by J. M. Snyder
I find myself in my Aunt Billy’s embrace. Unlike her sister, Billy is tall and willowy—taller than my six feet, and she favors heels that add another three inches to her height. She has a long, ski-slope nose with half-frame glasses perched on the end, and two jeweled herringbone chains hang from the glasses to drape around her neck. “Michael,” she says warmly, enveloping me in her arms. Her long, billowy sleeves swirl around me like a gypsy’s scarves, and she smells faintly of tea tree oil and chamomile. As we hug, I’m almost afraid to touch her, she seems so fragile in my embrace. “So tall!” she murmurs, her voice as quiet as a librarian’s in my ear. “We know where you get that from.”
Then she’s gone, too, and Aunt Sarah is there, pinching my cheeks as she tells me I’ve grown up good. Her words. Of all her sisters, Sarah’s the one who most resembles Evie, with her broad hips and round cheeks, and the infectious laugh she has that sets everyone around her to giggling. And of all my aunts, she frightens me the most, with her Bible-thumping ways and her overly zealous religion. Every meal must start with a prayer, and she’s made it her own personal mission to save my soul, along with Ray’s and Caitlin’s. Aunt Sarah has always claimed that my mom isn’t strict enough with us, and the fact that we only go to church on Christmas and Easter is a sore spot with her. In Aunt Sarah’s mind, there are only two suitable futures for me—marriage or priesthood. The last time I was up here, five years ago, she slipped brochures for a seminary in Maryland into my luggage. When she finds out about Dan…
I look over the crowd, craning my neck to find my lover. He’s making his way around the car with a polite smile to the children who have hemmed us in to see the new arrivals. “Dan,” I call out, nodding my head so he knows I want him here with me. He gets caught up in one of Aunt Bobbie’s bear hugs—she doesn’t know who he is but hey, if he’s here, he’s family, that’s the way my aunts think—and I start to ease behind Caitlin to reach him when I’m pulled into another embrace. “Penny!”
My mom’s sister wraps her arms around my neck and reels me in for a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Michael, hey,” she laughs. It’s hard to look into her sad face and hear that laugh. Large dark circles hang below her eyes. I wonder how long Evie was sick before she died or if it was sudden, unexpected. Penny lives here at the house, she must have been with her at the end, and that explains the fatigue eating away at her. “Did you have a good trip? No problems?”
I shake my head as I step back to look at my aunt. She’s almost the mirror image of my mother, though five years younger—they both have the same eyes, the same bone structure. Only where my mom has dyed her light brown hair an ungodly shade of auburn, Penny’s long locks are a dark chestnut, and she doesn’t have the bitter anger that twists my mother’s mouth when she looks at me. For as long as I’ve known her, I’ve never seen Penny mad. Mom, on the other hand…well, I tell myself that it’s Ray’s fault she’s the way she is. After all, she did have him first, and if he were my son, I know it would’ve scarred me for life. I seriously think my mom’s the type who should have never had kids. Look at Penny—no children, happy life. Some part of me wonders if maybe my mother isn’t a little bit jealous of her sister for that.
“We made great time,” I tell my aunt. “Dan drove the whole way.” I turn and hold out a hand for my lover.
Penny nods because she isn’t quite sure who I’m talking about, but her smile doesn’t fade. “Dan?” she echoes. “I didn’t know you were bringing a friend.”
When Caitlin hugs Aunt Sarah, Dan tries to ease behind her to reach me, but my sister steps back before he’s clear. Dan places a hand on the small of her back so she won’t run into him. Unfortunately, my aunts see the gesture. “Caitlin?” Aunt Sarah asks, raising her eyebrows as she studies Dan appreciatively. She takes his hand that’s reaching out for me and pumps it up and down in a quick handshake. “Laura didn’t mention him. Your boyfriend?”
With a glance over her shoulder, Caitlin smirks at Dan, and when her gaze shifts to me, I know what she’s going to say before the word escapes her mouth. “Michael’s,” is her flippant reply.
Dan finds my hand, his fingers closing over mine desperately, but his polite expression never changes. “Michael’s,” Penny echoes. For the first time I wonder if she’s on anything. As if trying to grasp the concept, she looks at our hands laced together and asks, “Your friend?”
