Big Love

by Rick R. Reed

  Seth rolled his eyes as he followed her into the Gothic-styled redbrick building. He cast a quick glance behind him. The snow was coming down harder again. He longed to go back out into it, to lose himself in a curtain of white. He wondered if he had made the right choice.

  Chapter 5

  DANE WATCHED the gaggle of laughing, shoving, and gossiping college preparatory literature students move almost as one hormone-fueled beast out of his classroom. It was the end of third period, and Dane was glad. End of third period signaled the beginning of Dane’s free period for lesson planning, and for that he was grateful.

  He didn’t need to lesson plan. He needed a breather. He needed to think.

  The class was a new specialty literature course for advanced kids, and it was one Dane had petitioned for and one for which he had come up with the syllabus. “Adolescent Angst and the Antihero” sounded more like a class most of these kids would take in college, and that had been Dane’s plan—to introduce some of the more advanced students to college-level thinking about literature and how it shaped human thought.

  But the first book he had chosen, one he’d had to fight to include, now stuck out to him as fateful, or synchronous to his own life, even though he didn’t think the parallels would be apparent to anyone other than himself.

  The book was Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones, and it told the story of Susie Salmon, a teenage girl who is raped and murdered in the first few pages of the book. For the remainder of the story, Susie watches over her family, friends, and even her killer from heaven. “It’s a story about loss. It’s a story about discovery… and moving on. It’s a story, in the end, about life,” Dane had told the class, thinking he was merely trying to instill an interest in the novel’s themes over its more lurid opening sequence of events.

  But his subconscious was busy working in the background. And that’s why Dane now found himself sitting at his desk with the lights off, watching the snow come down outside. It had settled into a gentle fall, the flakes big and fluffy—pretty. Most of the stuff wasn’t even sticking. Rather, it danced across the sidewalk in front of the school like lint escaped from a dryer.

  Dane, of course, hadn’t lost his own life like Susie Salmon. But he had experienced loss, and even though he was still breathing, still eating, still sleeping at night, even though his nights were sometimes interrupted by nightmares and bad memories, he was alive.

  Yet the life he had known, back at the beginning of the school year, was gone, snuffed out just as surely as that drunk driver had snuffed out Katy’s life on that highway.

  He had worn his grief, over the rest of the past semester, like something heavy and chained around his neck, moving through life in a daze, simply going through the motions. Thank God Clarissa and Joey helped keep things on track for their sad-sack father! Those kids, he sometimes thought, were more resilient than he was. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around?

  But now, with the start of a new year and a new semester, Dane was determined to be a real parent to his kids again.

  And he was determined about something else too. It was The Lovely Bones that helped bring out that determination, or at least solidify it. In the book, the character comes to see her helplessness at changing anything in the lives of the people she loves. Even though she knows everything about her murder and how it tortures them, she’s powerless to lift them out of their despair, to solve the mystery for them. In the end she knows she has to let them go. Banal as it was, the bottom line was that Susie Salmon realized life was for the living and it needed to go on, despite tragedy.

  And that’s what resonated with Dane. He now thought he’d been mulling this realization, this epiphany, since he had reread the novel over Christmas break, and today, as he lectured, that theme was brought home to him as having relevance to his own life.

  He glanced over at the small window in his classroom door, irrationally afraid not only that someone was peering in at him, but also that they could read his thoughts.

  And what thoughts! Ever since Katy died, he’d been wondering what he should do about his secret.

  Dane was gay. He always had been, from as far back as he could remember. An image flashed in his head of a very young Dane, little more than a boy really, kneeling at his bedroom window late one summer night when he couldn’t sleep. The Bernards lived on a busy street that led into downtown Summitville. Back then there were often guys hitchhiking in front of Dane’s house. And he would watch these young men—scruffy, usually, sometimes smoking, with their tight jeans and rebel swaggers—and would feel a curious excitement.

