The Secret of Othello Page 2

  That was how Denny ended up sitting in an armchair, eating baked chicken and green beans from the resort kitchen, watching not-very-good sitcoms. Mrs. Vandermark steadily drank her wine but didn’t say much. She didn’t seem upset. Numb, maybe. Denny could empathize, because he was feeling a little numb himself and he didn’t even have the benefit of alcohol.

  Brian tried to play host, clearing away their dishes and refilling drinks, but he was obviously anxious. Mrs. Vandermark fell asleep against his shoulder sometime around ten o’clock. Brian said, “Mom,” and nudged her awake.

  “I’m so tired,” she murmured, sounding like a young child.

  “I’ll tuck you in,” Brian said.

  They were gone for several minutes. Denny remained in the living room. He muted the TV and listened to the distant murmur of their voices, the words indistinguishable. When Brian came back, he looked tired and depressed.

  “Sorry.” He flopped down on the sofa. “It was a bad day.”

  “I should go home,” Denny offered.

  Brian frowned. “I was going to say you should come sit next to me.”

  That was definitely a better idea. Denny moved over and sat next to him, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do next. Hold hands? Snuggle? Maybe they could move right to the more kissing part, followed by Denny losing his virginity.

  “You look like someone about to get run over by a truck,” Brian said. “Relax.”

  “I am relaxed,” Denny said hastily. “I’m just not sure.”

  “Of what?”

  “What we’re supposed to do.”

  “We’re not supposed to do anything.” Brian turned to him so that their knees were bumping. On the silent TV, some reality game show had come on. Contestants in yellow hazmat suits were lining up to cross a rope bridge over a vat of green slime. Brian asked, “Didn’t you go on dates with girls or anything? Just to have fun?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Did you ever kiss a girl?”

  “I’d rather kiss you,” Denny said, honestly.

  “We can do more kissing,” Brian promised. He reached over and took Denny’s right hand. “And later, more stuff, when it feels right.”

  Denny watched Brian’s fingers thread through his own. Hand-holding was kind of weird, but not unpleasantly so. “How much later?”

  Brian sounded amused. “Why? Are you on a deadline?”

  On the TV, a female contestant fell into the slime.

  Denny replied, “No. I mean, kind of. You know that I’m going away in three weeks.”

  Brian’s gaze was intense. “And then what? We’re done?”

  “No! But I’ll be in training for seven weeks, and then the semester starts. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away. And you’ll be in Boston and you’ll have your own schedule.” Denny tried to sound casual, but he suspected he was failing. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Brian pulled his hand free. Denny wanted to grab it back.

  “So this is just something on a checklist?” Brian asked. “Something you want to accomplish before you go away to Connecticut?”

  “No!” Denny insisted, although sort of, yes. Summer training at the academy was going to be hard enough without the big invisible “Virgin” stamp on his forehead.

  Brian took a deep breath. “Okay, listen. We’ve only known each other for two weeks. I like you a lot, and I’d say that even if you hadn’t saved my life. I really want to see where this goes. But I can’t promise anything before you go away.”

  “Anything at all?” The entire list in Denny’s head was beginning to evaporate. It was a detailed list, augmented by online research and lots of years of frustration. It came with illustrations and annotations and milestones—

  Brian’s gaze jerked past Denny’s shoulder to where Mrs. Vandermark had appeared. She was wearing a flimsy white nightgown that revealed more than Denny wanted to see.

  “Did I take my medicine?” she asked Brian. “I don’t remember.”

  Brian stood up. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get you back to bed.”

  He steered her back to her room, leaving Denny alone on the sofa with only twenty-three days and that big blinking calendar in his head.

  Chapter Three

  Rain started to pour down on Denny’s drive home. Wind whipped through the pine trees and oaks. Sudden squalls were pretty common over the Florida Keys, especially in summertime, but he slowed down and took extra care crossing the Overseas Highway. His dad wouldn’t be happy with a dent in the car.

