Betrayal of Faith

Betrayal of Faith

Andy pulled out of the nursing home and headed for home. He’d just finished an agonizing hour visiting the sick. He’d better never let Dan hear him say that, or he’d be treated to a blistering lecture on his responsibilities and on how fortunate he was. It wasn’t like Andy dreaded the usual hospital visits, but Mrs Granger was too much. Her poor husband had passed away three years ago, and it had probably been his first rest since the day he married her. Andy had never met a person who could complain so bitterly, and her ninety plus years hadn’t lessened the strength of her jaw muscles. Andy had smiled through a fifteen minute tirade on everything from the quality of the nursing care to the hours of church service. She hadn’t been the only one on the complaining cycle today. Mr Daily had openly asked Andy why Dan hadn’t come to visit, and Mrs Potter had babbled on incoherently about her nonexistent roses. Dan was good with her. He could talk knowledgeably about different rose varieties; he must spend his free time poring over the flower catalogs that inundated the church mailbox in the dead of winter. Andy knew the difference between geraniums and daffodils, but even that was pushing his horticulture skills.

Andy shrugged his shoulders, trying to concentrate on the wet road in front of him and loosen the tight muscles in his neck and back at the same time. He’d have to take a hot shower when he got home. Usually he sat around the kitchen table and discussed his day with Caroline, but she’d taken their daughters to visit her mother and had been gone for almost a week. He couldn’t commiserate with Dan because Dan’s sister was in town. She’d broken her ankle falling down her front steps, and as she couldn’t manage by herself on crutches she was camping with Dan, the ever generous brother. She was driving everyone crazy. She was the total opposite of her brother, and Sam was making threats to send her packing with a private nurse. But of course no nurse in her right mind would stay with delightful Lily Anne. A job in the far reaches of Alaska without electricity would look more promising.

At the stop light, Andy shifted around in the car and shrugged out of his damp jacket. Rain, cranky parishioners, impossible sisters -- could the day get any worse? Andy’s eyes fell on the books and papers scattered haphazardly on the passenger side. Damn. He’d left his notes for his sermon on his desk in the office at the church. He’d have to go back and get them. Andy cursed to himself as he made an illegal left turn to go back to the church.

Lights flashed in his window, and he heard the wail of a siren. Andy flicked on his blinker and pulled over. He reached into the glovebox, pulled out his registration and proof of insurance. Andy watched the officer climbed out of the cruiser and secure his hat on his head before approaching the car.

“Sir -- oh sorry Father -- are you aware that the intersection was marked no left turn?”

“Yes, officer. I needed to go the other way, and I guess I was just not thinking.” Andy tried to smile disarmingly. 

“If you don’t obey the traffic laws, you’ll need divine intervention. It’s no left turn because of the number of accidents at the intersection.”

Andy nodded. He wanted the policeman to get on with it and forget the corny religious comments. He was tired and cranky. He didn’t want to have to be on his best religious leader behavior.

“I’m sorry, Father, but I’m going to have to write you a ticket.”

“I understand. I, like you, must obey the laws.”

“But you must obey the big guy’s laws also.” The officer laughed.

“Officer Crop,” Andy said, squinting to see the man’s name tag, “we all have to obey some laws, and I expect I’ve broken more than my share today.” Andy smiled and tried to look pastoral; even though, he felt about as pastoral as the schoolyard bully. He beat down the urge to snatch the ticket from this overly nice officer’s hand, roll up the window, and drive off with a screech of rubber against wet pavement. Finally the ticket was finished; Andy signed and took his copy with a fake smile.

“Drive safely, Father.”

“Thank you. I’ll be more careful next time.” Andy tossed the ticket onto the passenger seat as he watched the officer in the rearview mirror return to his patrol car. He let out a stream of curses that would have sent Dan and most of the parishioners’ eyebrows through their hairline. It might even have made Sam blush, and Andy had heard more than one colorful phrase from Sam.

Andy pulled back into the traffic, turned the radio up loud with a song from his high school days, and tried to drown his stress in the thump of the bass. He hated it when Caroline was out of town. It was with her that he could be his true self and not be a paradigm of virtue. He could wear his worn jeans, put his feet on the coffee table, take a swig of beer, cheer or groan at the college teams on television, and swear at the ineptitude of his alma mater if he felt like it. It wasn’t the same to come home to an empty house, even if it was only for a few days. 

Andy smiled as he pulled into the church lot at the sight of Dan’s car. Dan must have needed to escape Helga the Horrible. It was Dan who usually kept Andy on an even keel when Caroline was away, Andy realized with a start. Dan always invited him to dinner to talk about some imaginary church business, which was handled quickly with plenty of time for a game of pool or darts or just a nice chat with Sam. Sam could always be guaranteed to say something outrageous to lighten the mood.

Andy jumped out of the car, his mood already improved. He’d invite Dan and Sam to his house for dinner. They’d need a break from Lily Anne as much as he needed a break from the empty house. Andy jiggled the back door that led into the church kitchen and the fellowship hall. Surprisingly it was locked. Dan almost always unlocked it if he was in the building. Andy slipped his  key in the lock and trotted down the passage to their shared office. He was thinking about hamburgers, chips, and a case of beer, or he would have heard the noise from the office and noticed the firmly closed door.

Andy pushed open the door and froze. Sam was draped over Dan’s knee, his rump a terrible shade of red and making God awful noises.

“You do not booby trap doors and hallways when we have visitors in our home, no matter how irritating those visitors are.” Dan’s hand landed on Sam’s butt with a crash, and an ear splitting wail filled the room. 

Dan looked towards the door and his eyes met Andy’s. Andy turned and fled, not waiting for an explanation. He ran through the hallway and out the back door. He stood, his hands resting on the car roof, the rain pelting down his face, unable to process what he’d seen. He realized he was shaking, his hair soaked and plastered half over his eyes, as he wrenched the car door open and threw himself down on the seat. He pounded his hand repeatedly on the steering wheel until the redness and soreness forced him to stop.

What had he’d seen? Dan, a man he knew, a man he thought he trusted, beat his partner. Andy swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat, momentarily overwhelmed by waves of nausea. He’d asked Dan to counsel Quill when his relationship with Jake had been on the rocks --a man who beats his partner giving marital advice. “Bastard.” Andy wiped a tear from his face. Andy had confided in Dan things he wouldn’t even tell his family, and this was how he repaid Andy’s trust. “Two faced lying bastard!” Andy jammed his key in the ignition and started the car with a roar. He turned the radio to an ear splitting volume, settling on the station with the foulest and most repulsive music he could find and shouting the vile lyrics to the windshield.

