A Rhinestone Button

by Gail Anderson-Dargatz

  Dithy stood. “No!” she said. “You’re wrong!” She worked her way out of the pew. Liv clapped her hands and laughed. “What did I learn from losing everybody I ever loved?” Dithy cried out. “You tell me!”

  Jacob and Pastor Henschell jumped up to intercept her. But before they could reach her, Dithy pulled the water pistol from her vest and aimed it at Pastor Divine. “Oh my God!” he screamed. “She’s got a gun.”

  Those slain in the Spirit scrambled on all fours into nearby pews and huddled at the feet of members of Godsfinger Baptist, clearing the way for Dithy. She aimed and fired. A stream of water hit Pastor Divine between the eyes. He stumbled back, touched his face to find there was no blood there, only water. Took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, mopped his face.

  Jacob and Pastor Henschell pulled Dithy down the aisle. “The bumper stickers are right!” she called out.

  Job stepped aside as Jacob and Pastor Henschell pushed open the sanctuary doors. Dithy struggled there a moment, braced herself against the door frame, turned her head back to glare at Pastor Divine. “Shit just happens!”

  Nine

  Job stepped out onto the church steps, rolling his shirt sleeves down, his fingertips puckered from washing the revival crowd’s dishes. He’d slipped downstairs to the kitchen with a pan of cups and plates during Pastor Divine’s wrap-up prayer, embarrassed to face Liv after the show he’d put on. Hoping, too, that she’d come downstairs to find him. But she was gone with the rest, and he was left to lock up the church. The sun had just set. Under red-tinged clouds, a ribbon of brilliant yellow, the colour of an egg yolk taken from a chicken allowed to run the yard.

  Jacob was waiting for him in the truck, sitting in the passenger side with the windows rolled down. Mosquitoes buzzing around him. He slapped his arms. “Mind giving me a ride home?” he said. “Lilith took Ben home in the car.”

  Job got in, pulled the door closed behind him. “Why you got the windows open?” he said. “Aren’t the mosquitoes getting to you?”

  Jacob slapped a mosquito on his neck. “Just hot, I guess,” he said.

  But Job smelled a fart. Jacob had opened the windows to air out the truck, so Job wouldn’t notice he’d passed wind. It was a thing Job himself might have done. He held his farts in until church was over, or until dinner was done if he was eating with Jacob, Lilith and Ben in the kitchen. He took his gas outside. But Job had always imagined Jacob had the confidence to weather such trivial embarrassments, in a way that Job himself did not. A surprise to find he didn’t.

  The truck wouldn’t start. Jacob got out and pushed, while Job leaned into the frame of the open door until they got the truck rolling. Job jumped in, put it in gear and popped the clutch. Waited for Jacob to catch up to the truck and get inside.

  Job pulled out of the parking lot. “You see Liv leave?” he asked.

  “Saw her hanging out in the hall for a while as everybody filed out, like she was waiting for somebody. Didn’t see her leave. You invite her?”

  “She’d never been to a revival before.”

  “I heard she came by the farm with that kid of hers.”

  “She and Jason wanted to see the crop circle.”

  “And he smashes up the kitchen?”

  “He didn’t!”

  “Threw a chair.”

  Job watched Liv’s house come and go. Sunflowers like heated stove elements in the evening light. A shadow in motion across the window.

  “I understand Liv spent some time with you out in the field.”

  Job laughed a little. “We’re just friends.”

  “She’s got a husband. What does she need with friends?”

  “She and Darren split.”

  “I see.”

  They passed Dithy Spitzer’s yard, covered in whirligigs her husband, Herb, had made before his death, pounded into the tops of fence posts scattered about the lawn: chickens that pecked, Indians who paddled canoes, mermaids who swam, airplanes with moving propellers, pigs in rowboats, and ducks with feet that twirled. After this, the caps and clown faces on the fence posts that marked the Stubblefield property line. Will’s house, the poultry barns. The smell of chicken shit.