  At home, he parked next to Dad’s patrol car and made a mad dash inside. He only got halfway drenched. Inside, the house smelled like fried steak and onions. Dad and Steven were eating a very late dinner at the scratched kitchen table. Dad was in the middle of what sounded like a stern lecture.

  “—leave it to the professionals,” he was saying. “Someone could have been hurt, and that someone includes you.”

  “No one got hurt, Dad,” Steven said around a mouthful of steak.

  “Could have,” Dad repeated.

  Denny shook water out of his hair. “What did he do now?”

  “Nothing,” Steven said.

  Dad said, “Chased two criminals all the way to Islamorada.”

  “Didn’t chase!” Steven protested. “Followed at a reasonable speed until Dad caught them. Otherwise they’d be in Miami by now.”

  “With two hundred and thirteen dollars of stolen money,” Dad snorted. “Hardly worth your life.”

  “My life was never in danger.” Steven stabbed a chunk of steak with his fork. “How was your date, Denny?”

  Dad looked at him, too. “Go like you planned?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Denny said.

  Steven smirked. “He didn’t put out?”

  Dad shot him a disapproving look. “That’s the first thing you think about, Steven?”

  “It’s always the first thing he thinks about,” Denny said. “And the last thing. Pretty much the only thing, day and night. Have you seen the water bill lately?”

  Steven burped. “Not fair. I think a lot about food, too.”

  “Your mother would be so pleased to hear about your intellectual depth,” Dad said dryly. “By the way, she called and said stay out of trouble. She’ll be back on Monday with Aunt Riza in tow.”

  Denny pulled off his wet shirt and hid a grimace. Aunt Riza was smart and loving, but also the nosiest, bossiest family member they had. She lived in Miami along with their other Cuban relatives but came down once a year to wreak havoc in their lives, like a hurricane.

  Speaking of stormy weather, thunder cracked overhead and more rain slammed into the windows. The lights flickered but steadied again.

  “Better find your flashlights,” Dad said.

  By the time they all went to bed, the storm had tapered off to an occasional drizzle. Denny tossed and turned for a while, thinking about Swab Summer. He wasn’t worried about the physical aspects—running and push-ups and drills. He was sure, too, that he could handle the mental aspects of being ordered around, broken down, and built back up again. But he was worried that the upperclassmen would take one look at him and know his innermost heart: fag, they’d say, and once the rumor started it couldn’t be quenched.

  He dreamt he was lost in the drafty halls of the academy barracks. Coast Guard cadets watched him from the shadows, whispering and leering. Not just gay, but also a virgin, a loser virgin who’d never been touched or loved—

  An enormous ripping noise jerked him out of sleep. Denny blinked at the ceiling in confusion, his pulse pounding.

  “What was that—” he started to ask.

  Thunder outside, a flash of lightning, and then something enormous smashed through the ceiling. Denny didn’t get to finish his question at all.

  *

  Steven had no idea why he was on the floor, surrounded by soggy leaves and plaster chunks. Was that a tree just a few feet over his head? Lightning flashed beyond the branches, followed by annoyingl
y loud thunder. Rain drizzled down on his bare chest and legs and his heart jackhammered like a crazy thing. He was too young to have a heart attack, right?

  “What?” he demanded, because he thought Denny was nearby and had asked him a question. “What happened?”

  Thunder drowned out half of Denny’s reply.

  “—and it fell in!”

  “What fell in?” Steven asked crossly. Sometimes Denny didn’t make any sense at all.

  “The tree!” Denny answered. “And the ceiling.”

  Something pounded on wood near Steven. A fist on their door, accompanied by Dad’s frantic voice.

  “Steven! Denny!” Dad shouted. “Answer me!”

  A beam of light cut through the darkness. Denny’s flashlight played over their room. Much of the ceiling was gone, smashed in by a turkey oak tree. The destruction was pretty awesome, except for the fact everything Steven owned was crushed or getting ruined by water.

  Steven said, “I think that tree fell on us.”

  “No kidding.” Denny was barely visible through the branches, stuck somewhere between his bed and the window. “Dad! We’re okay!”

