The older woman peered between the heavy draperies. "Bernie," she said to her husband, "looks like the realtor is showing the Williams house again."

"That’s nice," Bernie said without raising his eyes from his Sunday Sun-Times. He had long ago accepted his wife’s snooping. He had journeyed from denial to anger and finally acceptance. Her busybody tendencies had actually been invaluable when he was Park Forest Village President in the 1960’s although he would never admit that to her.

"Three men and three boys. Odd. None of the boys looks like the men."

"Thank you for that report, Gladys Kravitz."

She ignored his sarcasm. "It would be so wonderful if that house was sold. The Williams are asking way too much for it and won’t come down in price." She observed the sextet of males. She saw three men perhaps in their mid-thirties. One was tall and slim, almost skinny, with a shaved head. The other was dark, handsome and had Italian features. The third man was in his mid-twenties, Elaine guessed, very muscular with short dishwater blond hair.

The three boys were also a mystery. Two older boys, one blond and the other brown-haired, were both about fourteen. The brunette featured wide shoulders for his age and an athletic walk. He wore a green t-shirt with yellow lettering proclaiming Rich East Wrestling. The third boy was a redhead with a cute face. He was perhaps twelve.

"Elaine, will you come away from the window, please?"

"Well, I’m interested in our potential new neighbors, even if you’re not." However, she did back away from the window and let the heavy, old-fashioned drapes fall back into place. "I think I’ve got some cookies in the kitchen. Of course, I’ll make coffee for the two men. I wonder if I still have that Hawaiian Punch downstairs."

For the first time, Bernie glanced over the top of his reading glasses. "Elaine, you are not the Welcome Wagon."

Elaine scrapped plans to serve snacks but she pouted. Still, she was determined to meet the potential buyers.

Suddenly, she remembered that the begonias along the driveway needed watering. She snatched her gardening gloves and rounded the outside of her house to the garden hose. She unreeled the hose and pulled it toward the driveway.

"Hi, I’m Elaine Cunningham." She extended a gloved hand toward Marty.

From inside the house, her husband shook his head.

"Come on!" Matt shouted. "It’s ready!"

Within seconds a thundering herd of boys feet trampled up the stairs.

Marty was already seated at the dining room table; Matt and Tim were finishing up brunch.

"I liked this house," Marty commented. "And it won’t need too much work."

"You didn’t see the house in Frankfort. It was bigger and had a bigger yard." Tim said as he placed the sausage links on paper towel to drain.

"It was also more expensive. A lot more expensive," Matt reminded him.

Marty sensed this was an ongoing issue between the two men and wisely refrained from any further comments.

"It was newer. And the schools in Frankfort are a lot better. I don’t know why you’re so against Frankfort."

Matt’s explanation was interrupted by Tommy who burst into the room. He wrapped his arms around Tim’s neck and hugged him. "Happy birthday," he said into Tim’s back.

Tim grinned. "But it’s not my birthday yet. Not until tomorrow. But thanks anyway."

"I thought we didn’t do breakfast in this house," Brian commented with a grin from the dining area.

"This is brunch, darling," Marty said. "Brunch is a gay institution. Especially on Sunday."

They heard a knock at the back door and then the sound of someone opening the door and entering the kitchen. They knew it was either Leah or Mike. Leah’s pale pink lipstick and her handbag dangling from her forearm indicated they were going somewhere. She stood in the door to the kitchen. Mike, now a full head taller than she and growing more handsome by the day, was behind her.

"We gotta go, Dad."

"Hey! We’re not finished here! It’s Tommy’s week to clear the table and Brian’s week to load the dishwasher."

"Leah’s taking us to the mall," Brian explained. He pushed away from the table and began heading upstairs, followed by Jake.

"I have to go get my wallet." Tommy jumped up from the table and bounded up the stairs.

"What do you need at the mall?" Matt asked. His question was nosey as opposed to concerned. He trusted Leah implicitly.

"To the mall," Jake answered shortly.

"You were supposed to vacuum and clean up that pigsty of a room downstairs," Matt addressed him.

