The Book of Samuel

CHAPTER THREE

The Heavens

After Mark left, Lucas seemed more angry than anxious. Jerry knew that his husband was unlikely to take precautions against an attack he thought unlikely. Lucas was a creature of assessing probability, and his past inured him to taking cover when he assessed that danger was a ghost.

"Look, I know you think this is bullshit, but we need to talk about some sensible precautions."

"Sensible? I'm not going to hide from a bunch of assholes who are all talk."

Jerry walked over and hugged his husband. He could feel Luke's rigid posture and whispered in his ear, "Take a breath, and let's think about this." He felt Lucas's shoulders begin to drop and the muscles in his back relax. This is how Lucas made it through difficulty – through physical contact with Jerry, one of the few that Lucas allowed to pierce the wall he had built around himself. Jerry let Lucas lean into him, inhaling deeply and smelling the familiar and comforting clean odor of his smaller partner.

After a few minutes, Jerry separated from Lucas and reminded him, "The danger …" He saw Lucas start to protest. "if there is any, isn't just to us. We have the kids, and not just ours, to consider."

"If I thought there was any real chance that this imaginary problem was a threat, I'd hole up and wait, but it's not. Nothing I do involves military secrets, and a couple of wackos aren't going to do anything in Goldendale, for fuck's sake. Terrorists don't act their weirdness out in random small towns."

"You said it, Luke. They're wackos. Who knows what they would do?"

"Before we do anything, I'm going to find out more about what the Feds know. I'm taking Vee, Markie, and Sam to the observatory tomorrow to meet Bob. If we don't hear anything from the Feds tomorrow, I'll call Mark again. What I won't do is hide from a bunch of crazies who don't like queers. They think they're strong, but I smell their fear; they have no idea what strength is."

"Should we talk to our kids?"

"Not yet, unless they ask. Let's see what we can find out tomorrow. I'm going to wander out to the barn for a while before I come up to bed. This is so much bullshit.

"I told you that hooking up with me was trouble."

Seeing his husband smile at the last remark, Jerry thought, You are trouble sometimes, but ever since I saw you across the dance floor in Portland, I've never had a doubt about loving and supporting you. "See you in a bit."

#

Vee asked the older girl, "You don't mind sleeping up here, do you?"

"No. I'm sure the boys want to do whatever boys do when they sleep over. I'm definitely not one of the boys!"

In a guest room of Turing House, Markie and Vee were under light covers on the two beds. The room's walls and even the ceiling were filled with what in earlier times would have been frescoes, but these weren't in plaster. The patterns were abstract, suggesting particle collisions and galaxy clusters; here and there Jerry had included fanciful horses.

The girls were wearing loose shorts and tanktops. The generous windows were tilted out to allow the heat rising from the first floor to escape. They were comfortable in the early night, and the dim light of a single table lamp enforced a kind of intimacy.

"Sam says you're smart."

"Is that bad?" Markie asked the younger girl.

"No. I'm smart — smarter than most boys."

"Well, that doesn't take much, does it? What grade are you in?"

"Fifth. I go to the same school in Portland that my father did before he moved to Goldendale for a few years."

"How come he didn't stay in Goldendale?"

"You'll figure that out when you've been here a few days. I think Dad only put up with the place because his fathers wanted to be here. I think my grandfathers were really in love with each other and with their place."

"You never knew Tom?"

"Nope, but I got to know him by reading what he wrote, and I don't mean the Gyres crap. He was a good poet. I spend a lot of the summer over in Tom's office reading poetry. Dad talks about meeting some really great writers when he was a kid. I wish I could have done that."

"I don't know many fifth graders who read poetry."

"Kids read what their parents read to them. Most parents are stupid."

Thinking of her mother, Markie said, "Maybe not stupid, maybe just lazy."

When she had been invited to sleep with the girl, Markie had envisioned painting each other's toenails and yammering about the latest pop-music idol. This conversation might have been with someone her own age, or older. Vee pulled her knees, still under the covers, up to her chest and put her arms around them, resting her chin there. She tilted her head toward Markie. "You like Marshall, don't you?"

Markie's heart rate picked up a little, and she wasn't quite certain what Vee meant. "Of course I like him. He seems like a nice guy."

Vee looked at her with considerable impatience. "I mean … like."

"No! I don't really know him well enough to like him. Besides, we're not old enough to think about stuff like that."

