Here is the latest chapter of the story, at last. My apologies to the folks who've been asking what happened - I had a combination of work, other projects, hesitation, and plain laziness. I promise to do better.
As always, this story is fictional, so don't claim you recognize yourself or your wayward Uncle Bert in it. As always, if reading material involving romance and sexual attraction among young people is illegal where you live, or not something you like, by all means don't read it. As always, I'll put in a plug for "Seal Rocks," my other Nifty story, also in the HS Section, but completed in April 2011 (sheesh!). And as always, thanks to Nifty for providing this forum for these stories. If you're reading this, then you already know the site is valuable, and that it deserves your support - so shoot some cash their way when you can.
I hope you enjoy this chapter.
When the World Changed Chapter 36
Brady woke early the next morning, even though he didn't need to. Working at the stables over break had set his body clock, frustrating his desire to lie in bed and relax while he had the chance. He showered (empty bathroom, which was also unusual - normally the bathroom on his hall in the morning was crowded with boys, and steamy), trudged to Geiger, and had a buffet style breakfast. It felt odd not to be there in jacket and tie. He saw no one he knew on any more than a passing basis. He settled into his room and started reading "To Kill a Mockingbird," which he knew was their first assignment for English that coming semester. It was cold and grey, and snow began spitting down. By 9:30, he had nodded off at his desk.
A knock on his room door awakened him. He stumbled over to answer. Doug was smiling broadly at him as the door opened. "Hey, Happy -"
Brady threw his arms around Doug before he could finish his greeting. He buried his face in the crook of Doug's neck, inhaling his scent, feeling the longish hair tickle his cheek. Doug laughed and returned the embrace. "Hi Bray," he whispered, his hands running up and down Brady's back. One strayed briefly into his hair.
Brady felt himself hardening, and broke away, embarrassed. "Um, hi." He suddenly found it difficult to look Doug straight in the eye.
Doug seemed crestfallen for a moment, then smiled. "Hi yourself. When'd you get here?"
"Um, yesterday." It was a relief to talk about trivial things. "So are your folks still here?"
"Yeah, my dad's hauling stuff up. I, um, I should help." He seemed oddly nervous about his father's presence. "But, y'know, I wanted to, like, see if you were here yet."
Brady felt a blush rising. "Yeah, sure. Sh - should I help too?"
Doug shrugged. "Really cold out there, Bray. And it shouldn't take long." He glanced past Brady into the room. "So David's not back yet?"
"No." Then he remembered. "Have you talked to Dunc?"
"Nope, he's not in the room. I'm guessing he's at the theater messing around with lights and sound and stuff. He's really into that."
Brady nodded. "So you don't know." Doug looked at him, questioning. "Ian's back."
"Oh, fuck, you're kidding," Doug breathed, his eyes closing in misery. "How the hell did that happen? Daddy's money ?"
"Don't think so, apparently he and his mom are in a pretty nasty fight with his dad. Divorce and shit." Then he remembered Dean Storeman's admonition. "Crap, Storeman told me not to blab about that stuff. Keep that to yourself, OK?"
"Storeman talked to you?"
"Yeah, at dinner last night."
Doug nodded. "So, have you seen him yet?"
"Yesterday afternoon." Brady looked away. "I dunno, he - he's different, I think. He was sort of like a whipped puppy, when I saw him. Like all the air got let out."
Doug nodded, doubtfully. "So where's he living now?"
"Same room." As Doug started to protest, Brady added, "He's got a roommate now. An exchange kid from England. I, um, I forget his name."
"God, I pity that poor bastard." They both laughed.
Brady felt a need to talk about something - anything. "So, how was the rest of your break?"
Doug shrugged. "It was OK. Kind of - I dunno, weird."
"How?"
Doug shrugged in his turn. "You know how it is. You see guys you pal'ed around with, and it - it's like they're strangers now. And so are you. Like you don't really belong there any more."
Brady nodded contemplatively. "Yeah, I know. I had that feeling a lot."
