“No,” Molly had replied firmly. “Chicago even has a beach if you like. Not the ocean, but Lake Superior is nothing to sneeze at.”
Esme had gasped in excitement. “You hear that, Bernardo? We can swim? Can we go swimming tomorrow? It is hot, yes?”
Molly grimaced and held out her hand. “It’s September, so it’ll be a little chilly. But then, it’s still a beach. Bernardo, does that interest you?”
The boy—thin, intense, and obviously shy and displaced, gave her a nod and a shrug.
“I’m not sure what Corfu is like,” Michael said, eyeing the boy in his rearview mirror, “but I gotta tell you, Texas is like an inferno nine months out of the year—at least my piece of it. Chicago will take some getting used to.”
The boy gave him a slight smile in the rearview, and Michael counted it as a win. That had been the way of it as Michael had wrestled his way to the field to park in the W. Addison St. lot.
“You didn’t want to park in the outfield lot?” Molly asked quietly after he’d bought his ticket.
Michael winced. “Sixty dollars!” he said, because the number had blown his mind.
She gave him a fond look. “Honey, I’m paying. Or actually, Julia’s paying, but I’m paying ’cause I’m not going to invoice the woman. But don’t you worry—you’re doing us a favor. You get all the dogs, all the merch, and all the best parking on us.”
Michael’s cheeks warmed. “That’s gonna take some getting used to, too,” he muttered.
“Yeah, well, make Carl spoil you.”
With that, she waited until he killed the engine before bailing out of the car, saying, “C’mon, kids, let me introduce you to world-class Chicago cuisine, and we can buy all the merch in the world!”
To both of their delight, the kids recognized Wrigley Field from movies, and even Bernardo perked up. While the women went to hit the merch tables—Molly had a list a mile long, and she made Esme her partner in consumerism—Michael sat next to the boy and ogled the big green wall and the fact that the fans, the players, even the ball looked bigger and larger than life compared to what he could see on TV.
“You ever been to a game?” he asked, mostly because his kids talked up a storm, and a silent child made him uneasy.
“Football,” the boy said, and Michael had to remind himself that in Italy, that meant soccer. “There is always a game somewhere. There are, like, a thousand leagues in Europe.”
Michael grinned at him. “Yeah? I ain’t never been to a pro ball game. We had a minor league team in an adjoining town, though. I went to a lot of those. I’d take my kids ’cause you could picnic on the hillside for just five bucks a person. They had games and stuff for little kids, and we could bring lunch and snacks so it wasn’t so expensive. We had a good time.”
Those had been good times with him, Beth, and the kids. He’d have to tell Carl about them. He got the feeling Carl didn’t know what happy families did in their spare time, with or without money.
Not that he and Carl would have any trouble filling their time, even if it was simple stuff. Michael had already learned Carl liked watching movies or television before he went to bed. Carl liked that Michael cooked, and he wanted to help. He liked talking about his job—not the paperwork or the politics, but the art or the valuables he was tracking down. He seemed to have a fascination for what people deemed important, and Michael thought that was a rather cool area of expertise.
Michael had thought Carl might like to fool around a little the night before, but that hadn’t happened. There’d been kissing—kissing that had curled Michael’s toes and probably a few chest hairs as well, if Michael had had any, which he didn’t.
But in the end, Carl had pulled back, panting, and nuzzled Michael’s neck.
“You want me, right?” Michael had said breathlessly.
“So much.”
“Then why—”
“Because you want me too, and I don’t want to waste that on a couple of quickies. Let it build. I don’t get this a lot. I want to savor it.” Then he’d bucked up against Michael’s thigh and proven he wasn’t bullshitting, and that was even better.
“I’m gonna expire from horniness,” Michael had told him, grinding back, and Carl’s low chuckle in his ear hadn’t made things any less intense. But Michael had gotten it too. This wasn’t a quick blowjob. This wasn’t a drive-by. This wasn’t anything Michael had to hide from his wife, whom he loved. This was a grown-up relationship, and it was apparently something Carl didn’t get a lot of either. They both got to go slow. They both got to enjoy each other’s company. That was nice.
But that didn’t mean kissing Carl goodbye that morning as he’d run out the door to catch his cab to the airport hadn’t sucked.
“You have children?” Bernardo asked shyly, breaking into Michael’s musings.
“I do. They’re with their mother now, in Ohio, but I get them over some of the holidays and part of next summer.”
The boy nodded glumly. “My parents too. Does their mother hate you?”
Michael opened his mouth, stunned a little by the question. “No. No, sir. We’re still real good friends. I just couldn’t love her like she deserved. She needs someone who loves all the parts of her, and I couldn’t. Breaking up worked for both of us.”
The boy blinked slowly at him, his eyes as wide and luminously brown as his sister’s. “Are you gay?” he asked suspiciously.
Michael had to smile. “Yessir, I am. Why do you ask?”
“My father. He said that many of the men we would meet would be gay, and we needed to be polite. I thought he was kidding.”
Michael laughed a little at that. “Turns out, he wasn’t far wrong. That a problem?”
Barnardo gave a shrug. “No. But you have children, and you like to take them places. That is nice.”
“You betcha. Your father likes to take you places. Corfu sounds nice, right?”
Bernardo gave another shrug. “But instead, we are here for business. I don’t understand why.”
“Business? Is that what your father said?” Michael was surprised.
“Yes. Everything my father does is about business. At least that is what my mother complains about. But then she spends his money very well. Don’t think Esme and I haven’t noticed. When we are with him, though, he’s usually very much with us.” The boy grunted. “But not this time. Maybe my mother is right.”
“She most certainly is not,” Michael replied. “Your father is a hero!”
Nobody could have looked as surprised as this boy.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, my boss’s son is real sick—like, so sick he might die. And your father only just found out the boy is his nephew, and that he’s a compatible match to give his bone marrow so the boy can get better. That’s why we’re taking you and your sister out for the three days. Your father needs to have some blood tests done, and then the operation to donate, and then a day of recovery. He was worried, you see, that you and your sister would be bored and restless. And me and Molly—” He sighed. “—we were feeling sort of useless, you know? We want Josh to get better so bad, and we didn’t have anything to do to help. But this? Taking you two out and showing you a good time? That makes us happy.”