“Hey, is everything okay?” Illias asked, concern evident even through the static.
“I think—” Cantrell swallowed. “I think Rier suspects something,” he confessed.
“Oh, fuck.” Illias’ quiet whisper was barely audible through the speaker. “Okay, okay, well, fuck, okay. Uh—Jesus Christ, not right now Jasmine, I’m—fuck off.” Muffled voices continued on the other line for a minute before Illias spoke into the phone again. “Sorry, I’m at work—as you probably guessed—but you are more than welcome to come here and wait for me to get off, or you can go to my place until then. I can text you where I keep the emergency key.”
Cantrell’s heart fluttered in his chest at the prospect of being in Illias’ home without him in it. Such a harmless yet deeply intimate offer. “I think coming to Nirvana’s may do me some good,” he said, craving a hint of normalcy. “Take my mind off things.”
“I’ll see you soon then,” Illias said, sounding just as pleased as he would if Cantrell had chosen the other option. “Jasmine, fuck o—”
The line died, cutting off Illias’ protest of what Cantrell could only assume was Jasmine’s desperate attempt to know who Illias was talking to. On any other night, Cantrell probably would have smiled, but tonight, his stomach contorted at the thought of someone knowing about him and Illias.
Nirvana’s parking lot was nearly full when Cantrell pulled into his usual spot—the far end where the light didn’t quite reach. What little light managed to touch that part of the parking lot seeped through the windows, bathing him in soft neon blue. Cantrell sat in silence, listening to the faint sounds of traffic and nature blending together, contemplating if he was making the right decision. If there was such a thing, when no matter what he chose to do resulted in him losing something. Choosing Illias meant Cantrell would lose not only his income but Saint Anthony’s. His ability to help others, see them prosper and grow into their full potential. But if he chose the church, he would lose that which gave him back his life. That showed him he deserved to enjoy being alive.
I’m tired, Cantrell tore the Roman collar from his neck,of being consumed by guilt and doubt. He held the starched linen insert in a tight fist. Pulse audible in his ears. Chest bound in shame. Gingerly, he uncurled his fingers. Stared at the wrinkled, bent insert.I’m sorry. He placed the insert carefully on thedashboard as if it was a fragile, glass item.Forgive me, he looked at his air freshener, at Mother Mary’s kind yet placid face,but I have to choose myself.
Tucking his rosary beneath his shirt, Cantrell exited the safety of his car. With every step towards Nirvana’s, he moved further away from the path he chose years ago. Moved closer towards a past he tried to hide from, a life he forgot existed, a love he didn’t want to lose.
Inside Nirvana’s, the sounds of country music mixed with the clacking of pool balls and chitchat filled the air. The air was warm and smelt of greasy foods with an undertone of body odor. People stood around pool tables, huddled together at high tops, sat at booths, and hovered by the bar’s edge. Each and every one of them occupied by their own little piece of life. Still wary of being seen, Cantrell did his best to weave through the crowd without bumping into anyone or having to speak. Though, he was fairly positive the crowd that frequented Nirvana’s wasn’t the same crowd that sat in the pews on Sunday.
Cantrell peered through the gaps in the crowd towards the bar, searching to see who was behind the counter. Illias and Jasmine worked in tandem, dancing around each other like they were putting on a show for the customers’ amusement. Cantrell paused to watch them, soaking in how at ease Illias looked behind the counter. How effortlessly he balanced drink making with conversation. Transformed simple service into an artform. Midway through making a drink, Illias’ attention turned towards the crowd, his eyes finding Cantrell’s almost instantly. Illias’ smile widened, crinkling the corners of his sparkling eyes. They darted towards the end of the bar, silently directing Cantrell where to go. Cantrell forced his feet to move and sat at the end of the bar furthest from the entry. He glanced out across the floor, eyes jumping from person to person. Scanning for familiar faces, members of the congregation, friends of Rier. Anyone who mayhave noticed Cantrell at the bar more than usual. Seen the way he looked at Illias. Overheard their conversations.
“Hey,” Illias’ voice startled Cantrell, making him jump. Illias snorted. “Looks like you’re not the only one that can sneak up on people.”
“You shouldn’t scare the elderly. My heart could’ve given out.” Cantrell retorted, easing into playful banter in hopes it would settle his nerves.
“Sorry,” Illias replied, an honest concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Cantrell resisted the urge to reach for Illias hand, instead he folded his arms on top of the counter. “I’m fine, only teasing. I’m not that old.”
From behind the bar, Illias leaned with his back to the counter, polishing the inside of a cup. “I don’t know, Cantrell,” he said cheekily, looking over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, “those gray hairs would like to disagree.”
“Someone’s feeling a little bold tonight,” Cantrell noted, a darker part of him itching for an outlet.
Illias twisted around, a coy smile on his face that screamed trouble. “You did say you wanted to take your mind off things.” He leaned across the counter, pretending to wipe the space next to Cantrell. “And I know you can’t resist a brat.”
Cantrell watched his fingers tap against the table. “Do you have toys at home?”
Illias stilled. “I might…why?”
Cantrell kept his expression neutral and shrugged. “No reason. Just curious. Now,” he looked over the top of his glasses at Illias, “be a good boy and go tend to your customers.”
On cue, a customer called Illias’ name. He pointed at Cantrell and said, “We’re not done here.”
Illias pushed off the counter to tend to the customer sitting in the middle section of the bar. Engrossed in watching him inhis natural habitat, Cantrell didn’t notice someone slide into the stool next to him until they cleared their throat. He flinched, and a modicum of relief ran through his veins when he saw Maverick. “You and Illias seem to have gotten pretty friendly,” Maverick said, not looking directly at Cantrell.
Cantrell’s blood went cold. “I suppose you could say that. I’ve been mentoring him for a few months now.”
“Oh please,” Maverick chuckled, shaking his head. “With all due respect, Father, I can tell when someone’s flirting with my staff.”
“I don’t—you’re mistaken—I—” Cantrell stammered, head growing light.
“Look, what the two of you do in your spare time is none of my business. Y’all are grown. Just be careful, alright?” Maverick tilted his head to the side and looked at Cantrell with genuine worry. “You’re a good man, Cantrell. I don’t want to see you down bad.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Cantrell said earnestly. “It means a lot.”
Maverick sat up and slapped Cantrell’s shoulder. “We old timers have to stick together,” he said, squeezing Cantrell’s shoulder. “If you need anything, let me know.”
Cantrell thanked him again, and Maverick gave a curt nod then left the bar. To do what exactly, Cantrell wasn’t sure. He watched Maverick until he was lost in the crowd. With a small sigh, Cantrell turned his attention back to what was happening behind the bar, only to be met with the sight of Illias flirting with another man.
