The Preacher's Son

by Lisa Henry

  “No.”

  “Okay.” Nate sat on the end of his bunk. Isaac glared at him and then hid his face behind the book again. “So here’s what I think. I think that you’re missing out on an opportunity to make some good friends here, because you’re hiding in the cabin instead.”

  Isaac mumbled something.

  “What?”

  Isaac glared again. “I said nobody here wants to be my friend!”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is!” Isaac sat up suddenly. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and planted his feet on the floor. Threw the book down onto the mattress. “The other guys don’t like me!”

  “Then the other guys are idiots,” Nate said, although he wondered how much of Isaac’s own attitude was to blame. The big socially-awkward kid who scowled more often than he smiled. He didn’t make it easy for himself. “I like you. And we’re friends, aren’t we?”

  Isaac snorted. “You have to act like my friend because you work here.”

  “That’s not the reason,” Nate told him. “Wow.”

  “Wow, what?”

  “Wow, you really think I’m that shallow?”

  That won him an unwilling smile. “No… just, you know, it’s kind of your job.”

  “Yeah, it is kind of my job. But do you know why I do this job?”

  “Because your dad runs the place?”

  “It’s partly that. But it’s mostly because I like helping kids like you.” Nate smiled through the bite of guilt. Helping. Was he really helping anyone? “That is, I know how hard it is to have the feelings that you’re struggling with, and I know what it feels like to think you’re the only person in the world who’s ever been there. Isaac, every kid who walks into this place is my friend, because I know how much you need one.”

  Something flashed in Isaac’s eyes, and then his scowl was back. “Okay. Sure.”

  Nate’s smile faded. He didn’t know what was going on with Isaac. Didn’t know how to reach him. Every time he thought he had, Isaac pulled away again. So maybe it was about time he swallowed his pride and asked. “I feel like I’m missing something here. Like you’re angry with me.”

  Isaac glanced at him quickly, then stared at the floor. He shook his head quickly.

  “Isaac?”

  Isaac swallowed. His shoulders jerked. “You’re a liar, Nate.”

  Nate felt as though all the breath had been knocked out of him. “What do you mean?”

  “I was in the car. I saw how you looked at him. I saw.” Isaac turned his face toward him. His eyes brimmed with tears. “You’re not cured! You’re going to hell just like the rest of us!”

  The roar of blood in his skull almost deafened Nate. “Isaac, I never pretended I don’t still struggle with my phantoms.” Struggle with them. Or, God help him, embrace them by standing in Jason Banning’s bedroom and letting Jason suck him off. “There are…there are things I’m still trying to work out for myself. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t...”

  Isaac blinked, and tears slid down his cheeks.

  “God loves us,” Nate managed. “I believe that. I know that.”

  “Then why does He want us to hate ourselves?”

  “Isaac…no.” He reached out and put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “That’s not what He wants.”

  Isaac twisted toward him. “How do you know that? How do you know?”

  “Because…” Nate drew a breath. Because if he had one single article of faith remaining after he’d shed all the others, this was it. “Because God created the world. And the world is full of so much beauty, and so much wonder, and so many miraculous things, how can it be anything except a gift?” He smiled, even though his throat ached with unshed tears. “God doesn’t want us to be unhappy. Look what He gave us! It’s beautiful, Isaac!”

  Isaac leaned in suddenly and, before Nate realized what was happening, pressed his mouth against Nate’s.

  Nate froze.

  It must have been half a second that he didn’t move. Half a second when he couldn’t process what was occurring. Isaac’s mouth against his, his breath hot. His hand in Nate’s hair. Half a second, but it was long enough for the world to stop spinning.

  “No!” Nate pushed him away, his heart thumping. He leaped to his feet. “God, Isaac, no.”

  Isaac stared at him, mouth open, breathing heavily.

  Oh God.

  Isaac wasn’t the first kid who’d crushed on Nate, but he was the first one Nate had misread so completely that he’d been careless enough to be alone with him. Nate wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unable to bear the thought of Isaac’s saliva on his lips.

  Oh God.

  He couldn’t freak out about this. Not in front of Isaac.

  “I’m your friend,” he said, wondering how the hell he sounded so calm. “But that’s all I can be.”

  “Because you think you’re straight!” The sudden venom in Isaac’s voice shocked him.

  “Because you’re fifteen!” Nate shot back. “Because you’re a child!”

  Isaac flinched.

  “I can’t…” Nate wiped his mouth again. “God, Isaac.” Shook his head. “God.”

  Isaac glared at the floor.

  “When…” Nate struggled for breath. “When you’re ready, come and join the rest of us for baseball. Please.”

  Isaac hunched over, but nodded.

  “And later—”

  Later he’d stand up in front of the kids and tell them that they, too, could suppress the urges they felt toward the same sex.

  Later he’d break up with Marissa.

  Later, he’d call Jason.

  Later, he’d sin boldly.

  You hypocrite. You dirty fucking hypocrite.

  “And later,” he said again, trying to keep his voice from breaking, “we’ll go and talk to my dad about what happened here.”

  Isaac didn’t meet his gaze.

  Nate, clenching his fingers into fists to keep them from shaking, turned and walked from the cabin.

