by J. D. Walker
I stood by the driver’s side of the truck for a full minute before Serge gently took the keys from my hands and said, “I’ll drive.”
* * * *
Saturday morning, I awoke early since it was my habit. By six o’clock, I’d already had a cup of coffee and was deciding which project to start on first: the broken rocking chair, or keep working on the headboard that I wanted to give Mila and Peter for Christmas. I decided on the chair. I left a note on the fridge for Serge and went out to the shed I’d built next to the cabin as my workroom.
I’d been numb on the drive home the night before, speech lost to me for the first time in years. I ended up using sign language with Serge, which made him even more pissed off at Rafe. I simply didn’t have it in me to try speaking. It had been too traumatic then. And as of this morning, I still felt the same way.
My pocket buzzed and I checked my cell phone. Rafe was calling me. Again. Nope, not happening. I blocked his calls and went to work.
Rafe was an ugly drunk. I knew that. Hell, the whole town knew that our sheriff liked to tie one on frequently, but…had he really meant those things? Or was it the alcohol? How could he…? It was bad enough the way he’d berated Serge. I could have punched him out for that. But then, he’d made my difficulties growing up, my feeling of safety and security at being part of a family again—my lifeline—feel like a lie, an imposition, a burden, something I didn’t deserve. I wanted to hit something, or cry. Instead I measured, cut, hammered, and sanded wood.
Of course, turning off my thoughts on the matter wasn’t that simple. It hurt most of all that Rafe really was gay and had been hiding behind jokes and snide remarks all this time, probably even going to gay bars on the sly, simply because he was the one who was afraid. Maybe I really had seen him at the bar that night, long ago. Well, he could live a lie if he wanted to, but I didn’t have to tolerate him in my life anymore. I was a grown-ass man and could handle myself just fine without him and his projected self-hatred.
I went back and forth with myself like that until lunchtime, when I took a break and had some water. I tended to forget to eat when I worked on a project. It was hot in the workroom and I had my shirt off. Sweat was running down my body like a waterfall. Maybe my next project would be to install a fan. I said that every year, then I’d get sidetracked by something else. At least a warm breeze came through the open doors and windows.
Serge stopped by to give me a croissant. “I went to Crumbs Together in town so I could get some decent baked goods. Man, I missed that. René Glass can bake his ass off.”
Not feeling like talking yet, I signed, “Thank you.”
Serge smiled, but then he frowned. “Rafe called me ten times this morning. I ignored him. Then he started texting, saying how he couldn’t get a hold of you and that he’s worried.” He snorted. “Well, he should worry.”
I used sign language to respond. I blocked Rafe’s number.
“I’m sorry, Woody. Maybe I should have kept my big mouth shut.”
He was sad and I couldn’t have that. You stood up for us. That was very brave.
Serge shrugged. “Whatever the case, I’m not planning on talking to my big brother anytime soon. What he said to you was unforgivable.”
You shouldn’t let me get between you.
He replied, “No, it’s time. Past time. Rafe’s a hypocrite, and he has a drinking problem. He needs to face the consequences of his actions. Maybe he’ll learn something. Mind if I move in with you? I don’t have much over at the house anyway.”
I gave him a “thumbs up” sign.
“I love you, Woody. You’re the best brother and friend a guy could ever have.”
I placed a hand over my heart, and he understood.
* * * *
By Monday, I was feeling better and speaking again. It didn’t happen very often that I was literally struck dumb. I’d had episodes of silence after regaining my speech when I was younger. Typically it was because of something traumatic. And yes, Friday night’s argument could be considered a form of trauma.
At school, I worked with toddlers on forming the letters of the alphabet. They learned quickly and it was always a joy to experience their energy. Loralei, the director of the school, called me into her office at one in the afternoon.
“How are you, Woodrow? You seem a little out of sorts today.”
