Brayden spit his drink out—some of his vodka laden spittle landed on my hand—he laughed so hard. Dad was laughing too, though he kept his drink in his mouth. Once they’d both stopped laughing Brayden said, “A Rutherford a stable hand? Never. JR was simply here to oversee his father’s stud while he mated with Thunder. You know, Thunder has won her share of derby trophies. Anyway Tom and I thought it a good idea to mate his best stud with her. Hoping Thunder will bare us at least one derby winner.”
JR was a Rutherford. Did that mean something to me? To him? Was that the reason for his hesitation with me? Oh my … I was overanalyzing. Everyone had gone back to eating and drinking, meaning no one noticed me blushing.
Shouldn’t be thinking or worrying about JR anyway, right? I mean I was leaving in two weeks to go home wasn’t I? Yes I was, so there was no need to think about his amazing lips, or the feel of him pressed against me and how tantalizingly close those long fingers of his got to my …
It was then, while my mind was picturing how big little JR was (my mouth was salivating over said image)and attempting to chew and not bite my tongue that Gram did it.
Gram put her fork down, cleared her throat and put her hand on Uncle Ollie’s wrist. Oh god it was coming, wasn’t it?
“When you’re done we need to talk. Charlene left you something in her will.”
Not only did I choke on my salad but Uncle Ollie’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. So much for finishing dinner. I dropped my silverware and took a drink of water. My stomach clenched as I tapped my foot on the ground. Not now. Not when we were having such a nice dinner—for the most part.
“Really?” Uncle Ollie choked out, “she left something for me? What is it?”
“Don’t know, she left it for your eyes only.”
“Oh.”
By this point both dad and Brayden had stopped eating as well, though they didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as me.
“Yeah, didn’t know if you wanted to do it here or in private.”
“Let’s do it here, we’re family,” Uncle Ollie answered, patting my knee. Then, without a word, he took my hand. He was shaking like a leaf.
What the hell happened between him and my mom? I’d expected a cold shoulder when I saw him. Figured whatever kept him from us for the last year, and from my mom’s funeral, would also make him act like a major prick and not the same old Uncle Ollie. Even if it was a souped up, preppy Uncle Ollie.
“Well, all right. Claude honey, can you get Margo for me?”
“Of course mom.” Dad got up and walked over to the intercom near the dining room door. “Margo can you bring in the box.”
Dad knew too. Great.
“Yes sir,” Margo’s static voice answered back.
A few minutes later Margo was hurrying into the dining room carrying that awful plain brown box. She set it before Uncle Ollie and without having to be told, hurried from the room. Everyone stared at the box, silent. Uncle Ollie, still gripping my hand tight, took a deep breath and then let go. “Like a band-aid right?”
Now my hands were shaking and my legs wouldn’t stop tapping their mad cadence. After a deep breath, very slowly, with unsteady hands, Uncle Ollie peeled off the tape.
Another deep breath.
He flipped back the flaps. Two more deep breaths before he pulled the box toward him so he could see inside.
His breath hitched. He let out a small laugh. I wanted to peek over his shoulder and see what was inside but couldn’t find the nerve to. It seemed Brayden had the same desire but also maintained his self-restraint. No shock there. Gram was stuffing salmon into her mouth. Who could eat at a time like this? And my dad was … he wasn’t in his chair.
Where had he … Oh there he was at the bar making a drink. Making four drinks. Dad finished and came back to the table putting a drink in front of Uncle Ollie, one in front of Brayden and then took his seat. Quietly, he pushed the third glass over to me. I looked at the glass then at him. He grabbed my wrist and gave it a squeeze. Gave a somber smile and a wink before turning his attention to his own drink.
When I peeked back at Uncle Ollie he was pulling out a pair of aviators in gold from the box. He set them delicately on the table. Sunglasses? That’s all that was in there? Then why did the box feel so heavy?
He went back to the box and pulled out an opal pendant shaped like a dove. An old worn out Chapstick followed, a red-haired wig, a box of matches, a lipstick, a leather clutch, diamond stud earrings, a set of bamboo heel wedges and lastly a note card.
