Country

by Jeff Mann

  “Snowdrops. They look like lil’ bells made of ivory. So pretty. First thing to come up. Not even March yet, but there they are, shouldering up despite the cold. They look delicate as glass, but, hell, ain’t that strength? Ain’t that—”

  The phone rang at Lucas’s elbow. After so many quiet days together, the sound made both men jump.

  Lucas scowled. “Now what?” He plucked the receiver up.

  “Yep? Hey. Hey, Mommy. Good to hear from you. How you—? Okay. Sure. Yeah, I’ll be here. That time’s fine. Yeah. Yeah, he will too. We have a new gate, so I’ll have to come down to the road and let you in. Okay, bye.”

  Lucas hung up the phone and gazed up at Brice, a blank look in his eyes. “That was my mother. She’ll be here in about two hours. She wants to talk to me. And she asked if you were here.”

  “Uh oh. The Star article?”

  “Yep. No fucking question about it. I was afraid of this.”

  Lucas bit his lip, staring out over the pool deck and its scattered patches of snow. “Okay, let’s grab some oatmeal. Actually, screw the oatmeal. Let’s have some country ham, eggs, red-eye gravy, and biscuits. I think we’re gonna need our strength.”

  LUCAS ENTERED THE LODGE, LOOKING sour and already annoyed. The woman he ushered in was so plain that Brice’s first thought was, Huh. So Lucas’s father must have been a looker of the first order.

  Kim Bryan was a short, square woman in her fifties with a stern face, big glasses, a high forehead, and long straight brown hair that hung to her waist. Beneath a bulky winter coat, she was dressed in black slacks and a baggy beige V-neck sweater. A purple pillbox hat perched atop her head, and she carried an enormous bespangled purse.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Bryan,” Brice said. Mustering a smile, he stepped forward and offered his hand.

  Lucas’s mother glared at Brice. “I didn’t come here to make nice. I came here to say my piece and then leave.”

  Well, shit, thought Brice, taking a step back, as if he’d just caught himself from treading on a baby copperhead. This is, I’m guessing, one of those oncoming disasters you can’t avoid. You just have to steel yourself and shoulder through.

  “Mommy, please don’t be rude to Brice. Let me make you a cup of coffee. Would you like a piece of Miss Amie’s cranberry bread? It’s got orange and nuts in it, just the way you like it.”

  “I don’t want your hospitality, Lucas, or that woman’s cooking. I’ve been talking to my pastor—”

  “Oh, shit,” Lucas groaned.

  “Don’t curse in front of me. Yes, my pastor, Reverend Davis. He—and my prayer group—suggested that I meet with you just long enough to make my position clear about…all this.”

  She looked around the room with an expression of repugnance, as if she were seeing not a cozy country lodge but a steaming heap of fresh dog dung or an oozing venereal sore. Then she looked Brice up and down. For a split-second, she appeared so revolted that Brice was afraid she was going to retch onto the carpet at his feet, but instead she put her hands on her hips and said, “You corrupter. You’re disgusting.”

  Brice’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mommy, don’t.” Lucas crossed his arms and glared. “Just don’t.”

  Mrs. Bryan turned to her son. “You’re disgusting too. Breaking all of God’s rules, pleasuring those trashy men with your trashy mouth. Doing God knows what in prison. Probably more of the same sodomitic filth. How many criminals did you take to your bed? It’s a wonder you can still walk straight.”

  “Really? You wanna get nasty and talk that way? Okay, you got it. You asked for it.”

  Lucas gritted his teeth, and his face hardened. “You’re right, Mommy. It is a wonder. My boyfriend Eric used to pound my tight little ass till I was sobbing with rapture, with heavenly bliss—kinda like what fills you up in church, when you’re moaning and rocking back and forth and shouting the Lord’s name. Eric was so fucking good. Every night, he had me on my back, legs in the air, him grunting like a bear and me howling like a whore in heat.”

  Mrs. Bryan’s face flushed red, and she clutched her chest. “Abomination! Foul-mouthed abomination. How did the sweet child I bore become such a horror?”

  “In the fullness of time, to use one of your expressions. And now big ole Brice here pleasures me just the same. Damn, Mommy, ain’t you happy for me? I finally have a man—and a famous one, at that—to hold me and love me and screw me raw.”