They stood a few seconds, silent, contemplating. Brady shook his head to clear it. "So, you going to run today? I, um, I'm going over to show them what a spazz I am at basketball. Then maybe we can do a run, or something." He doubted the idea as soon as he said it - the snow was becoming heavier outside the window.
Doug shrugged. "Maybe." He glanced out the window as well, and laughed a bit. "Assuming we can even get out the door here, of course."
"I know. Wanna grab some lunch?"
"Lemme see how my dad's doing." Again, he seemed ill at ease. "I, um, I need to get him on the road before the storm gets worse. The Turnpike's gonna be miserable." He patted Brady's arm and walked slowly to the stairs, as if reluctant to go back up to his room. Brady started to follow, then hesitated. No, Doug should have these last few minutes alone with his father, he thought.
After all, there's no replacement for a father.
He sat back down and tried to pick up on the novel again, but his concentration was gone. Idle, random things kept wandering into his head. What a stupid name for a girl. Scout. Even Jean Louise is silly, one of those dumb Southern names where you always have to say them both. Jim Bob, or Peggy Sue, or something. I wonder if girls down there chew tobacco and crap. And where the fuck is David, and everyone else, for that matter? But Doug's here, that's good. No, more than good, it's . . .
That made him stand up and pace around the room for a few minutes. It's wonderful, he decided, but his head went on. And it's horrible, and it's confusing, and I don't know if I can stand it and God knows what else, and why do I have to feel this way? He dove at his mattress and punched it several times, hard left hooks that succeeded only in hurting his knuckles and raising a small cloud of dust from its desiccated filling.
After that, he lay with his hands over his face and lost track of time.
Evan knocked on his door a bit later, and after some idle pleasantries suggested they go to the dining hall. Brady nodded. "We should go see if Doug's done with his dad," he suggested. "He got here a bit ago and they were unpacking."
Evan chuckled. "You mean you two haven't re-welded yourselves together at the hip yet?"
Brady tried to control the flush he felt rising in his cheeks. "Nah," he shrugged with his best fake smile, "we have the ceremony after dark."
Evan laughed aloud. "Yeah, I bet."
For an instant Brady was terrified. Had he shown anything? But Evan was laughing good naturedly as he said it, and he turned, beckoning Brady down the hall and into his room. "C'mon, I have a new Donovan record."
"Damn, Evan, do you ever listen to anything besides Donovan?" Brady asked, deciding to tease him back. Maybe it would dispel whatever notions Evan might have about him and Doug.
"Hey, I can't help it if you're in the clutches of the acid rock brigade," Evan replied as he lowered the needle onto his stereo. His roommate, a kid Brady barely knew named Eilers, nodded mutely as he looked up momentarily from a trigonometry textbook. Christ, Brady thought, he's already doing trig? Then "Wear Your Love Like Heaven" started, and Brady forgot just about everything for a few minutes.
Lunch was a cheerier affair, with Doug, Dunc, Evan, and Vic Stenkowski sitting with him, laughing and exchanging stories from break. About fifteen minutes after they began to eat, Ian walked into the dining hall, alone. The noise in the room subsided. Ian appeared painfully conscious of the many eyes staring at him. He kept his head down, took some food quickly from the buffet line, and again sat as far away from anyone else as he could, his back to the hall. Brady and Doug exchanged glances. Dunc's face was set, angry, as if he wanted to jump up right then and punch Ian.
Alan Black suddenly plunked down at the table - no one had realized he'd come back. Brady immediately noticed his arm was out of the sling. His arrival momentarily broke the mood, until he asked, "What were you guys all staring at?"
Evan jerked his head towards the corner of the dining hall. "Ian. He's back."
"Oh, fuck," Alan muttered. He looked at Brady. "Does David know?"
Brady tried to evade the question. "Well, he's not back yet."
Alan nodded. "That's gonna be a real shitshow, when he does."