Uncle Ollie sat back in his chair and started laughing and then started crying. I tried to comfort him but he pushed me away. “I know you want to know why me and your mom quit talking.”
Oh shit. We were totally doing this. Right here. Right now.
I nodded first, Brayden followed.
“Did your mom ever talk to you about it at all?”
“No. And then you never called, like you wrote us off too,” I squeaked out. My voice sound small and far away.
Uncle Ollie took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I should have called, but your mom asked me not to. Although that’s no excuse.”
“That’s ridiculous, why would mom ask you not to contact us?”
“She didn’t think having a homosexual near her kids was okay,” Uncle Ollie said and gave my wrist another squeeze.
First off me and Brayden weren’t kids (we could vote, smoke and in Brayden’s case, drink) and second mom wasn’t homophobic and if she was why did it concern … oh. Ohhhhh. My eyes went wide when I met Uncle Ollie’s gaze. “You’re gay?”
Uncle Ollie didn’t answer, simply nodded.
“But you—”
“Put on a very believable show, but I was tired of pretending and I figured if anyone would understand and accept it would be Charlene.”
I pulled my hand away and slammed back the drink dad had given me. My drinking had nothing to do with Uncle Ollie’s declaration of being gay but the fact my mother didn’t accept it.
Brayden tapped his glass with his fingers, drawing my attention to him. Did he … “Did you know this?”
Uncle Ollie answered for him, “Nobody, but your father knew what transpired between me and your mom. Your dad helped me through it. I’m sorry sweetie I missed you fiercely but I was so hurt and then …” his tears were a river now and his words came out between sobs, “… when Charlene died, well I … I was angry,” he wiped his tears with his napkin, “how dare her die before we could hash it out. Before I could tell her off, call her a narrow-minded fascist just like our father. She was always calling him that, swearing she’d never be like him. What a pot.”
“How could mom …” the words died in my throat.
“Oliver, I know she would have come around eventually,” dad said. He’d finished his drink and had the glass tipped on its side rolling it back and forth. “Charlene never looked in the mirror enough.”
I turned in my seat so I was facing Uncle Ollie, “You didn’t go to her funeral because she didn’t support you coming out of the closet?”
“She made it clear she didn’t want me around.”
“So what?” I couldn't control the volume of my voice, “What about us? We’re adults, not kids you could have talked to us. Whatever mom did or didn’t do doesn’t matter because she was gone and I needed you. Brayden needed you. We wanted you there.”
Uncle Ollie leaned forward in his chair, “You’re right. I have no excuse, I shouldn’t have let pride or anger keep me from comforting you. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
I nodded and he pulled me into his arms and we cried together. Brayden came around the table putting his arms around us both. Uncle Ollie looked up at him, “Do you forgive me?”
Brayden didn’t need words to say yes. He squeezed tighter, his tears mingling with ours. Dad and Gram stayed quiet on the sidelines waiting until we got it all out. When we pulled apart I dried my eyes with my napkin. “Dad why didn’t you say anything, I mean you knew?”
&n
bsp; Brayden was looking at dad too. Dad shrugged. “You were closer to your mother than me and I didn’t want to sour her after the fact.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Gram started, “contrary to popular belief, she wasn’t perfect and sometimes we forget that.”
After that, the air was clear and we turned to happier memories of mom. Margo brought in dessert (cherry cheesecake) and while we ate, we each took turns telling stories about mom. Sad and funny stories, I tell you I’d never laughed through tears before.
I thought for sure mom would show up. Even if it was only to give me a smile or a thumb’s up, but she didn’t. Even later that night when I was alone in my room she didn’t come. I figured she was staying away out of embarrassment. She didn't want to have to explain why her brother being gay was, in her eyes, an understandable reason to cut ties. If I had known that’s why Uncle Ollie stopped talking to us, I would have talked sense into my mom and if I couldn’t, well, then I would have talked to Uncle Ollie and let him know I support him.