"Oh please. He has girls throwing themselves at him all the time."

Markie had no idea what to say to that.

"I think he's like JG, though."

Markie looked at the younger girl, thoroughly confused.

"You know — gay, like his grandfathers. I'm just saying." The two girls sat in silence for a while. "You mind some music?"

"No. Go ahead."

Vee jumped out of bed and turned off the light after she turned on the CD player. The first notes of Casta Diva poured out of the speakers. Vee said into the darkness, "They're all about Caballé, but Maria Callas is da bomb."

Looking up at the ceiling, Markie thought, It's like they're all from another planet. She thought of the boys downstairs camped in the family room, and she considered what Vee had said about Marshall. Maybe it skips a generation, even though North's not related to his father by blood. Before the song finished, she was asleep.

#

After the girls had gone up to bed, the boys decided to play cards in the family room. Sam opined, "She's too much like one of us. Maybe spending some time with Markie will help."

Marshall wasn't buying Sam's position. "Did you ever think that maybe Markie will end up more like Vee?"

JT laughed aloud as Sam scowled. They were playing gin rummy, and JT was winning. He had been taught to play by his father, Jonathan, who was acknowledged in the family as a master of strategy. Like his father, he rarely worried about waiting to gin, preferring to knock early and take his chances. The strategy disturbed the other players enough that they often rushed to get rid of high cards in their hands that they really should have held longer.

JT could see Sam's agitation as the play progressed. Marshall was picking up almost everything Sam discarded. Sam wasn't prone to distress when things didn't go his way in a game, and Lucas had taught him to look at games with an eye to statistical probability. Performance over any short series of hands couldn't describe the probability of winning. The more hands one considered, the more likely the number of winning and losing hands would turn out to be nearly equal. Now, though, Sam was only concerned with tonight's hands, and he wasn't happy.

"Just keep feeding me, Cousin."

"Fuck you, Marsh!" Sam shouted in frustration.

So uncharacteristic was the outburst that Marshall and JT were silent. The unusual natures of their families and their circumstances had created a deep bond among them and a deep concern for each other's welfare. Eventually, Marshall said quietly, "Sorry, Sam. I was only kidding. You want to stop?"

Sam knew the source of his outburst, but he couldn't stop himself. "No. I'm just tired from the trip."

JT looked at him carefully. The last statement wasn't true. "Something more?"

Sam wasn't ready to share with Marshall and JT quite yet. "No. Deal'em."

The rest of the play wasn't satisfactory from Sam's perspective. Marshall was too quiet, and Sam thought he was not trying very hard to win. His cousin's pity was worse than competition with him for Markie's attention. Finally he tossed his cards down and said, "I'll be back."

He got up and walked out of Turing House into the darkness, across the crackling grass to the barn. The building was dark, and darkness was what he wanted. He was immeasurably sad that something this summer had broken the joy he usually felt with Marshall and JT. He could smell the horses that his father loved and sat across from the stalls on the bench against the tack wall. He almost wept, but before he could let himself go, OD's voice startled him.

"I like to come out here before I go to sleep just to feel their presence. What brings you out?"

"I was ruining the game."

"Winning too much?"

The boy laughed unconvincingly. "No. I got pissed at Marshall."

"I used to get pissed at your Uncle North, as I remember."

"In your case, I'm sure it wasn't for the same reason."

"No, I suppose not. I was never jealous of your uncle."

He smiled toward the dim visage of his father. "And even if you were, a girl wouldn't have been involved."

"I'd have to say that's a safe bet. So, has Marshall been making a play for Markie?"

"No, not really. He just doesn't object much when she pays attention to him."

"Oh, too polite. I see."

"Okay, okay, I get it." He left the bench and, walking toward the side door of the barn said, "Thanks, OD."

"Your namesake told me never to have children. You know why?"

"I can't wait."

"So I wouldn't have to go through puberty twice."

"Cute, OD. I wish I could have known him."

"Me, too. Love's dangerous, young man. Talk to Marshall … and Markie."

That was the first of many times that Sam heard OD refer to him as a young man. He was at once pleased and a little sad. After walking back into the house and seeing that JT or Marshall had spread his silk sleeping bag liner over a Thermarest pad on the floor, he stripped to his underwear. Before climbing into the liner asked, "You want some music?"

