by Jim Grimsley
"I am, too," Ford said. "I really appreciate your having me here."
"And I hope you get things all straightened out with your parents," Ellen continued. Her gaze fell on the ring again, and this time she met Ford's eye just afterward. She simply smiled as Ford blushed, worrying the gold band with his fingertips.
Ray appeared moments later, mumbling good mornings as he shuffled to his throne. Soon the sound of the Early Bird News pervaded the small rooms, a background that relieved them of the need to speak.
Soon enough, Ford rose from his seat. "Well, we need to get on the road if we're going to make it to Raleigh in time."
"We're all packed," Dan said. "All we have to do is load the car."
"You mean, all I have to do is load the car."
"That's what I mean." Smiling into his cup. Meeting his mother's eyes.
Ray said his good-byes from the television. He stood and shook Ford's hand; if he noted the ring at all he gave no indication. He allowed Dan the usual perfunctory hug with which they greeted and parted; he thanked the boys for coming to Christmas and wished them a safe trip. Ellen walked with them to the parked car. They stood awkwardly in the open space before the trailer as morning birdcalls rose round them. The field of graves with its ornaments of flowers and alabaster Jesuses grew more distinct as day broke fully over the countryside.
After a moment Ellen said, "Well, some people take it the wrong way when I tell them this, because we live in a cemetery. But I sure hope you boys come back and stay longer." The moment of parting, as always, made her sad. Dan felt the cutting himself; they were both bright-eyed. "We sure are a funny bunch of people, aren't we?" she said, running her hand tenderly through his hair.
"We sure are. But I guess it's way too late to do anything about it."
They kissed good-bye, she gave Ford a hug, and they got into the car.
She waited in the yard as the car. cruised along the loop road to the gate. Dan felt himself a child again as he lifted his hand to wave good-bye to the dwindling figure framed against the mobile home. The sense of parting seemed endless, as if he had been saying good-bye to her for years.
They drove through the plains of eastern North Carolina. Ford, the precise doctor behind the wheel, was weighed down with some hard thought. For once patient, Dan allowed the miles to pass and silence to linger, till Ford was ready.
Near Smithfield, Ford said, "This was a good thing to do. Your mom really likes me. Did you think so?"
"She said she does."
"Your stepfather was a little uncomfortable, but he was all right about it. About us being there together, I mean."
"If Ray had any acting up to do, he would wait till he was alone with Mom anyway. But I think he was all right."
"The whole holiday would be perfect if we could go to Savannah now."
The ensuing pause seemed calculated. Dan took the bait.."Well, nothing's really stopping us."
Silence grew, and Dan wondered if he had read Ford's signals incorrectly. "Are you serious?"
"Well, it sounds to me like that's what you want to do. Is it?"
Ford admitted, "I've been thinking about it."
"What could they do, throw us out of the house?"
"Yes. For starters."
Dan shrugged. "They're probably going to do that at least once, anyway. So we might as well get it over with." Something deep inside him began to sing. "Maybe if we let them act real ugly, they'll get it out of their system."
"Maybe." For the first time, during a conversation on this subject, Ford smiled. "My dad has a gun—he might shoot you."
"I always thought I'd die young."
"If they throw us out, we'll go down to the beach house. I still have a key."
"You have a beach house?"
"Sure. On Tybee Island." Glancing at Dan, uncertain.
"Well, naturally. I should have known." Sighing. "I guess I could force myself to spend a couple of nights at the beach."
A light began to break in Ford's face. "Are you sure? Do you think this is a good idea?"
"I'm ready for your parents whenever you are. I know it's not going to be pleasant when I meet them, and I don't expect any miracles. But I don't see any reason to put it off."
Ford nodded, calculating. "So when we get to the airport I buy two plane tickets to Savannah?"
"If there's a flight this time of year."
"There'll be something." Then another thought occurred to him. "Now, I'm paying for this, all right?"
"Fine."
Ford glanced at him as if to confirm that the concession had really been so easy. Raleigh drew nearer. Ford gripped the steering wheel grimly, and the gold ring gleamed.