  Steven wasn’t 100 percent sure about that. His heart was still racing, and his legs and arms were tingling, and he was shivering even though it wasn’t very cold. Meanwhile, that red stuff on Denny’s forehead probably wasn’t ketchup.

  “You’re hurt,” Steven said.

  Denny swiped at the blood. “It’s fine. You?”

  “Nothing’s broken.”

  “The fire department’s on its way!” Dad said through the door. “Can you open the door?”

  Denny aimed the flashlight at the frame. Part of the enormous trunk had landed on it, and another big chunk was blocking it. The map of the Florida Keys that had hung on the door for years and years was nothing but shredded strips.

  “We need a chain saw,” Steven said.

  “How about the window?” Dad asked.

  Denny pushed past some branches and leaves. Steven couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but he heard some cursing.

  “Maybe if I had a machete I could get to it,” Denny said.

  “Just stay put,” Dad advised. “We’ll get you out.”

  Steven heard the first sirens in the distance. He dragged a wet pillow off his bed and wriggled around until he could lean against it and the wet wall. “Good thing Mom’s not here. She’d be freaking out.”

  “Dad can freak out for both of them,” Denny said. “Where’s your phone?”

  “Are you going to call her?”

  “Of course not. I just want to know what time it is. And you can use it as a flashlight, idiot.”

  “Oh.” Steven groped around on the bed. He usually kept it near his head when he slept, but it wasn’t there. He used both hands to pat down the floor. He found one sneaker, an empty soda can, what felt like a dirty dinner plate, and some ruined paperbacks. Military thrillers, all of them. His fingers closed in on a metal rectangle. The small white screen lit up and made him squint.

  “It’s four fifteen,” he said.

  “Let me see,” Denny said.

  Steven passed it through the branches. “Where’s yours?”

  “In tiny pulverized pieces.”

  “You broke another one?” Steven snickered. Denny’s last two phones had been either smashed or sunk during the case about Brian’s dad. The phone before that had been run over by a truck while they were solving the Gas’n’Go robberies. At this rate, Steven might as well forgo the SEALs and just open a cell phone store for Denny alone.

  “Shut up,” Denny suggested. He punched numbers into the keypad.

  “I thought you weren’t going to call anyone.”

  “I’m just checking on Brian.” Denny waited, glaring at the screen. “No service.”

  The fire engine sirens were much louder now, accompanied by what sounded like the island ambulance. Steven knew many of the people who worked emergency services in the Middle Keys. He hoped this rescue didn’t take long. It was kind of embarrassing, being trapped in his own bedroom by a tree.

  Maybe thinking the same thoughts, Denny said, “I hope this doesn’t end up on the front page of the newspaper.”

  Steven settled down to wait. “I hope they bring breakfast.”

  Chapter Four

  Brian almost didn’t answer his phone. He was dead tired, and the bed was way too soft, and when he slitted one eye open, he could see that it wasn’t even fully daylight yet. It should be a crime for anyone to call you before dawn, especially on a Sunday morning. But the phone kept ringing, and maybe it was important. He fumbled for the Answer button.

  “Hello?” he croaked out.

  “It’s Sean,” said a hurried voice. Sean Garrity, who worked with Denny at the Bookmine. “You better get over to Denny and Steven’s house.”

  Brian sat upright. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’ll see! You can’t miss it. And they’re okay, but still stuck.”

  Brian pulled on some clothes, scribbled a note for his mother, and grabbed her keys. His own car was still being repaired after the accident in Islamorada. On the drive over to Denny’s side of the island he saw several tree branches that had been torn down by the storm. Crews were working on phone and power lines. At least the clouds had cleared out, even if the air was still wet and heavy.

  Three fire trucks blocked the road at the Anderson house, with an ambulance, two police cruisers, and an electric company truck nearby. Brian parked and approached the house with a giant lump in his throat. A tree had landed exactly where Denny and Steven’s room was. If they’d been there when it happened, if they’d been crushed—

  But, no, Sean had said they were okay. Brian clung to that.

