by Mel Gough
When Ben just mumbled vaguely about a family friend dying, Jason finally gave up, looking hurt. A sharp sense of guilt crept over Ben, but his head was full to bursting and he simply had no energy left to worry about anything else.
THE NIGHT BEFORE Floyd’s memorial service, neither Donnie nor Ben got much sleep. Donnie tossed and turned, nodding off for a short while, then startling awake again. Since the bed was so small, Ben woke up every time Donnie did. Finally, still before dawn, Donnie got up, and Ben let him be. He was becoming attuned to Donnie’s moods. Right then, Donnie just needed to be alone.
There was no chance of sleep for Ben after that. He finally gave up and found Donnie slumped on the sofa, hands twisted together in his lap, staring at nothing. His face was gray in the early morning light, and he wouldn’t meet Ben’s eye.
Ben made them both breakfast and insisted that Donnie eat. It had been a struggle to get any food into him since Floyd’s death. Ben was sorry to push him, but all of Donnie’s medication needed to be taken with meals, and it was important that he took the pills at the same time every day.
Donnie only managed half a bowl of cereal before he put the spoon down. Ben looked up to see that he had turned faintly green. He didn’t urge Donnie to eat more.
They dressed in silence. The new black jacket didn’t sit well on Donnie’s broad shoulders, and the dress pants were too loose. Ben had bought the clothes the previous day, when they’d realized that nothing in Donnie’s closet would do for a funeral. Ben now wondered why they’d bothered. Nobody would care. But Ben put on his own black suit anyway, for which he had braved coming face-to-face with Helen after work the night before.
“Ready?” he asked Donnie, who stood there looking at his shoes, hands balled to fists. Donnie gave a little jerk of the head, biting his lip hard enough to make the cut on it bleed again.
Before hitting the interstate into Atlanta, Ben stopped at a gas station to fill up. Donnie was out of the car and headed for the station’s bathroom the moment the engine was off.
“Stomach trouble?” Ben asked when he’d paid for the gas and Donnie climbed back into the passenger seat. Donnie shrugged.
“It’s nothing.” He didn’t look at Ben and kept his face averted all the way into the city.
There were seven people at the memorial service, Donnie, Ben, and Arthur included. Arthur and two of the other men came up to them as soon as Ben and Donnie entered the funeral home. The two men introduced themselves as Vince and Pete.
“We grew up either side of the brothers,” the one called Vince explained. “Haven’t seen Donnie and Floyd in years, but when we heard… Well, I’m real sorry, man.” He held out a hand.
Donnie accepted the men’s condolences with a nod and a few very quiet words. Then he looked over at the other two men who had remained in their seats near the back of the room, staring at their little group. Donnie froze, and Ben, who had been about to go up to the men and introduce himself, looked around curiously.
“What is it, buddy?”
“Why’re they here?” It was hardly a whisper, but the fear in Donnie’s voice was unmistakable.
“One of them is called Philip, isn’t he?” Arthur asked. Donnie nodded, and Arthur continued, “After I phoned around trying to find someone who’d pay for the funeral, he called me. Wanted to know if it was true, that Floyd was dead. No idea how he found out or how he got my number.”
Ben put a hand lightly on Donnie’s back, feeling the other man’s muscles quiver. “What is it?” But Donnie just mutely shook his head.
“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Arthur said, worried gaze on Donnie. Ben took Donnie by the arm and led him to seats near the front. He sat very close to Donnie and kept an eye on him. Donnie looked tense and miserable, his hands knotted in his lap. He didn’t look around at the men in the back again, but kept his shoulders hunched, as if expecting a blow from behind. If he turned his head very slightly, Ben could see the two strangers out of the corner of his eye, but it was too gloomy in the dingy parlor to make out their expressions. The men sat very still throughout the service.
The wake was mercifully short. The funeral director came down after his speech, and Ben was distracted for a few minutes with the details of where and when Floyd’s ashes would be interred in an unmarked grave. Donnie had wanted the least possible fuss and been adamant that they wouldn’t have to go to a cemetery that day. Looking at his man’s gray face now, Ben was more than glad. Donnie was truly at the end of his tether, and the sooner they got home, the better.
