The long and short of it:

Vaughan admitted he was cool, his best friend, Mackenzie Foster, admitted he was gay. Ian Cane joined their circle of friends. His little cousin Roy came along. Roy wanted his own friends. Roy found Ryan Foster. Tina found Luke Madeary. Luke found out that he doesn't have to live in a factory. Cedric Fitzgerald found out that his house is big enough to be a virtual hotel. Madeleine, Vaughan's older sister, found out she still has feelings for her ex. Madeleine gets back with her ex. Madeleine's ex (Rodder Gonzales) becomes her promoter. Madeleine goes back to singing, hoping to win a music competition by the power of her strong voice and long legs. And there's a little bit more... but that's about what's been going on so far.

Here begins the third part of the story with Chapter Five. We are at the midpoint of the tale where things finally come to a head. Mackenzie goes on a band trip, Ian gets tripped out. Vaughan trips out of school to hang out in a monastery and get in touch with Jesus. Mackenzie wonders who long he can keep silent about his feelings. Other wise: nothing else is going on in:


J A M N I A









the small things
the wren wings
are all that there is

and between the quiet walk about the misty lake
and the wine and the bread we take
before Christ’s altar
is all the mystery that holds the world together
the world is made of a series of very small
things that bear in them for the sons of men
the seeds of eternity

This is all there is
and it is more than enough

-- Dragonfly







P A R T

T H R E E







LOVE









C H A P T E R

F I V E




THE CHRISTMAS SEASON PASSED WITHOUT lethal event. Madeleine did not win the contest which meant she did not get the job, and in a rare show of macho aggression, Rodder mentioned pounding the judges. It was so funny to Madeleine, and she laughed so long that finally he laughed too, and then she said, “No wonder we finally won the championship against Bashan. With such a bone crushing quarterback, and all!”
But, for Madeleine, all was not even close to lost. A man who worked at the coffee shop out in Belmont heard Madeleine, and wanted to know if she and Tina could do an act. Their first gig (Tina walked around the her house saying “gig” over and over again until Aileen threatened to strangle her) would by the Friday before Christmas.

Roy went more frequently to the Foster’s house, and Ian was usually at the Fitzgerald’s with Vaughan and Mackenzie. The two boys realized that Vaughan had become quieter lately, and one of them would disturb him from his meditation-- or whatever he was in-- by throwing a wad of paper at him.
“What?” Vaughan would say, shaking his head and blinking.
“That’s what we wanna know,” Ian would reply.
When Roy would come home, his mother would demand, “Did they treat you nicely? What did Aileen say? Is she nice to you?”
It got to the point that Roy would look for telltale signs of something evil in Aileen when he came to visit. She was fierce. If she was home from work, then something was usually baking in the over. She would be sitting at the kitchen table with her long golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray and a martini before her. But she was scarcely evil. Sometimes she just looked amused.
“What about Kevin?” Race would ask. “Mr. Foster.”
“Oh, he’s real nice.” And Roy would go on and on about him, and how nice he was at home, and in gym class how he let him get away with things. Roy wanted to take him for chemistry next year.
“Well, that’s good,” Race would say, seeming satisfied.
But then Roy began wondering if he didn’t have a crush on Mr. Foster. There wasn’t anyone he could confide in about that but his cousin.
“It’s just hero worship,” Ian told him.
“Like the way you feel about Mackenzie?” Roy said.
“What?” The question had completely caught Roy’s older cousin off guard, and for the rest of the night Roy Cane sensed that he’d said the wrong thing.

One night, Race spoke randomly, as was her way:
“You should bring the boy over here,” Race said to Roy.
“Hum?”
“The boy,” Race repeated. “Your friend, Ryan. Bring him over here to visit you.”

In the Foster house, Ryan was less prone to violent outbursts, though outbursts were all that came from him to the point that Ross would lay a large hand on his little brother’s spindly arm, and say, “Chill out and let some food get in your mouth, Ry!”
Ryan filled his mouth while his hands moved all around the table taking rolls and beans, and roast and whatever else there was, and the whole time rambling on and on. Aileen thought it was a miracle that he managed to never make a mess and there was never food on his face. She and Tina regarded the boy with a similarly amused smile that nearly made them look like twins. Kevin’s elfin face beamed on. The topic of conversation was always Roy. Roy this, Roy that.
Roy has read every Jules Verne book there is. Roy is going to be on school newspaper next year. Roy wants to play a guitar, and when he learns he’ll show me. Mackenzie listened as he perceived that his new friend’s cousin was turning to Ryan’s brother figure. Part of him thought it wasn’t wise to make a hero out of Roy, or a big brother either. After all, what would happen when Roy got older, or if he got more popular. Roy wasn’t really Ryan’s big brother.
I am. The other part of Mackenzie realized that for whatever reason he had never been much of a big brother to Ryan. He was only about three years older, but Lindsay and Ross crept up between the two of them. And the whole Tourettes thing. Mackenzie did not want to admit that, but there it was. And by the time the youngest and most troubled Foster had come along, Mackenzie already had Tina and Vaughan.
And Vaughan isn’t your brother either. Not really.
The thought made Mackenzie so mad, that when Lindsay said, “You act like that kid’s your brother instead of Ian Cane’s skanky little cousin...” Mackenzie shouted, “Of course he’s Roy’s brother!”
Kevin and Aileen both looked at Mackenzie so sharply he was afraid, and then it seemed as if they were afraid.
“I just meant,” Mackenzie grew quieter. They were all looking at him now. “Ryan’s always need a big brother.”
“He’s got us,” Ross said.
“Not really,” Mackenzie shook his head and went on. “It’s like me and Vaughan. You know? Vaughan’s my brother. So why can’t Roy be Ryan’s.”
Mackenzie could only describe the look on his father’s face as immense relief. Mackenzie figured he’d said something profound. Maybe his parents, who had never been particularly profound, were waiting for a profound message from him.
Suddenly Ashley said, “But Vaughan is Black!”
Tina looked at her twin and said, “You are so stupid.”

