The small building that housed the center was at the end of an old strip mall on the “wrong side of town.” The front was whitewashed brick, and the bottom half of the large storefront windows had been covered with rainbow striped curtains so that only the bright fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling could be seen inside. Lonnie drove by twice, his heart pounding out of his chest. From what he could see, the place looked empty, but that was all for the better, he thought. He parked his car far enough away from the building that it wouldn’t look like he had parked to visit the center but close enough that the walk to the center wouldn’t be too long and revealing. When he slipped inside, only two people were there, a tall, thin gray-haired woman with a mullet that was braided down her back and a blonde, tan, well-dressed man in his thirties. They introduced themselves as Linda and Gary, and they were excited that Lonnie had chosen to drop by, being as he was the first teenager to darken the door of the center since it opened only a couple weeks before. Nervous sweat broke out all over his body as he shared with Linda and Gary a little about himself, and they offered him literature on coming out and why being gay was okay, literature which he turned down for fear it might be discovered on his person by Sheila.
It wasn’t literature that outed Lonnie, however, it was the satellite phone bill. It was hardly a thing, just $5.99 for the call to information and a transfer to the number the operator had found for Lonnie. He didn’t think it would even be noticed. But when Darrel stomped down the stairs, threw open Lonnie’s bedroom door, and yelled at him to “Come upstairs now!” Lonnie knew in his heart it was that fateful call he’d placed mere weeks prior to the “Gay and Lesbian Center for the Ozarks” that had given away his deepest secret.
Lonnie walked up the stairs quietly.
“Sit on the couch,” Darrel demanded. He couldn’t meet Lonnie’s eyes.
“What the hell are you doing calling a number for queers?”
Lonnie sat on the couch, unable to say anything.
“Are you gay?”
More silence from Lonnie was all the admission Darrel needed.
“That’s sick! That’s disgusting! I won’t have a fag living in my house, you hear me? It’s against nature. And it’s against GOD!” Darrel yelled.
Lonnie still said nothing, could think of nothing to say. He looked at Darrel but seemed unable to focus on him, as though he weren’t really there and this wasn’t really happening.
Darrel finally forced himself to look Lonnie in the eyes, pointing his finger at Lonnie with a ferocity Lonnie hadn’t experienced since he’d seen that bobcat trying to fight back the blows of Darrel’s tire iron.
“I want you out of here. You understand me? I’m getting on my tractor and when I get back, I want you packed up and gone.”
The way the light hit them, and as open as they were, Darrel’s eyes were so incredibly blue, Lonnie thought. Then Darrel turned and stomped down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behind himself.
Lonnie looked over to where Sheila stood in the kitchen. She was making blackberry jelly and had to constantly stir the sugary syrup so that it didn’t burn and stick to the bottom of the pan. She said nothing, looked away from him.
The next hour of Lonnie’s life was like moving through a fog. He gathered everything necessary that he could think of in a suitcase and put the rest of what he had in his car. Was this really happening? Surely if he left some things behind he would be allowed to return for them later, but what if he wasn’t allowed this? What if Darrel burned everything he left behind, virtually erasing all signs of his existence as a McAllister? He kept hoping Sheila would appear and tell him not to leave, that she would talk to Darrel and everything would be all right. But she continued her quiet work in the kitchen. Lonnie wondered if everyone in the family knew about him. Kristy and Rebecca were both out of the house and in college, but Ruth and Esther were still at home. They must have heard Darrel’s rant and now watched Lonnie covertly from their bedroom windows as he loaded the final effects of what had been his life into his car, settled into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and drove away from Squirrel Ridge without a bit of the fanfare he’d always imagined would accompany him on such a momentous day.
As he headed down the half-mile gravel road that led to the highway, passing the fields and forests that had been the stomping grounds of his childhood kingdom, Lonnie thought about his life there on Squirrel Ridge—the animals, the flowers, the trees, the endless sky. On nights without moons, he’d laid out on the flatbeds of the trailers Darrel parked in the field in front of the house and stared up at the Milky Way for hours, imagining a world bigger than the one he knew, bigger than what anyone knew. He thought of how far people think they’ve come but how, in actuality, everyone is still living in the Dark Ages with our ridiculously primitive technologies and our overestimated concepts of our place in the vast universe. He believed one day some explorer like Christopher Columbus would finally leave our solar system to look for other hospitable planets. People would call him crazy, but he would do it anyway. And find other planets he would, along with other life forms and technology and truths that would shatter scientific laws long clung to on our little sphere. Concepts of religion and how we came to exist would be so radically amended that memories of all the lives drastically altered in the names of all the different gods would be as bizarre to consider as two cavemen killing one another for a flame of fire. Lonnie thought about going to Oklahoma City where Gwen and Willie might take him in, but then he decided against it. Maybe this was his moment. Maybe he was supposed to go off by himself. There were others like him out there—like Linda and Gary from the center—leading happy lives. And as Lonnie turned onto the highway, he realized that though his earthly father might abandon him, he had prior evidence there was a ubiquitous presence he’d spent most of his life praying to—that he’d invested so much of his welfare in—that for whatever reason created him just as he was and loved him specifically because of it. And Lonnie was free to explore that most intimate relationship for the first time in his life on his own terms without anyone else defining it for him, and so he drove down the highway, and so he carried on.
