Titanic Summer Read online

  “Probably not. At least most of them probably don’t.”

  “And the Muslims? Thirty-eight commandments!”

  “I get your point, Dad.” And this time I kept the nastiness out of my voice. I didn’t know if I was trying to be nicer to him or if he was getting through to me. Maybe both.

  “But we’re supposed to believe that we should home in on one little verse—‘thou shalt not lie with a man as with a woman,’ which I’ve heard is also in Leviticus—and follow it religiously.” He chuckled at his pun. He gave me a wicked smile, and I gave him a “good one” point with my finger.

  “No, you can bet that any ban against ancient gay people was really a law that encouraged procreation. You know—have more babies so we have more good believers in the world.”

  He was really getting into this. Why, I didn’t know. What was this newfound interest in all things gay? If I had to guess, I would bet that Grayson Hotels International had just had their annual Sensitivity Seminar—with bold capital Ss. And then, of course, there was that march the day before. He was all het up about that, was adamant that gays deserved rights. I needed to dig deeper here.

  “You really think that? That it was all just a way to keep people in line?”

  “I know so. It was all a way for the Church to put the screws to the people.” He was really wound up now. “And there is not one word against gays in the New Testament. Jesus never spoke against homosexuality. His entire philosophy can be summed up in three words, ‘love one another.’ He never put any limits on how that love could be expressed.”

  For a moment, I felt a lightening, deep down. Was he signaling he would be okay with my being gay?

  “But—I don’t know—the whole thing just seems kinda, you know, dirty or icky or something.” Did I really feel that way? Or was I saying what I wanted to hear?

  “That’s because you’re a sixteen-year-old, heterosexual male. Of course, having sex with another man would seem strange to you. You’re still thinking about your first time with a woman.”

  I could feel the blush fill me from my toes to my head. He probably would think I was embarrassed we were having the sex talk. Good. He could never know I was embarrassed because when he said woman, I was thinking man.

  “Hasn’t happened, Dad.”

  He looked over and laughed. “You see how I got that out of you?” He whooped and shouted, “The Great Dad Detective!” and laughed again. Then he put his hand on my arm. “I’m proud of you, son. You and Mal have standards. Your mom and I taught you something. Good for us, and good for you two.”

  He took his hand away. I flashed him a smile, not only because I found myself enjoying talking with him, but also because I was glad he was content to think Mal and I were a couple. After all, the alternative was nothing I wanted to explore with him.

  “We can postpone the sex talk if you want. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  I almost choked. Then I thought, Play along. “That’s okay. I’ll just give you a book of diagrams, and you can study up on it. That’s the best way to learn.”

  “Ha-ha! That’s a good one.” He glanced at me and pointed. Then he stared straight ahead. “But just think about one thing. Gay people deserve to be happy like anybody else. And I’m pretty sure if you brush off your mom’s bravado, you’ll find she feels the same way. Your mother is a good person, Jake. She would never deny anybody their rights. She just gets caught up in things.”

  “I’m not so sure. She is hung up over the idea of transgenders using the restroom of their choice. That’s her bone of contention in this HERO fight. But I’ve heard her harp about gay people enough to know that she’s not a fan. You should have heard her when SCOTUS sent down that ruling.”

  I couldn’t swear to what I saw because I wasn’t looking at him full face, but it certainly looked like pain. He quickly righted himself and was back to that morning’s eternal smile.

  “Well, maybe she’ll see the light. No matter what equipment you were born with and how you use it, it’s how you feel that matters.”

  I was ready to end this discussion. I still hadn’t decided if Houston needed an equal rights ordinance, and I was not sure that transgenders should be going into women’s bathrooms. It was a topic I really didn’t even need to explore, since I wasn’t voting anyway.

  What I took away from this discussion was that he might be open to my being gay. And the thought of that scared me. What if I came out to him and I’d read him wrong? No, it was best to change the topic.

  “So,” I said. “Looks like we may go to the playoffs again next year.”

  “Fantastic. Do I see a basketball scholarship in your future?”

