A/N: It took me a long time to get it clear in my head how I wanted to present the characters in this chapter. In particular, I had trouble deciding how I wanted to write Lureen. Did I want her to be hostile? Bitter? Confrontational? I went back to the film (since story-Lureen is pretty much a non-character) for guidance. Film!Lureen seemed like a practical, realistic, non-hysterical sort of person who'd look at things as a businesswoman first, and who didn't hate Jack and may have even admired him, especially in this situation where they divorced in 1975. Therefore, I decided to try and make Lureen's reactions to Bobby's death and Jack's presence less obvious, more complicated, and a good deal less hostile. It could too easily become soapy and melodramatic if she were shouting invective at him, and given that L.D. Newsome is present as a more obvious antagonist, I wanted something else for Lureen.
As predicted, this chapter is twice as long as the others. I'd been keeping to a pretty strict 5000 word limit per chapter, but I just couldn't see splitting this into two chapters. Forgive the verbosity.
Jack sat in the car for a long time. He wondered if Lureen had seen him drive up and was now asking herself why the hell he was sitting out here in the dark. It was almost two o'clock in the morning, but all the lights were burning. His rental car smelled foreign and unfamiliar, but this house was anything but unfamiliar. Thank God fucking L.D. Newsome's car wasn't in the driveway. At least he'd be spared that confrontation for the time being.
Finally, he got out, shouldering his bag, and went to the door. A deep breath, a finger to the bell, and that was that.
He saw her shape behind the frosted glass, diffuse and indistinct. He hadn't seen Lureen in seven years, not since they'd signed the final papers. Since their divorce, he'd come to regret how he'd acted during their last days together. He knew that he hadn't shown much consideration for her feelings. Here she was losing her husband, and while they might not have had the world's most communicative, passionate relationship, they'd gotten along fine. They'd been reasonably involved companions to each other. The news that he was leaving her for a man had to have been a terrible blow, not to mention a humiliating one, but he hadn't taken much notice at the time. He'd just been so damned happy that it was hard to empathize with her. All he could think about was getting back to Ennis and starting their new life. He hadn't had much time or mental energy to give due attention to ending his old one.
Since then, she'd been cordial to him. No more than cordial, but it was a damn sight better than hostile, as Alma often was. They'd even managed a few conversations that might have been called friendly. He had the sense that once she'd gotten over the shock and the talk had died down, she didn't much miss him. The fact that he'd put by enough money to more than pay for Bobby's college couldn't have hurt.
But now…what now? Their son, the one thing that had bound them irrevocably for life, was gone. How much did she hate him? How much did she blame him? It couldn't be any more than he blamed himself.
She opened the door. Jack exhaled. "Lureen," he breathed.
She was in her robe, her hair (several shades blonder than when he'd last seen her) hanging limp like it was freshly washed. Her face was clean of makeup, her eyes and nose red and swollen. She sighed his name, and she sounded glad to see him.
A thousand unsaid things passed between them in the silence. I'm sorry. I can't believe it. I feel dead. I wish I was dead. What are we going to do? It's my fault. No, it's my fault. I don't know what to do now. How did this happen? I should have taken better care of him. I should never have left him. I should have noticed. I should have been here. Our son. Our baby.
Her lip quivered and she looked away. Jack came in and shut the door behind him, dropping his bag in the entryway. He put a hand on her shoulder. Lureen looked up at him, her eyes swimming. He put one arm around her and hugged her, an awkward semi-embrace that felt like a poorly rehearsed attempt at the real thing. She leaned against him for a moment, heaving a shaky sigh, and got herself under control.
She straightened up and dashed at her eyes. "Come in, then," she said. She glanced past him. "Uh…are you…"
"I came alone," Jack said. An image flashed through his mind of Ennis's face, shocked and hurt, and was just as quickly banished. He couldn't stand to think about Ennis, left behind in Vermont, when all he wanted was to get back there as soon as possible.
Lureen nodded, making a poor show of concealing her relief. "Oh."
They sat down on the couch. Jack took off his coat, glancing around. The house looked exactly, profoundly, depressingly the same. Same couch, same wallpaper, same pictures on the walls. It even had the same smell, like Comet cleansing powder and potpourri. It was like a Twilight Zone episode where seven years passed without any motion, change or growth. It made him feel a little sad for her, stuck here in this neverchanging sagebrush Oz where age was concealed with increasing blondeness. He thought of the changes in his own life in those same seven years. The move to Vermont, the year they'd spent whipping the place into shape, and then to see what it had now become…it set up an unpleasant juxtaposition to think of Lureen, and Bobby, stagnating here in this same house on this same street in this same fucking town while he and Ennis built something completely new and different together. It made him feel guilty.
"So where's Randy? Asleep?"
Lureen sighed. "Randy moved out four months ago." Jack said nothing. "I was gonna tell you," she said, as if he'd accused her of something.
"No, it's fine. It ain't none 'o my business. I'm, uh…sorry t'hear that, though."
She didn't seem too broken up about it. "Well, he found himself someone younger 'n prettier, so that's all right for him, I guess."
"Prettier 'n you? Impossible." That earned him the ghost of a smile.
She took a deep breath. "How've you been?" she said. "You look good."
"So do you. I've been fine, thanks."
"So," she said, in a determined, I'll-get-this-out tone of voice. "How's…" She cleared her throat. Jack waited, eyebrows raised. "How's your…friend?"
Jack sighed. "He has a name."
She met his eyes, her gaze flinty. "How is Ennis?" she said, stamping on the words.
He nodded. "He's well." He hesitated. "Thanks for askin'."
Lureen lit up a cigarette. Jack bit his tongue, reminding himself that her smoking habits weren't his to police…which led him to wonder just how many Ennis would smoke while he wasn't there to nag him about it. She glanced down at his hands. "That his ring you're wearin'?" she asked, a hard edge coming into her voice.
"Yeah."
She shook her head, looking away as she blew smoke through her nostrils. "And were you the bride or the groom?" she said, sarcastically.
