Owen

Owen

Chapter forty

By Roy Reinikainen

Jonah grabbed his favorite baseball cap from the hook next to his bedroom door, and checked himself in the hall mirror, frowning slightly. 'I do not like wearing shorts,' he thought to himself. 'Everyone looks good in shorts but me. I'm too slender.' He'd once voiced the concern to his brother; Owen had just shook his head.

"You are way sexy," Owen had said at the time. They had been in bed, talking . . . a nightly ritual. Jonah had blushed at the open admiration in his brother's eyes. "And, your legs are one of the best parts," Owen had continued, rolling to his side and throwing back the blanket to more closely examine his brother. "Most slender guys have wimpy legs; not you. You've got strong legs." He'd run his hands appreciatively over Jonah's thighs. "Great thighs." Owen had smiled, "And calves," he added, squeezing the firm leg muscle. Jonah had watched, captivated by his brother's examination, as well as the tender caresses.

"Of course," Owen continued, a mischievous look creeping over his face. "What's hanging between your legs ain't too bad either." He'd squeezed Jonah's cock, sending a jolt through the younger man. "You got the dick genes in the family, while I," Owen said proudly, as he stifled a laugh, "got all the brain."

"Hey!" Jonah had screeched, rolling on top of his brother, heedless of the fact that his father most likely would soon be pounding on their bedroom door, shouting for them to not waste energy they could better use working in the fields. "I've got a brain, too," Jonah shouted, trying to pin his squirming brother to the bed.

"Oh, yeah," Owen had teased. He'd held his thumb and forefinger close together. "A puny one, just like my dick." With that, he threw Jonah off him, then knelt on the bed and bashed his brother with one of the pillows. Jonah fell over, grabbing his brother in an expert move he'd perfected over years of similar battles. They rolled first one way, then another, until finally they rolled off the bed, amid shrieks of laughter, landing on the wooden floor with a hollow thud, and a whoosh of expelled breath. At precisely the same moment, their father angrily banged on their bedroom door, just as he always did whenever they were having fun.

'The old man even intrudes on my memories,' Jonah grumbled. 'I should never have figured it would all stop when he died. He's still being nasty, even from his grave.' He jammed the cap onto his head, and crossed the living room. "Mama," he shouted to his mother, who was, as usual, in the kitchen, "I'm goin' out for a walk. If I'm gonna be out late, I'll be over at Owen's." He swung the screen door wide, followed by his mother's shout of, "Have a good time."

"Yeah, right," he mumbled, as he strode across the gravel drive and out onto the dirt road. "I miss Owen!" he shouted, once he'd walked far enough for his mother not to hear his shout. "He's so busy helpin' everyone out, and working on his new relationship, that I hardly ever see him. He might as well be back at school."

Jonah couldn't help but smile when he recalled Owen's little friend, Nicky, proudly claiming that his big brother, Owen, was teaching him how to read. Ever since little Nicky's illness, and the time Owen spent with him, Owen had been his big brother. The claim had raised a few eyebrows, especially amid the stories Maxine, the grocer, watered and cultivated. Thankfully, for everyone involved, most people ignored Maxine, viewing her, the town's only grocer, as a necessary evil.

Jonah squatted down, and had ruffled Nicky's hair. "Owen's my big brother, too, y'know, and, just like he's doin' with you, he taught me to read." Nicky's eyes had widened.

"I listen really good," Nicky had smiled, sticking out his chest proudly. "Owen told me I'm the best student he's ever had!"

"Oooh, then you must be good, 'cause he's always teachin' someone something," Jonah had laughed. "Just pay attention to him. He'll make you a better person." Nicky had nodded, then turned and waved, as he ran towards home.

"Gotta go study!" he called. "Owen brought a book over for me to read! When we've finished, we're gonna play on the swings in the park!"

Jonah had shaken his head. 'Owen and his books.'

'If Owen were around, this would be just about perfect,' he thought, drawn once again to his surroundings, the dirt road and grey-green leaves of the trees overhead. 'I'm spendin' about all the time I can over at the greenhouses, before the workers begin hinting that maybe it would be better for me to wait until they're finished, before wandering around so much . . . and gettin' in their way.'

'Hell, Sam's not even around. He's always gone, taking rush classes over at the Community College, so he can manage the greenhouses, once they're open. He's also workin' with the teachers over there to truck in students for on-the-job training.

'Then, there's Lucas, who seems to have his fingers in everything goin' on in town. He's busy remodeling those buildings of his, and has just bought another building. He's not saying' anything about what's gonna be happening there, but I'm bettin' he's gonna open a grocery store and go into competition with ol' Maxine. After all, she's treated him like dirt, not even lettin' him buy stuff from her, claimin' to all those in the store that Lucas had shown up in town, with his big city ways, hoping to corrupt the town's boys.' When she'd verbally attacked Owen, who wasn't even present, Lucas had been pushed beyond endurance.

"The ol' girl hasn't learned that one does not mess with a Horton man," he'd said, during a meal at Bea's, where he was recounting the story. "Before long, she's going to be relegated to obscurity. No one's going to want to go to her place."

