Commitment Issues (24 page)

"Not necessary, but it is what we want to do,” Wyatt said.

"Thanks,” her partner said.

"Is there a diner or coffee shop anywhere around here?"

"Wow, sure,” the woman said. “We're right beside the University of Wisconsin, so some streets are solid restaurant."

"Okay,” I said as Wyatt waved to his family. He and I and our two police officers walked to the elevator.

"I'm here for you, Wyatt,” I told him as we sat in a parlor of the local funeral home. There was to be a meeting with the Nelsons and a funeral director. All of the furniture looked heavy. It was stately, and there wasn't much plastic in sight. The tables were all topped with marble or glass. The chairs had cloth upholstery, and a few of the chairs were wingback. It wasn't that the funeral home looked gaudy or opulent, but the furnishings could have been taken from a country club.

"I know you are, but thanks for saying so."

"I do have a request,” I said as quietly as I could. “If it is possible, could you try to get everyone to pick a day for the service first?"

"Huh?"

"Janie called, and there isn't anybody to do the broadcast on Monday. If you have the funeral on Monday, I have to go record the show on Sunday. I know it sounds crass, but I have to make those arrangements today during business hours to be able to reserve a studio up here. I'm sorry, Wyatt. You have more important things going on than me, and I hate adding to your... you know."

"Oh, I understand. You can record it up here, or do you have to go back?"

"Do you know a suburb named Baraboo?"

"Yeah, just north or northwest of here a bit. They have a radio station there?"

"Apparently, and they already know I may need to use their production room. I just have to let them know while there's a receptionist on duty to answer the phone."

"Gotcha."

"Sorry."

"No, I get it,” Wyatt said with a slight smile. He seemed a little better for me pulling his mind out of his father's death for a minute or two. “Someday I want to show you Madison. It's really a great place to grow up if you're gay. It's like the entire city is supportive."

"Except your mother,” I whispered.

"Sorry about that. Yeah, except for her. If she really causes any shit, let me know or let Toomas know. Either of us will deal with Mommy for you. You don't need to worry about that."

"I like Toomas,” I said.

"Yeah, me too. He's just about the funniest guy I ever met, except when he tried to teach me how to play hockey. He's a natural, but I really suck. I can skate, but I can't hit a puck for shit. He's got stories if you are interested."

"Good to know,” I said with a smile. I could really see the family resemblance between the brothers. Except for the mother, I really liked being around the Nelsons. Toomas was awesome, and what little I had seen of Katariina told me that she was really sweet. I think she was probably the brains of the family. Wyatt told me that she was a freshman on a zoology scholarship at a local university. I think that would be the University of Wisconsin, but I'm not absolutely sure.

Toomas introduced me to his clan. The wife, Debbie, looked like a teenager. She wasn't that young—she had to be in her mid-thirties at least—but she looked young. The kids were Mason, Anna, and Cathy. I figured out that the boy was Mason, but they never told me which of the girls was Anna or which one was Cathy. I'd have to look for clues. The boy was the oldest, and one of the girls was preschool age.

The family picked Monday for the funeral. Everybody wanted to have it on Saturday, but the cemetery jacked up the price for weekend burials. They said it was because they had to pay so much more for the gravediggers. The funeral would have gone from $8,000 to $13,000. Either something fishy was going on or the funeral home needed some lessons on how to hire laborers to work on the weekend. Five thousand dollars extra for Saturday? Whatever.

It wasn't that they were dirt-poor, but they thought it was wrong to pay the extra. I don't blame them.

I told Wyatt that we could pay for the difference, but he said the family thought the price increase was too much. It wasn't that they were so poor they couldn't afford the surcharge. If I ran a backhoe, I might want to be paid more if they took me away from my own family on a weekend. I guess that I could see both sides of the argument.

I whispered, “Thank you” into Wyatt's ear and then excused myself. In the lobby of the funeral home, I called Janie to get the number for the radio station. I told her the schedule as best I could. We were going to try to get back to the city Monday night unless Janie could get a loaner voice for Tuesday's show.