The other two answered, "Yeah" and "Sure."

Sam put his iPhone in the dock and selected the song. As they fell asleep, they heard,

These mist-covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day you'll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms

Marshall couldn't guess why Sam had chosen that song. He determined to talk privately with his cousin tomorrow.

As Sam slipped into the darkness of sleep, he was aware of holding the sphere again.

Now the air was uncomfortably hot, and a helpless Sam began to try to find relief, calling out for help.

"Sam, wake up. You're dreaming." He came suddenly awake to find Marshall leaning over him.

After getting his bearings, Sam, who was damp with sweat, said to Marshall, "That was a strange one."

"Strange good or strange bad?"

This conversation felt like the ones he was used to having with Marshall before feeling that his cousin was a rival. He looked down to see his morning erection, escaped from the fly of his boxers and then back up at Marshall who rolled his eyes as if to say, "Yeah, I know. It happens to all of us."

He fixed his shorts. "I don't know. You and I need to talk later — after we come back from the observatory."

Outside the house, the top of the sun's disk was above the horizon, and the waxing moon was high overhead. JT mumbled, asking the other two to be quiet so he could sleep a little longer. The two awake cousins smiled at each other and crept to JT's side. He was face down on top of his liner. Sam and Marshall descended on the poor boy, tickling him ferociously. He squawked, kicking out at them, but his position was hopeless.

Vee led a sleepy-eyed Markie down the stairs, and seeing her brother and cousins, rolled her eyes and said, "This is what you missed."

"Oh, my." Markie watched the boys in their boxers conclude the tussle. After a few minutes, all three boys sat cross-legged, forming a triangle and breathing heavily until their bladders reminded them that they needed to pee. Off to the downstairs bathroom they went for a communal, bladder-relief ritual. The boys were used to a relaxed attitude about their bodies and most bodily functions. Their fathers' generation, especially Annie and North, had not been shy about these things, and running around with little clothing when they were younger was de rigueur for the boys especially.

Looking up to the staircase as they ran toward the bathroom, JT shouted to the girls, "Hi, guys!"

After cleaning up the over-splash and washing their hands, the boys returned to the family room and plotted breakfast. After eating, JT and Marshall planned to spend the morning with their grandfather while Sam and the girls visited the observatory.

The havoc created by most boys their age when fixing breakfast might have been incalculable, but these boys were well-trained to clean up as they worked. As they finished the pancake batter, made with real vanilla extract, and set up the griddle, the girls found seats at the island between the dining room and kitchen. For Vee, hanging out with the boys in what was essentially underwear was the norm, but Markie had to overcome some discomfort before she relaxed and participated in the breakfast preparation. No one stared at her, and she avoided staring at the boys — all of whom she thought appealing.

Vee then guided Markie in the preparation of scrambled eggs with goat cheese. "Never add milk — only a little water, and the copper bowl is essential."

The noise of five teenagers or, in Vee's case, near-teenager, roused Sam's fathers after they had returned to sleep following a relaxing session of intimacy. The precautions taken by Lucas and Jerry because of Lucas's HIV infection were by now second nature to them — just another inconvenience. The men waited until they thought that the breakfast preparations would be complete before appearing in the dining room. Sam noted that OD was preoccupied, probably by some math problem. Lucas was preoccupied but not by a math problem.

Markie decided to skip the pancakes. As she ate her eggs and a little yogurt that Sam had provided at her request, Markie thought of the solitary breakfasts she often ate at home —or of the few she had with her mother. How lucky to have a large family and to share lives and laughter over a meal. Even Sam's fathers took obvious joy from being in the midst of niece and nephews and their son; they were almost like boys themselves.

#

Driving north on Columbus Avenue in the Subaru Tribeca with Vee, Markie, and Sam in the passenger seats, Lucas made the curve east and then back north again to reach the state park just a few miles away. They weren't going to stargaze at the observatory. Instead, a man Lucas had met when Tom had been killed was meeting the little group there. Bob Yount was a paramedic at Klickitat Valley Hospital Ambulance Service and had unsuccessfully tried to save his father's life after the head-on crash on State Route 14.

By the time Lucas had managed to get to Goldendale from Palo Alto, Tom had been dead almost a day. Lucas had never seen Jim undone, but he was undone then. The physician's control and objectivity had vanished into a hole of unimaginable despair. North, Annie, the Js, and he had tried to support the man who had created their family along with Tom. Each of Jim's children, as well as Jason and Jonathan, divided their energies between Jim's grief and their own.