Maybe I should give up the hope of ever seeing her again. I curled up on my bed around a pillow. Today was seriously one of the most emotionally draining days ever, but I think the healing process could finally start. Mom wasn’t perfect, far from it, in fact. But she was my mom and I loved her. Missed her. I let go of the pillow and rolled onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. Crossed my arms and placed them beneath my head.
The house was silent. Uncle Ollie left right after we finished dessert with a promise he’d keep in touch. Gram retired to bed, saying hanging out with Aunt Dawn drained her, and dad went to his home office and shut the doors.
Plink.
What the …?
Plink. Plink.
I turned over to my bedroom window. Another plink. Something small hit the window. I slid off the bed and went to the window. Down below, Wesley stood waving his arms. When I opened the window he hollered for me to come down. I nodded.
I grabbed a pair of sandals and slipped them on before heading outside. Wesley was swinging in one of the hammocks near the pool. He smiled when I reached him and scooted over to make room for me in the hammock. I laid down beside him and stared up at the sky. It was full of stars.
“How you doing?” Wesley asked after several minutes of silence.
“It’s been a hell of a night.”
“Why’s that?” I swear Wesley’s baritone voice dropped another octave. I’d love to listen to him read the ingredients off a box of dog treats.
“You really want to know?”
“No. I just asked to be friendly but I prefer silence.”
“Oh. Okay.” I went silent turning back to my stargazing. I know sarcasm too.
Wesley elbowed me, “I’m kidding. Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it.”
I pinched his arm, “I know. You’re a pain.”
“Tell me why your night was the pits?”
“Okay, but I’ll remind you later that you asked for it. Tonight at dinner I found out why my Uncle and my mom stopped speaking. My Uncle came out of the closet to her and she freaked. My mom touted equality. Went to rallies, spoke of everyone being the same but then she can’t accept her own brother being gay. She’s such a hypocrite.”
“Did you know your Uncle was gay?”
“No. It was a shock, but only for a second. I love my Uncle regardless. But I can’t wrap my head around why my mom would stop speaking to him over it. What’s worse… she lied about it, she told me he walked away. She kept me from my Uncle because of her bias. I mean if she would deceive me about that, well then what else did she fabricate? Shit, for all I know she took the same liberties with my entire childhood.”
Which made me think about my dad. I wasn’t totally naive, I knew relationships took two to come together just as they took two to fall apart, but I might have let my mom’s personal perspective color my own opinions of my dad. Was I seeing him through my own eyes? Or hers?
Wesley took my hand in his and pulled it to his chest, “I get you’re mad, I would be too, but … well, I guess there really ain’t no but here.”
“No buts for sure, she was wrong period. What’s really got me is I’m mad at her and we can’t even talk it out, you know? And what kind of horrible daughter am I to be mad at my mom? She can’t defend herself.”
Wesley tapped our entwined hands to his chest, “It sounds like your momma wasn’t perfect, but she loved you—”
“Are you defending her?”
“Absolutely not, wouldn’t dream of such a thing. I’m just trying to keep you from being too hard on yourself.”
After all the dramatic reveals of tonight I was tired. Normally after a day like today Donovan would allow me to bother him, if only for an hour. I don’t know what made me do it, but I snuggled my face into the crook of Wesley’s neck. “Thanks for listening.”
He squeezed my hand. “I want to apologize for my behavior earlier.”
“Huh?” I said, my eyes growing heavy.
He nudged me but I didn’t react. I snuggled in closer. “For acting a fool earlier with you, though I stick to my guns about JR. Stay away from him, he’s bad news.”
“Mm hmm,” I said not really listening, “I forgive you.” Snuggled in closer until I could feel the warmth of his body and shut my eyes all the way.
“And don’t eat grapes because they’ll give ya’ worms.”
“Yes, exactly,” I mumbled, before giving into sleep.