The Friday before Christmas, Roy and Ryan had both said they wanted to see Madeleine and Tina’s act. Accordingly Ian was supposed to pick them up. He had dropped them off at his Aunt Race’s house after school. But Ian was still getting dressed when it was nearly time for the show, and against his instinct he’d asked his father to bring the boy’s here on his way home from work. After all, it made little to drive back into town and then race back out here toward Belmont, whose border was right down the road
When Mr. Cane had reached his sister’s house, the first thing he did was grab a beer from the refrigerator, and then shout up the stairs for the boys.
When they came running down in their zipped up hoodies, Mr. Cane bawked, slapped his knee and laughed. He looked to Race, who looked annoyed.
“What?” she said.
“Look at ‘em. At the two of ‘em!”
Roy was confused. Ryan looked to his friend for an answer.
“Boy,” Mr. Cane said to Ryan. “Who’s your Daddy?”
Suddenly Ryan shouted, “Shit!” And then let out a whole series of paint peeling expletives before saying, “Kevin Foster.”
Mr. Cane had waited patiently for all the swear words to pass. Now at the name “Kevin Foster,” Mr. Cane slapped his knee and laughed again.
Race ignored her brother, and looked up at the boys. “Are you coming home or staying with Ian?”
“Staying with Ian,” Roy said, placing a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, and maneuvering him down the stairs. He wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but he didn’t feel like coming home tonight. Then, looking at his uncle, he didn’t feel like staying on Sandcastle Road either. Later that night, when Roy brought up the whole situation to Ian, his older cousin had the same expression Race had borne.
“What?” Roy said.
Ian shook his head, thought about it awhile, then told his cousin.
“A long time ago Ryan and Mackenzie’s dad went out with Aunt Race. But don’t bring it up because then she’ll know I told you. Anyway,” Ian said, as if anticipating the next question, “they went together before Tina was even born.”

School was out by then. A week before Tina had knocked everyone’s socks off in Barefoot in the Park--no pun intended, and this time she’d come out and let the crowds have their way with her. Then, for an hour in the back seat of her LTD, she’d let Luke try to have his way with her. He got pretty far, farther than anyone else ever had.
Christmas was on a Tuesday. Aileen didn’t work Christmas Eve. She slept in the morning of the twenty-fourth, and then that afternoon began the long work of preparing food, and preparing food to be prepared later when the half drunk Aunts and Mother arrived. Aileen wrapped presents, ironing clothes out. It was all done with a goal toward being in the bathtub by six. While everyone else was downstairs eating leftovers, she would be her in the master bath, treating herself well, going to sleep, and then waking up at around nine-forty-five to start dressing so that they’d all be in church by 11:45 for midnight Mass.
Things were in no less of an uproar at 1959 Michael except that Cedric never let himself be part of the uproar. He was a morning person. After morning Mass he came home and finished everything that needed to be done, and was resting by three in the afternoon. Vaughan and Madeleine went with Mackenzie to the mall to do last minute shopping which, for them, was all of their shopping.
“We’re not taking forever,” Vaughan told them as they climbed out of the car, “I’m broke and impatient. This ought to be quick and cheap like a whore on Main Street.”
Luke did not go, however. He was making himself scarce. He tried to coax Old Coconut to come to the factory with him, but the yellow dog was used to too much good living, and refused to freeze, nor would he allow his master to either. Luke walked around a long time. He came near downtown where the peach colored library sat with its white pillars. He walked in, leaving Old Coconut outside. Luke thought of browsing around, but the dog must have picked up on this because as soon as he was about to move through the security gate, Old Coconut gave a sharp and very pissed off bark.
When Luke arrived back at the house, Cedric was sitting up playing the piano, and Kirk Berghen was present of all people.
“What are you moping about?” Cedric demanded, not looking up from the piano as he let notes drip out like bells and honey.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing,” Cedric mocked him. “Which means something. This is the one time of year when you probably have an excuse to be wretched. Everyone looks around,” Cedric bammed on the piano a few times, and spun around, “and sees all the stuff they haven’t got.”
“Well, what I haven’t got,” Luke said, “is any way to get presents for anyone I care about.”
“So what?” Cedric said.
“So....” Luke started, but ‘So what?’ was always a bad question from Cedric’s mouth.
Luke grimaced and said, “I just want a little bit of my own money. That’s what sucks about the freedom bit. If you don’t have a phone they can’t call you back and--”
“Ey, Luke?” Luke turned to look at Kirk.
Kirk gave him a smile that was distinctly predatory, and let smoke pour out from between his red lips.
“Would you just hate to pump gas and maybe... in the spring do a little gardening?”
Looking puzzled, Luke shook his head.
“Well, then Merry Christmas. Bring your ass to the station the day after New Years.”
Luke turned from Kirk to Cedric. He didn’t know what to say.
“Say thanks,” Cedric instructed, and then went back to the piano playing, As Time Goes By.