Twice his cell phone rang as he weaved around slower moving vehicles. The second time after a quick glance at the number confirmed it was Dan, he hurled it against the passenger door where it fell lifeless after a sickening crack. 

The house was dark and gloomy as he pulled into the drive. Andy followed the conservation guidelines so righteously preached by Dan and kept his lights off and used those compact fluorescent bulbs that even when on failed to make a bright, welcoming glow. He threw his soaked coat over the kitchen chair and kicked off his shoes. The phone rang. Andy let the answering machine pick up, hearing Dan’s deep quiet voice.

“Andy, please pick up. I want to know you’re safe. I’ve tried your cell phone also, and it’s off. Please. You didn’t see what you think you did. I care about you and so does Sam. Think. Pray, but please let us know you’re all right.”

Andy grabbed the phone and took the receiver off the hook. Dan would call until Andy, driven insane, by the rings picked up. He knew how that man’s mind worked, or at least he thought he did until today. Andy wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Why was he crying? He hadn’t been the one getting beaten.

Andy heard the recorded message about hanging up and making a call and the buzz of a telephone off the hook. He ignored it, heading into the study, his place of sanctuary. In the spring it looked out over the flowers on the massive catalpa tree, which Andy loved but everyone else hated for its mess. This tree always made it into his sermons, representing rebirth and renewal. Today it looked barren as the cold rain pelted its trunk; a few of the long seed pods, which fell in unsightly heaps in the yard, hung from its naked branches. 

Andy stared at the tree for several minutes, feeling as wet and cold as its barren branches before choking back a sob and dragging himself to his feet. He didn’t have the luxury of crying; he had a job to do, people to take care of. He found his way to the master bathroom, more from muscle memory than conscious thought, stripped, and climbed under the hot spray. He watched the water swirl at his feet and spiral down the drain. Andy wished today would run down the drain as easily as the water droplets -- through the pipes to the sewage plant out to the river and finally to the sea to be swallowed by the vast oceans.

He turned off the faucet, shook himself, and reached for a towel. Drying himself perhaps too briskly, he dressed and headed back to the study. It was Dan or Caroline whom he spoke to when he felt like this. He loved Caroline with all his heart, but her mother was a different story. As long as there were several states between them open warfare did not occur. Caroline’s mother was a gossip, and Andy didn’t put it above her to listen on the extension in her bedroom or to badger Caroline until she felt compelled to tell Andy’s secrets. The rumor of a gay abusive priest would stir the gossip mill for months. He couldn’t call Dan. That two faced liar couldn’t be trusted. It had been Dan who had comforted Andy after the funeral for the family killed by the drunk driver, Dan who had listened to Andy cry after the first time he tried to provide comfort to a family whose son had been found hanging from the rafters, Dan who didn’t find it odd that a big tough football player was uncontrollably sobbing. It was Dan who had quietly draped his arm over Andy’s shoulder when Andy had for the first time performed the funeral rites for a young child.

Dressed again in dry clothes, Andy padded back into his study. He sat at the desk and tried to work on his sermon. After all that was the reason he’d gone back to church and found that horrible surprise. After several pages of crossed out words, he gave up. All he could see was Sam crying and Dan hurting him. Should he call the police? He started to reach for the telephone and remembered he’d left the receiver off the hook in the kitchen. These were his friends. Dan had always seemed kind, generous, and enviably even tempered.

Andy ripped off a sheet of paper and started to make a list: reasons to call the police, reasons not to call. This was Dan’s technique. He’d taught it to Andy when Andy had wrestled with theological questions -- always calm, always supportive. Even irritated, Dan was always calm. He could be forceful. Andy had seen Dan break up a group of bullying high schoolers. The kids had looked terrified, but he hadn’t touched them. He hadn’t even shouted. He had just stared them down, or at least it had seemed like that. Andy crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash. He was getting nowhere. 

Andy heard a sharp bang on the kitchen door. He looked out the window and saw Dan’s ancient Volvo wagon. The bell shrilled, and there was another sharp rap on the door. Dan had seen Andy’s car, and Andy knew Dan wouldn’t leave. Andy grimaced and walked downstairs.

“Yes,” Andy said, opening the door far enough to stick his head out.

“May I come in?” Dan asked, not pushing his way forward.

“I don’t know.” Andy remained standing, blocking the door..

Dan reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. Andy recognized the church keys with the Episcopal shield on the keyring. “I think you should keep these until you know what questions to ask. The schedule is posted in the bulletin. Mary and Joan can rearrange things as needed. I trust you will find your way through this wilderness of confusion. Do what you think is right. If that involves calling the bishop or the police then do as you must.”

Andy stretched out his hand and felt the cold metal of the keys drop in his palm. He watched Dan’s tall figure, his unbuckled raincoat billowing behind him as he headed towards his car. Andy wanted to shout for him to wait, to hear a simple explanation that would make this whole day nothing but a funny story to tell at the next retreat. Instead he closed his fingers around the keys almost enjoying the sharp edges against his soft palm. He stood in the doorway, watching Dan fold his lanky frame into the battered Volvo. Did he want Dan to turn around wave and smile as if today were no different than the hundreds of other days that had passed between them?

Andy shut the door and tossed Dan’s keys next to his own on the kitchen counter. It was all the keys: the old fashioned brass key that opened the church’s front door, a small almost child’s size key for the cash box, and a assortment of keys carefully marked for the storage shed and the other doors. As far as Andy knew it was Dan’s only set. Andy paced across the kitchen floor, back and forth, his eyes constantly falling on the two sets of keys. Had Dan resigned? Is that what the two sets of keys meant? Or was he just giving Andy some breathing space? 

Andy paced, stopping to trace his fingers over the keys at the end of each lap. The same keys that Andy had caught dozen of times when Dan tossed them to him with a small half teasing smile. “You left your keys at home again, my boy. What am I going to do with you?” It had been the same teasing scolding every time, and of course Dan never did anything. Well except the time Dan called every morning when he was on vacation to remind Andy to take his keys. It had been a long standing joke between them. Andy smiled, remembering the ribbing he’d taken the morning he forgot his keys even after the phone call. Sam had teased that maybe Andy needed a more jolting reminder than a friendly phone call, maybe something with a little sting in it. Andy hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Sam was always saying crazy things; it was part of Sam’s charm. Had he been making references to a spanking? Dan had shut him up with a glare and sent him on some errand, but Dan was always reining in Sam. 

