Red and Blue Chronicles Box Set

Chapter 12

Last night, after I’d slammed the phone down, ending my one-way conversation with Nathan, I jumped into my jeans, and stormed out the door, heading for the basement garage.

When I shot out atop my bike, into the quiet street, my mouth was filled with an acidic taste, and my heart thundered with every roar of the motor. I clutched the handles, zooming down Doctor Penfield Boulevard with the wind slapping my jacket and thighs. I reached René-Lévesque, checked for incoming traffic, and then gunned through the red light.

There was a fire burning deep inside my gut.

I kept hearing that crystalline laughter.

Bellboy my ass.

Nathan was f*****g around on me. Oh yes, he was. Hadn’t we agreed to honesty? I was emotionally castrated, butting my head against a barbed-wire fence, and he allowed himself to be the stallion galloping the field?

Against the sound of my murderous thoughts, I rolled fast and steady, keeping left, heading east.

My back was stiff with anger as I mentally edited my adieu letter.

Then, I heard sirens. I flicked my gaze to the side mirror and watched the red and blue flashes spin.

Bloody hell.

I slowly released the gas, trying not to make it too obvious. Of course, that would surely fool the cop who was now hot on my heels. I watched the side mirror and caught him signaling me to pull over. For a reckless second, I was inclined to accelerate. There was no way his Impala could match my bike. But I’d seen too many TV episodes to try anything like that. I slowed down and shot to the right lane to pull over. I flipped the bike stand and sat back, watching the cop make his way to me.

Tall. Blond. Typical prick.

“Helmet.” His voice was cool.

Right.

I removed the helmet and set it on my lap.

“License and registration.”

Not very talkative.

I pulled the papers out of my wallet and handed them to him. I dared a glance his way. The asshole was still wearing his shades though it was way past sunset.

“You realize you burned a red light.”

I’d forgotten about that one.

“Ye—yes, sir.” How could I stutter in a time like this? “I re—realize t—that.”

“Wait right here.”

I tapped my fingers on the handles, getting more and more nervous by the minute.

He came back interminable minutes later. “Gonna have to take you in.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Don’t make me call for back up. Get off the bike. Now.”

My heart pumped adrenaline into my bloodstream, filling the creases of my palms with cold sweat. “Wha—what’s g—going on here?”

He slapped my shoulder. “Get off the f*****g bike, you little s**t!”

Every single nerve in my body flinched. Every muscle contracted. My jaw was so tight, I thought I would break a tooth. I hesitated, but finally climbed off my bike. “I don’t un—underst—”

“Shut up.” He began scribbling something on a notepad. “Turn around. Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute.”

“Put your hands behind your head. Now.”

By this point, my breath was a little short. I hadn’t brought my inhaler, as I hadn’t had an asthma attack in years. Panicked, I obeyed.

“Anything I should know about before I pat you down? Don’t wanna be pricking my finger on some f*****g needle.”

“No, no, sir.”

Before I turned around, I shot a nervous glance at his wide chest, hoping to catch his name, but there was a piece of paper tucked over his badge.

Like a Post-it of some kind. Fear of death rippled through me. “Sir, I have ri—” But I stopped mid-sentence. On account of him groping my ass, getting a generous handful of it.

“Nice. Wow. Real nice.” His breath steamed my ear. “Firm and round.”

There was something like a smile in his smooth voice.

His hand released my butt cheek. “Been working out, I see.”

That tone.

That bloody tone.

I remembered it like one remembered the sounds a lover made. I slowly lowered my arms but didn’t turn around. “Boone? Boone Lund?”

“I told you. It’s Maverick, you little shit.”

I spun around. Heated blood rushed through my every limb. “You asshole!” I shoved him hard with both hands. “I almost ha—had an asthma attack!”

He pulled his shades off and winked. “Derek O’Reilly, Mr. Gullible himself.”

Before I could return a clever reply, Boone had wrapped his arms around me and was squeezing me, lifting me an inch off the ground. “How you been? Jesus. How long has it been?” He released his powerful grip on me and cracked a smile.

Same smile. Same eyes. Same demeanor.

I raked an unsteady hand through my hair. “Seventeen years.”

His blue eyes clouded over. “Well s**t. That long, huh?” Boone’s gaze searched the night for a moment, and then he laughed. “I wasn’t sure you were the same Derek O’Reilly, but when I saw that head full of red flames, I knew it had to be you. What’s up, man? Why you tearing down the street like a bat out of hell? Some girl piss you off?”