It had not snowed, and Vaughan had resigned himself to a dry Christmas. But as nine o’clock approached, and he and Madeleine were getting dressed, the first flurries began to show themselves.
“It will be a white Christmas!” Vaughan announced to his father.
“Wonderful,” said Cedric in the tone of anyone who has been behind the wheel in a Midwestern winter.
After midnight Mass, they returned home with Luke who had been silent through the whole thing. Vaughan and Madeleine were in the choir, so Luke sat between Ida and Cedric. Cedric thought the boy looked as if he’d never been inside a church before. Maybe he hadn’t.
Ida and Ralph came back to Michael Street. They all drank rummed out egg nogs, and playing records on the old hi fi. They opened presents right away.
“Go get your’s first,” Madeleine told Luke.
He looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to get any presents. He looked a little silly, a very grown looking boy with thick hair, squatting childlike on the floor in the dress pants Cedric had gotten him. He crawled on his knees to the large fir and began searching through the pile of elaborate boxes while Cedric looked on, amused.
Face solid and a little frowny, Luke kept asking, as he pulled box after box from under the tree, “How many of these are for me?”
There was a light rap at the door and then Tina came in without waiting for an answer, followed by Mackenzie, the light caught their hair, shiny bronze-red, golden brown, and flakes of snow sat in it. They were radiant and carrying shiny boxes.
“Mom says don’t forget dinner is at three p.m.,” Tina told her grandmother, Ralph and Cedric, dumping boxes beside Luke as she ran a hand over his head, and was startled by him catching her hand in his, and holding it for a long time.
Mackenzie dropped boxes on the other side of Luke.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, and took off his black dress coat, heading for the closet. He was still in his suit.
“You’re filling out,” Ida declared. “Mackenzie Foster, you’re turning into a heartbreaker.”
“Grandma!” Mackenzie turned red and rolled his eyes at Vaughan. But Vaughan realized that Mackenzie was turning into a heartbreaker.
Meanwhile Luke still knelt before his pile of presents, and Ida said, “Well come on, open up something.”
Luke got up quickly, and headed for the bathroom. The dog only lifted an ear and cocked his head in mild concern.
“I’ll be back in moment guys,” they heard Luke shouting from down the hall.
“You do realize,” Ralph said after a moment, “this is probably one of the first Christmases he’s ever had.”
“Tina, why don’t you go after him,” Ida suggested to her granddaughter.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Tina with uncertainty. “I don’t think he’d want me to see him cry.”


Then the Twelve Days began. A rough circuit of the same people, primarily centered around the Fitzgeralds and Fosters went from Aileen and Kevin’s house on Christmas, to the Fitzgerald’s on Saint John’s day. The Fosters headed toward Windham Street the next day and then an assortment of other relatives. But Cedric took his kids to Louise’s, one day and then up until New Year’s Eve they ate with the cousins on Crawford Street. New Year’s was at Windham Street and everyone who was no one showed up. The day after New Year’s was Windham Street as well, followed by a day at Holy Spirit monastery, Ralph’s abbey. This was always Vaughan’s favorite trip. And then Twelfth Night was back at Michael Street. School started up again on the third of January, but Cedric never sent his kids until after the Twelve Days. For years those had been days of nothing less than magic for Vaughan and Madeleine. This year Luke was with them and Vaughan, at least, saw it through his eyes. The Twelve Days were a spectacle of loud parties and quiet solemnities. Ian was with them. The night they went to the monastery Vaughan, his two friends were on either side of him, knelt before the candlelit creche, and looked on the face of Jesus. Later Ian crawled into the huge bed with Vaughan and Mackenzie, and they lay in the dark chattering a long time. To Vaughan it felt like childhood all over again when Tina and Madeleine had shared the bed with he and Mackenzie.
Finally the chattering had given way to quiet and Ian said, “What’s it all about? Really, I mean. Baby Jesus and the manger.”
“It’s about us,” Vaughan said promptly. “Us right here, chattering away in this bed and being with each other and being friends and... God’s alright with it. He likes it. So he became a person too.”





Luke crawled out of his bed in the study, and went next door to where Cedric and Ida and Ralph were still up.
They all looked up at him.
“I just wanted to say thanks,” he said. “Because no one’s ever... done this for me before. I mean... people aren’t like this. I just wanted to thank you guy --- all of you. Mr. Fitzgerald, Mrs. Law--”
“Oh, now stop,” Ida waved it off, smiling so that her face turned into a maze of crinkles. “Honey, that’s what life’s about.”

The whole January world was covered in white except for the black line of Michael Street, and the black square of the parking lot across the field. Vaughan was in the BBC-orium watching a taped rerun of Monarch of the Glen and debating with himself if he should try out for something nest year. If even Tina Foster was getting involved in school, then maybe it was time to re-evaluate how he thought of involvement. Maybe he’d even get into the next musical.
“Ta! Da!”
Vaughan turned around to see Ian and Mackenzie.
“The two of you look so retarded,” he told them.
“Yes, that’s the point of a band uniform,” Ian told him. “I thought you knew that.”
“I’d had my sneaking suspicions.”
` “And if you had been in band,” Mackenzie said, flopping down beside his old friend, the visor of his large hat falling into his face, “then you would be going to Florida with us.”
“Flor... -- What!” Vaughan shouted.
“It’s not in Chicago. We got third prize for the band competition... which is Florida. Go fig.” Ian grinned. “I can’t wait to get out my Speedo.”
“And let the whole state see how pale and white we are?” Mackenzie raised an eyebrow.
“I can’t believe you’re going to Florida,” Vaughan said, sounding winded.
“If you’d just played that triangle like I suggest -- ”
“Stuff it, Mackenzie.”
Ian and Mackenzie thought that “stuffing it” would be a very good idea. They had already said that what would suck about it was not being able to take Vaughan along. They knew he would put on a good face about it, but this couldn’t be pleasing. It wasn’t until they’d left Vaughan’s house that they said anything.
“I don’t want to room with Fatass again,” Ian said.
“I don’t won’t Kirby and the Dorks Everlasting,” Mackenzie said as they were coming down the steps. Snow had begun falling, but he was suddenly conscious of the fact that his hair was one of his best features, and he didn’t want to hide it or his face under a hood. He was turning vain.
“Wanna room with me?” the phrase came out so quickly he wasn’t sure if Ian had comprehended it.
Ian look like he hadn’t, and then, suddenly, he broke out into a smile and said, “Yeah. This’ll be great.”
For so many reasons, Mackenzie knew Vaughan could not have been present when he’d made that proposition to Ian.