Andy couldn’t remember the number of times he’d seen Dan hustle Sam away from a brewing disaster, always discretely, occasionally with a soft spoken request for a private word. It probably hadn’t been words. Andy slammed his fist down onto the counter. He’d been blind. Dan had been hitting Sam this whole time. 

“How could I have missed it?” Andy said to himself, rubbing his stinging hand. He was trained to recognize abuse, and he’d let it go on for years in front of his nose. He gripped the counter, shuddering and fighting tears. Angrily he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He wasn’t the one getting beaten. Why was he crying?

Morning came either too early or too late. Andy wasn’t sure which. He felt exhausted when he crawled out of bed to face the dawn and wanted nothing more than a few more hours tucked under the quilt. Yet all night as he tossed and turned, he’d longed to get up. He banged around the house, trying to pretend yesterday had never happened. Every time his eyes caught the two sets of keys there was a sharp stab of memory -- Sam bare over Dan’s lap, the slap of a hand against flesh, the wails. He shuddered, throwing his notes in his satchel. Work, that was the answer; he’d always been able to lose himself in a task.

The jangle of the phone stopped him, his hand poised on the doorknob. “Hello,” he muttered into the receiver.

“Hi, how are you doing?”

“Caroline, aren’t you with your mom?”

“She’s feeding the little darlings breakfast, and I’m locked in the bathroom powdering my nose.”

“While talking on your cell phone,” Andy finished.

Caroline laughed. “If you grew up in my house, you’d have learned to keep things quiet. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, why?” Andy mentally reviewed that his voice sounded normal. Last night he’d wanted to talk with Caroline, but what would he say now? 

“Dan called me this morning with some nonsense about the youth group. Nothing that couldn’t wait until I got back. He mentioned that you had a rough day yesterday.”

“Busy. I got a traffic ticket, and I miss you and the girls.”

“You didn’t have an accident?” Caroline’s voice sounded alarmed.

“No, honey, an illegal left turn.”

“It’s just odd for Dan to call, and he sounded strange. He’s usually so forthcoming.”

“It’s probably his sister. I think she’s driving him wild,” Andy lied.

“How he can be so caring and have a sister so completely opposite is beyond me.”

“We all have our own cross to bear.”

Caroline laughed. “Sam would be enough of a burden for most people, but they seem so in love.” She paused, and Andy heard the water running. “I thought I heard footsteps outside the door.”

The mention of Sam sent a sharp pain through Andy’s gut. He didn’t understand Dan’s attraction to Sam or for that matter his brother’s attraction to Jake. He knew Quill loved Jake; he’d seen his brother snatch a private kiss or lean gently against his partner. It was clear that their love was as genuine as his own love for Caroline, a physical and mental bonding, and he’d thought Dan felt that way about Sam. The quiet moments where he’d seen the two of them standing almost within each other’s footprints, silently watching a cardinal courting his mate at the bird feeder. The flushed cheeks when he’d walked in on them one evening in the kitchen. The music was loud, an Elvis song whose title he couldn’t remember. They were wrapped around each other, swaying as Dan slowly stirred a pot on the stove. Andy remembered wondering if his marriage with Caroline would be that strong in ten or twenty years. How could he have been so fooled? He was supposed to counsel people, and he couldn’t tell that his friend, confidant, boss, and sometimes confessor was hurting his partner. 

“You’ve watched too many spy films,” Andy forced a laugh and slapped the counter hard with his palm, the sting bringing him back to the present. “I think I should hang up before your mom bugs the bathroom. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Andy hung up the phone, reluctant to remove his hand from the receiver. He’d lied to his wife. But what could he tell her? You know that tall, thin guy with the nice smile whom we trusted beats his partner. 

Andy swept both sets of keys into his satchel. He couldn’t leave them at home now. There was no one else to let him in.

The church lot stood empty. It was Dan who was the early riser. He liked to sit in a pew and watch the sun creep up the window, the reflection, the colored speckles from the stained glass spattering the alter before the church came aglow with the morning light. Andy started towards his office then turned and headed toward the chapel. He was too late for Dan’s colored speckles. He walked halfway down the aisle before slipping into a silent row of pews and dropping to his knees. Dear Lord, he thought, but no words came after that; he didn’t know what to pray, didn’t know what to ask for. A thousand pictures swirled through his mind: Dan at Christmas; Dan holding the young widow whose husband had just perished in a traffic accident; Dan coaxing a new convert to explore the faith; Dan, his arm draped over Sam’s shoulders, an easy calming touch and a gesture Andy had seen many times and many places where stepping back and standing apart would have been the easy way; Sam across Dan’s knees, sobbing and beaten. It didn’t fit; Dan wasn’t the beating type.

Andy reached for the Book of Common Prayer. He always found peace in the ritual. He turned the pages until he found the morning office and started to pray.

Hearing a noise, Andy turned around. Mrs Binkley, a volunteer in the church office, stood in the aisle, her reading glass swinging from a chain around her neck, her expression harassed. She’d always preferred Dan. “I’m sorry to bother you, Father, but Dan called in and said he was taking a few days off to be with his sister, and there are some engagements you need to cover.”

“Sorry, I forgot,” Andy said sheepishly, climbing to his feet, his knees stiff from the protracted kneeling. “Dan’s always good at the organizing bit, but with him on vacation, I’ll have to step up to the plate.”

Mrs Binkley looked at Andy as if she didn’t think that was within the realm of earthly possibility. “You have a meeting in twenty minutes with the auxiliary and then the head of the garden club wants to talk to you about new perennial beds and donating a strip of land for a community vegetable plot.”

 Andy thought a vegetable garden was a great idea, especially since it would be open to all the community, not just a parish project. Mrs Binkley was a skeptic; she didn’t think rows of corn and sprawling pumpkin vines belonged in the church’s front yard. Dan would probably have known some anecdote about a colonial church harvesting food to spread the mission and been able to turn Mrs Binkley into an avid fan of the new project. Andy chose to ignore her slight frown. “OK. What else?”

