by Rick R. Reed
Patsy wanted to say something then, to remind him there was always hope. She wondered if the ache that accompanied the mental image of Truman on that roof would ever leave her.
But Truman was three steps ahead. “Now that just seems like a jerk move. Cowardly. What a loser would do. That guy wasn’t, isn’t, worth it. Sure, he’s all hot, but he’s got no heart. What he doesn’t know and I do, now, is that when he slugged me, he was slugging himself. He hates himself, and until he can turn that around, he’ll never love anyone else.” He smiled at Patsy and brushed one of her tears away with his thumb. “I’m better off without him.”
“You are, sweetheart, you are. There’s a boy out there somewhere who deserves a guy like you, and he’s just waiting. Like you, he thinks he’ll maybe never meet his Prince Charming, but you will turn up one day and turn his world upside down. I just know it.”
It was Truman’s turn to hug, and he did—hard. “Thanks, Mom,” he said softly. “You have no idea how much it helped, just getting this out.”
Patsy clung to him, not wanting to let go. It both heartened and saddened her, this little scene. On the one hand, it was wonderful that Truman was able to draw some conclusions about his own worth and to see he was better than this other boy. But he’d done it on his own. Patsy hadn’t said anything that helped him. She was proud of him for that, but it also pained her. It was one more nail in the coffin of his childhood, and it made her realize that parenting was just one long process of letting go.
It broke her heart. It also broke her heart that the encouragement she did give him, about Prince Charming, rang so hollow in her own ears. She’d had such a wild and promiscuous past. She would have thought, through all those nights and all those men, one would emerge who would see beyond her big tits and party-girl willingness, who would see her kind and nurturing heart, but none ever had. And now, when she looked in the mirror in the morning before she put on any makeup, she witnessed the fading of her looks, and it made her wonder, seriously, if anyone would ever come to see her for what was real and good inside her.
Like Truman did.
Funny how the tables turned.
She realized Truman, unburdened, warm, had fallen asleep in her arms. She held him close, petting his hair gently, and softly hummed her special lullaby for him, “You Are My Sunshine.”
No matter what the future held, he would always, on some level, be her baby.
Chapter 12
DANE TAPPED lightly on Clarissa’s door and then opened it. “Punkin?”
She didn’t look up. She had her earbuds plugged in, and her phone was next to her on the pillow, probably blasting out the latest Maroon 5 love song. She had her iPad open on her lap, and her fingers were flying over its surface. He cleared his throat and repeated himself. She glanced up, failing to hide the irritation on her face. She gave him a look that said “What?”
Dane looked down at the carpeting for a moment, trying to conceal his hurt. Since he had told her he was gay, she’d been distant, as if his revelation was a personal affront. Maybe it was. Maybe it was hard for her to get over her dad being a different man than she thought. But still, couldn’t she cut him a little break? At least try to understand? Try. That’s all he asked.
He stood there waiting, wringing his hands, in her bedroom doorway. Finally, she got the message and yanked the earbuds out. “I know. I know. It wasn’t a choice. You didn’t ask for any of this,” she said, parroting back to him the different ways he’d attempted to explain to her his new sense of self, his acceptance.
“You’re right, Clarissa.” He sighed. “But I wasn’t stopping by to tell you those things. I just wanted you to know I’m heading out for a couple of hours and I might not make it home in time for supper. There’s deli ham and turkey, some swiss cheese, and that spelt bread you like in the fridge, so you guys can make sandwiches.” He grinned. “And salt and vinegar potato chips,” he added, like the snacks were pure gold.
“I hate those,” Clarissa snapped.
“Probably because the last time you had them, you ate a whole bag and then barfed.” Dane closed the door on his daughter before he could see her reaction. He felt bad, but he couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off his face.
He headed downstairs, where Joey was in front of the TV, watching Judge Judy. She was telling some poor abashed defendant not to pee on her leg and tell her it was raining.
“Judge Judy? Really? You like that show? I had no clue.” Judge Judy must be a recent development in his son’s viewing habits. Dane didn’t imagine teenage boys were the judge’s target audience.