Part Four
Daisies
A few years after Sheila and Butch moved out of the house, and Willie had been promoted to executive manager at Fenny Parker, he and Gwen joined the Twin Hills Country Club on the “nice” side of Oklahoma City to take up golf. They were both made for the sport, which required trunk strength and focus as opposed to quickness and agility. Being outside in the early morning or late evening fresh air took them back to that time when they were young and spent hours together walking the prairie fields, picking daisies, and quietly getting to know one another. Playing golf together, they got to know one another again, something that was important after all the years they’d spent raising their two kids. They needed this something that allowed them to rediscover each other and intertwine their commonalities once more. It was just little tidbits here and there they opened up about on the long fairways and pristine putting greens, but these small pieces of their older, slightly adjusted selves wove into the sort of necessary narrative that reinforced the nest Willie and Gwen had created so long ago. After a while, Gwen began playing golf with her girlfriends, women she’d either met because they were wives of Willie’s coworkers or because she had shared a laugh with them at the club over a soda in the women’s locker room. Willie played golf with his business associates, making back-nine business deals that landed him a vice president job by the time he was fifty. This didn’t mean the Hisels no longer played golf together. It just meant those occasions on which they did team up remained relished, usually on vacations to Pebble Beach, Orlando, and Augusta. This was another one of those things that kept Gwen and Willie happily together, one of those things they could not have planned, a simple similarity that reminded them they were indeed made for one another whether or not there was any truth to the idea two people could be “made�
� for one another.
It was a Wednesday when everything changed for the Barnetts. The sky was full of bulbous September clouds, which floated over the trimmed and blazing green Twin Hills golf course with a breeze that hinted at women to bring a light wrap along to dinner and men to begin preparing for the end of the business year. Willie had come home over lunch to make himself a sandwich and drink a large glass of Pepsi, which he’d become so accustomed to that he didn’t stop even after his doctor had informed him he had type two diabetes at the age of fifty-three. He was now sixty-four, one year away from retiring, and he couldn’t be feeling better. Gwen was making a pot roast for dinner, and the acid smell of Worcestershire and onions filled the house from where the meat steamed in the Crock-Pot on the counter. Willie smiled at the scent that tickled his nose when he entered the front door. It was the same front door he’d been entering for almost forty years now. He knew some people didn’t understand why he and Gwen had remained in their little place when they could’ve afforded a much larger, newer house over on one of the many developments popping up here and there on the outskirts of Oklahoma City, but Willie didn’t see the point. Staying in his little house, which was paid for, kept him and Gwen from worrying about money, something he’d grown tired of about midway to forty and never wanted to think about again. With their small house, Gwen could do whatever it was she wanted, and they didn’t have to break the bank to accomplish it. If she had an itch to re-carpet every five years, she could do it. If she wanted to repaint Butch’s old room, which was now the TV room, and buy a new couch to furnish it, Willie told her to go ahead. Put in central air and run it all summer long? Why not? The yard was easy for him to keep up. The daisies took care of themselves, and the hedges required only half an hour of trimming every few weeks. Keep it simple, and Willie knew he and Gwen had more time and money for things like her crafts and his fishing and their country club and golf. Gwen bought the dresses she wanted and Willie contributed heartily to the church’s missionary fund. And they were able to save for his retirement so that they would be able to continue to care for their kids and their grandkids the way they had become accustomed to, even after he was no longer employed.
“Babe, I’m home,” Willie called out.
He heard the sewing machine back in Sheila’s old room, which was now the guest room, stop mid-stitch as he made his way over to the Crock-Pot, lifted the lid, and took in more of the pungent smell. That was another thing about having a small house, Gwen was able to easily keep on top of it with an almost compulsive tenacity, and on any given day the whole place smelled of fresh bleached floors and countertops, potpourri, and home cooking.
“Stay out of there now,” Gwen said, scolding Willie for letting the moisture escape her Crock-Pot. She opened the refrigerator and began setting out the accoutrements for him to make a sandwich. “Did you talk to your mother about whether she wants to take the trip up to Sheila and Darrel’s for Christmas this year?”
Willie waited patiently for Gwen to finish setting out the sandwich goods, watching her with appreciation that he wasn’t surprised he still had after all these years. “Nope, I was gonna ask her when I went over to mow her grass tomorrow.”
“You aren’t mowing this afternoon?”
“Gotta meet up with Donald and Art and one of Donald’s friends for a round. I told you that.”
