Chapter 2

As to his sexuality, I often wondered what his deal was. On the surface, he seemed straight. I’d seen Rafe with lots of girls growing up, and he dated widely in town even now. He was a “catch,” after all. But the man was getting near forty and hadn’t settled down. And he never seemed to be that enthusiastic, either, when I saw him with his girl of the week around town. It was as if he was playing pretend. Or that was just my wishful thinking.

There was also that one time, too, that I could have sworn I’d seen him at a gay bar, but I figured I must have been imagining things, things I wanted badly, despite the truth before me.

Who was I to judge, anyway? My own dating life was sparse. I’d had lots of hookups in college, and enjoyed the occasional trick away from town. But I didn’t get out much, content to work on small renovation and woodwork projects around town, and teaching the kids at the school to which I owed so much was my passion. I was a loner, and comfortable that way. Too much attention made me skittish. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.

Rafe’s drinking concerned me, though, more and more each day. His personality changed when he was soused and things got out of hand, fast. I’d seen it happen many times, and was the one who’d get the call to drag his ass home from whatever hole in the wall where he was making trouble. It was a wonder he still had enough brain cells to do his job.

* * * *

It was a warm Friday afternoon in June and I’d just arrived home from work when my cell phone rang.

“Hello?” I said without looking at the caller ID as I tossed my keys on the wooden table I’d carved from an old tree trunk.

“It’s Serge, buddy. What’s up?”

“Hey, man! Are you coming home?” I asked as I went to the kitchen to grab a beer.

“I’ll be there tonight, maybe around eight. I can stay until Monday. Tell Rafe, would you? They just called my flight and I need more coffee. That croissant I had was gross. Why can’t people bake worth a damn? I’d give anything for a good croissant like back home. Love you, bro!”

“Why can’t you call Rafe and—?” But he’d already hung up.

Serge was a hit-and-run kind of guy. Always moving at super speed, very high energy. Half the time he wore me out with his enthusiasm and mile-a-minute chatter, but he was my brother, and family was everything to me. Serge tended to avoid Rafe when possible, not the least of which because Rafe kept badgering him about wasting his life, that he could do more, that he needed to come home and find a job locally, blah blah.

I sent the sheriff a text, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. He’d want to hear the blow by blow of a ten-second conversation. So overkill. Rafe was still on shift—he made sure that I had his schedule at all times should anything happen to me, God forbid—and I needed groceries.

Back in my truck, I turned on the engine and heard my cell phone beep. With a half-smile, I checked the screen. Rafe had responded…

Come see me right now.

I rolled my eyes and headed into town, merging into traffic. The sheriff’s office was right next to the fire station that was served by a mostly voluntary crew. A spot opened up just when I needed it, and I zipped in.

I headed inside, waving at Jonah Kemberling, the cop on duty at the front desk. “Sheriff said to send you on back when you got here,” he offered with a look of sympathy and a smile. Everyone knew just how much of a hard-ass Rafe Zumpano could be, especially if it was something to do with me or Serge.

“Thanks,” I replied and went on my way.

The place wasn’t that big, and I knew everyone there. I murmured “hello” as I moved along until I arrived at the door marked “Sheriff.” I knocked and heard a gruff “Come in” from the other side.

I opened the door. “Sheriff,” I greeted him, mainly because he hated when I did that.

“Fuck you,” was his grouchy reply as I closed the door and sat in the chair in front of his desk.

Rafe had always looked good in uniform. He filled it out so nicely. He seemed tired, though, and he hadn’t shaved. His eyes looked bloodshot. I wondered if he’d been out drinking late the night before. Or worse, this morning.

I decided to ignore that for the moment and needle him a bit, as only two men who’d grown up around each other could.