The Preacher's Son

by Lisa Henry

  A few specks of rain splattered against Jason’s dusty windshield as he drove away from the hospital. Jason flicked the wipers on, and smeared the dust across the glass in damp streaks.

  There was too much hurt in the world, and Jason knew he carried the blame for his share of it.

  He drove out of town, off the highway and into one of the winding roads that cut through the trees. The day was cooler under the shelter of the trees. This road would eventually come out at Patterson’s farm—the hand-painted sign on the highway promised fresh butter and milk and cream straight from the dairy—but Jason pulled over before he reached the farm. There were countless little walking tracks that cut through the woods here, but Jason didn’t get out of his car. He put the windows down so he could feel the breeze, and reclined his seat a little.

  He was somewhere underneath the lookout—a few miles as the crow flew—and he thought of the night he’d found Nate up there, fever-ravaged. Thought of the night they’d agreed to meet there too, and then gone and fucked in the woods.

  Jason closed his eyes. The air was cool and fresh and smelled of petrichor. He’d missed this in Afghanistan, even if there was enough of the angry teenager inside him still that he’d refused to label it homesickness. But there was something about the woods around Pinehurst that, even when he’d hated the town and the people in it with a burning passion, had soothed him.

  He sat there for almost an hour just breathing it in, and then turned his car back toward town.

  Rose was in the living room when he got home, in front of the old china cabinet. She was cradling an ugly teapot in her arms, and there was a cardboard box open beside her.

  “Do you want this?” she asked, holding the teapot out. “It was my grandmother’s. I don’t think it’s worth much, but you could put it on eBay if you don’t want it.”

  “What?” Jason gripped the doorjamb.

  “I’m cleaning stuff out,” Rose said, shrugging. “It’ll save you having to do it.”

  Jason’s mind went blank for a moment, because he had no words at all for what felt like her casual acceptance of death. What was he supposed to say? That he didn’t want to watch her do this? He didn’t. But he also didn’t want to do it by himself after she was gone.

  “You mom was a lot younger than me,” Rose said. “Sometimes I felt more like her mother than her sister.” She set the teapot on top of the cabinet. “She got in trouble once for taking this teapot and using it for a tea party for all her stuffed animals. ‘Rose did it! Rose took it!’ Mind you, I was fifteen years old and wouldn’t have been caught dead having a little girl’s tea party!”

  She laughed, and it sounded soft and wistful.

  Jason’s chest ached. He moved forward into the room, and sat down in one of the worn old armchairs. He stretched his leg out, and massaged his knee cap carefully. It was metal nowadays. Still managed to hurt like fuck though.

  “I’ll help,” he said, bracing his hands on the worn fabric arms of the chair.

  “No, you sit right there,” Rose said, “and I’ll show you things, like this is our own little Antiques Roadshow.”

  “You got an original Radio Flyer stashed somewhere in that china cabinet?” Jason teased.

  Rose laughed. “Just crockery and knicknacks, I’m afraid.” Her smile faded. “There was a time I thought I’d have a daughter to hand all this down to. But maybe you’ll have one, one day.”

  Jason’s chest felt tight. He couldn’t . . . he couldn’t imagine that. But one thing the past few years had taught him—one thing his accident had taught him, apart from his capacity to feel excruciating pain—was that the future was unknowable. The Jason Banning he’d been at fifteen, at twenty, wouldn’t have recognized the Jason Banning he was now. Hurt and hurting, but finding quiet solace in unremarkable Pinehurst, and in Nate.

  Rose showed him a little porcelain statue of a cat. “My father bought this for me when I was about six or seven. Whenever he went away on a business trip, he’d come home with a present for me. It’s probably completely worthless, but...”

  “We’ll keep it,” Jason said. He held out his hand, and Rose set the cat in his palm. It was ugly and cheap, and one ear was chipped, and Jason’s chest ached. Just things. Stupid things, but when Rose was gone, would his memories of her be enough? How could be bring himself to throw away something that she had once treasured? How could he bring himself to let her go?

  “Well,” Rose said, “you can always change your mind later.”

  Jason nodded, unable to speak, and curled his fingers around the little cat.

  How could he ever be ready for what was coming?