"Lureen…"
She waved a hand. "Forget it."
An uneasy silence fell. "What happened?" he finally asked, when it became clear she wasn't going to volunteer the information.
She took a deep breath. "Bobby's been workin' at the dealership this summer, I don't know if he told you. Well, he didn't come home, so I called over. One 'o the salesman said he'd left, but he didn't know when. I figured he'd gone out with his friends, or maybe with a girl, you know. When they were lockin' up…" Her voice trembled. "They found him…in a storeroom…he'd, uh…"
He reached out and laid his hand on hers. "It's okay, I got it." He waited while Lureen collected herself. "He did it at the dealership?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
"And where was this note?"
"Daddy said it was pinned to his shirt."
"Can I see it?"
"The police got it. I'm sure if you asked, they'd…" She trailed off.
"Did you see it?"
She nodded. "I saw a copy Daddy brought me, but I don't got it here." She wiped her eyes. "Daddy took care 'o everythin'."
"Is he…can I…" Jack didn't have the vocabulary to ask his ex-wife if he could see his dead son's body. How did a person's life experience prepare him to make such a request? His certainly hadn't.
Thankfully, Lureen seemed to understand. "I'm sorry, Jack, he's bein' cremated in the mornin'. We're gonna have kind of a memorial visitation tomorrow, then a service on Saturday with an interment, family only." She sat back. "It's all arranged," she said, her voice dull. He watched her face, her slack muscles, the tiredness and the pallor of her still-unlined skin.
Jack just had one more question. "Did he suffer?" he whispered.
Lureen met his eyes. "No."
He nodded. He stared at his own hands, conscious of Lureen's limp form draped against the back of the couch at his side. "How much d'you hate me right now?" Jack asked. She turned and looked at him, surprised.
"What?"
"You mus' hate me. I wouldn't blame you if y'did."
Lureen seemed to shrink a little. Her arms drew close to her body, her chin dipping down. "I don't hate you," she murmured. She stubbed out her cigarette and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, face in her hands. "Whyn't he say somethin'?" she moaned. "Nothin'! Not a word. Not t'me, or Daddy, or you, or Randy, not to nobody who mighta been able to help him through it. How could he let it get so bad 'n not say a goddamned word!" She dropped her hands. "I don't blame you. I blame him," she said, the last word lost in a sob that was quickly swallowed. "How could he do this t'me? T'you? I jus' don't understand," she said, her hands going to her face again.
Jack slid closer and put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel her bones through her skin, slender and birdlike, quivering as if battered by invisible winds. "God, I jus' don't…I dunno what to feel, or how to feel it," he said, hoarse. "He died 'cause 'o me…"
She sniffed. "That's what Daddy keeps sayin'." She looked up at him. "Oh, he's powerful mad at you," she said. "It's like he's been waitin' on a reason t'be, and he ain't had one since you paid him back 'n all…"
"He had a good enough reason all this time," Jack said, unable to hold back the bitterness. "Mos' folks 'round here didn't need no more reason than that I was queer t'hate me. That seemed to do jus' fine."
Lureen got still and quiet. "Queer or not, this ain't on you," she whispered.
Jack thought he might cry, although he'd sworn he wouldn't let himself do so while he was in Childress. It could wait, it had to wait, until he was home. He didn't know if he could handle having a breakdown without Ennis there to pick up the pieces and put him back together again. "How c'n you be so kind t'me?" he managed. "How, when it made Bobby so miserable…"
"But he wasn't," Lureen said, frowning. "That's what's got me so confused, Jack. He wasn't miserable, not s'far as I could tell. I never saw no sign, and believe me, I been thinkin' back as far as I can, tryin' to see somethin' I missed, somethin' that would explain it and there ain't nothin'. It was only this past two weeks he got quiet, and spent most of his time in his room. I jus' thought he was bein' moody, like boys get sometimes." She sagged. "I didn't see it. He hid it awful well, and that's surprising t'me. Bobby wasn't no good at hidin' how he felt."
"No, he sure wasn't," Jack said, thinking of Bobby's barely-concealed hatred of Ennis that had been on display during his visits. "He never made no secret 'o how he felt when he visited me."
Lureen looked up, frowning. "How he felt? What d'you mean?"
"He didn't think much 'o me," Jack said, sighing in resignation. He'd tried to be a good father, but sometimes he thought it just wasn't in him. His own father hadn't provided much of an example. He and Bobby were nothing alike, and his desertion hadn't helped matters much. It pained him that he seemed doomed to have naught but a barely-tolerable relationship with his only child, but he didn't see as there was much he could do to change it. And now you can never change it, his mind chimed in. Jack's heart lurched and squeezed at the thought.
But Lureen just looked puzzled. "What makes you say that?"
"Well…when he'd visit, he wasn't none too friendly. Never had a civil word for Ennis, scarcely better for me."
"But Jack…he bragged about you."
Jack stared at her, stunned into silence. "He…what?"
"He always told everybody how you used to ride the bulls, and he'd boast about how you had a big fancy cattle ranch with twenty horses in the stable." She shook her head. "He used to tell the story of how you'd put Daddy in his place that time at dinner, when you were here signin' the divorce papers, how you called him…what was it?"
"An ignorant son of a whoreson bitch," Jack said, distractedly, his mind racing.
"That's it," Lureen said, a half-smile curling the corner of her mouth. "Jack…I'd have said he was proud of you."
"But…what I am, it cain't have been easy…"
Lureen looked away. "I think he pretended you weren't," she said, looking down at her hands. "He just put it out of his mind."
