Vigil by Z. A. Maxfield

Author:Z. A. Maxfield [Maxfield, Z. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Gay, MLR Press; ISBN 978-1-60820-172-3
ISBN: 9781608201723
Google: v1xZV7KpEroC
Amazon: 1608201724
Goodreads: 9483475
Publisher: MLR Press
Published: 2010-10-09T07:00:00+00:00

ChAPteR twelVe

Adin’s arm throbbed and swelled on the ride back to Paris,

becoming almost unbearable within an hour. Rain had begun

to patter down onto the roof of the car and Boaz switched

the wipers from intermittent to low. They made a slow and

languorous swish-swish sound, almost perfectly timed to the

music—Mendelssohn—Boaz played in the background. Soon,

Adin’s eyelids grew heavy. He could hear Bran humming, a

soothing, almost otherworldly sound that called him into sleep

and then to dreams. He went with little or no fight to escape the

pain of both his broken arm and frantic heart.

Adin put down the slide he’d prepared when the phone rang and got it,

tucking his pen back into the pocket of the lab coat he wore. “Hello?”

“How’s my favorite minion,” Charles practically purred.

“I don’t know who your favorite minion is,” Adin replied, “so how could

I possibly know?”

“Don’t be pithy. Of course you’re my favorite. Didn’t I make that clear

enough in Vermont? Shep was quite put out to be placed on the back burner.

Ordinarily he doesn’t ski much and he rarely drinks the way he did that

weekend.”

Adin closed his eyes. Shep had indulged entirely too much on their ski

trip. They’d ostensibly gone for a ménage à trois but their mathematical

equation ended up being more of a fractal containing three couples than a

balanced love triangle. He couldn’t help it; he just didn’t feel as strongly about

Shep as Charles wanted him to. Shep sensed—rightly—that Adin didn’t

find him particularly attractive, and it was this, Adin thought, more than

jealousy that caused their problems.

What started out as a simple weekend away turned into a poorly staged

road show of some sordid Albeesque drama, with Shep in the agonizing role

of aging gay man pitted against Charles’s bitter recriminations over what

he called bourgeois romantic fantasy, with Adin playing the part of hapless

130 Z.A. Maxfield

ingénue. In the end, no one was spared.

Shep and Charles were like children fighting over toys in a sandbox.

The whole academic community knew it, and he who died with the most

acolytes would win. Since they collected undergraduates like ceramic figurines,

boys—and to be fair—plenty of girls, lined up for the honor. Adin had felt

less honored than used by both men when he returned, and he didn’t intend

to allow them to play with him anymore.

He was hard pressed to keep the bitterness from his voice when he spoke.

“I’m just finishing the tests on the ink now. I wish I had access to electron

microscopy.”

“All in good time, my thorough friend. Did you get your tux from the

cleaners?”

“Yes, I did. I’m still not happy about celebrating this before we’re

absolutely certain that it’s—”

“You worry too much, Adin. Everyone who has seen those letters agrees

that they’re legitimate, and I’ve only assigned you these tests to broaden your

horizons and expand your authority.”

“Thank you,” Adin managed. He was aware Charles had everything

riding on these letters. So many experts in the field had already handled

them; he was certain what he would find.

That Charles was giving Adin this chance, placing his trust on Adin’s

slender credibility, was more for Adin than to vet the items in question.

Adin felt heat creep up his neck.

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