White Oak/Black Mahogany Duet

By Emily Carrington

Can love be shield, sword, and healing balm for this troubled couple?

White Oak: When Mike, a sheltered nineteen year old, is hired to assist a blind high school senior, he isn’t prepared for his attraction to Aidan, or the residual fear caused by being back at the high school. The man who tormented Mike and made him ashamed of being himself will stop at nothing, including murder, to ensure Mike’s silence.

Black Mahogany: When the man who molested Aidan’s lover escapes a pedophile charge, Aidan will stop at nothing to keep Mike safe. But Mike can’t imagine leaving the town he’s lived in all his life. If they can’t find a way through this impasse, their fledgling relationship will die before it can grow deep enough roots.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Mar 21, 2020

Book preview

White Oak/Black Mahogany Duet (Heartwood 1)

Emily Carrington

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2020 Emily Carrington

BIN: 009286-03007

Second Edition

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Changeling Press LLC

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www.ChangelingPress.com

Anthology Editor: Karen Williams

Cover Artist: Angela Knight

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

White Oak/Black Mahogany Duet (Heartwood 1)

White Oak

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Black Mahogany

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Emily Carrington

White Oak/Black Mahogany Duet (Heartwood 1)

Emily Carrington

Can love be shield, sword, and healing balm for this troubled couple?

White Oak: When Mike, a sheltered nineteen year old, is hired to assist a blind high school senior, he isn’t prepared for his attraction to Aidan, or the residual fear caused by being back at the high school. The man who tormented Mike and made him ashamed of being himself will stop at nothing, including murder, to ensure Mike’s silence.

Black Mahogany: When the man who molested Aidan’s lover escapes a pedophile charge, Aidan will stop at nothing to keep Mike safe. But Mike can’t imagine leaving the town he’s lived in all his life. If they can’t find a way through this impasse, their fledgling relationship will die before it can grow deep enough roots.

White Oak

Emily Carrington

Mike Delaney, a sheltered nineteen year old, is hired to assist Aidan Kelly, a blind high school senior with a rainbow for every occasion. He isn’t prepared for his attraction to Aidan, or the residual fear caused by being back at the high school.

Aidan Kelly, also nineteen years old, was forced to transfer to the new school after a violent altercation with another student, and recognizes and welcomes his attraction to Mike. Even though he finally persuades Mike to open his closet door, Aidan learns there’s a reason that door was locked closed in the first place.

The man who tormented Mike and made him ashamed of being himself is still very much in his life, and will stop at nothing, including murder, to ensure Mike’s silence. Can Mike draw enough strength from his love for Aidan to end the torment? Can Aidan, who has cause to fear his violent side, overcome his terror of his own abilities long enough to defeat Mike’s tormentor?

Prologue

Aidan rested his hand on the cool metal of the banister and listened. Around him, the Golden Hills School for the Blind felt somnolent. He lifted the tip of his white cane so it wouldn’t make noise against the stair risers, and started down to the first floor.

"Get out of my room."

Aidan winced at his ex’s remembered voice. He’d never seen lightning, but he understood its split-second, destructive power. If the fork of a deadly lightning strike from earth to sky took on human speech, Erik’s voice would be its twin.

The moment Aidan reached the first floor, his pace doubled. With the tip of his cane still not touching the floor, he sensed rather than ran into the wall across from the western staircase. Reaching out, he brushed the fingers of his left hand over a topographical map of Golden Hills. Turning his head slightly, he listened. No one knew he was out of bed. Just like the last ten nights.

Aidan faced his right shoulder to the map, touched his cane to the floor, and started for one of the few places he might find peace. It was unseasonably chilly tonight -- too cold to sneak into the clock tower without a jacket.

As if woken by his thoughts, the electronic bells in the Santa Maria clock tower shattered the silence. Midnight. He’d gotten an earlier start than usual. That wasn’t safe. If his roommate woke up, realized he was gone, and notified someone, Aidan’s times to be alone would all but disappear.