She rattled off the rest of his day’s schedule. His day was packed. At least he wouldn’t have time to brood. “I’ll put a list on your desk of your engagements for the next few days. There are some conflicts; we’ll have to reschedule some things. Do you know when Father Dan will be back? It is most unlike him to suddenly change his plans. I hope he’s not sick.”

“I’m sure he merely wants a few days with his sister. I know they rarely see each other. I’ll manage for a few days.” Andy tried to give her a warm smile. “You’ll just have to keep me on track. I’m not as efficient as Dan or as experienced.”

Mrs Binkley nodded, and her face softened slightly. “I’ll have your daily planner on your desk every morning at eight.”

“Thank you.” She’d been an executive secretary for twenty years before she retired. Andy was sure she’d been excellent in her job, if somewhat formidable.

Andy scrambled through the day, feeling harried at every turn. There was too much work for a single priest, and Andy hadn’t realized how Dan had divided the work, setting most of the more onerous tasks on his own plate. He dealt with all the cranks and petty complainers and thrived on it. Andy almost snapped at the bickering couple he was trying to counsel at the end of the day. The wife spoke in a grating nasal tone, and the husband stared off in the distance with a glazed look as if he’d rather be watching any sport on TV, even curling, than participating in marriage counseling. Andy managed to get them out of the office before he succumbed to the temptation to hand them a card for a local lawyer and tell them to start divorce proceedings.

The next two days were no better. Caroline wouldn’t be home until the next weekend; her mother had needed a minor medical procedure, which had turned out to be not as minor as previously thought. If Dan had been working, he would have chased Andy out the door and to his wife and mother-in-law’s side; instead, alone, Andy wore out the phone lines and paced around the bedroom. Several times Andy nearly walked across the street from the church to Dan’s house. When Andy worked at night in the office, he could see the lights from the kitchen window and the occasional glimpse of either Dan or Sam. Andy had thought he knew Dan. Until only a few short days ago he would have considered Dan one of the most open and transparent men that he knew, a friend he could tell anything to. Now Andy wasn’t sure that he could ask Dan for a cup of coffee. Had anything Dan ever told him been true?

Andy grabbed the books off his desk; he’d checked out several of the latest mysteries for Anita Douglass. She was a great lady whose family lived scattered around the globe, but she stubbornly remained in the house she’d grown up in. At eighty-five she was a remarkably active women but most of her generation had passed away. She joked that the majority of her social engagements were funerals. Andy tried to stop and visit at least once a week.

She was waiting for him in the kitchen, a bright flowered apron over her dress. She’d remained old-fashioned to the core and wore dresses even at home. The house as usual smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg, orange peel, and other spices that Andy couldn’t name. A plate of cookies sat on the table.

“You spoil me,” Andy said, taking a cookie.

“You’re worth it. You must have your wife come over and learn to make these cookies.”

Andy smiled and took another cookie. He’d tried several times explaining that his wife left most of the cooking to him, but that was inexplicable to Anita. 

“You look tired. Is everything going well?”

Andy nodded. “Dan’s taken a few days off to be with his sister.” 

“They must be working you to the bone. Sit down.”

“Thank you. But what about you? Did your doctor’s appointment go OK?” Andy tried to steer the conversation back to Anita. She was always fretting over others, even though she suffered from a heart valve defect and took an assortment of pills every day.

“I’m doing fine, dear. Don’t worry about me; I’m not fragile. You look terrible.”

Andy laughed. “I see at eighty-five you’ve lost none of your tact.”

“At eight-five, I think I’ve earned the right not to beat around the bush. You must tell Father Dan to get back to work. It’s too much for you alone.”

“I will,” Andy lied. “I’ll survive the rest of the week and then sleep solidly for two days when he comes back. Will that suit?”

“Make sure you do, young man,” Anita said with mock severity.

“Yes, ma’am,” Andy agreed, playing along. If only it were that easy. In a week or two he’d have to tell people that Dan was never coming back. What lie would he have to create? Would he go to the bishop and tell him about Dan hitting Sam? He didn’t know the answer. He’d tried to pray, but it hadn’t helped. He couldn’t seem to calm his thoughts long enough to tell God what was troubling him, much less settle himself into the deep, meditative silence where he might be able to hear what God was trying to tell him.

“Andy dear, you seem distracted. Why don’t you go home and have a nap. I’ll settle down with these new mysteries. I’m sure they’ll keep me busy for hours.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, dear. I’ll just pack up some of these cookies for you.” Anita busied herself with plastic bags and aluminum foil before efficiently shepherding Andy to the door.

Andy tapped his hand on the steering wheel. Starting the car, he backed from the driveway and on sudden impulse nosed his car down the hill and toward his brother’s store. 

The bell chimed as he pushed open the door. A toy plane skimmed over his head, and Andy ducked to avoid its needle nose. “Quill!”

“They’re cool, aren’t they? They came in last week -- great little flyers. Do you want a few to give away for exemplary behavior in Sunday school?”

“I don’t think planes are the best choice in church.”

“Yeah, they might even rattle Dan. He handled the rubber snakes. They scared poor Mrs Finch to death, and I’m sure Sam had something to with it. He had an ear to ear grin. I’m surprised Dan doesn’t wring his neck.”

“No, he just beats him. Less likely to be arrested than strangulation.”

“Andy,” Quill said, a note of alarm in his voice. He stepped out from behind the counter, put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and spun him around. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Andy said, blathering and retreating quickly. “I meant to say he has the patience of a saint, or he would either beat his partner or strangle him.” Why had he blurted out that Dan beat his partner, and why was his brother staring at him so peculiarly?

“Have you eaten?” Quill said, abruptly changing the subject.

“Some cookies at a parishioner's house.”

“No wonder you look run down. Let’s get some lunch. We should be able to catch Jake at his usual spot.”

“Who will run the store?”

“I’ll put the closed sign out. It’s one of the benefits of being a sole proprietor. Justin comes in about an hour. If I’m not back, he can man the store alone. ” Quill put his hand on his brother’s back and hustled him out the door and towards the car.

“I don’t have time for lunch,” Andy protested as they hit the sidewalk.

“I can’t imagine they schedule you through lunch. Dan wouldn’t allow it.”

“He’s on leave. I don’t have time.” Andy was too rattled to remember the vacation story. Quill could be bossy; he remembered in college his brother dropping by unexpectedly when Andy felt overwhelmed. Quill had always pulled Andy together even if he did nothing more than run a few books to the library or change the sheets on his bed. 

