“I don’t know what to do.” I coughed as she dabbed at my eyes with some tissues she’d miraculously pulled out of thin air. My mother, the David Blaine of tissue tricks.

  “You’re going to come back to the cabin and—”

  “No, not with Dad there being a jerk.” I broke away from her, feet hitting the floor soundly. I pushed up and stalked to the open window. “I’m not going to subject him to my sickness!”

  “Dane, he does not think you’re sick.”

  “Oh yeah, he does. He told me so.”

  She pulled in a shaky breath. “He shouldn’t have said that to you.” I looked from the trees to her sitting so stiffly on Khalid’s bed. “You’re to come back to our cabin. He’s not there. He went back to the city.”

  “But it’s Saturday.”

  She lifted her tiny chin a bit. “Yes, I know. We had a discussion about things, and he went home.” The weight of knowing that I was the cause of their marriage problems nearly buckled my knees. “Do not blame yourself for our actions, Dane.” That chin of hers looked quite firmly set now, so I didn’t say anything more about their discussion or how it had sent my father home.

  “I brought you some shorts and sandals.” She waved a hand filled with rumpled tissues at a bright pink tote. “Get dressed and then come to the cabin.”

  “With Khalid?”

  “Yes, of course with Khalid. We’ll talk and then go have brunch.”

  “Mom, what will I do if he won’t pay for college? Or let me back in the house?”

  I’d never been so afraid in all my life. No, that was a lie. I had been this terrified that time when I was little I fell off my uncle’s boat and into the Chesapeake Bay. The memory of that tumble into the choppy cold water was burned into my brain. I’d only been four, but I’d never gotten over that experience. Sometimes, rarely now but sometimes I’d dream about that day, waking up in a cold sweat as I sank under the water of the bay. It had been my dad who had leaped in to save me. Would he save me now if I were going under?

  “You don’t worry about that because as long as I am drawing breath my children will be welcome in my home.” She motioned at the tote again, her lips thin and pale. She’d not put any makeup on yet. God, what a terrible morning this had been for all of us. “And your college education will be paid for, don’t worry.”

  I nodded weakly then padded over to the tote on the floor. After I was dressed, she rose from the bed, took my hand, and led me to the door. Khalid was sitting on a couch in the common area, his bottom lip between his teeth, his dark eyes locking on me as soon as we exited his room.

  “You okay?” he asked as he got to his feet.

  “I think so.”

  “He will be,” Mom announced. I prayed she was right.

  ***

  The rest of July was fractured. There were times of great joy but there were also times of cutting pain. My father still came up every weekend. He still spent time with Mom. He still interacted with James. He still played golf with the old men and tennis with my mother. He just never spoke to me. It was as if I’d ceased to be. When he was up, I spent the nights with Khalid, sneaking in and out through the window of his room so no trouble would fall on him or Drew. I truly felt like the lowest of the low. An unwanted sullied creature, like a rat or a cockroach, skulking around in the dark, fleeing when the lights came on lest someone stomp on them.

  Things percolated along in that manner until the first weekend of August. I’d been in my room packing clothes to take with me when Dad walked into our bedroom, assuming, I was sure, that I’d be gone. He stiffened instantly. I threw my backpack on, went to leave, and then had to let go of something I’d been polishing for days.

  “I’ve been watching lots of videos on YouTube about coming out to religious parents.” His eyes flared a bit. “Yeah, despite what you think I’m not the only gay Catholic out there. Lots of LGBT kids come from religious homes. Khalid’s parents are religious, but you don’t really think of them as human beings, do you?”

  “I never once said anything about him or his parents being less than human, Dane. I do not appreciate you putting words into my mouth!”

  “Fine, okay, that was petty. Here’s my main point. I’m giving you a year. One year.” I held up my right index finger. “One year to work through your issues with me. One year of being willing to come home alone for holidays. One year of not being able to bring Khalid to anything while watching James bring a girlfriend to cookouts or birthday parties. One. Year. After those three hundred and sixty-five days have passed, if you’re still not in an accepting place, then you will never see me again.”