Now that Gwen was done setting things out for Willie, she prepared him a glass of iced Pepsi. “That’s right.”
“How’s your morning been?”
Gwen sat down at the kitchen table across from where she knew Willie would eat. “Well, I’m working on those new Christmas stockings for the girls. Had to rip the stitching out of one of them ’cause I had it sewed on the wrong side. Talked to Sheila. She and Darrel got into another fight.”
Willie sighed, a little frustrated in response to this, but otherwise said nothing. He’d unfortunately become accustomed to these reports of domestic discord from his daughter via Gwen, and though he’d confided in Sheila that he would take care of her if she and the kids wanted to leave Darrel and move to Oklahoma City, she didn’t take him up on the offer. However, instead of letting the situation bother him, he’d simply decided to let his daughter be and be happy for her in whatever life situations she chose to place herself.
“Butch said he might stop by with the kids after JJ’s football game this evening.”
“They think they’re gonna win?” Willie asked and sat down exactly where Gwen knew he would, at the farthest end of the kitchen table next to the window.
“Let me get you some chips.” Gwen stood up and grabbed an already open bag of Lays from the cabinet, removed the clip that kept them fresh, and set them in front of Willie.
“Butch say if they think they’re gonna win?” Willie asked again.
“He didn’t say. He’s pretty disappointed in JJ’s coach, though. Doesn’t even think they’re gonna make it to state this year at the rate things are going.”
Willie dug into the chips. “Sure is a beautiful day out there today. Finally cooling off a little bit.”
“Yeah, tonight should be nice out on the course as long as that wind don’t pick up too much.”
Willie nodded and took a swig of his soda. Then he realized Gwen was staring at him with a concentrated look.
“What?”
“Nothin’. You just look handsome is all.”
Willie smacked his lips playfully. “You’re just saying that ’cause you picked out this tie, a tie which I told you I don’t particularly like.”
Gwen smiled, exposing perfectly immolated but still fake front teeth she had never quite become accustomed to. She got up and made her way around the table to Willie, kissing him on the cheek before going and putting away all the sandwich stuffs she’d laid out minutes before.
Four hours later, Willie smiled, too. He’d just made a perfect three-yard putt into the eighteenth green to put him twelve under par and well ahead of the guys he was playing with. And as he walked over to fish his golf ball from the hole, he thought of Gwennie and all her handsome beauty and the way she had smiled at him over lunch, one of those big smiles of hers that she didn’t just dole out to anyone. Willie usually imagined his life was pretty perfect these days, but when Gwen smiled like that, he knew it was. And as Willie bent to retrieve the little white Titleist, his heart fluttered, stopped beating, and he fell over and died.
Art Mendel, who was playing golf with Willie, also happened to be a well-known doctor at the best hospital in Oklahoma City, St. Mary’s. He kept applying chest compressions until the ambulances arrived, yet despite bringing Willie back to life almost a dozen times, Willie’s heart failed again and again. It was the diabetes that was to blame, Art told Gwen.
Butch phoned Sheila, who was in the middle of canning the last push of fruits from her summer garden, plus a few green beans that would add to the already plentiful collection of jars down in the basement. At first Butch said that Willie had suffered a heart attack and suggested Sheila head to Oklahoma immediately. However, by the time she arrived with Ruth and Esther seven hours later, he had to admit that despite thinking they would be able to revive Willie, it hadn’t worked, and Willie had passed.
Sheila had no means of contacting Darrel because he wasn’t answering his satellite phone, probably to get back at her for their last fight, which was over something so innocuous she couldn’t even remember the cause for it now. Ever since kicking out Lonnie, things had only deteriorated further in their marriage, despite the fact Sheila had taken a cue from her parents and attempted to find a commonality with Darrel by going hunting with him. She got up early in the morning, pulled on five layers of clothes, and filled up a thermos with coffee to go sit in a tree stand and wait to get a shot at a deer or turkey or whatever it was that was on the menu that day. But no matter what Sheila tried, it only made things worse. It was disheartening to see all that they had become truly good at was fighting with one another, Darrel mak
ing Sheila cry any given hour or any given day, and Sheila making Darrel storm out of the house with threats that he was never coming back just the same. No one knew what was once just sour between her and Darrel was now truly toxic, and telling anyone who would listen seemed like playing a broken record for them that simply needed to be turned off and discarded after all these years. So more and more, Sheila retreated to church, where she was revered for her contributions to saving the youth of Texas County, and Darrel disappeared into his work, starting up a second arm of his manufacturing company down in Monterrey, Mexico, where labor and steel were cheap. She knew things could not get much worse between them at this point and despite a promise she and Darrel had made to one another to freeze out their only son until he changed his ways, Sheila did the only thing that felt right in the midst of what was becoming more wrong than she could handle. She called Lonnie.
Daisies Page 12