The Preacher's Son

by Lisa Henry

  I could have done that. Could have shown him—privately—how much better life is when you’re not hiding. Instead of humiliating him publicly.

  Except it wasn’t just about him.

  It was about all those kids.

  An idea came to him that brought with it an odd mix of relief and adrenaline.

  I could go over there and apologize. Not to the reverend. Not for the things I said about Moving Forward. But to him.

  It would probably work. Weren’t Christians supposed to have a hard-on for forgiveness?

  Almost immediately an angry, jagged voice countered: Like hell I’d ever set foot on that property.

  But he had to. The only way he could—sigh—“move forward,” was by putting things right with Nathan.

  So he’d go to the Tulls’ today. And he’d apologize to Nathan.

  The first full day at Moving Forward signified a fresh start for the kids. Their parents were gone, and they’d spent a night in a strange place. The bravado of the previous evening, if they’d had any to begin with, had usually vanished. The night before, the dining hall had been full of chatter. This morning it was muted. Although a lot of that, Nate thought, was because they were teenagers and it was seven in the morning.

  Nate took his breakfast tray to the table with the four boys from Maple Cabin. For the next six weeks they’d be his to mentor. Steven, Tyler, Richie and Isaac. Even Steven and Tyler seemed subdued this morning. Maybe a little wary, as though they were expecting someone to start screaming about hellfire and brimstone any minute now.

  “How’s breakfast?” Nate asked them, pulling up a chair at the table.

  “It’s okay,” Tyler said.

  “It’s good,” Steven said.

  Isaac pushed his scrambled eggs around his plate.

  “Did you guys sleep okay?” Nate knew by the bags under their eyes that they’d stayed up most of the night. That was okay. A few days of fresh air and activity, and they’d be too tired to get up to any trouble.

  “Yeah,” Tyler said. He scratched his head, standing a few strands of red hair on end. “There was like this owl or something. It was loud.”

  “Fucking loud,” Steven said. Tyler elbowed him and he colored. “Sorry.”

  Nate smiled. “It’s okay.”

  They didn’t know where Nate fit in yet. It always took a few days for the kids to figure out he was a friend.

  “So, I thought we might take a walk to the lake after breakfast,” Nate said. “How does that sound?”

  Richie shrugged and nodded.

  “Don’t we have to, like, talk about the Bible and stuff?” Steven asked, chewing his lip.

  Nate made a face. “Well, that’s up to you. We can go to the chapel and read the Gospels if you want, but the lake’s pretty nice.”

  Steven and Tyler snickered, and Richie hid a grin. Isaac caught Nate’s gaze and then looked away.

  “Can we swim in it?” Richie asked.

  “Course we can.” Nate looked at his watch. “Okay, what about I meet you guys at your cabin in twenty minutes, and we’ll walk to the lake?”

  The boys finished eating and headed off to clear their trays.

  “Don’t forget your towels!” Nate called after them.

  “Taking them to the lake?” Nate’s dad sat down beside him.

  “Yeah. I’ll wear them out this morning, then after lunch we’ll open a dialog.”

  His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled warmly. “You’ve got a good group.”

  “I think so.”

  He liked this group, and he hoped—once their suspicions fell away—that they’d like him too. Nate was Moving Forward’s not-so-secret weapon. Every other counselor in the place was great with the kids, but Nate was the only one with a ready answer for “You don’t understand what this is like!”

  “Tom and Leanne will be firing up the barbecue for lunch,” his father said. “Which means…”

  “Which means Maple Cabin is on dishwashing duty,” Nate said. “I’ll break it to them gently.”

  His father laughed. “I’ll let you finish your breakfast.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  There were six cabins at Moving Forward: Maple, Oak, Elm, Aspen, Cedar and Pine. Each of the cabins could house up to eight kids, but numbers were down a little at the moment. If there was a peak season for Moving Forward it was, for some reason, winter. Nate didn’t know why. Maybe it was the cluster of family oriented holidays in the winter. Parents who couldn’t stand the thought of another Thanksgiving or Christmas looking across the dinner table at their little abomination.

