Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be under 1500 words so they're quick reads. Our word prompt today is 'Evil'. This story contains mature language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering.
Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!
Bartlett leaned back in his seat. The chair screamed and he grimaced at the pained sound his seat had made.
“It`s to ensure the welfare of the child. The laws have changed dramatically in regard to adoption, foster parenting, and all aspects of child welfare. I`m sure you`ve got nothing to worry about.” His smile, meant to be reassuring, looked hollow. “After all, a brother taking in his sister`s orphan is an upstanding Christian thing to do. Pity you don`t have a wife yet, but perhaps one of the pretty women of your hometown will catch your eye.”
I forced my face into what I hoped looked like a smile. I offered Bartlett my hand and he took it, but it was begrudgingly. I wouldn`t hold that against him. I was a first-class evil louse. I admit it. Bartlett seemed happy to see me edging to the door. Probably he was just relieved to be done with this whole sordid mess.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Andy held onto my hat for me. We were parked across the street. I turned left and walked, my mind a jumbled-up mess until I heard the shop bells tinkling overhead and drew in a good snort of sawdust. Ross stepped from the backroom while tying his smock tightly around his waist. His brow furrowed and he hurried over to take Andrew from my arms. The boy went without a fuss. I rushed past the man, hit the backroom, and then slid down to the floor, my ass bumping over the knots in the pine-board wall.
Ross and Andy were chatting quietly on the other side of the door while I had a breakdown. I wept uncontrollably in a violent short burst. When the curtain of despair lifted my nose was plugged solid and my legs were knotted from sitting on them. Oddly enough, or perhaps not odd at all, Ross was there with a handkerchief and a hand up. He embraced me. Andy pattered over to join in on the hug, his arms encircling our legs.
“They`re going to investigate me before I can keep Andrew,” I whispered beside his ear. He hugged me a little tighter and then stepped briskly backwards. “They`ll find out, Ross.”
“How about you and the boy come over to my place tonight?” he asked, his grey eyes calm and serene. This was far too intimate and we both knew it. I lifted Andrew from the floor. We had to leave. Now. Before someone came in and saw what I was sure was plainly written all over my face. “I`ll cook and we can talk, maybe have a beer. I have a pond to fish in.”
“Can we go fish at the pond, Uncle Jon?”
My head rolled to the side to rest against hair an exact match for mine. I couldn`t speak right off. How had I ever thought of handing him to strangers?
“We`ll need directions,” I said. Ross escorted me to the showroom. I left with a neatly drawn map and a very excited young man. I looked at nobody as we walked the few blocks to my car. Folks didn`t stop me to pass along condolences. They just let me and Andy walk on by. Those disparaging looks and cold glances suited me fine. Andy and me – we didn`t need one damn thing from those holier-than-thou judgmental prigs, we were Porter men. All we needed was each other . . . and maybe a forty cent an hour minimum wage job.
Pausing on the sidewalk at the end of the block, Andy`s hand in mine, I looked back at the humble woodworker`s shop.
Okay. Maybe we needed one more thing.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.
See you next week!