I can hear the indignant tone in Jim’s voice. “We didn’t come here to be treated this way.”
Philip looks up at his dad. “I didn’t invite you to our home to be insulted either.”
“We’re not trying to demean you, dear,” Barbara says, brushing dark strands of hair out of her eyes.
I let go of the doorknob, backing up against the wall, and listening.
“Face it, Mom,” Philip says. “You don’t approve of Christian and me together.”
Hush.
“You’ve got to understand where we’re coming from, Philip,” she says, running a hand over her flawlessly shaped hair.
I shudder at Barbara’s grating voice.
I also wonder where my parents are at the moment. Hopefully they’re not hearing any of this conversation.
Suddenly, a chair scuffs across the floor and voices grow louder. I hear Jim say, “Stop it. Both of you.”
“I don’t deserve any of this,” Philip says, his voice angry. “I won’t have you insult Christian in our own home.”
“We’re not insulting—” Jim starts to say.
“You’re doing a damn good job of it!” Philip fires back.
“Don’t talk to your father that way,” Barbara reprimands Philip.
“You’re in my house, Mom. And I won’t have you disrespecting me, or Christian.”
There is a lull in the heated discussion.
Philip says, “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from my own parents.” He exhales. “I expected—”
“What?” Barbara says. “What did you expect?”
“Support,” Philip says. “Is that too much to ask for?”
“I’m sorry, Philip,” Jim says, “but your mother and I can’t deal with this situation right now.”
“Situation? There is no situation. I love Christian. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
I close my eyes, and before I reach for the door handle and step inside the house, my body starts trembling. My legs are noodles. Everyone stops talking when I enter the room.
Jim shoves his hands in his pockets, exhales loudly, turns, and saunters into the living room. Barbara smiles at me, but the gesture is lifeless and stilted.
I look over at Philip, standing behind his chair, gripping the edge of it too tightly. He nods and welcomes me home.
Barbara idles along the border of the room, turning and staring out the kitchen window onto the backyard.
Philip jerks his head for me to follow him down the hall.
We pass Jim sitting silently on the sofa in the living room, arms tucked behind the back of the head. His head turned skyward, eyes closed. Darth is curled up at the other end of the couch beside him.
“Where are my parents?” I ask.
Philip motions me into our bedroom so his parents won’t overhear us. “Paula took them for a ride around the neighborhood,” he says, shutting the door. “I think they got uncomfortable when I started yelling at my parents.”
I turn to him.
Peeling off my damp coat and slinging it over the foot of the bed, I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him. “What’s going on?” I ask.
He reaches behind me and brushes the nape of my neck tenderly; it feels welcoming. “It’s a total mess, this trip.”
“What happened?” I ask.
As a few minutes pass, Philip calms down. “The holidays bring out the worst in families,” he says.
I pull away from him and stare into his eyes. “Tell me what happened.”
He releases a pent up breath and we sit down on the edge of the bed. Philip leans forward, his elbows grazing his knees. “My parents are having trouble accepting us.”
“I thought everyone was getting along.”
“Your parents were talking about how wonderful it was to be here and see us together as a family. Your mother rambled on about her love for us—you and me.”
“And?”
“My parents told your mother that everything was moving too quickly for them.”
“Moving too quickly?” I ask, perplexed.
“You and me.”
I run my hand over his leg and leave it there. “They’re scared and worried. Right now, we have to respect their feelings.”
He throws himself back on the bed and closes his eyes.
“This is all new to them,” I say. “Everybody is still processing it.”
He pulls himself up. “I’m their son, for Christ’s sakes.”
“It’s going to take time for them to understand what we have together,” I tell him.
“How much time?”
“As long as they need.”
Everything is quiet.
“Why can’t my parents be like yours?” Philip asks a few minutes later.
I brush a comforting hand over his back. “Because we’d both be up a creek without a paddle.”
He cracks a smile.
“Be patient,” I tell him. “Give them time. They’ll come around—sooner or later.”
“I don’t know how long I can wait.”
“You might not have a choice.”
Chapter 23
The next few days fly by, but before it’s time for our families to leave later that afternoon, we all exchange gifts by the Christmas tree in the living room over breakfast and small talk.
By noon, Phillip and I stand out in the front yard, packing up his parents’ Mercedes. There are a few tense moments between Philip and his parents. I watch as they hug each other without any pleasantries. Jim lets go of his son and meanders to the car; he waves with his back to us, and climbs behind the wheel. Barbara embraces Philip and pecks his cheek, leaving a red lipstick smudge behind. She says goodbye to my parents and me and slinks into the passenger seat.
Jim and Barbara Erickson wave to us one last time before they slip out of the yard and down the narrow road to the main artery. I see the hurt on Philip’s face as he watches the Mercedes crawl along the snowy path and disappear around the eight-foot evergreens.
I thread a hand around my partner’s waist; he pulls me into him. “Thanks for the support earlier,” he says.
“I’m always there for you.”
His arms tighten around me. Over the next few minutes we load Philip’s car with my parent’s luggage and drive ten miles to the airport.