"And then there's Corey!" Jonah continued, as he strolled down the road. 'He said he was comin' out to Riverton. I don't know, though, if he's plannin' on staying, or what . . . or even when he's intending to come. That time we spent out in the field was great, just like when we masturbated, talking to each other on the phone. I wonder, though, if he thinks of me as just a kid. And, I have no idea when he intends to show up!

'So, here I am . . . horny, hungry, frustrated, and bored, walkin' around the countryside feelin' sorry for myself.' He shielded his eyes from the intense sun, looking through a gap in the trees lining the dirt road. The green fields rippled across the landscape, the plants bowing before a gentle breeze. The warm air softened the farthest horizon into a magical blue haze, while cumulous clouds, harbingers of high summer, towered into the sky, their bellies full of promising moisture.

"Yo, Jonah!"

He turned, a smile blossoming, at the sound of his brother's voice. "Yo, Owen!" he shouted, in return, raising an arm in greeting, drinking in the sight of the man trotting toward him. "I've been thinkin' about you," he called, the cloud hanging around his head suddenly evaporating.

"Oh yeah?" Owen asked, as he jogged to a stop and rested an arm across his brother's shoulders, matching steps. "I'm heading back to town. I've been over at Sam's mother's and father's place. Since I'm not doin' a whole lot, I've been spending a lot of time over there, giving Mrs. Bridgers a chance to get away. She's been dealing with Mister Bridgers' health for months, and it's taken a toll on her. Mister Bridgers and I do a lot of talkin'. I borrow some magazines from Art's Barber Shop and take 'em over. I do a lot of readin' to him, as he's layin' there in bed. Then, I hold onto him and we walk around the house n'stuff, talkin' about things I've read to him while we're workin' to get his strength back. He's been in bed so long his muscles have wasted away. He's gettin' stronger, but he still has a long way to go. I'm glad I'm able to help out. It's gotta be rough on Sam's mom." He turned to his brother. "Where are you headed?"

"I'm out, tryin' to walk off some frustration," Jonah mumbled. Owen glanced in his direction, but didn't pursue the comment. He realized, long ago, that it was always best to let Jonah approach things at his own speed.

"I like the bare skin," he grinned, as he reached over and tweaked one of his brother's nipples, causing Jonah to jump in surprise. "Very sexy.

"I remember when you were a scrawny kid," Owen added, in admiration. "Not any more. You've turned into a man who oozes sex appeal." He wiggled his eyebrows at his brother's incredulous look. "It's true. When I was at school, I saw lots of guys, but you've gotta be one of the sexiest."

Jonah bowed his head, knowing Owen could see his blush. "Yeah, well . . . thanks. I think that you're the sexy one in the family." He turned to Owen, whose arm still rested on his shoulders. "I was just thinkin' how much I'm missing you." He flicked a sideways glance at his brother. "I mean, even though you're in town, you're busy with Nicky, or the relationship, or Sam's dad, or whatever. Mister Bridgers, Nicky, Lucas and Sam have all of you, your attention . . . everything. I'm feelin' like you'n I are drifting apart." His voice, rough with suppressed emotion, rose as he spoke. "I don't want that to happen!" He paused, pleased when Owen moved closer, and gently rubbed a hand up and down his bare back. When his emotions were once again under control, he continued. "I don't want to lose my brother to Lucas and Sam, or Nicky . . . or . . . anyone."

"Oh, Jonah . . ." Owen spoke, his voice soft, and his hands warm. "I din't know you were feelin' like we're drifting apart. That'll never happen, you know. Not only 'cause we're brothers, but 'cause . . ." Owen shrugged. "You mean a lot more to me than just bein' my brother."

Owen smiled. He turned to Jonah. "I'm missin' you, too, but . . ." His eyes widened. "I've got an idea! Let's head over to Sally's Restaurant and get her to make us a take-out lunch. You n'I can then head over to our rock at the river, eat lunch, and spend the afternoon visitin'. Sound good?"

"Oh," Jonah sighed, his lips curling into a smile. "You have no idea how good."

"I haven't seen you boys together too much, lately," Sally smiled, handing them their lunch. "I always have thought how great it is that you're so close."

"Thanks, Sally," Owen said, after paying for the lunch. "We haven't been spendin' as much time together as we want." He held up his lunch. "That's what this is for. We're heading out to the river to eat, and enjoy the afternoon together."

"Geez," I didn't know you were going to lead me through the wilderness," Jonah laughingly complained, as he brushed a spider's web away from his face, a few steps behind Owen, who, as always, led the way, but had, somehow, missed the spider's web. "I'm gettin' hungry," Jonah continued, playing the part he'd always played. "I've gotta pee," followed a moment later by, "Are we there yet?"

They leapt from the shoulders of one rock to another, holding their arms out for balance, while, out in the river, fish jumped and played, hoping to nip a low flying insect out of the air. "Don't you dare drop our lunch," Jonah called. "I'm starving. I'd have to take out all my hunger-frustrations on you."

