Free Seventy-Two Hours by C. P. Stringham Page A

matching tattoos?”
    “They’re not matching tattoos and what’s
wrong with us getting tattoos together?”
    Chris tossed his hand out and said, “Aren’t
you concerned about Carson?”
    I’d figured out where he was going. We were
about to get into something the two of us had never discussed. “Just come out
and say what’s on your mind, Chris,” I ordered.
    He laced his fingers together and said, “He’s
rather…feminine.”
    “Chris, if you’re trying to say gay then,
yes, he is.”
    “Is he? Did he tell you?” he asked
incredulously.
    Chris wasn’t homophobic. Not at all. So I
was surprised by his reaction.
    I decided to be gentle, yet direct, “It’s not
like he made a grand announcement. I’ve just always known since about the time
he was 12 or 13. Couldn’t you tell?”
    “No,” he answered sharply and then with a
sigh, “Sometimes.”
    “You haven’t been home a lot over the past
few years. Not like I am. Carson and I have gotten very close,” I explained.
“We talk. We talk about lots of things.”
    “About us?”
    “I didn’t have to tell him much. He just
knows. He saw it happening.”
    Chris nodded as he took it in. “And this
business with Steve? Does he know about that, too?’
    “He knows something happened, but not what or
with whom.”
    “Well, I guess I should be glad the two of
you have each other to confide in then. At least now I know why he’s been so
distant lately.”
    “Oh, no. Don’t you dare,” I warned. “Don’t
you dare blame your son’s distance on me. You’ve done it yourself. Things are
going to be worse with Clinton if you don’t wake up and get yourself involved
with him as well.”
    “Is that right?” he said defensively.
    “The truth hurts. I know it’s not easy
facing your mistakes. I’ve made some, too. It’s not too late to make things
right with your sons. To be more available.”
    “Thank you for your platitudes.”
    “Separate your anger with me from your
relationship with your sons. They’re going to see even less of you after you
move out.”
    “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said as
he stared out at the lake. “I’m not ready to move out.”
    “But you said—“
    “And I’ve changed my mind,” he interrupted.
“My family lives there.”
    “We can’t both live there. It defeats the
purpose of a separation and divorce.”
    “It’s a big house.”
    “That won’t work,” I stated with noticeable
effort.
    “What’s the matter? Afraid Stevie Boy won’t
like visiting if I’m living with you?”
    “Screw you.”
    “And speaking of that,” he said with his face
set in concentration, “Did you have to run off like that earlier?”
    “The office was calling and you needed to
take the call.”
    “I didn’t take the call.” I looked at him
with doubt. “I didn’t,” he defended.
    “Well, in that case, I suppose the phone
stopped us from doing something we shouldn’t have been doing,” I said while
looking past him.
    “I disagree. My feeling is we wouldn’t have
started doing it in the first place if it wasn’t right. You kissed me back. I
didn’t force you to do any of that. You’re the one that started the undressing
end of it,” he spat out while using his hands like a mad Italian trying to get
his point across. “Straddling my lap like that. You were an eager and active
participant.”
    I looked down at my hands where they sat in
my lap. “We got carried away. It was emotional. Nothing more. It meant
nothing to either of us.”
    “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare speak on my
behalf!” he yelled hotly and then looked around at the neighboring docks before
bringing his voice down in check. “What happened in there was the natural
progression of two people that have a history and still care about each other.”
    “I knew this was going to happen,” I groaned.
    “What’s going to happen?”
    “You. You’re suffering from that same
delusion again that things can be worked out between