* * * *
At Milestone County Airport, Philip and I carry bags into the terminal, while my mother and father and sister dawdle behind us.
Inside, while we wait at terminal five for my family to board the plane, I thank my sister for coming. She hugs me, encircling me with her cigarette-smelling fumes. “It was a pleasant surprise,” I say. “Thanks for coming. I’m happy to see you. Let’s not wait another decade to do this again.”
“Stop being dramatic. It wasn’t that long,” she says. “But you’re right. It was long enough. I’ve had a blast. Your neighborhood is quite quaint with its white picket fences and mom-and-pop corner shops.”
“You’ll have to visit more often,” I tell her. “The door is always open.”
She releases me and says, “I’ll hold you to that. And ditto: Don’t be a stranger. You and Philip will have to come to Arizona.”
I cringe. “I don’t miss the heat.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Nineties is unbearable.”
“Quit bitching.”
I toss her a cockeyed grin and look to where Philip and my dad are hugging and discussing plans to see each other again. I say to Paula, “I couldn’t ask for a better partner. Philip is my entire life.” I feel my body trembling. “If you need help with Dad, call me. I’ll take the next flight out to Arizona.”
“Don’t let Philip go. He’s a keeper. As for Dad, I’ll ring you if anything changes.” I feel my sister’s hand on my shoulder. “Whatever happens, it’s going to be all right.”
My eyes well up, and I nod.
“I’ll call you,” she says. “We’ll talk every night.”
“I�
�d like that.”
“Take care of yourself.”
I hug her. “Have a safe trip.”
Paula turns and walks toward the terminal where a crowd of patrons are already boarding.
I amble over to where my father leans up against the customer service counter. “Dad?”
He turns around, bent over, cane in hand. “We had a wonderful time, son. I wish it were longer.”
I wish it were longer. The words shatter in my head like a grenade going off.
I stare into my father’s weary face. I cannot speak. I lean in to hug him.
I hear Philip behind me, reminding me that they’ve announced the last boarding call.
My mother plows through the thinning crowd for one final group hug.
The three of us stand around the busy airport terminal, crying, waving, and saying our goodbyes.
“I love you guys.” I hold my parents closely. I feel my father’s hand on my back. He is trying not to cry.
He wraps his arm over my shoulder. “We’re very proud of you, son.”
“Sis and I couldn’t have asked for better parents,” I reply.
“We love you both,” my mother says. To me: “We’ll call you the moment we land.”
Breaking apart, I am overwhelmed with emotions. I feel Philip’s hand on my back.
My mother waves at us. “We’ll do this again soon.”
“You can have your room back,” my father says, sticking his thumb up at me. “Like the old days.”
I start to well up. “I’d like that. I love you, Dad. Mom.”
“We’ve got to go,” Dad says, and then they head to the boarding gates.
Chapter 24
That night Philip says to me, “That was a rough week for both of us. But I have to say my current meth case seems tepid compared to my parents’ shenanigans. Sometimes I think my mom and dad should come with a warning label.”
We laugh. It feels good, a welcoming release.
As we lie in bed, listening to a steady wet snow tapping against the slate roof, Darth snores at the foot of the bed. He whines and his back legs twitch as he fights against something in his nightmares.
Philip pulls me into his bare chest. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you through these difficult times. Even if it means taking a trip to Arizona for a few days.”
I nuzzle up under his scratchy beard and run my fingers through his bushy chest hair. “I didn’t want them to leave.”
“Let’s make a New Year’s resolution. We’ll visit your parents more regularly.”
“What about your job?”
“Family comes first.”
I hold him.
Seconds pass.
The wind moans beyond the window.
“The house is too quiet,” I say.
“I’ve got to be honest. I kind of missed these quiet moments.”
I look up at him and smile.
“Incidentally, speaking of quiet moments—I’m glad we’re alone.” He pulls himself up in bed. “I’ve got something for you.”
He reaches across the bed and fumbles around inside the nightstand drawer. He pulls out a small box wrapped in The Milestone Review’s Sunday funnies.
He hands me the package.
I sit up and eye him curiously.
“I wanted to wait until we were alone for you to open it,” he says.
I stare down at the tiny box. “I like the Beetle Bailey and Blondie wrapping paper.”
“I wanted to personalize it for you. I know how much you like the Sunday comics.”
I grin. My hands shake.
“Go ahead,” Philip says. “Open it.”
I tear through meticulous strips of tape and razor-fine folds and am wide-eyed and surprised when I stare down at a Tiffany & Company insignia inscribed on top of the box.
I look over at Philip who is smiling and crying at the same time. “I’m sorry it’s late,” he says.
I gaze, openmouthed, at the 18-karat gold engagement ring in the shape of a serpent.
“You’re a strange man,” he says. “But I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Trembling, I reach over and hug Philip, hard and long.
I am speechless, until we pull apart. I slide the gold band on my left ring finger and turn to Philip. “Yes, I will marry you.”
THE END
Heaven’s Light
To Paul, as always.