"Ha! Here we are! Just like always. This place never changes." The two men made their way across the last bit of marsh at the river's edge, then leapt onto the flat rock, their playground since they were children. The large slab was draped in dappled shade from a nearby oak, one of its enormous branches extending horizontally, impossibly far out over the river. Jonah followed his brother's lead, and kicked off his tennis shoes and dropped his shorts in a pile. They both stretched, reveling in their nakedness, and sat on the edge of the stone, dangling their feet in the cool water, while Owen distributed their lunch.

"This is so cool," Jonah said, scooting close enough to his brother that their shoulders were touching. "Being here, like this, with you." He put an arm around Owen's waist. "I've always loved this spot. It's like the cares and troubles of the world don't ever make it here." He pointed to the branch overhead and smiled, thinking how the climb up the trunk, and distance to the water, didn't appear nearly so daunting as it had when he was younger. "Remember how we used to climb out onto that branch and jump into the river? Just you n'me?" Jonah fondly smiled, looking around. The smell of damp earth hung on the still air, while the greenery surrounding them was alive with the chirping of crickets and the buzz of dragon flies searching for a meal.

Owen looked toward the branch, appearing to be watching two boys as they laughed, daring one another to jump into the slowly moving river. Owen's lips curved into a smile, recalling how his brother had once called, while perched on the branch, his wet skin glistening in the sunshine, "Y'think I can fly, Owen?" Without waiting for an answer, he leapt into the air, madly flapping his arms, appearing genuinely surprised when all he succeeded in doing was making a tremendous splash. A few moments later, he heaved himself out of the water and laughed. "That one didn't count!" he called, as he began climbing the tree. "I was just seein' if you were paying attention. I know what I did wrong."

Jonah followed his brother's gaze, conjuring his own recollections. He remembered the time he and Owen were playing at wrestling and had tumbled into the river. They'd both surfaced, sputtering between their laughter, then clambered back onto the rock to continue their horseplay.

'Thinkin' about Pops, like I did earlier, I'd forgotten all the good times Owen and I had when we were kids.'

Owen must have been thinking the same thing. When he looked at Jonah, he was no longer seeing the young brother who was convinced he could fly. He was seeing a handsome young man with whom he'd shared his entire life. Jonah had always been there for him, after every beating, or shouting match. He'd soothed the painful bruises, or held him while he cried, giving him the strength to face another day, by his mere presence. As Owen thought of all Jonah had done for him, he blinked away the moisture gathering in his eyes, and grinned.

"How're things goin'?" he asked. "Better since you and Sam decided to part ways?"

Jonah rested his head on his brother's shoulder. "Yeah, I guess. In some ways. Sam's doin' okay?" he asked, looking at his brother.

Owen nodded. "Yeah, he seems to be doin' good." He snorted a soft laugh. "I know I am doin' better, having him in my life." He glanced sideways. "I hope I'm not upsetting you by talkin' like that, about Sam n'me, that is."

Jonah tried to snuggle closer. "No, it's okay. Sam is where he needs to be, with you and Lucas." He studied his brother. "How'd that happen, by the way . . . the three of you, I mean. Can something like that work without everyone gettin' jealous, or something?"

"I'm sure hoping it can. So far, it seems to be working out. We all laugh a lot, acting like kids on the first day of summer vacation. To answer your question, though, it was Lucas who asked Sam to come and live with him and me. I don't think, at the time, at least, that he was really in love with Sam, or Sam with him. They liked one another, but love . . .? I still don't know if it'll ever happen. If it was only sex which determined whether two guys were in love, all three of us would be deeply in love. The sex is great. No one seems to feel left out. We sleep together, eat together, . . . we do everything together. But, bein' in love is about a lot more'n sex".

When it appeared that Owen might not continue, Jonah prompted. "And?"

"So . . . Lucas asked Sam to join us. He pushed aside whatever his real feelings were, and did his best to stop Sam from hurting, and gave both of us somethin' we desperately wanted. I was happy enough with Lucas . . . really happy in fact, but no matter how great the relationship we had, something important would have been missing, for me, if Sam wasn't part of my life. I think Sam feels the same. Lucas recognized our feelings, and did what he could to give all three of us a chance at happiness."

Owen's voice became husky. "I can't imagine what it took for him to do what he did."

"Yet, the two of us are here. Am I guessin' right, by thinking that it'd only take a word or two for the two of us to make love? I know, from my point of view, at least, that it wouldn't take much." Jonah grinned. "Maybe I'm just horny, but I think the way I feel is more than that. It's . . ." He shrugged. "It's how I'm feelin', that's all."

Owen rubbed a hand up and down his brother's bare back. "I know." There was a long pause. "I'm feelin' the same way. Maybe it'll happen at some time, but I'm thinkin', not today. Today is for just being together. We can tell each other how much we love the other by sittin' close, like this, and visiting, just as easily as by having sex." Owen swallowed.