I’ll set my watch for one tomorrow, he muttered as he reached the end of the hall and turned right. I can wait an extra hour. His lips twitched. I’ll be damned if my relationship with Erik is going to fuck up anything else. Wasn’t it enough that he’d become an insomniac and more on edge than a Goth girl in a sundress?

A sound like rough-grained sandpaper rubbing against wood, or maybe shuffling feet, reached his ears. Aidan paused, again lifting his cane tip. The noises emerged as frightened messengers from up ahead and to his right.

The training room. He approached on the balls of his feet, trailing his free hand along the wall just in front of him. If the door was open, he wanted to know. Who’s in there?

He paused when his fingers rested against the still-closed door. Now he could hear ragged breathing punctuated by quiet grunts. The students’ curfew varied from eight thirty to eleven, depending on their ages, but all the public areas, except the lounge, were off-limits after five.

Which means I shouldn’t be here either. That idea brought no guilt. Since Erik had broken up with him, Aidan had gladly taken to wandering the grounds in the small hours of the morning. How else could he be alone to figure out what he’d done wrong? On the other hand I’m pretty sure my little habit rounded the corner between helpful and annoying last week. Now the insomnia’s getting to me.

His brief and sensational brush with politics was two months gone. Erik’s angry words were nearly a month cold. Neither truth changed this simple fact: Aidan couldn’t sleep. He didn’t exactly blame his insomnia on Erik… but if Erik hadn’t gone so far in his "I’m not gay; Aidan Kelly was lying on national television" campaign, maybe I wouldn’t be so… What’s the word Minamoto-sensei used? He snorted. Tense.

He refocused on the half-strangled sound bleeding out of the training room. Whoever’s in there sounds as hurt as I feel. Since Minamoto-sensei said sometimes the best way to heal is to help others heal…

With his karate teacher’s motto foremost in his mind, Aidan pushed the door, unsurprised to find the lock taped open. He slipped inside, settling the door silently closed behind him, and took off his shoes before stepping onto the training mat.

He smiled humorlessly. I guess habits die hard, even at midnight.

Whoever was training didn’t hear him. The labored breathing went on. Now Aidan heard the hitch of a repressed sob in every third or fourth breath, and his heart tightened in sympathy. If this is who I think it is… He clenched his hands in an effort to hold in his rage. If this was Kyle, the younger student might not understand the anger could never be directed at him. Kyle’s father deserved all of Aidan’s rage, as well as the physical punishment Aidan longed to dole out. Aidan crossed the mat, not making any attempt to soften his footsteps. Voice quiet, gentle, he asked, Who’s in here?

A startled cry answered him. I’m… I’m armed. Stay away from me.

He stopped walking. Kyle, it’s me. Aidan.

Silence.

Remember? Minamoto-sensei asked me to sit in when he talked to you last week. We had green tea in his office, and you said it tasted like chalk. I agreed, but didn’t have the courage to admit it.

He heard the other student running toward him, heard Kyle was slightly off to his right, and stepped in that direction. He caught the fourteen year old in his arms and held him.

I know I’m not supposed to be in here, Kyle said. He shuddered once and pulled away.

You’re here looking for something. So am I. We both have the right. Sit down with me. Let’s talk. He settled on the mat, listening to Kyle do the same. What’s up?

Kyle laughed a little. He sounded nervous. I thought I could pound out my anger on a BOB.

Thinking of the roughly man-shaped rubber dummies they practiced on during class, and remembering how many times he’d made his knuckles bleed until their teacher had taken him aside, Aidan asked, How’s it going?

I keep missing. Or overbalancing. Then when I do make contact, it’s so hard it’s like… There’s no grace in it.

You’re going to be the poet you told us you want to be. Fury burned the back of Aidan’s throat. I’m glad the sick bastard didn’t ruin that for you.

