"Candles in a bedroom" and "just kissing" never belonged together in a conversation with my son. I'd read enough romance novels lately to predict the sequence of events. But I didn't want to explain that to Ben. One day. Not today. I went for the easy question. "Really? And who have you seen kiss like that?"
"Trey and Julie," he said, to the tune of "so there."
"Ben, there's a difference between two people kissing like Nick's parents and kissing like Lois and Clark on the show."
"Not really," he said, flopped over on his side and looked at me. "One time me and Nick tried to find popcorn in the pantry. We heard his mom and dad, so we kinda hid there because they told us to play outside for awhile. When it got quiet, we thought they left. But when we peeked, they were kissing all weird and stuff. And then Miss Julie said something about getting lucky. We ran out after they left."
Television. Julie and Trey. Those were Ben's points of reference for physical affection between couples. Not the Treadways, a few houses over, who walked every afternoon, holding hands. Well into their 70s, Dootsie joked she and Billy held hands to keep each other from falling. I doubt they were even on Ben's radar. He had no memory, of course, of his father and me. I barely had a memory of us. How was I going to teach my son about intimacy and affection when I couldn't figure it out myself? And would I soon need to add Max and David to that list?
Just as I thought it was time to shut down for the night and roll myself and an already sleeping Ben into bed, I spied an email from Pastor Vince and one from Mr. Washington, both sent that morning. It was evident, once again, that not having a Smart phone made me a not smart businesswoman. While I was at David's, I could have been taking care of this, and at a time when I'd be more awake and more coherent. Tomorrow, Max would be given a mission to sniff out a cell phone deal. He seemed the bloodhound type.
Both men wanted to meet next week. Vince to discuss wedding catering and Washington, actually sent by Lurlene his assistant, that he changed the venue to River Oaks, a new banquet hall, and he wanted to meet me there. The thought of another appointment with the ogler made a root canal seem appealing. I'd seen his wife on television commercials and, unless he used a stand-in, the woman bore an uncanny resemblance to Jackie O. And considering he looked like Richard Nixon, she definitely won the attractiveness card in that relationship, which made his creepiness all the more confounding. Maybe I could convince Julie to join me. Washington might be less inclined to take inventory with his eyes in front of someone else. Or he'd think he'd won the jackpot. But I didn't want to commit to any appointments without checking with David and Max. I emailed them both that I'd check my schedule and get back to them.
The next morning, I woke up in one of those bolt upright panics. My heart galloped in my chest as I fumbled to find my cell phone. The novel I'd been reading—heavier on the intimacy, lighter on the affection—flew to the empty side of the bed when I pulled up the sheets. My hands followed a muffled beep coming from the headboard until they wrapped around the phone. The battery was almost dead, but I had beaten the alarm by two minutes.
I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and imagined myself sinking chin deep into a warm bath. When was the last time I actually relaxed, in a bathtub or otherwise? When I opened my eyes, the cover of the book I lost myself in last night looked tawdry spotlighted in the soft morning light.
It's not as if you're hurting anyone.
Exactly.
But when I'd heard Ben calling me, I shoved the book in my nightstand before he reached my room.
33
Ben dashed into my bedroom and waved a folded sheet of red construction paper in front of me.
"Look what I'm making," he said as he climbed on the bed.
Bordered on what I hoped were footballs, the words "Get Well Real Real Soon" hobbled on the front flap. Inside he had written, "Dear Uncle Da."
"Can I finish this so you can give it to Uncle David today? I'll be fast." He tugged the card from my hand, slid to the floor, and waited.
"How about finishing it tonight when you have more time? I'll be here tomorrow too." I pushed my feet into slippers and patted him on the back, mostly to get him moving forward.
Ben didn't budge. "Pa-leeze?"
How could a barely awake mother resist her doe-eyed son wearing his LSU pajamas who begged to finish a card for his uncle?
"Okay, okay." I yawned, and he was already on his way when I said, "Don't mess around. You need to be ready when Julie gets here."