When Ben looked toward the back of the funeral parlor, Philip and the other man had disappeared. He was immediately distracted again by Arthur saying, “Will you come back to my place for a bite to eat? Felt wrong not to put on anything. It’s just sandwiches and cake, but it’s better than nothing.”
Ben was about to decline, but Donnie nodded. “Thanks, Arthur,” he said as they walked out of the funeral home. “For everything.”
“It’s alright, son,” Arthur said and patted Donnie’s shoulder. The old man frowned as he kept studying Donnie’s face. So it wasn’t just Ben’s overwrought imagination. Donnie did look unwell to others, too.
VINCE AND PETE agreed to come back to Arthur’s as well, and the five of them settled down in Arthur’s comfortable but cluttered living room. The stories the two childhood friends told about growing up with the Saunders brothers were quite entertaining. Clearly, not all of Floyd’s and Donnie’s childhood had been terrible.
They’re decent men, Ben thought as he watched Vince and Pete eating sandwiches, their faces lit up in reminiscence. They had done all right, holding down jobs from the sound of it and bringing up families. It would be interesting to know if their childhoods had been as disordered as Donnie’s and Floyd’s.
Donnie sadly didn’t perk up. He pushed the food around on his plate, barely managing half a sandwich. Even the low-fat strawberry torte Arthur had baked especially for him couldn’t lift his spirits.
“Shall we go home, buddy?” Ben asked after a couple of hours of watching Donnie wilt on the sofa.
“Yeah,” Donnie nodded, looking miserable. “I’m sorry…”
“What for? You haven’t done anything.”
Donnie didn’t answer. Ben sighed and went to get their coats. Arthur looked troubled when Donnie said his goodbyes, and Ben gave the old man a helpless shrug behind Donnie’s back.
Donnie was very quiet on the ride back, and Ben let him be. He didn’t want to pester Donnie, even though something was clearly wrong. All he said when they got into the house was, “Why don’t you go to bed?”
As a reply, he just got a jerky shake of the head. Patience, Ben reminded himself. This was a very difficult time, and to top it all off, Donnie was clearly not feeling well.
“Go lie on the sofa, then.”
A very quiet, “Alright,” came as response, and Donnie shuffled over to the sofa.
Ben took a deep breath and went into the kitchen to make coffee. By the time he carried two steaming mugs through to the living room, Donnie had taken off jacket and shoes and was lying on his side, hands clamped between his knees. Ben put the mugs on the coffee table and sat on the floor close by the sofa. He kept his attention on Donnie, who gave him a fleeting glance, then looked away.
“You don’t have to talk to me, buddy, if you don’t want to,” he murmured. “But maybe I can help?”
Ben waited. Donnie began to play nervously with a loose thread on the threadbare sofa seat. “We gotta move out,” he finally said.
That hadn’t been at all what Ben had expected. “Why’s that?”
“This is Floyd’s house. I mean,” Donnie amended, “he was given it to live in, cuz he was in the army. There was a letter.” He gestured at a jumble of paper lying against the wall with bills and letters and other things relating to Floyd that they hadn’t yet gotten around to. Some of the recent mail lay on top. “Came the other day.”
Ben’s confusion grew. He was missing somethi
ng. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Donnie gave a one-shouldered shrug. “What’re we gonna do?”
Slowly, understanding dawned. “Buddy, we’ll just move,” Ben said.
Donnie now looked confused in turn and miserable. “I got no money for rent, Ben. Don’t even have money to have the pickup serviced.”
That admission clearly cost Donnie a lot. It hurt Ben, deep inside, that Donnie would think he might abandon him because he had no money.
“Donnie, we were moving anyway. I never thought we should stay here. There are too many bad memories in this house.”
“But—”
Ben carried on, determined to make himself quite clear. “I can afford to pay rent, bud. It’s not gonna be a palace, and you’ll have to share a bedroom with me,” he smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “But we’ll get that bigger bed you wanted.” He reached out and put his hand gently against Donnie’s face. “You didn’t think I’d move without you, did you now?”
