Shotgun

by Marie Sexton

  “Oh, that’s right,” Junior sneered. “I forgot. You went to a party at their house once.”

  Frank shrugged. “My wife’s friends with Jared’s sister-in-law, so we dropped in. So what?”

  “Mr. Thomas is the best teacher we have,” Mason said quietly from my right. Everybody turned to look at him, and he sank lower in his seat, but my heart swelled at his boldness nonetheless. “I’m going to get college credit in his AP physics class.”

  My dad snorted in disgust. “That’s what pisses me off,” he said, pointing at Mason. “I don’t care what his kind do in their own homes, but they have no business being around kids! That’s why neither of my boys played in the band. I wasn’t going to give some limp-wristed band instructor a chance to notice Dom or D and get sleazy ideas.”

  “Mr. Stevens is all right too,” Mason said, as his cheeks burned.

  “Just ’cause he’s gay doesn’t mean he’s a pedophile,” Julio said to my father.

  “It doesn’t mean he isn’t.”

  “He’s been teaching in this town for almost thirty years without a single accusation of inappropriate behavior. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “Defend them all you want,” my dad said. “But I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea letting perverts like that anywhere near our kids.”

  Julio waved his hand dismissively at my father, muttering under his breath about dinosaurs. I was pretty sure he meant my father, but the discussion died as the teams took the field to begin the second half.

  I sat in silence, staring blankly down at my hands in my lap, shame filling my chest like some kind of noxious weight. Yes, as far as my dad was concerned, being gay may not have been the worst thing in the world. But being gay and around children? That was a whole different kind of sin.

  I thought of Lamar—of how good it had felt to kiss him, and of the temptation I’d nearly given in to afterward—and then of Naomi, sitting in the other room with her phone and her cousins and her blue eyebrows. Naomi, who was the bright, beautiful, eye-rolling center of my life.

  And my choice was clear.

  I had to end things with Lamar.

  I COULDN’T believe how much I missed Lamar over the next week. I’d grown used to having him around in the evenings. I’d looked forward to more hours together, huddled around my little table and a couple thousand Legos.

  “Isn’t Mr. Franklin coming over tonight?” Naomi asked on Tuesday.

  “No.”

  “I thought you guys were going to start the Death Star.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Snowflake.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I’m weak, and I won’t be able to keep my hands off him. “I guess he’s busy.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “No.”

  “You should.”

  I stifled a sigh. “How about if you build the Death Star with me instead?”

  She rolled her eyes. “God, Dad. Grow up. I don’t want to play with your dumb toys.”

  I turned away to hide how much her rejection hurt. For thirteen years, we’d both cherished our time together. For thirteen years, she’d been a daddy’s girl through and through, the absolute light of my life.

  Now she’d outgrown me.

  Seeing that box of Legos waiting on the table each day filled me with guilt. I knew Lamar would be confused. I knew he’d wonder why I was avoiding him. Over and over, I thought about calling or texting. But the more time passed without a word between us, the more awkward the silence felt.

  I hid the Death Star in the closet. Better out of sight than facing me every single day.

  The irony of its hiding place wasn’t lost on me.

  I had to work on Saturday, as usual, but Sundays were always my day off. I took Naomi to Estes Park for the day. It was their busy season, with the aspens changing and the elk bugling, the latter having wandered down into town as it grew colder in the high country. We browsed tacky tourist shops and bought a box of saltwater taffy, but I couldn’t shake my thoughts of Lamar. He was a shadow in the back of my mind, following me from moment to moment, occasionally offering commentary or wisecracks. Sometimes the likeness of him was so real, it was hard to believe he wasn’t actually standing there, waiting for me to turn and ask his opinion.

  Through my entire senior year, and then spattered throughout the rest of my adult life, I’d had these moments of near prescience, feeling the empty shape of him behind me, as if the man behind the curtain of my life had reached in with his shepherd’s hook and snatched Lamar away in the middle of a critical scene. The melodrama of my day-to-day existence went on, but with strangely silent gaps where Lamar’s lines should have been.

