special ed. and school law...all in the same semester? That's a load! Somebody's jumping in with both feet!"

Scott smiled again, puffed his chest out a bit and nodded. "Yes. Yes I am. I can hardly wait."

Mason's mouth, eyes and brows all smiled back. "Well, you know what we say, `Those who can, DO. Those who can do more, TEACH.'"

Scott laughed. "Let's hope so, huh? Good luck with the student teaching." He picked up two heavy bags of books and strolled toward the door, still smiling.

Author's Note: Well, this has been fun. Typing "The End" was rather bittersweet, but it'll have to do for now. Fifty chapters and one Epilogue after starting all this foolishness on a whim with "Strange Bedfellows," and I'm ready for a break.

I can't thank Kory and Scott H. enough for their constant help in the proof reading and editing of this effort. Those of you who have sent a friendly `the editing has improved' message have them to appreciate.

William Tyler King (Billy McBride) has been a constant delight throughout. I thought it was fun merely swapping smart-assed e-mails with him, but working with him on a chapter of "Fork" was a dream come true. Still, even though I'm pretty healthy again, I fear I won't live long enough to see the final chapter of "Reclaiming Austin." I'm not sure any of us will.

For their input and feedback on the story, and their all-around encouragement, big hugs go out to Peter A., Tim, Allan and Glenn.

I need to shout out huge thanks and lots of warm hugs to many of you for your continued reading and constant notes of support: Joe and John (and the delightful cards you guys send), Stephen (and your cards, too), my sweetheart Tracy, both Barry J. and Barry R., Phil, Tampa Joey, Chris C. and Darrin; and Don Hanratty has been most gracious and flattering. If you're not reading his work, get there now! Thanks, too, to Doug, Gabe, Homer, Jack, Jacob and James, and to Jason and Jeremie, Jim and both Justins. (Jeez! That's a lot of J's in my inbox.) Lamar, Larry and my buddy in DC, Les; Mark, Matt, Mike, Pat, the other Peter A. and Rock have all been fantastic; Angga, Stefan, Terry, Ted, Triggereo and Wayde too! All of your greetings and commentary on the story have been greatly valued.

And, to everybody who sent "Get Well" messages and other kind thoughts and prayers over the past months, Bless You. I'm fine thanks. Nearly 100% only five months later thanks to my good doctors and the physical therepy sadist, as well as your many kindnesses.

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! If I've overlooked you, I really apologize.

Like Scott Turner, Jr. I'm going to let it go for a time now. I've had some serious thoughts about finishing a trilogy, and have shared them with a few of you. At the moment, however, I have more than enough on my personal and professional plate calling for my attention. Like Scott Turner, Jr., I do believe the light's gone out on my dome. IF that third story does happen, and if you'd like to be notified, please sent me a message and I'll include you on a new distribution list that I'll compile. Please, just don't look for it anytime soon. Meantime, there are a lot of great authors out there for you to enjoy. And, PLEASE, PLEASE make a contribution to Nifty!!

So right now, if nobody minds (or even if you do), I think I'll go and pour a stiff bourbon, sit out back and watch the Orioles and the Cardinals, and that god-damned nasty Blue Jay, mix it up around the bird feeder.

Be Well,

--Scott