“Tough, make time. Do you have any appointments scheduled in the next two hours?”

“No, but I need to write my sermon.”

“It’s only Thursday. I’m sure you’ll manage to pull it together or recycle one from last year. Lunch.” Quill herded his brother into the car, not giving him time to protest before climbing into the driver’s side himself.

Andy sat hunched against the window. His brother was behaving like Dan. Andy had been dragged to lunch or sent home by Dan with orders to rest when he’d felt frazzled. Andy definitely felt frazzled and comforted by Quill’s easy orders. Quill hadn’t seemed surprised by Andy’s revelation. Had he known? How could his brother have kept quiet about it? Surely he wouldn’t condone abuse? “You knew Dan hits Sam?”

“Andy, we’ll talk about it when we get to the restaurant. You need to talk to Jake.”

“No,” Andy shouted, turning toward his brother. “You knew he hurts Sam. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I thought you trusted me.”

“Of course I trust you, but I trust Dan also. I told you about Brother Erikson. I trust you,” Quill repeated.

They pulled into the restaurant parking lot, and Andy spotted Jake’s unassuming car. “How’d you know he’d be here?”

“Jake’s a creature of habit. He eats here every day. I think he even orders the same thing, Hunan chicken.” Quill herded his brother into the restaurant, ordering at the counter before making his way over to the corner where his partner was sitting.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“We were in the area and thought we’d stop by.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Now what’s the real story?” He studied Andy and Quill as if to ferret out the problem.

“Andy saw Sam and Dan together,” Quill said.

Jake started to shrug, but then his eyes grew wide, and he cast a sharp glance at his partner. Quill nodded as if speaking a secret language. 

Andy wanted to swear at his brother’s nods and meaningful glances, but instead he kept his language clean in deference to the public location and his collar. “Come on, guys; you can stop with the secret sign language.”

Jake blushed scarlet, cleared his throat, and looked pleadingly at Quill. Quill looked back over his shoulder as if hoping for a rescue from the server. “You saw Dan spank Sam?” Quill asked.

It might have been a question with the slight rising tone. Andy stared at his brother, his eyes dropping to the placemat with the Chinese zodiac before nodding yes. He had a thousand questions, but fortunately Quill kept talking.

“It’s a mutually agreed upon relationship. It’s not abusive.”

“How can you know?” Andy swept his hair back off his forehead with his hand. “Sam was crying. I can’t imagine he was enjoying it.”

“You don’t have to enjoy it to want it,” Jake said, turning an even brighter shade of red.

Andy stared from Jake to Quill, thoughts whirring in his head. He groped for his water glass, still unable to ask the questions that were spinning in his head.

“We know about it because we do it.” 

“I don’t understand,” Andy mumbled. Quill always had been blunt. He was his older and sensible brother; he didn’t participate in kink or abuse. He was kind to children and animals.

“Quill spanks me.” Jake’s face continued to be red, but his voice was calm. “Don’t look at us like that. It’s why people like us don’t talk about it.” Jake grabbed the marbles that Quill had set on the table, rolling them around in his hand. “It might be more correct to say he disciplines me because spanking isn’t the only part of it. This is part of it to -- the marbles, the yo-yos, the puzzles. They keep me from losing control, keep me from throwing things.”

“You hit him,” Andy spat at his brother, ignoring Jake and the marbles. “You’re my brother. You’re family, and you intentionally hurt your supposed lover. What’s wrong with you?” Andy pushed himself up from the table and marched toward the door.

The spring wind was still cold. Andy turned his jacket collar up and strode across the parking lot. Approaching Quill’s car with the painted galaxy streaking across the trunk, Andy allowed himself to swear out loud, smacking his hand against the offending trunk. His brother -- his friends. What had he missed? Andy felt tears drip down and face, and he viciously scrubbed them off with his sleeve. He wanted his big brother back: noble, bold, honorable, not the abusive bastard he’d found. He wanted Dan: his friend, his confidant, his confessor. He paced, trying to warm himself and keep the tears at bay, his anger building at every stride.

“Andy,” he heard shouted in his ear, and his brother grabbed his arm.

“Get off me, you fucked up bastard.”

“No.” Quill wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulled him close. “You helped me. It’s my turn now. Don’t you dare shake me off.”

Andy could have easily pulled away; he was taller and substantially broader across the chest and shoulders, but he stayed against his brother, fighting tears.

“You know, it’s an urban legend that real men don’t cry. I’m pretty good at the crying.”

“Stop trying to be funny,” Andy protested but leaned harder against his brother.

“Funny is better than vulgar.”

“I’m sorry.” Andy felt the blush creep up his cheeks.

“I understand. You’re my brother, but you upset Jake. He likes you a lot, and now he thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“I know.” Quill rubbed his brother’s shoulder. “You’re angry at me and Dan. You think we’ve betrayed you, or maybe more correctly we’ve betrayed your image of us. We’re both guys struggling to make our relationships work.”

“And hitting your lover makes it work?”

“I spank Jake, and it’s his choice. Andy,” Quill said, pulling his brother closer, “I do it because my partner wants and needs it. He was the one who asked me for it. My reaction the first time was like yours. No way. Never. I had to be dragged into it kicking and screaming.” Quill continued to walk beside his brother, almost dragging him along the strip mall past shoe stores and dollar outlets. “It’s not about pain. At least I’ve never seen any inclination that Jake enjoys pain. I don’t know about Sam. For Jake it’s a ritual about redemption and forgiveness.” Quill continued to walk silently by the hair salon, seeming to study the hair cutting action through the window. “I’m not explaining this very well. You need to talk to Dan and Sam. They’ve been doing it for a long time.”

Andy chewed his lower lip. He loved his brother, his brother’s courage to be different,  his brother’s sensitivity and caring -- a big brother who had carefully protected him from all comers.

“We’ll go talk to Dan, and you still need to eat your lunch.”

“What is it with you guys in lunch? Dan’s always bugging me. Is it some kind of gay guy thing that no one can go hungry?” Andy tried to find a light bantering tone, but it sounded forced to his own ears.”

“It’s a top thing, and I’m not as bad about it as Dan. He drags me to lunch and threatens me.”

Andy did laugh at that comment, a high pitched, hysterical sound, full of pent up energy. 

“The top is the role Dan and I play in our relationships, more Dan than me. I think Jake would call me a wishy-washy top, spineless. Jake has to force me to spank him. Jake would like me to do it more often.”

