Not knowing what else to do, Martin made tea. He wanted a glass of wine, but he’d feel like he had to offer one to Carter, which would have been illegal. Right? Stopping cold in his tracks, he tried to remember how old Carter was. Not old enough to drink, certainly. Somewhere in his late teens. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Wait, he was eleven at Martin’s father’s funeral and twelve at his mother’s which made him around eighteen. Maybe not eighteen. Maybe seventeen. Not only was Carter a relative, he was a teenage relative. And Martin had let him in.
Carter looked better when finally came out of the bathroom, even though he swam in the ancient 501s and t-shirt that Martin had given him. He did seem grateful for the tea and chocolate cookies Martin had set out on the oak dining table that took up half the small living room. Although he knew the question was dangerous, Martin felt compelled to ask it. “Did you want to call your parents and let them know where you are?”
“No,” Carter said simply.
“I’m sure they’re worried.”
“You do something in the movies, right?”
“I proofread captioning for the deaf.”
“Oh.” Carter clearly expected something more glamorous, something that required attending televised award shows and thinking up acceptance speeches.
“I thought you lived in Hollywood?” the boy asked.
“A long time ago. I’ve been down here in Long Beach about twelve years.”
Why are they talking about me? Martin wondered. Why weren’t they talking about what was really going on here?
“I guess you had a fight with your parents?”
“Kind of.”
“Kind of? Is that teenager for ‘yes?’”
Carter shrugged, and they fell into an uneasy silence.
“I’m going to have some wine,” Martin announced and ran off to the kitchen. God, this was worse than internet dating, something Martin had given up because of the incredible awkwardness of talking to strangers. You’d think it would be easy since you knew nothing about them, but it was harder than talking to someone you knew everything about.
Martin was halfway through his glass of wine before he got back to the living room. Carter smiled as he sat down. The kid had a great smile , Martin thought, stunning even. You could really mess people up with a smile like that.
“I’m sorry what?” Martin asked, having missed what Carter just said.
“I said, you’re really old.”
“I’m old? Are you trying to be rude?” Martin wasn’t sure because it sounded as though there was a touch of pride in his nephew’s voice.
“No, it’s just...don’t most gay men die before they’re forty?”
“Who told you that?” Martin gulped down the rest of his wine. He should have brought the bottle.
“That’s what they said at The Renewal Center,” Carter explained. “They had statistics.”
“The what center?”
“The Renewal Center. It’s this special part of Willowbrook Psychiatric Hospital. My parents sent me there for therapy. I only stayed a week and a half. They had to let me go when I turned eighteen. Two days ago.”
“Oh. Happy birthday.” Great. The kid’s been in a mental hospital. Martin almost couldn’t breathe. How could this be happening to him? The kid was nuts. “So, why were you in a mental hospital?”
“I’m gay,” Carter said.
“Yeah, I know, but that—” Martin tumbled, like a suitcase falling down a flight of stairs. “Your parents put you in a mental hospital to have you ‘un-gayed?’”
“That’s not what they call it.”
“What do they call it?”
“Sexual reorientation.”
All Martin could think of to say was, “Ouch.” Well, sexual reorientation did sound painful. Apparently, it was the right thing to say because Carter nodded his head and said, “Yeah.”
Wait a minute, Martin thought, this can’t be true. His brother, Paul, was completely reasonable in many ways. Wasn’t he? Actually, Martin barely knew him. They hadn’t lived in the same state for almost thirty years, and when they did see each other or talk on the phone, they carefully avoided discussing politics and religion, and had never once talked about Martin’s sexuality. Maybe he was the kind of person who would do that to his own child.
No, Carter was probably lying. He’s probably really crazy. Telling Martin that he’d been in a Christian psych ward where they convert gay people was the perfect way to get Martin to help him. Martin would have no choice.
Calm down, he told himself. The kid had just walked in the door. He had no reason to assume he was a gay version of The Bad Seed. In all likelihood, he was just a kid in trouble. “Would you like to see a therapist? I mean, I’ll pay for it, of course.”
“No, I’m good,” Carter said, as though Martin had just offered him another cup of tea or an unappealing cookie.
“Okay.” Martin was relieved. He hadn’t actually intended to offer to pay for something as expensive as therapy. He didn’t intend to pay for anything. He just had to remember not to offer. Not offering to pay for things made it easier to not actually pay for them.
“So, tell me about being in a psychiatric hospital. What’s that like?” A therapist would ask a question like that. Martin was tempted to start calculating his savings.
“Um, could we talk about that another time? I’m kind of tired. I haven’t had much sleep in the last few days.”
It was only seven o’clock, but Martin jumped up and the two of them went into Martin’s TV room-slash-office. Martin hoped he could find the double size sheets he’d bought with the sofa. As he yanked the cushions off the sofa, the tube of Vaseline flew onto the floor. Both Carter and Martin stared at it for a moment, then Martin blushed, snatching it up. “I have dry skin.”
BUY MY FAVORITE UNCLE
Also by Marshall Thornton
The Perils of Praline,
or the Amorous Adventures of a Southern Gentleman
in Hollywood
Desert Run
Full Release
The Ghost Slept Over
My Favorite Uncle
IN THE BOYSTOWN MYSTERIES SERIES
Boystown: Three Nick Nowak Mysteries
Boystown 2: Three More Nick Nowak Mysteries
Boystown 3: Two Nick Nowak Novellas
Boystown 4: A Time For Secrets
Boystown 5: Murder Book
Boystown 6: From The Ashes
Boystown 7: Bloodlines
About the Author
Marshall Thornton is a novelist, playwright and screenwriter living in Long Beach, California. He is best known for the Boystown detective series, which has been short-listed in the Rainbow Awards three times and has twice been a finalist for the Lambda Book Award - Gay Mystery. Other novels include the erotic comedy The Perils of Praline, or the Amorous Adventures of a Southern Gentleman in Hollywood ; Full Release; The Ghost Slept Over and My Favorite Uncle . Marshall has an MFA in screenwriting from UCLA, where he received the Carl David Tosser Memorial Fellowship and was recognized in the Samuel Goldwyn Writing awards. He has also had plays produced in Chicago and Los Angeles, and stories published in The James White Review and Frontier Magazine .
Boystown 7: Bloodlines Page 23