by Becky Durfee
“All of the sudden Aaron sent me flying across the room with a swift backhand. It took me a minute to orient myself, but while I was getting my bearings I could hear Aaron yelling, No son of mine is a faggot; do you understand me?
“After that I returned to my feet and ran over to them, jumping on Aaron’s back, pounding him with my fists. The next thing I knew I found myself pinned to the wall by my neck. It was crazy—like Aaron went from choking Brian to choking me in half a second. Then Aaron stuck his finger in my face and told me that it was my fault, and that Brian didn’t get ‘that shit’ from him. It was very scary…he looked like a lunatic as he said, Did you fuck around on me, Patricia? Huh? Did you? He released his grip and then slammed me back into the wall again before saying, ‘cause no kid of mine would ever be a faggot.
“I tried to answer him, assuring him I’d never cheated, but I wasn’t able to speak with his grip so firm on my neck. I was only able to shake my head the tiniest bit.” Jenny looked around at her captivated family members. “And at that point I came out of the vision.”
“So that explains it, I guess,” Zack noted. “Brian doesn’t want us to find out he’s gay.”
“It explains a lot of things,” Jenny noted. “Darlene told me that Brian was having a lot of trouble fitting in at school…that he seemed to do okay in middle school but then declined in high school. That’s probably when his sexuality would have become an issue. That’s when you really start developing romantic feelings for people.”
Zack nodded. “Kids start dating then, too. He may have felt like he had to explain why he wasn’t asking anyone out.”
Jenny elaborated. “He apparently started skipping school. Maybe that’s why—he just wanted to avoid the whole scene altogether.”
“Well, I don’t know what all of your beliefs are on the matter,” Rod began. “But I, for one, find this whole thing to be horribly upsetting. In this day and age a kid shouldn’t feel ashamed about his sexuality.”
“The sad thing is it probably wouldn’t have been an issue to a lot of the kids he went to school with,” Zack replied. “If his big secret had gotten out, I bet that most of his classmates wouldn’t have even cared.”
“He’s what, twenty-three?” Jenny said rhetorically. “I agree with you. I think this generation is much more accepting than generations past.”
“Like Aaron’s generation?” Zack asked.
“Hey,” Rod said with feigned offense. “I’m from Aaron’s generation.”
“Ummm…” Zack bit his lip. “I didn’t mean everyone from Aaron’s generation.”
Rod laughed at Zack’s reaction.
Isabelle remained serious with a concerned look on her face. “But imagine how scared Brian would have been to come out if this was the reaction he got from his own father—the person who is supposed to love him unconditionally no matter what.” She shook her head. “And high-schoolers can be cruel. I don’t blame him for being scared.”
Zack’s voice became more serious as well. “Inmates would probably be even worse.”
Jenny let out a sigh. “And thus his desperation to keep his sexuality a secret.”
“Well,” Rod began. “Maybe if you go back to Benning and let him know you’re aware of it he can relax a little.”
“Do you really think that would help him relax?” Isabelle posed. “I would think that would terrify him.”
“Maybe I should clarify,” Rod added. “If you let him know you’re okay with it he can relax. He may have never gotten any support. It could be than no one has ever told him it’s okay.”
“And if I already know he’s gay, then he’s got nothing to lose by directing me to the journal,” Jenny replied, her excitement growing.
“See? Now we’re talking,” Rod said.
Jenny turned to her boyfriend. “So are you willing to take another drive out to Benning?”
Silence prevailed as the miles ticked by. After a while Jenny posed, “Let me ask you a question. How would you feel if our baby turned out to be gay?”
Zack shrugged. “It wouldn’t bother me. I think you already know I’m pretty liberal. I wouldn’t care if our son came home with a man from a different race who was twenty years older than him; as long as he’s happy and being treated well, then I’m cool with it.”
Jenny smiled. This was probably a conversation they should have had before conceiving a child, but some things don’t exactly go as planned. Still, the fact that they were in agreement was a relief.
“So if our little girl comes home with a woman, you’re okay with that, too?” Jenny posed with a smile. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Won’t happen,” Zack said flatly.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve got to be honest. If we do have a son and he turns out to be gay, part of me will consider that a minor victory.”
Zack furrowed his brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means the alternative is that he’s heterosexual, and, generally speaking, I’ve been much less impressed with the heterosexual men I’ve met throughout my life.”
“I’m not sure I like that comment,” he replied without contempt in his voice.
“Well, you said yourself that boys are stupid. Truth be told, I have only found that to be true of heterosexual boys. All of the gay guys I’ve been friends with have been delightful. Honestly, I think if you ask any woman she’d tell you the same thing.”
“Delightful?” Zack posed. “Really?”
“Absolutely. Okay, let me give you an example. Once in college I got really sick. I mean really sick—my fever was through the roof, and I felt like I’d been hit by a bus. I desperately wanted the comforts of home, but the thought of spending an hour and a half in the car to get there was far too disturbing, so I stayed at the dorm. My gay friend Paul caught wind of the fact that I didn’t feel well, so he went to the store and bought me medicine. Not only that, but he fixed me some soup.” Jenny turned to Zack and repeated with emphasis, “Soup! Do you know how amazing that was? It’s been eight years and I still haven’t forgotten that. But anyway, my point is that I had dozens of male friends who lived in that very same building, and who brings me soup? The only gay guy I knew. The heterosexual ones were nowhere to be found.”