  “Vulgar! Despicable! How can you speak to me that way? As if you weren’t already debased enough, after those years you worked the truck stops.”

  “Yeah, I worked the truck stops. Do you know why? Do you know why? For you!”

  “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare say it!”

  “For you! ‘Cause Daddy was dead. And I was working my ass off at Walmart and you were doing rich ladies’ hair and it still wasn’t enough to pay the mortgage and keep the power from getting shut off. So, yes, I was a lot lizard. A sleeper leaper. And that money I made selling blow jobs, that money paid for your fucking house. And now you come here, all high and mighty, all fucking sanctimonious and incensed, ‘cause that senile ole shit, Reverend Davis—”

  “Hateful! You know how much I admire that man. He’s the soul of compassion. He’s taught me so much.”

  “Well, he sure as shit ain’t taught you compassion. I was in prison for six years, Mommy. Six years! How many times did you visit me? Four times! Plus once in the hospital, ‘cause you thought I was gonna die and you wanted to get me right with Jesus before I did.”

  Lucas clenched his fists as if tempted to strike her. Instead, he turned away, staring out the window over the snowy valley. “And then I get out, and I’m broken. Fucking broken. And what do you do? You tell me I’m a sinner, and you say you can’t stand the sight of me and you’re ashamed of me, and you tell me to stay away. If it weren’t for Uncle Phil and this place, I woulda been out on the street. I would have fucking killed myself.”

  Briskly, Lucas rubbed at his forehead, as if he were trying to erase a stain there. “Do you have any idea how many times I got close to blowing my brains out? Do you? After the way you turned your back on me? My own mother?”

  Mrs. Bryan’s first response to this confession—that her only child had contemplated self-destruction—was simply to look smug. Then, voice stern, she replied.

  “Suicide? That would have been another grave sin on your account book. As it is, if you continue in this way—with this evil man, this infamous man, this immoral, whoring homosexual—there’s no way you’ll make it to heaven. I’ll have to sit by the side of Jesus and look down upon you, upon your fiery torments, as demons tear you limb from limb for all eternity.”

  Lucas snorted with contempt. “As if a God who was wise and great and powerful enough to make these beautiful mountains, to make this beautiful man….” Lucas nodded in Brice’s direction. “As if such an amazing, all-knowing deity would send folks to such a horrible hell. Where’s the compassion in that? Torturing folks just ‘cause they love? So your God’s a divine terrorist? A holy sadist reveling in our sufferings? Does Reverend Davis tell you that?”

  “He does. And so does the Bible.”

  Lucas shook his head. “I can’t fucking believe you. You’re crazy. Your religion is crazy. You can tell your reverend he can kiss my Rebel ass. My Rebel homo ass. And you know what?”

  Lucas brushed his hands together dismissively and looked her in the eye. “You can too, Mommy. You can too. I’m done with you.”

  “No, child. That’s why I came here. To tell you that I’m done with you.” Mrs. Bryan stepped forward and spat in her son’s face.

  Lucas flinched. Brice gasped with disbelief.

  “You miserable old….” Lucas whispered, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

  Brice stepped forward and seized Mrs. Bryan by the arm. “Ma’am, it’s time you left. If you don’t get your precious piety out that door now, you’re gonna regret it.”
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br />   “Don’t touch me!” The woman kicked Brice in the shins. “I’m not finished with my son!”

  Brice’s response was to growl deep in his throat, dig his fingers into her arm until she winced, and drag her toward the door.

  “Don’t, Brice.” Lucas’s voice was dead calm. “Let her finish what she wants to say. Please. And then she’ll never darken this door again. Will you, Mommy?”

  “No. No, I won’t. I can promise you that. I’ll never enter this habitation of perverts and sinners ever again.”

  As soon as Brice dropped the woman’s arm, she reached up and slapped him across the face. “Don’t you ever dare touch me again.”

  Brice grinned at her. “Ma’am, I should warn you that men like me are raised with very specific instructions in regards to dealing with vicious women like yourself. A Southern gentleman isn’t allowed to strike a lady…unless she’s struck him three times already. So you have one more free go at me. If you choose to indulge yourself in a third time, all bets are off.”

  Mrs. Bryan wrinkled her nose. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try it.” Brice’s grin widened. “You see, I love your son.”