Brady looked down at whatever it was that had ended up on his plate. "Yeah. It sure will."
They made it a point to slip out quickly, to avoid any contact with Ian. Once they were down in the foyer of Geiger, they relaxed, and the conversation picked back up. Alan was going to be the wrestling team manager for varsity, since he wouldn't be able to compete that year while his shoulder healed. "I can keep close to it, maybe learn stuff by watching."
Evan chuckled. "Just turn on WOR in Friday night and watch Bruno Sammartino or something."
"Come on, man, that's not wrestling!" Alan objected.
"You're telling me," Evan answered, and their talk turned to who was the more dastardly villain, Big Bill Miller or the Golden Terror. The snow was picking up. Doug jumped off the freshly shoveled sidewalk (the maintenance people were obviously back), packed some snow, and fired it randomly at the group. This prompted several minutes of intense snowball fighting, with all of the boys laughing madly.
Ian McShane's voice cut through their bedlam. "Guys, quit it! Now!!"
They all stopped where they stood. Ian, in a long camel hair trenchcoat and plaid muffler, looking like a banker more than a high school freshman, stood with his hands thrust deeply into what must have been very warm pockets. "Storeman doesn't like guys snowball fighting. He'll send you all to DC. You wanna do that," he added with the first devilish smile Brady had seen from him, "you gotta sneak over behind the gym, by the lake. He doesn't check over there."
They tramped back onto the sidewalk, abashed. Dunc's usually reddish cheekbones were a livid color from the cold, his exertion, and his flashing anger at Ian. "DC, huh? You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, McShane?"
Ian's face flashed with anger for a moment, but he simply dropped his head and walked on. "Your funeral, Hennessey," he muttered as he passed.
"C'mon, Dunc, cool it," Brady objected. "I mean, he was trying to like help and all."
Dunc was unpersuaded. "I don't want that asshole's help," he said in an artificially loud voice he knew Ian, as he climbed the steps into Linsley, would hear.
Ian's new roommate came up from behind them at that moment. "Bit of a row, is there?" They all looked at him, trying to figure out what he meant. "You know, a tiff, an argument. That sort of thing."
"Oh," Brady answered, feeling a responsibility to introduce the guy to everyone, since he'd met him already and presumably none of the others had. "Naw, just - you know, guys breaking each others' balls and shit."
"Right," the kid answered. An awkward silence ensued. Brady struggled to remember his name, but was drawing a total blank. "Well, I'm Adrian, glad to - "
"Barrett! Right, Adrian Barrett! Guys, this is, um, Adrian, he's -"
"Right, I'm British. Here for the rest of term, till June at least I guess. Dunno if I'll be back in fall yet. Suppose it depends on the Registry's decision, and of course Mum's money holding out." He grinned at his joke, and the teeth again flashed briefly.
The other boys introduced themselves, and exchanged mild pleasantries with Adrian. After a couple of minutes, he cleared his throat quietly. "Say, fellows, it seems there's a bit of, erm, history going on here with you all and Ian. Anything I should know about?"
Dunc fairly lunged forward, taking a deep breath to vent his considerable spleen on the subject. Brady cut him off. "Well, yes, but it's in the past, y'know. New semester and all that. I mean you're doing fine with him, right?"
"Well, yes, but after all it's only been one day." Adrian frowned. "He does seem rather melancholic. Some sort of family issues, I believe, though he doesn't say much about it." He stepped closer to Brady. "I do believe he was crying last night in his sleep, actually. I'm still on London time, can't stay asleep through the night here yet. It was rather jarring, if you know."
The boys exchanged glances. "Yeah, I bet," Brady answered, trying to keep his voice as relaxed as he could. "Well, I'm sure we'll all talk more about lots of stuff soon enough."
"Right," Adrian smiled, taking the hint. "Well, back to the grind. I have three acts of Measure for Measure to finish this afternoon." He nodded to the group and went quickly inside.
They stood for a moment, silent. "So," Evan finally said. "That's the Kraut?'