"Well, what about you?" Dan asked. "Do you think it's a good idea?"
He expected hesitation, but Ford answered at once, and his relief was clear. "I think it's high time."
At the airport Ford haggled with a ticket agent for long enough that Dan began to wonder if the trip would prove feasible; but soon they found themselves rushing to a commuter flight on a small concourse that would lead them, following a stop in Myrtle Beach, to their rendezvous with Ford's past.
"I hope we can get a car when we're there," Ford fretted, "you never know, this time of year."
"You can always buy one," Dan said, deadpan.
Ford gave him a warning look as they headed down the concourse. Dan handed boarding passes to the flight attendant and they crossed the open tarmac and ducked into the cabin, finding their seats.
Dan, by the window, surveyed the busy tarmac surrounding the aircraft. Large silver propellers began to turn as the steward sealed the cabin. Leaning against Ford's shoulder, Dan said, "I don't know about this. I don't like flying with these propeller things."
"You'll be fine." Ford returned the pressure.
The cabin attendant, perfectly cosmetologized, leaned over them to say, "If those seats are too narrow, we have a lot of empty space. You're welcome to spread out."
"We're all right," Ford said, "we like tight spaces."
Ford steered the rented car into Savannah before the cocktail hour. Traffic hardly burdened the old streets and squares, even so, and they made good time. When he parked the car on a street off a tree-filled square, he sat with his hands on the wheel as if in disbelief.
Dan's fear surged, and he studied the adjacent houses, all large and prosperous, trying to guess the right one through telepathy or sympathetic connection. The only fact he knew about the house was that the front yard contained azaleas, and all the front yards in sight met that criterion.
"Which one is it?" he asked, and Ford, returning from whatever distance claimed him, gestured to a large white structure, prosperous but rather ordinary to Dan's eyes. A façade of tall windows and an elegant porch overlooked a neatly manicured lawn, the azaleas and oleander interspersed with plantings of other types. The house, surrounded by a wrought iron fence and tall brick corner and gateposts, spoke with some eloquence of the prosperity of its inhabitants. But its lines of subdued opulence offered little evidence of warmth or imagination. The color was merely white. The windows, seen from outside, were merely richly draped. Like Ford's Atlanta house, every part of it was perfectly accomplished, but somehow forbidding.
"It's big."
White-knuckled, Ford gazed at the structure as if he could see through the walls.
"Are they at home?"
"The cars are out back." He worried the ring on his finger, studied it.
"You can take that off if you want," Dan offered. "If you think it will make this easier."
Ford shook his head quickly. Searching Dan's face. "Are you ready? There's still time to change your mind."
Opening the door, Dan stepped into the cold, damp air.
Ford followed, more slowly. Dan took a moment to gather his coat together. Recognizing Ford's growing paralysis, Dan took a deep breath.
It was as if the house had eyes, as if it were watching every footfall, judging every breath. The size of it beca
me more evident as they approached, endless windows, steps leading to a high porch. The imposing front door with its brass handle awaited them. Ford said, "I never had to knock before," ashen-faced, and did it.
The door swung open. An elegant woman answered the door, gray-black hair pulled neatly into a bun. Ford's gray eyes were duplicated in her face; she had the sculpted cheekbones, Dan thought, of a fashion model or a glamour queen. Flawless skin, showing the slightest signs of age. She wore light lipstick and hardly any other makeup, her long-lashed eyes blinking in dull surprise. Raising a manicured hand to touch the bun of hair at the nape of her neck, she apparently comprehended the whole situation in a glance. "Ford."
"Hello, Mother," Ford said, near loss of voice. "We came to see you folks."
"What a surprise." When she turned to Dan, coldness crept over her. "You must be Dan."
He offered his hand, and she offered her own. "Yes," he answered, surprised that his voice remained firm. His heart no longer beat so fast, and he controlled his breathing. "I'm certainly pleased to meet you."