I was awoken by a splash of water to the face. “What the hell,” I hollered and sat up. More water splashed my face. “What the hell’s your problem.” I rubbed my face, realizing too late I was still in the hammock. I lost my balance and hit the grass with a thud. “Fuck!”
The sun was barely peeking on the horizon, the sky a fiery orange and me alone on the wet grass being splashed by sprinkler as it rotated. What the …
I was alone.
More water splashed my face. I got up cussing and screaming as I hurried to the back patio doors to escape inside.
The clock on my bed table said 5:45. Way too early to be awake. I stripped off my wet things and crawled under the covers and promptly fell back to sleep.
The weekend went by in a haze. The ant bites on my legs were slowly fading, making me look less like the chicken pox monster and more like me. Lounging by the pool, eating barbecue, taking after dinner walks with Brayden and obsessing over mom. And maybe I was spending an unhealthy amount of time fantasizing about JR. After that hot make-out session in my room it was hard not to. His lips were divine.
Of course, all I could do was daydream about him. I wouldn’t have reason to bump into him since we were no longer boarding his father’s stud. Nope, no chance of seeing him again. He didn't ask for my number or give me his. A hint was a hint.
Besides there were a million other things for me to think about besides JR. Like Uncle Ollie. He and I made plans to have lunch together. Still a lot of catching up to do. Gram wanted to go shopping during the week, and to me nothing cured what ailed you better than shopping. And I planned on shopping like I was dying.
Sunday night I spent down in the basement. Dad was kind enough to turn one of the storage rooms into a makeshift darkroom for me. I was in there developing the roll of film I’d taken before the ants incident. I snapped my gum. And pulled my negatives from the developer to the stop bath and then on to the fixer. As I finished the process with the negatives. I repeated it again for the photos. As I hung up a photo to dry I moved on to developing the next one.
It took a few hours but I had over twenty photos. When they were done curing I flipped the regular light on to study them. In the picture I’d taken of me in my bedroom mirror there was an odd haze in the corner of the picture. My mom must have been in the room with me after all. Why didn’t she talk to me? I’m sure she was avoiding me now. She had to know by now that I knew about Uncle Ollie?
I moved on to the next pictures. A tissue balled up in my hand. The
side of my wedge heels. Random foliage. The horse stalls. Horse reins. Thunder the horse. Thunder nibbling hay from my hand. Random tree and sky shots and … I paused. There was no photo of Wesley in any of the shots I’d developed so far.
I could have sworn I captured one of his face and at least two or three of his hands and feet. I grabbed up my negatives to look through them and found a strip of negatives I hadn’t developed into photos yet. One was definitely a face. Well, I had to see whose face. I shut off the light and started the developing process over.
The first three were a waste. To fuzzy to make out a single detail. Couldn’t even tell where or what I was trying to take a picture of. The next two weren’t much better although at least in them I could make out a … hmm it might be a hoof or possibly a half-eaten burger?
All my hope hinged on the last negative. It better turn out. I didn’t need an entire strip of six photos to be a bust. I was planning on making a photo montage scrapbook, using my random photos for the life essay portion of my Graduate Photography Thesis Writing. The class wasn’t for another semester but I wanted to start early so I wouldn’t feel rushed.
I placed the photo paper in the stop bath I held my breath and waited. I gasped at the face staring back at me. I quickly put it in the fixer. My leg tapped anxiously as I waited for the image to set before removing it and rinsing then hanging it to dry.
There in all the 8 1/2 x 11, black and white glory, was JR. It was a selfie of him squinting an eye while making a duck-face. It was hilarious and adorable. He must have taken it before he returned my camera to me. In his free hand he was holding up a piece of paper with numbers written on it. Oh my god it was his phone number. I hurried up to my room with the photograph and stood in my mirror so the number was right way instead of backwards. I jotted it down.
Now what? Should I call him? He gave me his number. But … this picture was taken before we made out and he booked it. I stared at the picture while images of JR in his undies flashed in my head. Fuck it.
I grabbed my phone off the bed table, plugged in his number and sent a text:
Southern Seduction Page 48