Friday evening Rodder came bounding up the stairs of 1959 Michael Street. Madeleine, in a windbreaker and sweatpants, saw him from the living room window, and was about to tell him he was far too early and she was nowhere near dressed when she took in his blue jeans, his parka, and the ridiculous winter hat with its pom pom and knew he wasn’t either. She opened the door for him and he bounced into the house victoriously, pom pom bobbing on his head. He was wearing his glasses for God’s sake, and they were steamed over.
“Look!’ he shouted at Madeleine, and thrust the paper at her. “I almost killed myself getting over here.”
“Well that would have been counter productive she noted in a loud voice, and then shouted, “Oh, my God, you got into MIT! How did you?”
“I applied early,” Rodder shouted. “I applied early, and got except early and they want me to go down for an interview over spring break and...” Suddenly Rodder managed to catch his breath. “Maddy,” he said, “what are you doing?”
“Now or over spring break?”
“No. School wise, I mean?”
“School wise... I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Well, it’s senior year,” Rodder said.
“And you have apparently been thinking about it a long time.”
“I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t know what would happen.”
“But I don’t know if I should... Rod, I don’t even know if I want to go to school. I’m not you. I can’t do it all. I’m not a genius athlete. I can do one thing and everything else is sort of... Urgh!” Madeleine threw her hands in the air in frustration.
Rodder came near her.
“And yes, Rod, I’m very happy for you.” Madeleine said. She refrained from asking him, “Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”


“This mall blows,” Ian told his cousin as they crossed the crowded food court, and went into the Banana Republic.
“You would think there would be one place in here where I could find a nice shirt.”
“This is nice,” said Roy, who had wandered to a rack of soft blue cotton long sleeves.
“Can I help you?” a female clerk asked.
Ian shook his head, intimidated by the glamour of the clerks here. “No, that’s all right.”
She’s a clerk for God’s sake!
“Let me see that,” Ian murmured to his cousin.
Roy handed to him.
“This is nice,” Ian discovered. “Shit, the price, though.”
“You could probably get the same thing at Wal Mart,” Roy instructed him.
Ian looked offended.
“I am not buying Mackenzie anything from Wal Mart for his birthday,” Ian examined the shirt. He liked the buttons that the tag said were made from cotten wood. “This is classy. He’ll look nice in this. He can even where it when we go to... Well, no. It’ll be to hot. Maybe I should get him a short sleeve.”
“Maybe you should get him both.”
Ian, oblivious to Roy’s sarcasm, said, “Maybe I will!”
“That’ll be two weeks of allowance money and part of the stash Uncle Sam and Aunt Lee gave you.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to do anything else with that money except buy weed.” Ian said in a low voice. His eyes lit up. “Let’s find a short sleeve, now.”
The short sleeve they chose was yellow. Ian confessed he liked the blue best because it brought our Mackenzie’s hair.
“You’re nuts,” Roy said.
“What?” Ian turned to Roy as he stood in line with the shirts.
“You haven’t been this nuts over someone since Cindy.”
Ian frowned. He decided not to reflect on that too much.
“You’re nuts over Ryan right now,” Ian accused. “Why can’t I be nuts over Mackenzie?”
“You’re not nuts over Vaughan.”
“Of course I am,” Ian protested a little to loudly. “It’s not his birthday.”
“You don’t go on about Vaughan’s eyes and hair.”
“Shut up, Roy!” Ian said suddenly, looking around to see if anyone had heard. His cousin had gone white.
“Sorry,” Roy said.
Ian stared at the two shirts, feeling a little embarrassed.
“Go get yourself something,” Ian told Roy.
“What?”
“Go get yourself something. I’m buying.”
Roy knew better than to protest. One day he would ask his cousin why it was easier to spend money than say he was sorry.

“Vaughan’s my friend too,” Ian said while they were driving back up Willow Parkway, “I just feel differently about him than I do about Mackenzie. I think about him the way.... I think about you. I think about Kenzie different is all,” Ian said.
Roy wanted to holler Enough already. But he knew he’d better not, and he knew that Ian was talking more to himself than to his cousin.
In the back of both their minds was the fatal phrase Roy had let slip out, “He’s my friend,” Ian said. “He’s not my girlfriend.”

Roy Cane privately believed that it had been suddenly being around so many Catholics that had filled him with a need to confess. But he didn’t want to tell Ryan what he’d said to his cousin. Ryan was Mackenzie’s brother after all. So Roy decided on Vaughan. It didn’t seem to matter that Vaughan was closer to Mackenzie than Ryan, and close to Ian for that matter. Vaughan could handle this confession.
He told Vaughan everything he’d said on the Friday of Mackenzie’s sixteenth birthday. Unlike Cedric, The Fosters believed in sending their children to school every day, and so Mackenzie had actually gone to class despite Vaughan’s disapproval and muttering. They were all going over to the Foster house later. Aileen had made a cake, and Kevin, in his indulgence, had bought a bottle of real wine, not the sparkling grape juice he usually got for the kids’ birthdays.
“I wouldn’t feel too bad,” Vaughan told Roy as they were slipping their coats on, and heading downstairs. “You know, Ian’s a guy and guys get kind of sensitive when you imply that they’re queer.”
“But I didn’t say that Ian was -- ” Roy’s eyes bulged, and despite the fact that he was weedy and had Ian’s face, he looked just like Mackenzie whenever he was late to a discovery. “I didn’t mean to say that Ian is... No wonder,” Roy shook his head. “Maybe I should tell him--”
“Maybe you should drop it?” Vaughan suggested, coming down the stairs after Roy.
Roy nodded, thinking this was good advice.

