Chapter Six pt. three

Keith tells Mark about Maggie

As Mark entered the kitchen he reflected on how unusual it was for Keith to be so rigid.  It was clear that he had something plaguing him, but Mark had no idea what it might be.  He walked to the kitchen sink and filled the tea kettle with water from the filtered tap, put the kettle on the stove and gave some thought as to which tea he would prepare.  He always kept a large selection of bulk tea because he would not, could not, entertain the idea of serving his guests tea from a bag.  "How gauche," he thought with a grimace.

His kitchen was what Keith called “futuristic”.  It had all the modern amenities anyone could want and was decorated with matching appliances.  Everything, from his refrigerator to his coffee maker, was chrome.  His sink was located in the island which was in the center of his kitchen and was surrounded by marbleized Corian.  He paid good money to have the kitchen converted from a traditional kitchen to one of his liking, and at the last minute decided to paint the walls himself.  The walls were decorated in varying shades of mauve and were faux-finished with a translucent glaze intended to give an aged appearance.  He fancied himself to be quite the designer and enjoyed that the modern appliances were a contrast to the rustic walls.

The tea kettle whistled which brought Mark out of his reverie to concentrate on the task at hand; figuring out what had Keith so tied up in knots.  He poured the boiling water over the metal tea steeper in each tea cup, placed the cups on a tray, and walked out to the sitting room where Keith was.   To add a bit of charm, he grabbed the box of imported shortbread cookies and arranged them in the center of the tray.

“I chose a nice chamomile and peppermint mixture for us to enjoy.  I hope that’s alright.” 

Keith looked up as if Mark’s presence startled him, and replied “Yes.  That will be more than fine.  You are so good to me.”

“Now,” Mark said in a stern tone, “you are going to tell me what has got you so tied up in knots.  I won’t settle for anything but the full story.”

Keith exhaled slowly, relieved to be able to get some answers, and detailed the story, as he knew it, of how Maggie wound up to be in the hospital.  He told Mark about how his best friend just left Maggie there, to fend for herself, and then, in a rapid bluster, turned to Mark and started to cry.

“That is why I am here, and why I didn’t call.  I just knew that there was no way to explain all of that over the telephone.  I don’t know what to do for Maggie.  I just feel so helpless.”

Mark pulled a tissue out of the decorated box on the small table, and handed it to Keith.  He took one for himself as a tear fell down his own cheek.

“Poor girl” was all he could muster.

Keith looked Mark square in the eyes and continued.

“I want to know what you and Joan talked about.  I want… no … NEED to know how this happened to Maggie.  You must tell me everything.  I feel so responsible for this, like it is entirely my fault.”

Mark stood up from the chair that he was sitting in, and quickly sat at Keith’s side on the wicker love seat.  His heart felt heavy as the magnitude of the situation began to sink in.

“My God!  Keith, you can’t possibly believe that I had anything to do with this.  You can’t!  You just….simply can’t!”  Tears rolled down Mark’s face as he forced the words out of his mouth.

Keith's eyes were red and swollen and at that moment he didn't know what to believe.  Thoughts of Maggie and the conversation he had with Joan... and the conversation he had with Mark were all swirling inside his head.

"I don't know.  I don't WANT to believe that you were involved, but the last thing I remember was giving you Joan's number to work out the details.  WHAT did you say to her?"

Mark cleared his throat, and did his best to recollect what actually  happened during the conversation he had with Joan.

"I told her that I got the phone number from you, and that it was my understanding that she knew why I was calling.  She said she did.  I then told her that my boss, Damiano Lucelli, was looking for a companion for dinner.  I asked her if it would be alright if I gave her phone number to Damian so that he could call her with all the details..."

 

Mark stopped and his eyes widened as he looked at Keith.

"That's all.  I swear it to you on Queen Elizabeth's grave.  I then called Mr. Lucelli and gave him her phone number.  I had no knowledge of what the plans were or anything.  He called me back with the name of the restaurant, and asked me to make reservations for seven o'clock.   Which I did.  I promise you, Keith...that was all I did."

Keiths tears turned into sobs that shook his entire body.  He was relieved that his Mark was not involved, and yet disturbed that he was no closer to finding out the truth.  Mark wrapped his arms around his lover and let him cry. 

Reviews

[Dezaraye]

I sure hope that Mark is telling the truth ... I want to believe him.

His kitchen sounds awesome! I hate the kitchen we have in our house ... it's so ugly and totally not space efficient.

Keep on writing! I can't wait to read more.