The Long Way Home

by Rachel Spangler

  If that’s how they wanted to spend their relationship, more power to them, but where did Beth get off lecturing Raine about being up front and responsible? Who was she to talk about Raine’s relationships when she couldn’t even admit to having one of her own? Why all the concern for Raine’s parents if she was too scared to come out herself? Raine was the one who’d been rejected, disowned, betrayed. Why should she care what her parents, or Beth, or Kelly, or anyone else thought she should or shouldn’t do? Raine was right. She was sure of it.

  Yet here she was, parked in her parents’ driveway.

  Fuck it, I’m going in. She wanted to pretend she wasn’t scared or that she was proving to herself that her parents held no power over her, but the weakness in her knees and the rapid beat of her heart suggested otherwise. She honestly couldn’t say why she was here.

  She paused for another second before she rang the doorbell. It was strange, even after all her years of feeling so disconnected from this place, not to walk right in. She’d grown up in this little blue and yellow farm house on the edge of town, the place she’d called home for seventeen years, but it was also the place she’d run from when she’d had to choose between safety and freedom.

  She had so many memories of coming and going through this very doorway. The last time had been in the dead of night. She’d told her parents she was gay in one of those impetuous moments typical of her age and was immediately made to regret it. They yelled, cried, and threatened, and then fell silent. She felt her parents’ disappointment, disapproval, and disgust. Unable to live with their demands, she took the only other option available and left the only place she’d ever called home. Now she stood on the front porch ringing the bell like a visitor, a stranger.

  The door swung open and Raine’s breath left her. In front of her was her mother, who appeared equally shocked. Her hair now more gray than brown, she seemed smaller too, certainly shorter than Raine. But, amazingly, Raine could see relief on her face as she glanced heavenward before she motioned for Raine to enter.

  “Well, don’t stand there on the porch.”

  Raine still couldn’t speak. During the early years she’d often imagined seeing her parents and wondered what it would be like. In her mind she always said something witty, something elegant and persuasive. Her parents would feel terrible for all their awful words, and she’d be vindicated. Now she stood in the entryway, obsessively wiping her sandals on the rug and worrying about tracking dirt across her mother’s clean floors.

  “Have you eaten?” her mother asked, wringing her hands.

  Raine knew how she felt. Her own insides were roiling with emotion. “No, ma’am. Not since lunch.”

  “It doesn’t look like you’ve eaten in a month.” She headed toward the kitchen. “Supper will be ready in ten minutes.”

  Raine was dumbfounded. That’s it? Supper’s in ten minutes? She hasn’t seen me a decade and that’s all she has to say? The whole thing felt surreal.

  “Your father and your brother are out back. Why don’t you go say hello?” her mother called from the other room.

  Might as well get it out of the way. Raine wasn’t eager to see her father. She could still hear him shout in his booming voice, “You’re not gay. Don’t you ever say that again.” While she had said it again, thousands of times in fact, none of those times had been in front of him. She liked to think she’d be able to do so now without fear, but she doubted it.

  Raine opened the back door, squared her shoulders, and set her jaw. She silently vowed that no matter what her father said, she wouldn’t cower the way she had as a teenager. As she stepped into the backyard, poised for a confrontation, the sight of her younger brother, David, knocked the fight out of her.

  “Davey” was all she managed to say when he noticed her. He wasn’t the gangly adolescent she’d last seen. He’d grown several inches and a goatee. He was a man now, but he’d always be a little boy to her.

  “Rory.” He jumped to his feet.

  Somehow hearing her old name spoken with such love didn’t bother her. She actually liked it. This was her baby brother. The one regret she harbored about leaving was not getting to explain things to Davey, but it wouldn’t have been fair to him. He was only fourteen at the time and didn’t need his sister’s burdens. She’d sent him birthday cards and a graduation gift, but she knew that wasn’t enough. Tears gathered in her eyes.

  “What are you yelling about, David?” Her father strolled out of the garage, immediately halting their reunion. Raine faced him and watched as recognition spread across his features, and then they hardened.

  “Hello, Daddy,” Raine said, then lowered her head. Damnit, so much for steady. She didn’t manage to look up during the heavy moment during which she waited for him to speak. She feared his reaction, feared what she might see in his eyes, but most of all she feared her own response to the disapproval she knew was there.

  “You cut your hair,” he finally said, his voice gravelly but gentle.

  “Yes, sir.” She forced herself to meet his eyes, the absurdity of the exchange compounded by the fact that she immediately recognized that she had his chin. His nose, too.

  “It makes you seem older, like David’s beard does.”

  Raine glanced at her brother quickly. He did appear older, but she hadn’t credited his facial hair so much as the long years that had passed.

  “She looks like you,” David said flatly.

  Oh my God, are we seriously having this conversation or am I dreaming? It wasn’t a dream, though. She was sure of it. In her dreams her family yelled.

  “Supper’s on,” her mother called from the kitchen window, and both men headed inside, leaving Raine with nothing to do but follow.