Loralei had been my teacher when I was a student there and had recommended me for the staff, once I’d graduated with my degree. “I had an episode this weekend. It set me back for a couple of days. Serge was with me and helped me through it.”
She was concerned. “Is it something you need to see a therapist about?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I just had to get my head around it.”
She patted me hand. “I’m happy to hear that. Now, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Okay.” I hoped it wasn’t anything bad.
Loralei caught my facial expression. “No, I’m not getting rid of you.” She touched her gray hair. I’m planning to retire in a few years, and I’d like to offer you the chance to train to be my replacement.”
I was speechless, in a good way, this time.
“I’ve known you since you were a boy, Woodrow. You’re resilient, kind and thoughtful. You’re tough but fair. You’re a great leader, a skilled teacher and highly respected. I believe you’d be the right choice for this position, and the board agrees with me.”
“You’ve…talked to the board?” My voice squeaked, but I didn’t care.
She nodded. “Absolutely. I have their blessing to pursue this course of action. All you have to do is say ‘yes.’“
“I…”
“It’s a lot to take in, yes?” She smiled. “How about this? Leave early today and take a walk on the beach to clear your head. We’ll be fine without you this afternoon, and you need to give this some serious thought.”
Admittedly, it sounded good to have time to think. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Go on, and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning as usual, hopefully with the word ‘yes’ on your lips by then.”
I thanked her and left the school as quickly as I could.
It always soothed me to walk on the sand, breathe in the salty air, and dream. It was something Mila and Peter had done with all of the kids on the weekend, a way to get us to work off some of our excess energy.
After a while, I’d come down here by myself and get lost in the sounds of the waves crashing along the shoreline. It took me an hour and a half to get home through traffic, change into shorts, T-shirt and sandals, and walk down to the beach from the cabin.
It was crowded, but I didn’t mind. It meant I could hide in plain sight. I walked for hours, watching families frolicking in the waves, teenagers checking each other out, and the odd gay boy trying—and sometimes failing—to hide his attraction to his best buddy.
At least I’d been spared most of that, since by the time Rafe had come back from college, he was busy being a cop, getting drunk and screwing every girl in town at his brand new apartment. Whatever. The Rafe I thought I knew—even with his flaws—was no more, and I’d just have to accept that.
And now, I was being offered the director’s job. I’d never thought about much beyond being a teacher. Could I stand the politics that sometimes came with such a position? I’d do anything for the kids, though. I’d talk it over with Serge when I got home.
* * * *
Over dinner that night, for which my best friend had provided peach pie from the bakery in town, I told him about my possible promotion. He was ecstatic.
“Woody, that’s amazing!” He got up and rounded the table to squash me in a hug. He was built in the same mold as his brother, but not as bulky.
“Thank you,” I replied. “What do you think, though? Can I handle it? I mean, look at the way I melted down last Friday with Rafe.”
He waved off the incident. “That was personal and he knew how to push your buttons. Isn’
t that what people closest to us do, hit us where it hurts? You were born for this, Woody. You could do it in your sleep, and those kids love you.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you want to move closer to the school? Or would you stay here?”
I swallowed a piece of pie. It was yummy. “Oh, I’d stay here. I need the peace of this place to unwind at the end of the day.”
“Take the job, man. You will be so great at it. Wait until I tell Mom.”
“Tattletale.”
He stuck out his tongue and went back to eating his food.
Later, I asked, “So what are your plans?”
“I’ve been thinking about starting a renovation business. I know I help you a lot with projects, but you do it part time and on a small scale. I want to do it full time. Fix up houses and flip ‘em, maybe build beach houses and rent them out. The one good thing that came out of my job are my savings, and I know how to be frugal. I actually hated it on the road. It was awful and I’d do anything to not have to do that ever again.”
“Well, I’ll back you, you know that. I think you’d be brilliant at it.”
“Thanks, buddy. You’re the best. I might need gas money, too, now that I’ve bought a truck. It’s even older than your piece of trash.”