But Vaughan dropped nothing. He filed things away in his head. Mackenzie drove -- badly-- over to the house to meet them. Ian was already in the living room. He had said that he wanted to give Mackenzie his presents before the party, and Mackenzie danced into the door saying, “Presents! Now!”
“Don’t look at me,” Vaughan told him.
Ian handed Mackenzie his first box, and Mackenzie fiddled with the wrapping paper before Ian said, “Just open it already, Kenzie!”
Mackenzie squatted on the other side of the coffee table, and ripped open the shiny paper, and then lifted up the smoke grey blue shirt.
“This is.... This is too much! Did you spend this much money on me, Vaughan?”
Vaughan barked out a very dry laugh.
“Oh, my God,” Mackenzie went on, and Ian looked pleased, and then Mackenzie debated the rightness of hugging Ian, decided it wad perfectly fine, and threw his arms around him. Ian handed him the second box and as Vaughan watched his two friends, Mackenzie making much over the gifts and the giver, asking to try one on, Ian saying that he’d better. Mackenzie took off his cream colored sweater, and slipped on the blue shirt over his wife beater. He buttoned it, leaving the tails out, Ian tugged at the sleeves and the collar, carefully, pushed the hair out of Mackenzie’s face.
“Doesn’t he look nice?” Ian marveled.
Vaughan had gotten used to the fact that Mackenzie looked nice. His friend was medium height and well built, happy looking, with blue innocent eyes. He was in baggy cargo pants and a nice shirt from Banana Republic. He’d just turned sixteen today. What Vaughan was not used to was hearing Ian comment on how nice Mackenzie looked. Vaughan looked from one friend to the other, and then to Roy who’s face bore no expression. Neither of them had ever seen a married couple in action, not really, but Vaughan wondered if it didn’t look somewhat like this

That night, after Ian and Roy left, Mackenzie and Vaughan were sitting up in his bedroom in the Foster house. Vaughan looked around. He was hardly ever in Mackenzie’s room.
“Stay here, tonight,” Mackenzie yawned, stretching out in the bed in his good clothes. “I’m too tired to go to your house.”
“Tina would probably drive me.”
“No, I meant I wanted to spend the night with you, but we’re already here, so--” Mackenzie interrupted himself with a yawn. “Man, I better take these off before I wrinkle everything. Wasn’t Ian great?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
“Vaughan, would you reach into my closet and get my pajama bottoms. You can have a pair of my sweats-- or I think there’s another set of pajama bottoms. Or you can have mine if you don’t feel like all that.”
Mackenzie’s closet was neat as ever. It was not hard to find two pairs of plaid pajama bottoms. They turned their backs to each other, changed, and turned back around, perfectly coordinated and not ever thinking twice about the miracle of such coordination.
They climbed into bed, Mackenzie handing over one overstuffed pillow.
“Say a prayer, Vaughan.”
Vaughan said the Our Father, both boys crossed themselves, Mackenzie reached over and turned out the little desk light over his bed.
“I should tell him,” Mackenzie said. “I don’t know how he couldn’t know.”
“Hum?” Vaughan said, yawning, and seriously not wanting to be awake.
“I should tell Ian about me. It’s weird. Did you see us? I felt like I was his wife or something.” Vaughan said nothing. “And he can’t know that’s how he makes me feel. I need to tell him. The band trip maybe... No, I need you to be with me.”
“Why?”
“What if Ian clocks me?”
“For being gay?”
“Vaughan, I’m pretty sure I like him.”
“I’m pretty sure he likes you.”
“I don’t mean that way.”
Vaughan was silent, and decided to pretend to sleep.



IT WAS WEDNESDAY, AND MR. WEAVER was feeling ticked off again. He tried to catch Vaughan Fitzgerald in the act, but he knew that however “not there” the boy was, he would always come together to answer any question thrown at him by a teacher, and he would answer it perfectly.
And Mr. Weaver knew that Vaughan was not daydreaming either.
He was scheming.
He’d seen that look in the boy’s eyes before. Right before a week of absenses in which he’d managed to show up and still ace the exam. Right before he’d managed to get out of three weeks of detention or Bone Mc.Arthur’s Mustang had gone missing-- and Mr. Weaver knew who had stolen it, even if nobody else did. This was a dangerous look for the rest of the world. Mr. Weaver thought the boy in the front of the class looked dreamy, like a saint going to meet his martyrdom or a girl his sweetheart.
He was right, Vaughan was up to no good. His heartache at not going to Florida had not lasted long before he’d decided that he owed himself a vacation, and currently he was sketching in his notebook all the things he planned to do, all the places he longed to go. More than anything he desired to visit Holy Spirit, the abbey Ralph Hanley belonged to. He had sucked up his courage and called them, and the same morning Ian and Mackenzie would be departing, Vaughan would be preparing for a two day stay.
Mr. Weaver, who knew everyone’s business, did not know this. What he did know was the immense stupidity of Mick Rafferty. Ashley Foster, a girl long considered up to no good, should have failed biology by now, but she was showing up after school for hours at a time, and Mick, lovable guy he was, was giving her a great deal of his time.
“George Stearne told me I’d better watch out,” Mick told Mr. Weaver. “ What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mr. Weaver only cocked his head, and said in a low voice, “It means Ashley Foster’s a pretty girl with a pretty bad reputation.”
“She needs my help,” Mick argued.
“Still,” Weaver said, “George is a smart young man.”