  He tried to look unaffected, but I saw the surprise and sorrow flash across his face.

  “You’d be willing to cut us off like that?” he enquired.

  “It was you who cut me off. So, one year of me being willing to give you time to adjust and act out. I’m willing to talk to you and answer any questions you have, and you get to be a jerk about it. I’ll keep reaching out but at the end of that year, if you’re still being an asshole, I will cut you out of my life. You. Not Mom or James. Just you.”

  “I understand.”

  He left the door open after he exited. My legs felt loose and goosey, but my soul was singing. It had taken me weeks of reading online and talking with Khalid to hit on something that felt right for me, a way to handle the cold shoulder and the discord in our family. Now that I’d said what I’d rehearsed over and over in my head, I felt shaky and flighty, light as a feather now that the boulder of guilt had rolled off my shoulder blades. I threw myself through the patio doors, the laptop in my backpack hitting my back soundly as I raced to the main lodge to find Khalid. He’d been called in to help with lunch on his day off. The man had not been happy, but I know once he heard how I’d laid down the law with my father, he’d be fucking delirious.

  I ran right through the dining room, ignoring Bonnie and the others who looked down their noses at me. I barreled into the kitchen, panting and sweaty, and looked around for my boyfriend.

  “He got called to the manager’s office,” Bonnie said as she came up behind me. I spun to face her. This was the first we’d talked for weeks. “He looked upset.”

  That big balloon of joy began to deflate. “Where’s the manager’s office?”

  “Second floor. Follow the steps up and go right. Dane, I hope everything is okay.”

  “Thanks. Me too.”

  I met Khalid coming down the main staircase. He looked shell-shocked.

  “What’s wrong?” I shouted up as I jogged closer. His legs crumpled under him, his ass hitting the old wooden stairs soundly. “Khalid, what’s wrong?”

  He lifted his eyes up from the stair. He was stricken with grief. “My dad just died.”

  My legs folded under me as well. I landed beside him with a huff. “Oh man, no.” He threw his arms around me, buried his face into my neck, and wailed in grief. “I’m so sorry.”

  Those words seemed so trite. And how shitty did I now feel that I’d raced up here to tell him I had told my father he had a year to stop being a twat to me? Khalid would never see his father again no matter how bad or nicely he’d treated his son.

  “What happened?” I asked when he took a breath to try to calm himself. Guests and staff were walking past, looking at us with worry and/or confusion.

  “Massive heart attack maybe? Not sure yet.” He coughed into my throat, his fingers bound tightly in the straps of my backpack. “Mum is mental. I have to go home, Dane.”

  “Right...sure.” My stomach curdled upon hearing that. “I can take you home.” My hand rubbed the back of his neck. How odd it was for me to be the one giving succor to my lover.

  He choked out something. I had to ask him to repeat it. He shook his head, his face still cradled on my shoulder.

  “No, your dad will—”

  “Be fine. He’ll be fine.”

  I stood up slowly, lifting him as I rose. He clung to me like a rose thorn all the way down the stairs and out into the sweltering August morning. Khalid staggered away from me when we got some distance from the main lodge, the heels of his hands in his eyes, his cheeks slick with tears. I grabbed at his back, getting a handful of shirt soaked with perspiration. Arm tightly around him, I steered him to our cabin.

  “Just sit here, okay? Sit right here. I’ll be right back.” I deposited him into one of two lawn chairs my parents had been lounging on and sipping wine in last night. He folded over on himself, his elbows on his knees. I rubbed his hair for a moment then ran inside, pulling shocked looks from my mother and father who were resting on the sofa. “I need the keys to the car.”

  Dad’s look was chilly to say the least. Mom sat up a little straighter. “For what?”

  “I have to drive Khalid home,” I replied. Dad quirked an eyebrow. “His father just died, okay? He needs a ride home, and I’m taking him.”

  “Dear God,” Mom gasped, shot to her feet, and hurried to the bedroom, coming out a moment later with Dad’s keys. “Where is he?”