I called and spoke to the station manager in Baraboo, Wisconsin. Yeah, they really have a radio station, and they can record things. I wanted to ask if it was all Radio Shack equipment, but I was really happy that they would open their studio for my use. If they were charging for use of the studio, they worked it out with the boss.

Wait, Baraboo probably didn't have engineers. I was going to be my own engineer.
Oy, I hope I remember how to record things.
I hadn't run my own board in about a zillion years. How hard could it be?

They asked me to be at the station at about noon, and the manager gave me the private hotline so I could get the announcer or engineer or disc jockey or whatever flavor of broadcaster to come open the front door.

"Noon,” I said, told him thanks, and got off the phone. I filled Janie in on the latest, and she assured me that I would have a script at the hotel by Saturday afternoon. She asked me how I was going to upload the show back to Ronny.

"Upload?"

"Besame el culo!” she laughed. “You just fell off a turnip truck, didn't you?"

"You tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"You do nothing,” she said. “I'll call Ronny and get him to talk to the station, and I'll call you back or he will. Somehow we have to get your wonderful and soothing voice back here so it can be broadcast."

"Oh, that kind of upload. I was just testing you to see if you knew it."

"Puto,” she said.

"This broadcasting shit isn't as easy as it might look to some people."

"I've been tryin’ to tell you that,” she said. “I'm gone."

And she was.

When I got back to the family room, I found that I had missed a big fight. Funerals always bring the best out in a family, right? Not!

Their regular pastor was going to be out of the area on Monday. They had tried to change the day for later in the week, hoping the minister would be back. The funeral director said that the minister would be gone for about two weeks. It was a vacation or seminary or retreat or something. There was another Lutheran minister available, but the mother didn't like him. The funeral director tried a third one, and she was available for Monday.

"She?” the mother said. “A woman?"

"Yes, ma'am,” the funeral director said. He explained that the Lutherans in the United States had been ordaining women since the 1970s, like that was going to make any difference to Mrs. Nelson. She finally agreed, but then she tried to tell everyone that I was not to be allowed to sit with the family.

"He's not part of our family,” she said with a hiss.

"Mother,” Toomas said. “There's plenty of room in the church for Sean to sit with Wyatt."

"Absolutely not. It isn't right."

"If he has to sit back away from everyone,” Katariina said, “then I'm sitting with him."

"Me too,” Wyatt said.

"Me and my whole family will sit with him too,” Toomas's wife said.

Mrs. Nelson glared at her children with so much hatred in her eyes. I saw her nostrils flare a couple of times as she almost hyperventilated. It was like she thought I was the cause of her husband's stroke or something. She had a look of pure hatred in her eyes, and she stared at me like she hoped I would explode.

"Mommy, why does Granny hate Mr. Roberts?” It was one of the little girls. She looked like she could have been seven years old, but I'm not very good with ages.
Why does the old battleaxe hate me? Gosh, I want to hear this one.

"Mr. Roberts and Uncle Wyatt are a couple, honey,” Toomas said, “and Granny isn't used to being around couples of the same gender."

"Granny hates Mr. Roberts because he's gay?"

"Yes, dear,” Toomas said.

"Granny,” the girl said, “you need to ‘pologize to Mr. Roberts. He loves Uncle Wyatt. I seen ‘em talking, and they love each other. I like him, Granny. He's nice, and he loves Uncle Wyatt."

Boom!
Score one for the rug rat.

"Didn't God make him gay, Granny?” the girl added. “I think he was born gay, Granny."

"Shhhh,” Toomas said. I thought that the father ought to leave the girl alone. She was going great.

"Granny needs a time-out,” the girl said.

Goooooooooal!
The little rug rat nailed the old bitch. One more zinger, and I was going to declare a hat trick for the girl.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Sean,” she said to me. I smiled and winked at her.

"We love you, Uncle Sean,” Mason said as he walked over and gave me a little hug. He was the oldest of the kids, maybe fourteen or fifteen. His voice sounded like he had just gone through puberty. The voice hadn't completely settled into its adult mode.