  Outside the clinic, Rose shuffled toward the car and waved dismissively at Jason when he got out to help her. By the time he’d limped over to her, she was already in the passenger seat.

  Jason went back to the driver’s side and climbed in. He still had Zoner’s hair all over his pants. He put the car in Drive and headed for the interstate. “How’d it go?”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Fine? What does ‘fine’ mean?”

  “It means my visit was fine. It was what I expected.”

  “What did you and Dr. Ives talk about?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment. “You’re nosy.”

  “Did you discuss your treatment options?”

  “We did.”

  “And?”

  “And.” Rose glanced out the window. “And I don’t feel the treatment options Dr. Ives outlined are compatible with survival.”

  Jason turned to her, eyes narrow. “What are you talking about? What does that mean, not compatible with survival?”

  The soft, sagging skin of Rose’s cheeks moved slightly, but she didn’t speak. Jason glanced at the road, then back at her. She sighed. “If I do what Dr. Ives is suggesting, even if I live—which is doubtful—I wouldn’t survive. The side effects of the chemo are...barbaric.”

  “No.” Jason shook his head. “No, don’t give me that bullshit. If there’s a fucking chance it could save you, you’re doing it.”

  “Jason, watch your language. And watch the road. This isn’t your decision.” She folded her thin hands in her lap.

  “It is my decision. It affects me, and I have some say.”

  She sighed. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  Jason slapped the steering wheel. “We’ll damn well talk about it now. You’re not refusing treatment, Rose.”

  “Yes, I am!” she shouted.

  Jason fell silent, stunned.

  “That is your problem, Jason!” she said sharply. “You’ve always assumed that eve
rything involves you. You decide when the sun rises, when it sets. When a boy comes out to his family. Which beliefs are worth fighting for, and which ones are pointless, dangerous. Good God, I love you, but you want a level of control no person could possibly possess—or deserve.” She looked out the window again.

  Jason continued driving, her words lodged in him, creating a pain that blurred his vision and made him dizzy. Finally he pulled into the parking lot of a tire place and sat there, staring at his shaking hands on the wheel.

  “Jason,” Rose said quietly.

  His throat was too tight to speak.

  “Jason.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched.

  “I didn’t want to hurt Nate. Or you.” He forced the words out quickly, before his voice could break. “I don’t know why I do this. I don’t know why I—can’t just—accept the world as it is, but, God—don’t people need help sometimes? Don’t they need to be pushed? Doesn’t—” He swallowed rapidly. “Doesn’t everybody need something to push against, to fight for, or…or what are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” Rose said quietly after a moment.

  “Don’t leave me,” he told her, not caring that his voice cracked. “Don’t go. I’m such a fucking... I can’t do this alone.”

  “Shh,” she said firmly.

  He leaned back, staring out the windshield, up at the power lines and the Murphy’s Muffler sign. “I just can’t believe everyone doesn’t want to fight like I do. It’s such a brilliant world— I really believe that. But it’s… It needs to be better. I don’t know what else to do with myself.” He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Don’t listen to me, please. I don’t know what’s happening.” He took a breath. “All the things I hoped I’d be, and I’m this.”

  “That’s enough now.” She rubbed the back of his neck. She hadn’t done that since he was a kid. “When you were young, your mother used to tell me you were sensitive. That she’d read you a story and you’d be up all night thinking about it, worrying about the characters. Crying if it was sad. Around me, you were different. You climbed my bookshelves. You showed off your war toys. You tripped the neighbor boy to win a race. But I always knew your mom was right. You had a great deal of compassion, empathy. As well as a strong desire for confrontation.”

  Jason breathed out.

  “You’re a good man,” Rose continued. “But sometimes things just need to happen, without being right or wrong. Without us trying to steer them.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “Mom said…” He opened his eyes. Tried again. “She said I was an idealist.” And he’d thought that word made him sound strong, important. He hadn’t known it meant someone with his head in the fucking clouds. Someone whose fantasies were foolish—dangerous, even, because they moved in circles. Coiling and coiling around one certain idea, one absolute. And never branching out, taking into account what a fragile thing truth was.

  Self-righteousness wasn’t hard-won. It was as basic as hunger, as lust. The need to believe you were smarter, better, more deserving than others. That you alone could fix the world, if this line of idiots wasn’t standing in your way.

  He put the car in Drive and pulled through the lot.

  Rose shifted, her hand shaking a little on her purse. “She thought the world of you. She and your dad.”

  The pain was old, but never dull. It’s when I stop moving that I miss them. And that’s how I feel all the time now—just, stuck. Nowhere to go.

  But now I have someone who makes me feel like I could go somewhere. He was going somewhere too. And I stopped him. I told him he could be free, but what I meant was: You can be my version of free. You can be tangled up with me, tonight and forever, not because you choose to be, but because it suits me.

  Because I decide when the sun rises and sets. I decide how the world will remember you.

  His throat tightened.

  Don’t let me do that.

  Be someone I can’t even imagine. Surprise me. Defy me.

  Change me, Nate.

  Rose stayed silent.