  In the end, it was easier than Jason had thought, walking up to the Tulls’ front door. Maybe because the reverend was now as publicly flawed a man as Jason. Maybe because his feelings for Nathan mattered more than what the Tulls thought of him.

  Or maybe it was the weed.

  He dragged his dumbass leg up the front steps, and knocked.

  The reverend himself answered. Of course.

  Jason nodded. “Hey.”

  “Jason. Come in.” Nothing to read in that tone. It wasn’t cold. But it sure as fuck wasn’t Come, my son, and partake in our daily bread.

  The guy looked awful. Jason tried not to stare as he made his way into the house. But dude looked like fucking Benjamin Button as a newborn.

  “I’ll get Nate,” the reverend said. And that was that. He didn’t attempt to drive Jason from the house. Didn’t hurl accusations. Unless he was actually going down the hall to get a shotgun, Jason was apparently—perhaps grudgingly—welcome here.

  He looked around the foyer. It wasn’t quite as oppressively Jesus-ridden as he’d been expecting. There was a cross on the wall, but it wasn’t the kind with mangled Jesus hanging from it. No “This is the day which the Lord hath made” cross-stitch. No bible on the little round mahogany table. It was a spacious, tidy farm house, tastefully decorated and smelling like a Yankee Candle.

  Nate came down the hall, looking tired but calm. He gave Jason a small smile. “Let’s go to the living room.”

  He led Jason to another tidy room, with moss-colored walls and thick, dark-rose curtains. There was a bookshelf with a surprisingly reasonable Austen-to-Osteen ratio. The coffee table in front of the plush sofa did have a Bible on it, but hey. Jason figured they were allowed one prominent New Testament.

  He sat on the couch next to Nate. Awkward spacing between them—not quite intimate, but not quite strangers. “Where’d your dad go?” Jason asked.

  “To his study. He’s been spending a lot of time there thinking.” Nate’s mouth twisted to the side. “I hope he...finds what he’s looking for.”

  Personally, Jason could care less what revelations the good Reverend Tull stumbled upon while praying in his study. But Nate’s relationship with his dad was important, and Jason was trying to be supportive. For instance, he had greeted the reverend with that casual, “Hey,” rather than, Fuck you, asshole. I love your son, and he loves me. So take your phantoms and your “God’s love” bullshit and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

  See? So supportive.

  Jason still hadn’t answered the email Molly had sent earlier. Molly and some friends and a community organizer named Erin were planning a “peaceful demonstration” against Moving Forward. She wanted to know if he’d attend. Jason personally would have preferred burning the camp to the ground—“peaceful” demonstrations didn’t do a hell of a lot, in his opinion—but he wasn’t going to tell anyone that.

  The trouble was, with all that Nate’s parents were dealing with right now, Jason was hesitant to unleash a shitstorm on them—even a peaceful one.

  Nate cleared his throat. “My mom visited Isaac today. They talked for hours, apparently. Then watched Howard the Duck on TV.”

  “Oh God. Could they have picked a less traumatic movie?”

  Nate laughed. “Apparently Isaac’s a big fan.” He paused. “I wonder what they talked about. I don’
t want to pry, I just…I always wonder how my mom feels about all this.”

  Jason nodded, unsure what to say. “What about you? You okay?” he asked Nate now.

  “I’m...what I am,” Nate murmured. “You want a drink?”

  Jason didn’t, unless it was straight bourbon, but he let Nate go get him some lo-cal lemonade while he stared at the round, gold-rimmed clock on the wall. When Nate sat down again, he closed the space between them.

  They drank the lemonade and sat in near-silence for almost an hour. Jason liked that he could do that with Nate—be present, quietly. He didn’t always have to be speaking or planning or doing. They could just exist, side by side.

  Jason shifted finally. “What are you thinking about?”

  “God.”

  Jason almost rolled his eyes.

  No. Listen.

  Nate was searching Jason’s face, as though looking for the very judgment Jason was trying to keep out of his expression. Then he took Jason’s hand. Laced his fingers with Jason’s. His palm was warm, slightly damp. He squeezed, and Jason squeezed back.

  “I’m praying, but not—” Nate cleared his throat. “Not like—I’m just asking for help for Isaac. With his family. And—thanking Him for—you.” Nate’s gaze darted away.

