A More Perfect Union

by J. Scott Coatsworth

  “I just figured I’d go to Wagner University,” Lucas said. “It’s a top-rated school, and town residents don’t have to do the whole dorm thing. And I’ll probably qualify for some scholarships too. I’ve got a pretty good grade point average.”

  “It’s 3.8,” Dalton supplied proudly.

  Mr. Churchill barely glanced his way before seeming to dismiss his son.

  “And your major?”

  “Not sure yet. I’ll start with the general required classes that any major calls for. Get them out of the way.”

  Mr. Churchill nodded. “Dalton here”—and he pointed—“is going to the University of Missouri at Rolla.”

  Lucas did a double take. What? He turned to Dalton, who seemed equally surprised.

  “No, I’m not, Dad. We talked about this and—”

  “Sir,” Mr. Churchill said, steel in his voice, clearly correcting his son. “Or Father. What’s happening to you? Is frolicking with this boy softening your brain while it hardens your cock?”

  Lucas gasped, Dalton’s mouth fell open, and Mrs. C let out a “Richard. Must you be so crude? I thought we agreed to subtlety. Ease into this.”

  They know! My God, they know. Lucas’s heart leapt, and his stomach turned to lead. I knew it. He’d known something was up from the moment he and Dalton walked in the door.

  “Subtlety is for pussies,” Mr. Churchill snapped. “And I didn’t realize until a week ago that was what my son was.”

  “Dad!” Dalton protested.

  “What did I just say?” Mr. Churchill shouted. “Father or sir!”

  Shit, thought Lucas, and his stomach began to roll, dinner the worse for wear for it.

  “Sir,” Dalton replied quietly.

  “Now, as I was saying. Dalton will be attending University of Missouri in a few weeks. As a matter of fact, we will be going up a week early. As a family. Exploring the town. Touring campus.”

  “Da…. Father,” Dalton said as Lucas watched helplessly. “I’ve already told them I won’t be attending. We can’t just show up and expect—”

  “I’ve spoken to the dean,” Mr. Churchill interrupted. He seemed to do a lot of that—interrupting. “I’ve arranged everything. Explained everything. Told him how you’ve been influenced”—he shot Lucas a look that made him so unsettled that for a second he thought he would lose his dinner—“and how you need to be away from it.”

  It? Had Mr. Churchill just called him an “it”?

  “Like some kind of drug.” The last dripping with disgust. “I told him that a man needs to get away from his childhood home, learn to be a man. The dean—the pussy—was not sympathetic with my feeling about your perversion—”

  Again gasps, both from Dalton and Lucas.

  What happened? wondered Lucas as he sat there—stunned. He felt like he was underwater. One minute they were having dinner. Contemplating the Kansas City Chiefs’ prospects for the coming season—to which Lucas was not able to add anything—and the next Mr. Churchill was talking perversion?

  “—but he did agree about the importance of leaving the nest. And in this, your mother and I both agree, it is very important.”

  “Dad,” cried Dalton, ignoring his father’s demanded title.

  “It is time for you to be a man. Part of that means you can’t be around him anymore.” Mr. Churchill made a dismissive gesture at Lucas. “It’s one thing for you two to play around at thirteen, fourteen. It’s normal. Boys do that. I jerked off with my buddies….”

  Mrs. C’s eyes popped wide. “Richard. Please.”

  Mr. Churchill turned to her slowly, eyes flashing. “Denise. Why don’t you go off and do something womanly? Make plans for your charity. Moan about the carats of that damned necklace. Count the coffers. I don’t know. I don’t really care. But if you don’t have the stomach for this, then leave.”

  Lucas’s eyes went even wider. That sense of being underwater intensified. He was stunned into incomprehension.

  Mrs. C stood, eyes downcast, and went inside. She didn’t even spare them a backward glance. No apologies. Nothing. Just left the room like a scolded puppy.

  Mrs. C. The most formidable woman Lucas had ever known.

  We were talking about the Chiefs.