  I’d longed for him back then, but now my loneliness was made more poignant because the solution was so readily at hand. This wasn’t high school, after all. I knew his last name. I was long past worrying about long-distance bills. Lamar lived less than five miles from my house. I knew he was there in the wings, ready to step back onstage.

  I should have called him. I could have invited him to Estes with us. But I was afraid of revealing too much to the world. There was always the possibility of Lamar standing too close or reaching for my hand or kissing my cheek. There was the chance he’d mention that magical night fifteen years ago. And none of those things could happen in front of Naomi. And so I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least I had that shadow in my heart—the fragile echo of him whispering in my ear—as I went about the tedium of my daily life.

  The second week of my self-imposed solitude was worse than the first, partly because Naomi chose that week to stay with her mother for several nights in a row. For years, we’d granted her the right to choose which parent she stayed with. Most times, I could relinquish her to Elena for a week or two at a time without resenting her for her choice, but this time, her absence only served to heighten my sense of guilt. The house seemed to resonate with loneliness.

  On Thursday, Naomi hit me with the fatal blow. “Hey, Dad. Have you talked to Mr. Franklin this week?”

  She seemed oblivious of the way his name made me wince. “No, I’ve been pretty busy.”

  “Well, I’m worried about him. I think you should call him.”

  I swallowed my rising self-reproach. “I’ll check in with him tomorrow, I promise.”

  “Listen, Dad. Did you hear Mom and D talking at Uncle Mario’s party about the cat rescue?”

  “No.”

  “They’re going to be in town this Saturday.”

  “Okay. Are you telling me you want a cat?”

  “Well… don’t laugh, okay? But I have an idea.”

  A ridiculous idea, and yet one that made me smile.

  LAMAR

  THE FIRST couple of days without Dom weren’t bad. I had papers to grade, and he was undoubtedly busy. But by the time Thursday rolled around without a phone call, I knew he was avoiding me.

  The obvious answer was to call him, but actually doing it was harder than it should have been. I’d always waited for him, since he had family to work around. And whatever he was feeling, I knew it was my fault. I’d kissed him on Angelo’s porch. I’d invited him to spend the night with me. I’d pushed him into a hot make-out session on his couch. I’d basically offered to blow him in his kitchen. And now he obviously didn’t want to see me. I was ashamed of having been so needy and so desperate. Why had I assumed he’d want me?

  And yet I knew he did. Of all the lovers I’d had over the years, none of them had ever looked at me with such naked longing. Nobody had ever trembled at my lightest touch the way he did. I’d felt his arousal as we’d kissed on his couch. His confession that he liked oral more than anal had felt like some kind of glorious confirmation to me. I’d let men fuck me more often than I cared to think about, but it’d never been my favorite way to be intimate. Knowing Dom would never demand that I bottom made me even more anxious to please him in other ways. And he’d been tempted. I’d seen the way he stared at my
lips. I knew what he wanted. I didn’t even mind that he’d turned me down. I could wait, if I needed to. What mattered was that we both wanted the same thing.

  And we did. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.

  So why the silent treatment now?

  I had no answers.

  If the first week without Dom was hard, the second week took me right back to the depths of depression. I hadn’t felt so low since…. Well, since the last time Jonas had called me, the day before I’d walked out of the school to find Dom waiting for me.

  My house was hauntingly empty and quiet. Although the sun was shining, my living space seemed full of shadows and gloom. Playing music through the tinny speaker on my laptop did little to alleviate my mood. It was all I could do to drag myself out of bed each day and into the classroom, where Hester Prynne had given way to Huckleberry Finn.

  “Hey, Mr. Franklin,” Naomi said to me before class started on Thursday. “Are you coming over tonight?”

  It was strange seeing her every day, knowing she was such a significant part of Dom’s life and yet feeling myself on the outside, as if she was the window I could glimpse him through on occasion, like some kind of emotional Peeping Tom.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, trying to keep my voice casual. “Am I supposed to?”