Lucas in particular was devastated because he knew that it was Tom who had made almost everything he held dear possible; Tom had set in motion the wheels of his inclusion in the family before really knowing him. Tom had brought him and the irascible poet Sam Marshall together knowing that a curious, unbreakable bond would build between them.

Jim and Tom had encouraged him as he grew, advised him, shown him how to live as a gay boy and then man, how to deal with his disease, how to treat Jerry. They had widened his world.

Lucas knew that Jim had never fully recovered from his loss, but Jim had told him that his and Tom's relationship had never been a cause for sorrow, even if Tom's death had occasioned great sorrow.

Two weeks after Tom's death, Lucas had searched out Bob Yount at the hospital to talk with him. Lucas had read the accident reports and heard descriptions of the crash from his family, but he had questions for the paramedic that he wouldn't ask the others.

Yount was a medium-sized guy with long hair surrounding an open, usually smiling face. He was much older than Lucas had imagined, and his appearance was as Lucas imagined hippies from the 60s might have looked. He had learned that Tom had been unconscious when Bob had arrived and had never regained consciousness. Bob told Lucas that he believed that Tom had suffered such trauma to his chest and abdomen that he had bled to death almost immediately. That observation confirmed what Lucas had read in the autopsy report.

Lucas did not ask Bob how he managed to work every shift with the broken and the ill and spend his work life in the company of strangers dying; Lucas had faced the probability of his own early death and had made his peace with it, so he did not need to ask those questions.

He did wonder when Jerry would have to go through the same experience that Jim faced now. He wasn't particularly sentimental, nor was he a fatalist; as a scientist, he didn't believe in fate. He could, however, calculate the survival odds for someone with HIV infection, though advances in medicine were continually changing those odds.

As Bob and he had talked, Lucas found himself liking the older man and his quiet, thoughtful, direct approach. He had asked Bob about his family and found that he had a son named Deneb, after one of the brightest stars in the Milky Way. The name allowed the two to find a common ground — astronomy and physics. Bob had been deeply impressed when he learned where Lucas worked, and Lucas had been equally impressed at the amateur work Yount was doing in making images of the sun.

Before Lucas had graduated from high school and left Goldendale for Stanford, he had been at the observatory on many nights, but whenever he visited after Tom's death, Bob would meet him there on weekend days to photograph the sun with the telescope and professional filters that Bob had designed and built. As Bob took his exposures they would talk about their lives. Occasionally Deneb would come along. The boy knew Lucas was gay, and like his father, he was always polite and genuinely friendly. While at Stanford, Lucas had invited Bob and Deneb — Denny as he wanted to be called — down to California to visit the Wilcox Solar Observatory just west of the Stanford campus. With Lucas's connections, Bob had gotten more than the typical tour. After Lucas moved to Caltech, Bob had been a guest at both the Keck Observatory in Hawaii and the Palomar Observatory near San Diego. Bob had become a friend.

The Goldendale Observatory housed a 620 mm Cassegrain reflecting telescope in a twenty-foot-diameter dome; it was one of the largest telescopes available for viewing by the general public in the continental US. There was also a smaller telescope in a secondary observatory. This secondary observatory was the building from which Bob took his solar photographs.

Thoughts of Bob and Deneb were in his mind as he turned off the main highway onto Observatory Drive, ascending a hill to the observatory. Lucas pulled into a parking space next to the island in the parking area close to the secondary observatory where Bob was waiting for them. Sam and Vee knew Bob, and after Lucas, they received ritual hugs. Markie got a handshake.

Bob set the kids up in the small observatory dome, showed them how to see a reflected image of the solar disk on a piece of white tagboard, change filters, and affix the camera, leaving them to have at it. He would send them the photographs they took by email after he had processed them. While the kids fooled with the telescope, Bob and Lucas caught up a bit.

Toward the end of their conversation, Bob said quietly, "You know you're being followed, right?"

"Followed?"

"Yeah, a guy in a white Caravan pulled in just after you guys. He's been wandering around near the big dome, but he's been looking over here too much for coincidence."

