by Marie Sexton
“But you never told me the truth, did you? Well, I want the truth now. No more lies. No more treating me like a little kid.” Even if he felt like one, at the moment. “Was it because Mom didn’t want me to know about the affair? Is that why I couldn’t stay?”
“That was part of it.”
“What was the rest?”
“Greg wanted . . . Well, he didn’t want . . .” He paced as he talked, as if searching for the right words. He ended up at Nate’s dresser, eyeing the frame of the mirror. Nate had wedged snapshots into it when they’d first arrived—one of the tennis team, a couple of him and his parents together as a family, some of friends from Austin—but he’d taken them all down in the past week. His dad frowned, eyeing the empty spaces where the pictures had been as if he couldn’t quite believe they were gone.
Nate watched his dad’s face in the mirror. “Greg wanted what, Dad?”
His dad sighed. “He didn’t want you. He knew you’d hold a grudge against him and he—”
“What?” Nate jumped off the bed, advancing on his father, even though he wasn’t the one Nate was angry with. “And Mom was okay with that? She just shipped me off like I was nobody, all so she could be with him?”
His father turned to meet Nate’s gaze, squaring his shoulders, reminding him he was still several inches taller. “She didn’t ‘ship you off,’ Nate. I wanted you with me, and with Greg in the picture, she agreed that was probably for the best.”
Nate fell back against his desk, stunned. “That’s why you let me believe you were the one who had the affair—just so I wouldn’t know that Mom didn’t want me.”
“Son—”
“Does she love me at all?”
His father laughed. It was dry and humorless and awkward, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Of course she does. More than anything. She just . . .” He threw up his hands, looking powerless, even in his full cop getup. “She’s in love. I know you don’t know what that’s like yet, but someday you will. And when you love somebody like that—” His voice cracked. “The only thing you want to do is to be with them, whatever it takes. It isn’t logical. It doesn’t make sense. It’s just how it is.”
Nate sat down heavily in the desk chair, his heart seeming too big and too fragile. “The only thing you want to do is to be with them, whatever it takes.”
“I think maybe I do know what that feels like.” His voice sounded small and ridiculous, even to him.
His dad blinked, processing, but then a grin spread quickly across his face. For the first time in ages, it looked like a real, heartfelt smile. “Really?”
Nate squirmed in his seat, feeling like an idiot, but the words felt true. They felt right. “I think so. I don’t know. It’s so confusing and scary, and it doesn’t really make any sense, but—”
His dad laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like love.” His dad was still smiling ear to ear. “I’m glad to hear that, son.”
It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess because there’s nothing in the world like that first time. I sound like a damn greeting card saying it, but somebody around here may as well get something good out of this situation.” He shook his head, still grinning like a fool. “Well, who is she?”
And just like that, the spark of hope in Nate’s chest went out. What in the world could he say? What would his father think when he found out his son was a fag? And what did it matter anyway when Cody wasn’t even speaking to him? But luckily, his dad asked another question before Nate even had time to answer the first one.
“Is that who you argued with?”
Nate slumped, relieved he didn’t have to tell him quite yet. “Yes.”
His dad sat down again on the edge of the bed. “Well, I wish I could tell you it will all work out, but when it comes to things like this . . .” He shook his head. “Sometimes love sucks.”
Nate chuckled, remembering one of his first conversations with Cody. “If the world didn’t suck, we’d fall off.”
His dad’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but he smiled. “I guess.”
“I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you. All this time—”
“It doesn’t matter.” His dad glanced at his watch. “It’s after seven. If we’re going to call—”
“I really don’t want to talk to her right now.”
“You can’t put it off forever.”
“I know.”
“Fair enough.” His dad stood up, but didn’t move to leave. “I’m working tomorrow. Most of the weekend too. Low man on the pole and all that. I bought you a turkey TV dinner. Not much of a Thanksgiving feast, but at least you won’t go hungry. And there’s money on the kitchen table if you need to get anything from the grocery store.”
“That’s fine.”
His dad made it as far as the door before stopping again. “Nate?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“That guy on your record is right, you know. It really does get better. I know high school seems like the whole world right now, but ten years from now, none of this will matter a bit. You’ll have forgotten about most of it.”
Nate nodded, not knowing if he believed his dad and Howard Jones or not.
Thanksgiving Day wasn’t so bad. Sure, Nate was home alone for much of the day, but having admitted to himself how much he cared about Cody had somehow lifted a weight from his shoulders. His dad was working again on Friday, and Nate drove to the grocery store in search of junk food. The roads were clear, thanks to the wind more than rising temperatures, and Nate marveled at the drifts on the western sides of the buildings. Many of them were taller than he was. He spotted a group of kids sledding down a drift from the roof of their garage, laughing in delight even though their cheeks were bright red from the cold. It was almost enough to make him wish he were still a kid.
At the store, he grabbed a six-pack of Coke, some microwave popcorn, and a bag of M&M’s. The cover of Newsweek caught his eye as he stood in the checkout line.
AIDS was printed in huge, block letters. And below that: “How the spreading epidemic will affect health care, government policy, civil liberties and attitudes toward sex.”