  Jason squeezed his hand again. “Hey.”

  Nate looked back at him—not tentatively, but with a quiet certainty. “I like talking to Him,” he said firmly.

  “I know. I wasn’t gonna judge. I just— Thank you. I don’t…I mean, I don’t have to believe in a higher power to know how lucky I am. To have you.”

  “This has been really confusing. Just…figuring out if I can still have a relationship with Him. It’s almost like…like we had a miscommunication? Like, He’s always loved me, and I was going out of my way, doing all this harmful shit to try to get his approval, when He was just right there like…like what the fuck, Nate? You’re fine the way you are.”

  Jason laughed softly. “I like that your God says ‘what the fuck.’”

  “He’d have to, right?” Nate laughed too. “All this shit that goes on in the world, all the shit people do in His name… He’d have to laugh, sometimes.”

  “Totally.”

  Nate’s eyes tracked Jason’s for a moment. Jason let him look, not sure what he was searching for. Then Nate put an arm around his shoulders. Jason put his arm over Nathan’s, and after a moment, he tugged hard enough that Nate ended up almost against him, their chests inches apart, their lips just close enough that Jason could lean forward…

  The kiss was soft and sweet. Nate tasted like lemonade.

  “Will you hold me?” The words were muffled against the side of Jason’s neck. But they were spoken firmly, without fear.

  Warmth spread through Jason.

  He stroked Nate’s hair back, brushed his lips across Nate’s again. They nestled in one corner of the sofa, Nate nearly in Jason’s lap, his head pressed to Jason’s chest. Jason felt the gentle heat of Nate’s exhalations through his shirt. He put both arms around Nate, held him tightly, Nate’s head tucked under his.

  Nate’s breathing gradually slowed. He didn’t speak.

  Jason opened his mouth, then closed it.

  Maybe this was what he could give Nate right now.

  Maybe he didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to take charge. Just needed to be here.

  Eventually Nate drew a deep breath, like he’d just surfaced from underwater. He lifted his head and kissed Jason more fully, the need in his eyes evident even in the dimness of the room. Jason ran a palm down his slender back, over his waistband and down to cup his ass. Used it to pull Nate hard against him. Nate straddled him and shoved him back against the sofa, his hands on Jason’s chest as he looked at him.

  “What you got planned?” Jason asked in a low growl, almost a whisper.

  Nate grinned. “Dunno yet. Wanna find out what you like.”

  “Mm. I like this,” Jason said, the words turning into a muffled grunt as Nate slipped his hand down the front of Jason’s jeans. “Whoa,” he whispered, catching Nate’s wrist. “What about your parents?”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck,” Nate whispered back.

  He smiled, his eyes closing as he leaned in for a kiss.

  They both jerked back as the living room light flicked on. Nathan scrambled off Jason’s lap.

  Kristin Tull stood in the doorway, the lapels of her robe pinched together in one hand. She looked as startled as they were. “Sorry,” she said, turning. “Sorry, I’ll—”

  “No, Mom, it’s—it’s fine.” Nate stood.

  Kristin turned back.

  “Jason and I were just talking.”

  She tilted her head, her long face even more sardonic than usual. “I’m sure.”

  Nate flushed. Jason stood too. “I can—leave—if—”

  Kristin shook her head. “No. It’s all right.”

  “How was Isaac?” Nate asked.

  Kristin stepped further into the room. “He seems okay. He had his second therapy session today. He likes the counselor.”

  “Yeah, he was telling me. The guy—John—he’s worked with a lot of LGBTQ youth before.”

  Jason wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to contribute to this conversation, or if he should just stay out of it.

  Kristin took a seat on the sofa. Nate eased back down. After a moment, Jason did too. Kristin set the arches of her bare feet against the edge of the coffee table. She was silent for a long moment. “I talked to his grandparents today.”

  “What’d they say?”

  “They’re going to come up for a visit. They live near Portland. I think there’s a good chance they’ll take custody of him.”

  Jason felt Nate tense. “What the hell’s wrong with his parents?” Nate demanded. “How can they know he’s hurting like that and just...?”

