"I can still have all those things. My being gay is my normal life. Do you . . . " He stopped, took a deep breath, "do you think I would choose to live a life that would cause someone to hate me enough to do this to me? The ironic thing is what they did to me because I was gay is what I did to myself inside, every day, for years, trying to live as though I were straight."
31
I could hardly bear to see the pain in my brother's face. And I felt responsible for it being there. Not because his being gay had anything to do with me. But because I struggled to understand him, and that he felt so alone and abandoned by me. Why couldn't I be the person who could easily accept this? I wanted to be that person.
I moved the ottoman near the sofa, and held David's hand. On one hand, I was grateful David had the courage to push open the door I spent months jamming with excuses and denials. On the other, I was afraid. We crossed into territory unfamiliar to me. And even if I tried to turn back, the shift had already happened. Once you know a thing, you can't unknow it. And there was so much more ground to cover.
"David, I love you. I don't know how to make this work. I promise, I promise I won't shut you out again. That's all I can do right now. But at least it's a start."
"Just tell me the truth. I know this is going to be a process. We're not going to figure it all out in one day. This is just as awkward for me as it is for you. If there's something you're uncomfortable with, I'll respect that."
"Well, there is one thing . . . and as much as I hate to bring this all back to where we started . . ."
He reached for the napkin by his mug, and wiped his face." What? I don't think I have the energy or enough pain pills to do this again."
"It's not that complicated," I patted his shoulder. "I'm uncomfortable with the fact that there's no food in this house."
"It really is all about food for you, isn't it?" He laughed." When I was in the hospital, Max cleaned out the refrigerator. Brought some things to his house. We eat out or order in, so not much cooking happens here."
"Well, that's about to change. I think you're due some medications, and then I'm going to start lunch."
"Good plan. I think I'll also pencil in a nap before and after lunch."
I brought David his pills and his bottle of water, and went to the kitchen to put together the chicken salad. Between chopping the shallots and the celery, I walked to the front room to check on him. I wasn't sure if he was asleep, but his eyes were closed. After the emotional toll of this morning's conversation, I could have stretched across the kitchen countertops to rest and been as comfy as David on the sofa.
I had just stirred the sour cream and mayonnaise for the dressing, when I saw someone walking through the side gate. All I could see was a well-built, nicely suited blond-haired man who appeared to be talking to his iPad.
I turned over a small frying pan and used it to check my makeup. Next thought: lipstick. And the thought that trampled all over the other two was a man that good-looking and that well-dressed didn't care if I wore lipstick. And if he was comfortable enough to knock on the backdoor of my brother's house, well, I didn't need a flashlight to find the clues.
The salad was ready, but I wasn't so sure I was. I didn't expect to start meeting David's friends so soon.
As soon as the door opened, he introduced himself. "Hello, I'm Gavin Singletary. I'm a friend of David and Max's. I apologize for not calling first, but I saw Max this morning, and he said you were here with David. So, you must be Caryn, right?"
A surprising number of words to compact into one breath, which unfortunately made him all the more adorable. Daniel Craig, James Bond, the early years, with smoother skin and bluer eyes that weren't shaded by a too-prominent forehead." Right. Yes. I'm Caryn. Come in."
He propped his leather briefcase against the wall by the door. "Terrible habit of leaving this thing behind. Less likely to do that if I have to see it before I leave. His eyes scanned the kitchen, including the countertop where I'd set out glasses and plates.
"I'm fixing lunch. Chicken salad. I have enough if you'd like to stay."
"No, thank you." He continued to look around. "This is the first time I'm seeing the renovation. Nice job. Don't you think so?" He unknotted his tie, an understated gold and silver hound pattern, slipped it from around his neck and draped it over the handles of his briefcase.
"I didn't see it before, but, yes, it's a great kitchen," I said and ran my hand along the countertop, as if giving it attention made a difference. Guilt at having not been before flashed across my face, and I hoped Gavin missed it. But I doubted he did, especially when he responded with a nod and an "oh," that seemed to say, "Oh, that sister."
"David's on the sofa in the front. He was sleeping the last time I checked on him."
"Not anymore," David called out. "Glad you're here. Gavin."
"Okay, then." I shrugged. "Lunch is ready. Are you sure you don't want anything?"
"No, but I appreciate the offer." He pointed to the front. "So, I'll go see David . . ."
"Sure," I felt like Cinderella, but I wasn't even sure if it was pre- or post-ball.
David's and Gavin's voices were indistinct, but that might be a blessing since Gavin was probably asking why I'd never been to his house. But I suspected he knew. I bet most of David's and Max's friends knew. I was the sister who wanted David back in the closet.
After the pitas toasted, I arranged them around the plate next to the sliced avocados that circled the overloaded scoop of chicken salad. I found a cloth napkin, placed everything on a brass tray I found under the coffeemaker and carried David's lunch into the living room.
"I didn't think to ask if you liked anything I put in here. But just do what you always do. Pick it out or spit it out." I put the tray on the coffee table.
"Did you actually just say that in front of my friend?" David asked in feigned horror.
