Serge almost choked on his food. “You did not just ask him that!”
Rafe ignored me in favor of moaning some more, and louder. My pecker became interested.
“Why not? He’s not that scary, you know. It’s mostly bluster,” I replied as I chewed on a tender piece of meat.
Serge was skeptical. “What about the time he blistered our butts when we were eight and went camping without supervision?”
“We deserved that. It was a dumb thing to do.”
“Possibly,” he grudgingly conceded.
Serge, Rafe and I spent the rest of the evening bitching at each other, drinking beer—Rafe on number four, the rest of us still on one—and just having a good time.
“So,” I said as we ate apple pie for dessert, “you’re here until Monday, Serge?”
He looked uncomfortable as he set aside his empty plate. “Actually, guys, I’m here to stay.”
Before I could say anything, Rafe, now ten sheets to the wind, became accusatory. “You messed up, didn’t you?”
Serge immediately went on the defensive. “It wasn’t my fault! And how is this a problem all of a sudden? You’re always whining about me not being closer to home. Well, you got your fucking wish!”
I knew there was more going on here than Serge was telling us because he swore. He rarely used the “F” word unless…Oh no.
I held up a hand so Rafe would cease his drunken tirade for a minute. Miracle of miracles, he did. “What happened, Serge?”
Serge sighed. “My company laid-off people in droves yesterday. I’ve been with these jerks for seven years, and all they said was, ‘here’s your severance pay, have a nice life.’“ Man, that sucked. Naturally, Rafe wasn’t very helpful.
“Well, if you’d tried harder maybe it wouldn’t have happened. You’re a fuck-up, always have been. I’m the only one who’s ever upheld the family name.” Rafe belched. Yeah, he was doing such a good job of that.
Serge kind of folded into himself. Great, Rafe, rub salt in the wound. Moron.
I stood. “Rafe, shut up. You’re a lush and you say dumb things when you’re drunk.” I glared at him.
He got up and glared right back, his eyes watery. “That’s enough lip out of you, girly man.” He laughed like he’d said something funny. It wasn’t.
I got all up in his face. “Don’t call me that. Serge needs your encouragement and love right now, and this is what he gets? No wonder he’s never wanted to come home. You’re an asshole, and you treat him like shit. Everyone has to do things your way, or it’s doomed to failure, even when it doesn’t. I can’t believe you’d be this unfeeling to your own brother. You’re a drunken buffoon.”
“Guys,” Serge tried to cut in, standing between us and not a little alarmed, but neither of us was listening. And Rafe was now livid.
“I’m not a lush! Who do you fink…think you are, anyway?” he yelled, words slurring and spit flying everywhere as he swayed on his feet. “Fucking ingrate, after all my f-family did for you, pathetic little orphan boy, and now you think you have the goddamn right to accuse me, with your queer ass running people over in the street?” He was referring to a recent car accident that still haunted me. “Neither you nor Serge have the balls to survive without me. I’m the only real man around here.” He almost toppled over as he said this, and Serge caught him before he fell.
I, on the other hand, was struck dumb. Is that how he really saw me? Saw his own flesh-and-blood brother? What a jerk.
Through the haze of disbelief and pain that overcame me, I heard Serge say, “You fucking cretin. Do you hear yourself, you closeted, drunken hypocrite?”
Even Rafe was taken aback by the venom in Serge’s voice. He had never, ever talked back to his big brother. Not like this.
Suddenly, Rafe appeared a bit more sober. He swallowed, twice. “I’m straight. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Though I was still trying to process the shit-storm, I realized one thing. Rafe was lying. Oh God.
“Please,” Serge shot back, “I’ve seen the magazines you hide in your bedroom. I know all about you, but you’re too chicken to let other people know, too. So what if the big bad sheriff swings for the other team. It doesn’t fucking matter! Yet here you are, ashamed and cowering like a goddamned dog behind a label that isn’t even yours to claim. And another thing—”
“Serge…” I managed to say, but he plodded on.