  Nate tightened his grip on his fork and wondered where that sudden thought had come from. It was angry, and it was unjustified. None of the people at Moving Forward thought these kids were abominations. They wanted to help these kids. Guide them, not punish them.

  Nate finished his breakfast and bussed his tray, then headed back outside the main building. There were a few cars pulled up outside the entrance to the office, belonging to the workers or the volunteers who, unlike the counselors, didn’t live on site. A place like Moving Forward couldn’t manage without a small army of volunteers manning phones and spearheading fundraising efforts. Moving Forward was close to Reverend Tull’s heart, but it wasn’t his only ministry. He divided his time between the camp and the church in town.

  Nate waved at his mother as she stepped out of the office, heading for her car.

  She waved back, but didn’t stop. She was as busy as her husband. She had few formal church duties, but was always helping out parishioners and neighbors in town.

  Nate headed down the path toward the cabins.

  The morning was warm. It would be good swimming weather at the lake. He headed for Maple cabin. At Oak, Leanne was getting her three girls ready for the lake as well.

  “See you there,” she called to Nate as he passed. “I’ll bet we can beat your boys in a canoe race!”

  Nate laughed and continued on.

  As he rounded the bend on the path, he could hear the boys talking excitedly. Heard his name. He stopped behind a screen of trees.

  “No, it is him. Look!” Tyler said.

  “Holy shit!” Richie exclaimed. “Fuck. He’s getting plowed!”

  “These are only screengrabs. Is the video online?”

  “I dunno. Google it.”

  “Does it hurt, d’you think?” Richie asked. “I mean, look at his face.”

  “You’re looking at his face?” Steven asked. “Dude, are you even sure you’re gay?”

  “Well, not for much longer,” Richie said and laughed.

  “It’s not funny!” Isaac’s voice was strident. “None of this is funny!”

  “Calm your farm,” Steven said. “Look, all we have to do is listen to this Jesus bullshit for six weeks, then we’re done.”

  “Yeah,” Tyler said. “And as soon as we’re eighteen, we can do what the hell we want.”

  Nate’s stomach twisted. He knew he had to put a stop to this sort of talk, but the thought of stepping out now, of exposing himself when he knew exactly what pictures they were staring at, was mortifying. But, God help him, he couldn’t let them keep talking.

  He moved out from behind the trees.

  The boys, standing together on the little front veranda of the cabin, started guiltily. Tyler managed to shuffle in behind the others.

  Nate stepped up onto the veranda and held out his hand. “Tyler. Give me your phone.”

  “What?” Tyler was all wide-eyed innocence. “I don’t have a phone.”

  “Give me your phone,” Nate repeated. He worked hard to keep his tone even. “You know you’re not allowed to have it in the cabin. It should be in the lockers in the office.”

  For a moment he thought Tyler would deny it. Then, rolling his eyes, the boy stepped forward and slapped his phone into Nate’s palm. Nate glanced down at the screen. It was still open to whatever webpage they’d found the pictures on. Nate—Nathan—his eyes half-closed, biting hi
s lower lip, staring into a camera he didn’t know was there. Jason Banning behind him, holding his leg up as they—

  Made love, he’d thought at the time.

  Fornicated, he’d thought later, full of hatred and bitterness.

  Now, he didn’t know what to call it.

  He wasn’t sure there was even a word for it. Because there they were, the camera forever trapping them in that shared moment, but they’d been doing two very different things. All those words that Jason had whispered to him, all that encouragement, that tenderness, all lies.

  He felt sick.

  Nate put the phone in his pocket. “So, that’s my story. It’s not a secret. If there’s anything you want to ask me about my past, and how I got from there to here, go ahead.”

  None of the boys would meet his gaze. They stared at their feet.

  Leanne and the girls rounded the bend.

  Nate swallowed and forced a smile. “Okay, then. Who’s ready to check out the lake?”

  The boys headed up the path, subdued.

  “Everything okay?” Leanne asked Nate in an undertone.