  She frowned. “I figured you’d be around this week, you know? I’ve been spending more nights at my mom’s, so Dad could probably use some company.”

  “Oh.” Such innocent words, but they stung me. I’d told myself he was probably busy with family, but now I knew that wasn’t the case. He’d had the house to himself but hadn’t bothered to contact me.

  Maybe he worried you’d throw yourself at him again.

  Naomi was watching me, apparently waiting for some kind of answer. “Maybe next week.”

  She studied me, chewing her lip, shifting from foot to foot as she weighed my answer, but other students were coming in, chattering to each other, eyeing the two of us at the front of the room with open curiosity. “Okay,” she said at last and took her seat, looking as defeated as I felt.

  If the idea of calling Dom had been scary before, my short exchange with Naomi only made it worse. I agonized for two hours over sending him a text that night. But what to say? Hey, just checking in. Too glib. Still need help with the Death Star? Too obvious. Missed you this week. Too needy.

  “What’s going on with you?” Leila asked me during third period on Friday. “You seem down.”

  I laughed, although I knew it came out sounding sarcastic. “Don’t I always?”

  “Not as much the last couple of weeks.” She shrugged as she stirred whatever her partner had sent in her thermos. She seemed less enthused by its contents than usual, which was saying a lot. “Have you been getting more phone calls in the night?”

  “Not this week.” It was a lie, though. The phone calls continued. They’d become an almost nightly occurrence. Most evenings, I remembered to silence my phone before bed, but nearly every morning, I woke to several missed calls. Some days I managed to convince myself it was a student. Other days, I knew it wasn’t. Either way, I didn’t want to talk about it. I knew Leila would want to discuss whether the caller could be Bob or Troy. I hardly cared who it was. It was a threat, yes. One that made me glance over my shoulder on my way to the car and peek out of my curtains in the evening, wondering if I’d catch a glimpse of whoever was out to get me. I even went so far as to find an old yearbook and look up Troy’s picture so I could identify him if I saw him, but I never did. And I was tired of speculating. Talking about it endlessly only gave my stalker more of my time, and I hated to grant them even that.

  “What about Jonas?” she asked.

  Strange, how his name still made me wince. And yet I’d hardly thought about Jonas in weeks. “No, nothing from him either.”

  “Good,” she said, as she stood to dump her lunch down the disposal. “You’re well rid of him.”

  I thought she was right, and yet it was as if she’d raised the ghost of my past. That evening, I found myself lying on my couch, chest aching with the futility of it all, thinking back over Leila’s question.

  What about Jonas? Had he finally moved on? I told myself that was what I wanted, but the thought of him living happily with Olivia made me miserable. I thought of all the times I’d sat waiting for him, hoping for an evening out only to have him unbuckling his pants the minute he walked through my door. And yet I’d let him. I’d let him guide me into the bedroom. I’d waited on hands and knees as he stood behind me, rolling on a condom. I’d never enjoyed bottoming much, but I’d gritted my teeth through the sex, hoping the pleasure would eventually override the pain. I’d let him fuck me again and again, because when it was over, there was always the chance he’d stay for an hour or two, and I could pretend we were a real couple. And now it seemed he’d already forgotten me. Was I so insignificant? Had he already replaced me? Had he found himself another lover to run to after work? Somebody else to whisper lies to as he wedged himself between their thighs?

  Tears welled up in my eyes, and I angrily wiped them away. What was I doing, crying over Jonas? It was Dom who was breaking my heart.

  I wandered into the kitchen and stood staring at the bottle of bourbon, telling myself it was a bad idea. And yet, what the hell else was I going to do with my weekend?

  My phone rang. My heart did some kind of tap dance as I reached for it, but a glance at the screen told me it wasn’t Dominic. It wasn’t my stalker, either. It was Matt.

  “I wanted to check in,” he said. “Any problems this week?”

  I bit back my disappointment. At least somebody was concerned about my well-being. “A few phone calls, but nothing else.”

  “Damn. I was hoping they’d found a new hobby.”