Prologue
Christian Rivers was seven when he saw his first dead body.
His Aunt Betty had died of complications with emphysema at the end of summer in 1988 at the ripe old age of seventy-eight. It was the last time he’d see her grand old smile and snowcapped hair. Her eyes were the color of lime green bottles.
He went to her funeral with his parents. He struggled to fit into a pair of corduroys and dress shirt. His mom, Lori, wanted him to wear a tie. It was his father Henry’s brown striped checkered that he’d bought at a thrift store in the center of town. Christian looked like a geek. “It is too long,” he’d told his father. “I look silly.”
“Stop griping,” Henry said, tugging and folding the ends of the fabric to make it look presentable on young Christian.
“You’re growing into a handsome young man,” Henry said, winking. His smile was as wide as a clown’s that morning. It reminded Christian of Aunt Betty’s ear-to-ear grin. She was always in a good mood, always smiling, telling him how much she loved him, and brushing her ring-encrusted fingers through the cowlick in the center of Christian’s head. She called him Little Rascal.
Christian stared down at the floor to avert his father’s gaze and the smell of hash browns and sausage on his breath, his normal morning breakfast. Christian remembered his father telling him how “all grown-up” he looked, patting him on the top of his head like a puppy.
“Aunt Betty would be proud of her favorite nephew,” Henry said.
“I miss her,” Christian said.
“She misses you, too.”
“How do you know?”
“She’s watching you from upstairs.”
“Upstairs? She’s here? Where? You mean she’s not really dead?” Christian pulled away from his father and raced through the den and living room to the bottom of the stairs. He stared up the fourteen steps to the top of the landing. Warm afternoon light spilled along the walls, across his face, the heat of the sun soothing.
He heard his father’s heavy footsteps coming up behind him. “It’s a figure of speech, son. Aunt Betty—”
“She’s really gone?” Christian whispered. “Isn’t she?”
Christian felt his father’s solid hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him. He pulled him back into him, holding his son tightly. His head came up to Henry’s waist.
“I don’t want to see Aunt Betty dead,” Christian said, and he wanted to cry, but not in front of his father. It made him feel weak, showing emotions in front of other people.
“You have to pay your respects,” Henry said. “She loved you.”
“I miss her.”
“Come on, son. Let’s get our coats. We don’t want to keep Mom waiting.”
* * * *
Christian recalled the quiet one-way street on the corner of Pine and Lily where Hillman & Eden Funeral Home stood like a castle. The funeral home was a large building tucked between an empty lot for sale and a dentist’s office. Leafy, lush purple and white lilac trees lined either side of the street, fragrant and blooming during the summer months. Christian and his mom would take long morning walks along the residential streets, past the newly renovated stone architecture of the United Methodist Church, the golden sun glinting off the top of its bronze bell tower.
Christian told his father that he wanted to move their house to Pine and Lily Street.
“Why?” Henry asked, shutting the car door behind him and ushering the three of them to the sidewalk in front of the funeral home’s main doors.
“I want to be close to Aunt Betty,” Christian told h
im.
Christian heard his father mumble something about Aunt Betty going to heaven and not staying around the area.
Henry waved to Uncle Willy on their way into the funeral home. Uncle Willy was dressed “to the nines,” Christian heard his mother say to his father. When she hugged Uncle Willy, her short, thin arms were unable to reach around Uncle Willy’s big waist. Uncle Willy was thick as a tree, and the most pleasant person you’d ever meet. Uncle Willy and Henry didn’t get along well all the time, and Henry told Christian one night, before Henry and Lori tucked their son into bed, “Your Uncle Willy is colorfully different for a reason.”
Christian didn’t know what ‘colorful’ meant at the time. Later, when he found out that his Uncle Willy and he had a few similarities, Christian wished they’d had more time together, to talk and hang out so Christian could learn more about his uncle, before Uncle Willy died of a massive heart attack during Christian’s senior year in high school, leaving Christian alone, asking more questions.
* * * *
During Aunt Betty’s wake Christian’s father told him how proud he was of him. “You’re a special boy,” he had said. “You’re my son. I love you. Stay strong. Don’t let anyone bully you.”
Christian didn’t understand what he was saying, and by the time he reached the small room where Aunt Betty was laid out in a shiny brown casket, Christian clung to his mother’s loose-fitting skirt, his hands clutching the hem so hard his hands were hurting.
Henry walked off to meet other family members who had flown in from California, Arizona, and San Francisco for the wake and funeral. Lori bent down and asked Christian if he was feeling well. Christian nodded, inhaling her sweet-scented perfume. She smelled like roses and honeysuckle and mint leaves from the flowerbeds in her garden.
“Do you want to see Aunt Betty?” she asked him, her calm, blue-eyed stare reassuring him that everything would be fine. “I’ll go with you.”
He looked around the crowded room. It occupied the same space as their downstairs den or the size of their in-ground swimming pool in the backyard. There was a lot of noise from people talking, their voices carrying through the room. Christian shook his head, feeling his eyes tear up.
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