  They were just entering Pinehurst when Jason saw a woman standing at the intersection of the highway and the narrow road that led to Moving Forward. She had a sign, and at first Jason thought she was panhandling. But she held her sign high as he drove past, and he saw it said, in large blue letters: REVEREND TULL MOVES US ALL BACK.

  He didn’t know if Rose had seen it too. He didn’t ask.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nate got a text from Jason around six. Lookout? Tonight, midnight? He was eating dinner in the empty kitchen at his parents’ house, instead of in the mess hall with the campers. He needed some time to himself if he was going to make it through evening prayer.

  A spike of arousal when he read the text. Followed by guilt. Always the guilt, but this time it was laced with excitement, seemed to spur his lust.

  He wrote back, Yes. Hesitated only a moment. Then texted Marissa asking if she’d come over at ten—he needed to talk to her about something. Tried not to think about what that meant. That he was breaking up with Marissa because he planned to fuck Jason tonight at the lookout at midnight.

  He sat numb and silent through evening prayer. A couple of times he thought he felt Isaac watching him, angry and plaintive, but he ignored it. Isaac hadn’t forgiven him for telling his father what had happened. Hadn’t forgiven him for sharing his shame with the reverend. And a part of Nate agreed with him. There had been nothing soothing in his father’s words. Nothing comforting in a shared prayer for strength. It had left Nate hollow. He said a subdued goodnight to his dad once the campers were in bed. Went to the kitchen to wait.

  He was pacing the kitchen, chugging water, when he heard Marissa’s car pull up. The slam of the car door. Footsteps on the walk. And then the front door opened, creaked, closed again. “Nate?”

  “In here.”

  She entered the kitchen. She was wearing a light pink tank top and denim shorts. Just enough makeup to bring out her dark eyes. Her hair was slightly damp, clipped high on her head, and he could smell her shampoo from here. She was beautiful, and smarter than he’d ever be, and if he didn’t love her now, he never would. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.” He set his water glass down. Clenched his hand so it wouldn’t shake. “Thanks for coming over. Can, uh…can we go upstairs?”

  She nodded.

  Nate led her to his room. He’d rehearsed what he wanted to say, but now that she was here, he wasn’t sure how to begin.

  Do it quickly.

  He was still anxious over what had happened with Isaac earlier. “You’re going to hell just like the rest of us.”

  I know.

  She hesitated at the threshold. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  He froze, facing the wall with the framed picture of last year’s Moving Forward group. Dozens of tiny faces smiled back at him. He heard her come in behind him and sit on the bed. He made himself face her. She didn’t look angry. “W-why do you think that?”

  She shrugged. “Because you don’t love me.”

  Nate’s stomach clenched. “I do! I do. Just…”

  “Shut up.” She gave him a reluctant smile. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve known for a long time.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  She sighed and didn’t answer.

  After several moments, Nate ventured, “You’re not okay with that.”

  She met his gaze. “What are you doing, Nate?”

  “Uh...what do you mean?”

  “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

  “No. I mean—no, not…” His throat tightened. “I’m trying.”

  “I know.” Her voice was soft. “I used to think I was helping. Now I don’t know.”

  “You are. You did.” Nate wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He had to break up with her—to protect her. But she’d been so familiar for so long, and now the way she was looking at him was completely foreign.

  “For fuck’s sake.” S
he looked away. “You need to be honest. Okay? Just tell people the truth.”

  Did she mean about not being cured? What did he say or do that made it so obvious to everyone?

  “I saw the way you looked at him.” Isaac had said. Had Marissa seen too? In just a few moments on a dark evening at the lookout, had she known?

  “I’m gay.” His voice sounded far away. “I thought I wasn’t anymore. I thought...”

  “I know,” she repeated.

  He closed his eyes. “Do you hate me?”

  “No. I wish you’d told me sooner. But I don’t hate you.”

  He opened his eyes. He wanted to tell her everything. Ask her advice. They used to do that for each other. Little things: Marissa trying to figure out how to tell her mom she’d gotten a tattoo. Nate wondering what classes to take at community college.

  “I want to tell you the truth. I feel like—like I’ve lied to you. And…there is someone else,” he said slowly. “But I didn’t—I haven’t…”

  A flash of anger in her eyes. Then hurt. “You swear?”

  He thought guiltily of the blowjob.

  “Nate.” Her voice was hard.

  “I mean…”

  “Did you fuck him while we were together?”

  “No. No, no, Marissa, we just—just fooled around.” She’d said he needed to be honest. But all Nate wanted now was to feed words back into his mouth. Strike them from the record.

  “Nate!” She stood. “What kind of ‘fooled around’?”

  “Just…”

  “What, made out?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Did you blow each other? What?”

  Nate flinched. There it was—that hard edge to her that scared him.

  “Oh fucking God damn,” she said. “What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry! It just happened. I didn’t think it…”

  “Didn’t think it counted, because you never thought our relationship was real?” She stepped toward him. “You listen to me. I don’t have a problem with you being gay. I don’t think it makes you a bad person. I don’t think you’re going to hell. And I get why you can’t be with me. But—”

  “I didn’t fuck him!” Nate interrupted, panicked.