There’s no use trying to pretend otherwise. “Boyfriend,” I correct. I think I hear my Aunt Sarah gasp, and slowly people stop talking, one by one, to turn and look at us. At me. Suddenly it’s last night all over again and I’m the center of attention. I don’t know how Caitlin lives like this. “Look,” I start, squeezing Dan’s hand for comfort. “If it’s going to be a problem…”
“At least he’s handsome,” Aunt Billy says. Bobbie and Penny laugh, breaking the tension, until the only people still frowning at us are Sarah and my mother. Billy pushes past her sister to hug Dan again. He returns the embrace with one hand, holding onto me with the other. “Military?” my aunt asks. When Dan nods, she wants to know, “What branch?”
“Army,” he says.
Penny nudges my mother, who has appeared beside me as if by magic. “Laura, you little minx,” she slurs, and yes, she’s definitely been taking something. Evie’s death probably hit her hard enough for the doctor to prescribe a mild tranquilizer. “You didn’t tell us Michael had a boy.”
Mom’s lips are a thin white line of anger in her closed face. “I just found out about it myself,” she admits. When she speaks, she keeps her voice low, and I know she’s just itching to get me alone so she can start in on how we shouldn’t be advertising my homosexuality. Take it up with Caitlin, I think. She’s the one who mentioned it, not me.
“We didn’t know,” Penny says as she glances around. Most of the children look openly at me and Dan, curious. Aunt Billy still has a hand on Dan’s arm—she’s always been the touchy-feely type—and she’s whispering quietly to him about her daughter Sylvia, who’s in the Navy. Penny turns around, her lips moving as she takes a quick head count. “I’m not sure we have any empty rooms,” she’s saying, talking almost to herself. “We didn’t know there would be another couple…”
“I’m sure they can share with the other boys,” Mom says. Dan tightens his grip on my hand to keep me quiet, but when I look at him, he’s nodding at something Aunt Billy’s said. “It’s only for a few nights. Where are the other children sleeping?”
I can’t stand this. “I’m not a child,” I tell her. Dan pinches my fingers but I can’t take much more of my mom’s righteous attitude. “I’m not sleeping alone, is that clear? I haven’t in eight damn months, I’m not about to start now just because the thought of me loving another man is too much for you to stomach.”
Surprisingly, it’s Ray who comes to my rescue. “You and Dad get a room together,” he points out. Thank you, I pray silently. Maybe I won’t kick his ass just yet. “Couples get privacy. Isn’t that the way it goes? Aunt Evie’s rules—”
Mom whirls to face him, her cheeks mottled an angry red. “Evie is dead,” she says. Beside me, Penny swoons like she just might faint, but Aunt Billy is there with one strong arm to hold her up. Turning to her relatives for support, Mom pleads, “They can sleep with the rest of the boys. Are you putting the kids downstairs again?” She looks at me as if she doesn’t quite know who I am any more. “What’s it matter if you’re alone or not? If you’re not…” She motions with one hand, not able to bring herself to finish the sentence. If you’re not having sex…
Behind us, Aunt Bobbie laughs. I don’t see anything amusing in this scene, nothing at all, but soon Aunt Billy’s giggling, too, and Aunt Sarah lets out a sort of hiccupping guffaw that seems to startle herself more than anyone else. “Oh Laura,” Bobbie chuckles. “How old are you? And you still can’t say the word sex?”
“It’s not that,” Mom flusters, but now the children around us are giggling, hiding their mouths with their hands and glancing at eac
h other from the corners of their eyes. Sex. We’re all children here, aren’t we? Me, Dan, these urchins crowding us, my mom herself. Turning to her sister, Mom implores, “Penny, a little help here would be nice.”
Fortunately, whatever Penny’s taking to get through the next few days has already kicked in, and she gives us all a sleepy, happy grin. “The back room,” she says, clapping her hands in discovery. “I almost forgot! We didn’t clean it out because Ginger said she wasn’t bringing what’s his face, remember?” She looks at Aunt Billy for confirmation. “There’s a bed back there under all that mess. Perfect.”