"Sorry, but I get all emotional when I think of you and me, and what we went through to get where we are. Our past makes our relationship special. You n'I have experienced something neither Sam or Lucas have. We've both seen what Hell is like, and have lived to talk about it. I believe that, because of what we've gone through, that what you and I have goes way beyond what either of us will ever feel for another person. Not only 'cause we're brothers, but because we supported one another through those dark days. Actually, you did most of the supportin', I guess. And for that, there is no way I can thank you enough."

He thought a moment. "There's something more though. During those . . . times . . . we talked . . . " Owen seemed embarrassed by his confession. "You need to know that those talks of ours meant the world to me. More than the world. You took me seriously when no one else did. You didn't laugh at me, or ridicule me when I talked about my dreams. You humored me, lying at my side, in that big bed, looking at the pictures of far away places in the books I'd bring home from school, listening to me." He huffed a laugh. "Seems like I had a dream for each picture I saw, doesn't it?" Beside him, Jonah grinned in recollection. "Yet, you believed. And, that is something that not even Sam really did, at least not like you. Sam humored me. You believed in my dreams. You encouraged me when no one else did. You let me talk, and never, even once, laughed at me. The only other person to treat me like that is Mama." He tenderly kissed his brother's cheek, then smiled.

"Ever since then, I've found that, whenever I've wanted to talk about stuff, really serious stuff, I want to talk with you . . . not Lucas . . . not Sam, or even Mama, but . . . you. In fact, you'n I can say a lot just by being with each other, never saying anything. Today is like that. We're sittin' here having lunch, dangling our feet in the water, yet there's so much more going on."

He reached for his brother's hand and linked fingers. "You mean the world to me, Jonah . . . probably even more'n Lucas or Sam . . . and that's sayin' something. Thank you, for everything," he added, in a husky voice, ". . . more'n I can say."

The rusty blue Chevrolet, bucked, bounced once, twice, lurched forward, burped, then braked, seemingly of its own accord. It belched a cloud of noxious blue-grey smoke, before abruptly coming to a stop with a bronchial wheeze, throwing the two passengers forward. The car gasped once, then died, only feet from the curb in front of Art's Barber Shop. A moment later, something metal dropped to the pavement.

"Whoa, mama!" Corey nervously laughed, pleased to have finally completed the last, and most harrowing, thirteen miles of his trip to Riverton . . . with all his limbs, and the contents of his stomach, intact. "I feel like I've been rode hard and hung up wet!" He had accepted a ride, based on nothing more than the disarming smile of a man, scarcely older than himself, who claimed to have been making the short trip between Evanston and Riverton every day, "since the dawn of time."

'He's had that car since the first day he started making those daily trips,' Corey would have sworn, as he loosened his death-grip on the door's armrest. 'At least, I'm here, alive.'

His driver, Clyde McCorkle, rushed to the front of the car and raised the squeaky hood as Corey stepped free of his tangled seatbelt, on rubbery legs, and brushed the road dust from his clothing, willing his unsettled stomach to cease its protests. He looked down at the chrome door handle, the source of the metallic clink he'd heard as the engine gave up the ghost, and vowed that he'd never again accept a ride without first seeing the car in which he would be traveling.

"Well, dang!" Clyde swore, fists on hips, as he turned toward Corey, who had joined him, to peer at the steaming engine. "I wish I knew what I was looking at." He looked Corey up and down. "You know anything 'bout motors, by any chance?"

After an amused snort of a laugh, Corey answered. "Only enough to know that that steaming thing in front of us is an engine, not a motor. Beyond that, I'm sorry. Though . . ." he paused, pointing to a corroded rubber pipe which seemed to pulsate as it continued to smoke. "I don't think that do-hickey pipe-thing is supposed to be smoking like that. Do you?"

"Hell if I know!" Clyde shook his head in frustration, then puffed out a pent-up breath of frustration, and released the car hood. It screeched in protest as it fell, coughing a cloud of dust into the still air as it slammed shut.

Corey handed his driver the discarded door pull, then watched in amusement as Clyde kicked the car's bumper in exasperation.

"Dang!" the driver shouted. He was about to kick the bumper a second time, but abruptly stopped, took out a red handkerchief, and wiped the corroded chrome bumper, as if buffing out a slight imperfection, as he turned a sheepish smile in Corey's direction.

Clyde glanced at the car, then toward Corey. "Maybe she needs gas or somethin', y'think? The gas gauge don't work, so it's always a guessing game between ol' Bessie n'me. The ol' girl n'I got you here, though," he smiled, proudly, giving the car a gentle pat.

"That you . . . ahem . . . it . . . she . . . did," Corey laughed. "Alive, and in one piece." 'And, in only in little over an hour, to cover thirteen miles,' he thought to himself, as he followed Clyde to the over-full trunk, where his bags had been placed atop the driver's worldly possessions. He took his two bags and gave his driver the agreed upon fee, plus a twenty dollar tip. "Do something nice for ol' Bessie," he smiled, patting the car's fender. Then, thinking of how Bailey would have reacted to the vehicle, he smiled, and brushed his hand free of dust, flecks of blue paint, and rust.