"Which got hard to do when he'd come to visit, and there'd be Ennis…" Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Damn, it makes some kinda sense. If'n he had all these ideas about me and comin' t'see me dashed 'em all to pieces." He shuddered. "That don't change nothin', Lureen. If I hadn't gone away, if I hadn't been this way, he'd have never…"
"Jack, if you'd stayed here we'd all have been miserable and there would still have been talk about you all over town only it'd have been worse 'cause you'da been around. Out of sight, out of mind. Honest, I ain't heard no talk 'bout you around town in years. I got no idea where all this teasin' was comin' from, or where these schoolboys heard anythin'…God knows Daddy wouldn't hear no mention of how you live." She stopped and took a breath. "No. I had a lot 'o time to think on it, and you done the right thing. No matter what I think 'o your life…no, shush, it ain't none 'o my business, you don't need t'hear my opinion…you finally done the right thing by me when you told the truth. I didn't need you stayin' outta some kinda obligation and I damn well know the only reason you stayed s'long as you did was because Ennis wouldn't leave his family." She shut her eyes. "Dammit, Jack. Why'd you ever marry me in the firs' place? Was it just for the money?"
"No! I never…"
"Was it just to keep up appearances? Did you ever feel anything?" She was working herself up. They'd never talked about this. The divorce proceedings had been quick, almost clinical, and they'd avoided any conversational topic more involved than the weather.
"'O course I did!" he exclaimed, anxious to head this off at the pass. "I thought you were real pretty, and smart, and…well…"
"It was just something to do."
He sighed. "In a way. That ain't fair to you."
"None of it is," she said, choking up again. "It wasn't fair t'me, or Bobby, and now he's gone, and…" She looked away, pressing a fist to her mouth. "I spent the last seven years makin' my peace with who you are, Jack."
"Thanks," he said.
She frowned. "For what?"
"For saying 'who you are' instead of 'what you are.'"
She sighed. "You ain't a bad man, Jack. I don't know what it was made you…that way. But at least you ain't lyin' about it no more. At least you done stood up t'be counted, 'n owned it like a man. That's more'n I can say for half the assholes in this town."
Jack leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "Lureen, I don't deserve this kinda gift from you, I surely don't."
"What, you think if you'd been here this wouldn'ta happened? If you had been here, what would you have done? Somehow figured out what no one else here saw? You ain't that smart, you know. You think you'da had some kinda magic daddy wisdom that woulda made it all okay? I'm sorry, but you didn't have much magic daddy wisdom before. You done the best thing for Bobby when you left this town and took all them rumors with you, and that's hard t'say, but it's the truth." She stood up, lighting another cigarette. "If you weren't queer, he wouldn'ta got teased, is that what you think?"
"It's the truth, isn't it?"
She took a long drag. "I don't know, I really don't. A friend 'o Bobby's used to get it left, right 'n center 'cause his daddy's white but his momma's black. Is that his momma's fault? Could she help bein' black?" She shook her head. "Quit wallowin' in it, Twist. You blamin' yourself ain't gonna bring him back." She rubbed at her forehead "If it's anyone's fault it's mine. I didn't see he was hurtin'," she said, tears creeping into her voice again. She looked down at him. "I don't know if you're goin' t'hell. I don't know if I am. I jus' know you are the way you are, and I was glad t'see you take it and yourself far, far away, and you did the best you could t'make sure Bobby wouldn't be the worse for it. Wasn't nothin' more t'be done."
Jack stood up. "Y'know, I came here ready for you to throw stuff at me."
"I can if you want me to."
A beat of silence passed. In other circumstances, they might have smiled. As it was, they could only manage a couple of weary sighs.
Lureen showed Jack to the guest room. "Sheets're clean," she said, sounding ready to drop dead of exhaustion. "You know where everthin' is."
He nodded, setting his bag on the bed. "Lureen…it ain't right, you havin' t'go through this alone."
She nodded. "Well…I ain't alone now, am I?" They shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. Lureen cut her eyes away. "Goodnight, Jack," she said. "It's good t'see you," she added, half-under her breath. She turned and walked off down the hall.
Jack felt weariness crashing down on him. He couldn't do much more than strip down to his shorts and climb into bed. He turned on his side and hugged a pillow, feeling cold and alone. It was hardly the first time he'd slept somewhere without Ennis. Business took him on frequent trips, most of which lasted several days, but those trips didn't leave him feeling raw and ripped open and wishing for the comfort of Ennis's embrace.
Lureen's equanimity had been a shock. Her readiness to excuse him was incomprehensible. He was gay, therefore Bobby had been teased, therefore Bobby was dead. Seemed a direct cause-and-effect to him. On the other hand, perhaps taking all the guilt onto himself was a convenient way to avoid thinking more disturbing thoughts. Why had it driven Bobby so far? How had he hidden it so well? Kids get teased all the time, most of them don't shoot themselves. He had plenty of friends, how did he become a target? Had there been something else going on with him that made him unable to handle it?
My sweet boy, he thought. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. Not till I get home, he told himself. Not till I'm back with him.
He didn't wake up until almost noon. The sun was bright shining through the window, and he heard voices in the house. Fuckin' L.D., he thought. Still, the idea of facing his ex-father-in-law didn't have the power of dread it once had. The last time he'd seen him, when he'd come to finalize the divorce, he'd finally found the gumption to shout the man down. He didn't even remember what had sparked it. L.D. had probably called him a faggot for the thousandth time. What he did remember was the soul-deep satisfaction of letting loose on the old son of a bitch. He remembered L.D. trying to stare him down, then finally giving up and slinking away; he remembered the look of barely-suppressed glee on Lureen's face, and the way her eyes had cut to him admiringly.
Most of all he remembered feeling like a man, a real-live grownup, for the first time. He'd felt worthy, and that was a strange, new feeling. In the time since he'd only acquired more reasons to feel worthy, and all he had to do was walk out there and own it, and he hoped L.D. would remember having been put in his place and stay there.
He showered and dressed, took a deep breath, and walked out into the living room. Lureen had a pale smile for him. She was dressed and put together, but she still looked awful tired. L.D. stared at him, his face red and pinched, but Jack pretended he didn't notice. "Sorry I'm so long abed," he said.
"You had a late night," Lureen said. "Thought I'd let you sleep."
He went up to her father. "L.D.," he said evenly, and held out his hand. "Nice to see you again. I sure as hell wish the circumstances was better."
He could see the man running retorts and insults through his head, wondering which one to hurl at him. He just waited calmly, holding L.D.'s gaze, his hand extended. Finally, L.D. looked away and shook his hand, briefly. "Twist," he growled.