  Raine sat in her seat at the table, where she’d sat as a child, across from David with her parents at either end. She bowed her head. “Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts...” she prayed. She hadn’t prayed over a meal in years, and she couldn’t believe she was doing so now, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  With grace finished, they passed the food and her mom sliced the meat loaf. The sights and sounds of her childhood engulfed Raine, but she felt like she was watching from afar. The conversation picked up around her. Her mother remarked on the recent heat. Davey and her father spoke of the corn crop. Raine said nothing. She didn’t have anything to say until dinner was over and her mother began to clear the dishes. On one of her trips between the kitchen and table her mother paused and said, “I could change the sheets in your room if you want.”

  Raine had a hard time comprehending the words. My room? Sheets?

  “No, thank you.” She slowly pieced together that her mother was asking if she’d be staying the night. “I’ve got an apartment here in town, on campus.”

  “Oh.” Her mother gathered another handful of dishes and headed back to the kitchen.

  “Are you going to school?” Davey asked.

  “I’m teaching at the college this year.”

  “Davey’s girlfriend is a teacher,” her father said.

  “Oh?” What the fuck? Raine wanted to scream. She told them she had moved back to Darlington after all these years and all he said was that Davey’s girlfriend was a teacher. She seemed to have stepped into some alternate universe, some alternate family, where instead of fighting they avoided discussing anything relevant.

  “Niki Belliard, she was two years behind you in school,” Davey said, as if that would help. “She teaches kindergarten.”

  “That’s great,” Raine said, not because she remembered Niki or cared what she taught, but because it seemed an appropriate response for the conversation they’d had all night.

  Davey and her father both nodded, and something inside Raine snapped. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t pretend like everything was okay, like nothing had happened and they were one big boring, happy family. She’d spent ten years anticipating this moment and had thought she was ready for anything. She was prepared to be thrown out or to face a
nother rejection. She was ready for a fight. Part of her, though she’d never admit to hoping for it, had even considered the possibility of a warm welcome accompanied by apologies and requests for forgiveness, but this scenario, this nothingness, had never entered her mind. It was maddening, and she wanted to scream at them, but she couldn’t even do that because they were all so damn polite.

  She pushed back from the table abruptly. “I’ve got to go.”

  Her mother appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Will you be back next Sunday?”

  Raine fought down a bitter laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She meant to go home. She needed to sleep, to get ready for class, to gain control of her raging emotions, but she didn’t do any of those things.

  Instead, she fell into Patty’s arms the second she opened the door.

  “I’m glad you came,” Patty said as they stumbled down the hallway, groping and tearing at each other’s clothes.

  “I haven’t come yet,” Raine panted, “but I will soon.” And so would Patty. She’d remind them both that she wasn’t Rory, she wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t hurt. She didn’t have to think about anything and she didn’t have to care about anybody. With Patty she knew who she was and where she stood. She was in control and didn’t have to try to second-guess anyone. She had a role to play and she liked it. She was untouchable now. She was Raine St. James, and nothing her parents, Kelly, or even Beth could do would change that.

  Chapter Five

  August 19

  Walking through an academic building, Beth was drawn to the sound of Rory’s voice coming from one of the classrooms. It was clear, without the fear or anger she’d heard so often since Rory’s return, and instead filled with confidence and passion. It was Wednesday, so the class was Rory’s second session of Gay and Lesbian History. Beth barely stopped to think about the fact that she’d memorized Rory’s schedule. She closed her eyes and saw Rory at seventeen, sitting on a desk in their Advanced English class holding a copy of Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other.

  “You missed the point,” Rory told one of the guys who’d complained that nothing happened in the book. “It’s not about what they’re doing. It’s about what they’re thinking. No, what they’re feeling.” She was so full of life, her exuberance almost palpable, as she spoke with an uncommon eloquence and centeredness. Beth had been in awe of her then, and those feelings welled up in her as she listened now. The bright, vibrant woman she heard now considered herself to be Raine, but Rory had been every bit as captivating.

  Beth opened her eyes and peeked around the frame of the open classroom door. Rory gave the impression she was holding court before the group of students arranged in a circle at the center of the room. Instead of standing behind the lectern, Rory sat on her desk. She held a piece of chalk, though she’d obviously abandoned the board after writing two phrases in big block letters: Daughters of Bilitis and Mattachine Society.

  “America was at one of its darkest hours as far as diversity was concerned,” Rory said. “Women had been pushed back into the home, sometimes forcefully, after World War Two. Segregationists became more violent in the hope of suppressing blacks, and McCarthyism ran rampant, sending the entire country on a witch hunt. In most places, homosexuality was listed as both a mental illness and a crime.”

  Rory hopped off the desk and walked around the inside of the circle while she spoke, making eye contact with each of her fifteen students. When she reached the desk again, she rested against it and folded her arms across her chest, then looked directly at Beth. Her deep green eyes warmed Beth as they hinted at both defiance and mischief. She was magnetic, she was charismatic, and she was sexy. Beth was drawn to her, and she couldn’t deny it.

  Rory turned back to her students. “This was not a good time to draw attention to yourself, especially if you were different, yet these men and women not only had the courage to be queer, they were brave enough to put their difference in writing.”

  She pointed to a young man. “What would you call people like that?”

  “Crazy,” he said.