“The straight guys were too busy crossing you off their list.”
“Their list?” Jenny asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Their I’m going to see if I can sleep with her list.”
She blinked several times and kept her gaze fixed on the road.
“You were contagious, you see,” Zack continued. “So the guys were thinking, Oh, well, I’d better not try to sleep with her this week. Maybe next week.”
After absorbing the notion, Jenny said, “Okay, so it’s even worse than I thought.”
Zack shrugged. “I mean, now I would probably bring you soup if you were sick. Just not back then.”
“See, you’re only proving my point: straight guys are light years behind. Now do you understand why my girlfriends and I all preferred the company of gay men over straight ones?”
Zack appeared confused. “But isn’t that counterproductive? Liking gay men better?”
“Yes,” Jenny said flatly. “Yes it is. Now do you see the troubled plight of the heterosexual woman?”
With his brow still furrowed he announced, “This is all news to me. I never knew women liked gay guys better.”
“I thought that concept was common knowledge.”
“No, I don’t think it’s common knowledge.”
A long silence ensued, during which time Jenny’s mind began to wander. With the levity gone from her voice, she posed, “Zack, what would you do if somebody treated our child the way Aaron treated Patricia?”
Zack continued to look casually out the window as he flatly replied, “I would kill him.”
A small smile graced Jenny’s lips, but it faded quickly as she recalled the purpose of their trip. “Like Brian did?”
Zack turned to Jenny, his stare so intense she could feel it. “Just like Brian did.” He returned his gaze out the passenger window.
“Even if it meant spending the rest of your life in jail?”
Without an ounce of doubt in his voice, he replied, “Yup.”
Jenny placed her hand on her belly, growing more confident that this child was going to be loved no matter what.
“Well, hopefully it won’t come to that,” she said sincerely. “I just wonder what made Patricia stay with Aaron so long. No offense, but if one day I walked in and saw you beating up this kid, I’d pack up our shit and move out in a heartbeat. The kid and I would be gone by morning, and you’d have no idea where to find us.”
“You also have, like, a bazillion dollars,” Zack reminded her. “What if you couldn’t afford to leave?”
Jenny had once been in that position, and she remembered what it felt like. When she first realized she wasn’t happy with her husband Greg, she hadn’t yet received her large inheritance. She knew she wanted out, but she also knew that wasn’t possible due to financial constraints. As a result, she had no choice but to stay.
Suddenly her heart ached for Patricia.
“I’m surprised Patricia didn’t kill Aaron herself, to tell you the truth.” Jenny noted. “Although she was a lot smaller than him, so she didn’t really stand a chance.”
“But Brian may have grown up to be bigger. It’s easy to beat up your wife and your young kid…but when that kid becomes a man, you’d better watch it.”
In spite of herself, Jenny smiled. “Is it sick if I take pleasure in that notion?”
“Absolutely not,” Zack replied. “I think it’s fabulous. I don’t care what you call it—karma, poetic justice, vigilantism—it’s a beautiful thing.”
Beautiful indeed.
Jenny felt as nervous as she did the first time she waited for Brian to emerge through the door. This was going to be an interesting conversation to say the least.
He once again wore a tough expression as he picked up the phone, but this time Jenny knew what his seemingly-unpleasant mask was hiding. She felt a good deal of sympathy for this young man who, by his own admission, believed he’d never be free.
Although the phone was on his ear, he didn’t say anything; he simply looked at her as if he wanted a damn good reason why she was there again. She gave him one.
“I know your secret,” she said softly.
Without flinching, Brian replied, “What secret?”
Also without flinching, Jenny said, “That you’re gay.”
Brian scoffed at the notion as if it were ridiculous. “I’m not a fucking faggot.”
Fucking faggot, Jenny thought. The same phrase that Aaron had used.
Undeterred, Jenny looked him square in the eye and said, “I agree. You’re not a fucking faggot. You’re a homosexual man, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Faggots go to hell,” he said angrily.
“Is that what your father told you?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Well I don’t believe that,” Jenny said. “Not for a minute. I have some very dear friends that are gay, and they are wonderful people. They’ll get into heaven before I will, I assure you that.”
“Well, good for your friends,” Brian replied. “But I ain’t a fucking faggot.”
Jenny shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself. You’re not gay. But then why don’t you want your mom’s journal found? The way I see it, finding that journal is the best shot you have of getting out of here.”
Brian didn’t say anything, so Jenny continued. “Are you afraid that the journal is going to give away your secret?”
“Ain’t nothing to give.”
“Then tell me where your mother would have kept that journal.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” he replied angrily. “I didn’t even know she had a fucking journal.”
Jenny refused to let his confrontational attitude get to her. “I’m under the impression that she used to write in it every time your father beat her up.”