"And so do you," I said to my matted-hair reflection as I passed the wall mirror on the way to the kitchen.
I scrambled an egg, wrapped it in a warm wheat tortilla, and left the plate on the island. "Ben," I called out in the direction of his bedroom, "I'm going to get dressed. Come eat your breakfast."
Of course he didn't make it to the kitchen to eat breakfast, and of course he still wore his pajamas when Julie arrived, and of course I drove him to school. Late.
Max must have been on lookout duty. He opened the latticed French door before I even walked up the whitewashed concrete steps of David's house.
"Sorry. Ran a little late this morning," I said and handed him the Crock Pot.
"Ran into traffic?" Max asked over his shoulder as I followed him in.
"No, a persistent little boy," I said. "Uh, where's David?"
"Slept late," Max said as he walked into the front room. He held a plate out. "Scone? I made orange cranberry and a lemon curd dip."
He cooked too? I must have looked as surprised as I felt because Max handed me a napkin and said, "Not a cook, but I can bake. A little." He set the plate on the table. "Generally, not a talent I broadcast. Makes me seem even more of a stereotype. You know, gay man who bakes."
I nodded and chewed.
"I'll check on David," he said.
"If anyone calls about stopping by, would you mind telling them to wait a few days? He already looks tired."
"Max, I'm not invisible. I can decide if it's a good time or not," said David, who sounded very much like Ben when he pouted.
"Just looking out for you. Don't let those pain meds delude you into thinking you're invincible," Max said as he moved toward the door.
"Well, obviously I'm not. All I have to do is look at myself to know that."
I stood between the two of them and felt like a line judge at a tennis match as they volleyed back and forth. I needed to stop them before I had to call an out of bounds. "Max is right. You do look tired." I held up my hand when I saw his mouth forming an answer. "Stop. But if it makes you happy, I'll check with you before I tell anyone not to come over."
Max glanced at his watch, "We'll have to wake up sooner if this is going to be our morning routine." He smiled.
David and I both laughed. "You win. And sorry for—"
"Apology accepted. I'm supposed to meet that couple with four kids, Cindy and Tommy Burkhalter. The ones who want a big house with a small note. I have backup at the store. Going to be a long day in the suburbs."
David rubbed the bridge of his nose. "All these medicines, and I still remember the pain of that family. Nice, but clueless. I tried to explain the Katrina-effect on property values. Their home's worth more, but so are all of the ones they're trying to buy . . . Oh, and be careful . . . the little one isn't fully toilet trained."
"Maybe I'll skip the store. Come straight here . . ."
He was still shaking his head when he closed the door.
"This is the reason we were late this morning," I said and handed him Ben's card.
"My nephew, the budding Hallmark man," he smiled as he read the outside. It was the inside of the card that caused David's damp eyes. "Did you read what he wrote?'
"No. We were running behind schedule, so I just slipped it in the bag I toted over. What did he say?"
David cleared his throat. "Dear Uncle David," he read, "I pray for you every day. When you're better, we can play football. I love you and Jesus loves you too. Your nephew, Ben."
I c
hopped and measured for the turkey chili while David ate breakfast and channel-surfed. Every few minutes, dialogue streams would chop off mid-syllable, and start again seconds later. Maybe he couldn't take his Adderol with all his other medications because his attention was definitely at a deficit.
"Caryn, can you come here?"
David sounded more annoyed than injured, which saved me from running on the polished hardwood floors where even walking fast could lead to a head injury.
"Have you ever tried to read a newspaper when you have just one arm?" Open newspaper sections covered the sofa, the floor, and his lap. Some of the pages were crumpled, others folded. Black newspaper print smudged the underside of the arm he waved as if he needed to point out the problem. Even his hand looked as if he'd been doing charcoal finger painting." And the ones I drop, I can't even reach to pick them up." He grabbed the pages on his lap and threw them to the side. He laid his head against the sofa. " I don't know how I'm going to make it through this," he whispered.
"Why aren't you using your Kindle?"