Kyle said, I can’t figure out why I keep missing.

You’re focusing on what you feel instead of how the air feels around you.

"Yeah, well, it’s kinda hard to focus on the fucking air when I know the court’s going to let him go."

Aidan didn’t raise his voice. How do you know?

Look at me! I’m a stereotypical faggot! Short, quiet --

Who says you’re quiet?

Fuck you. But Kyle laughed. A little. "I’ve got delicate features like a girl. He said so."

Aidan clenched his hands until his nails dug deep into his palms. Have you ever had a dream? About anybody?

Like who? A supermodel?

Or anyone in your classes?

Kyle didn’t answer for several long seconds. Then, almost too soft for Aidan to hear: I had my first, you know, wet dream about Eunique Rivers. She’s, um, a purple belt too. We were sparring once, and I accidentally grabbed her ti -- boo -- breast.

Aidan repressed a grin, partially because he didn’t know Kyle’s level of visual impairment, but mostly because he thought the expression would come through in his voice. I’m cool with you calling them tits.

"But aren’t you, uh, you know…"

Gay?

Yeah. Kyle coughed. "I didn’t mean to say, you know, faggot before. It’s just that if all f -- gay guys are like him, I don’t want to ever be one. Or be near one. Except you, Aidan. You won’t hurt me. You’ve been helping teach my class since I was a white belt. I know you."

Do all straight guys rape women?

No! Jeez!

Then…

Oh. Shit, I’m an idiot.

No, you’re not. That was easier than I thought. Here comes the hard part. Maybe.

He paused as a sound, maybe just a phantom creaking, attracted his attention. If he’d been sitting with anyone else, he would have asked if they’d heard it too. Kyle didn’t need to be put back on high alert. It’s probably just lack of sleep. Forgive me for this, but I promised you I’d never tiptoe around you or use euphemisms.

You-fo-whats?

Aidan spoke as gently as he could. Like saying ‘touch’ when what I mean is sexually abuse or ‘hurt’ when what I mean is rape. What I need you to know is this: rape and abuse don’t change your sexuality. If you’re gay, you were already gay. If you’re straight, you were already straight. If you’re bisexual, you’re bisexual. Do you understand?

He thought he heard another noise, this one much closer. Paranoia or not, he couldn’t ignore it. He shifted slightly so he was between Kyle and the door.

I guess.

Do you believe me?

Kyle took a moment to answer. That’s not what my sister says.

I’ll send you the scientific proof if you want.

There’s proof?

Yup.

Okay. He sounded more relaxed. Can I ask you a question?

Aidan heard a third sound, but it seemed to be retreating. It’s my imagination after all. Anything.

No one hurt -- his voice dropped --r-raped you? Before you realized you were interested in guys?

No one’s ever raped me. Or sexually abused me. And I knew I was gay when I was fourteen. He felt unaccountably sick. It wasn’t fair that he hadn’t been attacked and Kyle had. Kyle, I --

But it seemed Kyle had made the emotional leap. He was crying all out now, his sobs echoing off the walls. "Why did he -- Why?"

Unable to answer that, Aidan only held him until two teachers found them.

* * *

The next morning, Saturday, Aidan waited for Kyle in the training room. "If you like training so much, Minamoto-sensei had told them the night before, you may practice two hours every school day and four hours on Saturday and Sunday. Don’t start until one of the teachers is present."

Aidan arrived ten minutes early, but the training room door was open. He took off his shoes and began his stretches. He knew what a four-hour training session meant: physical and mental exhaustion.

This is more of a punishment than anything the principal would have done to us, he told the silent room.

He yawned. But maybe it will help me sleep.

Two o’clock had come and gone before anyone escorted them back to their rooms the night before. I don’t know about him, but I still couldn’t sleep. Maybe being so tired I can’t move at the end of every day will help.

The sound of running feet startled him out of his thoughts. Aidan remembered something his older brother had said, "Running in a school for the blind is rare as snow in May."

