Free What Binds Us by Larry Benjamin Page A

echo. His clothes were disheveled. He was flushed beneath his tan, as if he’d run a great distance in a short time. His mouth had a bruised look to it.
    Matthew looked from one to the other. They appeared trapped by his silver-gold gaze like flies in amber.
    “Reggie came back to accuse me,” Mr. Whyte cried. “But Matty talked to him. He’ll forgive me, won’t he? And then we’ll be friends again.”
    “Yes, Dad. Of course.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t encourage these delusions,” Marquis admonished softly.
    “What was I supposed to do? He was scared to death. If you—” Glancing in my direction, Matthew cut himself off. “Can you see to him now? Please?” Then to his father, “Marquis is going to take care of you now. You’ll be fine.”
    “Yes. Thank you, son.”
    Matthew leaned over and thumbed the hair out of his father’s eyes then kissed his cheek.
    “You’re a good boy,” his father cooed.
    It had rattled me to see Matthew tumble so easily into his father’s world, to see that man in the room who was both there and not there. Matthew had to touch me twice to get me to follow him. Dondi grabbed my arm as I turned to leave. I shook off his hand. “You smell of sex,” I hissed.
    “How did you do that?” I asked Matthew after a few moments.
    He shrugged.
    “I mean, there was no one there. He was hallucinating.”
    “I don’t know. For a minute I thought I saw him—Reggie. I really don’t remember him. I was little when he died.”
    “Who was he?”
    “He was Geo’s best friend. He was an actor. Not a star, a B-movie actor, but an actor. He and Dad were close. He died in a car crash. Dad was with him. He obviously survived. It took him a long time to recover but once he did, he seemed fine. But apparently there was some kind of head trauma, which has only become obvious in the last few years. And he’s a lot older now so there may be early dementia thrown in. No one’s exactly sure what’s wrong, to be truthful, but they tell us it’ll probably get worse. He’ll start to forget things, people…”
    “I’m so sorry. Can’t they do anything to help him?”
    “Believe it or not, they have. At least now I have a father sometimes. In the beginning—in the first few years after the accident—he was barely functioning, seldom spoke.” He laughed. It was a sound without bitterness or joy. “Sometimes I think it would have been easier if he’d died. At least then I could adjust to his absence. This way is so cruel. Sometimes he is so much himself, so much the father I remember. And other times…well, other times he’s like he was today. Do you feel like going for a ride?” he asked, closing the subject.
    “Sure.”
    We got bikes out of the garage and rode them into the quaint Victorian village that was a gingerbread fantasy. We stopped at the old-fashioned ice-cream parlor, where we’d taken Geo and shared a banana split. After, pushing the bikes ahead of us, we walked along the wharf. His father’s mental illness and Dondi’s whoring seemed very far away. Matthew didn’t say much, and neither did I. We didn’t need words; we had each other.
    ***
    A few days later, the three of us took the boat across the bay to West Claw. We spent the better half of the afternoon in the boat, anchored in the middle of the bay. Dondi had brought along a pitcher of martinis for himself and a cooler of beer for Matthew and I. I was stretched out on the deck and Matthew was using my stomach as a pillow. We must have dozed in the drifting boat. We woke when Dondi cried, “Shit, it’s almost four o’clock.”
    In the distance, I could hear the Lamborghini’s powerful engine trumpeting Colin’s arrival. Matthew jumped up and pulled up the anchor as Dondi started the boat and pointed us toward the pier at Aurora.
    We ran, laughing, up from the beach, late for tea. Sun-drunk, we burst in through the drawing room doors, the three of us together, arms about each other, Matthew and Dondi flanking