“Was it lip-service when you told me and Woody to stand up to others and not let them bully us? To be ourselves no matter what?”
“I—that’s not…” Rafe was scrambling for words, but Serge was unstoppable.
“I used to look up to you, Rafe, but after years of seeing you hide behind the skirts in this town because you don’t have the balls to be who you really are, I couldn’t stay here, no matter what you said. Knowing my own brother was a coward made me feel ashamed.”
“I’m not a coward!” Rafe blurted, but he didn’t seem to be that convinced himself.
Serge pointed a finger at me while still glaring at his brother. “Woody is the best of the three of us, the one who overcame a tragedy and a disability to survive in this town. He lives with the stigma of that every day of his life. He’s gay and he doesn’t hide it, and you could learn a thing or two from him. You use alcohol and machismo to cover up the fact that you’re miserable. You owe me and Woody an apology to start with, and that may not ever be enough for what you just did. Asshole.”
Rafe muttered, almost to himself. “I can’t be a faggot. No way. I’m not. I’m straight.”
Serge shook his head in disgust. “You keep telling yourself that while you drink yourself into the grave. You’re disgusting.” He went into the living room to gather his things. “You ready to go, Woody? I’ll stay with you at the cabin tonight, if you don’t mind.”
I stared at Rafe Zumpano, the man I’d looked up to for too many years to count and felt hope and love wither inside me. He appeared shocked himself, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d said and how fast things had spiraled. He had no way to take back the words, vitriol fueled by alcohol. There was no way he could. I walked past him and went out the front door with Serge.
I stood by the driver’s side of the truck for a full minute before Serge gently took the keys from my hands and said, “I’ll drive.”
* * * *
Saturday morning, I awoke early since it was my habit. By six o’clock, I’d already had a cup of coffee and was deciding which project to start on first: the broken rocking chair, or keep working on the headboard that I wanted to give Mila and Peter for Christmas. I decided on the chair. I left a note on the fridge for Serge and went out to the shed I’d built next to the cabin as my workroom.
I’d been numb on the drive home the night before, speech lost to me for the first time in years. I ended up using sign language with Serge, which made him even more pissed off at Rafe. I simply didn’t have it in me to try speaking. It had been too traumatic then. And as of this morning, I still felt the same way.
My pocket buzzed and I checked my cell phone. Rafe was calling me. Again. Nope, not happening. I blocked his calls and went to work.
Rafe was an ugly drunk. I knew that. Hell, the whole town knew that our sheriff liked to tie one on frequently, but…had he really meant those things? Or was it the alcohol? How could he…? It was bad enough the way he’d berated Serge. I could have punched him out for that. But then, he’d made my difficulties growing up, my feeling of safety and security at being part of a family again—my lifeline—feel like a lie, an imposition, a burden, something I didn’t deserve. I wanted to hit something, or cry. Instead I measured, cut, hammered, and sanded wood.
Of course, turning off my thoughts on the matter wasn’t that simple. It hurt most of all that Rafe really was gay and had been hiding behind jokes and snide remarks all this time, probably even going to gay bars on the sly, simply because he was the one who was afraid. Maybe I really had seen him at the bar that night, long ago. Well, he cou
ld live a lie if he wanted to, but I didn’t have to tolerate him in my life anymore. I was a grown-ass man and could handle myself just fine without him and his projected self-hatred.
I went back and forth with myself like that until lunchtime, when I took a break and had some water. I tended to forget to eat when I worked on a project. It was hot in the workroom and I had my shirt off. Sweat was running down my body like a waterfall. Maybe my next project would be to install a fan. I said that every year, then I’d get sidetracked by something else. At least a warm breeze came through the open doors and windows.
Serge stopped by to give me a croissant. “I went to Crumbs Together in town so I could get some decent baked goods. Man, I missed that. René Glass can bake his ass off.”
Not feeling like talking yet, I signed, “Thank you.”