I laughed nervously. “Not really,” I softly returned, knowing Boone had always had a clear view of the details that made up my composition.

His eyes moved over me. “No.” He watched me closely. “Don’t think so.” He tilted his head, studying my face. “More like man trouble, huh?”

Under the brilliant Montreal sky, with the indigo night shrouding us, I held Boone’s frank stare. “Yeah,” I confessed against the urban noise. It was easy coming out to him.

Boone squeezed my shoulder and welcomed my simple, but liberating statement with a generous smile. “Thought so,” he said. “Guess I always knew. Folks know?”

I nodded.

“Yikes. Bet you’ve been collecting bibles ever since.”

My heart swelled with peace. Boone. My wonderful Boone.

“I can’t believe they let you enter the police force,” I teased him.

“Hey watch it, Red. I’m still debating about the ticket.”

Right.

“How long have you been a cop?”

“Four years in November.”

“And how did that happen?”

Boone rubbed his brow and chucked softly. “Blame it on Di Paglio.”

Officer Scott Di Paglio. I’d forgotten about him.

“After my brother left with David, Di Paglio sort of lingered around us, you know? Like maybe he felt bad about the things he’d said about my brother back when all that s**t went down.”

Yes, that s**t. I remembered my stay at the hospital, and Di Paglio’s warm brown eyes. The way he had courted Aunt Fran in a clumsy, but sweet way. He could have been an uncle to me.

“After Nick left, I started acting out. You remember. By the next summer, I was well on my way to Juvy…and if Di Paglio hadn’t stepped in…He got me thinking and moving. He got me interested in the military. In training. Disciple. Those things just felt right to me. I guess they appealed to me. So, I joined up with the cadets and the rest is history.”

A question scorched my tongue, but I couldn’t even summon the courage to hear myself speak his name.

Nick. Nick Lund.

Boone shrugged. “Anyways, what do you do?”

I smiled.

“Lemme guess. Accountant, right?”

“Financial Analyst,” I said with false arrogance.

He whistled and bowed. “Well done, Red. Well done. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh man, I can’t wait to tell Lene about this. She’s gonna flip. We were just talking about you last week at my parents. Wondering what you were up to.”

Lene. I remembered her toothless mouth. Our baby. The love notes. How old was she now? Twenty-six years old. A woman.

“How is she?”

“She’s at Douglas. Since last June.”

Douglas. The mental institution. The nut house.

“Oh God, Boone. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool, man. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to cope, but she likes it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s good money, too.”

“They pay her? “

“Of course they pay her. Expect her to work for free?”

I shook my head, smiling. “She works at Douglas. She isn’t a patient.”

Boone exploded into laughter. “That’s too funny. Oh, she’s gonna love that.” He caught his breath. “Lene’s a shrink. A good one, too.”

Of course. That made perfect sense.

“So you got somebody?” Boone asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes. Okay. Well, what’s this guy’s name? What’s he do? How long have you been together? Is it serious?”

I chuckled, grateful that Boone’s curious nature hadn’t dwindled with the years. “His name is Nathan. He’s in sales. Pharmaceutical industry. It’s serious, yes.”

Boone whistled. “Pharmaceuticals, huh? So the guy’s loaded.”

I shrugged. “It’s a comfortable living, yes.”

Boone’s eyes flickered for a moment, but he let it go.

We’d covered everything important in less than three minutes.

Not everything, but I still couldn’t bring myself to ask about him.

“Listen,” Boone said, “I gotta jet. But hey, what are you and Nathan doing this coming Saturday?”

I thought for a moment. Who cared?

“How ‘bout you guys come over for dinner? I think we should do that. Kenya is gonna fix you the best meal you’ve ever had, and we can catch up.”

“Kenya? You married Kenya?”

Boone’s smile nearly knocked the air out of me. “I told you she was my soul mate.”

“Kids?”

“No, but we’re trying. We got a little house in Crawford park, you know the neighborhood, right?”

“Of course. We used to ride our bikes up and down the Queen Elizabeth park.”

“So, you wanna?”

“I’d be honored. We’ll be there, absolutely.”

“Here’s my card, and your ticket.”

I glanced down.

“Kidding. I’ll see you Saturday then?”

“Yes.”

“Derek O’Reilly,” he mumbled to himself as he walked away. “I can’t believe it.”