  “On the front porch.” She dropped the keys into my open hand and then rushed out the front door.

  “Thanks,” I said to the uncomfortable looking man on the couch.

  “Tell him that I’m sorry for his loss,” my father said.

  “You could tell him yourself.”

  When he continued to sit, I huffed into my room, grabbed my wallet which held about six bucks, and stalked back into the living room. Dad stood by the sofa. He held two twenty-dollar bills in his hand.

  “In case you need gas.”

  “He’s only over in Bushkill, so unless the tank is low we’re good.”

  “Take it anyway.”

  I thought to argue, to tell him to cram his money, but I tamped down my initial reaction and took the cash. Perhaps that was a way he could reach while saving face. It was going to be a long year.

  “Thanks.” Out I went after an awkward pause to find my mother holding Khalid while murmuring platitudes that we all murmur when someone has lost a loved one. “Let’s grab some of your stuff.”

  “Yeah, I need…things. My stuff.” Khalid slid out of my mother’s arms, thanked her for her kindness, and stumbled down the stairs. This time it was me aiding him across the bridge and not once did I panic or feel stressed. All my attention was on him. Packing was slapdash as my mother would say. Grabbing his clothes and personal items and throwing them into duffel bags.

  “Drew is going to be stuck working all kinds of hours,” he said as he placed his prayer rug into the last bag and yanked the zipper shut.

  “He’ll totally understand. Maybe they’ll hire someone.” I threw one of the huge duffels over my shoulder.

  “No, not this close to the end of the season. Did I get my rug?” He spun around, eyes wet with unshed tears, hair rumpled from his fingers raking through it.

  “Yeah, you did. If you forgot anything Drew can give it to me for safe keeping.”

  “Okay, yeah, sure. I can get it when I come back to finish the season.”

  We walked to the guest parking lot, his bag growing heavier and heavier with each step. I unlocked my mother’s new Honda Pilot with the fob then shouldered his bags into the minivan.

  Khalid sat beside me, so quiet and withdrawn that I felt obligated to say something, anything, to try to break the silence. The radio was playing but it was meaningless white noise.

  “Did your father want to be buried back in the UK or Serbia? My grandfather had us ship his body all the way to Ireland so he could be buried in the soil of his homeland.”

  “No, we don’t believe in embalming.” He paused to look from the side window to me. “The funeral home in Newark is Muslim, so they’ll wash and wrap him and then we have to bury him quickly.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I kept saying that. It had to sound dumb and trite to his ears to keep hearing that over and over.

  “I know you are. It’s really a great comfort to have you here with me.” He touched my knee, just lightly, smiled through the tears, and then went back to staring out the window.

  About ten minutes later, I threw him a glance. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be whispering a prayer, so I began searching for something more sedate than old country songs about trucks and guns and girls in tight jeans. There was nothing that fit the somber mood in the van, so I turned the radio off. His lashes fluttered and his eyes moved to me.

  “I’m sorry I keep disturbing you. And I’m sorry all I can seem to say to you is ‘I’m sorry’ because you must be sick of hearing me say that,” I said in a rush. “The music was stupid. I mean, stupid for someone trying to pray. Like we care about that jerks pick-up truck. I have no idea why my father listens to country music. It’s not like he’s ever once shoveled cow shit or drove a truck or threw hay bales around.”

  He snickered a bit. “It’s American music, yeah? Maybe it makes him feel like he’s closer to his roots.”

  “If that were the case he should be listening to The Dubliners like my grandfather did. Do we exit here?” I jerked my head at the upcoming exit.

  “Next exit.”

  Conversation kind of dwindled again as we pulled into Bushkill. Khalid led me right to his house, a huge two-story tan house with a double garage surrounded by trees. The driveway was filled with cars, so we parked on the street. People dressed in white or black were filing into the house, the women carrying casserole dishes, the hot August wind tugging on somber-toned hijabs.