Aidan pushed himself up, strode off the mat, caught up his cane where he’d left it leaning against the wall by his shoes, and slipped out into the hall.

Damn it, said a voice Aidan didn’t know, he stepped on my --

Another voice echoed hollowly. Shut up.

Erik? He shook his head. Everyone just sounds like him because I can’t get him out of my head. Maybe that was true, but now Aidan could hear shuffling noises and the muffled sound of someone trying to speak. He set his cane soundlessly on the floor and started forward, trailing one hand lightly along the wall.

Do you want everyone and his brother to hear us? the second voice asked.

That is Erik. His stomach tightened. What is he doing?

Hold him still, Erik said. Aidan thought his ex-boyfriend might be around the corner.

The sound of sneakers squeaking on tile was followed, and drowned out, by a stifled cry.

Several people laughed.

Your rapist’s right, faggot, Erik said. If you didn’t look so delicate, he’d never have wanted you.

Kyle. And a breath later: What does he mean your rapist’s right? Kyle never talked about that to anyone but me. Maybe our sensei too, but… His scalp tightened. The son of a bitch was in the training room with us last night.

He rushed to the corner but stopped there. How many were watching Erik hurt Kyle?

Attack. No euphemisms, remember? You promised.

Why is Erik doing this?

Who the fuck cares? Kyle needs help.

But Erik was kissing me less than six weeks ago! Aidan swallowed. Maybe he wants everyone to forget he was dating me. Because everyone knew. You can’t keep anything secret in a school as small as ours.

That other voice, the one that had suggested Aidan stop analyzing and do something, answered: maybe Erik wanted everyone to think Aidan had tricked or forced him into it.

More squeaking sneakers. This time, a moan accompanied the sound. "Shit, you made him bleed," a girl said.

More laughter.

Enough was enough. Reminding himself that Erik could see a little, that some of the other students might have even a higher percentage of partial vision, Aidan homed in on Kyle’s moans. Probably the other students would take off; he just couldn’t let them take Kyle.

He rested his hand on the corner and took a breath. Then he hurled himself into the next hallway, screaming, Get away from him! at the top of his lungs.

The overlapping echoes from his shout interfered a little with his directional hearing, but he didn’t need that to know several pairs of feet were running away from where he stood, fists up and ready. Kyle! Answer me.

A-Aidan?

He whipped to his right, reaching out at waist level. His fingers brushed cloth, and he yanked the body close, not sure if it was Kyle, praying it was. It has to be. All the others must have split.

The student he held spasmed away from him. Let go! Let go! Then, shrill as a siren: "I won’t go with you again!"

An elbow caught Aidan in the stomach before he could speak. He grabbed the flailing arm and rasped, Kyle, it’s me.

Kyle jerked in his grip.

Kyle, it’s Aidan. You’re safe now. A strangely calm thought echoed in his head as his voice had echoed moments ago. If I ever run into Erik in some deserted hallway, all the promises to use my training only for protection are off.

He can’t even tell fantasy from reality, a voice said. "He must be having lots of dreams about his big Daddy. You’re wrong, Aid’. All the faggots of this world are raped into being. You almost made me like that, but I got away from you."

Aidan leaped away from Kyle, honing in on Erik’s voice like a bat after its evening meal. Needing to judge how the other guy stood, he didn’t come in with a kick or even a punch. Instead he chopped inward with his right hand, followed at once by a similar, lower chop with his left.

The first chop caught no more than air, but the second connected with Erik’s wrist, and Aidan latched on, jerking him forward, off balance, and into Aidan’s right hand, delivering a punch to the solar plexus.

Oof! Erik doubled up.

The sound would have been funny if Aidan hadn’t been so pissed. Instead of jerking his ex’s head down to meet a rising knee, effectively ending the fight, he shoved Erik back, keeping one hand on the kid’s shoulder.