"I’ll do it when I get back," he said, stepping into his Adidas without untying them. His answer did not appease Matt.

"Dad," Brian placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder. "What are you doing today?"

Matt was immediately suspicious. "I don’t know. Probably some laundry. Why? What’s up?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. We’re just going to the mall."

"How long will you be?"

"I would imagine that we’ll be about an hour or less," Leah said.

Matt was resigned; he wasn’t getting any answers from the boys. "OK," he sighed. He was dying to know what the boys were plotting. He watched wistfully as the boys piled into Leah’s Cadillac.

Marty’s voice interrupted his reverie. "They grow up so fast," he said quietly. Matt spun around to his friend. Marty had plates in each hand.

"I wish there was a way to freeze time, just make it stop."

Marty set the plates on the counter and patted Matt on the back. "I know, sweetie. I should be going. Tim, sweetheart, happy birthday." He hugged Tim and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, Marty," Tim said.

After Marty left, Matt suggested, "Let’s go for a walk in the woods."

"Great idea. But first, I’m going to vacuum Jake’s room."

"Oh, Tim, I wish you wouldn’t. He’s never going to learn any responsibility if you do all his chores for him."

"It’ll only take a sec. Besides, I want to do it. Everyone needs a break once in a while." He gathered the older man in his arms. "Go get ready. Go on, now." He patted Matt’s rump several times.

Tim dragged the old Singer upright vacuum down the stairs. He began the chore by gathering the clothes, papers and other debris from the floor and piling them on Jake’s bed.

He was lost in his thoughts when the vacuum bumped Jake’s dresser. From under the dresser, Jake’s hitter box became dislodged and a corner of it was visible.

Wonder what this is, Tim thought as he bent over to pick it up.

Clever little fucker, Tim thought with a grin as he ran his thumb over the Velcro Jake used to fasten it to the underside of the dresser. The grin remained as he opened the lid of the small wooden box and found it full of aromatic plant matter. This is probably the tip of the iceberg. He must have a stash somewhere else.

A few minutes of searching did indeed produce a baggie buried under baseball cards in a shoebox. When he finished the chore, he penned a quick note, taped it to the underside of the dresser where the hitter box had been.

He would tell Matt. And he knew he’d have to confront Jake sooner or later. But first, he was going to have a bit of fun. He grinned as he stuffed the baggie and the hitter box in the pocket of his jeans. After all, it was his birthday tomorrow.

After Tim finished the chore, he hid the stash in his own sock drawer.

The two men crossed 26th Street in tandem and entered the Forest Preserves. Entering the woods was like entering a room. The noise and traffic on the street disappeared almost immediately. Their eyes adjusted to the dimness. The air felt a few degrees cooler against their skin. A few trees and shrubs had already begun turning colors but at this stage the forest was still mostly green.

Tim glanced at Matt and smiled.

"What?" Matt asked. "You look like the Cheshire cat."

"I’ve got a surprise for you later."

"You know I hate when you do that. I hate surprises. A good one, I hope."

"Depends."

Matt growled, but with a smile on his face.

They walked in silence for a time each lost in his own thoughts.

"Matt?"

"Mmm?"

"You’re not mad at me, are you?"

"Not at all, hunkboy. What makes you think so?"

"I thought you’d be mad at me for pushing to move to Frankfort."

"Well, I have to admit…I guess I feel a bit…" Matt’s voice trailed off as he struggled to arrange his words in his mind.

"What?" Tim asked quietly.

Matt wrinkled his brow in concentration. "Pushed," he finally said.

"I’m sorry if you feel that way. I didn’t want to push you." Though most of the trees were still green in early October, one had turned a bright red. Matt pointed it out. Two girls whizzed by on bikes.

Tim continued. "It’s not that I don’t like the house we saw today. I do. It’s nice and clean and wouldn’t need a lot of work. But it only has three bedrooms and not much room to expand." Park Forest was built and developed for returning veterans a generation before. And that generation was less demanding about their requirements for housing. Most of the houses were less than 2,000 square feet. The rooms were small. Few had basements. Most were built with 1-car garages, if they had any garage at all.