That'd do. "Hello, Fay," he said, bending to kiss Lureen's mother's cheek.
"Jack," Fayette said, quietly, casting a sideways glance at her husband.
Jack went on into the kitchen, where Lureen was getting lunch together. He went to her side and wordlessly began to chop tomatoes for the salad. She elbowed him gently. "Stud duck gave you a pass," she murmured.
"Yeah, well, I make more money'n him. S'all he understands."
The visitation was to begin at two o'clock. Jack put on a coat and tie, marveling that he'd managed to pack the appropriate clothes while shouting at Ennis and trying to control his own grief. He stared at himself in the mirror, hearing Ennis's voice. Shit, rodeo, you look like death warmed over. Ain't you get no sleep? Drink some coffee, for cryin' out loud. Folks see ya with your eyes all at half-mast like that they'll be like t'think you're a few steer short of a stampede. Jack shut his eyes, wishing he could feel Ennis's hands on his shoulders or see the hint of a smirk on that granite face. No use lingering on it, though. There was things to be seen to here.
He picked up his car keys and headed to the foyer. L.D. was waiting there. "Womenfolk still gettin' ready," he grumbled. Jack nodded.
They stood there in silence for a moment. "So, me 'n Lureen'll take my rental," he said. "Seein's I blocked her in."
L.D. looked at him. "Lureen'll come with me 'n her mamma," he said.
Jack met his gaze. "She'll come with me. He's our son."
Seems he'd found L.D.'s sticking point, after all. "You don't deserve to even say that word," the man hissed.
Jack sighed. "I don't wanna get into this with you, Newsome."
"If'n I had my way you wouldn't be allowed within a hunnert miles 'o this place," L.D. said, jabbing a finger into Jack's chest. "Seein's you're the reason my boy's dead."
"He was my boy," Jack said, his own temper flaring.
"I'd make it not so if I could, you filthy little faggot," L.D. growled.
Jack drew himself up as much as he could. "I'll let that go 'cause I got my own guilt to deal with, but I ain't gonna stand for your abuse, L.D. Not when you never gave a shit 'bout Bobby 'cept as it affected you. Oh yeah," Jack said, taking a step closer. "He told me. He told me all you cared 'bout was that he played football 'n went into the business, so's he could make you look good 'n give you somethin' t'brag about to all your ignorant redneck friends. You ain't give a shit 'bout what he was feelin'. Mayhap if you had, he'd've had someone t'talk to when he was havin' troubles instead 'o doin' what he done." Jack shook his head. "Least I tried t'talk t'him like a person, stead of a fuckin' appendage."
L.D. didn't appear to have heard any of this. "That boy done killed hisself 'cause he couldn't stand the thought of his queer daddy livin' with his fuckin' candy-ass boyfriend on that ranch," he said, the finger back to jabbing once again. "I bet you like it, dontcha?" he said, leaning forward, his eyes taking on an alarming, crazy quality that Jack didn't care for one bit. "You like bein' a dirty homo? I bet you love it. You like takin' it up the ass, huh? You like suckin' cocks?"
Jack arched one eyebrow. "Gee, L.D., you sure have thought about this a lot."
The last bit of restraint left Newsome's eyes. He drew his fist back across his chest, aiming to strike Jack backhand. He swung his arm but Jack caught it, its meaty girth slapping into his palm. He met L.D.'s eyes as calmly as possible. "You don't wanna get into it with me, you son of a bitch," he said, hoping his voice sounded steely and resolute. He wasn't too confident about his ability to stand his ground without Ennis around to back him up and make him feel strong. "Old man or not, I will put you on the fuckin' ground. I will not stand for you disrespectin' me when I jus' lost my only child."
L.D. tried to free his arm but Jack held it for another moment before letting it go. L.D. took a step back, the cautious rationality returning to his expression. He harrumphed. "You done growed some balls, rodeo?"
Jack would have let it go. He should have let it go, he would later think. But to hear that word spoken to him with such contempt when he was accustomed to hearing it spoken with respect and affection worked on his last nerve. "I guess I have. And you don't get t'call me 'rodeo' no more, Newsome."
"Why not?"
"Because, you old bastard, that is what my husband calls me. That is his word now, and he is ten times the man you'll ever be."
L.D.'s lip curled and he recoiled, a look of horror passing over his ruddy features. "You disgust me," he spat.
"That's jus' fine. You go ahead 'n be disgusted. I'll be gone in a day or so and I'll be glad t'go. But we're not here t'go round 'n round over how disgustin' I am or how big of a prick you are. We are here for Bobby, and for his sake and Lureen's, I suggest we call a truce so's we c'n pay our respects to him 'n let Lureen have some peace." L.D. seemed to consider this. "We agreed?"
Newsome gave a brisk nod. "Agreed."
Lureen and her mother came into the foyer, dressed for the visitation. Lureen was made up careful, but her eyes still looked red. Fay had her by the arm. Jack saw Lureen's eyes flick from her father to him and back again, then she moved to Jack's side.
"Daughter, you go with ro…with Twist," L.D. said, looking away. "Me 'n your mother'll be right behind you."
The funeral home was familiar to him, too. They'd had the service for Lureen's great-aunt Tessie here, as well as L.D.'s brother Gilly. Jack hadn't thought that one had a visitation when the departed had been cremated, but since Lureen wanted a small, family-only service for his interment, he supposed it was a chance for friends and more distant relations to come and pay their respects.
He sat by Lureen's side as the afternoon wore on into evening. She kept herself under control for the most part, allowing herself only one brief crying jag against his shoulder while her mother was off in a huddle with her hen-party friends.
In the car on the way over, Jack had asked the question that had been on his mind all day. "Lureen, does…well, does everbody know why he done it?" He needed to know if he had to prepare himself to be despised by everybody who came through.
She shook her head. "No. Daddy kep' that real quiet. He doesn't wanna dredge up no more 'o that talk."
