“Now that’s enough of that,” David said, his tone gentle, yet firm. “You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met, Jerry, but I certainly don’t expect you to keep everything inside. You’ve been so worried about me, taking everything on yourself, as usual, but now is not the time to try and keep these feelings hidden.” David’s hands were kneading his chest and the back of his neck, and Jerry found it all very comforting. “Strength doesn’t always mean sitting back and saying nothing. Sometimes strength means admitting your fears, admitting that you’re scared. I know that you’re a very strong man, Jerry, but it took just as much strength for you to tell me you’re scared.” David continued to massage Jerry’s chest and neck. Jerry let his eyes drift shut for a moment. “We’ll get through this.”
Jerry nodded and opened his eyes, offering a weak smile to his husband.
“Now,” David announced suddenly. “Promise me that you won’t keep taking all of this on yourself? And I’ll promise you that I’ll stop piling all of my problems on you.”
“No,” Jerry said as he covered David’s hand with his own. “I don’t want that. I mean, I don’t want you thinking you can’t tell me what’s bothering you.” Jerry brought his husband’s hand to his mouth, kissing it slowly.
“Good,” David said, his smile making Jerry feel as comforted as it always did. “So it’s settled. No more keeping things from me?”
Jerry nodded his agreement and pushed David onto his back. And as Jerry let his head come to rest on his husband’s chest, he closed his eyes again and found himself being lulled to sleep by the sounds of David’s heartbeat. And before sleep finally claimed him, Jerry promised himself that he would do whatever was needed to ensure that he would get those next twenty years with his family.
DAVID pulled his new SUV into the parking lot of the hospital, finding an available spot almost immediately. He pulled into the space, turned off the engine, and sat for a moment, wondering what he was doing here. He’d visited his mother in the hospital every day since she’d first been admitted, feeling very hopeful that she’d changed, that she was truly interested in seeing him, talking to him. But the last few visits had seemed to be filled with tension and doubt. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep visiting, if he wanted to keep up this particular activity on top of everything else he was dealing with.
He’d found himself thinking lately about the six months he’d spent with Jerry and William and Cory in Italy. It had been an incredible, magical time in all of their lives. The most important decision he’d ever had to make during those six months was which museum to take the boys to as part of the lessons he’d planned. Every day and every night had been filled with carefree adventures. Cory would spend the afternoons with Jerry at the university while William and David explored the countryside, practicing their Italian and usually dissolving into fits of laughter when they found that their Italian sounded more like French.
They’d pretended to be tourists from France or Germany, speaking one language and then the other as they toured the Uffizi or the Medici Chapels in Florence or tried to see how many of the top attractions they could fit in one afternoon, like the Ponte Vecchio or the Campanile Bell Tower or the Palazzo Pitti. There were day trips to Naples or Venice, picnics in parks, nights in beautiful old hotels, Jerry and David in one room while Cory and William had their own. There had also been the passion that Jerry and David had shared almost every night. There had even been a weekend spent driving up to Switzerland so that William could buy some flowers for Frau Zimmerman’s final resting place, and introduce Billie to her namesake.
It was six months that David was bright enough to realize would never come again, and he’d been right. Everything was changing and David couldn’t do anything about it. William was now a man. David couldn’t bring himself to think about his little boy becoming sexually active without feeling a little confused and lost. No one had told him that after finding the family he’d longed for all of his life that he would have to learn to let them go soon. He couldn’t help feeling cheated.
He shook his head and told himself to stop being so dramatic and self-pitying, shouldered open the door, and exited the SUV. He scolded himself, a smile ghosting across his face as he remembered that, even if his mother didn’t want anything more to do with him, he still had Jerry and William and Cory. And now, he had a daughter-in-law and within another couple of years, he would have grandchildren and another son in university. He and Jerry could travel, or start a business, or spend entire days in bed doing whatever they felt like, as often as they wanted.
David made his way into the lobby of the hospital, turned left toward the elevators and punched the button for the fifth floor, determined to try again to reach his mother. He followed the red line that was painted on the floor, knowing that it would lead him to the end of the hall and the private room that his mother occupied. He’d had a good day, a very good day, and he was feeling a little more like himself and smiling as he slowed his pace and entered room 509.
He approached the hospital bed, seeing his mother’s head turn and look at him. “Hi, Mom. How are you feeling today?” He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t answer him right away. She was lying in the bed, her left arm propped up on two pillows. She was reading a fairly thick book. “What are you reading?” She held up the book in her right hand, but did not speak. David tilted his head and read the title along the spine. “Family Secrets, Gay Sons, A Mother’s Story.”
“Your father felt I needed an education,” she said dryly, placing the book, tent-like, on her leg. She reached for the leather bookmark she’d been using ever since David was in high school.
“And do you feel educated, yet?” David took the book off her leg, and she handed him the bookmark, which he placed carefully in between the pages. He took a few steps back and sat in the vinyl-covered chair near the foot of the bed.
“I guess it depends on whether or not I need to know what it means to be a mother of a gay son in 1997.”