Matt didn’t say anything. He was deep in thought.

"On the way home from a job in Frankfort, I drove past a house in Frankfort Square. They’re having an open house."

"I’ll bet it’s expensive."

"Actually, not too bad. It’s a foreclosure.

"OK…" Matt said tentatively. They were silent for a time as they listened to the sounds of the woods. Birds called to each other, critters rattled through the underbrush and the trees sighed overhead. A woman on rollerblades smiled at them as she sped by.

"The schools are better in Frankfort."

"I agree."

"The houses and yards are bigger. The boys will have more room to play."

"Yup."

"It’s safe and clean and there’s open space." They took a few more steps in silence before Tim added more points. "We can add onto the house if we want. And it’ll appreciate in value more than a house in Park Forest."

"So far, I agree with everything you’ve said."

Just then a rider on a bicycle whizzed past them. Too close. Both men could feel the breeze as he passed. The rider glanced back over his shoulder. His face was contorted in hatred.

Matt was taken aback at the display of anger and wondered what they had done - or what anyone could do - to elicit such a facial expression. What they didn’t know - yet - is that the rider was Jennings, the boys PE teacher.

After the rider disappeared around the bend, Tim stopped right in front of Matt, forcing Matt to stop walking as well. He put his hands on Matt’s shoulders.

"We’d better be careful," Matt said, still uncomfortable with the evil glance from the bike rider.

"Fuck that. Look at me, Matt." His blue eyes drilled into Matt’s brown. ""We’ve made this whole house thing a power struggle between you and me. And it’s not. It’s not at all, Matt. It’s about what’s best for the boys. You’ve always said that we want the best for the boys. That the kids are top priority in our lives."

"Yes…"

"Well, now it’s time to put up or shut up. It’s not about what I want or what you want. It’s about what’s best for the kids."

Matt was silent. In Tim’s blue eyes he saw love but also earnestness. He sighed. Tim was right. "OK, Timothy, we’ll go look at the house."

Tim grinned and his dimples appeared. "C’mon. Let’s get going."

As they crossed 26th Street, Matt said, "You don’t know what the boys are up to, do you?"

"Honestly, I have no idea."

Leah’s car was back in its spot by the time they returned to the townhouse.

The boys greeted Tim and Matt as soon as they heard the back door open. "Happy birthday, Tim!" They hugged the younger man.

"But it’s not my birthday until tomorrow."

Jake took his elbow. "We’ve got a surprise. Sit down." Jake led him to the living room.

Tim was amused. "OK, whatever you say."

Once he was seated, Brian presented him with a large wrapped rectangle. It had been hastily wrapped as evidenced by the crooked seams and sloppy tape job.

"What’s this?"

The boys were smiling as if they were Buddy with a new chew toy. "Open it." Tommy said.

Inside, was a portrait of the three boys. Tim’s eyes filled with tears and he was moved beyond words.

"We had it done at Sears," Brian said.

"We used our allowance money," Tommy added.

"What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?" Tommy asked.

Tim finally found his voice. "It’s beautiful." In the portrait, Jake and Brian were side by side with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Tommy stood before them. Jake and Brian had their hands on his shoulders. The boys had selected a contemporary black frame.

Matt was teary as well. "It’s lovely, boys."

"It’s the best gift ever." Tim kissed each one of his sons. "Thank you."

After dinner, they presented Tim with a birthday cake from Jewel and sang Happy Birthday off-key.

As much as Tim loved the gift of the handsome portrait, the boys had given him something even greater that Sunday in October, although they didn’t know it. They had elevated Tim to the level of parent. Their token of love proved to Tim, and to Matt, that Tim had finally and at last achieved equal status with Matt.

Much later that evening, Matt was sitting up in bed surfing through the channels. "There’s nothing on TV on Sunday nights," he complained to Tim.

It had taken some effort to get the boys to bed. They complained loudly because they didn’t have school the next day and wanted to stay up late. "I finally had to do what I do best," Matt said.

"What’s that?"

"Scare the shit out of them."

"Good plan." Tim lifted the covers and propped himself up against the headboard.