  “I don’t know,” Kristin said quietly. Another silence. Jason stared at Kristin’s sky-blue toenail polish. At the veins in her feet. His own mother would be about Kristin’s age now. A few gray hairs, maybe. Crow’s feet, laugh lines. Skin a little rough from all the years in the sun. Playing cards with Rose. Helping Jason plan his next steps as he grumbled about being twenty-six and unemployed, another confused, broke-ass millennial trying to make his mark on the world.

  Kristin curled and uncurled her toes. Spoke very softly. “There was a kid, years ago. You remember, Nate? You were only ten or so. He came to the camp fresh off a suicide attempt. He’d tried to hang himself in the basement midway through his own birthday party. Twelve years old. I begged your father not to take him. ‘That kid needs therapy,’ I told him. ‘Real therapy. He doesn’t need to be subjected to this—’ I almost said ‘brainwashing.’”

  “Will Bauer,” Nate said softly. “I remember.”

  “Will came to the camp. And I watched your father with him every day. He was so loving and gentle. He could make Will laugh. There were these—bruises around Will’s neck. Faint, but—there. I thought they’d upset the other campers. That everyone would gossip. But the other campers were kind to Will. You were kind to him, Nate. And that was when I saw…really saw, that your father had built something good. It wasn’t in his mission. It was in him, in the environment he created, where this lost, unhappy child could thrive.”

  She glanced up. Met Jason’s gaze. He stared back. Just listen, he reminded himself.

  “You’re not wrong,” she told Jason. “You’re not wrong that what happens here is harmful. I’ve known that, always, I suppose, on some level. But he could make me believe… There was no force, ever. There was no bullying, no shame. It was just sometimes I looked at the world and saw what he saw. He loved me so much. The future he saw for me was…was something I’d never dared hope for.”

  Jason felt Nate’s stillness beside him. He realized he was holding Nate’s hand again. He brushed his thumb lightly over Nate’s knuckles, and Nate slowly exhaled. “I know,” Nate said. “He helped me see…something better. When I most needed
to.”

  Jason tried to see it. The good in the reverend. The good in this place. But he came up cold. If you let him hurt your son again... he said silently to Kristin.

  As if she’d heard, she met his eye once more. “I believe, even if I can’t always see the proof, that people want to do what’s right. I believe you thought…” She swallowed visibly. Dark eyes never looked away from his. “Don’t hurt him again. I couldn’t stand that. I wouldn’t be able to stand that.”

  Jason’s heart pounded, pumping a familiar rage. It faded quickly in the face of the irony. Here he was, afraid of the damage the reverend and Kristin might do to Nate—and they were just as afraid of what he might do to their son. “I won’t,” he said, his voice suddenly rough with emotion. “I never meant to. I wouldn’t.”

  She nodded, once. “I believe you. But intent doesn’t erase the harm. My husband never meant to hurt anyone either.”

  Jason swallowed anger and sickness and fear. Anger that she would dare compare him to Reverend Tull. Fear that she was right. That Jason was more like the reverend than he wanted to admit. He could feel Nate’s eyes on him. He felt small and empty. He’d never be good enough for Nate. Would never truly deserve Nate’s forgiveness and trust. “I know I can’t fix it. But I want to do better from now on. For—myself, obviously. But for him, mostly.”

  Nate leaned against him. “I’m right here, guys. Don’t talk about me in the third person.”

  “I know. Sorry.” Kristin raised her eyebrows. “I’m happy for, you, Nate.”

  Jason felt Nate’s slight shiver. “Thanks,” he whispered. He pressed harder against Jason, like he needed to feel Jason’s solidity. And Jason just held his hand, tried to let him know, wordlessly: I’m here.

  Nate said, to his mom, “Did Will… Was Will a success?”

  Kristin curled and uncurled her toes again. Hunched forward slightly, the robe pulled tight around her shoulders. “He’s a counselor now at an HIV care center. I check his Facebook every now and then. Like his posts.” She smiled slightly, as if to herself. Glanced at Jason. “A lot of campers come back,” she explained. “They need reinforcement. Or they just want to check in.” Her gaze flicked to Nate, then back to Jason. “Will never came back. But I hope he— I think there was something good here for him.”