  And then there was that one night when his father had crept up silently behind him. His deep voice had startled Dane as he knelt behind his son. “What you looking at?” And he peered over Dane’s shoulder. There was nothing to see out there on the night-quiet street, really, other than what Dane now figured was a teenaged boy, dressed in ripped-up jeans and a gray tank top, waiting for a car to come by so he could beg for a ride with his thumb. He had long, shaggy hair and a wispy beard. His shoulders were broad, and his ass rode high in the faded jeans. Dane could remember him even now.

  But when his father laid eyes on what Dane had been watching, he moved away silently. They never spoke of it.

  But Dane had crawled back into his twin bed, face hot with deep shame, feeling caught and that there was something wrong with him. His dad had passed away not long after that—lung cancer; he smoked three packs a day—and Dane, maybe not consciously, vowed he would never feel that shame again.

  So even though he might have known, on some weird subconscious level, that he was gay, he didn’t accept it. His big size, his athletic prowess, his general manliness as he grew older, made it easy to “pass,” and Dane was grateful for that ability. He felt sorry for the sissy boys he witnessed as he was growing up, those who frequented the libraries, or the glee club, or the drama society. They couldn’t hide who they were. It was too constitutional for them. And although Dane never experienced the teasing and bullying those boys were subjected to, he pitied them.

  But pity sometimes, in Dane’s darkest hours, turned to envy. How freeing it would be, he thought, when he had no one to answer to save for himself, to just be who you were, to not have a choice in the matter, as he had believed he did.

  But he never really did. He knew, deep down, being gay, being who he was, wasn’t a choice. It hadn’t ever been, even though he married his college sweetheart—and yes, he loved her with all his heart, even if it wasn’t always with all his libido—even though he made a beautiful daughter and a handsome son who looked just like him. There was always that ache in the back of his mind, tugging at his heart. I am not living the life I am meant for. Despite all the love he got from his family, and Dane never minimized that—was never, ever ungrateful for it—he always wondered what his life would have been had he been unable to “pass.”

  He’d always believed he’d never be able to take off his mask. He’d made peace with it, taking comfort in the bosom of his family’s love, which was no small thing.

  But now, now that he no longer had a wife, now that times were different from what they were when Dane was growing up in the 1980s and ’90s, maybe it wasn’t too late for him to be who he really was….

  A knock at the door startled him. He looked over, and it was the new guy. Dane couldn’t remember his name, but he hadn’t forgotten his face, sort of a nebbish, a nerd, and, Dane gulped, frighteningly cute. That face was looking in at him right now, smiling.

  Dane remembered he was supposed to meet with him for a sort of orientation, to see if the new guy had any questions. Policy. Procedure. Who to trust on the faculty. Who to avoid. Stuff like that.

  Dane stood, grinning, hoping he hid well enough that he’d been lost in deep reverie, and headed over to the door to open it, to welcome what’s-his-name inside. Dane opened the door. “Come on in!” he said, perhaps a bit too heartily. He gambled, “Sean, is it?”

  “Seth, Seth Wolcott,” the
new teacher corrected him.

  “Sorry! I’m terrible with names, especially when I don’t have a seating chart in front of me.” Dane held out a hand toward the sea of plastic one-piece desk and chair units. “Make yourself at home.” Dane briefly considered sitting in one of the student chairs himself, but his size prevented it from being even remotely comfortable anyway.

  “It’s okay,” Seth said, taking a seat.

  Dane collapsed into the creaking desk chair he had occupied for longer than he cared to remember and met the young man’s eyes.

  And something passed between them. Recognition? Attraction? It was too brief for Dane to categorize, but there was something—the gaze held just a fraction of a second longer, Dane believed, than two straight men would hold it. He felt heat rise to his face and grinned.

  Seth grinned back.

  And Dane wondered if he was in trouble.