“Why?” Andy said, shaking off his brother’s hand and turning to study his face. “I don’t understand. How can you allow Jake to consent to coercion? I thought you loved him.”

“I do it because I love Jake. Loving Jake requires me to top. It’s more than spanking. It’s about making Jake feel safe and cared for. I’m not a monster, and neither is Dan.” Quill grabbed Andy’s arm and tugged him toward the car. “You need to talk to Dan and Sam.”

“I can’t,” Andy said, using his superior size to pull back.

“Stop bratting. It doesn’t become you.”

“Bratting?” Andy questioned, pulling free of Quill’s grip. “Is that why you spank Jake --some misguided attempt at parenting?”

“No, it’s a term of affection.” Quill blew the air out his nose. “I thought you trusted me and that you were more open minded than this.” 

Andy could feel his face color at the slight rebuke. He’d heard his brother lecture Justin enough times about rude comments and off color jokes to know Quill had little tolerance for underhanded nastiness or stereotyping. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. I’m hardly more comfortable with this spanking idea than you, and I’m actually doing it.” Quill wrapped his arm around his brother and guided him back to the car.

Dan answered the door after one knock, tall and gangly with torn jeans and paint on his sweater. “Well, at least you’re not selling girl scout cookies. Come in.” He held the door and ushered Andy and Quill into the kitchen. “Andy, when’s the last time you’ve eaten? You look like you’re fading.”

Andy shrugged. There was something comforting about Dan’s easy familiarity. He seemed so normal, for lack of a better adjective.

“I tried,” Quill said, handing Dan a bag from the Chinese restaurant.

“Do you want me to reheat this or would you prefer chicken enchiladas? They’re Jake’s recipe.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Choose.”

Andy stared at Dan for a second, taken back by his flat insistence. He’d heard Dan use that tone with Sam.

“Choose,” Dan repeated.

“Chinese. I don’t like being bullied,” Andy said, starting to recover his equilibrium. “Is this what you do with Sam?”

“Does he look oppressed?” Dan busied himself reheating the food; he moved as always with no extra flapping, his stride easy and confident. “Sit down. The food will be ready in a minute.”

Dan watched Andy as he ate, Dan’s gray eyes steady and thoughtful -- somehow immensely calming. Andy hadn’t realized how hungry he was. After his initial hesitation, he polished off his plate.

“I can reheat the enchiladas also. It’s no trouble.” Dan’s eyes twinkled with amusement; a small smile played on his lips. 

“Not after chicken with garlic sauce.” Andy found himself smiling before he stiffened, remembering why he was here.

“I could make sandwiches,” Dan said with his easy smile. “I can’t say I’d much want to have Mexican and Chinese food at one sitting.”

“I’m fine.” Andy patted his stomach to emphasize the point.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Dan leaned across the table, propped on his elbows, his gray eyes never leaving Andy’s face.

“What is this? The Inquisition?”

“No, but I care about you, and I know your brother loves you. You have a responsibility to take care of yourself no matter how unsettled you feel.” Dan held up his hand to keep Andy from interrupting. “I know I’m the cause, and for that I’m sorry, but you still have a responsibility to yourself.”

“Don’t flatter yourself that your husband abuse has turned my life upside down.”

“Andy,” Quill said sharply.

Andy startled; he’d almost forgotten that Quill was sitting flanking him, offering him silent support.

“No, it’s OK.” Dan’s voice was soft and smooth. “I know what you saw, and I know that was disturbing.”

“Quit this euphemistic what I saw bullshit. I saw Sam over your knees, his fanny bright red, and sobbing hysterically. You beat your partner; you disgust me.” Andy started to rise, but Quill put his hand on his brother’s knee.

“Sit.” Dan’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a compulsion that caused Andy to sink back down before he’d fully processed the command.

“Listen to Dan,” Quill murmured, his hand running down Andy’s back. “Don’t throw everything you have away because you refused to open your mind and understand. He loves Sam with a strength that can only make other couples envious.”

“I spank Sam.” Dan leaned across the table; Andy could almost feel the intensity in each breath as Dan exhaled. “I don’t beat him. I don’t hurt him. You saw a very private moment between the two of us -- a moment of love and commitment.”

“Love with a thrashing. That sounds promising.” 

“You’re trying to be nasty now. That’s beneath you.”  Dan continued to stare at Andy, his gray eyes reproachful.

“I believed you. I can’t believe I was so stupid to fall for your schtick. I’ll give you credit for one thing. You’re the best con artist I’ve ever seen.”

“Andrew Maguire.” Dan’s voice had deepened and hardened to a tone that Andy had never heard before. “You are not an unkind man; don’t start now.”

Andy stopped short and swallowed hard. He looked first at Dan and then back at his brother. Their expressions mirrored each other, a kindness and a concern entirely focused on him, no anger even though his words deserved it. Andy dropped his head to the table, lost in a maze of confusion. Men who hit were angry, impulsive; they didn’t rationalize with someone hurling accusations at them. No one could be that good an actor.

“Andy, I’ll explain if you let me, but you have to listen, not prejudge. Sit up and look at me.” Dan’s hand was on Andy’s shoulder, the touch as gentle as his voice.

Andy turned toward his brother. Quill must have seen something because he stood and pulled his brother into a tight hug. Andy’s shoulders shook, and he started to cry. He hadn’t cried like this since he was thirteen and his cat had died. It had been Quill who held him then. No one else had understood his anguish over a cat who jumped on the table during the middle of dinner and left clumps of fur on the beds.

“It’s going to be all right. Dan and I don’t murder our partners. You’re instincts weren’t wrong. Dan is trustworthy.”

Andy swallowed hard, ashamed by the tears.

“Crying’s not wrong; it’s a normal emotional outlet. You’ve seen me cry.” That was classic Dan, calm and matter of fact. 

Andy sniffled a few more times before untangling himself from his brother’s arms and sitting back down. “Thank you,” He murmured, feeling his ear tips redden.

“Isn’t that what family’s for? I seem to remember making your shirt pretty wet after that business about Brother Erikson.” Quill shot Andy a megawatt grin. “I think I’m still leading in the tally for crying hysterically on my brother’s shirt.”

“You had a good reason.”

“So do you. You thought a very close friend betrayed you and everything you thought he believed in. He didn’t, but the explanation is long and complicated.”

