I'm Your Man (20 page)

“Thank goodness for our strong churches in the Midwest,” she finally said. “Not only do they help people, but they instill values to prevent some of those problems you mentioned.”

“Right,” I said. “I'm sorry this has to be such a short visit, but I have a plane to catch.”

Which was pure fiction, since I wasn't flying out until the following morning. But I knew I had to get out of there before I started using my honesty as a weapon to hurt her.

Our parting was as civil as I could make it. I replaced the house key, then sat in my rental car for a few minutes, trying to get control of my emotions. It was as close as I'd ever come to telling her the truth, and I was positive she didn't want to hear it. I figured we would go back to the way things had been ever since my divorce, with minimal contact between my family and me, and certainly no more visits to the Dunhill mausoleum.

I considered getting in touch with Adam, Jeremy, or Jake, but it wasn't even noon when I made my getaway. I was sure all of them were working. Without letting myself consider the ramifications, I turned my car toward the Stephensons' house, wondering if a visit with Daniel's mother could help me forget the reunion I'd just endured.

Joyce Stephenson gave me a startled look when she opened her front door. She was wearing an apron and hastily wiped her flour-smeared hands on it before she reached to give me a warm hug.

“What a nice surprise, Blaine! I had no idea you were in town. You've just caught us in the middle of—come in, goodness, where is my head?” She practically dragged me into the house toward the kitchen.

“I know I should have called but—”

“You are
always
welcome here,” she said. I understood that she was trying to convey more than just the message that I didn't have to stand on ceremony. She meant that I was welcome even though Daniel and I were no longer together. I suddenly felt lighter, as if I'd let go of some fear or hurt that had been dragging my heart down. “But be prepared. We're going to put you to work!”

There were a half-dozen other women in the middle of frantic activity in the large, farmhouse kitchen. One of them broke away from the group when she saw me.

“Blaine Dunhill!” Adam Wilson's mother, Aggie, said, flashing me an ear-to-ear grin. “Just in time to give us another pair of hands.”

She, too, hugged me, and I looked around with curiosity. “What are you all doing?”

“We're giving a little PFLAG soiree tonight,” Aggie said. “For teens. Adam and Jeremy will be there, and we'd love to have you join us.”

I looked at Joyce and said, “You joined PFLAG? What does Daniel think about that?”

“It was Daniel who introduced me to Aggie,” Joyce said. “Louis joined, too. He and Adam's father are setting up things in the church basement now, for our get-together tonight.”

“Your
church?” I asked, feeling like I'd walked into someone else's surreal dream.

“Heavens no, they're not ready for this,” Joyce said.

“Yet,” Aggie said, then winked at me. “Here, make yourself useful and help me with the sandwiches. You will come tonight, won't you?”

“I'm flying out tomorrow, so I'd planned to—”

“You can spend the night here,” Joyce said. “In your old room.”

Although Daniel's parents had taken a long time to deal with his being gay, by the time I'd come along, they were able to accept their son's boyfriend. But they'd always put us in separate rooms, which I'd never had a problem with. Even though Daniel groused about it, I reminded him that they would probably do the same thing with his sisters' boyfriends if they stayed there, and he'd had to admit that I was right.

“I don't know if Daniel—”

“Daniel is not here. You are. Case closed,” Joyce said, then started introducing me to the other women in the kitchen.

While I murmured polite hellos, I couldn't stop watching Daniel's mother. She'd been transformed from the somewhat reserved woman struggling to understand her son into . . . I wasn't sure. Maybe into a moderate version of Aggie Wilson, who not only accepted but embraced Adam and treated Jeremy like another son. In either case, they were both galaxies away from my own mother, and it felt good to be with them after my ordeal with her.

I took the loaf of bread Aggie was pushing at me and sat at the table to begin making sandwiches while the women chattered around me. All of a sudden one of the women looked at her watch, gasped, and said, “Joyce! It's time!”