"He's English, moron," Dunc corrected him. "Christ, Brady, we gotta tell him what he's gotten himself into with McShane."
"I dunno," Brady answered. All that Dean Storeman had told him was weighing on him heavily. "Look, Douggie's not here. It sounds, from what he just said -" stressing that as his source of knowledge, or at least conjecture - "that things have kind of gone to shit with Ian. And when I talked to him, yesterday, he just seemed, I dunno - deflated. Just let it go for now. We'll see soon enough if he turns back into an asshole."
"As if he ever stopped being an asshole," Evan muttered.
Brady shrugged - he didn't know what else to say. He looked at Doug, and found he was giving him a very odd look.
The dorm, thank God, was warm now. Brady and Doug bounded to Brady's room and closed the door against the residual draft coming from the stairwell. As they dropped their coats to the floor, Doug looked at him again. "So you're gonna stand up for McShane now?"
Brady looked at him guiltily, even though he wasn't sure what he had to be guilty over. "I dunno, I - I just - I mean he's, y'know, he's going through some nasty shit, and I think he's seeing a shrink and all, and -"
"He oughta be seeing a fucking parole officer," Doug said in a cold voice.
Brady sat on his bed, head down. "Maybe," he shrugged.
"Maybe? After all that shit in the fall??? Your ribs still hurt, don't they?"
Brady shrugged again. "Not really. Just, just sometimes. A little."
"Uh huh. Who did that to you, Bray?"
"I know who fucking did that to me, Doug," Brady snapped back. "I was there, remember?"
"Yeah, and so was I. And I was the one who saw you on the ground trying to breathe and making noises like you were dying and stuff. I was scared you were gonna die. Like you ruptured something inside or - or something. I know you had it happen to you, Bray, but when you watch somebody that you - you . . ."
Brady looked up. "What?"
Doug took a deep breath, his cheeks reddening. "You know, someone that you - that you're, um, buds with, and all." He shrugged, looking away. "Seeing you like that, I - it scared me, and it pissed me off, and I wanted to kill him."
Brady smiled. "I know. You almost did."
Doug smiled back at him, the tension between them broken now. "Yeah, they got to me too fast. Besides, Jack wanted his turn."
"Jack really would've killed him."
Doug sat next to Brady. Their eyes locked, and Brady felt a pressure in his chest. "Seriously, man, don't buy into this changed man crap. It's a put on, I think. McShane's just shitting with us to get back in here. Shitting with everybody."
Brady looked away again, the moment gone. "Well, maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Ok, so, probably. I don't know," Brady snapped, raising and pacing the length of the room (which only took about four paces). "I just - I mean yes, he was an asshole, but I don't see why we have to be assholes back." He looked at Doug from by the door. "I mean, aren't we, like, better?"
Doug shook his head, but grinned. "Saint Conover. Patron of wayward boys and barnyard animals."
"Hey, your dad's the vet, man." Brady couldn't repress his smile, entirely.
"Right. Mr. Perfect."
Brady blinked. "Huh?"
Doug shrugged. He took a deep breath. "We sort of had an argument coming back today. He had the news on, and there was this report about Dr. Spock and that minister -"
"Coffin. The chaplain at Yale."
"Right. Well, seems they got indicted, for telling guys they don't have to register for the draft." Brady nodded - he had heard. "And my dad was all, great, let 'em rot in jail, the stinking Commies. And - and I told him that was wrong, that they should be able to say what they believe, and that if guys don't want to fight they shouldn't be forced to." He rubbed his face with both hands. "And he, like, really lit into me. About how all us kids are so spoiled and won't stand up to defend the country and shit. About how he volunteered in World War II and got wounded and how I was betraying him along with the country by not being ready to fight." His head sank lower. "He - he said maybe I should be in military school instead of here - Valley Forge Academy or someplace like that - to teach me how to be a decent American."