Lucas looked at the nondescript Dodge van and then at the man, about his age, wandering near the visitor center. The guy wore a dark polo shirt and khakis. He saw the man scan the area by the secondary observatory without focusing on the kids or him. He was about to tell Bob he was being paranoid when Bob said, "FBI, I'd bet."

Lucas looked back at the van and, after making the connection, replied, "No, but you're close." He walked across the walkway in front of the visitor center toward the young man, who ignored his approach.

When he was within ten feet of the man, he said, "I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Beg pardon."

"Let's not waste time, okay?"

"Dr. Jansen, sorry about the attempt at cloak and dagger. How did you know?"

"Sheriff Morgan had a talk with us last night."

"I wish he hadn't done that."

"He thinks he's supposed to protect us, and he takes the job seriously. He doesn't play games."

"I don't think of this as a game." The man smiled at Lucas. "I think of you as family."

At first, Lucas thought the comment snide, but then realized what the man was saying.

"Really? That's interesting. I don't get why Homeland Security is involved at all. I do math, not applied nuclear physics."

"I can't tell you why." The man saw Lucas frown. "No, I mean I don't know. We were told that some of your work has important military applications. I don't know anything else."

"May I see your ID?"

The man thought for a moment, and then said, "Sure." He handed a black leather case with his credentials to Lucas.

"Jeff, is it? Do me a favor, and come by the house tonight. I assume you're not working alone since the sheriff said he talked to a couple of agents."

"Look, I'm not sure that's a good idea. I don't know enough yet to provide any real information."

"Are you out to your partner?"

"Oh, God, no."

"Then, come by yourself. Plan on having dinner with us, say at seven." The parting comment was more a directive than a request. Lucas handed the ID back to Jeff and walked away toward Bob and the kids.

Sam asked, "Who was that?"

"He's a cop. He's visiting us tonight."

Sam knew OD's tone — end of discussion.

#

As they drove back to the farms in the early afternoon, Sam asked if they could eat at Ayutla, a family-owned restaurant on the south edge of town. The restaurant was a comfortable walking distance from the Quality Inn, and the family had eaten there as long as Sam could remember. His Uncle Jason knew the owner and always spoke Spanish to him when he was with them.

"Try the Chile Relleno," Sam suggested.

Lucas seconded the suggestion, but Markie looked undecided. "I'm not into the heavy fried stuff."

Sam tried to persuade her. "These aren't like the ones you get in American Mexican places. They're homemade with fresh poblanos, really light, and stuffed with queso from Oaxaca. They'll put raisins in them if you want."

She looked at Vee who just nodded. "Okay. I'll try them."

Lucas spoke in Spanish to the son of the owner, a boy a little older than Sam, who took their orders. For Lucas, the interchange brought memories of eating here with his mentor at the farm, Martin, whom he missed as much as, if not more than, he missed Samuel Marshall and Tom. He shook his head and rejoined the table conversation about the observatory and Bob. Bob had promised the kids that he would email the photographs in a day or two. Sam was telling Markie about Bob's son, Denny, and how as a boy, when his father visited Bob, he had climbed over and through the ambulances at Bob's station. Lucas smiled, remembering the boy's fascination with the lights and sirens and the medical equipment.

After the big lunch, which Markie enjoyed more than she thought she would, the group made its way back across US-97 to Turing House. As they pulled up to the house, Lucas asked, "Anyone want to join me for a ride?"

Riding a horse was one of the things Markie most looked forward to. "Yes, please!"

Sam's heart filled at the simple joy that Markie's assent carried. "I'll help you get set up," Sam told his friend.

"That must mean I'm on my own," Vee laughed.

"You don't need help, Vee," Sam replied with a little irritation. Then, he realized that she wanted to irritate him and was chagrinned that she had gotten him.

Vee was smiling broadly at a sheepish Sam as they walked out to the barn, but she was fond of her cousin and wasn't going to twist the knife. In the barn, Sam, Vee, and Lucas immediately grabbed their tack, forgetting Markie standing near the entrance. Lucas looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows. Sam left his saddle on the floor and walked over to Markie. "Sorry. Let's find a saddle for you; then we'll pick a mount."

Grabbing her hand he walked with her to the wall that held the tack. When Martin had given Luke his first saddle, he had told the boy that every horseman needs his own saddle. That saddle now belonged to Sam largely because Lucas had somehow managed to outgrow it, though not by much. He looked his friend over and decided that she should use his saddle; he would use one of the other small-adult saddles.