  Job gripped the steering wheel. Left wet thumbprints there. “You ever have a friend who was doing something really wrong?” he said.

  “I guess,” said Jacob. “Not really.”

  Now that he thought of it, Job had never heard Jacob talk as if he had friends. Acquaintances, yes. Jacob bragged of the few well-known people he’d met, like Pastor Divine. But even when Jacob and he were kids, Jacob’s conversations had always been about things he’d read or seen on television, never about the people in his life. It occurred to Job that the only real friends Jacob had were his family.

  “What if you did have a friend who was doing something,” Job said. “Would you confront him? Or would you let him work it out himself?”

  “This is a Christian we’re talking about, I take it. And this thing he’s doing is a sin?”

  Job nodded.

  “Confront him. Think of what happens if you don’t, and he keeps doing whatever he’s doing, and he never seeks God’s forgiveness. Then he’s heading for hell, isn’t he? But take someone with you. Those scenes can get pretty ugly.” He glanced at Job. “Something going on between you and Will?”

  Job gave out a nervous laugh, like a billy goat’s. “No, why?”

  “You wouldn’t sit with him. What’s he done?” When Job didn’t answer right away, Jacob said, “If you want, I’ll be happy to go along with you when you talk to him. Ease the way a bit. That’s a good part of what I do.”

  “I don’t think I could.”

  “So what is it you think he’s done?”

  Job glanced out the driver’s side window. Fireflies, hovering over the sloughs along the road, flickered on and off in the dusk.

  “He’s not a homosexual, is he?” said Jacob.

  Job laughed. Coughed. “What would make you say that?”

  “You can’t help but notice something’s not right between Will and Penny. They act more like friends.”

  “They’ve been saving themselves, for marriage.”

  “But even then there’s hand holding, hugging, sparks. I’ve seen sparks when Penny looks at you. Am I right?”

  “I like her. If Will wasn’t in the picture, I’d ask her out.”

  “But he is in the picture.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Aren’t they dating any more?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what?”

  “I just think his interests lie elsewhere.”

  “He’s got another girl?”

  “No.”

  “He is a homosexual, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you suspect he is.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. That day the television crew came I saw Will kissing Ed. On the lips.”

  “A brotherly kiss?”

  Job had never seen a man kiss another for any reason. Men simply did not kiss each other in Godsfinger. They rarely hugged. “It was a kiss on the mouth, like you’d kiss a woman.”

  Job drove into the yard and parked near the house. They sat in the truck in silence for a time. A jet flew low overhead, lights blinking, heading for the Edmonton airport, prompting a nearby coyote to howl.

  “We’re just going to have to go talk to him,” said Jacob.

  “Is that necessary?”

  “We’ve got to save him, from himself. He’s one of our brothers and he’s sinning, and if he doesn’t stop he’ll be condemned to hell for all eternity. Don’t you think he’s important enough to save from that fate?”

  “Yeah. I guess. Of course.”

  “Keep in mind it’s not just Will we’re talking about here. Someone who isn’t a homosexual can become one by having a sexual experience with someone of the same sex. Think of all the others who are at risk of becoming infected through contact with Will.”

  Job felt a cold sho
ck go through him, thinking of the night he and Will zippered their sleeping bags together.

  “I think we should involve Pastor Divine,” said Jacob. “He’s had experience counselling homosexuals. And Pastor Henschell should be there, as Will’s pastor. And I think we’d better have Barbara there. He’ll need family support.”

  “What about Penny?”

  “No need to involve her yet. Not until we find out what’s really going on. It could cause more harm than good to have her there. I’ll do the phoning in the morning. We’ll meet over at Will’s place tomorrow night after he’s finished chores, had a chance to have supper. Everything goes better on a full stomach.”

  When Job and Jacob arrived, Barbara stood at the sink, washing Will and Ed’s dishes. Pastor Henschell sat with Will and Ed at the kitchen table, nursing coffee, dunking cookies. Ed had changed out of his work clothes, but the stink of poultry was still on him. Will wore jeans, a white denim shirt. The duck slept on a cushion in the corner, bill tucked into its feathers. It jumped awake when Jacob closed the door behind him.