Ben had expected there would be tears. He gave Donnie a few minutes to get over the worst of it. Then, to Ben’s surprise, Donnie smiled, his eyes soft and still a little wet. “That’ll be nice, being somewhere new.”
“Yeah, it will,” Ben agreed. “C’mon, let’s drink the coffee before it’s ice cold. Can you sit up?”
Donnie nodded and pushed himself to sitting, and Ben joined him on the sofa. Donnie nestled against Ben’s chest, and they sipped their coffee quietly for a while. To Ben’s great surprise, it was Donnie who broke the silence.
“Floyd wasn’t always like that,” he began. “I… Ben, I really wanna tell ya, but I dunno if I can…”
“Just start with a little, then. It gets easier,” Ben said softly and tightened his arm around Donnie’s shoulders.
“Ya saw my back, the other night…”
“That wasn’t Floyd, was it?”
“Nah, that was our pa. He was real mean. He was afraid of Floyd, though, even when Floyd was real small. Floyd never took shit from no one, and Pa, he’d get mad. They’d fight, and Floyd’d storm off, and Pa would take it out on me… Floyd didn’t know, not then.”
Ben wanted to ask why Donnie hadn’t told his brother or asked someone, anyone, for help, but he didn’t want Donnie to lose heart. Donnie hadn’t talked this much in ages. This needed out, at his own pace.
“He found out much later. He came back from Afghanistan all fucked up. Got into fights, till they kicked him out. Wasn’t even a dishonorable discharge. They didn’t dare. Just told him to quit and keep his mouth shut and he’d get state assistance. He stayed with me a little while. I had a trailer outside Newnan, pretty small, but it was all mine. I had jobs, shitty ones, but they paid the rent. But Floyd didn’t like being on his own, so I quit. Was proud he wanted to spend time with me. So stupid…”
“Not at all stupid,” Ben said quietly, but Donnie made a skeptical noise in his throat.
“We moved here, and it was okay for a while. Floyd had his pension, and at first, we was just drinking. He made out like it was a never-ending party. But he had these friends. Ya saw a couple of ‘em today.”
“Who were these men, Donnie?” Ben asked.
“His ‘business partners.’ Drug dealers. Ben, I think Floyd owed them money. But I know nothing for sure. He kept me out of it.” Donnie groped for Ben’s hand, clearly distressed by the memories.
So maybe Floyd had cared a little about his brother. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to share his profits. “I’m sure they’ll just disappear, now that Floyd’s dead,” Ben said soothingly, trying to convince himself as well. But he still had so many questions. “Why would Floyd beat you up, Donnie?” Ben couldn’t help it. He needed to understand.
“Only did twice, really. First time was when he found out about the scars…”
“He hurt you more because he hadn’t protected you when your dad was beating you up?” Ben looked down at Donnie, disbelieving. Donnie’s expression was pleading.
“Ya don’t know what it was like, at home. He…”
“No, you’re right, I don’t. I’m sorry.” Ben stroked Donnie’s face with one finger. Even with all he’d seen in his job, he found it difficult to imagine a home where there was no love for the children, where the only permissible emotion was rage. How had these men ever been able to function?
The answer was clear, of course: Badly.
Now that they had started, Ben needed to know it all. “Floyd got you into drugs, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Donnie’s voice was barely audible, but it was clear he also felt that he had to give Ben all the answers he could. “He said he liked hanging with me. And I liked it too, was better’n having no one. And it just happened. Was something to do.”
Sadness threatened to overwhelm Ben. And he’d just understood another thing. “You got the HIV from him.”
Donnie nodded against Ben’s chest. “Or one of his asshole friends. We weren’t never careful with them needles.”
“Those friends of Floyd’s, the ones from today. When did they last come to see Floyd?”
Ben could feel Donnie tense against him, then shudder. He looked down. Donnie had closed his eyes, and his face looked pinched and white. “Ben, I know nuthin’!”
Ben had switched on his police interrogation mode without meaning to. “Sorry, buddy, I didn’t even mean to ask that. How ‘bout I make us dinner now and we call it a day?”
“I’m really not hungry,” Donnie mumbled, shifting restlessly.