  “I should have dressed better,” I muttered, looking down at my holey denim shorts, sandals, and tank top with a hedgehog drinking a bottle of a popular citrus soda. “She won’t look down on me for not being dressed properly, will she?”

  Khalid didn’t reply. I glanced from my beat-up wardrobe to him. He looked sick at heart.

  “I don’t think you should go in,” he said so weakly I could barely hear him.

  “Why?” A slap in the face would have hurt less.

  “I have relatives coming, from all over, and members of the mosque will fill the house. Quite a few…they’re not fond of me. I don’t want to inflict their dislike on you.”

  “Oh.” I looked away from his melancholy eyes to the house. “They don’t like you because you’re gay.” Not a question, a statement.

  “Yeah, it’s been a bit of a problem, especially with my older male relatives. If they see my boyfriend here…”

  I leaped in to spare him from saying it. I knew all too well the cutting sting of a family members disdain.

  “I don’t want to make a bad time worse. I’ll go.”

  He grabbed my hand resting on the wheel. “Please don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not. I swear I’m not mad. I just wanted to be there for you.” Tears trickled down his cheeks. I reached up to wipe them from his face.

  “I love you so much. I might not make it to the lodge before season ends. If not, I’ll see you the first weekend of fall semester, just like we planned.” He leaned in to grab a fast kiss. His soft lips lingered on mine for a moment, and I had an overpowering need to hold onto him tightly. He pulled back, touched my brow with his, and we closed our eyes and simply were for a long space of time.

  Soon, though, he was gone, inside the tan house with the mourners, and I was back on the road, the radio still off, the AC blowing air so cold into my face that my eyes watered. A stop sign on the corner of his road gave me time to look back in search of him, although I knew he’d already gone in to his mother. I pretended, with the mind of a fiction author who can envision anything if he tries hard enough, that Khalid was outside in the yard, waving and smiling as I drove off. Aching inside as if my soul were septic, I sang our song.

  Don’t burn my wings away from me.

  Don’t burn my wings away from me.

  I leapt from the tower and fell to the sea,

  Don’t take my love away from me.

  I lifted a hand to the spectral Khalid before making the left that would take my love away from me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Khalid never made it back to the lodge before the summer season ended. That, in and of itself, wasn’t a surprise. His father’s funeral had devastated him, and now everything rested on his shoulders as the only child. He told me how his family expected him to handle things for his mother, and he was glad to do that but school was now a week away, and he feared she was in no shape emotionally to be left alone in Bushkill. Even with the mosque and Muslim community to help support her, she was drowning in grief and was clinging to him in desperation, her fears of losing him now doubled.

  We talked every day. Khalid was right about needing Wi-Fi accessibility in all the guest lodges despite how the older folks—my parents included—thought not having internet was good for us whippersnappers. I spent a good hour at the main lodge in the evenings just talking to him, my guts in turmoil, pining to touch him or just hold him.

  The last day at Silver Fir, I woke up outside, the morning sky a hazy shade of softest salmon and azure. My mattress was damp with morning dew as was my blanket. Through the door I could hear James’s bovine breathing. Wrapping my blanket tightly around me, I slowly stood up and looked across Cranberry Creek. There was no Khalid on the opposite bank. The yearning to see him nearly doubled me over.

  Four hours later Silver Fir Lodge and my time spent there was a memory. Returning home after being gone all summer felt weird, at least for me. James ran off to visit Gloria Henderson, leaving his bags unpacked. I pattered around my room, touching my things, hearing the familiar sounds, and knowing that the Dane who had last slept in this room was not the Dane who would rest here tonight. That made me melancholy and incredibly joyous all at once. I told that to Khalid when we talked that evening, and he said that was growing pangs. I supposed that was possible. When I asked when I’d see him, he couldn’t tell me. His voice was thick with hunger, so I knew that this separation was killing him just as it was me. Knowing that he missed me as I missed him didn’t ease the ache, but it dulled it a tiny bit, made it so that I could live with it, like rubbing clover oil on a bad tooth to dull the pain until you can get to the dentist.