Erik tried to pull away. Let me --

Aidan stepped between Erik’s legs and raised his knee, trapping Erik’s crotch almost gently. Shut up. He readjusted his grip, slamming both of Erik’s hands up against the wall. He pinned them there with his right hand and took a fistful of shirt with his left. You’re not allowed to speak.

Erik laughed, but it trailed off almost before it started. You can’t tell me --

Aidan took a step back, tugged Erik forward, spun him, and shoved him face-first into the wall. A satisfying crunch made him smile even as his stomach clenched.

Erik howled.

Aidan grabbed the guy’s right arm and twisted it up behind his back. News flash. I’m telling you, and you’re going to listen. He put a little pressure on the arm in his grip. Do you hear me?

Let me --

Aidan added a little more pressure. "Do you hear me, asshole?"

"Yes! Fuck, Aidan, stop! That hurts!"

He let up slightly. Listen. If you ever touch Kyle Morgan again, I’m going to break the other one.

The other wh-

Aidan twisted Erik’s right arm savagely. The sensation accompanying this movement was half feeling and half sound: being kicked by a horse while a dozen thick branches snapped close to his head.

Erik screamed.

Aidan heard more running feet. He stepped away, releasing Erik. Whatever they do to me, at least Kyle will be safe. And maybe Erik will stop telling everyone --

What’s going on? Minamoto-sensei demanded. Aidan James Kelly, I know you’re here. Answer me.

Chapter One

Fifteen Months Later

Mike gulped at his third cup of coffee. He fidgeted with the folder that held his résumé. They’re paying nineteen thousand for the entire school year.

His mother, over at the sink, asked, Are you going to tell us what this interview’s for finally, Mr. I Don’t Want To Jinx It?

An aide position at Marisburg High. He grabbed his cup again as another yawn threatened. God, but he needed to get more sleep.

His mother stalked to the table and grabbed both his cup and the nearly empty carafe from its place in the middle of the table. Your hands are already shaking. You don’t need any more of this.

Mike scratched at the narrow space between his neck and the collar of his dress shirt. He adjusted his tie. I’m fine.

She rolled her eyes. If you go in there looking like a tweaker, no one will take you seriously.

A what? Mike laughed. "Where’d you hear that word? They’re not called tweakers anymore. That must be a word you used back in the sixties. He raised his eyebrows at her. Were you a tweaker, Mom?"

Getting back to this teaching position…

What? his father grunted from the depths of the mudroom. You’re not qualified for that, are you, Mike? You’ve only been at the community college for the summer, and you’re taking different language classes, not how-to-teach classes.

Foreign language classes, John, Mike’s mother murmured.

The older Delaney laughed. Listen to the woman, would you? She takes one college course herself, and now she’s the professor. He clomped two steps into the kitchen, took off his hat, and bowed to his wife. Thank you, Molly. I appreciate the correction. Then he turned his attention back to Mike. Well?

I’d be assisting a blind student with his class work. His jittery fingers danced on the table, and he worked to pass it off as impatient tapping on the cover of a second copy of his résumé. My interview’s in half an hour.

So get going, his father said. You planned to take night classes this semester anyway. Make the most of this opportunity.

Mike got up, clutching the folder. Maybe I can take a nap when I get home. He rushed out the door. Assuming I can sleep.

* * *

Ninety minutes later Mr. Callahan, superintendent of schools, Mr. Connolly, the principal, and Ms. O’Carolyn, the guidance counselor, took turns shaking his hand. Their grips were a bit awkward, Mike being left-handed, but he’d given up trying to shake the normal way. Even if that would have further dispelled the stereotypes.

Congratulations, Mr. Callahan said. We don’t usually make a decision this fast, but with teacher in-services starting next week, it’s important. You’ll be expected to participate in those, of course. I’ll e-mail you a schedule.