Brady felt himself sway. It can't happen, he thought. They can't take Doug away. He breathed raggedly, squinted his eyes closed tightly for a few seconds, trying to come up with a calm tone of voice. "OK," he finally croaked out, sounding not in the least calm, "is this, like, for real? I mean serious? Or - or is he just, y'know, saying stuff cuz he's mad or something?"
Doug's face was in his hands. "I dunno. He's never gotten mad at me like that before. It - it was awful. I mean I was in the car with him, I couldn't get away from it or anything. He just went on and on . . . "
"OK," Brady whispered again. It seemed to be the only thing he could say. "Well, how did it all end up with him? I mean, when he left and stuff. Was he still pissed?"
Doug shook his head. "No," he said, in a tone lacking in much conviction. "He hugged me, and he told me to make him proud, and be a patriot instead of 'one of those hippies.' I was like sure, OK, got it. Like I changed my whole outlook and all." He shook his head slightly. "I dunno if it worked."
Brady swallowed. "I - I bet it was just, y'know, a moment. Nothing big. Just like keep your head down and -"
"I don't want to keep my fucking head down! Guys are dying, and it's all for bullshit. They're lying to us, all of 'em. I mean I see you, and your mom, all worrying about your brother -"
"He's coming home at the end of the month, Doug."
"You hope." That hit Brady hard. Was it possible, so close to safety, that Trent could still be in danger? Weren't we winning, like the generals and the people in Washington said? "And what about all the other families? What about the ones that've already lost their - their son, or brother or something?" He threw himself back against the wall by Brady's bed. "It's all so awful. So, so fucked up. And he won't see it. He thinks we all have to be loyal, to trust them. To not ask questions, ever." He sighed.
Brady leaned over without thinking and embraced him. He felt Doug's shoulders shake for a moment. "I know," he whispered. "I - I get the same feeling sometimes. It's just . . . . just so fucked up, y'know?"
At that moment the door opened and David came in. Brady leaped off the bed at the first sound, landing roughly next to the window by the time David had completed sticking his head around the door, but, unfortunately, on his ass. His embarrassment as David caught his eye was more than he could hide.
"So, am I, er, interrupting anything?"
That sent Doug up off Brady's bed in a leap of similar proportions - and speed. "No, no, um, hi Davey. No, we were - well my, my dad, y'know, um, he -"
"Skip it. Just be cool, OK? Cuz speaking of dads, mine is coming up in a second. Get a grip."
Right," Brady breathed. Doug looked at him, red faced, for a second, before they both burst into laughter.
David, setting a suitcase down on his bed, shook his head. "And so it begins, again."
"Right," Brady breathed, hoping the subject would change rapidly to something - anything - else. "So, how was break? I, um, didn't like hear from you or anything."
"Sorry, I didn't know I was supposed to report in." David smiled as he said it, but the implied fuck you was also evident. "So what's with your dad, Garrettson?"
"We, um, we had like an argument. About the war. Well, more of a harangue, actually."
"And not by you, I bet."
Doug shook his head. "Nope. All him."
David nodded as he shucked off his coat, leaving small drips of melting snow on the floor. "Yeah, most adults are idiots on stuff like that. My dad gets tons of shit for supporting SNCC and Ali and stuff."
Brady was surprised. "What's he do?"
"Just sends money and shit. He's taken on some guys who've come back from the war who're really fucked up in the head. Shell shock and stuff, y'know? Only they call it some bullshit shrink term now, I forget what." He opened his suitcase on the bed, looked down at it, and sighed. "So, where is he?"
Brady swallowed, glancing at Doug, who seemed to have the same look of apprehension Brady felt on his own face. "Same room, first floor. He, um, he has a roommate now. An exchange guy from England."
David nodded without looking up. "Bad teeth?"
Brady couldn't help laughing. "Yeah, not the greatest."
David yanked a stack of dress shirts from his suitcase and shoved them onto a shelf in his closet. "Christ, what a clichŽ. Get the kid to a fucking dentist. This is America."