She stepped back without a word and allowed them to enter, though she managed never actually to invite them. Dan stepped through the broad doorway, and the house surrounded him instantly with its cool breath of marble, overhead the glittering of a chandelier. Portraits of old men hung on the walls, some oils, some sepia photographs. She gestured gracefully into the parlor, and Dan moved as directed into a sunny, spacious room. On a grand sideboard and an elegant library table stood dozens of framed family photographs. Additional old men judged the room from their vantages on the walls. He faced the woman who had admitted him, even against her better judgment, into this house.
She stood in its center of gravity, allowing the light to frame her dramatically. Making a point of standing, of leaving the men in their coats.
"Did you drive in from Atlanta?" she asked smoothly.
"No," Ford answered, "we flew from North Carolina."
"I wish you had called," she said.
"Why?"
The simple question rendered her suddenly uncertain, and she failed to meet her son's gaze eye to eye. "We've had a very hard holiday. With you not here for the first time. And now you appear at the front door with a guest."
"Dan's not a guest. Is Dad here?"
"No, he's at his office."
"I thought I saw his car," Ford said. "I wanted him to meet Dan."
Again she seemed uncertain, at such depth that Dan felt sorry for her. Nothing in her life could have prepared her for this moment. "You know that's not a good idea."
Ford paled further. Lips set in a line of anger. Before Ford could speak, Dan said, "I'd like very much to meet Dr. McKinney. In fact, I'd consider it an honor."
The mask slipped a little. Her smile wore thin under the effort. "I am very sorry."
Ford, better under control, said, "I'll call him," and headed out of the room.
Mrs. McKinney called sharply, "Ford, don't you dare!" Her face blazed. Dan swallowed. Ford froze in the doorway.
From the back of the house came another voice, "Mother, who is it? Why are you shouting?" Courtenay entered through the butler's pantry. Seeing Dan first, she stopped in her tracks. A wave of realization swept across her face. "Mother, why didn't you say they were here?" Rushing across the room, she embraced Ford at once; he drew her gently to him. "I'm so glad you came. I was thinking I wouldn't see you at all." At the same time, waving to Dan and saying, "Hi. Welcome."
In her presence, Ford found his voice again. "We decided to make the trip this morning. And now Dad's not here."
Courtenay gave him a puzzled look. "Sure he is. He's right down in the shop."
They looked at each other and then at their mother.
Mrs. McKinney kept her cool. "Wherever your father is, he certainly doesn't want to be disturbed."
"I think we should let Dad decide that," Courtenay said. Turning to Dan again, she smiled. "Take off your coat, let me hang it up. You, too, Ford."
She touched his hand tenderly and vanished, and he heard her call downstairs. Ford sank into a nearby chair without a sound. Dan kept his back to the exhibition of family photographs.
Mrs. McKinney remained standing as well. Her expression seemed very much like Ford's, her composure slightly cracked. She drew a deep, audible breath. "I cannot believe you want to put your father through this." Focusing on her son. "You know perfectly well how we feel. Your father is nearly out of his mind."
When Dr. McKinney appeared, she halted.
He, rounding the corner and standing visible in the center of the marble floor, fastened his gaze eye to eye with Dan. They watched each other, almost like children who dare each other to blink. For a moment there was human curiosity, then suddenly Dr. McKinney turned to his son and spoke to his wife. "So Ford's here. And he's brought company."
Ford stood as soon as his father entered and faced him. "I brought Dan. My friend Dan. I want you to meet him. Dan, this is my father."
"I'm pleased to meet you, sir. I think we've spoken on the phone once."
"Have we?" Dr. McKinney addressed him with careful control. "I don't remember."
"Last Christmas."
They were too distant for a handshake. Wiping his hands on a dark shop apron, Dr. McKinney studied the carpet. To Ford he said, "Well, you're here now. What do you want?"
Ford swallowed. "I wanted you to meet him. That's all."
"Well," crisply, "we've met him. And now you can take him away."
"Dad," Courtenay's voice rose in pitch, "don't do this."