  “Yeah.” Nate drew a deep breath. “I just confiscated a phone, and they’re not happy. Listen, I’m going to run it up to the office. Can you keep an eye on the boys until I catch up?”

  “No problem.” Her smile was warm.

  Nate watched her follow the kids up the path that wound through the camp and led, eventually, to the lakeside. He sighed and headed back toward the main buildings and the office.

  He didn’t like that Tyler had lied to him, but he understood why. What bothered him more was the way the boys had been talking about the camp. They were supposed to be here because they wanted help to live according to God’s plan. They were supposed to genuinely want to change.

  “All we have to do is listen to this Jesus bullshit for six weeks, then we’re done.”

  It might have been a mistake putting Steven and Tyler together in a cabin. They were already close friends. Nate could just imagine them making a pact to resist whatever Moving Forward tried to teach them. Richie didn’t need that kind of negativity. Isaac certainly didn’t.

  Nate left the cover of the trees and jogged across the dirt parking lot. He didn’t recognize the silver SUV that was just pulling up, but he sure recognized the guy stepping out of it.

  Jason Banning.

  Oh Jesus.

  Jason saw Nathan as soon as he stepped out of his car. Nathan had been walking toward the office building, but stopped when he spotted Jason. Jason wouldn’t have been surprised to see him suddenly topple like one of those fainting goats. Then, he seemed to recover, and began to walk forward again.

  “Can I help you with anything?” he asked, as though Jason was a stranger.

  Jason resisted the temptation to look him up and down slowly. Pretty sure if there was a God, it was His idea of a joke to make Nathan Tull so damn beautiful. No starched shirt or ruthlessly gelled hair today. Nate wore a blue T-shirt that showed off tanned arms. His sandy hair was almost shaggy, the ends curling at his ears. His lips were parted slightly; clear hazel eyes met Jason’s.

  An uncomfortable prickling started under Jason’s skin. Here, Nathan was real. He wasn’t a memory from four years ago, a picture on the Moving Forward website. He was the man Jason had hurt, solid, the tips of his ears sunburned, his eyes betraying his uncertainty. And already Jason’s mind was trying to create distance. Was trying not to search those eyes for the hope he’d seen that night at UW. For the fury he knew Nathan was entitled to. Was trying not to feel Nathan, taste him, remember the unexpected tenderness he’d felt watching him smile.

  You could have had that, a voice in his head spoke. You could have had that smile, a private souvenir; a gift. It would have made you luckier than any coin. Kept you safer.

  Instead you took what wasn’t yours.

  He silenced it. Best to approach this with a sense of purpose. Just say the words, and you’ll feel better.

  “Hey, Nathan.” His voice was steady.

  “I go by Nate now.”

  “Sorry. Nate. I came to see you, actually.”

  Something flashed in Nate’s gaze. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “To apologize.”

  Nate regarded him warily. He squinted slightly in the sunlight. “To apologize for what?”

  “For what I did to you,” Jason said. Face to face, the words were coming harder than he’d thought, each one threatening to undermine something inside him. He was afraid he’d trigger an avalanche if he had to look Nate in the eye for much longer. “I shouldn’t have used you just to get at your father. At this place.”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me.” Nate stepped closer. “You didn’t force me. It was my own weakness that brought me to that point.”

  “Weakness?” No, Nate had been strong that night. Brave as shit.

  “I should thank you.” Nate rubbed the back of his neck. “You did me a favor. You made me see that I needed the Lord’s guidance and forgiveness. I’m a better man now than I was then.”

  “Are you a happier man?” Jason asked sharply.

  Nate flinched. “Yes.”

  “Liar.” Jason stepped forward, ignoring the pain in his leg.

  Nate stared at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

  Jason suddenly wanted to touch him, to soothe his nerves the way he had that night four years ago. He wanted to relive that moment, more miraculous than any Bible story, when Nathan Tull had trusted him enough to open himself to Jason’s touch. He lifted his hand.

  “Don’t.” Nate stepped back. “Don’t. Please.”