It had begun at the end of the football season when Ashley’s grades had not shown improvement. She had to have known Mick would call her to his office, after all he’d said he would. When she began to cry as if the knowledge of her slipping grades were new to her, Mick suggested, “Maybe you could ask your sister for help?”
In the midst of her crying, Ashley had stopped, and her eyes had suddenly blazed up in anger.
“I’d rather die,” she said.
“Well,” Mick decided, “that could be a problem.”
The tall man stood on the other side of his desk, and stroked his chin while Ashley resumed her small litany of sobs.
“We could... I have to coach the team at about four every day. If you could meet me before or sometimes after...? Here,” Mick said, “we could arrange something. Maybe?”
Ashley looked up in the midst of her tears and stopped sniffling.
“Mr. Rafferty, I would really appreciate that. I don’t want to fail. Not in my last year.” Then she said, “I hate being stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Rafferty said. “You just don’t.... You don’t know. High school’s not like the rest of the world. Some people get it. Some people don’t. Ashley, after this semester you won’t need to get it.” Then he added, “Unless you come back here and teach.”
Ashley suddenly smiled at that.
When Mick told George Stearne everything that night at the bar, the little man plucked his, goatee and looked over his spectacles.
“Next time she cries,” Stearne said, “see if she’s ugly when she does it.”
Mick raised an eyebrow, and put down his beer.
“If a girl is trying to pull you by your dick, she’s never ugly when she cries. Real tears are gross. They redden your face and make snot come out of your nose. Look for that next time. If it’s not there, she’s shitting you.”
Mick shook his head wearily, and clapped Stearne on the back.
“Geoerge, George, George... How did you ever get to be so cynical?”
Stearne looked straight at him.
“Life,” he said.


i i

The night before he and Mackenzie were to leave, Ian Cane called up Vaughan.
“What do you want from Florida?”
“You can’t afford to buy another thing,” Vaughan told him.
“Don’t you judge my bank account,” Ian said bravely, knowing that Vaughan was right. “Whaddo you want?”
“Miami.”
“Something a little smaller, maybe?”
“Disneyland.”
“That’s in California.”
“Oh, right. Can I have Disneyworld?”
“Well, if you’re not even going to be close to serious...”
“Look, I don’t know. Surprise me. I’m sure whatever you bring back will be fine, Ian.”

As Vaughan was getting ready to climb into bed the phone rang again.
“Mackenzie?”
“Yeah. Hey, before we go I wanted to know--”
“If there was anything I wanted in Florida?”
“Yeah,” Mackenzie said, surprised at Vaughan’s clairvoyance.
“Bring me back an orange.”
“Vaughan!” Mackenzie reprimanded.
“Okay, bring me back Gloria Estefan. Look, I don’t really care. Have a good time. Don’t do anything stupid. And do spend too much money on the guilt present.”
“It’s not a guilt present. I always get you stuff when I go places.”
“Well, whatever it is, don’t spend to much money. And... You earned the trip.. . After having to wear those ridiculous costumes all year.”
“I think I look cute in my band uniform.”
“Goodnight, Kenzie.”
“I’m told it’s a real turn on.”
“Goodnight, Mackenzie.”

The next morning, which was Thursday, Vaughan showed up at the parking lot to watch the band kids get on the yellow bus that would take them to the airport in Fort Wayne. He had a duffle bag swung over his shoulder, and a satisfied look on his face. After he’d hugged his friend goodbye. Mackenzie cocked his head and with a knowing look, said, “You’re going somewhere, aren’t you?”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about cutting school.”
“Ordinarily I would, but... Does your dad even know?,”
“He knows I’m going somewhere.”
“Oh, yeah. The whole Crawford Street Rule thing,” Mackenzie said bored. Then he gave a funny shrug, made a face at his friend and climbed on to the bus.
Lindsay was making out with Derrick Todd. Tina was between her parents when she pointed and remarked, “Well look at that.”
Derrick immediately separated from Lindsay, and looked at Coach Foster and his wife who were wearing only mildly interested expressions.
Ian, who had shown up late, swung behind Vaughan and, pointing to Lindsay, said, “See, it won’t be all fun. She’s coming.”

