Read The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise for Free Online

relax, he slipped his fingers off Doug’s wrist and down to his hand.
    “Morning, Terry,” Doug called from the porch.
    Terry Marshall nodded and smiled nervously. He strolled up to the porch, practically shoving his son along in front of him. “Doug. Chris. Sorry to come out here and bug you on your day off. Do you have a few minutes, Chris?”
    “Actually,” Doug cut in, “we’re getting packed to go out of town.”
    “Just a few minutes? It’s important.”
    “I guess we’ve got a few minutes.”
    As much as he hated having people invade their privacy, hated having to put on the same professional mask he used at work in his own home, Doug knew this was how things were done. This tiny corner of Montana wasn’t the type of place where problems were left for lawyers to sort out. If your son screwed up, you brought him around to the neighbors to make it right. Doug was pretty sure he’d never merit the almost equitable title of “neighbor,” as far as anybody in Elkin was concerned, but at least Marshall was trying.
    “Why don’t we go inside? There’s coffee, and I’ve got some iced tea in the fridge,” Doug offered.
    Marshall nudged his son toward the steps. “Coffee sounds great.”
    The teen didn’t move. He was staring at Doug and Christopher, his eyes wide and his lips turned down at the corners. “But they’re….”
    When Christopher loosened his grip to slip away, Doug grabbed his hand. He would wear the mask in Elkin. He would be a professional at work. But he would not act like he was ashamed to hold his lover’s hand on his own front porch, on his own land.
    Christopher chuckled beside him. He brought their intertwined fingers up and kissed Doug’s knuckles. “Kid, I might be wrong about this,” Christopher said, “but I think by your age you should know that sometimes people hold hands. I know sex education doesn’t exist anymore, but you must have gotten that whole birds and bees talk by now.”
    Terry Marshall stuttered and ran his hands over his face. “Jesus,” he whispered.
    The boy’s eyes narrowed. “It’d be the bees and bees, wouldn’t it?”
    “Or any other combination of consenting adult flying things, yeah. It’s still pretty much the same conversation. And kids hold hands in, what, second grade?”
    The boy’s disgust morphed into annoyance. “Well, yeah, but he’s a cop. He’s a shift sergeant, even.” His eyes slid sideways toward his father.
    Doug nodded slowly. “I am a cop. Your old man’s a cop, too. And the man you and your friend assaulted is a cop.” He cocked his head at Christopher.
    The boy stumbled back into the unmovable bulk of his dad. He shook his head frantically.
    “I’m on temporary disability,” Christopher clarified, “but I am technically still a police officer.”
    Despite Marshall’s obvious discomfort, he was smirking. “Go on,” he pointed at the steps.
    At the dining nook in the kitchen, Marshall sat his son down and loomed over him, arms folded across his chest. Christopher sat down opposite the boy, and Doug started a new pot of coffee.
    Nate Marshall fidgeted with his hands. “So you two really are….”
    After a long pause, Doug glanced between Christopher and Terry Marshall. He knew Christopher could draw out the silence, work it to his advantage, but Marshall was already trying his best not to squirm. “Gay? Queer? Homosexual? Pick one of those. There are some other labels, too, but I know you’re smart enough to not use any of those terms at my table.” Doug suddenly had a flashback of his father standing in this same kitchen and ending a lecture with the same phrase. He wasn’t sure when or how he’d ended up channeling his father, but that’s exactly what he’d just done. He’d laugh about it, but it’d ruin the impact.
    “Uh, no, sir,” Nate muttered. “Together, I mean? The gossip’s true?”
    “Almost a year, now,” Doug confirmed.
    Nate swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry,” he blurted,