“Don’t insult Henry. He’s very faithful.” I winked at him and pointed to the remains of our peach pie. “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time at the bakery. “Have you asked René out yet?” Serge had come out to his family a year after I did. Funny thing, now that I thought about it, Rafe’s reaction to Serge being gay wasn’t anywhere near as whacked out as his to mine. I wondered why that was.
Serge blushed. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“You’ve been obsessed with this guy’s cooking since he opened that place a few years ago. And I’ve seen the man. He’s wicked hot. Ask him out.”
My best friend’s eyes became saucers. “No way, man. I’m so out of his league. He studied in Paris and Belgium. He has a successful business. Look at me. I’m starting from the ground up. I have nothing to offer a guy like that.” Though, from the faraway look in his eyes, I bet Serge wished he did.
“Don’t give up when you haven’t even tried yet. Something will turn up. You’ll see.”
“This is why I love you like a brother. You make my head swell even when you’re lying through your teeth.”
I kicked his ankle and finished my pie.
As Serge played with his pie crust, he casually said, “I saw the sheriff as I was leaving the bakery this afternoon.” Serge had stopped using his brother’s name in conversation. I didn’t blame him, but it saddened me.
“Yeah?”
“He was writing up some tourists for disturbing the peace. He glanced up for a second and caught my eye. He waved at me but I ignored him and kept on walking.”
I sighed. “I know he was awful, but he’s your brother and he needs help, especially now. He’s in denial and he’s likely kicking himself for what happened. You planning on talking to him again this century?”
“Yeah, when he says he’s sorry. He’s old enough to know better. I really oughta call Mom and let her ream him a new one.”
I shuddered internally, knowing just how sharp a tongue the diminutive Mrs. Zumpano possessed. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to do this. Has he ever apologized or admitted to being wrong for anything in his life that you can remember?”
“No.”
“There you go, then.”
Serge was being stubborn. “Still not happening.”
I held up my hands. “Fine, calm down. It was just a suggestion.”
Damn it, I didn’t want to have to be the one to make the first move, on Serge’s behalf, anyway, but I might have to.
Christ. This was beyond fucked-up.
* * * *
Tuesday morning, I told Loralei that I would be happy to accept the position, and thanked her for the offer. She gave me a hug and immediately launched into her plans and timetable for my taking over the job. There was a hell of a lot to learn, and I was looking forward to the challenge.
After a busy day, my head was spinning, but I knew I had to talk to Rafe. Well, I didn’t have to, but whereas I could do without Rafe and his bullshit in my life, he needed his brother. They were blood, I wasn’t.
I stopped by the police station around six that evening and went straight to his office after verifying he was in. I knocked on the door and he bid me entry.
When I opened the door, Rafe looked up and his eyes widened. “Woody. I’ve been trying to reach you. What—?” He rose out of his seat but I waved him back down.
As I closed the door behind me, I said, “I’m here only to talk about Serge.”
He frowned and started to speak again. I lifted a hand to stop any further comment. “Rafe, I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t even care that you’re a closeted, hypocritical homophobe who has the nerve to try to make others feel guilty and ashamed for being themselves. I should care, but that’s your issue and act of cowardice. You caused me more pain than you’ll ever know, but your own flesh and blood brother is hurting because of your careless words and your goddamn drinking.
“This shit needs to stop. Get help, or you might lose Serge. What kind of example are you setting for this town, for its citizens, for your officers? You don’t think they laugh at you behind your back? You think it’s funny for me to come pick you up in a bar on the weekends because you drank one too many and became a jerk?”
I took a breath. “Bottom line…clean up your act and apologize to Serge. For the sake of your family and maybe to regain some self-respect, get a grip. You’re all each other has now, with your parents and sister so far away. He’s blood, man. Figure out a way to do this, because you’ve already lost his respect. You don’t want to lose his love, too.”
“Who the fuck are you to talk to me like that?” he roared.