Serge smiled, but then he frowned. “Rafe called me ten times this morning. I ignored him. Then he started texting, saying how he couldn’t get a hold of you and that he’s worried.” He snorted. “Well, he should worry.”
I used sign language to respond. I blocked Rafe’s number.
“I’m sorry, Woody. Maybe I should have kept my big mouth shut.”
He was sad and I couldn’t have that. You stood up for us. That was very brave.
Serge shrugged. “Whatever the case, I’m not planning on talking to my big brother anytime soon. What he said to you was unforgivable.”
You shouldn’t let me get between you.
He replied, “No, it’s time. Past time. Rafe’s a hypocrite, and he has a drinking problem. He needs to face the consequences of his actions. Maybe he’ll learn something. Mind if I move in with you? I don’t have much over at the house anyway.”
I gave him a “thumbs up” sign.
“I love you, Woody. You’re the best brother and friend a guy could ever have.”
I placed a hand over my heart, and he understood.
* * * *
By Monday, I was feeling better and speaking again. It didn’t happen very often that I was literally struck dumb. I’d had episodes of silence after regaining my speech when I was younger. Typically it was because of something traumatic. And yes, Friday night’s argument could be considered a form of trauma.
At school, I worked with toddlers on forming the letters of the alphabet. They learned quickly and it was always a joy to experience their energy. Loralei, the director of the school, called me into her office at one in the afternoon.
“How are you, Woodrow? You seem a little out of sorts today.”
Loralei had been my teacher when I was a student there and had recommended me for the staff, once I’d graduated with my degree. “I had an episode this weekend. It set me back for a couple of days. Serge was with me and helped me through it.”
She was concerned. “Is it something you need to see a therapist about?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I just had to get my head around it.”
She patted me hand. “I’m happy to hear that. Now, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Okay.” I hoped it wasn’t anything bad.
Loralei caught my facial expression. “No, I’m not getting rid of you.” She touched her gray hair. I’m planning to retire in a few years, and I’d like to offer you the chance to train to be my replacement.”
I was speechless, in a good way, this time.
“I’ve known you since you were a boy, Woodrow. You’re resilient, kind and thoughtful. You’re tough but fair. You’re a great leader, a skilled teacher and highly respected. I believe you’d be the right choice for this position, and the board agrees with me.”
“You’ve…talked to the board?” My voice squeaked, but I didn’t care.
She nodded. “Absolutely. I have their blessing to pursue this course of action. All you have to do is say ‘yes.’“
“I…”
“It’s a lot to take in, yes?” She smiled. “How about this? Leave early today and take a walk on the beach to clear your head. We’ll be fine without you this afternoon, and you need to give this some serious thought.”
Admittedly, it sounded good to have time to think. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Go on, and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning as usual, hopefully with the word ‘yes’ on your lips by then.”
I thanked her and left the school as quickly as I could.
It always soothed me to walk on the sand, breathe in the salty air, and dream. It was something Mila and Peter had done with all of the kids on the weekend, a way to get us to work off some of our excess energy.
After a while, I’d come down here by myself and get lost in the sounds of the waves crashing along the shoreline. It took me an hour and a half to get home through traffic, change into shorts, T-shirt and sandals, and walk down to the beach from the cabin.
It was crowded, but I didn’t mind. It meant I could hide in plain sight. I walked for hours, watching families frolicking in the waves, teenagers checking each other out, and the odd gay boy trying—and sometimes failing—to hide his attraction to his best buddy.
At least I’d been spared most of that, since by the time Rafe had come back from college, he was busy being a cop, getting drunk and screwing every girl in town at his brand new apartment. Whatever. The Rafe I thought I knew—even with his flaws—was no more, and I’d just have to accept that.
And now, I was being offered the director’s job. I’d never thought about much beyond being a teacher. Could I stand the politics that sometimes came with such a position? I’d do anything for the kids, though. I’d talk it over with Serge when I got home.