David's father came in noisily. "Hi, Brady!" he fairly shouted. "Happy New Year! How did your break go?"
"Um, fine, Sir," Brady stammered.
"Anything we should talk about?"
"No! No, nothing, really. Ev - everything's cool, OK?" Brady spluttered as fast as he could.
Mr. Tanner looked at him for a moment appraisingly. "OK," he replied after a moment. "Glad to hear. And you're Doug, as I recall? Hope you're glad to be back too."
Doug was visibly just as taken aback by Mr. Tanner's enthusiasm as Brady had been. "Uh, yeah, fine. Great. Great to be, y'know, back. And all."
"Wonderful. Beautiful place here in winter, with the snow and the skating on the lake. Be sure to go behind the gym for snowball fights. You won't get in trouble," he added in a conspiratorial whisper, smiling. David shook his head.
Doug was clueless how to respond. "Oh, OK. Sure. Thanks," he finally answered.
David's father grinned. "Couple more bags to grab here, and some treats from Zabar's. We went through the city on our way in."
Brady nodded reflexively. "OK. Um, what's Zabar's?" David groaned and threw himself onto his bed, atop the opened suitcase.
David's father laughed. "It's a deli in the city. Well worth the detour, wasn't it Davey?" David groaned again into his folded clothing. "You'll see. Brady, why don't you give me a hand, give David a chance to unpack a bit?" There was clearly no opportunity to refuse, so with a shrug towards Doug, Brady started out the door and down the stairs behind Mr. Tanner. David muttered, "God, this is embarrassing" into his underwear.
The back seat of the Tanners' Mercedes had only one other suitcase, but three large (violently yellow-orange) shopping bags. As Brady reached in to gather them, David's father stopped him. "I thought we might talk a second here, Brady."
This was of course the last thing Brady wanted to do. "Oh. Um, OK."
"I assume you know Ian is coming back this semester?"
Brady sighed. Well, here we go. "Yes, Sir. I've seen him, a couple of times. And, um, Dean Storeman talked to me a little last night."
"Good. I think you'll find Ian isn't the same boy you knew last fall. He's been through quite a lot the last couple of months, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"Yeah. Yeah, I can imagine."
"But I know David is very angry about the whole thing - understandably so, of course. I'm afraid you're going to have to deal with a lot of that anger, as he adjusts to the idea."
Brady nodded, but his own frustrations finally overcame him. "Sir, why the hell is he back anyway? Hasn't he done enough awful stuff already? I don't get -"
"Young people screw up, Brady. All the time. And they do it in awful ways. Ian - well, Ian certainly has. But I think you understand better than most anyone else where a lot of his problems and behavior came from."
"Yeah, but I mean, there are supposed to be consequences, aren't there? It's like all the burden is on us. David, the School, . . . " he hesitated to go further.
"You?"
Brady turned away, letting the snow lash his face in the wind. "Well, yeah. Me, too. Not like David, of course, nothing like that. But -"
"I know it's hard for you to accept. It's difficult for me, too. Believe me. But a boy who's been abused like that - well, he deserves a second chance, I think. And he wants one, very badly."
Brady nodded. Yeah, he thought, a second chance to make David's life miserable. Mine too. "I'd never do crap like he did," he said aloud, "and if I did I'd never get a second chance. They - they'd kick me out and send me back to the fucking stables where I belong."
"Maybe. But you come from a good home. Your mother loves you, she hasn't mistreated you like Ian's family did."
An image of his mother, passed out from too much port, a cigarette starting to burn a hole in the couch upholstery, in front of the TV after signoff, with random static flickering in the dark, flashed through his mind. Don't, he thought. She's suffered so much, it's OK for her to hurt. You can't hurt. You can't burden her with your hurt.
"I guess," he muttered.
"I know you'll handle it, Brady. And don't ever think you belong anyplace but here." He closed the trunk. "How are you doing with your issues with Doug?"