Mike swallowed. Yes, sir. I’ll be there. He almost asked when he would meet Aidan Kelly, the blind student, but that would probably be on the schedule. For now he needed to worry about teacher in-services. Whatever those were.

If you have questions, don’t hesitate to contact any of us. We’re at your disposal. But be patient. This is a busy time of year. The superintendent ushered Mike toward the office door. Good luck. I hear Mr. Kelly is intelligence personified, but a little… quirky. He chuckled. Have a great day, Mike, and again, congratulations.

The carpet scraped the bottoms of Mike’s shoes as he made good his escape. Other administrative offices surrounded the superintendent’s enclosed haven like deficient, two-walled boxes. Mike headed back the way he’d come, unable to take a straight path because of the random assignment of desks and file cabinets.

His heart jackhammered in his throat. He slowed his feet and flexed his hands to keep his fingers relaxed. I got the job? Really? He felt a five year old’s irrepressible grin starting and forced himself to hold his bland, polite expression.

I’ll be reporting to Marisburg High every day. Just like when I was in high school.

That thought squashed any and all urges to grin, and he rushed past the final desk, anxious to be alone in his car.

He saw the wavering shadow of a person on the other side of the outer door. He had barely enough time to get out of the way as the door flew open.

They promised to wait. The man, resplendent in a black suit and dark, subdued tie, shoved his way past Mike as if he didn’t see him. Despite the overcast skies, he wore dark sunglasses. They promised to get our input, he went on muttering, his words barely audible. He swung a long stick out in front of him like a pendulum, tapping the floor rhythmically. Now I hear they’re holding interviews for my aide without consulting me?

Mike escaped out the door before it closed. And before too many people could catch him staring. Not that any of the office staff seemed to be watching him. Through the door’s window, Mike watched a woman intercepting the blind man, taking his arm.

The red-haired man tore his wrist out of her grasp.

That’s a white cane, Mike thought as his logic caught up with his shock. And that must be Aidan Kelly. He’s a high school senior, which means he’s probably sixteen or seventeen, but he looks like an Irish god.

Quirky wasn’t exactly the word for him. Arrogant, maybe, or rude.

A woman brushed by Mike, opening the office door and rushing in, but he scarcely noticed.

Or hot. His gaze lingered on the man’s mildly curly locks. And if he’s got an ounce of fat along with all that muscle, I’m a -- He froze. A what? What was he exactly, staring at another man?

I’m straight. End of discussion.

At least I got the job, he told the empty foyer.

All his elation had flown.

* * *

A cloud of hyacinth perfume enveloped Aidan seven steps into the main office. He could still feel the sting of the front door’s push bar against his hand as he’d shoved his way into the board of education’s central office, and his blood sang in his ears. When the owner of the hyacinth scent grasped his arm, he stiffened and turned toward her, drawing his white cane close so he wouldn’t accidentally hit her ankle.

May I help you? She moved closer, the warmth of her body eating up his personal space.

Aidan jerked his arm out of her grip. Is Superintendent Callahan here?

The door opened behind him; he heard his mother’s quick steps. Don’t stop this. They broke their word, and I’m going to make sure I have a say in who they hire.

He’s in his office, the hyacinth woman said, but he’s been buried in work all week. If you’ll just wait here, I’ll give him a call.

Aidan pressed his lips together. He knew the way down to the superintendent’s office. He’d walked it last week. But I may get more flies with honey than vinegar, so… He folded his mouth into a smile. Thank you.

As she retreated, his mother joined him, speaking low. There are chairs to our right.

He fell into step behind her, sliding his marshmallow-tip cane over the rug until he connected with one of the chair legs. He sat, drew the cane close, and waited for her to speak.

You almost mowed down another student coming out the door.

Unless he’s blind too, he should have been watching where he was going. He swallowed that response.

I think he -- Her clothing rustled, and the chair creaked as she stood. Mr. Callahan. Mr. Connolly. Good morning.