  We talked sports, school, and Houston until we pulled into the Hall of Fame parking lot.

  The next two hours were awesome. That place was everything I thought it would be. Dad seemed to really like it too.

  There was a great burger place nearby, so we chowed down, then headed back to see the rest. Dad didn’t even balk about spending so much time there and even bought me a bunch of junk in the gift shop.

  I loaded my gear into the car, and the minute I fastened my seat belt, I said, “Thanks, Dad. I can’t believe I finally got to see this. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years.”

  “You think I didn’t know that? I couldn’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. I’m glad you remembered. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Know that.”

  That last was a little over the top, but I dismissed it as something said while riding on the high of the Hall-of-Fame tour. Then I thought, What the hell? You know it’s true, Jake.

  Finally I got my nap. Long car rides usually put me to sleep from the boredom and movement, and since Dad was content to just watch the road, I had my opportunity to grab my pillow and snuggle up to it.

  Next thing I knew, Dad was poking me. “Wake up, son. We’re here.”

  I shook off the sleep and looked out the window. We were parked in front of the Boston Harbor Grayson. Dad had found it without his trusty navigator’s help. I knew that map thing was just a ruse.

  “Let’s get our bags and get checked in,” Dad said. “We’ve still got time to walk some of the Freedom Trail before dinner.”

  “Freedom Trail?” I wailed. “Mercy. Mercy.”

  He ignored my pleas. “Now, now, we’ve never been to Boston. We need to soak up the local history, see where Paul Revere lived, visit the Old North Church, pay homage at graves of men who gave us our freedom.”

  “Lead the way, Dad.” What I really wanted to do was grab me a spot by the pool after this long day, but that wasn’t going to happen. I desperately tried to match his enthusiasm, all the while thinking, Freedom Trail? Is everything about freedom?

  Chapter 5

  THE DRIVE to Portland was quiet, thank God. We were both worn out from the day before. I know I was feeling it. Totally exhausted. Touring the Hall of Fame, then trekking all over Boston. Of course, Dad, being Dad, had to read every single word on every single sign, take every tour available, and spend endless walking time expounding on how important freedom is. It was like it was a new concept to him. I just couldn’t figure out why he was dwelling on it. The freedom march set him off in Philly… the Freedom Trail in Boston. Was he leading up to some heartfelt Dad talk about my going off to college in just two years and gaining my freedom? That might be it, but I was baffled. And he wasn’t talking, not then, at least.

  So we passed the time in the car the next morning in silence, just listening to the radio and occasionally pointing out things along the road. Mostly, that was Dad. I didn’t have the strength to talk. I just wanted to chill.

  We pulled into Portland, got a hotel room—no Graysons in Maine—and then set out to see the town. The place was fly. Right on the ocean. We found a neat shopping area, sort of like a fishing village. Mal would have eaten it up. So would Mom. There was lots of cool stuff, so I got a small, handmade bowl for Mom and some funky earrings for Mal. The store clerks even gave m
e cards with the artists’ websites, so Mom and Mal could find out all about them.

  “Having fun, Jake-O?” The tone of his voice, the look on his face—sheer satisfaction. I was glad I could answer in the affirmative.

  “This is awesome. Thanks for bringing me here. I’m sorry I’ve been so pissy.”

  “No problem. I know doing this trip was not what you were expecting. I just thought it would be fun to get away for a while.”

  “It is. It really is.”

  At dinnertime, he turned to me with a huge shit-eating grin. “Okay, Jake-O, I saved the best for last. You’re gonna love this. Follow me.”

  “Lead on, Captain,” I said, rallying one more shred of enthusiasm. I was tired, and the motel did have a pool. I realized then and there that this vacation would include no pool time, so I might as well quit thinking about it. I couldn’t imagine what surprise he had. I only knew that Dad’s surprises over the years had not served me well. Remember the “thirteen words” surprise? Remember the “leaving Houston” surprise? But, then again, this trip was turning out more than okay.

  He drove up St. John’s Street, which he easily found. At least I didn’t have to stare at a map and guide up, like some seeing eye dog. Tio Juan’s Margaritas Mexican Restaurant, the sign said. Mexican food a million miles north of the border.