  Chapter 6

  KATY HAD always done the cooking. Dane’s dinner tonight was typical of the “new regime” since they’d lost her. Dane had stopped on his way home from school and picked up a rotisserie chicken, ready-to-go salad, and a box of macaroni and cheese. This was what passed for cooking. The kids seemed to like it, and he had had to admit, he did too. Anything he could throw together in a maximum of ten minutes was… delicious.

  They were just finishing up, Clarissa pushing around the last morsel or two of food on her plate and Dane wondering if she was trying to make it appear she had eaten more than she actually had. He had watched her take a chicken wing, about a tablespoon of the mac and cheese, and then fill in the remainder of her plate with salad, which she ate with no dressing.

  The opposite way his son ate said he either hadn’t noticed his sister’s borderline anorectic mealtime behavior or he was just happy to have more food for himself. He was big like his dad, and Dane remembered being Joey’s age and the constant, voracious hunger that went hand in hand with growth.

  Thoughts like these were helping Dane keep his mind off what he knew he really needed to be concentrating on. But his body and his gut hadn’t forgotten. What little he had eaten rivaled Clarissa’s consumption, but Dane knew if he ate much more, it might come back up. His stomach roiled with acid in anticipation of the news he was about to deliver.

  Sure, he thought, I can back out. I can be a chicken like the desiccated one on the table and put it off until tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. I can wait until the kids are grown and out of the house, married with children of their own. I can wait until I’m an old man.

  And then maybe I won’t do it, because it won’t matter anymore.

  No, you need to do it now. You’ve waited decades. That’s long enough.

  Tell them. Tell them the truth.

  But how?

  Clarissa was first to rise from the table. Just before she got up to take her plate to the sink, scrape it off, and put it in the dishwasher, Dane heard the ping of an incoming text message. Text messages, Dane had learned, induced an almost Pavlovian response, especially in teenage girls. They could not be ignored.

  “Honey, could you sit down for a minute?” Dane wondered where he found the courage to say even this much, innocuous as it was. Joey looked up from the chicken leg he was gnawing on, and Dane suspected he detected the seriousness in his father’s tone. There was concern in his eyes.

  “Sure, Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes a bit. She’d been an absolute angel for the months after her mother’s death, but some of her less-than-savory adolescent girl traits were beginning to filter back in, refusing to be denied. “But I can’t talk for long. Jesse just texted me and—”

  Dane cut her off with a raised palm. “Please!” He knew his voice came out a little strangled, a little desperate. He attempted a smile to soften his tone.

  “I really need to talk to you guys.” His stomach did a somersault. “It’s important.”

  Clarissa sat up a little straighter, pushed her phone away. It pinged again. Dane was grateful when she shut off the sound.

  “What is it, Dad? Is everything okay?”

  How to say it? How does one break news like this?

  Maybe an object lesson…. Not so long ago, Bruce—now Caitlyn—Jenner had been everywhere one looked. Perhaps he could use the former Olympic medalist’s journey to illustrate his own parallel need to finally come to terms with who he was, to live an honest life at last.

  “You guys remember Caitlyn Jenner?” He grinned, feeling cold suddenly, as though all the color were draining out of him.

  Joey snickered. “That old Kardashian dude? Became a woman? He looked pretty hot on the cover of that magazine, though. I mean for an old dude.”

  Dane cut his gaze to his son. “Be respectful,” he admonished.

  Joey continued shoveling mac and cheese into his mouth.

  “Anyway, I thought what he—she—did took a lot of courage. It was a very brave move.”

  Clarissa shoved her chair back from the table. “Dad. I really need to get back to Jesse. Is this all?”

  It was Dane’s turn to roll his eyes. They were going to make it difficult for him to build up to his revelation. Maybe that was good. Sort of like being pushed out of an airplane when you first skydive….