  “Aren’t you angry with me?” A part of Jason wanted to see if he could provoke Nate into a reaction, an honest reaction. Something more than this timidity. “You should be angry. Come on, Nate. Even Jesus got angry.”

  “Don’t.” Nate’s voice was low. “Don’t mock my faith.”

  Guilt froze Jason. “I didn’t mean to. Shit. I came here to apologize.”

  Color rose in Nate’s face. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again and spoke. His voice was thin, a little reedy, belaying the polite, bland words that he spoke. “I appreciate that, but, as I said, it’s not necessary. Is there anything else you needed?”

  “Nate.” This time Jason did touch him, his fingers brushing over Nate’s forearm, the soft hairs there prickling in their wake.

  Nate jumped back like he’d been stung.

  “Nate!” a voice called from over by the building. A screen door slammed in the frame.

  Jason sucked in a deep breath and turned to face Reverend Tull.

  The man was barreling toward them, no trace of a smile on his usually genial face. “Are you okay?”

  Jesus. Like he thought Jason was going to bend Nate over the hood of his SUV and ravish him right then and there.

  “I’m fine,” Nate said, but he sounded like his voice was close to breaking.

  Jason turned back to him. “Nate…”

  Fuck. He was crying.

  “I’m sorry,” Nate whispered. Tears slid down his face. He looked stricken. “I’m so sorry.”

  Jason reached out again. “Hey. Look, I—”

  Nate looked straight past him. “Dad, I’m sorry.”

  Reverend Tull brushed Jason aside. Opened his arms to Nate, but Nate dodged, hand out. “I can’t— Everyone just leave me alone.” He hurried toward the main buildings.

  Jason couldn’t swallow around the ache in his throat. It wasn’t shame he felt. It wasn’t guilt. It was something much larger, something with no name. Something monstrous that he stood no chance against; it had power beyond human comprehension. He would have given his fucking life in that fraction of a second to take away Nate’s tears, to take away the reason for Nate’s tears. But he was the reason. He was, and he wished the roadside bomb had fucking vaporized him, if there was any chance that would make things right with Nate.

  Reverend Tull turned to Jason. “Mr. Banning, you’re
not welcome here at Moving Forward. Leave, or I’ll call the police and have them remove you.”

  He took it. He took the reverend’s self-righteousness, his impossible calm, his fucking monumental ignorance, and he used it to patch the holes every one of Nate’s tears had burned in his walls, his safeguards. “I came to apologize to your son,” Jason said. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  Reverend Tull’s expression hardened. “Stay away from my son. You’ve hurt him enough for one lifetime. He may forgive you for that, but, God help me, I don’t know that I ever will.”

  Well, Jason thought as he climbed back into his car, so much for Christian charity.

  He drove away burning with a bleak but savage self-satisfaction.

  He’d put a big ugly crack in Reverend Tull’s universal love. He’d set that calm alight. He’d brought that motherfucker down from the clouds and into the muck with the rest of humanity.

  He kept that. He kept that instead of Nate’s tears.

  “Don’t be scared. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

  Nate sat in the empty mess hall, feet wide apart, elbows resting on his knees. His hands hung in the gap between his legs. Nate, hunched over, watched them. And breathed. Pretty sure he’d forget how if he didn’t keep concentrating on it. He felt like he’d been winded, like he couldn’t suck in enough air. Felt like he’d taken a blow to the stomach. Something that would leave his whole body aching and bruised.

  His father set a cup on the table. “Lemonade.”

  Nate shook his head.

  The legs of a chair scraped against the floor as his father sat down. “Maybe you ought to take a few days off.”

  “No.” His voice rasped. “These kids...” These kids with their phones and their snickers and their he’s getting plowed! “These kids need my help.”

  In this moment, he wasn’t sure it was true. He wasn’t sure what he could offer these kids except himself, flawed and afraid. Couldn’t promise them that one day they’d feel at home in their skin again if right now Nate wanted to tear his off just to escape the way it crawled.

  Nate closed his eyes, and reminded himself that he was a work in progress. All God’s children were.