  Jacob introduced Pastor Divine all around and took a seat. Barbara poured more coffee. “All right,” she said. You got your coffee, you got your squares. Now tell me what this is about.”

  “We’ve got some unsettling news, I’m afraid,” said Pastor Henschell. “We have reason to believe your son may be a homosexual.”

  Barbara turned her back to the table, sunk her hands into dishwater and rattled dishes. Water sloshed onto the counter.

  Will laughed. “I’m not gay.”

  “Job saw you kissing Ed,” said Jacob. “On the lips.”

  “I may have been mistaken,” said Job. “I was some distance away.”

  The duck slid from the cushion, waddled over to Will and tugged at his pant leg.

  “Did you kiss Ed?” asked Divine.

  Will shook the duck off his pant leg and took a bowl down from the kitchen shelf. He opened the fridge and poured milk into the bowl. The duck followed him, diapered tail wagging. “I kiss friends now and again.” He pulled a loaf of Wonder Bread from the top of the fridge and ripped a slice to shreds.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” said Pastor Divine. “Have you had sexual relations with Ed. Yes or no?”

  Will laughed. A little. “I’m not gay. It’s a stage, that’s all.” He dropped bits of bread into the bowl, pressed them into the milk with a fork and set the bowl on the floor. The duck fished in the milk for the bread, tipped its head back to gulp it down.

  “So you’re saying you have had sexual relations with Ed,” said Divine.

  “No. We just horse around.”

  “Define horsing around.”

  Will leaned against the kitchen counter, then lifted a hand when he found a puddle from Barbara’s dishwashing. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever kissed Penny?” asked Pastor Divine. “Passionately? Have you made out with her?”

  Will glanced at his mother, her face of granite. “Yes.”

  Job crossed his arms and shifted in his chair. He had born witness to a few of their passionate kisses and had turned away with a stone in his stomach every time. The feeling not quite like finding a lover in the arms of betrayal. More like what he had felt as a child, coming home early from school and catching his parents at it. A scuffle and grunt from the closed door of their bedroom.

  “Have you had sexual relations with her?” asked Divine.

  “No. We decided to wait. Until we get married. It’s important to us both. We want it to be special.”

  Pastor Divine turned his cup clockwise. “Have you kissed Ed in the way you kissed Penny?”

  “I’m not gay.”

  Barbara smiled at Will. “Of course you’re not gay.” She slammed a cup into the dish rack.

  “This is serious business, Will,” said Pastor Divine. “You’ve broken God’s law. This is real sin we’re talking about here.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to tell the truth. Before us. Before God.”

  Will picked up the bowl from the floor and set it on the counter. Leaned into the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. When the duck pulled at the leg of his jeans, he picked it up, cradled it, kissed the duck on the head and smoothed its iridescent feathers.

  Ed dropped the spoon on the table, a clank that filled the room. “You want the truth, I’ll tell you the truth. Though it’s none of your goddamned business.”

  Will took a step forward, brandishing a hand. The duck quacked.

  “I love Will, and he loves me. If you want the bloody details I’ll give them, if it’s titillation you’re after.”

  Will settled back against the kitchen counter and hugged the duck. Pastor Henschell shifted in his chair and crossed his arms. Job contemplated Barbara’s Smarties cookies; happy, childish mounds on the plate. He wished to God he had done his laundry so he’d have had a clean shirt that day the crop circle appeared in the field, so he would have had no reason to run over to Will’s. He wondered why he had confided in his brother, if he had had a motive that he wasn’t aware of.

  They all listened to Barbara wash dishes. Job no longer heard the pastel sheen of dishes squeaking, but he saw shards of brilliant white light as she smashed a glass into the metal rinse sink. She wiped her hands dry, took up a broom and swept. “How can he be gay? He goes to church. He’s Christian.”

