The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (76 page)

“I’m not going to say it,” the man protested.

“You think
I’m
crazy enough to say it?” Fletch retorted.

A taut moment, before Mac began laughing. “What a ludicrous notion, I  don’t know how I could even have imagined it in the first place.” He put his cutlery down. “I’ve lost my appetite. If it’s true, you
are
crazy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Fine, we can play it like that.” The man leaned forward. “But I’m your friend, Fletcher, you can tell me what’s going on.”

“No, I can’t. Albert would kill me if he knew you’d figured it out.”

“God preserve me, it
is
true, isn’t it?”

Fletcher grinned. It was only lunchtime, and here he was coming out for the second time that day. “It’s true. I’m as nuts about him as you are about Celia, if you won’t get offended by the comparison.”

“Of course not.” A delicate pause. “And what about him?”

“Oh, he returns the favor, even if he won’t admit it.”

“You’re a braver man than I,” Mac said fervently. “Don’t tell me: you found the pony behind all the shit.” They were silent for a moment, until Mac offered Fletch his hand across the table, and they shook on it. “Are congratulations in order?”

“Yeah, and I’m grateful. Tell Celia if you like, if you think she’ll be okay about it - but no one else, Mac, not even Caroline. We’d lose our jobs if the Bureau found out, and you know what Albert’s work means to him.”

“Yeah, your secret’s safe, and all that.” Mac shook his head. “I have a million questions.”

Fletcher’s grin grew broad. One of the traits he and Mac shared was a devilish curiosity. “When I get back,” he promised. “You can buy me a few drinks, somewhere we won’t be overheard, and I’ll tell you all the gory details. Though, if Albert finds out you know
anything
, he’ll kill you.”

“I guess I’ll take the risk to hear the story.” Mac nodded, and returned to his meal.

The silence settled while they finished eating, then Mac began to talk about more mundane topics over another beer. Not contributing much - and apparently not being expected to - Fletcher reflected how good it was to be able to share the fact of his love with his fellow creatures. He hadn’t realized what a burden the secrecy had been until some of it lifted. Hopefully, sharing Albert with his family, and with Mac and Celia, would be enough to lighten that load.

Fletcher smiled, and swallowed some more beer. He was looking forward to some long conversations with Peter Ash. And then he realized that he wasn’t really in limbo anymore. When it came to his lover, and to his father and friends, Fletcher was at last beginning to feel and to respond as if he were still alive.

Albert, of course, had the house and the packing fully organized within a suitable timeframe prior to their date of departure. The last item to be placed in the Saab was Albert’s briefcase. “You’re going to be working?” Fletch asked, unsurprised. What else did Albert ever do with his time?

“I would like to write a paper on a particular area of forensic chemistry I have been researching - I  doubt that you’d want to know the details, Ash - but my caseload and my other responsibilities haven’t allowed me the necessary time. This journey seems the ideal opportunity to consider my findings and to write them up.”

There was a pause, and Fletcher belatedly realized that Albert was waiting for a reaction. It would have seemed impossible, not so long ago, that Albert would get even this close to asking Fletcher’s permission regarding anything relating to work. “That’s fine,” Fletch said, stumbling over the words in his haste. “I  mean, I  was wondering what you were planning on doing with yourself.”

Amidst the momentary bustle of settling the luggage, Albert said, “It will not require my undivided attention.”

Fletcher smiled at this unexpected but very welcome information. And then his face fell as Albert slid a comprehensive map out of the briefcase and took it around to the driver’s door. “I  thought,” said Fletcher, “we were going to see where the road took us. But I suppose you have our itinerary all planned.”

“No, I don’t. The map is to assist when your impulses get us lost. And also to demonstrate that it would not be logical to drive through Florida on the way to Idaho.”

The smile, of course, returned. “You are an idiot,” Fletcher declared, “and I love you for it.”

Looking somewhat pained, Albert slid into the car with a last glance at his home. When Fletcher joined him, Albert asked, “Where do you wish to head for today?”

“I don’t know. What’s in Kentucky?”

Albert nodded, and backed out onto the road. As he shifted into first gear and pulled away, he said, quietly yet very clearly, “You’re an idiot, too.”

Fletcher found himself too busy glowing to be surprised at this declaration.

“You’re proving my assertion,” Albert continued after a moment. “You obviously lack the mental capacity to realize when you’ve been insulted. Either you’re idiotically ingenuous, or you’re too ingenious in inferring things that I have neither stated nor implied.”

“Sure, Albert,” Fletch said easily, the glow continuing unabated. He settled down into the seat, comfortable now, and in some small measure content.

EPILOGUE

IDAHO

OCTOBER 1985

Albert stood on the bare dirt out the back of the Ash family home. He was alone; everyone else was at the diner in town. Everything was very quiet, except for a breeze rustling through the trees that surrounded the place. Even the sunshine felt mild. Albert stood with the basketball in his hands, contemplating the hoop attached askew to the wall of the shed.

He had never thrown a ball before but figured that it all came down to physics. In his mind he plotted vectors of force, and various trajectories. Surely it couldn’t be too hard to do this thing; hopefully he wouldn’t humiliate himself in the attempt. He could visualize a dotted line making a perfect curve from his hands, across blue sky and wood weathered grey, to the metal hoop. He could see that but for some illogical reason, there were no guarantees the ball would follow it.

Finally Albert asked himself what Fletcher’s advice would be. Perhaps something like,
Trust yourself, trust your instincts, and just throw the damned thing.
That, Albert had to admit, made some sense under the circumstances.

Albert took a deep breath and glanced around to reassure himself there were no witnesses. He lifted the ball to just in front of his chest, as he’d seen Fletcher and Harley do, and closed his eyes for a moment to help clear any extraneous thoughts.

When he opened his eyes again, Albert focused on the hoop, took another breath - and he threw the damned thing.



About Julie Bozza

I was born in England,

and lived most of my life in Australia before returning to the UK a few years ago;

my dual nationality means that I am often

a bit too cheeky, but will always apologise for it.

I have been writing fiction for almost thirty years, mostly for the enjoyment of myself and my friends, but writing is my love and my vocation

so of course that’s where my dreams

and ambitions are. In the meantime,

technical writing helps to pay the mortgage,

while I also have fun with web design,

reading, watching movies and television,

knitting, and imbibing espresso.



ISBN:978-0-9565426-4-9