1:51 p.m. Passion Ministry

“Anything that might give us a clue about his family. I’m ashamed to say I don’t even know who to notify.” Sheila opened the door to Andrew’s quarters. “Thanks for your help.”

“No worries,” replied Rachel. After hearing Andrew’s dying words, she was curious and had decided to keep them to herself until she could speak with John or her mother. “So, where do we start?”

Sheila surveyed the combination living and dining room. “How about I check the mail and hunt for address books. You game to tackle that?” she asked, pointing to an entertainment center. “We can do the bedroom together.”

Rachel searched through stacks of videos, CDs and albums. The videos gave her a start. Most were for children, probably Jimmy. The others had hand-scrawled titles: John, Christmas 1996; John, Palm Sunday 1997. A couple had names like Rock Hard Men and Boys Will Be Boys.
It hit her suddenly. He’s gay! She paused, then replaced the videos. This isn’t right. Going through someone’s private stuff. She imagined what someone might find to judge in her apartment. Shivered. Moved on.

“Most of these’re bills,” Sheila complained. “Wait, here’s a letter. No return address, but looks like a Friday Harbor stamp.”

“That’s on San Juan Island, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s it say?”

“Hmm...not a whole lot. It’s handwritten. Dear Andy, pretty informal. Peter’s fine, developing normally. Will continue to advise as instructed. Wonder who Peter is?” Sheila flipped over the page. “That’s it. No signature, no address.”

“What’s the date?”

“Nothing on the letter, but the postmark’s six months old.” Sheila paused. “Kind of a long time to hang onto, don’t you think?”

“Hey! Here we go.” Rachel spied, then grabbed a photo album and joined Sheila on the couch.

They flipped pages. Sheila eventually said, “They’re almost all of John. Why would Andrew have so many?”

“He was in love with him.” Rachel gestured toward the entertainment center. “I found some pretty suggestive tapes. Andrew was gay.”

“Wow!” Sheila exclaimed. “Never suspected.”

Rachel’s eyes were locked onto a photograph. “Wait a sec. This one’s Jimmy!”

They gawked.

“It can’t be,” Sheila said. “It must be…fifty years old.”

“But they’re identical!” Rachel flipped over the photograph.

The pair gazed at the handwriting: Andy, age 9, Pincher Creek, 1952.

“Oh my,” whispered Sheila.