  Brice paused, surprised by his own words. He glanced over at Lucas, who blinked very wide eyes at him.

  Brice nodded. Feeling suddenly strong with certainty, he turned his attention back to the belligerent little woman.

  “I love him. I’ve been alone all my life. I tried to live a lie for decades, but I’m done with that, come hell or high water. So now I’m learning to tell the truth. I love your son, and I’d do anything for him. He’s wonderful. He’s smart and tough and kind. You should be proud of him. Instead, you revile him. I’m afraid your faith has made you stupid. Vastly stupid. Stupid as a frigging stump. Brainless as a goddamn fishing worm. You, as we say back home, ain’t got the good sense God gave a goose. Look at him. He’s magnificent. You should thank your God that you have him in your life, that you were the instrument that brought such a splendid, sweet young man into this world. You should—”

  “Shut up, Mr. Brown. You’re raving. I birthed a monster. How could I have known, holding that precious baby in my arms, that he’d….”

  Mrs. Bryan teared up. She clasped her purse to her breast, pulled a violet handkerchief from it, and dabbed at her eyes. For a split-second, Brice felt sorry for her, before the desire to break her neck achieved ascendance again.

  “Love him? Homosexuals can’t love. It’s all just lust, unnatural lust, when it comes to your kind. Reverend Davis has made that so, so clear to me. First Satan steered my brother into depraved wickedness, and now Satan’s taken my son. Lucas, you don’t know how I suffer. Thinking about the evils you’ve sunk yourself in, like a pig in—”

  “Shit.” Lucas snickered, moving over to stand beside Brice. “Ain’t that the vulgar expression you’re reaching for?”

  “Yes. A pig in shit.” Mrs. Bryan’s face contorted with repulsion. “And as if it wasn’t bad enough—you going to prison, everybody in the county knowing what kind of sick criminal you’d become—all that shame wasn’t enough for you, was it? As if my heart weren’t already broken by the ignominy of it all. Now there’s that wretched magazine everywhere, telling its hideous truths! Sold in the 7-Eleven, in the grocery store checkout line, lying around the beauty shop. The pictures of the two of you together. A photo of my son looking like a shirtless poor-white-trash gigolo! If you saw the look in the eyes of my fellow churchgoers on Sundays, you’d weep tears of blood! Everyone I know knows that you two are shacking up here! Copulating like animals!”

  Mrs. Bryan pointed a finger at the two men. Her voice rose to a screech. “Dissipation and scandal! Offensive and degrading sin! God will punish you! He will rain down torments upon you!”

  Lucas took Brice’s hand and squeezed it. “Mommy, I believe you. I’m in torment right now. Shit, you’re hurting my ears. Are you done now? Are you done?”

  “Almost.” Mrs. Bryan paused to catch her breath. “I don’t know how I could have ever loved you, Lucas. Reverend Davis tells me that this sin has been inside you all along, like a venomous snake waiting for the right circumstances to squirm awake. He says that I should feel nothing for you now—now that you’ve made me a laughingstock, now that you’ve brought down such public shame upon my head. He says I should feel nothing for you but pity and contempt. Sadly, I’ve come to understand that he’s right.”

  Lucas’s grip tightened on Brice’s hand. “So that’s all you feel for me, huh?”

  “Yes.” She adjusted her hat on her head. “And the reverend says I should cut you out of my life like a dangerous tumor. I’m afraid I agree. I never want to see you again.”

  Lucas’s grip grew tighter, and then it went limp.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucas took a long breath and cleared his throat. “Well, him and you and me agree on something then. I think that’d be best. Is that it?”

  “Yes. I’m finished.”

  “Good. How about you show yourself out? I’ll lock the gate up later.”

  “Certainly.” Mrs. Bryan shot Brice a viperous look, then pulled a scarf from her coat pocket and wrapped it around her neck. For a brief instant, Brice felt the urge to step forward, seize the ends of the scarf, and throttle her till her face turned purple and her dying body ceased its convulsions. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Lucas and watched her open the door, step onto the porch, and slam the door behind her.

  “Oh, buddy,” Brice said, wrapping an arm around the younger man. Lucas stiffened, and then he slumped against Brice.

  “Oh, God, I’m so angry,” Lucas groaned. “I’m so angry. How could she…? So vicious, so….”