"Because Max left the paper here," he said pointing to the coffee table. "My Kindle's in there." He jerked his thumb toward his bedroom.
I picked up newspapers, folded them, stacked them. "Plates. You need plates."
"What?"
"After Harrison died, I stayed numb for weeks. Then, like it came out of hibernation, this rage grew inside. Here." I put the paper down that I'd been holding and put my hand on my stomach. " It filled up every space it could find in my body. Some days I even tasted it, like curdled milk." I picked up more pages to fold. Stared into the past." I had to get rid of it before it hijacked my body. Somebody, I don't even remember who it was, told me to go to Goodwill and buy a stack of cheap plates. Fling them on the ground one at a time, the whole stack. Whatever. Something about hearing the hard noise as they hit the concrete and smashed into pieces that made me see my anger was those plates. And the breaking and the noise . . . that's what it was doing to me. Once I figured that out, it didn't see the inside of me. And it stopped controlling me."
"I'm not sure Goodwill has enough plates for me." He clicked off the television just as The Price Is Right music started." It's difficult to ask for help when you're used to taking care of yourself."
"Of course not. That's what family and friends do for—"
"I didn't mean family and friends. And, yes, you are support. But I meant God. He isn't going to abandon me. In some way I don't even understand yet, God's strength will help. My bones may be broken, but my spirit doesn't have to be."
How was it possible my gay brother had more of a relationship with God than I? Not that I didn't plan to work on the church thing and God. But I thought being gay meant an automatic expulsion from God's kingdom. How could David love a God who didn't just put him in the back of the bus, He kicked him out entirely? One of us was confused, and I didn't want to be the one to tell David the God he worshiped when he was a straight man was probably not going to punch his ticket into heaven now that he was gay.
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded and changed the subject. "Do you want me to get a damp towel so you can wipe that print off?"
"No. I'm going to crutch my way to the bathroom, and I'll wash it off then. This might take a while, so no need to check on me. Unless you hear a loud crash."
I convinced him that it would be faster if I wheeled him to the door of the bathroom. Faster for him, easier for me to not have to watch him struggle to take every step there.
"You could grab my Kindle for me. It's on the table next to my bed."
I hesitated, maybe because I wouldn't send anyone into my bedroom without a warning. Even though I passed David's bedroom every trip to and from the kitchen—one of the downfalls of a shot gun house where the only really private room is the bathroom—I didn't linger.
Now that I could walk in without feeling as if I trespassed, I saw not just a sparse, uncluttered, and tranquil space. I saw my life and David's juxtaposed in that one place in a house that was our most intimate—our bedrooms.
When I left this morning, my bed was unmade, as it was most mornings regardless of being late or early. I used the comforter as a blanket because I couldn't justify the hundreds of dollars I'd spend for one I deemed more sophisticated. The bright yellow and cornflower blue plaid looked more suited to a teenage girl's room, so I wasn't too motivated to find it covering my bed. On one side of the room, cookbooks and clothes battled for floor space. The drapes I intended to hang years ago were on a shelf in my closet, still wrapped in the Pottery Barn bag. Sometimes the dresser held two or three coffee cups, leftover from the night before or mornings as I dressed for the day.
While my room made me eager to leave it, David's was an invitation. Earth tone shades and textures expanded the room. Under the rustic pine sleigh bed and dresser, a sisal rug edged in chocolate brown covered almost the entire wood floors. The stripes in the silk duvet reminded me of shades of coffee, from espresso to café au lait. The wheat colored silk drapes only looked as if they had been carelessly tossed over the bronze curtain rod.
I found the Kindle on the antiqued black desk table that covered the wall between the bed and the floor to ceiling window. Under it was a paperback New Testament that billed itself as a "fresh translation" and on the cover, the water that splashed resembled a crown. David was still in the bathroom. I set the Kindle down, and picked up the paperback with its thumb worn edges. I flipped through pages with sections underlined or maybe a line or phrase highlighted. A few pages were tabbed with sticky notes. One marked James 4:12, which read, "There is only one lawgiver and judge, and he is able to save and destroy. But you who judge your neighbor, who are you?" Another, Philippians 4:5: "Let your gentleness show in the treatment of all people." On page 264, the subheading "Grace now Rules" had been circled, and on the next page in Romans 5, the text read: ". . . grace will rule through God's righteousness . . ."