Joyce grabbed a remote from the counter and flicked on the television. I stifled a groan when I saw the opening montage of
Secret Splendor
flash across the screen. Of course Daniel's mother would be addicted to the damned soap opera. Her son was the star.

“Do you really think it's going to happen?” one of the women asked. “If he pulls this off . . .”

She trailed off, as mesmerized as I was by the sight that greeted us. There was Daniel—or rather, Angus Remington—standing at the end of a long aisle, the “Wedding March” sounding more ominous than celebratory. I couldn't believe my eyes. The last time I'd seen the show, Angus wasn't even dating anyone. Since the storylines of
Secret Splendor
moved at a snail's pace, I didn't know how it was possible that he was actually standing at an altar about to be married. But most of all, I couldn't believe how sexy Daniel looked in his tuxedo. I wanted to crawl through the screen and devour him.

“Who's he marrying?” I asked.

“Oh, my gosh, you haven't been watching?” Joyce asked. “He's marrying Cressida.”

My mouth dropped open. Cressida was played by Jane-Therese Pennick, the cocaine-snorting bimbo who was the only person I'd ever heard Daniel say he hated. Any love scenes between them would require every ounce of his acting skill.

“The last time I saw this, Cressida was convinced he was responsible for her father's death,” I said.

“She still thinks that. She hopes to get information by marrying him,” Aggie explained.

“What about Angus? What's his angle?” I asked, glad I was sitting down, with my crotch well hidden, when the camera moved in for a tight shot on Daniel's gorgeous face as he watched his bride from hell walk down the aisle toward him.

“He wants control of Porterhouse Industries,” Joyce said.

I'd always thought the
Secret Splendor
writers were obsessed with the beef industry, considering the names they gave their characters. Cressida Porterhouse had inherited her father's business when his car went over Splendor Falls after the bridge collapsed.

The look that Daniel—or Angus—gave Jane-Therese as she finally reached him could have melted an iceberg and saved the
Titanic.
I didn't know about Cressida, but I'd have signed over my inheritance on the spot.

Each time the soap switched back from other storylines or commercials to focus on Angus and Cressida, I sensed Joyce and Aggie casting sidelong glances at me. I didn't even try to act like I wasn't mesmerized by Daniel. It wouldn't fool them, and I realized that I needed the support that they could offer me.

When the women were ready to take the refreshments to the church, I asked Joyce if she minded if I drove myself later. I wanted to rest, take a shower, and change clothes. She gave me an understanding look and insisted that I make myself at home, even going upstairs to put out clean towels for me while I helped the women load their cars.

After they were all gone, I went to Daniel's boyhood room, closed the door gently behind me, and looked around, especially at the photos. I loved the ones from his high school plays. He and Adam had been five years ahead of me in school, so I hadn't known them then. Though Adam had been popular, Daniel had been shy and unsure of himself. Being in plays had provided relief from his unhappy adolescence. I thought of the kids PFLAG would be hosting that night. It was hard to say how Daniel's life might have been different if he'd had something like that when he was a kid. Maybe he would never have fled to New York to make a name for himself.

I knew that when I was a teenager, I wouldn't have taken advantage of the support PFLAG offered. I was too determined not to be gay to find any group that would help me come to terms with it. Unlike Adam, Daniel and I had both had to move away to figure out how to be ourselves. I hadn't done as well as Daniel had, until I met him.

I turned to look at the lone photo on the back of his door, where he was dressed as his alter ego, Princess 2Di4. I'd gotten to know him after his drag years, which was a good thing. I'd been way too closeted to handle that.

Finally, I lay down on his bed, burying my face in the pillows and surrendering to the big, gulping sobs that I'd been fighting since seeing my mother. I wasn't sure if I was crying about my family or about Daniel. Probably both.

