by Nick Poff
###
Since their abrupt exit from the Greer house left them with a morning to kill, Ed dropped Rex off at Cooley Street to finish up some painting in the upstairs bath. Then he drove around to Penfield Park. He got out of the truck and walked to the bench where he and Rick had sat two months earlier. Aside from some boys shooting hoops on the basketball court, he had the place to himself.
There was a time, he reflected, when a confrontation like the one he’d just had with the Greer woman would have sent him into a tailspin.
Now he could almost chalk up the incident as merely a difference of opinion.
Almost.
The unavoidable fact was Mrs. Greer and her ilk were the majority, not just in Porterfield but in the world. Maybe he should have told Rex that, explaining it didn’t really matter where you were. In a big city, the middle of nowhere, or a little town like Porterfield, they were a minority, and until there was a general shift in society’s thinking regarding homosexuals, there was always going to be someone who wanted to disagree with them or beat the shit out of them from a comfortable position as part of the majority.
Ed was glad, though, he hadn’t said that to Rex. Thanks to his own experiences this summer, Rex was already wary and resentful of anyone who might judge him. Ed knew time and experience would be Rex’s best teachers when it came to learning how to navigate the world as a gay man.
He thought about Daniel and his experience. Did someone judge him so critically and viciously that his despairing reaction was to take his own life? Ed wanted to believe Daniel’s death was an accident, but in his gut he doubted it. No matter what size shoe Daniel had worn, Ed’s feet would have fit them. He knew how Daniel felt because in many ways he was Daniel, and any gay man who led his life tensed up and expecting the next blow.
And, sadly, it wasn’t just Daniel. It was Rex, whose occasional nightmares reliving his beating were so intense he woke everyone with his shouts. It was Neal, whose lack of self-confidence was due in many ways to his sexual orientation. And it was Doug, who was now embarking on a path of what seemed to be double jeopardy; he was a gay man, and he was HIV positive.
It wasn’t just gay men, though. He thought of Evie, who had been mercilessly taunted for her inability to cope with abuse and grief. There was Effie Maude and Blanche Reddin, openly teased for their single status by the smugly married. Muriel had felt the sting of anti-Semitism, and with her vision impairment had been judged as helpless and stupid by people who didn’t bother to think before they spoke. Even Josh, handsome and self-assured, faced a great deal or mocking from his classmates because his interests were not the same as theirs.
Why are people so relentlessly mean? He thought. And when will this poor excuse for a species evolve out of it?
He knew from endless discussions with Rick where a lot of the meanness came from, but in the end excuses and reasons and explanations meant little to him. Unlike Louella Corcoran, who had turned her unhappiness against others, Ed’s own experiences and vulnerabilities had made him empathetic to others who were different and hurting. Caring might be sometimes painful, but it helped.
Mrs. Penfield had cared, and good teacher that she was, had taught Ed and Rick to care. Out of that caring had come their determination to maintain a home that was a safe haven for their friends, families, and any victim of mass opinion who needed a little comfort. Ed was proud of that, and proud of the strength he felt from his bond with Rick. Oh, they weren’t some gay superhero duo, battling evil and rampant homophobia, but together they were making a difference.
He suddenly wanted to go back and talk with Olivia Greer, and explain to her that adhering to the demands of a book of dubious origin wasn’t the way to reach out and help people, and, he privately thought, probably not what Jesus Christ had in mind anyway. Caring without judgment, he would tell Olivia Greer, is how you move mountains, change the world, and every other cliché regarding the betterment of mankind.
He watched the fountain in the park’s center merrily bubble away as he shook his head. He was pretty sure Olivia Greer wouldn’t get anything he could possibly say to her. She’d bought the standard line of thought and did as she was told, attempting to convert those she judged to her way of thinking. Jim Jones and his Flavorade had proven just how strong that sort of belief could be nine years earlier in Ghana.
Muriel had told him it would take more than a pissed off handyman to change the Catholic Church and their abusive priests. He suspected it would take a lot more than one conversation to open the closed mind of Olivia Greer, or anyone else who was ardently convinced of their own righteousness.