I returned the book to the table with one question ramming into my brain: can someone be gay and a Christian? I know David told me he and Max attended church. Did they attend as an openly gay couple? When David came out, I assumed the announcement meant he sacrificed heaven. Never mind I wasn't much more than a holiday Christian; it would always be a viable option for me because I was straight. I could choose to go. Or not. But even if David chose heaven, there was no gate through which gay men could enter. At least that's what I thought to be true. It didn't matter that David lived a life of kindness and compassion.
Julie and I used to joke that whatever happened in our marriages, it always came down to one thing for our husbands . . . sex. So that's what heaven came down to for God? I gave Him credit for being a bigger man than that.
Maybe I needed this confusion to push me into making that appointment with Vince. Catering his daughter's wedding would be a sandbox compared to this. I picked up the Kindle and turned to leave when a thought exploded into my consciousness. My gay brother kept a New Testament near his bed. His straight sister kept sensual romance novels by hers.
34
I checked in with Julie. The boys needed poster paper for a social studies project, so she asked if I could stop at Walgreen's." When I picked up the boys this afternoon, one of the teachers said she didn't get an email from you with the monthly meal options. I told her I'd find out."
If I hadn't been driving, I would have slapped myself in the head. How could that have totally fallen out of my brain?
"Since you're mute, I'm guessing you didn't send the email." Her microwave beeped. "Wait a minute, Caryn. Getting the popcorn out for the boys. Wash your hands first. Get a bowl. Yes, you can take it outside."
"I'm mortified. I can't believe that email didn't go out." I merged onto I-10; cars moved slower and slower, until all I saw ahead of me were brake lights and a long night. "Great. The interstate is officially a parking lot, and I see the flashing lights of a fire truck coming up the service road. This is not good."
"No, it's not. But be gratef
ul it's not you stopping traffic. Look, don't worry about the project stuff. I can pick that up tomorrow since they're not doing anything until the weekend. You need to get that email out."
"Well, I can't do it from here. Not with my phone." I shifted to park and put the phone on speaker. I raked my fingers through my hair and rubbed my scalp. A massage. That's what I needed to rid my body of toxins. But would there be anything left of me after that? "And what am I going to write? 'Dear Teachers: I'm an idiot. Even though I've been cooking for you for months now, I forgot to send out a January menu.'"
"How did you know? Sure, that's exactly what I thought too. Why don't you just tell them the truth minus the details? Your brother was hurt, you're helping—"
"No. Absolutely not. I don't want to spread my personal life all over the school system or answer questions or figure out how not to answer them." I opened the windows, then turned off the car after I realized even the 18-wheelers were shutting down. On my left, two teenaged girls had pushed themselves through the moon roof of the Acura they were in. At first they relayed whatever they saw from that vantage point to the other occupants of the car. I was just about to ask them myself, when the music cranked up and a song I didn't understand and probably wouldn't have wanted to, transformed them from road scouts to "I was glad they weren't my daughters, and my son wasn't in the car with me" girls. At least their hip gyrations were confined to the car's interior. I hoped the other two bodies were females.
"Are you afraid people will find out David's gay or that you'll lose orders because you have a gay brother?"
They both sounded ridiculous, but they didn't feel ridiculous when they gnawed like mice on the fringes of my doubt. "I don't think I'll lose customers because of David, except for the ones who might think I'm using my profits to support him or something. The fact that he was engaged and people expected a wedding makes it all a mess. I feel like I'm playing twenty questions. 'When's the wedding? There is no wedding. They broke it off? Yes. Lori or David? Both. Is it just postponed? No.' Do you hear the problem?"
The Edge of Grace Page 20