"Thanks for the ride." He shook the driver's hand. "I hope you'll make it home okay."

"Well, my sister's husband's brother-in-law owns a tow truck. He's gotten Bessie n'me out of some tight spots a couple times. I can give him a call, if need be." The driver's wonderful smile flashed. "Thanks for the extra money though. Maybe I'll get some gas, or somethin'. Bessie'll probably be thankful for a good drink." He laughed at his own joke. Then, with a casual salute, returned to the front of the car, where he raised the squeaky hood and peered inside, scratching his head.

Art's barber shop was the only place, nearby, that Corey was at all familiar with. So, after tossing a distracted wave in Clyde's direction, he stepped into the coolness of the shop, heavy with the fragrances of after shave.

"Dang," followed him into the shop. Art stepped from the back room, where he'd apparently been hiding from the driver of the Chevrolet, and smiled a greeting.

"It's Corey, right?" he asked, engulfing Corey's hand. "You're Owen's and Lucas' friend." He gestured toward the open door. "I see you met Clyde and experienced his taxi service, as well as ol' Bessie."

Corey laughed, accepting a seat from the large man. "Yeah, it certainly was an experience." He smiled his thanks, as Art handed him an orange soda, then lifted the cold bottle in a toast, before taking a long drink. "I haven't had an orange soda in years," he grinned. "Kinda makes me feel like a kid again." He tilted his head toward the rusty blue Chevrolet. "How'd the car get a name like Bessie?"

"Oh," Art waved a dismissive hand, as Corey tilted the bottle back to finish the drink. "That was the name of farmer Swanson's cow that Clyde hit, five or ten years ago."

Corey was barely able to swallow, before sputtering a laugh. "A cow!"

"Yeah, caused a right mess, Clyde did; then complained for months, asking if anyone realized how difficult it was to pound out the large dent made by poor Bessie. Of course, he was using a regular carpenter's hammer to do the job."

"No!" Corey laughed. "You're making this up!" He looked at Art, as if over his glasses. The look, as one of his college professors had dubbed it, had been successful in coercing confessions from any number of wayward students he'd dealt with, while serving as a student teacher.

Art grinned. "Well . . . yes . . . about the hammer, I am, but not about poor Bessie. Ol' man Swanson was . . . and still is . . . put out with our friend, Clyde. Hell," Art laughed, warming to his story, "ol' man Swanson, couldn't even eat poor Bessie. He's a vegetarian!" He slapped his leg, amused at his own humor, and Corey's carefree laughter.

Art glanced at the two bulging bags, lying at Corey's feet. "Are you here for another visit?" he asked, taking the empty bottle from Corey and setting it on the counter, alongside all his barbering paraphernalia.

"No; actually, I'm hoping to stay." Art's smile widened. "Y'see, I grew up in a small town. It's way different than Riverton, but," Corey shrugged, "this place is nice. I feel at home here. I don't feel at home in the city where I went to school. Besides," he smiled, "the weather's better here. Back there, most of the time it's as cold as an old maid in March." Art threw back his head and laughed, a deep sound which invited others to join in.

"I love it!" he chortled. "You're just what Riverton needs." In answer to Corey's raised brows, he added. "Laughter!"

"D'you know where I can find any of the guys, Lucas, Owen, Sam . . . Jonah?"

"Funny you should ask." Art stood and walked the few paces to the door to his shop, then shouted across the street, ignoring the man and his car, only feet away. "Hey, Lucas!" Corey had turned to watch Art, and saw Lucas, wearing a tight white shirt and jeans, look up at his name. He raised his arm to say hello, but Art motioned for him to come over.

Lucas crossed the street, giving the car in front of the shop an uncertain look. "What's that all about?" he asked, not yet seeing Corey.

"Dang!" There was a grating sound, followed by an asthmatic gasp, and the engine was resurrected, for yet another trip.

"A friend is here to see you," Art grinned, gathering Lucas close with an arm over his shoulder.

"Huh?" There was the briefest of pauses. "Corey!" Lucas rushed to the standing man and wrapped him in an embrace. "Welcome! Welcome! Jonah told us you were planning to visit, but I had no idea it would be so soon." Lucas looked from Corey to Art, then back. "Has Art asked you if you need a haircut yet?"

Art dismissed the question with a casual hand motion and a laugh. "Naw, the young man and I were visiting. I haven't had a chance. He's been telling me about an old maid he knows, who lives in a drafty house, or something like that." Art smiled at Corey's surprised expression, and Lucas' puzzled frown, then greeted a customer.

"Gotta go to work, boys," he said. "Glad you've decided to move here, Corey," he added, as Lucas guided his friend out of the shop. In the distance, the Chevrolet spit and sputtered, as it slowly made its way down the street.

"The building remodeling's almost done," Sam spoke into the phone. His almost-daily telephone conversations with Bailey had brought him closer to the man than he'd ever expected. They'd not only spoken about Bailey's Riverton project, but about one another's love life, Sam and Jonah's split, then, Bailey and Corey's.