I stood on the side of the road, inwardly cursing myself for being such a coward.

Seventeen years of wondering and I hadn’t had the balls to ask.

Boone plucked the car door open. “Oh, and by the way,” he said, leaning on the door. “In case you’re wondering.” He winked. “Nico disappeared for a decade. The son of a gun traveled the world. Nico worked on cruise ships and at beach resorts, bar tending and cooking his way to a small fortune. We’d get postcards from every f*****g continent. One month he was pushing booze at a Club Med in Saint-Lucia, the next he was writing from a boat somewhere off the Alaskan coast.” Boone smiled and his eyes locked themselves to mine. “Then we didn’t hear from Nico for a whole year, but one morning, just like that, he came back. That was five years ago. He opened a little bistro restaurant in the Old Port. A place called Split. He’s doing well, too. Got some fantastic reviews lately. But I don’t see much of him. There’s still some bad blood between him and my mom. Plus, he’s busy. Him being a big shot chef and all.”

A chef. A jolt of energy shook my insides. I remembered that thick hardcover book on Nick’s nightstand.

Boone laughed. “You should see your face right now. You still have a thing for him, don’t you?”

My cheeks filled with heat. “No, I d—don’t.”

“Right. Of course you don’t. Then it doesn’t matter if I tell you that Nico swings both ways. I mean, I’m just saying.”

Swings both ways.

My c**k jumped.

I remembered a certain winter night. Private words whispered behind closed doors. So David had been his lover…

“I’ll see you Saturday,” Boone said before shutting the car door.

I watched him drive away and the silver moonlight engulfed my vibrating soul.

Swings both ways. Bisexual. A chef.

God help me.

* * * *

Dear Bump,

I have an oral presentation due next week. Do you know what that means? Do you?

It means, I’m going to have to stand in front of the whole class and faint.

“I’ll do all the talking, you just hold the chart,” Boone says.

We’re allowed to team up, but that doesn’t help much. Mrs. Saint-Amour counts the words. Everyone has to speak equally, or she knocks points off.

“You write it and I’ll draw the chart,” Boone says.

Please. I know. It’s the same every year.

“We’ll do it on Doc Brown.”

“Boone. Do—oc Brown isn’t a real pe—person.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

This presentation makes my skin itch. Boone doesn’t understand the concept of research. Reality doesn’t seem to visit him much.

“We’ll say he’s from out of town.”

We have one week. One week to find someone we admire and interview this person.

I suggested Mrs. Bebelski.

I like Mrs. Bebelski. She lives two doors down from us. She sits on her porch all day and knits. She has a pair of slippers for every day of the week. She has a number tattooed on her arm. On account of her being a survivor of some war called the hollow cost.

But Boone grimaced. “Nope. She always makes me eat those dry bananas.”

Boone’s suggestions don’t take us anywhere. Unless we can track down the Terminator and ask him a few personal questions. Oh, and since he got back from Florida, Boone is making everyone call him Maverick. Says he’s going to be a pilot when he grows up. Says he’s going to fly jets.

I’ve been thinking about what Mrs. Saint-Amour said.

“Anyone whom you feel has done something of significance around you. May it be grandiose, or small. It doesn’t matter. This is your chance to sit down and talk with this person. Get to know this person more deeply.”

More deeply. There is only one person like that around me.

But it would be easier to sit down with Indiana Jones than Nicolai Lund.

We were discussing the presentation over a bowl of tapioca, in Boone’s basement.

“We could ask your aunt some questions.” Boone flicked a crumb off the coffee table. “Make it look like she’s some big shot.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t—don’t wa—wanna ask my aunt p—personal questions.”

“Why not?”

I puzzled over his question for a moment. “Because then she’ll a—ask them all ri—right back.”

Boone skimmed his tapioca. He always carefully removes the first layer because he doesn’t like the cinnamon Mrs. Lund sprinkles on top. “We could ask Coach Angelos. He’s in the Club Optimist. They do charity work and stuff.”

Boring. “No.”

Boone sighed impatiently. “You keep saying no to everything. What’s wrong with you anyway? You’re acting like a prissy boy.”

My eyes darted up.

Boone sunk back into the couch and folded his arms over himself. “You haven’t said a word to me since I got back.” His blue eyes fastened themselves to mine. “You’re different. You walk different. And you never smile anymore.”