"I bet not. But…what about these boys was teasin' him? Surely they…"
"I don't know, Jack," Lureen almost wailed. "Cain't you let it be? I cain't think no more, I jus'…" She turned her face to the window, and Jack let the matter drop.
Now, watching the mourners walk through and pay their condolences to Lureen, he kept waiting for someone to cast an angry glance at him, or whisper about him, or outright say something to him, but no one did. They just shook his hand and said they were awful sorry, what a terrible thing it was, such a shame about someone so young, and God works in mysterious ways. He saw some old friends, some folks they used to church with, some fellas from the dealership and their wives. People he never thought he'd see again, people who surely had to have wondered about his sudden divorce and disappearance. He had one awkward conversation after another, never sure if the person he was talking to knew the truth or not, skirting around the issue and being careful with his pronouns. Yep, I own a ranch up in Vermont. Cattle, mostly. It's real pretty, yeah. No, ain't got no more kids. Town's real nice, I like it. No, I ain't single no more. Yep, we own the ranch together. He watched their eyes for clues. He wished folks would just leave him be. It was agonizing.
These intervals of small talk were intermittent, thankfully. For most of the day, he just sat and stared at Bobby's urn, placed artfully next to a framed photograph, his most recent school picture. Smiling and handsome, dark hair like his own, big smile like his mother. Christ, Bobby. I was so excited to find out what kind of man you'd be. I couldn't wait for that time when you might understand about me, and when we might talk about it and come to our peace. I wanted that for us. I wanted you to come work on the ranch over the summers. I wanted to ride with you and teach you about my work. I wanted you and Ennis to get to be friends, like me and Junior. I wanted to see you grow and learn and make something of yourself, maybe even leave Childress…meet somebody special, make me a grandpa. I just wanted you to be as happy as I am. He pulled out his handkerchief to blot the tears that slowly leaked down his cheeks. His head felt sore and stupid, like it was stuffed full of too many thoughts and feelings.
After suppertime, a lot more folks started coming in. Teachers, and some kids Bobby's age. He saw a couple of boys and a girl huddled together in a corner. The girl was crying, and one of the boys had his arm around her. "Who're those kids?" he asked Lureen.
"Oh, some of Bobby's friends. They were 'round the house a lot."
Jack got up, his knees popping from the long period of sitting, and approached them. "Howdy, kids," he said, trying not to sound forbidding. "Mrs. Calhoun says you was friends with Bobby?"
One of the boys nodded. "Yessir, we surely was." His eyes widened. "Oh, are you Bobby's dad?"
Jack nodded. "Jack Twist," he said, shaking the young man's hand. "It's nice to meet you."
"I'm Jimmy, this here's Duke, and this is Linda. It's sure nice to meet you, sir. We heard a lot 'bout you from Bobby."
"Is that so," Jack said, dully. "It's nice 'o you to come 'round."
Linda wiped her eyes. "We was good friends," she said. The two boys looked miserable, like they wished they could cry too, but didn't dare. "I'm gonna miss him terrible."
"Was you his girlfriend, miss?"
"Oh no, we was just friends. For years 'n years."
"Tell me…did he ever talk t'any of you 'bout the trouble he was havin'?"
Duke shook his head. "We didn't know he was havin' no trouble, sir. These last couple 'o weeks he was kinda quiet, but nothin' t'make us worry none."
"So, he never mentioned no teasin'?"
The three kids exchanged a puzzled glance. "What teasin'?" Linda asked, frowning.
Jack didn't want to divulge anything from Bobby's note, especially if these kids didn't know he'd left one. "I'd heard that he mighta been down 'cause he was gettin' teased. You know, 'cause 'o me."
"I never knew he was gettin' teased none," Jimmy said. "If I'd known anyone was hasslin' him I'da kicked their asses for 'em. Anyhow, why'd anyone tease him 'bout you? 'Cause you and his mom's divorced?"
"'Cause of…well, 'cause…" They were looking at him blankly. "'Cause 'o what I am."
"What you are? What, are you Jewish or somethin'?"
They didn't know. Jack sighed. "Or somethin'. Thanks, kids. And thanks for comin' by. I'm sure glad to know Bobby had such nice friends." Friends he didn't talk to, apparently. Friends who knew nothing about this alleged teasing. Friends who had no idea I'm gay, even though these unidentified bullies somehow knew. Jack was past confused and edging into suspicious. But this wasn't the time.
He returned to Lureen's side and put it out of his mind, as much as that was possible.
He sat on the edge of the guest-room bed, staring at the phone. Call him. He's probably worried sick. You know he thinks there are marauding gangs of good old boys with tire irons waiting around every corner to bash your brains in. He's gonna be wondering if they've got you already.
He wanted to call Ennis. Badly. He could close his eyes and picture him, sitting on the back porch with a cigarette in his mouth, feet kicked up on the table, his eyes narrowed down to little points in the darkness. He could picture him in bed, bare-chested and lying there on his back, staring at the ceiling, the other side of the bed empty and still made up.
He picked up the phone. Set it down again. Picked it up again and dialed…then slammed it down again. If I hear his voice, I'm gonna lose it. And he couldn't lose it. He had to keep it together, just long enough to get through this damned funeral tomorrow, long enough to get on a plane and get his ass back home as fast as he could.
He got into bed and curled up on his side. Don't worry, cowboy, he thought. No one here even remembers me no more or cares. I'm old news.
So how the hell is it that Bobby was hearing about it every damned day?
The thing Jack remembered most about his son's funeral was that it was so small. The urn was so small. That couldn't be all of him. How could all of him, everything he was, fit inside that little urn? And what was inside? If he looked, would he see teeth? Bits 'n pieces? Or would it just look like campfire ashes?
He held Lureen's hand, her face veiled in black, as the minister said his piece. No more than fifteen people stood around in the mausoleum. He recognized some of them, but not all. No one paid him much mind. These people, he was sure, knew why he'd left Lureen, but most of them were probably too polite or mindful of the occasion to get up in his face about it.