Brady really didn't want to talk about that. "I - well, he, uh - he just got back, and all, so - so there really, like, there isn't much of an issue. Now. Yet, I guess."
David's father nodded. "I understand. You're just confronting it again for the first time in a while. You feel free to talk to me any time, if things get to you, all right?"
"Yeah. Sure. Thanks, Mr. Tanner." Like hell I will, he thought.
Whatever was in the bags smelled so good that Brady forgot everything else as he climbed back to his room. The next hour or so was spent with a revolving cast of boys feasting on bagels, cream cheese, pickles, thin slices of salmon (Brady learned that this was called "lox," and despite his general aversion to fish he was immediately hooked), and a variety of other treats - cinnamon babka, rugelach, irresistible rye bread - that seemed to have no end. David ate little - it seemed that he and his father had already gorged themselves at the deli while shopping - but offered careful instructions on what everything was and how to eat it. "I'm gonna make all you WASP guys kosher before dinner," he laughed.
Mr. Tanner left in the midst of their gluttony. David walked him down to the car, and returned a few minutes later with a grim face. Most of the boys from the hall who'd wandered in for samples had left. Dunc, Vic, Doug and Brady sat in various poses around the room, watching him carefully as he swung the door shut.
He turned and regarded them sardonically. "Relax, guys, I'm not gonna scream or break out a machete or anything." He grabbed a bagel and tore it in half, a bit violently, Brady thought. "I'll save that for next week."
Brady took a deep breath. "So, . . . are you really OK, Davey? With, you know, everything?"
"Do I have a choice?" David snapped. "Amazing what a teary eyed abandoned mommy can do if she's got money, isn't it?"
Brady cocked his head. "So they like bribed -"
"Not yet, but you know Goddam well it's coming. New Univac or something so we can be the first on the block to offer computer courses or whatever." He sighed. "So who's he pissed off so far?"
Brady glanced at Dunc. "Actually, nobody, that I know about, anyway. He's like - I dunno, quiet. Like he's scared somebody's gonna beat him up any moment."
"I'd like that," muttered Dunc. David laughed.
"Come on, Dunc," Brady admonished. "We gotta give the guy a chance!"
"Why?"
Brady looked uncomfortable. He couldn't tell all he knew. David smirked at him, clearly knowing as much or more than Brady did. "It's OK, Dunc," David said with a sigh. "It's just how it is right now. Why don't you guys let me unpack here, OK?" The others left, Doug most reluctantly. Brady nodded to him as he stood by the door: it's OK.
Once the others were gone, David made no effort to unpack. Brady and he sat on their respective beds, David staring at some point on the floor, Brady watching David intently. "So," Brady finally said, "how do you really feel about this shit?"
David laughed bitterly. "Oh I'm just thrilled. Aren't you?"
"Not - not really. I - I really don't know what to think. I mean Storeman told me some stuff last night -"
"I know all about that shit," David said. "The sob story about the poor abused boy who lost his way. Gimme a break."
Brady was silent. "You're actually falling for his bullshit contrition act, aren't you, Conover? Jesus Christ."
"Davey, you haven't seen him - "
"I don't need to fucking see him! I know who he is, and what he does, OK? And what he did." He turned away, throwing a random dress shirt against the wall behind his bed. "Fucking Christ, you of all of them . . . I thought you'd get it."
"Davey, I get it! Believe me, I get it. He fucked around with me too, remember? It's not like I've just been a, a spectator or something here!"
"Now you sound like my fucking father!!!" David snarled angrily, and this time the shirt flew directly at Brady's face. "Fuck you, and fuck McShane too!!!" He rose and stormed out of the room. The slam of the door behind him had a disturbing finality.
Brady sat for several minutes. He stood , folded David's thrown shirts back up, and placed them carefully in his second drawer, along with his other dress shirts. He sat back on his bed and rubbed his face in his hands. What do I do, what do I think. The snow kept its quiet relentless attack against the window, a constant scratching that begged for relief.