As Lucas and Vee slipped bridles on their horses and led them out for saddling, Markie and Sam walked in front of the row of stalls. Markie was surprised at how large the animals, even the smaller ones, were. She stopped in front of a stall with a small filly, gray and dappled. Sam saw a moment of connection between the girl and the horse as Markie looked into its eyes.

"Good choice. Rosita's terrific."

"She's very beautiful."

"Let's get her out, and you can get to know her before we take off." He took a bridle and, after opening the stall gate, let Markie stroke the horse's neck and feed the filly pieces of carrot. Lucas watched and smiled as Sam let horse and new rider get acquainted. Sam had learned the approach to horses from his father, and the father knew the son had learned to be a fine rider. The boy took his friend on a walk around the horse, touching the filly on a haunch and a shoulder while murmuring to her. Markie, for her part, looked at Sam with increasing respect as she watched his gentle approach. Vee and Lucas had their mounts saddled and led them out, leaving Markie and Sam in the barn.

Sam helped Markie get a bridle gently on her mount and then showed her how to place the blanket and the saddle. When the filly was ready to go, Sam quickly bridled and saddled the gelding that he would ride; it was a grandson of a horse named Buster that had been a favorite of his father's. He thought Markie more expectant than anxious, and he admired her excitement at trying something new. He nodded to the door, and Markie led her ride out the door as Sam followed. Outside, Sam helped Markie up onto her saddle and showed her how to hold the reins.

"Just relax and talk to her. The worst thing you can do is to stiffen up. She needs to know you're working with her."

Vee and Lucas were mounted, waiting for the other two. "Let's you and I head out across the back parcel, Vee. Sam and Markie might do better on the road."

To Vee this suggestion was so transparent as to be laughable, but she knew why her uncle was making it. She nudged her animal onward and replied, "I'm with you," as she started at a fast canter.

"We'll cut across to the dirt road, okay?" Sam asked

"Sure. I'm just not exactly sure how to drive this girl."

"If you want to stop, pull back on the reins gently and lean back a little in the saddle. I'll go ahead, and she'll follow. When you're comfortable, let me know and we'll ride side by side."

He looked back to check on her often enough that she finally told him, "I'm okay. I like it."

After twenty minutes of the horses walking up the road eastward into the stiff, hot breeze, Markie brought Rosita up beside Sam's horse. "This isn't so hard."

"You're getting the hang of it, but wait until we pick up some speed." Her expression told him that his comment had disturbed her simple enjoyment of the ride so far. "I mean you'll do fine; you're a natural." Then she smiled.

"Vee didn't drive you crazy last night, did she?"

"No, I had a really nice time talking before we went to sleep. She played opera while we were falling asleep. Who's Caballé?"

"Let me guess. She played Maria Callas." Markie nodded. "Montserrat Caballé was a soprano from Barcelona. The short story is that my grandfathers and my fathers think she's the best of her generation. Vee never likes to go along with anyone, so she thinks Callas is the best."

Markie pulled Rosita to a stop, and Sam followed suit. "All right, when did you get interested in opera? I mean, the aria was beautiful, but I don't know anyone our age that listens to opera, much less argues about what singer is best."

"When I was little, I wouldn't go to sleep when I was supposed to, and my dads helped me by playing opera — nothing too intense — just soothing songs. I love it."

Markie became reflective. "Thank you for inviting me to come. So far, I've really had fun. I like the way you guys help with food and the way you all interact with each other at the table. I even liked listening to Callas."

Sam started forward again, and Markie urged Rosita to start again. He wanted to explain to her what he was feeling — that when he thought of her now he felt as if he had been jarred from sleep by an alarm but couldn't figure out why he had awakened or what he was supposed to do. "I'm sorry if I've been acting a little weird. You've been my best friend forever, and I really don't want to screw that up, but for some reason, when I see you paying attention to Marshall, it pisses me off a little bit."

Markie stopped again and said, "You're my best friend, too, you know. I like Marshall. You can't be upset every time I talk to another boy."

"I'm not exactly upset that you're talking to him." He sighed and struggled, becoming upset now. "I don't know what I'm upset about."

"Maybe I can help. I'm not interested in having a boyfriend yet. I don't see how I'll figure boys out if I don't talk to a bunch of them and see how they react to me."