It’s good to see you, Susan, John Connolly said.

Aidan rose, extending his hand. Good morning, sir. Maybe I should have kept my comments to myself until I could talk directly to these two. I hope no one heard me. After all, I had to argue for the right to have a say in who they hire as my aide. Their extracted promise can be withdrawn at any time. It’s not as if we signed a formal contract.

Susan, a female voice said. You’re just in time.

The guidance counselor -- what was her name? -- is here too? Don’t tell me I caught them in the middle of an interview.

His offered hand still hadn’t been taken; he let it fall, restraining a curse and hoping he hid his frustration as well. In time for what, ma’am?

We’ve found you a wonderful aide, young man, Mr. Connolly said. Mike Delaney graduated last year. He’s a responsible boy, quite capable of meeting your needs.

Does he read braille, sir? The instant the words were out, Aidan sensed his mother’s gaze boring holes into the side of his head.

Ms. O’Carolyn -- there was the guidance counselor’s name -- laughed softly. Come now. That’s a little much to expect, don’t you think?

Actually, no. Next you’ll be telling me only blind people learn braille, itinerant teachers don’t exist, and Elvis is still alive. Oh, and you’ve never broken your word, of course.

She continued, He’s taken almost all the classes you’ll be taking, and he graduated with high marks. He’s dedicated and punctual. You’ll never have a day’s trouble with him.

Aidan pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his sunglasses slightly. And he’ll be completely incapable of helping with my class work.

We’re grateful, his mother said, but if there’s any way we can talk to him --

Of course, Ms. O’Carolyn said. Here’s his name and phone number. I anticipated your request.

Aidan said, I thought we discussed --

Thank you, his mother said. Come on, Aidan. We promised your grandfather we’d help him with the garden this afternoon.

They’d promised no such thing, but all the fight drained out of him. If she chose, his mother could make him look like a child in front of these people even if he was nineteen. So he said his good-byes, echoing her, didn’t offer his hand again because it wouldn’t be taken, and followed her outside.

The moment they were in the car, even before she turned on the engine, she said, Reminding people of promises they’ve failed to keep rarely serves any good purpose.

He thought of the argument -- hell, the screaming match -- he’d had with the lawyer who was supposed to protect Kyle. The lawyer who’d failed. He pushed up his sunglasses and scrubbed at his eyes. As always in the last three or four months, he found them dry, but the ache in his chest hadn’t lessened at all. "I know. But if I’m forced to finish my education somewhere else, I should at least have a say in how I finish it."

Silence hung between them, and Aidan let his sunglasses fall back into place. Golden Hills had expelled him for breaking Erik’s arm, and short of getting his GED, he had nowhere else to go than his hometown high school. So he should shut up and be grateful. Right?

Yeah, maybe.

The car rumbled gently to life under him and began to move.

I know Mike Delaney’s mother very well, Aidan’s mother said. Molly and I grew up together. She’s a good woman, and I’ve heard nothing but good things about her son. Last I heard, he was studying foreign languages at college. Give him a chance. For me?

Aidan took off his sunglasses, folding his hands over them in his lap. Yeah. All right. But they should have kept their word.

They’re not Erik, sweetheart. Not everyone is out to hurt you on purpose. And even with Erik, he wasn’t trying to hurt you specifically. He may have just been so afraid of revealing who he was that he took the wrong way out.

Since she’d guessed the wrong reason for his outburst, Aidan nodded. I know.

* * *

Early afternoon in Marisburg had its own particular charm. Mike knew where to find absolute solitude or bustling activity. Those qualities changed from month to month. In deep winter only his house offered company, and he couldn’t consider his mother and the stove any representatives of the word bustling. Mud season, both mid autumn and early to mid spring, offered much the same choice for company, but up until the end of his junior year, he’d been able to include his school acquaintances in the group of people he spent time with.

