Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/253



THE RAIN HIT ON THE METAL TOP of Blake's car parked alongside a dark graveled country road and a dim light inside silhouetted two heads; one pressed against the glass of the car door, the other bent forward as if in deep thought.

Gaylord watched breathless as Blake read the letter. Watched him devour Paul's words on the slips of grey paper. Not once did he glance at Gaylord or even speak. Gaylord looked through the wet glass, out into the night through the driving rain. There was nothing anywhere to be seen. His hands lay nervously in his lap and his head ached dully, both from fatigue and from his efforts to keep from wondering. It would not do to wish he had destroyed the letter. It was too late to even think such a thing. Paul had told him to destroy it. Why hadn't he? "Tear this letter up … don't even read it again." He remembered every word. There seemed to be bands of iron wrapped around his heart, welded there by some unknown power, and though he burst asunder, he could not escape.

He was aware, after a time, that Blake had finished the letter and was looking at him, the letter still in his hand. Stiffly, he turned and tried to smile. Blake unfolded the letter and began searching. After turning several pages, he stopped and read out loud.

"I wonder if you really love Bob." He stopped and looked up. "Do you Gay? Do you love him?" He read the letter without looking at it.

Gaylord experienced an emotion of complete bewilderment. He remembered how pleasant it had been to explore with Blake those 243