"You mean flirting. Maybe that's what upsets me. So, you don't see Marshall as a boyfriend?"

"I don't see anyone as a boyfriend." She saw the dawning disappointment in Sam's face. "I have enough trouble making sense of my life without adding a boyfriend, Sam. You're still my best friend. Besides, isn't Marshall gay?"

"What? Where did you get that idea?"

She thought about revealing the source of the suggestion but instead just said, "Just a feeling."

Sam had never talked to Marshall, or JT for that matter, about whether either was gay. He didn't think that Marshall was. The whole issue seemed unimportant; for them, gay was another shade of normal. Another topic for his discussion with Marshall. He dismounted and opened a gate to their left. The field behind the fence here had already been harvested. When they were both through the gate, he refastened it and said, mounting up again: "Okay, best friend, let's run them out a bit."

Off they took for the back of the property at a fast canter, riding side by side again. Sam saw nothing but happiness in Markie's face as she instinctively posted as they rode.

Lucas and Vee had returned from the ride before Markie and Sam did. Vee had run back to see her parents and Marshall at her grandfather's place.

#

"You invited him to dinner?"

"I want to talk with him. What better time?"

"And, you think he's gay?"

"Unless I very much misinterpreted his comment."

"Are we going to talk to him with the kids and everyone?"

"I thought after dinner and just us — over here. I don't see any reason to get people in an uproar. I think the kids are going to spend the evening in the barn."

"How are you going to explain our absence at dinner at Jim's?"

"Romance! I'll run over to Jim's now."

As Lucas left the house, he saw Markie and Sam returning and wondered how their talk had gone. If he had to speculate, he would say that no matter its course, the talk was painful for his son. He waved and then made his way to his father's house.

#

When three generations are present in a house, the place hums, and now the house hummed with preparations for dinner. Everyone in turn greeted Lucas, and that meant seven hellos, each bringing subtle comfort to a man who had, as a boy, believed that human connection meant weakness.

Lucas found Jim in the dining room and gave him a hug. "Okay, Luke, what's going on?"

"You know I'm sentimental at heart."

"Riiight," Jim said, drawing out the word. "I want to hear about this 'sentimental at heart' bit. You know, we haven't had much time to talk, just the two of us, yet."

"I know. But, you know I won't leave until we do." Jim looked at his number-two son. He could never lose his initial impression that this one was inclined to run, or maybe that no matter how stable his life had become, the heart of a boy who ran from trouble was still at his core. But, he knew that Sam Marshall had transmuted that impulse by showing his son that one couldn't run away from oneself.

"I need to spend tonight at Turing House with Jerry. We won't duck out on any other family meals, but we need to take care of something."

"You two okay?"

"Yeah. He still puts up with me," Lucas replied with a smile.

"All right," Jim nodded. He didn't push his son because he knew that if he did, Luke would tell him everything, and he obviously didn't want to do that now. "You'll let me know what's up soon, right?"

"I will. I promise." Promise was not a word that Lucas used lightly. "I think the kids are camping out in your barn loft tonight. Sam and Markie are putting their horses back, and then they'll be over." He hugged Jim again and shouted goodbye to everyone before walking back to his house. He knew that Jim would explain his and Jerry's absence at the dinner table to the others.

Markie and Sam walked out of the horse barn as he was about to enter the house. "How'd it go, guys?"

Markie was one big smile. "That was the most fun I've had ever. I want to do that again soon."

"She's a natural, OD."

"I saw that when you both were saddling Rosita."

Sam thought he'd make another attempt after his father shut down his inquiry at the observatory. "So, is the cop coming to JG's for dinner?"

"No. Your dad and I are going to talk to him here. You and Markie should eat at you grandfather's with the others." Again, end of discussion.

As the others made their dinner in Jim's house, Jerry and Lucas made a cold pasta salad with chicken. As they often did, they had turned off the air conditioner in the cooler evening, but the lingering heat made hot dishes a chore to prepare. Lucas was peeling nectarines while Jerry washed blackberries. "Do we have a plan?"

"I want to find out how their involvement in this snipe hunt began and more about the two men whose photographs Mark showed us. If I can, I'm curious to find out how a closeted gay guy manages a career in Homeland Security."

"I think I'll just hang back and let you work your magic."

"You know what my magic is: I don't let anyone frighten me."