"It's for the best," Bailey had told him. "Still, I feel as if all I've done in my relationship with Corey was take . . . take . . ." his voice faded, "take. He's been like a fountain, always giving of himself, never asking for anything in return." Bailey softly snorted. "Does that remind you of anyone else, we both know?"

"Corey spoke with Jonah," Sam said, hoping he wasn't giving away any secrets.

Bailey broke in. "Yes, he told me that he's planning on heading out to Riverton to see you guys, and to, hopefully, find employment. He's practically spending his last dime to make it out there, so I hope everything works out for him, since he won't have enough money to get back." Bailey seemed to hesitate. "Sam, would you . . .?"

"Let you know if Corey needs help?" Sam supplied, when he wasn't sure whether Bailey would continue. "Sure," Sam added. "But, even if he doesn't find work as a teacher, I imagine he'll be able to find something."

"Well, him finding work is the last of my worries, actually. I'm more concerned that he'll become discouraged too quickly . . . before our plans, yours and mine, come to fruition. He needs to stay there, at least until then. After that, he'll have the job he needs."

"But . . . Bailey," Sam hesitated. "All this building and stuff is well and good, but how's it to be kept going? The town is too small to be able to support the things you're building. We once were larger, but . . . over the years . . . things sorta faded away, and stuff moved to Evanston. We . . . all of us in Riverton . . . have always felt like the ugly step-sister to all those folks in Evanston."

Bailey laughed. "Lucas'll change much of that. Once his enterprise gets off its feet, those people in Evanston will be admiring Riverton, I assure you. As for funding my projects . . . it has been taken care of. There's nothing to worry about. A foundation has been set up, which will cover all costs for the foreseeable future. So, don't be concerned. That covers everything - salaries, equipment, whatever."

Sam shook his head. "You'll have to forgive me, Bailey," he said, once the silence had caused Bailey to ask if everything was okay. "You so casually speak of, what I consider, vast sums of money. I . . ." he laughed . . . "I . . . I've just never encountered anything like this project, or . . . you . . . before. That's a compliment," he hastened to add. "I'm just floored by it, that's all. You've certainly got the entire town scratching their heads. The workers are making bets as to what they're working on. It's funny to listen to them."

"They're doing a good job?" Bailey asked.

"Oh, yes. I hover over them like the mean step-mother. No one gets away with anything."

"Are you happy, Sam?" Bailey asked. "I mean, not being in a relationship with Jonah."

"I am more happy than I have ever been . . . in my whole life. In fact, I get all fluttery in my stomach, thinkin' how wonderful the world suddenly is. My father's finally home from the hospital, and, even though I'm not in a relationship with Jonah, I am in a relationship with the man I have always loved . . . and . . . Lucas, for whom I have great admiration."

"Do you love him?" Bailey had asked.

Sam paused. "I care for him a great deal. You have to remember, I've only known Lucas for a short while. I've known Owen my entire life. Owen tends to make decisions, about relationships and stuff, quickly. I don't."

"How'd you three end up together? When Corey told me about the arrangement, I must admit, I found it unusual. Do you think it can work, in the long run?"

"We three ended up in the relationship we're in because of Lucas. He was wonderful, Bailey. Absolutely wonderful. A couple times . . . when Jonah and I were still together . . . he told me that his idea of a perfect relationship would be for him and Owen and me to be living together." Sam softly snorted. "I sorta laughed at him. I thought he was just talkin'. I know how deeply he feels for Owen, and Owen for him. At the same time, I know that what Owen and I feel for one another has never changed . . . not when Owen was at school . . . not when I was with Jonah. Those feelings, though, caused difficulties, when I was living with Jonah. As wonderful a man as he is, he isn't the man I've loved all my life, and I think he felt it. I'm glad he did what he did, settin' me free, so-to-speak."

Sam took a deep breath. "Well, when Jonah and I separated, I think Lucas waited for either Owen or me to do or say something about . . . whatever. When that didn't happen, he took it upon himself to do it for us."

Sam sighed. "Bailey, he was wonderful. He cares about Owen enough that he was willing to invite me into their relationship, just to make Owen, and me, happy. If it had been just him and me, we wouldn't be livin' together; at least not until we'd grown to know one another better.

"You asked if I love Lucas. I'd have to say, not yet, but that I think what he did for Owen was one of the most unselfish things I've ever heard of, and certainly is the most unselfish act I've ever experienced. He's been wonderful, Bailey. I am included in everything that happens. If he's had second thoughts about what he asked, I haven't been able to detect them. He's been wonderful to me . . . as wonderful as he's been to Owen. It's as if I've been a part of that relationship from the start."

"Lucas is an outstanding individual," Bailey added. "He always has been, ever since he was a child. He even treated me . . . well . . . when I was behaving at my worst. You and Owen are lucky to be in a relationship with him, just as he is to be in one with you and Owen. I hope things work out well for all three of you."

"What about you? Now that you and Corey are no longer together."