Dr. McKinney spoke coolly. "Do what? What business is this of yours, Courtenay?"
"Please, Dad," Courtenay began again.
"Be quiet." Chilling. "You're a guest here, too. I'll thank you to remember that."
Mrs. McKinney, speaking nearly in a hush, faced Dan with her composure partially restored. "I think it might be best that you leave."
A hand of calm passed over him. He had expected more fear, but there was none. They thought to make this a simple moment, almost placid. But Ford said, "He's not leaving by himself."
The words dropped into absolute silence. Ford looked at Dan, then crossed the room to stand beside him. He lay a hand on Dan's shoulder, close, against the tender flesh of the neck. Unmistakably intimate. His father paled.
"Get out," he hissed. "Get out of my house this minute."
"We'll go," Ford said, "but you'd better take a good look at the two of us before we leave. This is me and this is Dan. If you want anything to do with me, you'd better learn to live with him. Because if you want me to choose between him and you, I'm choosing right now. I'm leaving with Dan."
Mrs. McKinney, crumpling at the center, leaned against her husband, her eyes filling with tears. Dr. McKinney stiffened, his eyes glazed, as if the room had vanished. "I don't have to listen to this nonsense," he snorted. "I'll call the police, and they'll throw you out."
"Do whatever you want, Dad. You won't need the police, but you can call them if you want to." Ford's voice began to tremble, and his grip on Dan tightened. "His family didn't seem to mind when I was with them for Christmas. They gave me a chance. I don't see why you can't give him one."
"I don't, either." Courtenay's small voice hardly carried.
Dead silence followed, through many heartbeats. Finally, voice breaking with genuine pain, Dr. McKinney asked, "Why are you doing this to us?"
Dan closed his eyes. He felt the finality of the moment. When he opened them again, Ford stood in front of him. Face full of sorrow. "Come on, Danny, let's go."
They stepped past the frozen couple. Courtenay rushed to get their coats. Dan headed for the open air, taking a deep breath. Silhouetted against the front door, Ford turned to his parents again. Speaking to their backs. "You don't have to make it like this."
Mrs. McKinney had begun to cry, silent sobs buried against her husband's shoulder. Dr. McKinney whispered, barely audible, "Get out of here. Please."
"We will." Ford pausi
ng, near tears. "We'll be at the beach house tonight. If you change your minds, call us."
They closed the door. Ford hovered aimlessly on the porch, arms drooping. Courtenay embraced him, and Ford held her as if, when he released her, all his ties to her and to the house would vanish. "It's all right, it's all right," Courtenay whispered. "It's over now."
She walked them to the car and waited. Ford kept Dan close to his side, arm looped across Dan's shoulders. Courtenay noted the gold ring, touched it and said, "Look at this."
"Yeah," Ford said. "What do you think about that?"
She searched his face and then turned to Dan. He expected uncertainty in her face, like in his mother's, but found none. "You guys have come a long way."
On Tybee Island, in harsh wind and blazing sunset, they walked along the strand. The drive had calmed them some. As if he had reached safe harbor, Ford faced the choppy Atlantic. Dan waited. In sight of all the houses along the beachfront, Dan folded his arms around Ford's waist.
They stood close, clothed in the slight self-consciousness that they could never escape. Sometimes they walked arm in arm, and sometimes, when people approached, they were merely side by side. The bond between them seemed so clearly visible that acting it out hardly mattered anymore. Anyone who saw them would know. The certainty of that made them feel almost naked.
They reached the breakwater at the south end of the island, where the sea collided with reinforced concrete, exploding in high bursts of foam against a jetty of rocks. Night fell. Stars rose above the eastern horizon. When the beach hung black and deserted on either side and the bite of the wind sharpened, they headed toward the lighthouse again. Ambling. Having no need to speak, they took shelter in each other.To find a hiding place.
Close to the beach house now, they faced the darkened Tybee lighthouse. Distant but visible, a ship sailed toward the mouth of the river, headed for Savannah. Farther down the beach walked another couple, maybe even two women or two men, arm in arm along the shore.