Jerry turned, leaving the colander in the sink and grabbed Lucas, knife still in hand, by the waist and fastened his lips onto his neck, biting gently. Lucas inhaled and then told his husband, "See, I'm not scared."

At seven o'clock, the white van pulled up to the parking area by the house, and Agent Chertov, who had seen the house from the road during drive-bys, grabbed the Maryhill Malbec he had purchased at the winery and walked around to the east-facing entrance to the house. He was wearing his usual khakis and a polo shirt. He left his sidearm locked in the cargo area of the van along with the UMP. He read the polished brass plaque on the door, Turing House, and smiled to himself. His knock was answered by Jerry, whom he had not met.

Taking Jerry's extended hand, the agent heard, "Hi. I'm Jerry. Come in."

He was a head taller than either of the men he was visiting. "Jeff. Thanks." He handed the wine to Jerry. He wasn't nervous and had been in many situations others would find uncomfortable, learning that nervous chatter was dangerous and that if he was talking, others wouldn't. His job trained him to watch and listen. Since that was also Lucas's preferred approach to the world, the evening could well prove a quiet one. Then again, he had never encountered someone with Lucas's intellect before.

Jerry showed Jeff into the dining room. On the wall was what appeared to be a line-drawing painting of Alan Turing — in rainbow colors mixed with black. But on closer inspection, the lines were not lines but tiny clustered 1's and 0's and mathematical symbols — sigmas, integral signs, Boolean operatives — that appeared as lines from afar but up close were chaos embodied in art. Jeff stood stock still, admiring the painting.

"Lucas got to name the house. I got to do the painting — to honor what Alan Turing did and what he stood for and what Lucas and I stand for."

"It's magnificent — like Seurat for the 21^st Century."

Jerry was pleased and taken aback at the same time. How is it that a cop knows about both Seurat and mathematics?

Jeff looked around at the rest of the space, regarding the construction of the house with admiration, thinking there was no stinting on cost. All of the windows facing north were open in the still-warm evening air. He saw Lucas in the kitchen.

Jerry asked if Jeff wanted a tour of the house, and Jeff politely declined, suggesting that he might enjoy one after dinner. He wasn't at all certain that the two men would want to have him in their home after their conversation.

"Jeff, I'm happy you came. Grab a seat at the table, and we'll eat." Lucas saw the stranger looking about, probably wondering where Sam and the others were. "Everyone else is at Jim's house. I thought we should have our talk by ourselves."

Jeff sat at the table and said, "I'm not sure what I can tell you at this point."

"I suppose you'll tell us whatever you feel like telling us."

Jeff decided to be as candid as his procedures would allow him to be. "I think this is a goose chase, and I expect to be out of your hair in a couple of days." That was truthful enough.

Jerry was quiet, letting Lucas carry the conversation. "Why are you here, anyway, and who are the two men in the photos the sheriff showed us?"

"I meant what I said at the observatory, in the sense that I don't know why you're considered a high-value target. I know that someone in the Joint Terrorism Task Force in LA puts enough credibility in a report by a man negotiating a plea bargain that you might be a target of a fringe neo-Nazi group from Vancouver. My partner and I are trying to determine whether the report is accurate."

That information was more than he gave most people he was trying to protect. Lucas stopped his questions and thought for a few moments that stretched into a few minutes of silence. He passed the bowl with the pasta salad to Jeff while Jerry served himself some of the fruit salad. They all served themselves in the silence.

Finally, Lucas asked, "Does your agency know you're gay?"

Jeff smiled. He decided he had nothing to lose by discussing the issue with these two. "Well, I have to take a polygraph every six months, and let's just say my sex life is one subject for questions."

"But, you said your partner doesn't know."

"The polygraph results aren't shared with anyone except internal security and my bosses. So far, as far as I know, my sexuality hasn't been shared by anyone in the department who knows it. My partner is not very open-minded about gay people; he's religious."

"That fills me with confidence that he's going to do his best to take care of us."

"Strangely, he will. Faith to duty is a big thing with us … him." Now that was a stupid slip, Jeff thought. This guy is smooth.

"Mormon?"

"I don't think the specifics would be helpful."

"Okay. But, you agree with me that the threat isn't very credible?"

"At this point, yes. But I'm not through poking around. Speaking of poking around, what can you tell me about Jeremy Foster?"

For the first time, Lucas appeared concerned. "What does Jeremy have to do with this?"