  Mr. Churchill, wife now discharged, snapped his attention back to Dalton. “It’s not that I don’t understand. He’s pretty as a girl.” He pointed at Lucas with his chin. “He’s got an ass like a pair of grapefruit. I’d fuck him if he weren’t underage—”

  “Dad!” Dalton stood up fast.

  “‘Dad’ what?” Mr. Churchill all but roared.

  “That is my lover you’re talking about.”

  And Lucas thought he might cry. But not from Mr. Churchill’s ugly words.

  Lover. Dalton had said it. Love surged up and through him, banished the stunned fear that had filled him. Said it in front of this roaring lion.

  Mr. Churchill, though, growled. He actually growled. “Lover!” He flicked his hand at Lucas. “This isn’t your ‘lover.’ This is your cum dump!”

  “That’s it!” Dalton declared. “Come on, Lucas. We’re leaving.”

  “You step out that door and you won’t ever walk back through it. Not even for your clothes.”

  Deathly silence followed. Lucas thought his heart would simply stop. Had Mr. Churchill just—

  “Did you think I didn’t know? Of course I knew. I was shocked when Rebecca told me that you begged that little pansy to choose you over the Dutch faggot. Begged, she said. I didn’t want to believe it. My son begging anyone, let alone a boy. But Jesus bald-headed Christ, Dalton! He is a boy. He’s underage, and if his mother pressed charges, you’d go to prison. Have you thought about that when you’re screwing his tight little ass?”

  Dalton’s eyes went wide. Dalton clearly hadn’t thought about that. Not really.

  She wouldn’t, though. She said Dalton was safe. She wants me to be with Dalton…. “She wouldn’t do that,” Lucas blurted without thinking.

  “Am I speaking to you, Lucas? Did you somehow get that idea?”

  “N-no,” Lucas managed.

  “Then shut the fuck up.” Mr. Churchill turned back to Dalton and stabbed a finger at his son. “No. I didn’t want to believe it. But then I checked your e-mail. Saw those ridiculous messages back and forth. You acting like some love-struck simpleton. The ‘I love yous’ and the ‘No, I love you mores,’ and dear God, the ‘I want to suck your cocks!’ You said it!” He shuddered. Then, in a mocking tone: “Oh, Lucas. I want to suck your beautiful cock.” He grimaced. “But the worst was the pictures. Cocks and asses and goddamned assholes! I thought I would puke. That was the last straw.”

  “Oh my God,” Lucas whispered. And watched as Dalton’s face crumpled.

  “Now you listen and you listen well. Lucas will now leave this house, never to return. And you, Dalton. You will go to University of Missouri at Rolla, and if you don’t, then you are never to return to this house either. And I’ll fuck your trust fund. See if I don’t.”

  “That’s from Nana,” Dalton objected angrily.

  “See if that stops me.”

  Mr. Churchill spun back to Lucas, and he flinched at the expression on the man’s face. “Now I’m talking to you, you little cocksucker.”

  The evening started with a question. It ended the same way. With several.

  “If you actually do profess to love my son, don’t you want what is best for him? Do you really want to ruin his life? Do you really want to doom him to a life of faggotry? What kind of life can you give him? A life living in some gay ghetto? Always in danger of losing his job if anyone found out about him? About you both? When he could have a position in the community? A wife, kids? If you really do love him”—and once again his face twisted in distaste—“then ask yourself if you want the best for him. And if you do, then get out. And if I ever see you within a block of this house again, I’ll run over you with my car. See what that does to you.”

  “Dad!” Dalton cried. “
Fuck!”

  Lucas leapt to his feet and fled from the patio.

  “Lucas, wait!” Dalton shouted and raced after him to the front foyer.

  “Dalton! Get back in here now!”

  Now the tears were coming. “Get back out there,” Lucas hissed. He began to shiver, unable to believe everything that had just happened. He looked up into Dalton’s beautiful almond-shaped eyes, feeling as if the world had come to an end.

  “I’m not,” Dalton said firmly.

  “Yes,” Lucas replied. “Because, my God. He’s right! What kind of life can I give you? You have everything here. With me? You have my tight little grapefruit ass.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, hot and wet.

  “I have love with you, Lucas.”