“Well, that thing must have been pretty full, then,” Brian said, apparently before he could stop himself.
Jenny’s eyes softened, as did her tone. “It was hard, wasn’t it, Brian? Growing up with Aaron?”
Brian didn’t say anything.
Leaning forward on her elbows, Jenny said, “Why don’t you tell me what happened that day at your father’s house?”
Without saying a word, Brian hung up the phone and left his seat.
Chapter 12
Once again Jenny felt unshakable fatigue when she got home from the prison. Apologizing to her family, she excused herself to go take another nap. Feeling like a rude hostess but happy to be in bed, she yawned and stretched as she relaxed.
Her eyes popped open—not from a vision, but somehow she didn’t feel sleepy anymore. Deciding she just needed to give herself more time, she continued to lie motionless, but sleep still managed to elude her. Frustrated, she sat up, rested her head in her hands, and sighed.
How could she be so awake when she had just been so tired? This defied explanation. She decided to turn the television on softly, hoping the sound could help quiet her mind. She leaned back against her pillows and sighed.
While zoning out to the sound of the television, the scene of the boy running from the house as Jenny approached kept replaying in her head. The boy flashed a quick glance in Jenny’s direction, looking terrified as he ran. “Derrick,” Jenny called. “What’s wrong?” Derrick, what’s wrong? The words echoed between her ears. Derrick, what’s wrong?
Derrick.
Jenny’s eyes once again flew open, but this time for a very different reason. “Derrick Stratton,” she whispered. “I have to find Derrick Stratton.”
Still drained after her unrewarding attempt at a nap, Jenny dialed the number of the private investigator she’d used in the past to track down the folks whose names had come up during cases. “Kyle Buchanan,” he said after only one ring.
“Hi, Mr. Buchanan, it’s Jenny Watkins again. I was wondering if I could trouble you to find someone else for me.”
“I’d be more than happy to help you, Jenny, but I’m a bit swamped here. I might not be able to get to it until the beginning of next week.”
Disappointment surged throughout Jenny. “Actually, I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She strummed her fingers on the table, deliberating how horrible she would sound if she made the statement she was considering. Screw it, she thought. It’s for a good cause. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay your regular fee plus give you a thousand dollar tip if you can have a phone number for me by morning.”
“Okay,” Kyle said, sounding as if he was gathering things together. “So what’s the name of this person you’re looking for?”
Jenny curled up on the couch as Isabelle took a seat next to her. “No luck with your nap?”
Shaking her head, Jenny grumpily said, “Nope.”
Isabelle patted her leg. “Yeah, I remember those days. You’re so dog tired but somehow you just can’t fall sleep.”
“Is this another side effect of pregnancy?”
“I’m afraid so.”
With a yawn Jenny noted, “I’m not sure I like being pregnant.”
“It’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure. I think it’s a practice run…toughens you up for motherhood.”
Jenny furrowed her brow as Isabelle took a sip of soda. She was jealous of the caffeine.
“So when do you plan to tell Greg about this?” Isabelle posed.
“Soon, actually,” Jenny replied. “I want to be able to tell my friends, and I don’t want him finding out through them. I think the decent thing to do is tell him myself.”
“It’s not an easy conversation to have,” Isabelle said with a wink. Jenny knew Isabelle was speaking from experience, a notion which was strangely comforting.
With another yawn Jenny said, “I know. I’m not looking forward to
it.”
“I think you’ll feel better once it’s under your belt, though. Maybe you should just get it out of the way.”
Although she felt almost too tired to move, Jenny reluctantly got off the couch as her inner tug directed her to do. “Come on, ma,” she said weakly. “Here we go again.”
For a second time Jenny’s car stopped in front of the same house she’d visited with Isabelle before. “We’re here again?” Isabelle noted. “I didn’t like this place the first time, and now we’re back.”
This time Jenny got out of her car and walked closer to the house, her face reflecting the confusion she was feeling. She heard Isabelle approaching from behind, but she tried not to let the sound interfere with her reading.
“What’s happening?” Isabelle asked.
Jenny only shook her head. “Don’t know.” She pointed at the residence. “But I want to be in that house.”
Jenny proceeded toward the front door with Isabelle following behind her. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to ring the doorbell,” Jenny announced.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Isabelle said in a worried tone. “What if that slim fellow is here?”
Jenny stopped and looked at her mother. “Then I ask him if I can come in.”
“But you don’t know him,” Isabelle protested. “What if he’s unsavory?”
“I’m not really concerned about him,” Jenny said, brushing the hair out of her face. “But there’s something about that house that’s capturing my interest.”
“What?” Isabelle asked. “What is so interesting?”
With her eyes fixed squarely on the house, Jenny replied, “I can’t say for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say the journal is in there.”
For perhaps the first time since Jenny could remember, Isabelle was rendered speechless. Jenny proceeded up the steps and rang the doorbell, waiting nervously but patiently for the man to answer the door. After three rings and about a five minute wait, Jenny finally muttered, “Dammit. I don’t think he’s home.”