  Rory laughed and pointed to another student. “What about you?”

  “Heroes,” the girl answered quickly, in a star-struck voice that made Beth wonder if she wasn’t falling in love with her professor.

  “What about you, Ms. Devoroux?” Rory’s playful tone put Beth at ease. “What do you think of my foremothers and fathers? Were they crazy or were they heroes?”

  Beth shrugged and gave the first answer that came to mind. “Maybe they were both.”

  Rory’s smile deepened, causing her dimples to appear. “There you have it, folks. I’m descended from a line of crazy heroes. Imagine the semester you’re in for.”

  The students laughed and began to gather their things. Rory raised her voice one more time to be heard over the shuffle of papers. “Ms. Devoroux, will you please stay after class? The rest of you read the piece by Faderman and the one by Lee Lynch for Monday. Come in ready to talk because I’m tired of the sound of my own voice, folks.”

  Several of the students stopped to say good-bye on their way out or wish Raine a good weekend. They all called her by her first name and she did the same to them. Less than a week into classes she knew each of them and they all seemed comfortable with her. Rory was likely to become one of the most popular professors on campus, and Beth felt pride knowing she’d been the one to bring her here.

  “You’re a natural,” Beth said after the students were gone. “The students love you.”

  “I love talking to them. I’ve been speaking on college campuses for a long time, and I haven’t gotten tired of it yet.”

  “Surely it’s different now in a classroom instead of onstage.” Beth knew that during Raine’s public-speaking career she had toured much of the country, telling her coming-out story and spreading the message of being true to oneself. Her reputation as a charismatic speaker and writer was one of the things Beth had used to sell Rory to the guest-lecturer committee.

  Rory continued to pack her books and notes. “It’s better this way. More give and take, more interaction, which is always nice. It’s also nice to talk about other people’s work instead of my own. It’s important to draw strength from those who went before us.” Rory finally slung a satchel over her shoulder and faced Beth. “But this is still a stage. We’re all performers, Beth. You should know that as well as anyone.”

  Beth was surprised by the poignancy of the statement, but also a little wounded by its conclusion. She knew Rory was referring to her relationship with Kelly. Her defenses rose. “You think I’m a fake.”

  “I don’t.” Rory’s voice was sincere. “We choose to show parts of ourselves in various situations and to hide others. The real question is how do we live with those choices? You’ve found a way to make peace with yours. I’ve found a way to live with mine.”

  “And how do you live with yours?” Beth wondered if she’d really made peace with her choices. Standing so close to Raine, she felt anything but peaceful.

  “I do the only things I know. I fight, I perform, I—” Rory seemed like she wanted to say more but cut herself off, showing the hint of a frown before she continued, “And I write, which is why I asked you to stay after class.”

  The abrupt change of topic surprised Beth. For a moment it seemed Rory was opening up, but then something made her censor herself and she was back into business mode, all reflection gone. The transition stunned Beth, but she didn’t know what to do. “How’s that?”

  “As you know, part of my contract stipulates that in addition to my teaching load I publish at least one major article during my time at Bramble.”

  “Ah, the publish-or-perish clause.”

  “You got it. I need to enlist the help of my friendly librarian to start my research.”

  “You should come by the library and I’ll show you how to log into the college’s electronic archives. You can access almost anything from there.”
>
  “What about interlibrary loan?” Rory asked. “I’ll probably need some things you don’t have here.”

  Beth bristled. “If you need it, we can provide it. We’re not the Library of Congress, but I’m not stuck in the Dark Ages either. If you want anything specific, let me know and I’ll get it for you.”

  Rory laughed. “Oh, Beth, always such a worker bee.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, you were Miss Congeniality in high school, you’re the town sweetheart, and apparently, you are the world’s most professional librarian too,” Raine teased. “Don’t you ever have any fun?”

  “I have lots of fun. I sing in the church choir.”

  “You wild child.”

  “I’m part of the weekly stitch and bitch with the clerical staff on campus.”

  Rory feigned a yawn. “Just because you say ‘bitch’ doesn’t change the fact you’re talking about knitting.”

  Beth knew she was being goaded, but she chuckled anyway and threw down her only non-nerdy activity. “I play softball in the women’s league.”

  “Hey there, you might have found a winner. But it’s not softball unless you go out for beer afterward.”

  “We do,” Beth practically yelled.

  Rory was laughing hard now. “Be still, my heart. Little Beth Devoroux drinking the devil’s brew. I won’t believe it until I see it.”

  Beth liked to hear Rory laugh, and even more she loved that she’d caused her to. “You can see it this Friday. We’ve got a game at the college field, and then we’re all going uptown for the fall festival.”

  Rory sobered quickly. “Sorry, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “What? Why?” What had caused Raine’s abrupt mood change?

  “A night out in Darlington is not my idea of a good time.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. There she goes again. She’s got to be cool, always reminding everyone she’s too good for this small town. But she was fine a second ago, wasn’t she? Beth looked closer at Rory. She’d tensed, her jaw set, and a fierce indifference clouded her green eyes. Beth had seen that expression recently when Rory was talking about her parents. She’s not aloof. She’s scared.