Late August was a terrible time to find solitude. He’d cultivated a routine last summer and perfected it over the past ten weeks. If he wished, no one would be able to find him except by merest chance between the hours of dawn and dusk. The secret was to keep moving and not talk to anyone.

On campus it wasn’t difficult. The other students at the community college didn’t seem at all interested in him, and he’d encouraged that disinterest by never speaking outside of class. But here in Marisburg proper, where he was known, he had to stick to the hidden places and pretend he didn’t feel exposed.

After sharing the news with his mother that he’d gotten the aide position, and after shucking his dress pants and other accoutrements in favor of shorts and a T-shirt, Mike sought out one of his hidden places. The well-worn earthen track ran between high, eroded banks. Early in the morning, from mid-June until early September, children swarmed this track on their way to more interesting places. The middle-aged and older couples held court here after dinner and before sunset. And young lovers walked here after that. But midmorning through the dinner hour, the two-miles-long ribbon of earth was Mike’s private domain, although he might have to share it with the occasional tourist (they liked to jog at the strangest times, and even Marisburg wasn’t immune to tourists).

He walked with his head down, watching for pebbles to exact his revenge on.

I just haven’t been laid since Karen broke up with me. That’s all this is. And even if Karen and I were still together, the sex wasn’t all that great. She just didn’t know how to blow men. She said it herself.

His nape prickled, and he rubbed it distractedly. I won’t have any chance to think about anyone like that, woman or man. I’ll be too busy working. He shuffled his feet and took a quick glance over his shoulder. And making sure I’m not being watched.

Which was stupid, really, because Hanlon didn’t think about him anymore. He’d stopped coming near Mike once Mike wasn’t in his class. That means I’m not on his radar.

Damn it all anyways. He stopped walking and stared up at the half-hidden sky. Here the trees lurched over the earthen track; they’d fall eventually. He remembered studying that in earth science. If I was going to have a problem with this, I shouldn’t have taken the job. Or even applied for it in the first place.

A deep voice shattered the serenity of the early afternoon. The rich, rolling baritone was like polished redwood, somehow a delight Mike could feel and see as well as hear.

The song wallowed at the beginning: Oh man. Go home. Your husband, he is ill.

Here the song leaped free of its muddy start and danced on marble in a falsetto so ridiculously high and thin that Mike stifled a laugh. Is he ill? Well, give him a pill! Oh, my dear Franz, just one more dance! Then I’ll go home to my poor husband. Then I’ll go home to my old husband.

The singer’s voice came from both ahead of him and above. Mike followed as the dialogue continued: the deep voice said the husband was worse; the falsetto replied that he wasn’t a nurse. So the first replied, Your husband is dead!

Well, returned the other, then there’s no more to be said!

Mike stood below a large oak. Between the ancient tree’s height and the eroding bank, he could just spot the singer a good eighteen feet above him. He stepped back, shaded his eyes, and listened to the final verse.

"Oh man, go home. Your husband’s will is to be read.

Well, now that he’s dead, the Lord rest his head. No, my dear Franz, this is no time to dance. I must go home to my poor old man. I go to we-e-e-e-ep for my poor husband.

Mike laughed outright, applauding. It wasn’t the raunchiest thing he’d ever heard sung or spoken, but definitely the crassest thing he’d heard at that volume. Whoever the singer was, he had balls.

Thank you, called the singer. The baritone was his natural speaking voice. And who admires my talents?

Mike. And who are you?

Climb up here, if you can, and find out.

If he could? He eyed the bank, spotted a root, and grabbed it. There wasn’t another close, but he caught hold of a stone, dug his heels in, and hoisted himself up until he was on what passed for solid ground again. Now the real work began. He could see the singer, a guy about his age, sitting about a quarter of the way up the tree, but there wasn’t a rope in evidence. How had he gotten up there?

Mike circled the tree. He wasn’t the tallest guy in town and had despaired of ever filling out like one of the linebackers. He’d been a running back in high school.