  “I know how you crave your Tex-Mex, Jake-O. I found this on the net. Great reviews. I’m sure that it’s no Chuy’s”—that’s my favorite place in Houston—“but I think it may be a good stand-in.”

  Well, I’m here to tell you, that was some pretty awesome Mexican, to be tucked away in Maine, of all places. Nobody can do enchiladas like Chuy’s, but Tio Juan’s served some pretty mean backups.

  As we chomped on chips, salsa, nachos, and enchiladas brought by our oh-so-friendly waiter Marco, Dad kept up a steady stream of conversation. For someone who hadn’t said much in the car that day, he was Mr. Talkative at dinner. Maybe it was the margarita that loosened his tongue.

  “So, how’s your friend D’Andre? You haven’t said a word about him in ages.”

  “I don’t see much of D anymore.” I hoped he would leave it at that. Last year, on the bus for an away game, D came on to me. Actually, all he did was put his hand on my knee as we rode through the dark, but I jerked his hand away. After that, D steered very clear of me. D knew the handbook as well as I did, so he may have made his move, but when I rejected him, I figure he decided coming out wasn’t worth it. Instant expulsion is not a good thing.

  “What? He’s been your best bud since middle school. Did he quit the team or something?”

  “Nah, he’s still playing b-ball. He was never my best bud, as you say. We were friends on the team, that’s all. And we talk in the locker room now and such, but it’s not like we hang out.” D hasn’t spoken to me since what happened between us. I fabricated that last to appease him. And to shut him up. More talk about D’Andre might open my closet door, inadvertently.

  “It’s not because he’s black, is it? I didn’t raise you that way, and besides, I have a lot of black friends—”

  I cut him off quick. “They prefer African American, not black. Just ask your friends.” I knew he could hear the snark in my voice, but he ignored it, thank God.

  “I’m just saying that you need friends. Very important.”

  “I have Mal.”

  “Now, Jake-O, don’t let your girlfriend drive all your friends away. Girls can do that, you know.”

  The girlfriend thing again. I really should have fessed up. “Mal’s not like that. She’s great. She’s never told me to drop any of my friends.” So much with spilling the beans. But then again, I wasn’t lying. She did encourage me to have other friends. “She’s even suggested we hang out with D sometimes. But it’s hard finding time.” Yeah, like D wants to hang out. I was sinking deeper into my quicksand of lies.

  Dad smiled. “Yeah, I know that feeling.” Then he changed the subject. “And how do you think you’re going to like your new coach?”

  Basketball. Safer ground. “He worked us out a few times last spring. Seems like a great guy with vision for us. It’s going to be hard to switch gears, especially since we’ve always been such a winning team. But all the guys understood why Coach Gonzalez had to go. It’s not every day you get tapped to be a head coach at a university, you know? We all were so glad for him.”

  “And you realize that you guys played a big part in his getting that new job, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely. He made it very clear to us. So, it’s okay that he left, and I think it’s going to be great to be working with someone new.”

  “Great attitude, Jake-O. I’m proud as hell that you can look at it that way. Accepting the new in your life is very important. Now, if you only could rethink that friend thing. You need your friends, is all I’m saying, guy.”

  “Mal’s got tons of friends. We hang out with them all the time.”

  I read his look. It said “But Mal’s friends aren’t your friends.”

  “Okay, Dad, okay.”

  I was full as a tick when we finished eating. This was the second move he’d made just for me. First the Hall of Fame, now the Mexican food. I couldn’t have felt more love for him right then and there. I even pushed away the thought that he was hiding something from me. Maybe I’d imagined it all.

  “Thanks, Dad. This place was fantastic.”

  He beamed.

  “And you know what?”

  “No, what?”

  “I’m proud of you too.”

  He looked at me like I’d just spoken Urdu.

  “Your phone hasn’t rung once in two days,” I said.

  He laughed. “That’s because I’ve got it turned off, Jake-O. This trip is for us, you and me, buddy.”

