Out of the Night by Tim Mead

Author:Tim Mead [Mead, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2022-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

November is one of the nicest months in central Florida. Hurricane season is over. The daily thunderstorms are gone for the winter. High temperatures are in the mid-seventies with low humidity. Nights are cool. One mid-November evening a few days after their return from Key West, Stan and Doug were having gin and tonics on Doug’s screen porch. Doug had made lamb stew, which was simmering in the kitchen, and Stan was relaxing after his day at city hall.

“How discreet do you think that hot little piece at Friday’s is?”

Doug pondered a second. “Oh, you mean Adam?”

“Yeah.”

“I have no idea, really. He seems a nice enough kid. And he always gets a big tip from me, both because he busts his butt to earn it—and because he’s so damned cute.” He paused for a moment. “Why are you asking?”

Stan held up his tumbler and examined the clear liquid and ice cubes it contained. “First, have I told you about Aaron?”

“Oh, the intern from Lloyd?”

“Yep.”

“Let’s see. Small. Lots of piercings. Cornrows. Dyed hair. And very swish?”

“That’s Aaron. Of course, he’s also very smart and very reliable. Makes great grades. His supervisor, Molly Rennick, says he’s really helpful and learns quickly.”

“Okay, so what’s the connection between Aaron and Adam?”

“I don’t know that there is one.”

With a snort of exasperation, Doug said, “Come on, Stan. You’re being melodramatic—and inscrutable. What’s the problem?”

“Today Aaron knocked on my door. When I told him to come in, he stepped inside and nudged the door closed with his ass. He was carrying an armload of file folders. I was pretty busy, couldn’t think why he was in my office, so I just said hi and asked him what was up. He said he wouldn’t take up much of my time, but that he wanted to tell me how absolutely wonderful it was that I had a boyfriend. Then he said that was majorly cool, managed to get the door open without dropping the folders, and swished out of my office and down the hall. While I sat there with my jaw on my desk.”

“Oh, shit!”

“My sentiments exactly.”

* * * *

Doug

The Sunday after Stan and I had been in Key West, I was scheduled to read the lessons and serve the chalice at the early service along with Hilda Crain. Everything went smoothly until the Eucharist. You need to understand that, if for some reason the communicants kneeling at the altar rail don’t wish to receive the wine, they cross their arms over their chests. That happens sometimes, but not very often.

That Sunday there must have been ten of the fifty or so people I served who did that. And all of them failed to look at me, whereas communicants usually look up at the server when he/she approaches them. I thought that was strange, but then, you never know what’s on people’s minds.

In the vesting room after the service, I asked Hilda how many she’d had who’d done that. She said no one had. Ten on my side, none on hers.

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