“Someone who’s brave enough to stand up to your bullshit and tell you the fucking truth,” I shouted back.
He shot out his chair, causing it to clatter against the wall, and rounded his desk like an angry bull. He pinned me against the door. His breath smelled of booze. Damn it! I shoved him, but he shoved me back.
And then the weirdest thing happened.
I saw it coming but I was too surprised to stop it. Rafe slammed his mouth on mine so hard, my bottom lip split under the pressure. He pushed me into the door, and I felt his cock—his frickin’ hard-as-steel cock—press against mine. I tasted blood, and his tongue and my senses were overwhelmed. The shock of it all lasted five long seconds, until I pushed him back hard and punched him in the face. He fell against his desk and moved it an inch. Stuff spilled all around him and he appeared dazed.
I wiped my mouth on a sleeve. “Fuck you, Rafe. You don’t have the right to do that. Jesus.” I took a second to calm down as I watched him. “Look at you. You’re pathetic. You reek of alcohol, you haven’t shaved in days, and your hair’s a mess. Do you want to lose your job, along with your self-respect? See the bigger picture, would you? You will lose Serge forever if you don’t get a grip and make this right.”
Rafe stumbled to his chair and sat. “You think it’s that bad?”
“He’s really angry. You need to fix this. Soon. And while you’re at it, use some mouthwash. Your breath stinks of stale beer.”
I opened the door. “Don’t tell him I talked to you. After all, I’m the fucking ingrate that was barely tolerated by your family all those years. I wouldn’t want to be any more of a burden.”
I left his office but heard Rafe coming after me, like a bull in a china shop. “Woody, stop. Come on!” The bullpen was quiet as I continued toward the front door, ignoring the sheriff. I felt eyes on us, but I didn’t care. The staff almost certainly overheard our argument, as loud as we’d been.
I nodded to the officer at the front desk and went out to my truck. As I started the engine, I saw Rafe standing on the sidewalk, hands hanging listless at his
side while he stared at me, mouth glistening, jaw sporting a darkening bruise and with his uniform shirt askew. He seemed unsure for probably the first time in his entire life.
Maybe that was a good thing.
* * * *
The end of June came before Rafe finally showed his face at the cabin to talk to Serge. Up until that moment, neither Serge nor I had brought him up in conversation, though I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering in his direction. I did my best to put the inappropriate, explosive kiss out of my mind and trained with Loralei, taught my summer-session students and worked on weekend projects. Serge worked on building his business.
Of course, by then, the good people of our upstanding, tongue-wagging town had noticed the lack of communication between the three of us. The owner of the daycare center, Gregory Wang, usually so reticent in adult company, actually asked me if everything was okay on the home front. Leonard, Sheila Landrum’s boyfriend, who worked at the grocery store on the nightshift, was concerned, too. It was weird.
It was a Friday evening and the sun was still bright at seven-thirty. Serge and I had decided to barbecue and play Frisbee on the lawn. As I tossed the plastic disc to my friend, I heard a car pull up. I turned to see Rafe getting out of his dusty SUV. He looked the worse for wear.
I heard Serge grumble, “Hell, no,” as he stalked off into the cabin.
Rafe walked up to me and stopped. Hands in his pockets, he looked at the ground and practically shuffled his feet. “Hi.”
“If you want to talk to Serge, you’re gonna have to make the first move. It’s been almost a fucking month, Rafe.”
“I know. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, and I noticed he’d shaved and his breath was minty fresh for a change. He had circles under his eyes.
“Don’t tell me. Tell Serge.” I moved around him and went to check the food on the grill. I hoped they would be able to work through things, however long it took. It was past time for them to act like a family again. Like brothers.
As he walked by me to open the cabin door, Rafe said, “For what it’s worth, Woody, I’m sorry. Those things I said to you, the kiss I forced on you…I was out of line and…yes, I have a drinking problem.”