  I have to admit a warm feeling flooded over me, but I eyed him cautiously. You can’t try to pull the wool over Jake Hardy’s eyes and get away with it. No way my dad could go without work for even a few hours, much less days on end.

  “Okay, okay, I’m sure messages are piling up in my voicemail. I can take care of them tonight while you take a dip in the pool.”

  He did know me well. “It’s not the Grayson pool, and I won’t get my tan on, but I’ll take you up on that. I could use a swim.”

  “Tans are overrated, and pools are just a big tub of water. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. And you won’t have to listen to me conducting business. I’ll check my messages, then call the hotel. There’s someone always keeping watch in a Grayson hotel.”

  “But what if something is urgent?” I knew that possibility had to be eating him up.

  “Jake-O, if they can’t do without me in a crisis, then I haven’t trained my staff very well, have I? Like I said, this trip is for us.”

  I was floored. Was this a new Dad I’d somehow acquired? Where were the space aliens who had abducted my old father and replaced him with this new, improved model?

  He paid the check and stood. “Okay, the night’s not getting any younger. There’s a pool awaiting you, and there’s a job I need to catch up on.”

  I knew he couldn’t stand being away, but he was doing a pretty good job of faking it.

  We slept in the next morning, had a huge breakfast, packed up, checked out, and, come one thirty, we boarded the CAT for its 2:30 departure. Awesome. We drove right into the bowels of the ferry, then left the car and went upstairs to total luxury, restaurant, casino, movies, and tour-guide lectures. That five and a half hours went by in no time. I had planned to finally get to my Dad-quizzing—I’d had time to think, floating on the water, and the old nagging thought of his being secretive had returned—but we both enjoyed the boat ride so much I just never got around to it.

  And Nova Scotia… absolutely amazing. Gorgeous, gorgeous scenery. We had so much fun just driving up the coast to Halifax. This trip, I thought, was one of Dad’s better ideas.

  Halifax is a fairly big city—not Houston or even Philadelphia large—but it has everything you could ever wa
nt. I navigated. Dad insisted on my doing map duty again, and strangely enough, I was happy to do it. He took us to the Halifax Grayson. It sits on the edge of downtown, which doesn’t seem to be downtown at all. There is a bigger, wharf area that reminds me more of what a downtown is. But I digress.

  We pulled under the hotel’s “portico”—that’s what Dad calls the roof that juts out over the front door.

  I was pulling my duffel from the back of the SUV when the bellman said, “I’ll take that, Mr. Hardy.” It struck me as odd that he knew my name, but then I saw that he had already toted Dad’s bags to the curb. No one is a stranger to Brian Hardy for more than five seconds.

  We pushed through the revolving door, and as we stepped into the lobby, a man in a suit called out, “So good to see you, Mr. Hardy.” Dad acknowledged the man’s comment with a nod, and I saw a strange look cross Dad’s face. What was going on here?

  At the front desk, the clerk was all “We have your suite ready, Mr. Hardy,” and “We’ve been looking for you all evening,” to which Dad replied—a little too quickly I might add, like he was trying to cover up something—“My son and I took our time coming up the coast. Beautiful country.”

  The desk clerk gave him our key cards, and we turned toward the elevators. Then the clerk’s voice turned Dad back around. “Oh! Mr. Hardy, the head of housekeeping needs approval for the quarterly supply order.” She held up a clipboard. “Mr. Simms is stuck in a meeting. Would you sign?”

  Now, I’ve been around Grayson Hotels my whole life. No one—and I mean no one—can sign requisitions except the manager of the property… not even a Grayson Golden Boy like my dad. Something was up. Why was he suddenly able to break company protocol?

  He waved her off. “It can wait for Simms. I’m on vacation with my son.”

  We got settled into our suite. Dad was expounding on the view when I laid it on him. “Okay, Dad, spill.”

  He looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about.

  “Those people down there acted like they’d met you. And it wasn’t just because they’d heard about the legendary Brian Hardy, celeb hotel manager. And that requisition? What gives?”