David watched as his mother brought her hand up to fix her salt and pepper hair. He nodded, not really knowing what to say to that particular answer. David opened the book and read the first few lines of the first chapter, then flipped the book over and read the details of the author. “Written by a clinical psychologist who is also a mother,” David observed, wondering if it was worth a read. “Where’s Dad?”
“Where he always is,” she said, removing her elegant reading glasses and placing them in her lap. David figured this would be another one of her bad days, supplying terse, dismissive answers to his questions, and decided to wait for another half-hour or so and then return to his own family. “Are you here to take his place?”
“No,” he said, refusing to allow himself to be drawn in. “I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
She seemed to consider this, fidgeting with her glasses, her nails unpolished and her face without makeup. “There’s no need to worry about me. You have your own to take care of.”
It was the first time in the week of visits that he heard her make even an oblique reference to his family. David felt a little surprised, momentarily taken aback by what he perceived as her shifting demeanor. “My family is fine. You’re not.”
“Nonsense,” she said proudly. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Except your diabetes… and the black-out… and the car accident,” David replied quickly. She turned and glared, but David did not look away. He met her stare, not taking any pleasure in the fact that she turned away first. “And the drinking.” His mother did not look up at this last. When she spoke, David thought she sounded defeated, drained.
“They’re only problems if they’re inconvenient.”
David almost sighed, remembering suddenly his mother’s fondness for such cryptic remarks. It didn’t take him long to figure out what she was trying to say. “You were trying to kill yourself.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” she scolded, picking up her glasses and putting them back on her slim nose.
“I wasn’t trying to do anything.”
“I don’t believe you.” He blurted it out, without thinking. It wasn’t the first time that he’d found himself letting his true thoughts slip out. He had to remind himself that he was almost fifty years old, that he didn’t need to censor himself anymore.
She said nothing, only looked at the book in David’s hand, reaching out her hand for it. David stood and gave the book back to her. He watched, still standing beside her, as she opened the book and found where she’d left off. Clearing her throat, she began to read. Instead of leaving, David backed up and returned to the chair, sitting again and waiting. He knew she would probably not say any more, but he wanted to show her that he would not be going anywhere, that he no longer responded to the silent treatment, at least not in the way she’d trained her children.
Neither said anything for quite a while, until David noticed his mother close the book and look at him. “It’s a very difficult book to read,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. David said nothing, waiting for his mother to finish her thought. “She writes of questioning all of her decisions, her choices. She was a psychologist and thought herself more accepting. But she reacted badly to finding out that both of her sons were homosexual.”
He looked at his mother and then at the book. “All of that in the first two chapters?”
“This is the third time I’ve read it.” She continued to look at him. He couldn’t figure out whether this fact bothered her or comforted her. She held up the book. “Your father gave it to me four years ago.”
“When did you read it for the first time?”
“When I woke up in the hospital last week, I found it on the bedside table.” She took off her glasses and placed them and the book in her lap. “Your father left it for me, I think.”
“You’ve read the book three times in a week?”
“Your nieces and nephews love you,” she said distractedly. “All I’ve been hearing about from my own grandchildren is how wonderful you are, how exciting it is to have an uncle who lives on a ranch, with horses.” He suddenly felt as if he were ten years old again, wanting nothing more than his mother’s love and approval.
“Does that make you angry? Or just sad?”
“Neither,” she said, still holding his gaze for a moment. Replacing her glasses, she picked up the book and opened it. David was prepared to wait again, but then she offered, “I think Madison has a crush on your husband.” David felt his chest tighten at his mother’s use of the word husband. She’d not yet even acknowledged his homosexuality, let alone that he was now married with a family of his own.
“He’s a wonderful man,” David said, leaning forward in the chair.
“So your father has told me.”
“And William and Cory are very special too.”
“Yes,” she said, glancing down at the book. “Your father has mentioned your boys quite often. He seems quite taken with them.”
“They love him too… very much.” He stood on impulse and leaned against the hospital bed, his hand mere inches away from her left, the one in the cast. He pulled his hand away. “William wanted to know if he could send you flowers and a card.”
She moved her cast, farther away from the railing, then reached up with her right hand and removed her glasses one last time. She was staring at them, held fast in one hand, while she let the book fall closed. David wanted, more than anything, to know what was going on in her head.
“Do you think that would be okay?”
“He sounds like a very considerate young man,” she said, her eyes still fixed to the reading glasses in her hand. “Perhaps… he would like to… bring them… when you visit next?”
David was done waiting. He moved to the other side of the bed and reached out his hand and took hers, sandwiching her good hand between his own. He’d not felt the touch of her hand in over twenty years. He’d had no such reaction when he’d entered her room for the first time a week ago, had had no such feeling of hope when he’d spoken to her, heard the sound of her voice. But the touch of her hand, the warmth it held, it was what he’d missed the most, her brushing the hair out of his eyes when he was William’s age. David supposed it was why he did it to William.