  Pastor Divine leaned forward, chose an almond cherry drop from the plate and bit into it. “From what Jacob’s told me, the cause in Will’s case is clear: his father died while he was still a boy, and you had to fill the role of both mother and father, running this farm, raising a son. No woman should have to do all that alone.”

  “You saying this is my fault?”

  Jack picked a sliver of maraschino cherry from between his front teeth. “There’s no blame here. It’s just the way of things. A boy needs to identify with his father. Without that male influence and guidance, he’s left with a big hole, a hole he tries to fill. With some boys that emotional need gets twisted, sexualized. He looks to sexual encounters with men to fill it. It’s especially true when the mother has a strong personality, shall we say, a masculine personality. It just adds to the confusion of the boy.”

  Barbara slumped in a chair and held the broom between her legs. Will adjusted the duck, held it in one arm like a football. “It had nothing to do with you, Mom. Right from kindergarten I knew I was different. I was always more interested in hanging out with girls. I remember putting on nail polish, playing with dolls.”

  “Don’t tell them that,” said Ed.

  “You see my point,” said Pastor Divine. “Too much female influence. Here’s an example of what I’m talking about. Look at this duck you got.”

  “It’s a pet,” said Will.

  “In diapers.”

  “I don’t want it pooping all over the floor,” said Barbara.

  “But the man’s diapering a duck. If that doesn’t tell you something’s out of whack, I don’t know what will.”

  Will dropped the duck to the floor and crossed his arms. Barbara swept the duck into the living room. It waddled off, quacking its objections, head bobbing up and down.

  “You can’t blame Mom. It’s not her fault. I remember having feelings for guys really early on. Long before Dad died.”

  Job glanced at Will and away. He and Will zippered together in the sleeping bag. The northern lights above. The whine of mosquitoes that bit him. The smell of insect spray. Will’s hand on his private place. Job was one of the guys Will had had feelings for. He felt faint; the room shifted away from him.

  “I knew I was weird,” said Will, “from what other people said, from what I heard on television. I mean, the worse thing you can be is a fag, right? It was like all the other boys knew something I didn’t; they knew how to be boys. By the final year in high school I was really depressed. I thought of killing myself I don’t know how many times. You remember in grade twelve when I didn’t go to school fo
r weeks?”

  “You had pneumonia,” said Job.

  “Wasn’t pneumonia. I got to the point where I was so afraid I’d give myself away that I hardly said anything to anyone. I stopped going out with friends. Stopped leaving the farm. Then I stopped leaving my room.”

  “You were just tired,” said Barbara. “You worked too hard. You always work too hard.”

  “I don’t understand how you could keep it a secret from Penny,” said Job.

  “She knew.”

  “She knew?”

  “I told her I had feelings for men. She said she loved me anyway, that she would help me through it, that we could talk about it. She felt God was leading her to help me change. That was her mission. You can’t imagine what a relief it was to tell her. To tell somebody.”

  “I can’t believe she was that comfortable about it,” said Pastor Divine.

  “Sometimes she got upset, scared that I would find some man and fall in love with him.”

  “What did she say about Ed?”

  “I said he was just a hired hand, that I wasn’t attracted to him.”

  Ed sat back, crossed his hairy arms. “Thanks a pile, bud.”

  “What did you expect me to say?”

  “The truth, maybe.”

  “I felt caught. I didn’t know what I wanted. I wasn’t sure you and I were going to stick together. I mean, it was all so new. Anyway, I don’t know if she suspected anything or not. She seemed more, I don’t know, clingy after Ed was on the scene. And once or twice she pushed to have sex.”

  “And did you?” said Ed.

  “I reminded her we wanted to wait, for the wedding.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She wanted to push the wedding date up.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said why don’t we think about it.”

  “And did you? Did you have sex?”

  “No!”

  “You were using me,” said Ed. “Hanging on to Penny and me at the same time. So you had a safety net either way.”