"Welcome to David's world," I told Gavin. David was not going to be able to maneuver lunch from a coffee table, especially one-armed for the present. "You wouldn't happen to have one of those lap trays?"
"No, add that to the list of things Max needs to pick up."
"Don't you have one you use for your laptop? I thought I'd seen you use it when we watched Saints games," said Gavin.
"Hey, great idea. Caryn, it's in my office, probably hiding under a stack of papers. They make good shelves too."
Gavin helped David sit with his back against the sofa and his leg cast on the ottoman. He set the brass tray on the lap table and looked at me sheepishly. "You know, I'm going to take you up on that offer. Or should I say offers?"
"Offers would be the right word. I'll be right back." I was flattered Gavin thought it looked good enough to eat. Maybe that would be some redemption. I headed back to the kitchen, but stopped when I heard Gavin call me.
"Caryn, you can hold the avocado on mine."
"Okay," I said.
I was on the prowl for another napkin when the voices in the front room escalated. And not in a "we just scored a touchdown" discussion. These voices were serious and intense. By the time I carried a plate for Gavin and for me into the room, I figured out Gavin was an attorney, and David wasn't enamored with whatever Gavin suggested.
Gavin sat on the ottoman. I handed him his lunch, and I sat cross-legged on the floor, my plate on the coffee table. Silence." So, is this something I can help with or none of my business? I just don't want to overstep my boundaries."
"I want David to consider pressing charges," Gavin said." Consider, David. Just consider."
"I don't think it's a good idea. Why would I subject myself to that kind of publicity?" David stabbed a grape and moved it to the side of his plate. "What do you think, Caryn?"
My gut already flashed a yellow warning light, which usually arrived in the form of knots boomeranging from one side to the other. Just a few hours before, I played the honesty card. Now it was time to ante up. Publicity. What kind of damage would that do to David's career? Max's store? My catering
business when people make the logical connection? I didn't need to make that mess in front of a man who, an hour ago, was a stranger. "I agree with David. Why should he have to subject himself to that kind of emotional torture?" Why should I have to risk financial torture?
"Because it could make a difference, and not just for him. These are the kinds of criminal acts that don't get reported, and the scumbags who commit them know the odds are on their side because over three-fourths of these crimes never get reported."
"What if it makes a negative difference? Like what if David and Max find their businesses affected because of it?" I left my business out of the equation.
"See, Gavin. It's not just me disagreeing. I just don't want to rock the boat."
"David, I want you to really think about this. I told you I didn't need a decision today. Talk to Max about it." He spooned chicken salad onto a piece of pita. "And, of course, pray about it."
Driving home, I realized I forgot to ask Max to pick up rice for the beans on his way from work.
At the light, I hit call and Max answered before the second ring. "Everything okay?"
Poor Max. He must have post-traumatic stress syndrome every time a cell phone rings or doesn't. "Yes, I'm fine. Nothing that a flying car couldn't cure. Louisiana must have the world's worst drivers . . . but that's not why I called."
"Good. Because if you were on a game show, I wouldn't know the answer if that had been the question. What's up?"
"I forgot to tell you on the way out that I forgot to bring rice for the beans tonight. I meant to ask you to pick some up on your way back to David's, but forgot that too. . . . But I thought you might have a neighbor you could borrow from."
"Perfect timing. David just asked about dinner. I'm wondering if we ought to think about a few low-cal meals. Not like the man's exercising."
David must have been nearby because the last two sentences were practically whispered.
"Put that on your list of things to talk to Dr. Armstrong about."
Earlier that afternoon, after Gavin left, I found a clipboard in David's office. I put it on the table near him and tied a pen to it. "I know it's primitive, but do you really want to open your laptop every time you remember what you want at the grocery or what you need to ask the doctor?"
"I can write notes on an app on my cell phone. That works just as well."
"Maybe for you. But I can't add to it or see your notes." I waved the clipboard in front of him. "This we can all see. See?"
Max laughed from the other end of the call. "On the clipboard? Sure, I'll ask David to do that. You know how he loves that oversized app you made him."
"I'll see you in the morning. Call me if you think of anything else you need me to do."
"I will. And Caryn . . . thanks for being here today. I can't tell you what it meant to me to walk out this morning and see you and David together. He missed you, and I don't know if he could make it through this without you."
"Thanks, Max. Have a good night. I hope you enjoy the dinner."
After spending the day with David, I knew I had to find someone or some place I could go with all this stuff I carried inside. I tried talking to Julie, and she meant well, but I couldn't make her understand the whole game changes when someone in your own family comes out. And, I didn't need God tugging on my ear to tell me I needed to get myself and my son to church.
Maybe I needed my own clipboard.
32
Mom!" Ben ran out Julie's front door and climbed in the car.
"How's Uncle David? When can I go with you? We're not doing anything tomorrow during school. I can miss one day. Please."
He sounded just like Gavin. So many sentences they were hooked like cars on a freight train.
Julie appeared a minute later, waved and made the thumb and little finger hand phone. "Call me tonight."
I leaned over and kissed Ben on his forehead. "Uncle David's getting better. His face isn't even black and blue anymore." He smelled like outside.