“Yeah. She’s cool for an old lady. She tells it like it is. I like to watch her give these doofuses an earful. It tickles me.”
Dane chuckled. “Well, it’d be cool if you’d watch something a little better for your brain—”
Joey cut him off. “Dad, it’s training me to be an attorney.”
“All righty, then.” And Dane let it go. It did make a certain amount of sense. “Anyway, I’m heading out for a bit. Go ahead and eat if you’re hungry.” He repeated what was in the fridge and pantry, which made Joey pause the hatchet-faced judge in the middle of her latest diatribe and race for the kitchen.
Adolescent boys are so much easier. As Dane headed out the front door to meet Seth Wolcott for their first visit with Truman, he thought, Maybe not.
SETH WAITED outside the Reids’ little house for him. He had his nose buried in his Kindle and didn’t look up when Dane parked his car across the street. Dane pulled his key from the ignition and simply sat for a few moments regarding the young man across the street, telling him things he probably would never have the nerve to say in real life.
You are so good to be doing this. So many guys your age would be doing anything but. They’d be out living it up in a bar, or looking for hookups online, or whatever it is young gay men do these days. Dane found the prospect of Seth looking for hookups, either online or in the real world, was a depressing thought. Scratch that. He found the thought caused a completely irrational twinge of jealousy to emerge right there in his gut, where he could really feel it.
And he told himself, You have no right to feel jealous. My God, the kid is at least ten, maybe fifteen years younger than you. And besides, you don’t even know him. Not really. And another thing—you don’t need to be thinking about guys, not yet. Not when Joey and Clarissa are still struggling with the idea of a gay dad. Not when you’re still struggling with the idea of being gay yourself. Give yourself time. Maybe in ten, twenty years, you’ll be ready for a more physical thing. Dane chuckled at this last thought. And then another notion popped into his head. But he sure is cute.
As if he had heard Dane’s assessment, Seth looked over at him. Dane hurried to get out of the car for fear of having been caught staring. His scalp tingled and heat rose to his cheeks. He was thankful it was winter and already growing dusky so his blush would be hidden.
He hurried over to Seth, a big grin plastered on his face. “What’re you reading?”
“The Fault in Our Stars. I’m thinking about it for my college-prep lit class. Maybe next year.”
“Good book,” Dane said. “You ready for this?”
Seth’s smile wavered. “I don’t know. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Nothing would make me happier than helping this poor kid out, but I’m not all that confident about my ability to do so. You know?”
“I know. But I think you’re worrying too much about your lack of formal education. I know you have a good heart, and I think that counts for more than any degree.”
“So sayeth the man who’s been an educator for how many years?” Seth turned to follow Dane to the Reids’ front door.
“I’d rather not say,” Dane replied, hoping he didn’t sound too coy. Hoping it wasn’t too obvious that he wanted to minimize the difference in their ages.
Why should that matter?
Dane followed Seth up to the front door. He noticed how broad Seth’s shoulders were, how thick and curly
his hair was, and—damn it—how high and tight his ass rode. He wondered for a moment what it would feel like to bury his fingers in those curls. Or, better, to grab a handful of that ass and squeeze until the poor guy yelped. These are not appropriate thoughts at all! Shame on you!
So he said, to change the subject, “I didn’t realize they were this bad off.” The house looked like something a strong gust of wind or a rise of the Ohio River’s current, a block away, could sweep off its foundation. The house seemed exhausted, as though it could collapse on itself back into the earth—with relief. He frowned as he saw how Patsy, or maybe Truman, had made an effort to block out winter’s chill by tacking old dry cleaning bags across the windows for insulation. He noticed how the paint on the trim peeled, revealing rotting wood underneath. Patsy, or maybe Truman, had tried to perk up the gray and depressing exterior with a little plastic pot of fake red geraniums near the front door. The effect was heart wrenching.
The thought “poor Truman” had never been more literal.