  “You’ll find someone else. Easy. One week at Rolla and you’ll have the women lining up.” With that he ran out the front door and down the walkway that led to the house and then turned right and followed the sidewalk into the night.

  He never got any German chocolate cake.

  12

  LUCAS WEPT on his mother’s shoulder, in her arms, as he hadn’t since he was a child. Over. He couldn’t believe it was over. He’d waited all his life for Dalton, and now, God, how much the world had changed in one evening.

  The noises she made as she held him were comforting. Not shushing, not telling him to stop, just a mother’s lies to let him know all would be right in the world.

  This was the third time he’d burst into tears since he’d gotten home, sweaty, out of breath, his side an agony of pain—he’d run nearly all the way. She’d made him chamomile tea between the second and third bouts, with lots of honey. During assurances that he didn’t know that it was all over. That anything could happen.

  And then, somehow, she was right.

  The doorbell rang.

  Lucas jerked, pulled back, looked out the kitchen door and down the hall. “Huh?” Who?

  Then before even his mother could get up, the door opened. “Lucas?”

  “Dalton?” he cried, heart leaping.

  He jumped up, kitchen chair flying back, and then Dalton was in the room and sweeping him into his arms, covering his face with kisses.

  Lucas tried to object, tried to say what he should say—What are you doing here? You need to get back!—but the relief was so immense, and he was in Dalton’s arms, and Dalton was kissing him, and Lucas could only kiss him back.

  But even in the midst of passion, his cooler head finally prevailed—that and his mother clearing her throat loudly—and he pulled back and said, “Dalton! What are you doing here? Did you hear what your father said? He means it. He’ll disinherit you.”

  “I snuck out, baby,” he said.

  “God, Dalton! Don’t think he hasn’t noticed. You’ve got to go back.”

  Dalton shook his head. “He’s out like a light, my little tiger. He hit the scotch and hit it hard after you left and staggered off to bed drunker than I’ve ever seen him. I had to get over here. I ran all the way.” Which explained the sweat.

  Lucas knew all about running all the way. Thankfully Terra’s Gate wasn’t that big a town and nothing was that far a drive from anything else—but with drive being the operable word. Running all the way had exhausted Lucas. That and crying his heart out.

  “I just couldn’t let things lie the way they were. I had to see you. Lucas… I love you so much. I’m willing to lose everything. Tell me. Give me the word and I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

  God.… It sounded wonderful. But then.… “No. You’ve got to go back.” Because he had to. This was Dalton’s whole life. And that did matter to Lucas. “And you go to Rolla,” he said and felt his heart break.

  Dalton shook his head. “No.”

  “Yes,” Lucas insisted.

  “At least for the first year,” Lucas’s mother said, surprising them both. Lucas had almost forgotten she was there. They turned to her just as she said, “In a year Lucas will be eighteen. And to tell the truth that will make me feel better. For all the mother reasons.” She nodded. “And if that bastard of a father of yours has a fit, then let him. But don’t give him any legal ammunition. We can also check with the bank when your father isn’t aware of what’s going on. See if he really can touch your Nana’s trust fund.”

  There was a long pause as they digested her words. And tried to sort their swirling emotions.

  And then they began to talk. They kept it short to make sure Dalton’s father didn’t find out that Dalton had left the house. They came up with a plan.

  It wouldn’t be easy.

  But it was better than the alternative.

  Then Lucas’s mother drove Dalton home—both insisting Lucas stay at home.

  When she got back, she held him again.

  “That young man loves you so much,” she said. Then she was crying with her son. “And it’s going to work, baby. It’s going to work. I know a year seems a long time, but years and years from now when you look back, you will know it was worth it.”

  “Are you s-sure?” Lucas asked through tear-filled eyes.

  “Of course, baby. In the end, love always wins.”

  2004

  1

  LUCAS’S FINAL year of high school—the supposed best year of a person’s life—wasn’t easy, nor would he ever consider it his best. Or at least he hoped not. First and foremost, he ached for Dalton, who was a couple of hundred miles away. Sometimes it felt as if an ice pick were being twisted around deep in his chest. It made it hard to concentrate on his schoolwork, hard to sleep, hard even to pay attention to an episode of Will & Grace.

