Page 98 of Catcher's Lock

“You’re the only good thing in my life, and I won’t fucking wreck you.”

“I’m starting to believe that’s never been the issue.”

She shakes her head, but something softens in her expression. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was fondness.

“Is he still in the closet?” she asks.So maybe notthatfond.

“I’m not sure he’s defined exactly how he identifies yet, and I’m not going to make that call for him. But he told Ellis about us yesterday.”

“In other words, he better figure it out real fucking fast. Ellis is about as subtle as a train wreck, and Shilo’s gonna take one look at the two of you and know something’s up. I hope you’re ready to have that conversation with him.”

“Ellis wouldn’t out anyone without permission. And don’t pretend you would either.”

This time, she really does smile, and I close the reattached screen door with a hopeful heart.

When I return to the tent, the crew is perched on the edge of the stage, passing a joint, and Gem is nowhere to be seen. Ellis glances up at my approach.

“He went that way about fifteen minutes ago,” he tells me, jutting his chin toward the back of the lot. “Said something about taking a walk in the woods.”

I find Gem at our clearing, sitting in the duff with his back to one of the old anchor trees, elbow propped on a bent knee. His Star-Lord lunch box, paint faded and chipped with rust, rests at his side. As I approach, he fiddles with the latch, snapping the little metal clasp up and down without opening the lid.

“It’s empty,” I tell him.

“I figured.”

“You didn’t check?” I hate myself for asking, and for the stone that sinks into my gut at the distant expression on his face. Dredging up a dry smile, he shakes his head, pulling his hand back and hugging his other knee to his chest.

He doesn’t ask about the missing hammock, but the vacant space it occupied grows larger and emptier the longer I stand there.

“It was falling apart,” I say eventually. “Cotton twine isn’t made to withstand the abuse of so many Mendocino winters.”And the sight of it made me sick after you left. I leave that part out, but I doubt he’s fooled.

Dropping his head against the trunk, he squints up into the canopy. “It must be mating season,” he says. “Those crows have been going at it since I sat down.”

Shading my eyes against the tangerine sky, I follow his gaze to the top of a nearby cypress. Seven or eight massive crows squawk and flutter atop the branches.

“Do you think there are gay crows?” he muses, and it’s so eerily evocative of my conversation with Cheyenne that I wonder briefly if he came looking for me at the motorhome and overheard us.

“Probably.” I lower myself down to sit beside him, close enough to nudge his shoulder with mine. “There are all sorts of reports of homosexuality in the animal kingdom. Don’t know why crows would be any different.”

He nods, but I can tell his thoughts are still clouded.

“Are you a gay crow?” I ask, trying to cajole him back to me. He tosses me a wry look, lips twitching.

“Only if you’re the crow I’m courting.” Turning his head, he rests his chin on my shoulder, his breath sending shivers down the column of my neck. “What did she say to you?”

There it is.

I’m not sure how to mend this rift between him and the family we both crave. How can I convince him there’s room for both of us when he’s always been so determined to compare?

But there’s no point in lying to him, and anyway, I need to know.

“She asked if I thought we could keep this a secret. If that was something we wanted. Well, thatyouwanted.”

“Why the fuck would I want that?” he asks, jerking back to frown at me. “You’re the one who asked me not to tell.”

“Because this is pretty fucking new for you? Because you begged her not to tell your mom that night you were rolling and I almost kissed you.”

He tilts his head to search my face. “You heard that?”