“Quill, can you call the church office and let them know that Andy’s indisposed for the rest of the afternoon and evening? They should be able to get everything cancelled. Sam should be home soon; it’s a short day for him. Together  we can get this mess sorted out.” Dan squeezed the back of Andy’s neck and then bent down and dropped a soft kiss on Andy’s hair. It was a gesture that Andy had seen Dan do with Jake and occasionally with Quill but never with him. “I’m sorry I made such a mess of this. I’ll try to fix it.”

Sam showed up twenty minutes later, yanking his tie off and shedding his blazer at the door.

“Not on the floor,” Dan growled.

“You can’t even see me from there. How did you know?”

“Because I know you. Hurry up. We have company.”

“Who?”

“Quill and Andy.”

Sam flew into the kitchen and dove toward Andy, who in total surprise opened his arms to catch the missile. “I wanted to talk to you, but Dan said I had to let you come to us. I’m so sorry. It’s all because of Dan’s wretched sister.” Sam shot a wicked glare at his partner. “What did you do with her today? Hopefully you left her on a freeway on ramp with a sign saying ‘California or bust.’”

“Nothing so dramatic, brat. I made her a nice snack and told her to stay upstairs with the television turned up.”

“Too bad.” Sam stuck his lip out in a dramatic pout.

“Settle down.” Dan plucked Sam off Andy’s lap. “I need you to help explain to Andy the incident he saw. He’s been shaken by the whole thing.”

“It’s not what you think it is,” Sam said, wrapping his arm around Dan. “It’s not like he beats me -- well, only a little bit.” Sam laughed and scampered out of reach.

“Be serious, brat.”

Sam dropped into the empty chair. “Andy, don’t look at me like that. I’m not a victim. I was a victim once -- I know what that means. That’s not what Dan and I are about.” Sam turned large, pleading eyes on his partner. “Help.”

In a practiced motion, Dan slid his chair next to Sam’s and wrapped his arm around his partner’s shoulders, drawing him close. “Honey, I was the one inflicting the spanking. In Andy’s eyes, my words are tainted. I think he needs to hear this from you. Do you want Quill to stay? He knows less about your background.”

“He can stay; I trust him.” Sam folded both his hands on the table and seemed to visibly compose himself. “As you saw, Dan spanks me when I violate certain agreed upon rules of the household. I rigged a bucket of water to fall on his dear sister’s head. Dan didn’t think much of that --something about houseguests and rules of decorum. I don’t know. I never read Emily Post.” Sam shot Dan an impish grin. “I still say she deserved it.”

“I never said she didn’t deserve it. I said in this household we don’t behave like wayward schoolboys. But this isn’t helping Andy. He needs to see the big picture. You know enough about Sam’s family to know or imagine what went on at home when he was a boy.”

Andy nodded. Sam had talked to him several times about his father. Andy had no doubt that Sam had been on the receiving end of numerous beatings from his father, who had been enraged by a combination of mental illness, alcohol abuse, and adherence to a warped brand of Christianity. This history make Dan spanking Sam more of an abomination, not less.

“To make a long story short,” Sam continued, “I fell in love with Dan, or he’ll claim he fell in love with me, but anyway it was the first good thing that ever happened to me. I was a disaster to live with. Dan wasn’t a priest then, but I think his ministry got started with me. I still don’t know why he didn’t toss me aside like spoiled fish or a rabid dog.”

“Sam,” Dan warned, “we’ve been over this before. I love you. Nothing you have done or will do makes you too much trouble.”

“I tell you the man should be canonized. The order of sainthood second class for tolerance of an impossible husband.”

“Sam. Come here, you.” It was half a growl, half a chuckle of private humor. Dan opened his arms, and Sam scrambled onto his lap, settling back as if it was his accepted spot. “We had our rough spots.”

“Rough spots, isn’t that a nice euphemism. I think we tried every couple counseling service in three states, and that was after Dan spent a year dragging me home from one disaster after another. Dan was teaching and in school at the same time. Before he found the ministry he was pretty good at the professional student thing. I decided I was bored and who knows what else and took off for the night.”

Dan picked up the story at this point. “I finally found him in a less than savory location picking a fight with three gorillas. If a friend of mine hadn’t gone with me, I don’t know if we’d have ever gotten Sam out of there in one piece. Rob was the sweetest, most quiet guy, but his hobby was body building. Even drunken louts respect six foot plus of muscle. Anyway he helped me get Sam home and handed me a card for a therapist. I’m using the term loosely here. I think the card said something about Chinese medicine and aroma therapy. I was desperate enough that it didn’t seem bizarre at the time.”

“The whole thing was bizarre. The whole place smell like a bad candle shop, and there were enough trees and plants to start an arboretum,” Sam broke in. “I still can’t smell crabapple without thinking of Gary. Aroma therapy and everything, you would expect barefoot, shaggy beard, and more beads than you could shake a stick at, but he was dressed in pressed khakis and an oxford shirt. He looked like he just stepped out of a casual Friday stockbrokers meeting.”

“Gary took us out in the sunroom,” Dan continued the story. “I don’t think Andy needs a blow by blow description of Gary’s decor and wardrobe.”

“Why not? It added to the mood.”

“Brat,” Dan teased. “Well, anyway in the middle of this luxurious indoor jungle, Gary finishes asking us a bunch of questions and announces I should discipline Sam.”

“I think his words were either turn that boy over your knee or lose him.” Sam grinned. “I thought Dan here was going to have apoplexy. Violence is not his thing.”

“So you just started pounding on him, and you all lived happily ever after,” Andy said, not hiding the sarcasm in his voice.

“No,” Dan said. “I was horrified. The same response you had, but we talked about it. We loved each other very much.” Dan kissed the top of Sam’s hair. “Gary explained it in great detail. It’s about boundaries and roles, not physical violence. I have Sam’s consent each and every time I spank him.”

“I’m the one who wanted it,” Sam said, sounding very serious. “I pushed Dan to try it. The same way Jake pushed Quill into it.”

“Jake throws things when he needs me to spank him,” Quill said. “He’d been in this kind of relationship with Lawrence, and he needs it.”

Andy ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Your partners want you to spank them.”

“Not exactly,” Dan answered. “I don’t think Sam enjoys it when I spank him. It’s not a fetish for him. He likes knowing where his limits are and understanding ahead of time all consequences. He knows I’ll be there for him, and we’ll work it out. We might not use the most orthodox methods, but we don’t yell at each other or sleep on the sofa in a huff.”

