Jerry, not following, said, “What?”
“I’m no homophobe,” Josh said, which was something that only homophobes tended to say, “but I don’t think somebody like that should be teaching children. Much less...”
Jerry, getting it now, frowning, asked, “Much less what?”
Josh was looking somewhere else now. “Nothing.”
But Krista knew. Chris and Tyler had adopted two children. Some people didn’t like that. Most didn’t care. She certainly didn’t. And in her time on the PD, she’d seen four instances of barroom literal gay bashing that had made her sick.
“Excuse me,” she said, somehow managing a smile, and rose and went over to Chris and Tyler, who were looking around for a place to sit, apparently.
Krista smiled big and took the hand Chris offered and she held it and squeezed. “I’m so happy to see you! I wish more of our teachers were here.”
Chris, who was all in black — turtleneck, its long sleeves rolled up, dark-washed skinny jeans, and black dress shoes — had a slimly athletic build a quarterback might envy. He was in his late thirties and looked great, blond and chiseled, the kind of handsome gay guy that made a woman sigh in disappointment.
“You must be the best-looking police chief anywhere,” Chris said, smiling and looking her up and down in a way most of the other men here couldn’t get away with.
She laughed and thanked him, letting him have his hand back, not minding when Chris was the one invoking her job. She said to Tyler, “I was in the shop last week. I love the new things!”
Tyler — in a Tom Waits chapeau, black satin jacket, vintage Pat Benatar T-shirt, ripped jeans, high-top Converses, and fashionably scruffy beard — said, “I’m afraid the best things aren’t selling like they should. And we’re pulling in arts and crafts from all over the tristate area.”
Chris gave his partner a sideways smile. “He means his paintings aren’t moving as fast as he’d like. I told him he should do some more of those David Bowie images.”
Tyler laughed quietly. “He wants me to pander.”
“No,” Chris said to him, “I want you to sell out!”
All three of them laughed, and Krista said, “You know, you really gave me a boost of confidence, back at GHS.”
That half smile of Chris’s was worth more than most people’s full grin. “You mean that lead in Into the Woods? We were one of the first in the nation to do the high school version, you know.”
That was the so-called “junior” edition that was mostly the first act. Krista had played Little Red Riding Hood.
“I was very shy before that,” she said. “Kind of... inward.”
“You were something of an introvert, yes. But now you deal with people all the time — at their best and their worst, I would imagine.”
“Well,” she said, “I hope you know how much you did for me. For so many of us.”
Somewhat shyly, possibly a little embarrassed, he said, “You’re very welcome.”
“How are the kids?”
He gave her a full grin now. “Chloe and Liam are great. Nine and twelve respectively. Liam is in basketball and Chloe is into science. Not a speck of drama talent in either one of ’em. That will prevent a conflict of interest one day.”
“I’m so happy for you guys,” she said.
Chris looked around. “I don’t see Astrid anywhere.”
“I’m not sure she’s coming tonight. But Jessy says Astrid put in a reservation for tomorrow night. She was your star, I know.”
“Your costar,” he said, referring to Astrid playing Cinderella in Into the Woods.
“Well, she had the lead,” Krista said, “in every play you put on all through high school.”
“I’m sure some of the kids resented that,” he said. “But she was so very good. Talent will out, you know.”
“Like evil,” Tyler said.
Krista said, “I hope to see you two tomorrow night. Like I said, I wish more of our teachers were coming.”
“Tomorrow a number are,” Chris said, nodding. “Enough of us to reserve a table, anyway.”
“Great!”
Several other classmates who’d been in drama came over and kidnapped the two men to come sit with them. On her way back to the table, Krista ran into Frank Wunder and his wife, Brittany. Frank had a can of Budweiser in a fist and Brittany a glass of wine in her more delicate grasp.
“You can arrest me anytime, Chief!” Frank said, good-natured but, as ever, a shameless flirt. Predictably he was wearing a Galena High football jersey, brand new but with his old number — 69 — which had been the source of much boring humor among his teammates.
Rugged, with short brown hair, Frank had a Woody Harrelson handsomeness undercut by those nice green eyes being set even closer together than Woody’s, and a nose that had been broken a few times.
He was bound to start off by ragging Krista about not buying her latest car from him.
And he did: “How can the chief of police of an all-American town like Galena buy Japanese? I’ll give you a better deal on that Toyota than you deserve, just to get you into the right kind of ride.”
“Hi, Frank. Hi, Brittany.”
Brittany had speared a page from her rock ’n’ roll almost namesake, wearing a clinging black spandex top with the shoulders cut out, too-tight jeans with bedazzled butt pockets, and high-heeled black leather boots. This outfit would have worked better ten years and two kids ago, her long blonde hair sporting too much product, her makeup predictably heavy. But unlike many other women here, Brittany had given her entire wardrobe real thought.
“You look nice,” Brittany said. She seemed sincere but not happy about it.
“So do you. Any of your classmates here?”
She nodded, sipped her wine. “A few married up like I did.”
Brittany meant she’d been a sophomore who snagged the school’s star jock. But it was her husband who’d married up — Brittany’s daddy owned the car dealership that Frank managed.
Drake started singing, “Best I Ever Had.”
Frank asked, “Any sign of Astrid yet?”
He was one of half a dozen guys who had been a boy toy of Astrid’s back in his glory days. And bringing Astrid up in front of his wife like that was thoughtless, to say the least. And he wasn’t even drunk yet.
“No,” Krista said. “Not sure she’s coming tonight. Pretty much for sure she’ll be there out at the lodge.”
Frank grinned, perhaps at the thought of seeing Astrid again. “Really cool of Dave Landry to roll out the red carpet like he is. Hell of a nice thing to do for his old classmates.”
“Really is,” Krista said, nodding, meaning it.
Some of Frank’s old jock buddies were approaching, so she smiled and nodded at the couple — Brittany seemed in petrified misery — and headed back to the table.
But Jerry intercepted her halfway.
Whispering, barely audible above the Black Eyed Peas, he said, “What’s the idea of leaving me alone with that homophobic fool?”
“Josh is okay,” she said. “He’s just a little screwed up in some areas.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
She leaned close to him. “Jessy is my best friend. Go mingle with some of your own friends — this is your class, too.”
“I thought we came together.”
She gave him a strained smile. “That’s starting to feel like a technicality.”
He gave her a dismissive wave, then moved away, not back to their table, rather taking her up on her suggestion to connect with some other classmates.
When she returned to the table, Jessy was sitting with another friend of theirs, Cindi Thomas, who was also on the committee. Krista went over and got a second Farmer’s and, when she returned, Cindi was just going. Josh was across the room talking to a couple of guys from his old crowd.