“You’re absolutely right. You have no reason to trust me. And I can’t prove anything to you.” He tapped the phone. “I could not use this and just take notes, if that’d make you feel better. But this helps me get things right. I wouldn’t want to misquote you, if it ever even came to that.” He took a sip of Pepsi. “Look. Go with your gut.”
“And just trust you?” A big part of me wanted to do just that. It felt right. In those blue eyes, I saw honesty and empathy. I’ve always been big on trusting my intuition—and I’ve rarely seen it proven wrong.
“Or not. You know, we can have a couple burgers, talk about the weather, the Cubs chances, and the temperature of the water in Lake Michigan in August and then go our separate ways. Not what I hoped for, but, believe it or not, I’m not pushy.”
In the end, my gut told me to talk and, more important, to listen.
Bailey knew things, I believed, that I wanted to know. And vice versa. It could be a fair exchange. My gut, though, went with his appearance. Again, there was something about him that put me at ease. I wanted to kick off my shoes and swap the Pepsi for a beer. As good looking as I found him, he was far from perfect—he had a gap in his front teeth, a constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. A tiny scar glowed pink just above his left eyebrow.
He wasn’t, instinct told me, a threat.
I sighed. “Okay. Go ahead and record.” I ate another chip and said. “You said you wouldn’t use anything I said if I didn’t want you to. I can make that decision after we talk, right?”
“Of course. You can make that decision at any point and you have my word I’ll honor it.” He smiled. “I mean it. But thanks for agreeing to let me record.” He tapped the phone screen a couple of times and slid it closer.
“Tell me about your boyfriend. How long have you known Joshua Kade?”
“Only a few weeks—maybe six, seven? We met, as one does these days, online. We messaged back and forth for a couple of weeks and he seemed charming, smart, and I felt like I knew him.
“And then, we had a real-life meeting. Just a casual evening hanging out at his apartment up by Loyola. A couple beers, a little Oscar Peterson on his Bluetooth speaker.” I shrugged and grinned. “And it was a sort of love-at-first-sight type thing.”
I paused. Was it really? I mean, I liked Josh—a lot. But I wasn’t sure if that like had become love—not yet. I mean, love seemed to be in the realm of possibility. The Cubs could win the World Series, too. Anything could happen. “The truth is he’s the best thing to happen to me in a long while.” I laughed and shook my head. “That’s not saying much, though. Before him, I may have the Guinness World Record for the longest line of losers, going back to my twenties.”
“How old are you now?”
“Don’t you know? Wasn’t that part of your research?”
“You got me. You’re thirty-seven. And I just turned forty-five, back around Christmas.”
You’re older than I thought. That mop of blond hair is deceptive, so is the slight frame.
“So go on, long line of losers? I can relate.” He grinned and winked.Say you’re gay without saying you’re gay.
“Yeah, but my dating history isn’t what you’re after, I’m sure. Let’s just say I never felt that magic spark with any of my previous relationships. One or two came close, but alwayswithered. I met some really nice guys, ones I had a lot in common with—handsome, sexy, funny. Ticked all the boxes…and yet, and yet… I was beginning to think I would never find love. In my darkest hours, I thought maybe I simply wasn’t capable of love, the kind most people chase after.”
I sighed and went on. “I don’t know why I’m getting so personal with you. You’re not my damn therapist.”
“No, no, it’s good background. It helps me to understand why you’re involved with him.”
That seemed like an odd thing to say and I almost let it put me on the defensive. But I let it go under the guise of reading too much into things. “What else did you want to know? As I said, we haven’t been together that long.”
“Are you? Together? Or just dating?”
I pondered. I guess weweretogether, although we’d never discussed it. We saw each other three or four times a week, often staying over at one or the other’s place. But neither of us had spoken words to the effect of exclusivity. I told him that.
“Why not?”
“As I said, early days.” I looked down at my phone. I had about five more minutes before I needed to head back to work. Otherwise, Bailey Anderson would make me late for the second time today. “Not sure what else I can tell you.”
“Did you know, going into seeing him, about Josh’s history? The murder?”
“No. No, of course not. I’m not sure if it ever would have come up if your podcast hadn’t aired. It’s been ten years, after all.” I wondered then what my reaction would have been if I had known when I first saw him online or even after our first date. Would I have bolted? I’d like to think I wouldn’t have. But a guy who once had a cloud of suspicion around him regarding the murder of his own boyfriend? Yeah, I might have turned tail and ran. I couldn’t blame myself.
“I know how long it’s been. Yet that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
I cocked my head, eyebrows furrowed. “Hurt? That’s an odd way to put it. Aren’t you taking this a bit too personally? I get wanting to see justice. Buthurt?”
Bailey stared at me for a long moment. I read conflict cross his warm, homey features. At last, he said, “Look, before, I told you I wouldn’t betray your trust. And I won’t. I won’t make anything public you don’t want out there. I expect the same in return.” He paused again, breathed in and out. “Bailey Anderson is the name I use for this podcast.”