Uncle Sean
. Did you hear that? The kids just knew that I was part of the family. Nobody had ever called me an uncle before, and it almost made me cry. Man, there was absolute hope for this family. You have to love kids. They see things, and they just know things. They saw me and saw how much I was in love with their uncle. It didn't occur to the kids that I wouldn't be their uncle. It was obvious that I was Uncle Sean, and that was what Wyatt's brother and sister and the crumb-crushers called me from that day forward. That little gesture meant so much to me.

Mason was dainty and effeminate like Wyatt. If he grew up straight, I'd be shocked. There was some kind of gay gene that ran through the entire Nelson clan, and everybody seemed to be up-to-speed on it except the widow. Maybe she was concentrating on me so she didn't have to think about her husband and his funeral.

"I'm gay too,” the boy said, “just like Uncle Wyatt. Granny Nelson doesn't like me either."

Okay, wow. I guess that settled that. He had barely hit puberty, and he already knew. He knew, and he was okay with it. His whole family was okay with having a gay kid. The only one who had issues was the new widow. Debbie took her son's hand and squeezed it. The boy and Mrs. Nelson apparently had a history, and it wasn't pleasant. It was like all the clicks inside a combination lock fell into place at once. The whole Nelson family had gay men running through at least two generations. They each had experience working through that before I showed up. Everybody except Mrs. Nelson had decided that the key was acceptance.

I thought the older Mrs. Nelson was going to explode. She got up and walked to a window on the far side of the room. I suddenly felt really protective of the boy. I knew that if I ever heard Mrs. Nelson talk to the boy the way she had talked to me, we were going to have words. The family was so supportive that having a gay kid wasn't an issue. He would be able to grow and mature like any other kid. He had a good shot at being well-adjusted and normal. The family just removed sexual orientation as a problem. The kids knew it was a characteristic, but it just didn't come across as anything bad.

Wyatt and I would have a talk about his mother, and I would do whatever he and the other kids thought would be best. If they wanted me to stay with Wyatt, I'd be there. If having me somewhere else would help, then I'd head back south and do my radio show live on Monday. Their call. I would probably be happiest as far away from that nasty woman as I could possibly be.

No, wait. Shit.
Having Wyatt and me in two locations would double the effort required by the police. They would have to guard two locations instead of one. If we really didn't know the actual target of the bombings and shooting, Wyatt and I needed to stay in one place to keep it simple for the cops.

Nothing is simple, is it?

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"Hey, Charlie,” Wyatt said to a man with red hair as he walked into Mrs. Nelson's living room. “Come meet Sean."

The visitor joined the dozen or so others who had come to pay their respects. It was Friday afternoon, and the funeral home wouldn't have Wyatt's father ready for viewing until Saturday.

"Sean, this is Charlie,” Wyatt said. “We went steady back in high school."

"Hi, Sean,” Charlie said. “You take good care of Wyatt. He's good people, you know."

"I'll do my best,” I said. “Nice to meet you."

Wyatt and Charlie kissed and hugged. It was a short kiss, nothing out of place. They still had some kind of bond, but it wasn't the kind of thing that made me jealous. Charlie was there to support Wyatt. My radar didn't pick up anything else. It was great to see some of Wyatt's friends. I liked knowing that my lover had strong roots and friends.

"This is Ethan,” Charlie said as he pulled a young man by the hand. “He's getting a PhD at UW."

"Great,” I said. “What's your field?"

"Medical engineering,” Ethan grinned.

"Sounds interesting,” I lied. I'm not even sure what medical engineering is.

Charlie and Ethan made a really cute couple. They obviously cared about each other and enjoyed being with each other. As they stood there, they held each other's hands in a way that seemed so natural. Back home, two men holding hands was an act of defiance. In Madison, Wisconsin, it was just two lovers holding hands: nothing more, nothing less.

There had to be something in the water in Madison. I'd never seen so many supportive people. Mason probably didn't even know how lucky he was. I figure there are just as many gay people everywhere, but those in Madison could be honest and open about who they were. The city removed sexual orientation from the list of things to hate. Gay kids could grow up just like non-gay kids. I was sure that growing up was still tough, but it had to be better for a gay child in Madison and the Nelson family than it had been down South where I grew up.