  They were able to get away with all the e-mails they wanted. There was no way Mr. Churchill could check Dalton’s computer or chaperone Dalton’s online activity 200 miles away.

  Lucas often thought those e-mails were the only thing keeping him from going crazy.

  That and his mother once again saved the day. Several times over 2003 and into the next year she drove them down to Rolla, and while he and Dalton weren’t able to make love, they did spend wondrous time together—gazing at each other over shared sodas at an ice cream parlor near Dalton’s school (Lucas’s mother sat reading Beachcomber across the room), holding hands during a movie, or going for walks. Lucas found it particularly exciting how little anyone cared that the two of them were together. In fact, Lucas delighted in meeting Dalton’s friends, gay and straight alike. He also didn’t mind that Dalton’s gay friends were either coupled or not at all Dalton’s type. He couldn’t help a little jealousy. Those gay men got to see Dalton anytime they wanted.

  Lucas’s mother also kept another promise, which turned out to be a bright and shining element in the darkness of their exile from each other. They went to a lawyer. And because Dalton was legally an adult, there wasn’t anything his father could do about it.

  Turns out the man, a Jerry Drake, didn’t like Richard Churchill one bit. And he let it be known that Dalton’s Nana had been clever.

  “He can prevent you from getting your trust until you’re thirty, but after that he—cannot. And if he so much as tries, then his trust will go to the Kansas City Home for Wayward Felines. Here’s the thing you’ll be glad to know. It’s a lot of money. Both funds. Mr. Churchill is a vengeful man, and while he’s very financially comfortable, he’s not going to want that much money getting away from him—especially to a bunch of cats.”

  It wasn’t until after the relief of finding out that Dalton’s father couldn’t—or in all likelihood wouldn’t—ultimately prevent Dalton from getting his trust fund that the words “that much money” sunk in.

  “Just how much is it?” Lucas’s mother asked.

  They were all quite surprised at the figure. “Goodness, Dalton. That would pay for all of your schooling and pay a substantial down payment on a house.”

  “And more,” said Drake.

  Dalton had been thrilled, even though he was at least temporarily blocked from getting the money that would solve almost everything for a possible twelv
e years. Because Nana had known her son well—and not cared for the man he’d turned into.

  Dalton’s father hated cats with a blue-blooded passion.

  And so Lucas got through that year. At first his grades suffered. The pain of not having Dalton a touch away was hard. But two things turned that around.

  First he took the pain and sexual frustration and anger at Mr. Churchill and redirected that energy into studying. Then the Supreme Court of Massachusetts ruled the state’s ban on same-sex marriage was unconstitutional, just as 2003 ended, which only fired him up all the more. If Massachusetts allowed gays to get married, then he and Dalton could move! It would mean they could really get married and not have to worry about rites like Holy Unions. He graduated with a 4.98 average and was class salutatorian.

  During that time Dalton had come down for Lucas’s birthday with a group of friends, and after a small party and cake—and afterward, dinner with just the two of them and Lucas’s mother—Dalton asked her if he could please, now and finally, take her son away with him for the night. Blushing, she gave her blessings.

  They went to a nice hotel this time.

  And they made love well into the night.

  This time Lucas didn’t object to Dalton’s desire that they top each other. It was a symbol that they were at last together.

  The only thing that prevented their night from being perfect was that when Lucas brought up their ability to go to Massachusetts to get married, Dalton balked at the idea.

  “I want us to be legal everywhere, Lucas. Not just in one state. It’s just not real to me otherwise. Please. Why is marriage so important to you?”

  Lucas pulled a sheet up to cover himself. He didn’t know why, but Dalton’s apparent decree against them getting married made him feel funny. Exposed. Wrong somehow. As if what he wanted was wrong. He’d never worried about concepts like sin, but now he was feeling something akin to it.

  He couldn’t even look Dalton in the eyes.

  “I love you, Dalton. And I want what I’ve always wanted. I want what everyone should be able to have. I want you to be my husband.”