"That is a puzzle." Bailey sighed. "The only gay person I knew, after Owen and Lucas moved away, was Corey. Now that he's gone, I don't know. He made everything so easy. He's so outgoing that I never realized how much I depended upon him in social situations. I'm still not very confident that I'll be able to behave correctly, when I'm in an unusual situation. If I have time to think about things and what I'm going to say, and how I'm supposed to behave, I can usually muddle through, but if I'm suddenly thrown into a social situation, like a party, or something, I freeze, and either do whatever I can to escape, or, even worse, start behaving like my old self. I start babbling, saying all the wrong things. I'm just not thinking! I've come to realize that being with Corey was something like using a crutch. Now, the crutch has been removed and it's time for me to stand on my own. So far, I've been able to do it, but I'm behaving pretty conservatively."

"No parties?" Sam laughed.

"Definitely not. Hardly any social interaction whatsoever."

"Bailey . . ."

"Oh, I know. It's not good. You're right. I just need to meet someone like Corey."

"Wouldn't that be like getting a new crutch?"

"Yeah, well . . ."

"D'ya think we should be heading back?" Owen asked, from where he lay at his brother's side. The sun-warmed rock was beginning to cool, now that the afternoon shadows had deepened. "Before long, it's gonna be dark, and we won't be able to find our way back to shore."

"And the gators will be out," Jonah teased, bringing up one of the things Owen had frightened him with, when they were much younger.

"Hmm." Owen snorted. "You would remember that."

"How could I not? You had me convinced I'd be eaten alive if I was near the river after dark. Stupid me, never thought to ask Mama if there really were alligators out here. I mean you told me there were. That was enough." Jonah playfully punched his brother's shoulder. "Whenever you say something . . . anything, Owen, I believe you, so don't go messin' with my mind about anything, okay?"

Owen rubbed a thumb over the palm of his brother's hand. "It's a promise. No more gator stories, or anything else like that." He reluctantly rolled to his knees, then stood, helping Jonah to his feet.

"Thank you for spending the afternoon with me, Owen. I'll always remember today and how special you've made me feel." A moist warm breeze blew across the river, caressing their bare skin, as the dappled shadows of late afternoon shifted, and the two men shared a lingering kiss. Until today, they had never kissed. That they did now, was a measure of how their relationship had changed, in the hours they'd spent by the riverside.

Owen slowly, reluctantly, released his brother and smiled crookedly. "I feel the same. We're both gonna be leaving this rock with more than we brought to it, aren't we?" He handed Jonah his cast off shorts, still with a t-shirt stuffed in the back pocket; then picked up his own shorts, and nearby shirt.

"Do you love him?" Owen asked, looking up from tying his shoes. "Corey, I mean," he continued, as he smoothed his brother's hair away from his forehead.

"I want to. But, wantin' something doesn't make it so. I'm afraid to answer 'yes', 'cause I really hardly know him yet. He seems to be everything I want in a guy." Jonah smiled, and rubbed the tip of his nose over Owen's. "Next to my big brother, he's the most perfect man I've ever known.

"He's sad though, isn't he?" Jonah asked, looking into his brother's eyes, wondering if he would see some sort of evasion. He didn't.

The two men gathered up the remnants of their lunch, and the paper bag it had been carried in, and scrambled across the rocks and onto the shore, then joined hands. Owen spoke slowly. "Yes, his childhood was pretty awful; in many ways, more awful than ours, primarily because he didn't have someone like you to hold at night. It's not my place to talk about it all, and I haven't said anything he wouldn't readily tell you. He's got to talk about what went on. He's kept things hidden from both himself and everyone else for too long."

He turned to Jonah, who was listening with wide eyes, trying to imagine anyone's childhood being worse than his and Owen's. "And, when he does start talkin', don't let him gloss over the details, making light of his hurts. He'll try to use humor to do that, from force of habit. Humor is one way he uses to cope with things which are too emotionally strong for him to deal with." He turned to Jonah. "Oh, he's not hiding something every time he tells a joke, but . . . you know what I mean." Jonah began to shake his head, then quickly switched to a nod, not exactly sure what Owen was getting at. "He and I have talked about growing up, but I'm sure he's holding stuff in. He needs to talk. He's full of pain . . . and, anger."

Owen's eyes changed, as he turned to his brother as the sun sank below the distant horizon. The towering clouds, which had been hovering all afternoon, were still there, painted in glowing colors by the light of the sun. Black specks, birds, wheeled above the fields, and the night insects were beginning their calls.

"Whatever you do, Jonah, don't judge his folks. What happened was years ago, and I believe, that, if given a chance, his folks and Corey could patch things up. That's just a guess, but I'm bettin' it's true. He won't want to hear that. He won't want to even consider it, but he should . . . at least try . . . to make peace."

Jonah nodded, tightening his embrace, wondering if the hint of a chill was real, or only imagined. 'A childhood worse than Owen's and mine? Someone worse than Pops?'

"I've gotta tell you something else."