He chuckled to himself as he suddenly realized the ultimate mission of his own truth. No, he couldn’t change or fix closed hearts and minds, but he could be, and already was, the handyman who did his best to repair the damage they created. Not a bad calling, he mused.
Ed looked around the beautiful park and began to relax for the first time since his encounter with Olivia Greer. The park, he noted, had that vaguely dusty late August look to it. The shouts of the boys on the basketball court were louder than usual, as if the boys thought more volume would head off the end of summer and the beginning of the school year. There was, Ed knew, just one month of actual summer left. The summer of strange wasn’t over, but somehow he’d made his peace with it.
###
Muriel checked in by phone the next day. Ed was in the kitchen and Rick on the upstairs extension. “Well, I’ve dug up a little dirt,” she told them. “I know Ernie married Joyce Scott in 1962.”
“Oh, good for him,” Rick said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Yeah, really! I also learned they moved away after Custer Hardware bought out Jacks Hardware. He took a job managing a Custer store in Mansfield, Ohio.”
“That’s interesting,” Ed said. “Bill Wormcastle said Gladys and Floyd left town after the sale of their store, but he didn’t mention Ernie.”
“That is interesting,” Muriel said. “For whatever reason, the Jacks family seems to have cut ties with Porterfield. No one seems to know what happened to any of them after that.”
“What about Ernie’s sisters?” Rick asked.
“Well, one is dead. Cancer. The other married some Holy Roller preacher, and is now somewhere in Tennessee speaking in tongues and playing with snakes. Figures, really.”
Muriel continued. “As for the Porterfield chapter of the John Birch Society, it seems to have crapped out and died completely in 1969. Apparently they thought Nixon’s election would be the end of the civil rights movement, and they also thought Nixon would shut down the war protesters. When he didn’t do exactly as they wanted, they started arguing amongst themselves and their whole shit show fell apart. Oh, a lot of them are still in town, but without the organization. They just talk back to Dan Rather on TV.”
“I suppose we should take comfort in that, but for some reason I don’t,” Rick said. “So you haven’t dug up anything about winter 1961?”
“Not much. I checked the coroner’s report on Daniel’s death. My dad hated Henry Stillhagen; said he was the laziest coroner in Stratton County history. Sure enough, he didn’t do any sort of investigation, didn’t talk to Evie when she was coherent again. He just took the railroad official’s word that Daniel’s death was an accident. What an ass!”
“Seems to have been a lot of that going around then,” Ed said dryly.
“Well, don’t worry. I’ll worm the rest of the story out of someone. Meanwhile, gentlemen, I will be taking to my bed. This despicable heat and humidity has brought on a glaucoma migraine.”
“Oh, no,” Ed said in genuine sympathy. “Poor Muriel. Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got everything I need. I just really need to take it easy for a while. Don’t worry, though. The moment I’m up to it, I’ll be back on the case. If I don’t have this solved by Labor Day, I’ll eat my bra. And you know what a meal that would be!”
###
; That weekend was Neal’s last in Porterfield before he took off to begin his freshman year at Indiana University. He was practically a blur; packing, racing around to say good-bye to family and friends, making plans with Judy, and putting in his last few hours at The Iceberg.
Effie Maude came in on Saturday in order to put together what she called “Neal’s Care Package”, mostly homemade cookies, brownies, and candy. She was in such a frenzy of baking and candy making Ed was afraid the care package would weigh more than the rest of Neal’s luggage. She came close to a meltdown after lunch when she realized she was out of chocolate chips. Ed offered to run to the I.G.A. for her, as he didn’t want her driving in her state of mind. Rex decided to go along as he wanted to pick up a pack of cigarettes.
They piled into the Camaro and headed south, “Temptation Eyes” by The Grass Roots blaring from the stereo. It was another muggy August day, the threat of storms lurking in the wispy breeze and overcast skies. The music, the car, and having someone Rex’s age along for the ride made Ed almost feel eighteen again. He pondered whether one of the benefits of having children was the ability, however fanciful, to repeat one’s own youth.