"What’s that in your hand?"

Tim smiled widely and held up Jake’s hitter box triumphantly as if in a Mastercard commercial.

Matt covered his mouth. "Where’d you get that?"

"It’s Jake’s."

"Oh, shit. I’m gonna kill that kid. I knew he was getting high. I just knew it! Where was it?"

"Matt, calm down. I found it when I vacuumed his room. He had it Velcroed underneath his dresser."

Inexplicably, Matt started to laugh. He was glad that none of the boys could see him and mistake his laughter for tacit approval. Then he slapped his forehead. "I just remembered!"

"You coulda had a V8?"

"No, his nipples."

"You’re starting to scare me, Matt. What about his nipples?" Tim, still busily loading the hitter rod, didn’t even look up.

"Smoking a lot of pot makes your nipples look swollen."

"Oh, bullshit! That’s just an old wives tale."

"No, it’s true! Now, I’m really going to kill…"

Tim placed a firm hand on his forearm. "We’ll deal with it tomorrow," Tim said.

"But…"

"Tomorrow, I said!" He handed the hitter rod to Matt. "Right now, we’re going to get high."

"Stoned?"

"Toasted. Loaded. Wrecked, totaled, smashed. You first."

Definitely out of practice, Matt held the brass rod between his forefinger and thumb and brought a Bic to the business end. It was like riding a bike; still, his lungs protested the onslaught and he began to cough.

Tim chuckled as the slapped Matt on the back. "You OK?"

Still coughing, all Matt could do was nod.

"Been a while, hasn’t it?"

"Long time," Matt wheezed.

Tim took the rod from Matt and re-lit the weed. Without coughing, he inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs. Matt wondered why Tim didn’t cough and made a mental note to ask him about that later.

The weed was potent. Jake obviously had a penchant for quality.

Tim cleaned out the pipe by flicking it on a plastic ashtray then he reloaded it while Matt watched. Tim handed the bat to Matt again.

Matt started giggling. He loved the feeling of doing something forbidden. But it was more than that; he just felt like giggling. This time Matt was able to inhale without choking. His fingers and toes felt as if they were attached to helium balloons. Puff the Magic Dragon was doing his job.

Matt finished the hit by himself before the handed the cashed rod back to Tim.

"I forgot something," Matt said quietly.

"What?"

"This shit makes me horny."

Tim’s dimples appeared. "Me too." As he reloaded the rod once again he said, "Wanna do something about it?"

Indeed he did. Within minutes, Matt was on his back with his ass on the edge of the mattress and still giggling.

"Sh-h-h! You’re going to wake the boys up!"

With his jeans still around his ankles, Tim recklessly entered Matt and began pounding Matt’s ass with a vigor they hadn’t experienced in months. Matt was still flying and feeling no pain. In fact, the sex was hotter than it had been in a long while.

They both heard an ominous crack.

"What was that?" Matt asked.

"Just…ignore…it," Tim said between thrusts.

Seconds later, on a downward thrust, they heard it again.

"Shit," Matt muttered, but Tim ignored it.

Then the unmistakable sound of splitting wood and a loud thump as the bed frame gave way and a corner of the box spring came to rest on the carpet.

"Oops!" Matt laughed.

They both heard knocking on the bedroom door. Brian’s voice: "What was that?"

"Nothing," Tim called, between snickers.

"Are you OK?" There was concern in Tommy’s voice on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, yeah, go back to bed." Matt called.

After they heard the carpeted footsteps of their sons retreating away from the door, the two men collapsed on each other laughing hysterically.

"We are definitely fucked, Tim. Or at least I am. How the hell are we going to explain this? Or more importantly where are we going to sleep?"

Two floors below, Jake did not hear the collapsing bed. He was relaxed and ready for sleep when the impulse to smoke some weed struck him.

He reached under his dresser but his fingertips found nothing. Strange, he thought. He ran his hand on the dusty underside of the dresser but his fingertips only came into contact with the nubby, rough strip of Velcro.

He lowered himself to a prone position so he could see underneath. All he spotted were dust bunnies and a small piece of paper.