Nate’s heart burst into gear. He glanced around, seeing if anybody was watching, before admonishing himself for being stupid. He was only reading a magazine cover, after all. And it wasn’t as if he actually had AIDS, but having finally admitted to himself how much he wanted Cody seemed to have opened up a whole-new, wider world to him. A disease he’d dismissed until now as something that only happened to “them” had suddenly become something that might happen to him. And he hadn’t forgotten Cody’s question in the field about whether or not it could be spread with oral sex.
“You ready?” the man at the register asked.
“Yeah.” Nate grabbed the magazine and placed on the checkout stand with the soda, candy, and popcorn.
The cashier eyed it skeptically, then turned his gaze on Nate, as if asking a question.
“It’s for a research paper.” Nate hated the way his hands shook as he reached for his wallet. He shouldn’t have to justify something so simple as buying a magazine.
“Serves them all right if they die, if you ask me,” the man said as he started ringing up the groceries.
Nate did his best to ignore him, but he wondered, as he gathered his groceries and headed for his car, if he looked guilty.
Back at home, he settled on the couch to read. The article was scary, but depressingly uninformative. “By 1991 an estimated 5 million Americans may be carrying the AIDS virus.” The article talked a great deal about how the disease that many had assumed was confined to homosexuals and intravenous drug users was sure to sweep through the heterosexual population next. It was estimated that sixty percent of the heroin addicts in New York State were infected, and the idea of those people carrying the virus back home, to their presumably straight wives and girlfriends, or to prostitutes, had experts predicting an outright epidemic. But other than suggesting mo
re care in selecting sexual partners and encouraging the use of condoms, there was very little practical information.
Could it be spread by a blowjob? Nate still had no idea.
He wanted to talk to Cody about it, but how could he, after the way he’d acted?
This week, he’d do better. This week, he’d make himself walk up to Cody and apologize.
That was easy to say when he was home alone, but by Saturday, Nate’s resolve was fading. Come Monday, he’d be right back where he’d been before the dance, trying to avoid at least half the people in the school while longing for the one person who wanted nothing to do with him. He found himself dwelling on that moment at the dance, replaying the scene over and over again—Logan putting his arm around Cody’s shoulders and kissing the top of his head.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It means everything.
He wished he knew which one was true. He was beginning to think he truly hated Logan. The one kid in school who everybody loved—the star quarterback, honor roll student sure to be named valedictorian, the one person with enough self-esteem to do his own thing regardless of what anybody else thought—and Nate found himself wishing Logan would disappear. Wishing he’d suddenly pack up and move far, far away.
By Sunday, he’d worked himself into a real funk. He’d wasted his entire holiday weekend staring at the TV, and what had Cody done? He had no idea, of course, but that didn’t stop him from imagining all kinds of scenarios, most of them featuring Logan.
The weather had been cold but mild all week, but a freak snowstorm blew in early Sunday afternoon, gusts of wind bending the trees and making the windows creak in their panes. Nate watched out the window as the snow started to fly, almost horizontal in the wind.
Maybe he could call Cody. Maybe he could go to the Hole, knock on trailers until he found the right one. Maybe he could . . .
What? Suddenly declare his love for Cody?
Yeah. Great idea.
Six o’clock rolled around. They had leftover Chinese takeout in the fridge, but Nate figured he’d wait for his dad to come home so they could eat together. He suddenly felt more connected to his father than he had in a long time.
But his dad didn’t arrive.
It wasn’t unusual for him to be a bit late, but by the time eight o’clock had come and gone, Nate was beginning to worry. He could call the station, but that was generally frowned upon. Besides, his dad was unlikely to be hanging around there after the end of his shift. Maybe he’d gone out for a drink with some of the other cops? But no, that seemed unlikely. He did that on occasion, but rarely on Sundays, and never without calling to let Nate know.
It was nearly nine when his dad came in, the Wyoming wind throwing the door back against the wall, carrying in a flurry of snow. His dad shoved the door closed and dropped his hat on the coffee table. His face was pale and gaunt.
“Dad, what happened? Why are you so late?”
His dad crossed the living room in three long strides and pulled Nate into his arms. He was shaking as he held Nate close.
“Dad?” Nate’s face was squished against his dad’s cold, wet cop coat. It wasn’t so much that Nate objected to being hugged as that it was a bit unusual. “What’s going on?”
His dad let him go, pushing his hair back from his face. “Something’s happened, Nate.” He shrugged off his coat and turned to hang it in the closet, still talking. “I’ve been trying to decide if I should tell you. I’m not supposed to, but you’ll find out anyway. I just—” He turned to face Nate. “You can’t tell anyone. I’m sure it’ll spread through the school like wildfire, but it can’t start with you. Do you understand?”
Nate swallowed, his heart beginning to race. “Yes.” Was it his mom? His grandma? No, that didn’t explain why his dad was late, and it certainly didn’t fit with his dad’s warning about keeping quiet about it. “What is it?”
“There’s been an accident. Some kids from your school—”
“Is it Cody?”
“Cody?” His dad frowned. “No. It has nothing to do with him.”