  Lucas stiffened again, pushing Brice away. “Look, I gotta take a drive, okay?”

  Brice wrinkled his brow. “Do you think that’s a good idea? As worked up as you are? I don’t want you to—”

  “Don’t worry.” Lucas patted Brice’s arm. “I ain’t gonna drive into a tree or over a mountain. I’m done with those thoughts, I swear. I just need some time alone. Get it?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Brice wanted to take Lucas in his arms and comfort him, but the boy’s body language—his averted glance, and the way he stood, as if he were poised to lunge into a long-distance race—made Brice think better of it. “Just please be careful. I’m gonna be real worried about you till you get back. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Lucas pulled his ball cap and jacket off the hall tree. “I’ll be back by dinnertime, I promise.”

  Brice nodded, trying to smile, trying to push back a sudden gnawing panic. “Okay, I’ll hold you to that. Watch the roads. They might still be icy. I’ll have something ready for us to eat when you get back.”

  “Okay. Great.” Lucas pulled on his coat and hat. “Later.”

  With that, he was out the door. Brice collapsed on the couch, his hands shaking. He stared at a patch of sunlight stretching across the hearthstone and listened as Lucas’s truck rumbled to life outside. In another minute, the boy had torn out of the parking lot. Soon Brice could hear nothing but snowmelt dripping off the eaves and his own frightened heart throbbing in his ears.

  IN THE LODGE LIBRARY, BRICE LOCATED THE section of books about Greece and settled into an armchair, trying to focus on the first novel about Alexander the Great, Fire from Heaven. As good as the book was, it was impossible to concentrate longer than the length of a couple of paragraphs. He was listening unconsciously, intensely, for the sound of Lucas’s return. Tiny noises distracted him: a crow cawing, the wind soughing around the corners of the lodge, the hum of the heating system, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the great room. He stood, walked to the window, and watched patches of snow dwindling. He watched the sun fade and clouds thicken. He watched vultures in the distance ride the air.

  Omens? Omens of disaster? Omens of death and loss? Is Lucas all right? Will he come back? Jesus, that was terrible. What heartlessness and evil
. What will happen to us? And I said I love him! I do love him. I do. Incredible. But now that I’ve said it, how will that affect him? Will it change what’s between us? Will it make him afraid? Will it drive a wedge between us? Oh, God, please, no. I’ve waited so long to feel this way. Please help us. Please let us be together, no matter what the odds. Please, Lord, please.

  After Brice pushed through the first chapter of the book, he tried to take a nap on the couch. He failed. Sleep’s comfort remained elusive. Grumbling, he rose. Grumbling, he checked e-mail.

  Shelly announced that their divorce was final. She’d read the Star article, she said, and though she felt humiliated now that everyone on earth knew that she’d been “duped into marrying a homosexual,” she hoped Brice could find some kind of happiness with his “new squeeze.” She’d sold the Franklin house for a fine profit, and she was dating a wealthy Atlanta banker and being invited to “all the right parties.”

  His sister Leigh wished him well too, admitting that his nephew Carden, in the aftermath of the Star article, had gotten into another big fight with his father and several brawls at school over the subject of Brice’s sexual orientation. A local man, she said, had been caught painting the word FAGGOT on Brice’s porch. Officer Bailey had summarily arrested the vandal and thrown him into jail, and Leigh was encouraging the county prosecutor to throw the book at him. Other than that, she was glad to report, Brice’s house had been left alone. She hoped that the Star, “despite its sensationalism,” was right in claiming that Brice had found a love interest at last, and she hoped that Brice could come home soon.

  Phil’s note was written in all caps, causing Brice to chuckle despite his profound state of anxiety. “I SAW THE STAR! YOU MONSTER! YOU PREDATOR! SEDUCING MY NEPHEW? HOW COULD I HAVE TRUSTED YOU??!!! JUST TEASING, HA, HA! CONGRATULATIONS ON BEDDING THAT WILD BOY! I’M DRINKING A PIÑA COLADA IN YOUR HONOR! SPEAKING OF WHICH, DO I GET TO BE LUCAS’S MATRON OF HONOR? I HAVE JUST THE PEARLS FOR THE OCCASION. SEE YOU IN APRIL!”