  “No such luck.”

  “I remembered you saying your aunt and uncle’s previous tenant had caused them some trouble. Thought maybe if they were still in town, they might be the ones harassing you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Another dead end. Turns out they live in Idaho now. Listen, I don’t want to be too nosy, but has Dominic been staying with you?”

  I swallowed, suddenly tense. Did he suspect Dom again? “No. Why?”

  He sighed. “I’d feel better if you weren’t there alone.”

  “I’m fine.” I was relieved to find out Dom wasn’t a suspect again, but Matt’s words reminded me of my own wishes in that regard.

  “I’ve been doing some research on stalkers. When women are the victims, there’s a greater than 75 percent chance it’s somebody they know, but men are quite a bit more likely to be stalked by somebody who isn’t well known to them.”

  “You’re saying it might be a complete stranger?” I asked, surprised.

  “Maybe. Statistically, it’s still more likely to be an acquaintance. The majority of stalkers are exes or jilted lovers, but we’ve ruled them all out, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I think you should prepare yourself for the likelihood that this person isn’t even on your radar.”

  “But why? Why would they do this if I don’t even know them?”

  “The thing is, just because you don’t know them doesn’t mean they don’t know you. It could be somebody you’ve met once or twice but didn’t notice. The guy who installed your cable, or your mailman. Somebody you bumped into at a coffee shop or cut off on the road. Stupid shit like that is sometimes all it takes to start this kind of abusive cycle.”

  “Then there’s no way in the world for us to figure out who they are,” I said, stunned.

  “Not necessarily. It just means being aware. That’s why I mentioned it. I want you to start paying careful attention to who’s around you at all times. Even with something as simple as a trip to the grocery store, be hypervigilant. Let me know if there’s somebody you’re bumping into more often than you should. This is a small town, but it isn’t that small, if you know what I mean.”

  “I guess.” But the idea that
my stalker was basically a complete stranger horrified me.

  “I’m on the evening shift now, but you can call me anytime. And I’ve asked the guys working graveyards to drive by your house as often as they can, but if this stalker of yours has a key—”

  “I don’t think they do. I really think I was overreacting.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I’m fine. Really. But I appreciate you checking in.” I was embarrassed by how much I appreciated it.

  “All right. Well, Angelo’s been asking about you.”

  “He has?”

  “I’m not technically allowed to share your number with him, but if you’re ever in the area, you might stop in and see him.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We clicked off, and I sat there, phone in my hand, struck by something as simple as somebody asking about me. I’d moped around for two weeks missing Dom, but it hadn’t ever occurred to me I might foster other friendships, or that I might do something as simple as renting a movie.

  The parking lot at A to Z was two-thirds full. Packs of teenagers slumped against cars, some holding paper coffee cups bearing the store’s logo. Picnic tables occupied the narrow grass section along one edge of the lot, along with garbage cans and ashtrays. Colorado law prohibited smoking within twenty feet of a business’s entrance. Somebody—I suspected Angelo—had taped a sign to the door with an arrow pointing toward the tables. It said “Smoke over there, where your mom can’t see you.” He’d printed it without the apostrophe, but somebody had drawn it in with a pen.

  I found myself smiling. Other business owners might have shooed the teens off, but it seemed Zach and Angelo embraced their role as a hub for the town’s youth. Once inside, it became apparent why the teens were outside. A to Z was also apparently a good spot to grab a round of after-work drinks. Several small groups of adults—mostly women, but I spotted a handful of men with them—sat around the tables in small groups, laughing as they drank their wine. A rack down the middle of the store displayed games and puzzles. A shelf in the corner was filled with used paperbacks, along with a sign reading “Leave one, take one.” A large binder on the counter boasted MOVIES FOR RENT. I flipped it open and discovered page after page of paper inserts out of DVD cases. It was one of those strange hodgepodge stores that only existed in small towns, where Walmarts hadn’t taken over, and small business owners strove to fill whatever demand wasn’t already being met by somebody else.