Free Enter, Night by Michael Rowe Page A

Guelph that finally arrived twenty minutes later.
By that time, Christina had been rendered a destitute widow, Morgan
had been rendered a half-orphan, and Jeremy had been rendered the
only son of Adeline Parr, the long-abandoned ogress of Parr’s Landing.

CHAPTER SIX
    “What?” Jeremy was startled out of his reverie. He turned to Christina.
“Sorry, Chris, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”
    “I asked you what you were thinking about. And keep your voice
down,” Christina whispered. “I think Morgan’s asleep.” She checked her
rearview mirror and saw that her daughter was, in fact, sleeping in the
back seat of the Chevelle, with her head leaning against the wadded-up
sweater she was using as a makeshift pillow.
    “Oh, I don’t know. I was remembering things. I was thinking about
Jack.”
    Christina was silent, her eyes on the road. Then she said, “I know.
I’ve been thinking about him all day myself. This is the one thing he
never wanted to happen. But what can you do? Life is what happens
when you’re busy making other plans, right?”
    “You know, it could be all right. She might have changed, you know.”
    “I don’t see her forgiving any of us for leaving—especially me, since
she blamed me for—” Christina looked into the rearview mirror again.
“Well, for the way I changed her plans for the family. I also have a feeling
she blames me for Jack’s death, too. She didn’t directly say it in the letter,
but it was there all the same.”
    “Having the surviving son be someone like me wasn’t part of her
plan for the glories of the Parr family, either, Chris. Don’t take all of this
on yourself. She never forgave me for being queer, let alone for failing her
loving attempts to cure me. I still have nightmares about that sadist. Dr.
Gionet, I mean,” he said wryly. “Not Adeline. Though she’s been known
to haunt a dream or two, as well.”
    “Well, I have nightmares about Adeline all the time.”
    Jeremy peered into the darkness through the windshield. There was
no light anywhere except what was provided by the Chevelle’s headlights
bouncing off the gnarled logging road. “It’s pitch black out here. I guess
I forgot what it’s like at night. Jesus, it’s Saturday. If I were home I’d
be dancing with handsome men at the Parkside or the St. Charles right
now, with my shirt off and a bottle of poppers in my nose. Ah, memories.
They’re all we’ll have to sustain us out here in God’s country. Where the
hell
are
we, anyway?”
    Christina said, “We’re just south of Marathon and about five miles
to Hattie Cove. After that, about half an hour.”
    “That was my attempt at humour, by the way,” Jeremy said. “I’m
hurt that you didn’t laugh. I mean, about the poppers and the dancing.”
    “I just doubt that it’s much of an exaggeration,” Christina replied
tartly. “And besides, right about now it sounds pretty amazing. Have you
thought about it, by the way? I mean, what it’s going to be like for you
back home being openly hom . . . sorry,
gay,
” she corrected herself, using
the word that Jeremy and his friends applied to themselves.
    “You said ‘home’ to refer to that place,” Jeremy said. He shuddered.
“It’s not my home. Toronto is my home.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Yes, I do.” He sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off. And
yes, I’ve thought about it a lot. Of course I’m not going to be ‘openly gay’
there. You don’t get to be ‘openly gay’ way up north. I don’t think they’ve
even heard the word ‘gay.’ It’s ‘faggot,’ ‘fruit,’ or ‘queer.’ Or, something
worse. Aside from the fact that I’d get killed—scion of the great Parr
name or not—who on earth would I ‘be gay’
with
?”
    “Have you thought about that guy you used to know? What was his
name—Elliot? Elliot McCormack?”
    “McKitrick. Elliot McKitrick. And no,” Jeremy lied, “I