Free Deep Deception by Z.A. Maxfield Page B

like a PBS documentary every day.”
    “I know that. I believe I mentioned I’m obsessed.” He looked back and saw the shroud of fog still clung to the object of his desire.
    Adin laughed when two of his father’s students—attractive college girls—jogged by in short shorts, giggling.
    “Hello, Dr. Tredeger.”
    It was as if they simpered in unison. Keene waved. Adin watched his father’s face. It seemed safe to say he had no concept of their attraction to him. Even at thirteen Adin knew when he saw the spark of sexual interest in someone’s eyes. He’d learned a lot from the far worldlier Edward, whose passion for the Romantic Movement in art was positively exacerbated by his quicksilver moods and an early and fateful reading of the poetry of Walt Whitman.
    Gods.
    Edward, in whose eyes he saw his own longings clearly and proudly displayed; Edward, who seemed to be an advance scout, a forayer into the hostile territory of adulthood, bringing back information and providing a source of comfort for Adin, who seemed destined to advance at a slower pace.
    Edward had already informed his family of what he knew to be his truth, and even though Adin was well aware he’d have to make the same declarations someday, he worried that his wouldn’t be met with the same sangfroid Edward’s parents and grandmother—who had known before he did—had displayed.
    In one of those remarkably perceptive moments that Adin never expected from his otherwise oblivious father, Keene asked him, “Is there anything you think I should know?”
    Adin’s eyes rose to meet his father’s. He hid behind his coffee cup and let the steam from the still hot brew rise between them.
    “Did you see those girls run by?” Keene murmured.
    Adin grinned. “You know they have a crush on you. They probably don’t even jog as far as Pier 39.”
    “I know,” Keene admitted. “But it pays to play the absent-minded professor in these instances. Do you know what? I am a far more keen—no pun intended—observer of human nature than you think. And I think I know when a person is engaged romantically. Although you will never, ever see me look that way at anyone but your mother.”
    Adin felt uncomfortable with the subject and burned under his father’s close scrutiny.
    “My brother,” his father went on, “died in the early days of the AIDS crisis, right here in this city. He was attending a funeral every week and then finally, had one of his own.”
    Adin’s heart hammered in his chest as his father let out a lengthy sigh.
    “I’ve never told anyone that. Normally when we talked about his illness, or his death after the fact, my family talked about the diseases that were incidental to his diagnosis of Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. The cancer, the toxoplasmosis, the PML, the pneumonia. The reason for his illness became a deep, dark family secret because it was my parents’ wish that no one know he was gay or that he was ill with what was then still referred to by the ignorant as the ‘homosexual disease’. So we hid it.”
    Adin could see the regret on his father’s face. He swallowed hard. “Why are you telling me this?”
    “For two reasons, Adin.” Keene looked him directly in the eye. “First, and most important. I loved my brother so much. He was such a wonderful man. Full of life and love, even at the end. A vibrant, beautiful soul. You were barely preschool age when he died, and we hadn’t been in the country except to visit briefly, for years. That makes me tremendously sad. He would have adored you. You’re very much alike.”
    Adin turned toward the rippling water of the bay. The fog was burning off, barely obscuring the horizon. In only moments the Balclutha would be visible, maybe even perfectly lit by the sun beginning to peek through the clouds.
    “Second, I want to tell you how terribly disappointed I was by the way my parents handled my brother’s death, as if by shrouding his final year in mystery they were