After Ed had picked up several large bags of Nestle chocolate chips he paused, frowning at Rex. “Isn’t there something else I should be getting?”
Rex shrugged.
“Oh, hell, I won’t remember until we get home,” Ed grumbled, heading for the checkout.
He was still trying to remember what else he had planned to buy as he followed Rex out the automatic door. Rex stopped suddenly, and Ed almost banged into him. “What the…” he muttered.
Rex was staring at a young man who looked vaguely familiar to Ed. After a moment he realized the boy had been in the group who had taunted Neal that day at The Iceberg. He assumed he was one of the gang who bashed Rex, and his first impulse was to swing his bag of chocolate chips at the little fucker’s head, but managed to hold off and let Rex handle it himself.
The young man tried to walk off in the opposite direction, but Rex’s loudly spoken words stopped him in his tracks. “Hey there, Pritchard. What’s happenin’? Having an awesome summer since you and those other worthless sacks of shit left me for dead behind the Pit Stop?”
Rex took two quick steps toward him. “I’ve recovered from that beating. Wanna do it again? Do you have the guts to take me one on one, or do you only have the balls when it’s four against one? I know what word I’d carve on your chest; wuss.”
Pritchard stared at the ground, looking as though he wished he were anywhere else. “Look, Rex…” he said.
“Look nothing, you bastard. I thought we were friends. Guess that shows how stupid I am. Well, I got a message for you and the rest of those losers. I have real friends now, friends who actually stick by you when things aren’t perfect. I almost feel sorry for you, ‘cause you’ll never have friends like that.”
Rex ripped open his new pack of Marlboros. “Here,” he said, yanking a cigarette out of the pack. “Have one on me. It’s the last one you’ll ever get, ‘cause the next time I see you, you’re the one who’s gonna end up in the hospital. Got it?” Rex threw the cigarette at him, and then made a gesture as if to slug him. Pritchard backed off in fright.
“Thought so,” Rex said smugly. “C’mon, Ed, let’s get out here. Something stinks!’
Ed followed Rex back to the Camaro, digging in his pocket. He found the car keys and tossed them to Rex, who grinned and headed for the driver’s side of the car. He raced the engine a few times and peeled out with Steel Wool’s cover of “No Sugar Tonight” echoing through the parking lot.
Once they were out of sight, Rex slowed down to the speed limit. He glanced at Ed, a big shit-eating grin on his face. “Thanks!” He shouted over the music.
Ed, now officially eighteen all over again, took a cigarette from the pack and pushed in the car lighter. Once he had the cigarette lit, he sprawled back in his seat and blew smoke at Rex. “No sweat man.” He pointed forward when they reached Spruce Street. “Do a lap on the circuit, dude. Let’s see who else we can fuck with!”
###
Effie Maude presented her package of treats to Neal that evening before she went home for the rest of the weekend. “Now, I’m gonna tell you what I told George, Jr. when he went off to boot camp back in 1951. You share this with whoever needs it, and if anyone treats you wrong or you get homesick, you just write ole Effie Maude a letter, and I’ll get some more to you on the jiffy.”
Rick, who’d been standing back with Ed and Rex, went behind Effie Maude and put his arms around her. “It’s 1987, Neal,” he said with a wink. “You can call if you want to. It’s okay.”
Effie Maude scowled at Rick and slapped his hand. “Makin’ fun of an old woman,” she grumbled.
Rick laughed. “You make sure you do as she says. If you share Effie Maude’s baking with any of the kids on your floor, I guarantee you’ll have friends before you’re unpacked.”
Effie Maude pried Rick’s arms off and hugged Neal. “Never mind what he says. When you get a moment to spare, you write me a letter and let me know you’re all right.” She wiped at her eyes. “Don’t know why I’m takin’ on so,” she said. “I still got these three characters to look after.”
“We’ll keep her busy for you, Neal,” Ed said solemnly.
Neal beamed at Effie Maude. “You’ll get a letter from me.” He wiped his own wet eyes. “I promise.”
