Page 41 of Vespertine
Adrian shrugged. “It’ll take time, and a lot of work. Thehardest part will be getting the money together and finding a new location, butsince I helped you get the grants in the first place, it wouldn’t be toodifficult to reapply. You’d have to find other investors on the side becausethe Church does still pay for some of the other stuff, like the bills for theschool, et cetera. But it’s not undoable. Especially since you are so wellknown with theLGBTQhomeless community, and you’rethe only one running a center like this for miles around. And then there’sanother option.”
“What’s that?”
“Bad publicity. If you threaten to go public with the factthat the Church wants to get rid of the only CatholicLGBTQyouth center, they might sit up and listen. I read the article inThe Atlantic, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you have ahuge amount of followers and fans out there. You could cash in on that andforce their hand.”
Jasper was listening but shaking his head at the same time. “Idon’t want to do that.”But you would, a little voicein the back of his mind said.You would if you had to.“And as far as taking over alone, they’d never allow me to run a place likethat outside of the Church’s jurisdiction.”
Adrian sank back in his chair and raised his hands. “That’s betweenyou and the Church, Jasper. You’ll have to search your own conscience on thatone.”
Jasper exhaled hard and rubbed his eyes. When he glancedtoward the kitchen he saw Nicky standing there, silent and staring.
Nicky bounced the basketball against the asphaltdriveway and took a shot. It ricocheted off the rim, and he took his timecollecting it from the grass. Late evening light burned through the westerntrees. The setting sun reflected in the bay, a flickering orange as it made itsway lower in the sky. Nicky loved the summer nights, how the daylight hoursextended well into the evening before darkness finally fell.
The glittering ripple of the bay was rhythmic and he couldalmost hear it as a piano piece—a series of overlapping notes that grew andfaded and grew again. He hummed the music under his breath and tapped hisfinger against the ball, committing the tune to memory to try out on his mother’sBaldwin piano later. He’d played some fine pianos in his time, including aSteinway worth a few luxury cars, but his mother’s old upright was still hisfavorite.
Miriam was right. He’d learned it like a best friend as achild, and its specific tones were as natural to him as the scent of his ownskin. He’d spent some time on it earlier in the day. He didn’t feel ready toadmit to himself that he was creating new songs. They were too raw anddeformed; stunted infants born from the clarity of sobriety and doomed to besacrificed to the hunger of Los Angeles music producers.
Still, it seemed poignant that he was composing them on hisoldest love. He glanced toward the kitchen window, seeing his mother laughingand talking, undoubtedly to Jasper. He wondered what they were saying and howJazz really saw him. He was probably a pretty pathetic human being in his eyes.Fans, platinum records, and covers ofRolling Stonewouldn’t have impressed young Jazz, and they’d impress this superior, pridefulpriest even less.
As Nicky dribbled the ball on the asphalt again, heconsidered the difference between an old instrument and an old lover. Hismother’s Baldwin was the same as ever. Maybe a little richer in tone, the wooda little more resonant. It was the same with Jasper. He was taller, filled out,and grown up in a way Nicky both admired and resented. But he was still thesame old Jazz. He was still funny, and a party-pooper, and relentlesslyrealistic, despite his illogical belief in God and his priestly calling. He wasstill beautiful and admirable.
Unsurprisingly, Jazz had grown into a man who could stand infront of a crowded chapel and deliver sermons that everyone took seriously. Andwhat had Nicky turned into? He stood up nightly in front of a crowd too. Hecommanded their attention and devotion andobsession…buttheir respect? That was debatable. And even if he had it, he didn’t deserve it.Not the way Jasper did. Jasper deserved good things. And good was somethingNicky hadn’t been in a long time.
A bird called. He took another shot.
“Nothing but net,” Jazz said from the darkness of the opengarage. Miriam must have let him out that way to collect his bike parked on thesidewalk there. “Great shot.”
Jasper emerged from the gloom and the sun glinted on theblond streaks in his hair and illuminated his lashes and golden-brown brows. Helooked like someone had smeared a halo all over his face.
The top of Nicky’s left foot itched.
“Leaving already?” Nicky asked, walking over to retrieve theball from where it had stopped in the grass. He tucked it under his arm andpushed his hair out of his face.
“It’s not a terribly long ride home, but I don’t want to getcaught out in the dark. I don’t have the proper reflectors.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” Nicky nodded south toward the woods.“You couldn’t stay at your folks’ place?”
“Is there a reason I need to stay?”
Nicky grinned. “Well, you still haven’t beaten me atHORSE.”
Jazz shook his head, smiling softly. “Because you used to cheat.”
“You can’t cheat atHORSE.”
“You did.”
“It’s called being creative.”
“No, it’s called cheating.”
“Well, I tell you what, I won’t be creative tonight. What doyou say?”
Jasper put his hands in his pockets and turned his headtoward his bike, eyeing it contemplatively. He sighed and pulled his right handfree and looked down at something in his fingers. “Heads or tails.”
“Tails. Always.”
Jazz laughed and tossed the coin, caught it in his right,and slapped it against the back of his left. “Heads.”