So it’s settled. Dan opens the trunk of the car, grabs our bags, and together we follow Penny into the house. I don’t look at my mom—I don’t have to see the way she’s glaring at me to know I won, and I can’t help the smug smile that tugs at my lips and threatens to split my face in two. “Thanks,” I whisper to Penny.
“My pleasure,” she says with a shaky laugh. “Ray’s right. Evie always said…” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat, wipes at her cheek as if wiping that thought away. “The back room’s fine for you two. I’m glad you’ve found someone, Mike. You’re a good kid.”
She leads us through the foyer, filled with more luggage and bags and pillows than a college town bus station at Spring Break. There are more kids inside—how many of us are there? I don’t recognize any of them, though I think I see my Uncle Tommy in the living room, reclining on the couch, my Uncle Craig beside him. I thought Caitlin said Doug was the only one here so far? When did everyone else arrive?
Through the kitchen, around more children. “Rec room’s downstairs but everyone still hangs out up here,” Penny tells us. The back room’s off the kitchen—three doors line the wall behind the table and when the back door’s open, the first one is hidden. That’s the pantry. The next door leads to the basement, which was unfinished the last time I was here, though it sounds like they’ve finally converted it the way Evie always wanted. And the last door opens onto what has always been called simply “the back room.”
When Penny opens the door, I feel transported in time—this cluttered storage room is exactly the way I remember it. A bed runs the length of one wall, stretching between the door and a single, circular window at the other end of the room. Old quilts are stacked up high like the mattresses in that fairy tale about the princess and the pea. Pillows pile into the corners of the bed, and there’s a small table beneath the window, a bedside lamp and alarm clock among the coins and jewelry and knick-knacks scattered over its surface. Across the room is a clothes rack overstuffed with old coats, out of style shirts and slacks and prom dresses, feather boas, capes…as kids, we used these clothes as costumes, pretending we were rich stars or singers, putting on movies and concerts in the backyard for any of the adults we could coerce into watching us. Towering boxes reach to the ceiling, a jungle gym we used to climb on when we were younger; there’s a record player that still worked when I was a teenager and a case of 45s and LPs that I would listen to for hours, the Beatles and Supremes and Monkees; a bookcase bleeds encyclopedias and old issues of National Geographic onto the floor. This was where Evie stuck everything she couldn’t fit anywhere else, a veritable treasure trove to children. Because kids were always running in and out of here, and because it was always such a mess—an eyesore, Evie used to call it—no one ever slept in this room during vacations.
That makes this hit home. This isn’t a vacation, it’s not downtime, it’s not the usual family gathering that I’ve missed these past few years. Evie isn’t with us any longer, and suddenly her absence is an open wound in my chest, an ache that I don’t think will ever heal. The fact that I’m sleeping in the back room these next few days drives the point deeper into my soul. Gone.
“Thanks,” I say again. I speak low so Penny won’t hear the emotions swirling through me. When I stand aside to let Dan into the room, he touches my arm as he passes—he must sense what I’m feeling. Tired and sad and a loss so engulfing that I fear I might drown if I dwell on it, like an aggravated wound that just won’t heal. I’ll get through this. I’ll move on.
Still, here, now? I wish to God that I had found the time to come up this past summer. Aunt Evie would’ve loved Dan, I just know it.
Penny busies herself cleaning off the bed, until there’s just one quilt left and two pillows fluffed together at one end. “Don’t mind your mom,” she tells us as she works. “Laura can be ugly when things don’t go her way, and she’s had her mind set on grandkids for God, I don’t know how long. You really threw her for a loop there, Mike.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. Setting our bag on the floor, Dan rubs at my back, then eases an arm around my waist and hugs me close.
“You must be exhausted,” Penny continues. In here, away from the aunts and my mother, she seems more animated. Maybe the medication’s wearing off. “Tell you guys what. You lie down for a bit, rest up, and I’ll come knocking when it’s time for dinner.” With a bright smile, she adds, “Al’s tonight. I know you’ve missed his hoagies.”
I have to laugh. “They call them subs down south,” I say.
Penny clutches her chest as if hurt. “Subs!” she cries in mock horror. “Oh, the humanity! Do they even use olive oil down there? Wait! Don’t tell me. Italian dressing, right?” Now Dan’s laughing as well, and Penny shakes her head in dismay. “The heathens. We’ll fix you boys up with real cheesesteaks tonight, I promise.”
