“No, I can’t put you out like this.” Pat looked on the verge of tears again.
“Are you sure you can’t go home? That your father was absolutely serious? You see, my father did the same thing, but years later he told me he hadn’t meant it.”
“Oh, yeah, he meant it.” Pat’s words were as hopeless as his expression. Poor little boy. “You were never over when he went on one of his rants, JR, but he blames homosexuals for everything including the disaster that’s the Big Dig. Last year he blamed them for Chicago winning the Oscars over Gangs of New York. I…uh…I never told him about Wills. He’d have made me stop being your friend.”
“You’re strangling your cheeseburger, Wills,” I told him.
He put it down on his plate. “Suppose his father accuses us of corrupting his son? The last thing I want is to spend our honeymoon behind bars.”
“Don’t worry about it, Wills.” I gripped his hand. “I have a lawyer friend who can help us.”
“Uh…no, that’s okay.” He scowled, and leaned close so he could whisper in my ear, “I’m sorry, babe, but I don’t want someone you used to know brought into this.”
I realized what was bothering him, and I took his hand and squeezed it. “Alan was one of Paul’s—friends. He’s a whiz.”
“If you say so.” He turned back to Pat and scowled as he studied the bruises on the kid’s face. “Tell me, Patrick, has your father hit you before?”
“Huh? Oh, sure.” Pat shrugged as if it weren’t important. “He’s usually more careful about it so it doesn’t show.”
None of us said anything for a long minute. Then JR punched Pat’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pat shrugged. “There wasn’t anything to tell.”
“Oh, no?”
“What could you have done? He’s my dad. If they took me away I’d wind up in foster care. I’ll still probably wind up that way.”
“Not if we can help it.” JR didn’t look like a little boy lost anymore. “You’re coming home with me, Pat, and once I tell Dad what happened, he’ll do something.”
Wills frowned, and I patted his shoulder. “Okay, kiddies, we’ll let tomorrow deal with tomorrow. Pat, you can bed down in my office. There’s a couch in there, and it’s comfortable. You’re about Wills’s size, and he’s got some clothes that should fit you. JR, you’re more my size. I’ll find some sweats you can sleep in. The spare bedroom, babe?”
“Yeah. I’ll book a flight for the three of you. Theo, would you mind seeing they get home all right? I’ve got a job I can’t get out of.”
“Sure. Not a problem. And don’t worry about Miss Su. The ladies downstairs will keep an eye on her.”
“Thanks, babe. Then I’ll call Dad and let him know what’s going on.”
“Um…dessert, Wills?” JR asked.
“What’s for dessert, Theo?”
“I’ve got orange angel food cake with berries. Just like the chef at Raphael’s makes.”
“Yum!” JR’s expression brightened.
“Okay, after you two help Theo clear off the table, you can each have a slice. And save a slice for me too, babe.”
* * * *
Pat disappeared into the dining room with the tray that held the cake, plates, and forks. I’d started a pot of coffee earlier, and now, while JR rinsed off the dishes, I filled a carafe.
“The Cascade is under the sink. Would you take care of it, please? I’ll bring the coffee into the dining room for your brother.” I remembered from Memorial Day that JR preferred milk, so I took a carton of milk out of the fridge and poured it into a pitcher. “Oh, and bring a couple of coffee cups and glasses.”
“Okay, Theo.” He cleared his throat. “The thing is, Pat prefers coffee.”
“I think the last thing he needs tonight is caffeine.”
“Okay,” he said again, and went back to loading the dishwasher.
“Thanks.” I made my way into the dining room, where Pat was putting out the place settings.
“Uh…Theo?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.” His gaze was fixed on the table.
“For what?”
“It was you you were talking about at dinner, wasn’t it? You didn’t have a friend who was willing to go with you when you ran away, whose family would take you in.”
I just stared at him, and he swallowed. Each plate, each fork went just so.
“Does William’s dad know about it?”
I continued to keep silent.
“I promise I’ll never say a word about it, but…”
“But?”
“That guy broke your heart, didn’t he?”
I’d thought he had, at the time.
“Did he…did he make you go out on the streets?”
I couldn’t answer that truthfully. I didn’t know Pat. He could spill what I told him maliciously or completely by accident, but no matter how it happened, I couldn’t afford to have that information come out.
“Look, Pat, let me lay it on the line for you.” I worried my lower lip. I’d have come up with some cock and bull story. “I’m an accountant.”