[Eight]
When they get to town, Gus asks for some money so he can buy a book, and Justin watches Brian bite the inside of his cheek in mock-contemplation. "I don't know," he says. "Last time I did that you went and bought two copies of the new Harry Potter book." Even as he clucks his tongue at the notion, Brian is digging around in his snug jeans pocket for his Italian leather wallet, one of the last remnants of their old life.
"Please?" Gus puts a little pout into the plea, and all of the pretense falls from Brian's face like a veil.
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, fishing out a crisp twenty dollar bill. Gus snatches it from Brian's long fingers and runs into the bookstore right in front of the three of them, scuffing his sneaker against the rough threshold. "Greedy little bastard," Brian declares affectionately.
"Your spitting image," Justin agrees, sighing. "I should go in after him, shouldn't I?"
Brian shakes his head. "You know he hates that. And he'd probably buy another Potter book just to spite us. No, just wait outside and watch him through the glass. I'm going to go get some milk and shit."
Justin nods and squeezes Brian's hand before the other man strolls away. "Be back in a few," Brian shouts back over his shoulder.
"Okay."
He turns away from watching Brian's lean form retreat and stares blankly into the bookstore window in front of him. Gus is excitedly talking to the store owners, his image blurred to Justin by the old glass. Justin smiles faintly when Gus knocks over a display of postcards on the counter.
The door to the front is open, the tiny bells that are attached to the door handle to alert as to new customers are tinkling slightly in the wind. Beyond that slight noise, Justin can hear snatches of the conversation between Gus and the owners.
"I think that's cool," Gus says, in a voice much too loud for everyday discussion. He and Brian both have the unfortunate habit of poor voice modulation when they're excited.
The old man – he can never remember his name – laughs at Gus' enthusiasm, whatever it's for, but that quickly turns into a hacking cough. "Don't tell me you believe in that horseshit?"
Justin would be offended at the crude language if only he hadn't said practically the same thing in the car on the way over. Not to mention that Gus is completely unphased by any and all expletives.
"I believe in it," Gus says, sounding a bit put off that his opinion is being questioned.
The man laughs again and Justin sees him adjust the handkerchief stuffed into the pocket of his shirt. "Son, it's a big pile of bunk-o, don't you believe a word. It ain't terrorists, God, the devil… none of that shit. Just the government looking to capitalize on mass panic. You know what that means? Capitalize?"
Gus thinks for a moment. "Is it when you make the first letter of a sentence bigger?"
The old man gives a shout of wheezing laughter. "Something like that."
"So do you have one?"
"I surely do." This time, the wheedling old woman who works alongside her husband answers Gus. "Not my fare, you know, but I kept it when it came in just in case…" Justin watches her distorted outline through the glass as she moves from behind the counter towards the row of dusty shelves nestled near the back of the small store. "It's not exactly a picture-book, honey…" the woman warbles in a motherly tone. "You sure you want it?"
Gus nods emphatically. "Yep. I want the alien book."
Justin chokes on horrified laughter and watches as the woman takes it over to Gus, who grabs it excitedly and flips through the pages, managing to immediately find some of the only illustrations in the three-hundred plus page manuscript. Just as he's about to go in and tell Gus to get something else, a warm hand clamps down on Justin's forearm.
"What's he getting?" Brian murmurs softly into Justin's ear, warm breath making him shiver.
"A fucking manifesto on extraterrestrials, apparently."
Brian snorts, letting go of Justin's arm. "What?"
"Just as I said. I think he heard on the news that the fires are being started by aliens or something." Brian says nothing. In his peripheral vision, Justin can see him rolling his tongue around in his cheek like he does when he's bothered by something. "What do you want to do?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He'll throw a tantrum if we don't let him get it. You can just… make stuff up when you're reading it to him."
Justin isn't too fond of this idea, but they've done it before. He's proven to be an excellent improvisational storyteller. Once he even managed to smooth over the potential disaster of Gus' finding Brian's copy of "The Joy of Gay Sex;" Gus demanded to know what the story was about, so Justin spun a fanciful tale of unicorns and elves and things that were really kid-friendly. However, Brian walked right as Justin was explaining that 'gay' meant that the animals were really happy, nearly blowing the cover by laughing so hard he all but fell over. He smiles at the memory as Brian slings an arm across his shoulders.
"Did you get the milk?"
"Yeah, I got it. Some eggs too. Oh, and I picked up your asthma medication."
"Thanks."
Justin leans his head against Brian's chest, and Gus tottered out of the bookstore, deeply engrossed in his attempt to read.
"Ready to go home, Sonnyboy?" Brian asks, ruffling his son's hair with a hand that looks impossibly large next to Gus' petite features.
"Yeah," he answers meekly, too awed by the sketchy drawing of a UFO to care about anything Brian might be saying.
"All right."