As she turns to leave, I catch her wrist. In my hand, hers feels frail, like an intricate macramé. “Thanks again,” I whisper. “How are you holding up, Penny?”
For a moment I don’t think she’ll answer. I’m still a child to her—she won’t confide in me. But then her chin crumbles, her lower lip trembles, and she touches her hair as if checking to make sure it’s still there, a habit she shares with my mom. “Fine,” she whispers, forcing a brave smile. “Fine, Michael, really. I’ll be fine.” She gives me a tight hug. “I’ll have to be, right? Thanks for coming, both of you.” With a sad smile at Dan, she leaves.
And we’re alone at last.
Chapter 14: Alone
For a breathless moment, Dan and I look at each other, not daring to believe that we’ve managed to shuck off the rest of my family and snag a few stolen moments to ourselves. Then it sinks in—this is our room, that’s our bed—and without a word, I lock the door to keep this sudden solitude in. As I turn towards Dan, I’m surprised to find a hungry lust shimmering beneath the exhaustion that dulls his eyes. “You’re not thinking…” I let the sentence trail off as I close the distance between us.
“Why not?” Dan replies. He reaches out for me but only manages to brush a hand along my stomach before I step up behind him. My hands find his shoulders, the muscles bunched into hard knots beneath my fingers. As I rub into the tight flesh, he moans softly, leans back into my touch. “Unless you don’t want to?” he murmurs.
I slip off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. “Now when do I ever not want to?” I ask coyly.
Dan’s laugh turns guttural as I massage his neck. “That one time in the barracks,” he starts.
Digging my thumbs into the space between his shoulder blades, I rub away the tension coiled there and growl, “I just didn’t want to get you in trouble, boyfriend. Don’t complain—you got some later that night.” We’re referring to something that happened in April, after we’d been together for a few months. Dan was already living with me, but since he’s stationed on post, he keeps a room there with a footlocker and few articles of clothing, nothing important. His bunkmate knows he shares a place with me, though he thinks that we’re just old friends. I don’t know if he suspects we’re in a relationship, and from what Dan says, he doesn’t really care. Most of Jackson’s downtime is spent trolling for trollops in the nation’s capital—a single room means he can sneak the girls onto base, as long as he can get them out of his room and off post by first reveille.
Last spring, one of the men in Dan’s troop g
ot married, and the others managed to snag the Officer’s Club for a bachelor party. Dan invited me. “It’s sort of just for Army buddies, isn’t it?” I asked, unsure.
Dan shrugged. “It’s for a bunch of us guys to get together one last time before Hicks gets hitched,” he told me. “It’s to have fun. I want you there. You’ll make it fun for me.”
With a laugh, I pointed out, “None of the other guys are bringing their lovers.”
To which Dan wrapped his arms around me and murmured, “None of the other guys are dating someone like you.” He kissed my ear. “If you don’t go, I’m not going, either. A bunch of drunken Army guys isn’t exactly my idea of a perfect evening, you know?”
So I went. Fortunately I wasn’t the only civilian there—Hicks worked part-time at a local Wal-Mart off post and a few of his coworkers showed up, as well. There was alcohol, of course, and a couple of hired dancers, who showed up in long trench coats that hid sequined bikinis. One of them took an instant liking to me, and after every set would find some excuse to plop herself down at our table, scooting her chair close to mine. After getting a few mixed drinks into my system, I leaned over and whispered to her, “You’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t…” I didn’t elaborate, but the look I gave her was enough to get my drift across.
The girl, a college student who called herself Roxie, flipped her sweaty blonde hair over one bare shoulder and laughed, a rich sound as deep as the drinks I’d been sipping all night long. “Oh honey, I know that,” she said, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. “Why do you think I’m hanging out over here? I know I’m safe with you.” At my quizzical look, she explained, “The other guys think I’m taken, right? They leave me alone. And hey, you have some cover, if you need it. Works out for both of us in the end. You’ll go home with your boy tonight and I’ll leave without getting groped. I’m just doing this for the money, you know? Student loans ain’t shit.” I bought her a drink for her honesty, and another for her continued silence.