Jonah nodded, his smile faltering.

Owen kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for saying that I'm the kind of guy you'd look for in a lover. That means a lot to me." He smiled crookedly, as Jonah lowered his eyes, a pink flush coloring his cheeks.

"Move?" Lucas asked. "Did I hear right?" He stepped into the street, carrying one of Corey's bulging bags. Corey followed a step behind, stopping at the curb to look both directions. He couldn't help but wonder if Clyde and Bessie-the-taxi, were going to make it back to Evanston. 'He's a survivor,' Corey thought, 'he'll be okay,' he told himself, as he followed Lucas across the street, toward three buildings, one of which still had scaffolding adorning the outside.

"Yeah. Depends on how things work out, but . . . I'd sure like to." He hefted his two remaining bags, thinking the airline people might have been right, and he should have left some stuff back in his apartment. As it was, there were some things which would have to be shipped. They were too precious to him to be trusted to airline baggage handlers. "Bailey's looking out after my place, though, just in case I have to go back."

"Good for him." Lucas held the door to the entrance lobby for Corey. "Geez, what do you have in here, your weight set?"

"One third of my worldly possessions," Corey laughed. "I'm carrying the other two thirds. After all, I don't know when I'm going to be able to get back and pick up the rest of my stuff."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" When Corey nodded, Lucas asked. "Are things really okay between you and Bailey? I mean, really?"

"They are," Corey replied. "Bailey and I were cut out to be good friends, not lovers. Our time together was important, for both of us. We both grew, knowing that someone was nearby who cared, but," he shook his head, as he and Lucas climbed the stairs to the second floor apartment. "But, after I graduated, the time had come for me to leave the city, which meant both of us needed to be set free, since it would have been impossible for him to follow me. I hated that things ended up the way they did, as did Bailey. But, it had to be done, and we both knew it." He grinned. "In some ways, we're closer now than we ever were. There isn't that fear that one of us is gonna be asking the other to live in a place we're not cut out for."

"Any special reason you think Riverton is the place you want to settle?" Lucas grinned, looking over his shoulder, as they paused on the landing between two apartments."

Corey blushed. "Sorta . . ."

"Jonah?" Lucas teased, as he slipped the key into the oversized door and listened to the lock click open.

"You know he's the reason, Lucas. D'ya think I have any chance, or am I just running around like a chicken with its head cut off? I mean, he seems happy to talk to me on the phone, but . . . am I reading too much into how he sounds? Geez, I hope not. I've not been able to think about hardly anything else, ever since I met him. Damn, I'm as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

"Easy, easy," Lucas laughed, as he opened the door to the apartment and motioned for Corey to enter, trying to nudge the heavy bag into the apartment with the toe of his shoe. It wouldn't budge. 'I'm not cut out for heavy lifting,' he grumbled, to himself, reminding himself of the old Bailey. When Corey looked over his shoulder to see if everything was okay, Lucas did his best to grin, and not drop the bag. 'It stays there until someone else moves it. I carried the thing up the stairs; I'm not moving it another inch.' He brushed his hands together, then looked up in surprise at Corey's exclamation.

"Whoa! It's like I just stepped into one of those fancy home magazine pictures!" He turned to Lucas, his eyes wide. "This is yours?"

"Mine, Owen's, and Sam's. In fact, there's one very similar to it, next door. If things work out for you and Jonah, I'd be happy if you guys would move in. It'd be great to have neighbors."

"Oh, Lucas . . ." Corey slowly shook his head, unable to envision himself in such surroundings. "Even if I had a job, I don't think I'd ever be able to afford the rent on a place like this." He wandered across the living room, dragging his fingertips over the back of one of the leather chairs as he examined the home, pausing before a huge photograph of the city in which he'd spent four years of his life, and had been Lucas' home. The buildings sparkled like jewels in the setting sun, reflecting off the still water of the lake. "I never ever thought I'd even see a place like this." He turned to Lucas and smiled.

"I wouldn't be asking for rent," Lucas added, as he stood by Corey's side, at the kitchen island. "I'm saying that if you and Jonah end up as a couple, I'd like to have you both as neighbors. The apartment's free, for as long as you'd like to live there. If the three of us are too loud for you guys, of course, you'd be free to move to someplace more quiet, but the walls here are way-thick." He held his hands apart, indicating the thickness of the walls. "I know, because we've had to cut holes through them in a few places. The contractor hated me," he grinned. "Anyhow, if you guys move in, I don't think you'll hear anything that goes on over here, and you guys could be as loud as you like." He grinned when Corey blushed and bowed his head.

Corey shook his head in disbelief. "Oh, Lucas, I . . . thanks, but I . . ." He was interrupted by the sound of Owen's voice. He was laughing and talking with someone. Corey looked up, anxiety written on his face. He flicked a glance in Lucas' direction, then turned toward the apartment's door, as it opened.

"Hey, guys," Lucas called, the moment the door swung wide. "We have a guest, so be nice."

"Corey!" Jonah called, his voice exultant.

~ to be continued ~

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