And then…the minister slid Bobby's urn into the slot and closed the door, and that was all. Jack stood before it and let his fingers run over the lettering: "ROBERT LAWRENCE TWIST, 1966-1983" A couple of flowered wreaths stood on easels nearby, like they were guarding his rest. Jack felt a sudden urge to grab the urn, run outside with it and fling the ashes into the wind. Boys shouldn't be cooped up inside all the time. Boys need fresh air and sunshine, they need to run and play and ride and fight.
He leaned his forehead against the cool marble of the mausoleum wall, his hand resting on Bobby's plaque. God help me but I never wanted a child, he thought. Is this my punishment now? God grantin' my wish once it was too late to go back? Is this him sayin 'Okay, you queer who don't want no kids, how's about this…I'll give you one anyway, then when you've come to love him I'll take him away.'
Lureen came up next to him. "Let's go, Jack," she said, gently prying his hand off the plaque. "Time to get along."
The usual post-funeral chowdown took place at Lureen's house. Seemed like every woman in Childress had brought something; the dining table groaned under the weight of several dozen dishes. Jack sat alone in the corner, watching people talking in low voices and shoveling deviled eggs and Waldorf salad into their mouths, wondering who in the name of heaven had thought up this bizarre custom. He heard Ennis's voice again. Lookit 'em, rodeo. Gorgin' themselves like it's goin' out of style. A boy jus' went in the ground 'n all they worried about's the damn Jello salad. Ain't they know what's in Jello? Leftover bits 'o dead horses. It's fuckin' disgustin'. Let's get outta here. C'mon, I'll buy us a coupla beers and kick your ass at pool. Then maybe later I'll have some additional business with your ass, if'n you play your cards right. Jack shook his head, almost able to see Ennis leaning in the corner in the shadows, not wanting to come out and mingle but just to nurse a beer by himself. He pushed the thought away.
People began to leave around three o'clock. Jack took the opportunity. "I got somethin' to take care of," he murmured in Lureen's ear. "I'll be back later."
She glanced up at him, puzzled. "All right, then." She didn't ask him what possible business he could have in a town he hadn't been in for seven years, and he was glad not to have to make something up.
The police department headquarters were quiet on a Saturday. Jack just hoped the person he needed to speak to was there. "Can I help you?" said the desk sargeant.
"My name's Jack Twist. I'm Bobby Twist's father."
"Oh, that poor boy what shot himself. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thanks. Listen…I was hopin' I could speak to the officer who took care of things."
"That was Detective Baylock," she said. "He ought to be upstairs. Lemme give him a buzz for you."
Baylock came downstairs to meet him. He was tall and wiry, but had a kind face. "Mr. Twist. I'm sorry about your son."
"Thank you, Detective. C'n I ask you some questions? My ex-wife don't have much information, and Mr. Newsome and I don't exactly get on."
Baylock chuckled. "You and half the town. Come on upstairs, then." He led Jack up to a squadroom that looked like a hundred squadrooms Jack had seen on TV. He motioned Jack into a metal chair next to a desk with a nameplate that read "Kyle Baylock, Detective." "I understand you live in Vermont," Baylock said.
"That's right. I own a ranch up there."
"Beautiful country. My brother went to Dartmouth, and I visited him there a few times. When did you get into town?"
"Real late Thursday night. Mrs. Calhoun called me at home to let me know…what happened."
"Yeah. It's a terrible thing."
"Can you tell me what happened? Mr. Newsome ain't too forthcomin' with the details."
Baylock regarded him soberly. "I don't know how much detail you want, Mr. Twist."
"I need to hear it."
"All right, then. A man who worked at the dealership called the police, saying that one of their employees had shot himself. I went out to check, and sure enough. He'd shot himself through the mouth."
"And…it was quick, then?"
"Instantaneous. The bullet went through his skull from bottom to top. And if you're thinking it might not have been suicide, well…best as I can tell, it was. No prints but his on the gun. Gunpowder residue on his arm, hand and clothes, and the angle of the bullet was just right for that kind of wound."
Jack nodded. "And…this note he left. My ex-wife saw a copy, but not the original. She said you had it."
"I surely do."
"Who's seen it, besides you?"
"Just Mr. Newsome, and possibly the paramedic that pronounced him dead on the scene. But I don't think that fella paid too much mind to the note."
"May I see it, please?"
"Sure. I'll get it." Baylock got up and left the room. He was gone for several minutes. When he returned, he had a flattened-out piece of notebook paper in a plastic bag. "Here you go."
Jack took a deep breath, steeled himself, and looked down to see the last words his son had left on this earth.
As he read the note, an odd sensation came over him. An icy calm descended, blotting out all anger, fear and anxiety. Everything seemed so clear, so direct and simple. He read it twice to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. Baylock was watching him. Jack looked up at him. "Could you make me a copy of this?"
Hours passed. He drove and drove. He wasn't sure where he was going, he just needed the motion and the distraction. He drove fast along the two-lane back roads, too fast. Slow down, hoss, Ennis said. I cain't have you splatterin' your fine self all over some ditch beside some godforsaken Texas road like an armadillo. If there ain't no tire irons around, I sure as hell ain't gonna stand for gettin' no call from no state troopers tellin' me my man's just wrapped his rental car 'round some tree.
It was dark by the time he made it back to Lureen's house. L.D.'s car was still in the driveway. Good.
Jack yanked the front door open. Lureen and L.D. were sitting in the living room, watching the news. Jack strode across the floor, grabbed L.D. by the lapels and yanked him to his feet. "You son of a bitch," he growled. He'd sworn he wouldn't, but his arm cocked back on its own and let fly. He punched L.D. in the jaw, knocking him back into the chair.
"Daddy!" Lureen cried, going to his side. "Jack, what the hell's gotten into you!" she shouted up at him, confusion and anger in her eyes.
Jack barely heard her. "You used my son's death just to get some kinda fuckin' revenge on me?" he yelled. "How dare you?"
"What are you talkin' about?" Lureen yelled back.
