Page 64 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

The ferryman’s eyebrows arched in a way that might have preceded a deep and long hug if they had been friends. “I’m really sorry about your partner.”

“Yeah, well. Me too. It’s the main reason I came out here—trying not to be so sad anymore.

“I didn’t know that,” Fergal said, any vestiges of his formerly sharp tone having been fully replaced with one of gentleness and true concern.

“So that’s the whole reason you didn’t have sex with me?” Joe’s voice cracked. “Because I was messed up and called you the wrong name?”

“Yeah.” Fergal looked over at a nearby doe, who appeared to be eavesdropping. “Actually no, that’s not entirely true.”

“Then why?” Joe asked.

Fergal sighed. “It’s just summers on Fire Island can get very dramatic. I didn’t want any trouble. I grew up out here, I’ve seen what guys go through every year. Watched them crying behind their Ray-Bans as they take the last ferry back. Hearts all busted. No thanks. Not for me.”

“But it would’ve just been sex.” Joe attempted a quick laugh, trying to approximate the cool sexiness Ronnie might muster in a moment like this.

Fergal shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t. I can see it in your eyes. You’re not that type. You wanna think you’re just here to have a good time and fuck around. But I can see it—you’d want something more. You’d want to cuddle and all that bullshit and—”

“And what?” Joe suddenly felt even more exposed, even to himself.

“We’re from different worlds,” Fergal said way too earnestly.

“For real?” Joe laughed a little. “Did you steal that line fromOne Life to Liveor something?”

“I’m serious.” The blush was visible beneath Fergal’s scruff.

“Long Island and suburban Philadelphia aren’t that different.”

“For one, you graduated from college. I didn’t.”

“So?” Joe scoffed. “Doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”

“Also, I tend to go for older guys,” Fergal countered. “You’re only twenty-four, right?”

Joe looked up at the trees and then back at Fergal. His lie had even traveled the Fire Island gossip circuit. He felt smothered by a hot wet rag of embarrassment.

“Not really. I turned twenty-nine last March.”

“But at least three people told me you were—”

“I lied. See, what happened was, when I first met my best friend, Ronnie, he took a guess that I was in my early twenties, and—well, I just let him believe it.”

“Why?”

There it was. Joe had to decide whether to tell the truth, a half-truth, or another outright lie, or just keep quiet. But somethingabout Fergal’s expression made him not want to lie anymore. Not to Fergal. As he took a deep breath, he fingered Howie’s good luck charm in his back pocket for courage. “The whole story is this: When I wasactuallytwenty-four, Elliot and I fell in love. But he was sick. He had AIDS.”

Fergal took a deep breath, and then gently said, “I’m really sorry.”

“After he died, I wanted a redo of that part of my life.”

Fergal nodded but then looked down to the ground like he was avoiding Joe’s eyes. Joe had been through it a dozen times before. As soon as he told a guy that his partner had died of an AIDS-related opportunistic infection, they’d start asking themselves,“Does that mean Joe has AIDS? Is he going around infecting other people? Is he going to die?”He hated that they did this, but he knew he would probably do the same thing. “I’m not positive, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Fergal responded curtly, looking Joe in the eyes again. “Why would you assume I’d think that?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just … you know what I mean? Everyone thinks if you’ve been with someone positive for a long time, then you’re …” Joe gestured to the air.

Fergal nodded again, and Joe was grateful for the lack of pity in Fergal’s eyes. He would have liked to tell him everything, including the secret he had yet to tell anyone. But he couldn’t; he had already exposed enough of himself for right now.

He studied Fergal’s face. The shadow of his beard was even heavier than usual, and even though he looked dead tired, Joe couldn’t help thinking how honestly and purely sexy he was. All of him, from his uncombed mop of hair to the scar above his lips, his hot-as-hell hairy legs and arms, down to those huge, webbed feet stuffed into Top-Siders—the ones Joe had vomited on that first night they’d kissed. Unlike all the pretty boys on the island, Fergal’s good looks were misleadingly average—even a bit brutish—if you didn’t look too closely. But when you took the time to really look at him, you couldn’t miss the innocence and fire that made every inch of his face and body vibrate with an almost painful beauty. Sure, he was no Gladiator Man, nor was he an Elliot,handsome and academically brilliant, but the more Joe listened to Fergal’s voice, looked at his adorably scruffy face, and watched the hair patch on his chest point up to his unusually large Adam’s apple, the more Joe wanted to—

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