* * * *
Over dinner that night, for which my best friend had provided peach pie from the bakery in town, I told him about my possible promotion. He was ecstatic.
“Woody, that’s amazing!” He got up and rounded the table to squash me in a hug. He was built in the same mold as his brother, but not as bulky.
“Thank you,” I replied. “What do you think, though? Can I handle it? I mean, look at the way I melted down last Friday with Rafe.”
He waved off the incident. “That was personal and he knew how to push your buttons. Isn’t that what people closest to us do, hit us where it hurts? You were born for this, Woody. You could do it in your sleep, and those kids love you.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you want to move closer to the school? Or would you stay here?”
I swallowed a piece of pie. It was yummy. “Oh, I’d stay here. I need the peace of this place to unwind at the end of the day.”
“Take the job, man. You will be so great at it. Wait until I tell Mom.”
“Tattletale.”
He stuck out his tongue and went back to eating his food.
Later, I asked, “So what are your plans?”
“I’ve been thinking about starting a renovation business. I know I help you a lot with projects, but you do it part time and on a small scale. I want to do it full time. Fix up houses and flip ‘em, maybe build beach houses and rent them out. The one good thing that came out of my job are my savings, and I know how to be frugal. I actually hated it on the road. It was awful and I’d do anything to not have to do that ever again.”
“Well, I’ll back you, you know that. I think you’d be brilliant at it.”
“Thanks, buddy. You’re the best. I might need gas money, too, now that I’ve bought a truck. It’s even older than your piece of trash.”
“Don’t insult Henry. He’s very faithful.” I winked at him and pointed to the remains of our peach pie. “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time at the bakery. “Have you asked René out yet?” Serge had come out to his family a year after I did. Funny thing, now that I thought about it, Rafe’s reaction to Serge being gay wasn’t anywhere near as whacked out as his to mine. I wondered why that was.
Serge blushed. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“You’ve been obsessed with this guy’s cooking since he opened that place a few years ag
o. And I’ve seen the man. He’s wicked hot. Ask him out.”
My best friend’s eyes became saucers. “No way, man. I’m so out of his league. He studied in Paris and Belgium. He has a successful business. Look at me. I’m starting from the ground up. I have nothing to offer a guy like that.” Though, from the faraway look in his eyes, I bet Serge wished he did.
“Don’t give up when you haven’t even tried yet. Something will turn up. You’ll see.”
“This is why I love you like a brother. You make my head swell even when you’re lying through your teeth.”
I kicked his ankle and finished my pie.
As Serge played with his pie crust, he casually said, “I saw the sheriff as I was leaving the bakery this afternoon.” Serge had stopped using his brother’s name in conversation. I didn’t blame him, but it saddened me.
“Yeah?”
“He was writing up some tourists for disturbing the peace. He glanced up for a second and caught my eye. He waved at me but I ignored him and kept on walking.”
I sighed. “I know he was awful, but he’s your brother and he needs help, especially now. He’s in denial and he’s likely kicking himself for what happened. You planning on talking to him again this century?”
“Yeah, when he says he’s sorry. He’s old enough to know better. I really oughta call Mom and let her ream him a new one.”
I shuddered internally, knowing just how sharp a tongue the diminutive Mrs. Zumpano possessed. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to do this. Has he ever apologized or admitted to being wrong for anything in his life that you can remember?”
“No.”
“There you go, then.”
Serge was being stubborn. “Still not happening.”
I held up my hands. “Fine, calm down. It was just a suggestion.”
Damn it, I didn’t want to have to be the one to make the first move, on Serge’s behalf, anyway, but I might have to.
Christ. This was beyond fucked-up.
* * * *
Tuesday morning, I told Loralei that I would be happy to accept the position, and thanked her for the offer. She gave me a hug and immediately launched into her plans and timetable for my taking over the job. There was a hell of a lot to learn, and I was looking forward to the challenge.
Norwegian Woody Page 2