Jack came back to the present with difficulty, and looked at her. "Bobby wasn't gettin' teased, honey. Your precious father made it up! That note he showed you? He wrote it! He made it all up just so's I'd feel guilty, just so's you and me'd both think that Bobby died 'cause 'o me being a filthy faggot!"
Lureen stood up, wavering a little bit. L.D. was glaring up at Jack, rubbing his chin but not seeming overly damaged by Jack's wrath. "That ain't true," she said.
"Oh no? This is the real note," Jack said. "I got it from the detective who saw to Bobby. It wasn't about me at all. It was over some fuckin' girl," Jack sobbed, the bitter irony striking him again. "He met her two weeks ago. She was his first…you know. He thought he was in love, but she told him he was jus' a little boy 'n she didn't wanna see him no more. Look at the note," he said, handing it to Lureen. "He says he cain't stand to live without her." She stared at it, and Jack wouldn't have thought it was possible for her to go any paler. "God," Jack said. "To do this over some girl he barely knew." Jack wasn't sure which truth was worse. "But your father thought this'd be a good chance to make me suffer!"
L.D. stood up. "He ought to suffer!" he roared, pointing at Jack but looking at Lureen. "For marryin' you when he knew he was a deviant, and for hurtin' you 'n humiliatin' you! He oughta to pay for it! But has he? Oh, no! He's livin' the high life up in Vermont with his faggot boyfriend, goin' round all Homo on the Range, rakin' in the dough and fancyin' himself so far above decent God-fearin' people!"
"My God, L.D.!" Jack said. "How'd you think this'd ever get by? Did you think we were stupid? Didja think we wouldn't talk t'Bobby's friends, that we wouldn't figure it out? Or didja just think that 'cause you said it went down this way that we'd just bow down 'n accept it 'cause you're fuckin' L.D. Newsome and your word is law?" Tears were running down Jack's face again. "Your own grandson, you bastard. Don't you have no feelings at all? Didn't you love him even a little bit? How could you do this to him? Did I embarrass you that much?"
"Yes!" L.D. cried. "They all talkin' about it behind my back, I know it! How I had a queerboy workin' for me all them years 'n never caught on! They think I don't know, but I know! I hear them when they think they bein' all quiet and secret!" Jack exchanged a glance with Lureen, and was glad to see from her expression that L.D. sounded just as crazy to her as he did to Jack.
"Daddy," Lureen said, her voice calm and deadly. "You leave my house, right now. You ain't welcome here no more."
"Daughter, I jus'…"
"Get out right now!" she screamed, fists clenched, eyes screwed shut.
L.D. sighed and heaved himself out of the chair. He picked up his coat and stalked past them to the entryway, then turned back. Lureen followed him. "You gotta know, daughter. You sidin' with that pervert against your own kin. God sees all, y'know. Mayhap he took your child to punish you."
Lureen slapped him, hard across the face.
L.D. stood there shocked for a moment, then his face reddened with anger. He reached out and seized her arm, yanking it forward. "You cain't lay a hand on me, little girl," he growled.
Jack was across the floor before he was aware his feet were moving. He grabbed L.D. and jerked him back. "Take your damned hands offa her," he growled, dragging him towards the door. "You heard the lady. Now get out!" he said, opening the door and shoving L.D. through. He didn't wait for a response, just slammed the door behind him. He stood there for a moment until he heard L.D.'s car start up and pull out of the driveway.
He turned. Lureen was standing there shaking, her eyes wide. Jack felt sick to his stomach. The adrenaline rush was leaving him, his muscles felt like limp noodles. He frowned, his memory dredging up a tidbit from the confrontation. "Did he…" He scratched the back of his head. "Did he actually say 'Homo on the Range?'"
Lureen stared at him. "I b'lieve he did," she said. She put a hand to her mouth, a high-pitched hysterical giggle escaping before she could bite it back. She barked out a few ragged laughs before the corners of her mouth turned down and her chest heaved with the force of her sobs.
Jack caught her before she could fall down and held her shaking form tight against him as you might splint a broken limb, although in truth he felt just as broken. His vow not to break down stood the test, but his whole form trembled with the effort even while silent tears ran down his cheeks. Lureen sobbed and sobbed, the raw wails of one cut off from the world. Oh, Bobby, my good, strong boy. Look what you done to your mamma. Look what you done to me. How'd it come to this? You'll never be the man you coulda been now.
Jack felt cold and hollow all through his center and she was warm, so warm, and her lips when they found his were soft and insistent and he hadn't the strength except to lift her up and carry her off, and her hands were on him and it was them that had made Bobby and this was what had done it and he was still so cold even with her skin on his and he kept waiting, waiting and listening for it, waiting to hear that voice that would make him stop.
But Ennis had nothing to say.
Afterwards, Jack sat on the edge of Lureen's bed with his head in his hands. She was lying behind him and she hadn't moved in awhile, but he knew she wasn't asleep.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Ain't your fault."
"I shouldn'ta…I jus' needed…" She sighed. "I don't know."
Jack shut his eyes. He kept replaying it over and over again and he wished he could turn it off. He kept hearing her voice, whispering in his ear as he moved inside her, searching for something he couldn't even name, Does it feel like this with him? Is he soft like me? Does it feel this good with him? He hadn't said it then and he wouldn't say it now, that it felt better with him, so much better, and nothing could ever feel as good as Ennis, who he no longer deserved.
"God, Lureen," he muttered. "What'd we do?"
She said nothing for a moment. "Well, I bet that felt different, didn't it?" she said, a slight bitter edge coming to her voice.
Jack choked down a sob. Whyn't you stop me, Ennis? Why couldn't I stop myself? How'm I gonna look you in the eye again? "I didn't want this," he said.
"Don't beat yourself up," she said. "We were emotional, Jack. My God, our son's dead. And you findin' out what daddy done…" A deep, rattling sigh. "You jus' seemed so strong tonight, like nothin' could touch you. I guess I jus' wanted to touch that, 'n maybe some would rub off on me."