He perched himself on the edge of the bed, her hand still in his. He was surprised she had not yet pulled away. Hugs and caresses never lasted for more than a few seconds, even when they’d been infants. David and his sisters had always joked, exaggeratedly, when they were much younger which one of them would be able to last an entire minute. He wondered if he was finally beginning to understand his mother.
“I think he would like that,” David said finally when he felt his mother’s hand squeeze his and pull away. “We’ll only stay for a moment or two, though, so you can get—”
“Acclimated?”
“I was going to say some rest.”
The glasses went back on the aquiline nose and the book was opened again. David thought about retreating to the chair again, ready to wait so that he could speak with her about the diabetes and the drinking. He decided to let it go. She wanted to meet William, or at least accept the flowers and a card in person. That was enough progress for one day.
Chapter 8
SUNDAYS usually meant lasagna for Jerry and William, and there was nothing that they loved more than David’s lasagna, except for perhaps everything else he made. David was an incredible cook, but Jerry felt like barbecuing tonight. It was one of the only things he could actually do well that involved cooking food. William and Cory had been fond of telling him that he needed to cook when he was still half-asleep because breakfast was the only meal that tasted the way it should. Jerry uncurled the hose from its holder on the side of the house and walked over to the grill, smiling at the ribbing he took whenever necessity dictated that Jerry prepare dinner.
He removed the grill and reached into his back pocket for the wire brush that would make the metal shine like new. This was the secret that had been passed to him by his father; nothing ruined a barbecue faster than a grill that wasn’t like new. Jerry had never understood the fascination with a clean grill until he had a family to grill for. He’d realized that what his father was actually saying was that there was a sense of satisfaction in doing a job right the first time, in making sure that everything was as close to perfect as you could make it.
Jerry finished scrubbing the grill and then leaned it up against the brick retaining wall that held the flowers and the ferns that David loved to tend. No one would ever accuse David of being the best gardener in the world, but he did have a knack for making things seem a lot more like a home. He pressed the trigger on the nozzle of the hose and used sweeping motions to rinse off the caked on gunk from the last barbecue as a glint of sunshine caught his attention.
He turned to see a car coming up the driveway, a car he didn’t recognize. It was a burgundy sedan, a Lexus it seemed to Jerry, and it was moving rather quickly. He checked his hands and turned the hose on them, one at a time, then released the trigger. He reached into his other back pocket for his bandana and wiped his hands thoroughly, wondering who would be coming out to see him. He didn’t know anyone who drove a burgundy car.
Jerry stopped near the veranda, giving the car more than enough room to come to a stop safely, then shoving the bandana back into his pocket, advanced toward the man and woman who were opening their doors. They seemed to be in the midst of some sort of heated discussion. Jerry had no idea who these folks were, and had no idea how to prepare himself for whatever they were coming to discuss. He squinted against the sun as the man made his way, more quickly than the woman, to where he stood.
“Afternoon,” Jerry said, planting his hands on his hips. The man was probably only about five-nine or so, Jerry figured, and the woman was so petite that he wondered how she saw over the dash of that huge car. “Help you?”
“Mr. McKenzie?” The man spoke as soon as his wife was by his side. When Jerry nodded, the man pointed to himself and then his wife. “Jim an
d Sheila Hill. We’re Anne’s parents.”
“Anne?” Jerry said the name just as it dawned on him who Anne was. “Of course,” Jerry smiled broadly and extended his hand. He shook Jim’s hand and then tipped his hat to Sheila, shaking her hand when she extended it. “Won’t you—” Jerry was about to ask them inside for some lemonade and some of David’s cookies, but Jim seemed to be in a hurry.
“My wife and I were thinking it might be a good idea to meet with you and Mrs. McKenzie to discuss what happened between Anne and your son.” Jerry looked from the husband to the wife, noticing for the first time that she seemed quite embarrassed to be standing in front of Jerry. She was wringing her hands together as if she was waiting for bad news or something.
William, Jerry wanted to say, but he’d long ago developed the habit of hearing David’s voice telling him to be calm and collected. My son has a name and it’s William. “There is no Mrs. McKenzie, Jim. How about we go inside—”
Jim turned and whispered to his wife. “I told you so.” Then, as if remembering that Jerry was standing right in front of him, Jim turned and asked, “Does she live close by? Sheila and I feel strongly about speaking to both—”
Jerry crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles bulging and straining against the thin T-shirt he wore. “There never was a Mrs. McKenzie. William is the son of my late cousin, Pamela and her husband. They were killed in an auto accident and so William came to live with me, and I adopted him.”
“I’m very sorry,” Sheila said, her voice as small as she was.
“Anne mentioned something about William’s parents.”
Jerry heard the emphasis on the plural and wondered if he even needed to guess what Jim’s reaction would be when he learned the truth. “William’s other parent is named David, and he’s visiting his sick mother in the hospital.” Jerry saw a slight smile tug at the corners of Sheila’s mouth. She knew that already, Jerry figured.
Roots and Wings Page 8