Boone’s words poked at something raw inside me. I dug the spoon into the pudding and stuffed it in my mouth.

He shook his head. “Fine. Be like that.”

I didn’t want to be “like that.” I wanted to be at the opposite side of “like that.” I wanted to tell him about Mom being at a special hospital and Dad’s empty promises.

And I wanted to tell Boone that his brother’s smile makes me want to take my pants off.

See if Boone ever heard of something like that.

“We cou—could ask your dad,” I finally said.

Boone fiddled with a couch pillow. His eyes kept sweeping the room, as if maybe, if he looked hard enough, the person would magically appear before us. “Not my dad. Too busy.” He slapped his thigh. “What about Jesse Chao’s dad? He writes for a paper. He went to Iraq last year.”

“I thought he wa—was a cowboy.”

Boone rolled his eyes and picked up his cup again. “So? Should we call Jesse and ask him if his father would wanna do it?”

The very thought of asking Jesse Chao for anything made me angry. “Nope.”

“You’re just mad ‘cause he’s been winning every chess game since we got back from the holidays.”

It’s true. I don’t know why though. I can’t think straight anymore. My head is filled with fog. I keep forgetting Johan’s strategies. Like something has sucked the normal thoughts out of my head and replaced them with fragments of someone else’s mind.

It’s been like that since the Lunds came back from Florida.

Finally, Boone set his empty cup down and threw the pillow on the ground. “Forget it. We don’t have anyone. It’s a stupid idea anyway. Why couldn’t she do like Mrs. Jenkins and ask us to pick our favorite animal?”

I picked up the cups and placed them on the first step and went back to the couch. “I guess we could d—do it on Doc Brown. We cou—” But I couldn’t finish my sentence.

Because Nick’s feet had appeared on the top step of the staircase. Then his calves. His thighs. And when my eyes reached the bulge in his jeans, I turned them away, and glued them solid to the carpeted floor.

“Hey, boys,” Nick said, as he walked past us, walking straight to his room.

“Hey, Nico.” Boone waved. Then he watched me. “What were you saying?” He had a funny look in his eyes.

I tried to compose myself, but that liquid fire was burning through my whole tingling body again.

“Wait here.” Boone shot up from the couch. He tucked his Star Wars T-shirt into his black jeans and walked off to Nick’s bedroom.

I sat up. Waited. Listened. I wiped my wet palms down my pants and fixed my socks, then stared at the TV screen. It wasn’t on, and I could see my reflection in it. I looked like Mrs. Bebelski’s canary after he flew into the window. Dazed. Confused. Wild-eyed.

Nick’s door opened. I stiffened up and held my breath.

Boone tapped my shoulder. “Hey.”

I slowly turned around and found Boone grinning from ear to ear. That’s when terror iced my blood, sealing my lips together in a straight line.

Nick plopped down next to me. “Go.”

I caught a gust of his beach scent and my head spun.

Nick spread his long legs on the coffee table and yawned. “Shoot.”

The couch is in an L shape, and I sat in the shorter part, with my legs folded under me. Nick sat in the long part. No matter where I looked, his beautiful face was in every frame shot.

Boone flicked the TV on and sat in the arm chair. “Go ahead, Red,” he said without looking at me. “Nico says he’ll be our subject. Him being dyslexic and all. As long as we say that he’s been prematurely accepted at McGill University. Pre-med, no more, no less.”

I glanced over at Nick. A cocky half smile hung on his lips. “That’s right. Saint-Amour flunked me twice. Said I was a lost cause.” He leaned forward and pushed a strand of his ash blond hair out of his eyes. “You got your questions ready? I gotta be at work soon.”

His eyebrows are alive. He has a thousand different smiles. His eyes are like glaciers floating in the deepest, bluest of all seas.

I shot a nervous glance at Boone but realized that he wouldn’t acknowledge my panic. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. “I—I—I haven’t pre—prepared anything really. I mean, I—I thought that we—we would—”

“So wing it, O’Reilly.”

Wing it. I’d never winged anything in my life. I wasn’t even sure what that meant.

Nick ran his tongue over his lips. “Come on, you can ask me anything you like.”

I pulled some paper out of my school bag. A pen, too. “Let’s see.” I looked over at Boone again. “Aren’t you go—gonna ask s—some questions?”

Boone shook his head. “I’m drawing the chart, remember?”

There is no chart for this presentation.

Nick closed his eyes and started snoring loudly.