"It's not?" Ben pulled the visor down and peered in the mirror. Probably making sure I didn't leave a lipstick imprint.
"Nope. It's yellow and brown now."
"Mom, that's not very nice to make fun of Uncle David."
I pulled in the driveway, turned the car off, and leaned over to Ben. "I'm not at all making fun of your uncle. Sometimes, when sad things happen, it's good to find little things to be happy about. The yellow and brown mean that the bruises are going away. I'm sorry. I forgot you didn't know that." I kissed him on his forehead. "Understand?"
"Yes, now I do." He opened the car door, "I did my homework already. Can I watch television for a little while?"
"Sure," I said. "In fact, after your bath, why don't you come to my office? You can watch your shows while I get some work done."
The day's mail sat on top of a UPS package left at the front door. I recognized the box. I didn't have to open it to know it was the new books I'd ordered.
With an "I'll see you in your office," Ben went to his room. I heard the water running within a minute. I didn't even want to guess where he'd already tossed his shoes and clothes.
I walked past the telephone and ignored the flashing red light on the answering machine. In my bedroom, I exchanged my flats for my slippers, and traded my jeans and blouse for a T-shirt and sweats. I tore the packing tape off the box and took out the four new paperbacks. One of the books I flipped through seemed to be a bit more explicit than the ones I'd ordered before. I put that one first on the stack in case I decided to return it.
A detour to wash my face and brush my teeth and I was on my way to my office to see what adventures in catering waited for me.
With school back in session after the holidays, my email inbox started filling up again. Orders increased at every school, and some asked if two days a week would be possible. I did the math and if I kept all the once weeklies and conservatively added half of those if I offered another day, plus the side jobs that sprouted off of those, and the Washington political event, I could cover the mortgage payments. The Junior League gig pushed me through the holidays, and the election celebration would be the padding for those first and second months when the note ballooned.
How much easier my life could have been if Harrison and I had drawn up our wills after Ben was born. Legal entanglements drained so much of Harrison's insurance money that, after putting aside what I thought would help Ben in college, the bank account needed an infusion. And I was the donor.
When I started my business, I envisioned myself as the go-to woman for the food snobs, who created hot and cold canapés with exotic and epicurean ingredients that were as pleasurable to pronounce as to consume—pecorino, porcini, quince jam, basil aioli. But women who worked all day didn't want foods with mysterious and unpronounceable names. They wanted recognizable, comfort food. Meals that didn't require more maintenance than they did. The last few times I delivered my school meals, I imagined each one as a family with a woman who just added another hour to her evening. Maybe what started for me as a murmur, God intended to be my calling. But, more important, He might want me out of my kitchen long enough to get into His church.
Ben, his pillow and his blanket arrived to overtake the sofa. His face and neck glistened because, as usual, the towel didn't make it that far up his body. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had puddles of water in his ears.
"Not too long, buddy. School tomorrow." I gave him the remote. He handed it back. "No television tonight?"
Maybe he wanted to talk about everything being in an upheaval. We hadn't spent much time together.
"Wrong remote, Mom. That's the one for the DVR, I need the other one." He opened my desk drawer, close enough for me to steal an orangey whiff of his shampoo, but not a minty scent of toothpaste.
I plopped my hand on the top of his head. "Don't move. Am I going to smell clean teeth or cruddy ones?"
"Cruddy. But I'll brush them right before bed. Promise." He mashed and bashed his pillow into shape, cov
ered himself with the blanket, and was channel surfing within thirty seconds.
All those genetic predisposition studies I'd been reading since finding out David was gay—why was it no one studied men and their remote controls? Ben knew how to use the remote control before he wore training pants. I'd watch movies where the fate of the world hung on the press of a button—by a man who probably held a remote before he learned how to use a fork. And I'd thought, we're doomed.
I clicked through to a few of my favorite recipe sites, Southern Living being one of my top three, and browsed their slow cooker recipes. Max and David were about to be the proud owners of a Crock Pot, which meant I could start meals in the morning that David wouldn't have to bother with when I left, and would be ready when Max arrived home. I printed one for turkey chili and another for peppered beef soup served in toasted bread bowls. Even as I searched the recipes, uninvited images of Max and David in domestic bliss, appeared in my mind's eye, like those annoying pop-ups on Internet sites. But I didn't have a filter I could activate to block them. Would there ever be a time when I'd think of my brother with this man and not experience a ripple of uneasiness? Was I even supposed to? I shook my head as if I had an Etch-a-Sketch brain that wiped the slate clean.
I browsed a few more sites, even considered Googling both Max and Gavin, when I heard soft murmurs instead of snippy retorts. Ben had been watching Smallville, the show about the pre-tights and cape Clark Kent, but all the characters must have been struck mute because the dialogue that had been my background noise, ended. I glanced at the television and saw a shot of candles surrounding a bed, and I didn't need to see more to figure out Lois and Clark weren't about to roasting marshmallows.
"Eye muffs, Ben, and change the station!"
"How am I supposed to cover my eyes and change the channel at the same time?" He turned the television off, then flashed his scowl. "They were just kissing. I've seen people kiss before."
The Edge of Grace Page 19