The public transit system in Jamnia was shit as usual. The Number Two showed up more than ten minutes late. It took him the whole eastern length of Michael Street before heading up to the bus depot past Main. For the first time he took the Bashan Seven. It was as ordinary as any other bus, but it was one of the few that took you out of town. Vaughan wondered if you caught the right bus, could you ride mass transit all across the country. The idea intrigued him, sort of like riding the Chicago El across Illinois. The latter was impossible, but maybe the bus idea wasn’t.
“I will make it my goal, before I hit thirty, to see how well I can cross the Midwest on public transit,” Vaughan decided. The sky was overcast, and the snow on the tops of the houses the bus passed was greyish. The bus drove docily down Main Street, and then turned made into the residential area not far from where Rodder lived. The bus threaded through capillaries of little streets with little houses until it crossed Acorn Ditch and suddenly gunned it down Bashan Road. There weren’t many people on the bus now. Ever since Jamnia High School had been built, most people really felt no need to go to Bashan, Ohio. Whitened fields stretched out on either side of the road as the bus sped on. There were black trees in the distance. Vaughan was sure they were still in Jamnia City Limits, but Jamnia had a lot of building to do before it’s city limits were filled. Eventually this road would lead back to the sparse northern part of the city, but not until they passed Holy Spirit.
The road forked. To the east lay the highway, and Ian’s house. The bus went west and, in time, past the black trees and through the break in the woods, Vaughan could see the glimmering grey of Lake Clare in late January. Then rising up on the hill was the low, brick structure of Holy Spirit monastery.
Vaughan almost forgot to pull the cord. When he did the light went on over the driver’s head, reading STOP REQUESTED, and he looked back at Vaughan.
“At the closest drop off,” Vaughan told him.
“Son, there’s nothing here. Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Vaughan.
When the bus stopped, trees had resumed. Vaughan thanked the driver. The bus pulled off. He was practically nowhere. He crossed the road. A narrow asphalt way went through the blackened trees. There was only the sound of crunching snow, and raspy crows. Overhead and beyond, the branches and tree trunks criss crossed. Up and up Vaughan headed on the asphalt road until, finally, he began to see brick through the trees. Then the trees seemed to give way all at once.
Holy Spirit was a white two story brick house with its back turned southwest to face Lake Clare. The main door was humble, carved with doves, and had a small brass handle. Across the slate roof, overlooking the lake, was a carillon over the steepled chapel, and it rang dolefully in the grey air.
Vaughan did not know what to make of Holy Spirit or of himself for coming to this place.
He moved toward the door. He had never been here by himself, so now it was strange. Vaughan was surprised to learn the door was not locked. Inside, the lobby was fairly dark, and what there was of sunlight glinted on polished terrazzo floors. Vaughan was conscious of space more than anything.
For a long time he stood there, not knowing what to do next. North, south, east and west was an equally plain door. One led out to the snowbound courtyard. Vaughan walked around the hall until the door to his right opened, and he turned about.
The young man in the brown robe beamed at him and said, “Are you Vaughan?”
“Yes,” Vaughan answered cautiously, as if this were a test and he were afraid of failing.
“Well then come on,” the man --the monk-- laughed at him. “We’ve been expecting you!”

The monk turned out to be named Brother Paul. He was tall and open faced. Vaughan was shocked that a grown man could have such an open face, and he had marmalade hair. Paul wore glasses and was chatty, and Vaughan thought he might have been about twenty-five. The monk walked him up to the second floor of the house, and all around the quiet halls. Grey sunlight came through, and as they walked, Paul went on about how the friary was built in a square surrounding a preau—“Courtyard,” Paul substituted the strange word. He walked Vaughan to the side of the monastery which faced Lake Clare, and looked at one plain wooden door as if expecting it to tell him something before pushing it open with one bare white foot.
Vaughan poked his head around and said nothing.
Paul said, “Is it too plain?”
“No,” Vaughan said.
Paul made way for him. They both stepped into the room. It suddenly occurred to Vaughan that Paul was a man, if a man in a brown robe, and was waiting for him to say something.
“I just can’t believe I’m here,” Vaughan said.
Paul sighed, seeming relieved, and then he grinned brightly.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s how I felt my first time here. Put your bag down, and I’ll show you the rest of the place. How long are you here?”
“Whole weekend.”
“Excellent,” Paul beamed.

It was Paul who told him the whole schedule for that day and showed him the dining hall before showing him the chapel. Paul brought him into the chapel, which was practically below Vaughan’s room. He stopped when Vaughan sighed and again he said, “When I first came here, it got to me, too.”
“Where did you come from?” Vaughan’s voice was a whisper.
“Upstate New York,” Paul shrugged, contentedly. “Now my home is Jamnia, Ohio.”
The chapel was lit by hanging lanterns and, at the end, before a set of pews, Vaughan noticed what looked like the doors to jail cell.
No one else was in the church but them. Paul, a considerably taller man, bent down and whispered to Vaughan, pointing into the darkness where the pews were, “That’s what’s left of the old grille.”
“Hum?”
“This place started out as a convent,” Paul went on in his same breathless voice. “It used to be for the Poor Clares. They were huge here. That’s why that’s Lake Clare our there. Sometimes you can almost feel them walking around, barefoot.” His voice took on a groovy rhythm, “Crowns of thorns on their heads.”
“What?”
“The Clares used to wear thorn crowns,” Paul explained. “Anyway,” the friar whispered on, “their numbers got smaller and then something else happened, but anyway they moved up north, toward Rhodes, and gave this to us. That was almost a hundred years ago.” Paul gestured around the chapel. Above their heads wood beams were criss=crossing into the dark. “We’ve built up a bit since then.”

“You’re Cedric’s boy,” said one one friar who reminded Vaughan of Quazimodo.
“That’s right,” Vaughan said.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Then he broke off, yelling at another monk. “That’s right. You nut, I heard that!”
They were having lunch now, and at the table where they sat, Friar Jeremiah leaned over and said to Vaughan, “It’s helpful to ignore Mario when tou can,” and he jabbed a thumb at the ugly friar.
“I will not be ignored,” Mario went on. “Prior, tell them not to ignore me.”
The little old man with his mild face stopped eating, smiled and said, “Please, don’t ignore. Mario. You know how he cannot bear it.”
“But you should be in school,” Mario said to Vaughan. “Shouldn’t you?”
“I’m in school right now,” Vaughan said. “It’s the school of life.”
“Smart ass,” Mario assessed.
Paul rolled his eyes and blenched. “Mario, You should have been a Benedictine.”
Mario said nothing.
The little prior remarked, “I always hated their habits.”
“There’s always the Trappists,” said Julian out of nowhere.
“Then you’d never talk again at all,” Mario said. “Look, kid, maybe you should be a Trappist. You don’t talk much do you.”
Vaughan took a sip from his water and said, “I’m having a hell of a time getting a word in around you.”
There was silence at the table.
Then Paul rolled his eyes and said, with admiration, “Oooooooh!”
Jeremiah sniggered. The prior smiled gently.
Vaughan figured, Two can play at this game.
“I’d better watch my step,” Mario told Vaughan.
“Not a bad idea,” the boy agreed, going back to his lunch.
“And so young to be so evil,” Mario commented. “I’ll pray for your soul.”
“By all means,” said Vaughan.