I got the point. I took another deep breath. “What ma—made you de—decide to go into medicine?” I asked, without looking at him.

“The pay.”

“Okay.” I scribbled my question and his answer down real quick, but my fingers were sweaty and the pen kept sliding down my thumb. “Where do—do you plan on be—being a doctor?”

“What’s a good place?’”

“Okay.” I scribbled down his words, trying not to let the ink get wet.

“Hey…O’Reilly, that’s not my answer.” Nick touched my knee. “I’m asking you something.”

I looked up. His skin is immaculate. His Adam’s apple moves up and down when he swallows. His feet are the size of my dad’s work boots. His hands are broad. His fingers are long and always busy with something.

“Huh?” I was drowning in his blue eyes.

“What’s the best hospital on this s**t hole of an island?” he asked very softly.

I thought for a moment. “Dunno.”

Nick rubbed his chin. “Well, okay then, I plan on working in Vancouver.”

With David?

I jotted down his answer. “How—how did you surmount the—the obstacles?”

“What do you mean?”

“Um, ho—how did you—ou overcome your learning disa—disabilities to achieve this goal?”

A shadow moved across his crystal blue eyes, and I wanted to reach out and snatch the words that hung in midair. Wanted to push them right back into my big stupid mouth.

“I found a way to make the words make sense,” Nick finally said.

I could barely hold my love inside my chest anymore. It expanded with every breath Nick took, until I could feel it on my scalp and the very tips of my toes. There was darkness all around me. The only light I could see, was the one in Nick’s eyes. “Oh,” I whispered.

And the light in his eyes swallowed the darkness. Like a blue vacuum. His face makes me want to cry.

Nick was watching me. “I guess I learned how to use my brain upside down.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Nick echoed softly. His eyes were like blue flames warming my mouth.

I didn’t know where to go from there, so I stared at the paper.

Nick pulled a thread on his sock. “Is that it?”

I glanced up. “You—you said that you fou—found out a way to—to make the words make sense. How?”

“I draw things.” He yanked the thread out of his sock and stuffed it under the couch. “Little words I get wrong. I draw ‘em. Make symbols.”

I wasn’t sure I understood. “You mean, like—like pictures of the words?”

Nick shook his head and reached his hand out. My stomach churned. His fingers almost touched my hand. “I’ll show you. Gimme the paper.” I couldn’t give it to him, but he slipped it out of my fingers. The pen, too. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear again, then using his knee as a hard surface, began to scribble something.

Finally, now that his eyes were on something else, I could stare at him undisturbed.

I let my gaze move over him. He wore his old blue jeans. There was a big tear around the left knee, but it was patched up with a red bandanna. He wore a white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up all the way to his shoulders, and it was skin tight. I could see his stomach under it.

It’s hard. Like a flat rock.

His chest heaved lightly with every deep breath he took. He has a small mark on the bottom of his neck. Looked like a scar. His right ear is pierced, but he doesn’t wear an ear ring. His thighs are bulky. His forearms are covered with blond fuzz.

I almost puked when my eyes got caught on his mouth. I felt sweaty.

Cold.

Hot.

Dizzy.

“Here,” he said, handing me the paper. “Like this.”

I forced my eyes to look away from his face, down to the paper.

The first word I read was: Taepoons. There was a square. Then, Liert. There was a circle with four lines in the middle. When I read the last word, I caught on. Talbepoons. Three small squares.

These were cooking measures.

“That’s how I do it, O’Reilly.” He cleared his throat. “You could find a way, too…I mean, for your stuttering.”

I thought about the book on his nightstand. How many hours would it take to map out every single recipe this way? He was so persevering. I was inspired.

“It’s—it’s impressive,” I said. “You—you do this with every wo—word?”

“The ones I need, yeah.”

Everything Nick says is clear. As though every single word has been assessed for quality. For purpose. There’s no gray about him. I never lose track. I always know what page were on.

Like reading a picture book.

“Gotta go.” He was already on his feet. Towering over me. “You got what you need out of me, right?”

I need you. I need you. I need you.

Nick stretched his arms out and jumped over the couch. “Anyways, the rest, you can always make up.” He laughed a little.

I stared down at the paper in my hand, his words dancing around in my head. When I looked up, Boone was watching me with a smile, but my heart felt like it would explode.

Why couldn’t I go with Nick? Why couldn’t I be close to him as David was?