for the last time. “I was ten, maybe?” he guessed, caught in the memory of September sun on his shoulders, most of the summer tourists long gone, and of trying so hard to mimic his dad’s brand of silent, stoic patience. A fish had slithered out of his grasp only seconds before that photo was taken. Words slipped out almost as easily as that fish had slid from his hold. “It took me all afternoon to catch one fish. Dad almost died laughing when I dropped it back in the water.”
“It took you all afternoon? And he was with you the whole time?”
Jude nodded. “Yeah. It took forever because we weren’t using rods or tackle.” He unconsciously rubbed his fingertips together, surprised they didn’t feel pruned as he remembered.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Jude looked up from the photo into eyes as dark as the deep crevice that fish had swum to for safety.
“Why didn’t you use a rod?”
“Because…” Why hadn’t they? And like the tide, eventually, the memory washed in, bringing a host of others with it. “There’s a book down at the boatshed that Lou and I read from cover to cover each winter while Dad worked on the One for Luck. It was one of those ‘how-to’ guides for kids. Like how to start a fire without matches, you know?” His fingers strayed to his belt loop out of habit. He unclipped his keyring and showed Rob the tiny, waterproof canister that had hung from it forever. “We all got one of these in our Christmas stocking the year we started reading that book and trying out all of its tips.” He prised the seal open to show the contents. “We tried starting a fire the way the book suggested. It worked, but Dad thought a couple of waterproof matches might be quicker, in case we were ever stranded. Catching a fish with your bare hands was another way to stay alive, the book said.”
Rob said matter-of-factly, “So he helped you try out all of the tips? That doesn’t sound like someone who’d have no time for you, Jude. And then he bought you and Lou a survival kit so you wouldn’t ever have to struggle? That sounds like someone who wanted you to have the best chance of being healthy and happy.” His gaze seemed even darker as he leaned close, holding the photo so Jude couldn’t avoid it. “You dropped the fish, but look at that grin. You messed up, but he loved you. Does that look like someone who’d give you shit for being gay once they wrapped their head around it?”
“I told you how he was. Is,” Jude forced out. “You didn’t see the way he used to look at anyone who might be queer.” Another memory lapped close. “You didn’t see the look on his face the first time he saw Marc.”
Rob was puzzled. “Marc? What’s he got to do with anything?”
“Eyeliner,” Jude said like that was an entire answer. “You know his whole family were artists?” At Rob’s nod, Jude added, “Maybe their teen son wearing eyeliner on his first day at school was normal for them. Creative, or something, but it caused a lot of gossip when he first started.” And hadn’t that been a weight off Jude’s shoulders for a few glorious weeks, thinking that Marc wearing make-up might deflect attention from him and his lack of girlfriends. That relief only lasted until Lou had invited Marc home. “I’m telling you now, Dad looked at him the same way Lou looked at me just before she ran out.”
“Like Lou did?” Rob’s expression shifted too quick for Jude to keep up, settling into something he found hard to look at, so he didn’t. He studied the photo instead until Rob cupped his face first with one hand, then another, those faint lines at the corner of his eyes feathering a little deeper as he said, “That was guilt, Jude. If your dad looked at Marc that way, he must have had a reason.” The pads of his thumbs pressed lightly, as if he wanted to press that idea into his skin.
Jude shook his head. “You didn’t know him,” he insisted as Rob sighed. “He always looked like that around anyone who might be queer. Or he’d outright avoid them.”
Rob ducked his head to maintain eye contact. “A bit like you did each time I tried to talk to you at the meet and greet for the contest?” His eyebrows rose. “What? You think