But when Patsy flung open the front door, she couldn’t have been more in contrast with the house’s run-down exterior. She was vibrant, smiling, alive. Dane thought once again how young she looked—she could pass for early twenties. This afternoon she had on a pair of old jeans, ripped at the knees, and an oversized Ohio State sweatshirt hoodie, scarlet and gray. She was barefoot and looked like a child.
“Hey there,” Dane called out, hurrying to catch up with Seth.
“Come on in, guys. I’m so glad you could make it. Truman will be too.”
After they were settled in the cramped living room, Patsy closed the front door behind them. The place smelled like cooking grease and wet dog. Dane hoped it was something Truman and Patsy had gotten used to. The living room was a collection of mismatched thrift store furniture representing the 1970s and 1980s in particular. There was a teal vinyl-covered couch and matching recliner. Dime store framed floral prints decorated the walls, while along the top of a low bookshelf was arranged a row of framed photographs. They were all of Truman—a chronicle of his life from what looked like the day he was born practically up until today.
The TV was one of those with the picture tube in the back, and it looked big, black, and boxy. It was a relic to Dane, like those old refrigerators with the motors on top. At least it wasn’t on.
“Take a seat. Can I get you somethin’? I just made a pot of coffee.”
“That sounds great,” Seth said. He sat on the couch.
Dane took the recliner.
Patsy called from the kitchen, “Truman’ll be right back. He’s taking Odd Thomas out for his after-supper walk.”
“Odd Thomas?” Seth wondered. “After the Dean Koontz character?”
Dane nodded, but Patsy didn’t say anything. They listened as she brought mugs down from the cupboard and poured coffee. “You guys like sugar? Cream? I got Coffee-mate.”
“Just black for me,” Dane said.
“I’ll take lots of both,” Seth said and grinned at Dane. He winked. “I like my coffee like I like my men.”
“White?” Dane asked, horrified.
“No, silly! I meant sweet.” He reached out to nudge Dane’s foot with his own.
Patsy came in holding two steaming mugs aloft. Dane recognized the Fiesta ware; he had the same stuff in his own home. The pottery was just down the river, so almost everyone around here owned at least some Fiesta.
“That smells good.” Dane accepted a mug from Patsy.
Once they were settled, Patsy said, “Truman’s doing a lot better.”
“Really?” Seth took a sip of his coffee. It must have pleased him because he smiled.
“Really. Him and me, we had a long talk last night. He opened up.” Patsy smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t know that he got it from me, but my kid’s got a good head on his shoulders.” Her smile widened. “I really think he’s gonna be okay.”
Dane didn’t want to say that it was awfully soon after Truman’s suicide attempt to be so optimistic, but he hoped she was right.
“You’ll see when he gets back,” Patsy said. “Sometimes just talking things out can help us see what we need, that things aren’t as awful as we think.”
Dane felt a pang. He wished that were true with Clarissa.
“Here he comes,” Patsy said, excitement rising in her voice, as though this was a surprise party.
Dane looked up to see Truman’s silhouette through the sheer curtains. A little dog trotted along ahead of him.
Patsy stood. “Damn that kid. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times, ‘Don’t let Odd off the leash,’ but do you think he listens?” She turned back to them, Dane supposed, for support. “That dog’s gonna get run over by a car if Truman’s not careful!”
Seth just shrugged and said, “Kids.”
Truman came inside, bringing with him a gust of bitter, almost Arctic wind. The little dog, Odd, rushed into the room. He circled around, almost chasing his own tail, yapping joyously. Then he got busy sniffing both men, pointed nose going from crotch to crotch.
Patsy raised her eyebrows. “See? Odd fits, don’t it? Weirdest looking—and acting—dog I ever saw.”
Seth laughed.
Dane patted his lap. “Come here, boy!”
Odd jumped into Dane’s lap, licked his face, and finally settled in for whatever attention he could get. Dane began rubbing him behind the ears and petting him. If he stopped, the dog would nudge Dane’s hand with his nose to get him to continue. The dog’s presence made him remember talking with Katy last fall about getting the kids a puppy for Christmas, a plan he’d never seemed to be able to follow through on. Now he thought maybe it would be a good idea, a way to help them bond again.
