There was nothing Marston could do to stop that, though he wanted to. But what right did he have? Kell’s life was his own, and he could be friends with whomever he wanted.
The only saving grace was that Bede was still in jail, and Kell was here with Marston in the valley. Which, given the draw Kell had on him, might be almost as bad.
When he finally parked the truck, a mist was coming through the trees like a silver cloak illuminated by the auto-light on the mess tent, where it looked like the parolees were still hanging around after dinner.
“What’s going on there?” asked Kell as they both got out and Marston left the key fob on the driver’s seat.
“Don’t know,” said Marston, but when he took a few steps forward, he could see that everybody was wearing their cowboy hats and light gray rain ponchos, making them appear like cowboy ghosts doing a silent dance on the wooden platform in front of the mess tent.
“Hey, fellas,” said Marston as the two of them approached the gathering. “What’s up?”
“We’re going on a bat hike,” said Gordy, his face appearing a little pale beneath the shadow of the brim of his cowboy hat.
“But it’s raining.”
“Not for long,” said Gordy. “At least that’s what Royce says. It’ll end soon, so we’re going a little ways up the ridge and then he’ll shine a light over a gully or the rocks or something, and we’ll see all these bats.”
“At least that’s what he says.” Duane had come up behind Gordy and seemed to be derisive of the entire outing, though Marston noted that Duane, like the others, was wearing the gray poncho and seemed raring to go.
“We have more ponchos, if you fellows are interested.”
Now Royce stepped to the fore, with the group of parolees settling in behind him, and it all made more sense to Marston.
Royce was very, very good at creating his own kind of fun and taking people with him. That he’d manage to wrangle the parolees and convince them that some nature loving was a good way to spend their Sunday evening, a rainy one at that, demonstrated his mad leadership skills.
“We are,” said Marston, looking at Kell. “Aren’t we?”
“Sure.” Kell tucked his new phone into his back pocket and reached for the poncho that Gordy was holding out. He took off his cowboy hat and slipped it on, and smiled at Marston through the fine mist. “Now you.”
As Marston got ready, everybody patiently waited for him, as patiently as a group of ex-cons could, at least, and when Royce was satisfied with their readiness, they headed off along a damp path into the woods.
As promised, by the time they reached the river, all in a straggled, gray-draped line, the mist had let up and the clouds were parting. And as they climbed the lower part of the ridge, they had moonlight to guide their way.
It was in Marston to wonder whether they really needed to go all this way in near-darkness just to see some bats, but at the same time, here he was, marching behind Kell. He could tell himself he was walking off the amazing dinner he’d just had, but in truth, more time spent with Kell was the real benefit.
As they walked, Kell would look back at Marston, and smile over his shoulder, wiping leftover mist from his nose, that smile bright as though this evening was all Kell would ever want.
Which begged the question: what did Kell want? What would he do after the summer’s program was over? Would he, certificate and phone in hand, go home to New York? Or would he strike out for fresh fields, leaving Marston with his heart a little emptier?
Before Marston could start mulling this potential sadness to its fullest, Royce, at the head of the line, called a halt, and everyone bunched together as they peered into the silvery darkness amidst the dark line of trees along the ridge.
Kell nearly stepped off the path and since it was just about too dark to see how close he might be to the edge of the slope, Marston reached out and pulled Kell to him.
Kell’s body was warm beneath the poncho, the slickness of the material making it seem as though Kell was slithering against him, a solid body made light by water. Instead of tugging himself away once his feet were on solid ground, Kell leaned back and lifted his chin, sending a smile in Marston’s direction. A rain-scented, soft smile that went straight to Marston’s heart.
“We’ll stand here for a minute or two,” said Royce, his voice clear and low in the dark. “There’s a gully along this area that leads into a cave. The bats are drawn to the bugs that are out and about as the rain clears.”
To Marston’s amazement, or maybe not, since it was Royce leading the charge, there wasn’t a single peep out of any of the parolees, nor Gabe, who was standing to the front of the small pack. They all stood still as a low wind came down from the top of the ridge and eased the tumbling clouds back fully from the round, silvery moon.
The sight of it took his breath away, and the gasp from Kell made him smile. It was already well worth it, then, this mad hike in the dark, when Royce cast his flashlight over the gully, illuminating the silver-tipped wings of a hurrying cloud of bats silently winging after night-time bugs.
The bats rose and flew around their heads, whisper quiet, never touching them, except for the feather-soft breeze their passing made. They were everywhere, all at once, dancing about as they got their dinners.
“These are silver-haired bats,” said Royce softly, but still clearly. “OrLasionycteris noctivagans, to call them by their proper name.”
Marston knew anything he was learning would always be touched by the memory of Kell turning in his arms, looking fully up at him, beaming, a mist curling his dark hair like silver beads among coal-black threads.
Everything was nearly black and white in the moonlit dark, but Kell’s eyes shone like green diamonds, precious to behold, stamping the moment firmly in Marston’s heart. He would have to let all of this go come summertime’s end, and he would, even though it would hurt like hell.