###
Early the next morning Ed, Rick and Rex walked Neal out to his old sedan, parked in the driveway and full of his stuff. Ed was surprised the back end wasn’t sagging.
Neal hugged Rick. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you guys,” he whispered.
“When you make your first million,” Rick assured him, “you’ll know how to find us.”
Then it was Ed’s turn. “You little shit,” Ed said as laid his head against Neal’s. “I remember that scared kid I met two years ago in Pastor Phil’s study. You’re light years from him. I’m so proud of you!”
Rex stepped forward and hugged Neal so tight he gasped. “I love you, bro,” Rex said.
“I love you, too,” Neal wheezed. “Let me go!”
They stood apart, grinning at each other. Rex held out his hand. “Brawn and Brains,” he said.
Neal put out his hand. “Brains and Brawn.” They shook on it.
Rex gave Neal a little push toward his car. “Go get ‘em!”
“I will,” Neal said as started the engine. “The world ain’t gonna see us comin, bro!”
He backed out of the driveway onto Race Street. He turned the corner onto Spruce and drove out of sight.
Ed looked at Rick and Rex. “I feel like Reverend Mother in The Trouble with Angels,” he said to Rick. “We got rid of one, but we’re stuck with one.”
Rick sulked. “Yeah, but Rosalind Russell got Hayley Mills. We’re stuck with this jerk.”
“Hey, old man,” Rex playfully punched Rick on the arm. “Who you calling a jerk?”
“Don’t even start, you two.” Ed grabbed their arms and turned them around to face the house. “After the summer we’ve put in, we all deserve a genuine day of rest. Got it?”
“Got it,” they both replied in put upon voices.
Ed and Rick strolled to back door of their house with Rex firmly between them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Muriel got immediately back to work on the case of the mysterious benefactor on Monday. She called Ed, eager to share her new information. He told her to meet him at Rick’s office. He’d stop by the Cozy Hearth café and pick up deli sandwiches for all of them.
They were seated in Rick’s office, enjoying pastrami and pickles, when Vince walked by, on his way out to his own lunch. He stopped to chat about their progress on the Cooley Street house, pleased at what they had accomplished in such a short time. He glanced at Muriel with a predatory gleam. “And you, Miss Weisberg. When are you going to sell that huge Oak Street home that is way, way too
big for one person?”
Muriel sneered. “Look at the dollar signs in his eyes. Seriously? I can assure you, Mr. Cummings, that when I do indeed decide to sell the Weisberg home, you will be the last to know.”
Vince shook his head good-naturedly. “She’s just as snotty in person as she is her column,” he commented before waving goodbye.
“Okay,” Ed said, sipping his Pepsi. “Now that we’re alone, what have you found out?”
“Well,” Muriel put her sandwich aside. “I telephoned Greta Petersen Cobb, class of ’56, Porterfield High, this morning, and she knew plenty. Mind you, we have to take the quidnunc’s gossip with a grain of salt, but I’m guessing she’s got the right story.”
“I’m so glad you managed to add that word to your already overflowing vocabulary,” Rick said with a smirk.
Muriel nodded. “Of course. I always memorize the ones that can be used in a derogatory manner. Anyway, Greta lived down the block from the Jacks family on Cherry Street. Turns out that when Floyd sold the store to Custer, not only was he going bankrupt, but he was having an affair with some floozy he’d picked up at Buck’s bar!”
“Oh, my,” Ed said, pretending to be astonished.
“Gladys found out about it, and was so humiliated she insisted they move away. Greta doesn’t know where they went and she doesn’t really care, because she said no one on the block had a shred of privacy with Gladys Jacks around.”
“Man,” Ed said. “What was the deal with that woman?”
“Did you learn anything about Ernie?” Rick said impatiently.
“I’m getting to it. It seems Ernie and Gladys had a falling out of some sort. Greta didn’t have any details, but it must have been big because Gladys didn’t bother to attend Ernie and Joyce’s wedding.”
Ed and Rick exchanged glances.