Patsy stood. “I gotta get ready for work, unfortunately. Dinner shift. This is fried chicken night—all you can eat—and we get swamped.” She sighed. “Great tips, though.” She left the room.
Odd hopped down unceremoniously from Dane’s lap and trotted after her. Dane watched the dog.
Truman said, “He’s fickle like that. But he’ll be back.”
Truman looked different here than he did at school. Bigger somehow. Tonight he had on a pair of skinny jeans and a paisley-print button-down shirt. Around his neck he wore a bright scarlet scarf that picked up some of the red in the shirt. Dane thought it was clothes like these that got Truman into trouble. Maybe they could talk about that at some point. Perhaps Dane could even buy him some regular Levi’s, a pair of sweatpants, a couple of T-shirts.
They were quiet for a while, and Dane thought it was because none of them knew what to say to break the ice. At least he didn’t.
Finally Seth set down his coffee on an end table and leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “So how are you doing, Truman? You feeling better?”
“Better than what?” Truman asked. He got up and went into the kitchen. They heard him rummaging around, doors opening and closing, the slap of the refrigerator as he shut it.
He returned with a bright orange Fiesta plate. On it he had laid out slices of American cheese and deli ham, cut into squares, and saltines. “A little somethin’,” he said. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.” He set the plate on the coffee table, shoving a stack of People magazines over to make room.
The food was a distraction, Dane realized. But the three of them went at it with gusto, and in a few minutes, all that was left were crumbs.
Seth repeated his original question about how Truman was doing.
“Funny you should ask that,” said Truman. “It’s weird. A few days ago, if you’d told me I’d have a totally different outlook on life in general, I wouldn’t have believed you. But last night, after breaking down and telling my mom all my secrets, getting everything off my chest, I felt so much better.” He glanced over at Dane. “Remember when you said how we never know what’s coming? How we can’t predict anything from one day to the next?”
Dane nodded.
“Yo
u were right. I don’t know why, but just letting go and opening up a little was like lifting this weight even I didn’t know I was carrying around off my shoulders.”
Dane nodded again, wishing he had some wise words of encouragement and validation to add, but all he could think of was how what Truman said about getting a weight off one’s shoulders applied to him. Coming out—to both his kids and accidentally to the whole school—had let him breathe easier. And, except for Clarissa, the reaction had so far not been as big of a deal as he once imagined. The lack of interest from most people was almost disappointing.
Truman glanced down at the floor, rubbing at a cracker crumb in the shag carpeting with his bare toe. “The talking, and in this really weird way, the fool thing I did on the roof, really changed things.” He chuckled but then looked serious again. “That last part? Whew. Never would have thought trying such a shitty loser move would have actually somehow made me feel better. But it did.” He shrugged. “I guess it showed me how low I could sink and, more importantly, that people like you guys cared.”
“That’s great, Truman,” Seth said softly. Dane looked over at Seth and could read the admiration Seth had for the boy in his features.
Truman sighed. “Tomorrow I’m going back to school.”
He smiled again, but there was something so sad and wistful in that smile that Dane felt his heart clench.
“It’s easy to pretend things are all cool when I’m here at home with Mom and you guys. But it’ll be a whole ’nother story when I get back in the hallowed halls of good ole Summitville High.” He looked at both of them in turn, then back down at the floor.
Seth leaned forward. “We’ll be there, Truman. And no matter what, you can come to us for help any time you need it.”
Dane said, “He’s right. If anyone gives you a hard time, just let us know.”
Truman grinned, but there was something bitter in the expression, like a fly in a bowl of honey. “I appreciate that. But I can’t go running to you guys every time somebody calls me a fag or trips me in the hallway. Or punches me in the kidney in the lunch line.” He barked out a short laugh that brought Odd Thomas out from Patsy’s bedroom. “Oh yeah, all that and more have been part of the daily adventures of yours truly. Except now I don’t go to lunch, so that kind of shut down the lunch line torture.” He paused. “And I bet those guys really miss it.”