  Rescuers were attacking the tree with chain saws. Captain Anderson was crouched at one window. A rusty air conditioner lay in the scraggly grass behind them.

  “Hold up,” said one of the policemen when Brian tried to walk closer.

  “It’s okay, Norman.” That was Sean, who broke free from a knot of bystanders. “This is Brian. I called him.”

  The cop, a tall skinny guy with glasses, said, “Why don’t you call the entire island, Sean? Maybe go blog about it, too?”

  “Ignore him, he’s my cousin,” Sean said. “Come on.”

  They approached the house, careful to keep out of the rescuers’ way.

  “They’re really okay?” Brian asked.

  “Apparently, yeah. But Denny won’t come out until they get Steven out, too.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with Steven?”

  Sean waved his hand. “Nothing. Denny’s just being stubborn.”

  Of course he is. Brian pushed down a sigh of exasperation and surveyed the rest of the property. Aside from the tree, the house looked relatively undamaged. The pier was fully intact and Denny’s boat, the Sleuth-hound, looked unharmed as well. The lagoon was calm but farther out, the blue-green waves were still choppy from the storm.

  “So how’d your date go last night?” Sean asked, a glint in his eyes.

  Brian was glad no one was close enough to overhear. Sean and Brian had been openly gay for years. Denny wasn’t ready to tell everyone about himself. It was illegal for Coast Guard cadets to be homosexual, even if some lawmakers were talking about repealing Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

  “It was okay,” Brian said.

  “That’s it?” Sean asked. “Just okay? Where’d you go?”

  “Not far. Isn’t there anything we can do to help?”

  “Not unless you can make thousands of pounds of wet wood magically go away,” Sean said.

  For a long time they stood in the grass, watching while firefighters cut at the tree from ladders and a bucket lift. Some others in the house passed chunks of trunk and branches out through windows. The crowd of bystanders grew larger—friends and neighbors who wanted to help, but also people just recording the rescue on their phones. Brian hated that. Denny and Steven were entitled to a little privacy, weren’t they?r />
  Kelsey Carlson rushed up to them, her clothes wrinkled and her hair in a messy ponytail. Until very recently, she’d been Steven’s girlfriend. Brian wasn’t sure of all the details of their breakup, exactly, but the worry on her face was real.

  “How are they?” she asked.

  “Stuck,” Sean said.

  Kelsey bit one of her fingernails. “You’d think they could at least stay out of trouble while they were asleep.”

  The sun was fully up now, and Brian was getting sweaty standing in the grass. Tiny insects irritated his ankles. Sean said, “I’m going to go get some iced coffee. You want something?”

  “No,” Brian said. “I’ll stay here.”

  Sean had been gone for about fifteen minutes when Captain Anderson said, “Okay, now, careful!” and helped one of the twins climb over the windowsill. Steven or Denny—it was hard to tell—was wearing a fireman’s yellow coat and not much else. Captain Anderson squeezed him hard for a minute.

  “That’s Steven,” Kelsey said.

  Brian wasn’t sure, but when the twin looked past his father and saw Brian on the grass, his face lit up. The chill that had been hanging around Brian warmed right up.

  “No,” Brian said, swamped with relief. “Denny.”

  Denny said to his father, “I’m fine. Not a scratch.”

  “Then what’s this?” Captain Anderson asked, touching his forehead. “Nice bump.”

  Denny shied away from the touch. “I want to wait.”

  “And I want you to get checked out.” Captain Anderson steered him toward the waiting paramedics. “Police orders.”

  Brian and Kelsey met them at the tailgate of the ambulance. One of the paramedics wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm while the other examined his forehead. Denny grinned at Brian and said, “Pretty exciting, huh?”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Brian agreed. He wanted to wrap his arms around Denny, to squeeze him tight and feel him breathing. He wanted to kiss him, too, and then yell at him for scaring him. But he knew Denny wouldn’t want that in front of all these people. All he could do was stand close by and keep his hands still.