“Confession and absolution,” Sam said with a grin. “Andy, in all seriousness, I know this is weird. I grew up in a household full of anger. My dad would come home, drunk, demented, whatever you want to call it, pick up the nearest item, and beat me with it. That was abuse. Dan is not abusive. We have an agreement that works for both of us. I need him to be there for me. Please, don’t hate him for it.” Sam buried his head in Dan’s shirt, embarrassed and blinking back tears.

Andy looked down at his hands. He had big knuckles, powerful hands, hands that could have belonged to a farmer. He had thought this was simple -- any physical strike was abuse -- but now he wasn’t sure. He knew his brother; he knew Dan, and he knew Sam, tucked up in his partner’s lap with complete trust. 

“Take your time to figure it out.” Dan’s quiet voice cut through Andy’s reverie. “This is a surprise you shouldn’t have had. Maybe I should have told you years ago.” Dan’s voice drifted off before becoming firmer again. “I always thought it was private, but I know an awful lot about you. Do you feel we hid something from you?”

“I don’t know.” Andy hesitated. “I wish I’d never found out.” 

Dan slid Sam off his lap, stood up, and dropped his arm over Andy’s back. “I’m the same Dan you’ve always known. I wish I could make this easier for you. You will have to decide in you own heart if you’re still comfortable with me, not only as your friend but as a spiritual advisor for the community.”

“It’s not just you; it’s my brother too.” Andy could hear the anguish in his own voice. “He does this.”

“You trust your brother?” Dan asked in that voice he used when he was trying to get people to reflect on their own thoughts.

“Yes, and I know,” Andy muttered. “You want me to challenge my assumptions. We’ve done this before.”

“Yep.” Dan gave Andy a lopsided grin. “That’s my boy.”

“Andy,” Quill said softly. “I love Jake. You know that. You’ve supported my relationship with our parents and our siblings, for which I’m very grateful. Please, I hope to keep your support. You’ve become the brother Jake never had. You guys can debate the religious stuff in the wee hours of the morning. It gives me a splitting headache. I’ll stick to the yo-yos and leave the philosophical debates to the better men.” Quill grinned, pulled out a yo-yo, and sent in spinning.

“Not in my kitchen, and here I thought all the time you were a top.” Dan caught the yo-yo in his hand and pocketed it.

Andy started to make a move to get up, relieved that the seriousness of the conversation seemed to have passed. 

“Is your car at Quill’s?” Dan asked, shifting to block Andy from standing.

“At the store.”

“Stay here tonight.”

“Your sister’s already here.”

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight, and we do have more than one guest bedroom. You can use Devon’s. We’re not expecting him this weekend.”

“He took one look at Lily Anne and swore to spend every weekend at college,” Sam said. “Not that I wouldn’t join him if Dan would let me.”

“I’m not facing my sister alone.”

“She’s your sister.”

“And you’re my husband.” 

“Andy here will protect us. Look at his size. Us gay boys needs a big, straight boy to defend us,” Sam teased. “You might as well give it up. We’re not going to let you go home. I want the company, and Dan’s gone into protective mode. You’d have to fight him to get out the door now.”

“Call Caroline and let her know you’re staying with us. She’s worried about her mom; she doesn’t need to worry about you. Sam and I will get your car tomorrow.”

“I’m more than capable --” Andy started to protest.

“Yes, you are, but you’re exhausted, and every time you get exhausted you get sick. I’ve seen it before and so has Quill.”

Quill nodded in agreement. “Stay with Dan overnight. You have a lot to talk about. It will be OK.” Quill stood up and wrapped his arms around his brother, draping his own leaner frame against Andy’s solid back. “Ask anything you need to ask. We love you.”

“Thanks.” Andy turned and buried his face in Quill’s shirt. “I think I’m pretty lucky to have you for my brother.”

“I know I’m lucky to have you. Take care of yourself. I need to get back to work before Justin decides to race cars off the counter or put water in the toy castle’s moat. Talk to Dan and Sam. They understand this better than I do.” Quill ruffled his brother’s hair, like he’d done when they were both children, hugged him hard, and jogged to the door.

Andy watched his brother leave before turning back toward Dan and Sam, unsure what to say; only inane things kept popping into his mind. “I still have your keys at home.”

“I assume you haven’t lost yours,” Dan said, his eyebrows rising.

“No.” Andy patted his pocket.

“I’ll do the youth meeting tonight if you’re OK with that?”

Andy nodded. Tall, thin Dan with an easy grin and wise eyes, he’d always been safe with the children. Andy couldn’t imagine him any other way. “I still don’t understand, but I’m trying.”

“Andy, I know, and don’t you dare apologize to me for having doubts and questions. Your concern for Sam was the right thing. I could’ve been hurting him. There was no way for you to know.”

Andy’s gaze swept around the kitchen. Sam and Dan were both looking at him with such a strong mixture of kindness, concern, and hopefulness that Andy couldn’t meet their eyes. 

Dan seemed to recognize Andy’s reddening face and shuffling feet. “Shower. Rest. Dinner. We will discuss this more later. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Dan bullied Andy out of the chair and toward the stairs. “Do I need to stand over you, or are you on your way to the shower?” 

It was asked in a light tone, but somehow Andy didn’t doubt that Dan would push him up the stairs and under the shower head if he didn’t move. “I’m going,” Andy started to grumble and then smiled. “Should I make you?”

“Bratting doesn’t become you,” Dan growled, catching Andy’s hip and spinning him around and landing a mock swat. “Upstairs, my boy.”

Sam grabbed Andy’s hand and tugged. “Come on. You’re playing with fire.”

“You’re the one to talk,” Andy shot back before he realized what he said.

“You’re feeling better, but I’m the only brat here tonight.” Sam smiled, easy boyish charm with a touch of mischief hiding underneath. “Unless of course you have a foolproof plan to rid the house of the wicked witch of the west.”

“God save me. My brat’s scheming.” Dan rolled his eyes. “Andy, you’re supposed to be on my side.” 

Andy smiled and fled up the stairs; it seemed the only sensible thing to do. He couldn’t put a name on Sam and Dan’s relationship; he couldn’t categorize it in a nice tidy pigeonhole, but affection and love swirled around them in an almost visible cloud, and at least for the moment, that was all that mattered.