“Donnie, you gotta eat something so you can take your pills. You hardly touched anything at Arthur’s. Just soup and crackers, okay?”
Donnie looked down into the half-drunk coffee he was still holding. “Alright,” he whispered.
BEN HEATED THE soup and set the table, leaving Donnie to doze on the sofa. When Ben went to rouse him for dinner, Donnie looked even grayer. He seemed hardly able to keep his eyes open while they ate.
As expected, Donnie mostly just stirred the soup with his spoon, looking pale and queasy. Ben encouraged him gently, worried that if Donnie took his antiretrovirals and the Isoniazid on an empty stomach, he would just feel worse.
“Bed now,” Ben said gently but firmly once Donnie had swallowed his pills, and Donnie went without protest. Ben tidied the kitchen and got the house ready for the night. Then he brushed his teeth and went into the bedroom. Donnie was fast asleep, curled up on the edge of the mattress as usual. Ben undressed and carefully climbed over Donnie.
Donnie couldn’t bear being pinned against the wall during the night, so the inside of the mattress had become Ben’s spot. Usually they went to bed at the same time, but on the few occasions when they hadn’t, Donnie had woken up when Ben came to bed. Even though Donnie huffed about it, their favorite position, and the most comfortable one in the narrow bed, was to spoon, with Donnie fitting perfectly against Ben’s body. Tonight he didn’t even stir as Ben climbed over him, and Ben didn’t dare cuddle up. Donnie needed sound sleep badly.
The day had been exhausting, and Ben was done in. He fell asleep quickly, despite his worries about Donnie.
He awoke in the middle of the night from the mattress shaking hard. Quick footsteps hurried from the room, and Ben rubbed his eyes blearily. By the time his brain had come halfway online and he realized that something wasn’t right, Donnie was gone. There came a crash as the toilet seat was flipped up. Ben jumped out of bed.
He got into the bathroom just when Donnie lost the battle with the nausea. Ben quickly wet a washcloth under the cold tap, then went down onto his knees by Donnie’s side and put a hand on Donnie’s shaking back.
Donnie was retching painfully. He was shivering, and it was becoming a real effort for him to stay upright. When the vomiting finally stopped, Donnie wrapped his arms around his middle, groaning.
“C’mere,” Ben murmured, and pulled Donnie into his arms. He wiped his sweaty face with the cool cloth. Donnie whimpered.
“You’re really not well, huh?” Ben said. Donnie on
ly managed a small, miserable noise. Ben sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off when I made you eat that soup?”
“Yer trying to help,” Donnie gasped.
“Yeah, well, seems I wasn’t. It’s the Isoniazid, isn’t it?”
“Think so…”
“Listen, buddy,” Ben said, feeling terrible for Donnie. “If some pill doesn’t agree with you or we’re trying to make you do something that doesn’t feel right, you gotta speak up. Don’t let it get so bad. Doctors fuck up. I fuck up. It happens. Alright?”
“Okay,” Donnie whispered, his voice hoarse from the retching. “But what now, if I can’t take them pills?”
“We’re going back to the hospital first thing tomorrow and ask for a different treatment. Maybe they can inject the Isoniazid, that might work better.” Ben hugged Donnie close and kissed his burning forehead. “We’ll figure something out. I’m here for you, buddy. I won’t leave you alone in this.”
“Thanks, Ben. I’m real glad.” Donnie’s voice was small and scared.
“I wish there was more I could do,” Ben said. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Not really.”
Ben sighed. “We’re staying here a while, then?”
“Think so.” Donnie shuddered, and Ben quickly sat them up straight again. As Donnie readied himself for round two, Ben put one hand between his shoulder blades, feeling Donnie’s sickness almost physically in his own gut.
Is this ever gonna get better? he mused dully as Donnie gagged. How long would they have to keep dealing with this misery, and when would Donnie finally be allowed to catch a break?
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I SAW YOU.”
Ben looked over at Jason. His friend was sitting at his desk, glaring at him. “What?” Ben asked, confused.
“With that redneck, at the gas station.” Jason’s voice was full of venom.
Heart racing suddenly in his chest, Ben gave Jason his best level stare. He had to remain calm, figure out what Jason knew or suspected.