After it was over, I felt a lot better. Nothing had really changed. My parents had never been, and never would be, what I needed. But there were other people in my life, like my friends' parents, who could help soften the hurt of that. It meant so much to me that Daniel's mother wasn't going to cut me off just because he and I had broken up. I was sure his father would be just as friendly when I saw him later.

As for Daniel . . . Maybe he was, as Gretchen said, dating someone else. Maybe things were really over between us. But I also remembered the things Jeremy had said. If he and Daniel could salvage a friendship from their bad breakup, there was no reason why Daniel and I wouldn't eventually do the same. In time, the hurt and anger would fade. Maybe the love and need would, too, and I'd find something with him that would be just as strong and sustaining.

In any case, I needed to stop ruminating about the past and start thinking about the future. I had a great career, and I was going to have a child in a few months. I'd be too busy with both to worry about things that would never be.

By the time I followed the directions Joyce had given me and walked into the church basement, I felt immeasurably better, as if I'd made some kind of peace with myself. My eyes immediately found Adam in the crowd of people, and I crossed the room to him.

“There you are,” Adam said. “My mother told me you were coming.” I prolonged our hug a little longer than was necessary for a greeting, and he pulled back to look at me. “You okay?”

“I'm a lot better than I have been,” I said cheerfully. “It's been quite a day.”

“I'm glad I got to see you, since you'll be traveling when I go to Manhattan in a few days. Now where did Jeremy get to?” He looked around, as did I. Adam spotted him first and said, “Let's go say hello.”

The smile I'd plastered on my face in preparation for Jeremy froze as my eyes went past him to the kid he was standing with: my nephew, Nicky. He was listening to someone else, so I got to check him out before he became aware of me.

He'd grown at least a foot since I last saw him, which made him appear even more gangly. But his skin was clear, and his eyes seemed happy in a way they'd never been on those occasions when I'd seen him with his parents. He was dressed in black from head to toe, gothlike, and his hair was a little long and messy. As he reached up to push a strand behind his ear, I saw that he was wearing about ten black bracelets and that he had a small, black onyx in his earlobe. Thoughts of his father flashed through my head, especially when I saw the black polish on his fingernails. There was no way Shane could know his son was out in public looking like this.

As Nicky laughed in response to whatever was being said, his eyes shifted, he saw me, and it was like someone had dropped a mask over his face. He looked stunned, almost terrified.

“Uncle Blaine?”

“Nicky,” I said. I saw him flinch when I moved toward him, and even when I gave him a quick hug, his body remained rigid. To give him some recovery time, I turned to embrace Jeremy.

“This is big for him,” Jeremy whispered, so that only I could hear him.

“I'm sure,” I said as quietly, then turned back to Nicky with a smile. “I guess you're as surprised as I am, huh?”

“Uncle Blaine, are you—” He broke off, as if saying the word might bring down my wrath.

“Gay? Yeah. I am. Come over here; let's talk.” He followed me a few feet from the others. “You?”

“I don't know,” he said and shrugged. “I mean, I'm sort of confused.”

“I felt that way, too, when I was your age,” I said. “You've got time to figure it out. In any case, I sure never had the balls to wear nail polish.”

He gave me a glance that let me know I was too ancient to even conceive of his chosen style of dress and said, “Lots of kids dress this way. Including straight ones.”

“What do your brothers think of that?” I asked, not daring to mention his parents.

“Who cares,” he answered with bravado that didn't fool me for a minute.

“Your dad and Wayne would probably have beaten me up,” I said.

“Does Dad know you're gay?”

I nodded and said, “I told him recently. He probably would have liked to beat me up then, too, except he knows I could kick his ass.”

“That clears up a couple of things,” Nicky said.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Nothing. It doesn't matter.”

“Did he say something about me?”

“Not to me. I heard him tell Mom if they didn't do something, I was going to end up like you. It didn't make much sense to me at the time,” Nicky said, giving my crew-necked sweater and jeans an appraising stare that showed I was the last person in the world he expected to grow into.