After lunch Paul offered to show him the grounds. Friar Julian showed up with a pack of cigarettes, and offered a Winston to Vaughan.
“I usually have Lucky Strikes,” Vaughan told him as they hopped into the Jeep, Vaughan between the two men in who had hiked up their brown robes to get into the automobile.
The bald Julian assessed Vaughan to see that he, in fact, was not be shitted by a precocious kid and said, “You’ll fit in well, here.”
“I’m just visiting.”
“Wise answer,” Paul told him, and stuck the key in the ignition.
“You want one, Paul?” Julian offered. Vaughan was a little surprised to picture Brother Paul smoking.
“Not while I’m driving,” Paul said.
He showed them the old nun’s cemetery, the convalescent home, and the new cemetery for the friars. “And this is the path with the stations of the cross. It’s cold, so we’ll . drive it,” Paul said.
The Jeep rumbled under the black branches. Our of the snow arched blackened metal figures depicting Christ and those who had gone with up toward Calvary.
“Stop the car,” Julian said at once.
They did. Paul looked to Julian.
“Look,” Julian gestured with his cigarette.
By Lake Clare, with no coat, walked a monk in a brown robe, and Vaughan wondered what was so amazing about him... To them.
“That’s the Floating Franciscan,” Paul explained, and Vaughan noted that he didn’t seem to be floating.
“Sometimes he’s called the Wandering Monk,” said Julian, “I’ve never seen him Float... Or do much wandering. But there it is.”
The three of them watched the other friar just stand at peace over the lake, his hands behind his back, his back toward them. Then finally Julian said, “Com’ on, Paul. Let’s go. It’s not nice to stare.”

After dinner that evening, Vaughan learned a great deal about the monastery. Julian and Paul were good friends. Julian had been novicemaster when Paul arrived, and though no specific age was given, Vaughan got the feeling that Paul was a little older than he had first assumed. Mario was the unofficial record keeper. In the middle of one of Brother Mario’s stories, Julian leaned back in his chair and effected a loud snore.
“I’Il forgive you’re rudeness and continue,” Mario said.
“I knew you would,” Julian sat up, winked, pulled a wry face, and passed a cigarette to Paul.
Mario went on to tell Vaughan how Cedric used to come here all the time.
“That’s how he met your mother. He was praying to God, waiting to enter the Order when all of a sudden, Marilyn fell through the roof on his head. I’m not lying, I saw him stagger out of the chapel. So did Julian.”
“I did not.”
Mario began to protest, but Julian added,” However I heard it about from Father Prior.”
Mario shrugged and went on, “And instead of getting Cedric, we got Ralph, which was a complete surprise. But now he’s over at Our Lady with that nutty Brumbaugh.”
“Carl wasn’t always nutty,” Julian said. “He was my novice master.”
“Yeah, but you’re a hundred and fifty years old. No wonder the old bastard’s mind is shot.”
Vaughan’s mind had been going over different lines altogether.
“My mother’s buried here isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Mario said, all at once growing quite serious.
“You were young when she died, weren’t you?” the prior said.
“She died giving birth to me.”
Paul stood up. “Do you want to go visit the grave... Now?”
“It’s almost dark,” Julian protested.
“Almost, but not yet.” Paul turned to Vaughan. “Meet me back here in five minutes, okay? I’m going to get a coat. I’ll take you to see where she’s buried.”

There was hardly any light left in the sky when they stood before the grave. Vaughan read over and over, trying to make a little sense of it: Marilyn Alexander Fitzgerald.
“I never realized my middle name is her maiden name,” Vaughan said. “I think she told me that.” And then he realized what he’d just said by the look on Paul’s face.
Paul smiled and said, “I’ll give you a secret for a secret. The first time I came here, I hated it. I had so much back home for me. I hated it because for the first time in my life I knew exactly what God wanted me to do. And I did not want to do it. I didn’t think I could. I was getting ready to pack and leave. I went to the chapel. I knelt down to pray. And then I felt this arm on my shoulder. When I looked up it was him. The Wandering Franciscan.”
Vaughan looked at Paul, waiting for him to continue.
“He never said anything, he just smiled, and then as he lifted his arm I saw he had... Wounds. In is hands. And I knew.” Paul stopped and suddenly looked very nervous.
“I shouldn’t say that.” he said.
“You think it was Francis,” Vaughan said quickly, feeling a shiver pass over him.
“I’m sure it was,” Paul said. “But it didn’t scare me. I couldn’t be scared. It wasn’t a ghost. It was a saint. It was... the opposite of a Halloween shiver. I’ve never told anyone. So you can tell me... what you were about to tell me.”
Vaughan nodded and then said, “I think because she died while I was being born, or maybe because I almost died... I’ve always seen her. Out of the corner of my eye. Now she only comes when I ask her to. I think she’s respecting my privacy. I don’t ask a lot. I don’t... need her a lot. I don’t ask lightly. But... she’s always been around. Once in a blue moon she pops up. Sometimes when I don’t want her too. Then sometimes when I do need her she’s not around at all. Every once in a while she tells me things. I don’t know when. Maybe in my sleep. I’m sure that Dad or someone else told me, but then I repeat them and Dad looks up at me, and I realize that it was my mother. Who told me. Things that only she knew. She doesn’t do it with my sister,” Vaughan said. “And I guess most people -- people who die -- don’t do this. So I just don’t talk about it.”
When Paul said nothing, Vaughan looked up and said, “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”
“Yes,” Paul said truthfully. “But not because you see your mother.” he smiled brightly. “ I think you’re crazy cause you cut out of school to live with us for a few days.”