He snorted. "That strength you saw? Wasn't me. It was him. It's him makes me strong. And now I betrayed him. I don't know how I let myself…" He let his chin sag down to his chest. "I was thinkin' 'bout Bobby. He was ours, yours 'n mine, and maybe that's…maybe I was tryin' to tell him I'm sorry." He shook his head. "That don't make no sense."
"Ennis will understand."
"I don't know."
He felt her hand touch his arm, tentatively. "Get some sleep. You c'n think on it in the morning." She hesitated. "You c'n sleep here, if you want. I promise I'll be good. Just for the company."
He stood up and gathered his discarded clothes. The buttons on his shirt were ripped off. Great. "I'll go to the guest room."
"Okay."
Jack left the room and shuffled down the hall to the guest room, collapsing naked into the bed. He felt beaten and wrung-out. He thought of Ennis again, sitting in their home, lying in their bed, probably still waiting for a call from him. He sure as hell couldn't call him now. Christ, Ennis, I'm so fuckin' sorry. It wasn't about her, I swear it wasn't. I don't know how it happened. It was like there was too much and we had to get it out somehow. That probably sounds stupid to you. God, I love you so fuckin' much, how'm I gonna tell you and stand to see the look on your face? But I cain't stand not to, I cain't keep this inside and pretend it never happened.
He buried his face in his pillow and did what he'd only thought folks did in books: he cried himself to sleep.
They drank coffee across the table from one another in Lureen's kitchen. Surprisingly, it didn't feel awkward. It had happened, it had been some kind of post-funeral post-confrontation catharsis, it was in the past.
She sighed. "I think it's about time for me t'leave Childress," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Ain't nothin' for me here now. Bobby's gone, and I could go a long time without seein' Daddy again, after what he done."
"Where would you go?"
"You know, I always wanted to live in Georgia. I got a cousin lives in Savannah, and she says it's real nice. Maybe I could get a job there, try'n meet somebody new. Y'never know."
Jack made a decision. "Then do it. Take the money we set by for Bobby's college."
She frowned. "I couldn't do that. You oughta have that money back. Put it into your ranch."
He shook his head. "I want you to have it. Go someplace new. Forget all the shit that's gone down here. This place's gone bad for both of us. I got a home to go to. Least I c'n do is help you find one."
She smiled. "That's…that's real nice 'o you, Jack. Thank you." He nodded, staring down into his coffee cup. "I hate to see you so downhearted," she murmured. "Is it…last night?"
"I cain't believe I done that," Jack said. "I jus'…I'm so fuckin' scared 'o losin' him I'm about to throw up."
Lureen reached across the table and took his hand. "D'you love your man?" He nodded. "And does he love you?" He nodded again. "Then you'll work it out. You'll see. You boys gone through too much shit together to let it go bad on account of this." She sighed. "C'mon, we got one last chore, then you can get on back t'him."
They spent the afternoon going through Bobby's room. It was difficult. Jack saw the detritus of his son's life, a life he hadn't known as well as he would have liked to. Report cards, and school papers, and his trumpet, and photos of parties with friends and barbecues and family gatherings. It all felt like someone else's child, someone else's family.
In the end, he chose a few things to take with him as mementos. One of Bobby's shooting trophies. A few pictures, including one of himself and Bobby at the rodeo. His son's school football helmet. "I'll box these things up and send them along," Lureen said. "So's you don't have to take 'em on the plane home." Jack nodded, numbly watching her box up some of his clothes to take to Goodwill. He had no idea how she could do this so soon, but then again Lureen had always been the pragmatic sort. It was over now, and it was time to pick up the pieces and move on with things. She would mourn in her own way…as would he.
Jack stood on the airport concourse, staring at the pay phone. I have to call him. I have to call him. This time, he had no counter-argument.
He picked it up and had the operator charge the call to his credit card. He stood tucked into the phone kiosk listening to the phone ring all the way in Vermont, cold sweat standing out on his brow.
"Hello?" Ennis's voice felt like a warm hand cradling his heart.
"Ennis, it's me."
"Jack." He heard a slight whoosh of breath, and the relief in his voice. "Thank God you're okay, I been…"
"I'm sorry I ain't called you. It's just been crazy here. But I'm on my way home now, I'm at the airport."
He heard Ennis sigh in relief again. "You're at the airport?" he repeated, probably for Lizzie's benefit. Like as not she was sitting right there next to him. "Good, I'm real glad t'hear that." Ennis hesitated. "How are you, bud? Did everything go okay?"
Sure. I buried my son, found out what a prick L.D. truly is, and fucked Lureen. How are you? "It was pretty damn awful, bud. But I don't wanna get into it now…"
"Y'okay, you tell me all about it when you get back."
"I'm just too tired to talk much."
"Yeah, I bet you're beat t'hell."
"But I do have some news…some things I found out while I was here. Things you'll be interested t'hear."
"News? What kinda…"
"We'll talk about it later."
"Yeah, it'll keep. You jus' get back's fast as you can."
Jack fingered the phone cord. "I'm sorry, Ennis," he said. "I shoulda let you come with me. I missed you somethin' awful."
"Me too, darlin'."
"I'm glad t'be comin' home now."
"Yeah."
"But it might be real late, you oughta go on to bed…"
"You kiddin'? I ain't goin' t'bed. No, I'll be waitin' when you get back, okay?"
"Okay," Jack said, sighing. The thought of driving up and seeing Ennis waiting there on the porch drew him like a magnet, yearning towards Vermont and home. "Ennis, I…I jus' need t'say that…I love you. You know that, don't you?"
"I know," Ennis said, quietly.
"I just cain't wait to be back home again. I don't feel like more'n half a man, and that's the truth."
He heard Ennis sigh. "You come on home, baby," he said, in a low, private voice. Jack shuddered to hear Ennis say that seldom-used term of endearment, the one that damn near made Jack swoon every time he heard it. The receiver clicked off as Ennis hung up.
Jack shouldered his bag again and headed up the concourse towards his gate and the plane that would carry him home to Ennis, and to all the things that he'd have to tell…and all the things he might have to conceal.