Nate fell back onto the couch, his hand to his chest. No, not Cody, thank God. But somebody his dad expected him to know. “Who?”
His dad sank down to perch on the edge of the coffee table, their knees vying for space. “A boy and his sister. Logan and Shelley Robertson. Do you know them?”
Nate’s heart skipped a beat. For half a second, his brain screamed, You did this! This is your fault! He’d been wishing for Logan to go away, but not like this. He’d never wanted anything like this. “I know Logan. I’ve met his sister, but—”
“You’re friends with him?”
Nate hesitated, flashing through every conversation he’d ever had with Logan. “Not quite friends, but— Jesus, Dad. What happened? Are you telling me they’re—”
“They were driving home from Casper. God knows what they were doing in a Camaro in this storm, but they must have hit a patch of ice. They collided with a semi. They—” He shook his head, placing his hand on Nate’s knee. “Jesus, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get those images out of my head. Just so much blood, and those two kids looking so small—”
“Oh my God! They’re dead?”
His dad’s head jerked. Not quite a nod. Not quite a gesture of denial, either. “The girl is. She died on impact. But Logan . . .” He swallowed. “He’s in the ICU in Casper.”
That brought a surge of hope. “He’s alive, then? He’s okay?”
But he knew he wasn’t. He could see it in his father’s eyes. “It doesn’t look good, Nate. The doctors say even if he lives, he’ll never be the same.”
Nate felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his world. He wanted to go back in time. To take back every bad thought he’d ever had about Logan, as if that could somehow change what had happened. “He’ll never be the same.” Nate didn’t even want to consider what those words meant. He thought he might be sick. Knowing it wasn’t really his fault didn’t make him feel any less guilty.
“I’m buying you a truck. I don’t want any arguments. I won’t even make you sell the Mustang, but I won’t have you driving it around on the icy roads.”
“Okay.”
“I have a squad car for the next few days. I want you to take my Jeep until then.” His dad’s jaw clenched. “No arguments, all right? The Mustang isn’t safe.”
Nate nodded, feeling completely helpless and tiny and terrible. “I understand.”
Monday started out bad and went downhill from there. Nate felt like he was toxic, the horrible knowledge of Logan and Shelley’s accident tucked into some dark corner of his heart. He’d prayed for the first time in years the night before, asking a God he’d never believed in to please make Logan better. Please let Logan come out of this unscathed. In the cold light of morning, it seemed feasible.
Logan was hurt, but he was strong. He was huge. He was larger than life. If anybody could beat this, it was Logan.
Nate walked into the school with a small seed of hope in his heart. He couldn’t say anything, and so he watched.
First period was small. It was calculus, and being the most advanced class the high school offered, not many people took it. Only half a dozen students normally, but on this day, they numbered only five. Nate eyed the empty desk that was usually filled by Logan’s giant frame.
By second period, people were starting to whisper. He spotted a couple of sophomore girls with their arms around each other, crying. Shelley’s friends, he assumed.
Third period was when it got real. The teacher was late arriving, and when she did, her eyes were red and swollen. The unruly class quickly settled, somehow sensing that their world was about to change.
It was clear she’d been told exactly what to say, and equally clear that in every classroom in Walter Warren High School, teachers were making the same announcement.
“Some of you may have heard rumors, but we’ve just received word.” She put her hands over her lips, visibly trying
to steady herself. “There was an accident last night, up by where 220 meets 287. Shelley and Logan Robertson—” She gasped for air. “I’m afraid they’re—”
“Only Shelley,” somebody said. “I thought Logan was in the hospital.”
The teacher shook her head. New tears welled up in her eyes. “He was, but . . . not now. Not anymore.”
The tiny piece of hope in Nate’s chest shattered. For the rest of the period, the students were hushed and somber. Grief counselors would arrive the next day from Casper, but until then, there was nothing but an entire school of numb, shocked people.
Nate stumbled through the rest of his day. Teachers were quiet, not bothering to teach, some of them openly weeping. And the students . . .
The students.
Before the accident, Nate hadn’t thought he could hate Walter Warren High School more than he already did, but as the day wore on, his anger mounted. What should have been mourning was quickly growing into some kind of sick competition. Every girl seemed to be claiming she’d dated Logan. Every boy said he’d seen Logan just the other day. He had no doubt that the same thing was happening amongst the sophomores with Shelley.
“I talked to him on the phone on Friday.”
“I told her not to go to Casper.”
“He said we’d go out on a date this weekend, but I guess now it will never happen.”
“I know she was going to ask me out.”
“I wish we’d never broken up.”
I, I, I. That was all Nate heard: people trading memories that seemed to grow by the minute, trying to prove they had the most reason to grieve, vying for attention as they sobbed in the halls.
All but one.
Nate didn’t have to see Cody to know he wouldn’t be trading stories by his locker, or hugging it out next to the water fountain. He searched for him in the hallways, watching for that familiar shock of black hair. He arrived early to social studies and perched on the edge of his seat amongst the Mormons, wanting to catch Cody as soon as he came in.
“My mom’s helping plan the funeral.”