  “Jenner—Caitlyn was very brave,” Dane repeated and found he couldn’t look at his children. He stared down at the table, feeling his breath quicken. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He could feel them up there, and he swiped at them. “She had carried around something that was important to her being for so many years. I know she got lots of publicity, good and bad, and lots of money, but I still think to make the move she did, to live an honest life, was courageous. Don’t you?”

  “Brave? To wear women’s underwear?” Joey snickered.

  “Joey, please!”

  “What’s the point of all this?” Clarissa asked, finally glancing up from the screen on her phone.

  Maybe you should do this another time. No. That would just be taking an easy out. These are kids. Another time is not going to be any different. You know that. You know them. But it’s time to take off the gloves. Maybe the object lesson would be good in a classroom, but a family kitchen? Forget it! Dane chuckled to himself. That seemed to get their attention. Both of them looked up.

  “What?” Clarissa asked.

  Dane blew out a big sigh. Out with it. “I was talking about Jenner to make a point. Jenner the man waited until he was sixty-five to come out—”

  “Wait a minute! Dad’s gonna tell us he’s gonna become a woman!” Joey said, and both he and his sister collapsed in laughter.

  This was not going the way Dane anticipated. At all.

  “Yeah. He’ll need, like, size seventeen pumps!”

  That tickled the two of them even more. Dane just stared.

  When his children saw he was not joining them in the hilarity, their laughter dried up quickly. Clarissa’s mouth dropped open.

  “You’re not. Are you? I mean, transitioning….”

  Dane shook his head. “What do you think? I’d make a hideous woman. What I’m trying to say, Joey, Clarissa, is that I’ve had feelings for many years. Not feelings that I was in the wrong body, but feelings that I hid away, mostly from myself, but also from everyone I knew, including your mom.”

  He regarded his children at the table. Any vestige of joking or laughter had left their faces. He was certain they had no idea what was coming, but he wondered if there was something, instinctive maybe, within them that told them to brace themselves.

  In the end there was no way to say it other than just to say it. He felt a curious sensation—a tightening inside. He felt he was steeling himself. He breathed out—whoosh—and said it. “I’m gay.”

  Joey picked up a radish from his salad and flung it at him. “You are not! Dude, please!”

  Clarissa shoved back her chair. “This has all been very fun, although I’m not certain I understand the point of it, but can I go to my room now? Please.”

  Dane reached
out, took Joey’s hand, took Clarissa’s. “Kids. I’m serious. This is something I’ve struggled against my whole life. Losing your mom has made me see how little time we have, and I just can’t live a lie anymore.”

  Clarissa snatched her hand away. She looked up at him with wounded eyes. “Just to be sure. You’re not punking us here? This isn’t a joke?”

  Dane shook his head.

  There was something snide to her tone, but underneath that Dane could read hope. Hope that he’d confirm he was having them on, kidding around.

  “It’s not a joke. This doesn’t change anything. I’m still your dad, still the same guy. I’m still here for you. I still love you—with every fiber of my being.”

  Clarissa stood up from the table so fast her chair toppled over to the tile floor behind her. Dane could see she was shaking, and it made his heart ache.

  “It doesn’t change anything?” Her voice went up high. “It doesn’t change anything? Are you out of your mind? It changes everything!”

  She screeched this last bit, but Dane could see unshed tears standing in her eyes.

  God. I should have kept this to myself. What’s said can never be unsaid. What have I done? What Pandora’s box have I opened? Dane said softly, “You’re right. It changes things. Changes who you thought I was, and that’s not small. But what I was trying to say—badly, I guess—was that it doesn’t change what’s essential—my love for you and your brother. The fact that I will be here for you both, always.”

  Clarissa was shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.”

  Even Joey’s mouth dropped open as he stared, slack-jawed, at his sister. “Chill. Can’t you see this is hard for him?”

  Dane looked over at his son. He was still holding his hand, and Joey smiled at him and squeezed. The tiny gesture made Dane want to cry. If you had asked him, before he told them this essential truth, which kid would have a problem with it, Joey was the one he would have picked.