Stones in the Road (9 page)

“That’s right. You didn’t inhale. Nobody does, dear.”

“And his name is not Bob,” I added, irritated by her.

“Does Bob know what his parents did?” she pressed. “Have you told him? You did, didn’t you? You sat down with him and explained that mommy and daddy were smoking crack when she got just a teensy weensy little bit pregnant, and then poor little Bob Cratchit was born as a teensy weensy little preemie baby and wound up with holes in his ears and his heart and all the rest of it? You did tell him? Didn’t you? Seems like he’d want to know that kind of stuff.”

“There’s a time and a place,” Mr. Ledbetter said.

“I believe children should know the truth. And if he’ll do that to his own son, God knows what he’ll do to ours, Stephen, or haven’t you thought about that?”

“Jesus Christ, Mom!” Jackson put down his utensils as he expelled an angry puff of air.

“You’re the one who wants to marry the bastard. I think you ought to know who he is before you tie the knot, dear. It’s only right. Stephen, care to weigh in?”

“Don’t get involved in the love lives of your children,” Mr. Ledbetter said. “I tell patients that every day, and for good reason. The heart wants what it wants. Have you received much press attention?”

“Sorry?” I asked.

“For your book,” he said.

“Well, no,” I admitted. Not a single newspaper or magazine or blog in the great state of Mississippi could bring itself to mention it.

“I thought Mississippi prided itself on its authors,” he offered.

“Well, perhaps not the homosexual ones,” his wife observed.

We were interrupted by the waiter, who brought drinks.

I glanced around the restaurant, feeling distinctly out of place and out of my element. The men wore suits as if they were an afterthought, and the women looked flawless, not a hair out of place. Somehow I doubted whether any of these moms and dads were preparing for a visit from the good souls of the DHS. And anyway, I was one of those people who liked Dollar Tree, because you didn’t have to dress up like you did when you went to Walmart.

Frenelli’s was perhaps the most expensive restaurant in town, which was not saying much, in the grand scheme of things, this being Tupelo, Mississippi, birthplace of Elvis, but even so it was way out of my league. Any place that charged four dollars for a glass of water was beyond me and probably always would be. And who in hell would pay four frikkin’ dollars for a glass of water?

Mr. and Mrs. Ledbetter seemed perfectly at ease, as did their son. Noah and I looked like butt-scratching hillbillies seeing the sights in the Big Town.

I put the menu down, suddenly decided.

“I think Noah and I will be on our way,” I said, standing up.

“What on earth do you mean?” Mrs. Ledbetter demanded.

I held out my hand to Noah, the look in my eyes saying that it was time to leave. He did not question this look, merely stood.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I said. “Y’all have a good time.”

“Wiley, what the hell?” Jackson demanded too loudly.

“I’m not comfortable here, and I would like to leave,” I said to him. “I’ll see you later. Or not. At this point, I’m not sure I care.”

I took Noah’s hand and marched off, my face burning with a flush of embarrassed blood.

“Wiley, wait!” Jackson called.

He followed us to the front door. I went outside and stood on the sidewalk, trembling with an unaccountable anger. A troop of motorcyclists passed, and I glimpsed the Confederate colors on more than one shiny metal surface.

“Wiley, please,” Jackson said, taking my arm.

“Noah and I are going home. Care to join us?”

“I can’t leave my parents just sitting there. It would be rude.”

“And your mom—she’s not rude?”

“She is what she is.”

“And what is that?”

“When you figure it out, Wiley, you let me know. I’m the one who’s had to listen to that for almost thirty years.”

“Obviously she doesn’t like me, so what’s the point?”

“She’s never liked any of my boyfriends.”

“I thought
I
was your only real boyfriend.”

“I mean, any of the boys I ever dated or brought home. They’re never good enough. And for that matter,
I’m
never good enough for her. Never have been and never will be.”

“She has no right.”

“She has every right. Don’t you know who my mom is?”

“You’re assuming I care.”

“Her father was a senator.”

“So?”

“Her mother was a wealthy heiress.”

“And?”

“She was an only child, Wiley.”

“And this is important because…?”

“Man, you are dumb about some things.”

“Am I really?”

“Yes, you are.
I’m
an only child too, Wiley. Where do you think that money is going when she dies?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, and I’m sure I don’t care,” I said.

“I stand to inherit a rather large fortune… and you don’t
care
?”

I was surprised by the look of desperate, almost angry earnestness on his face.

It was safe to say that I did not stand to inherit much when Mama died. Maybe a truck, or a couple of the four-wheelers, or the china she received when she married Daddy. I did not come from money, did not understand how some people could be so wealthy when all I ever saw were people scraping by and barely surviving.

“Is it starting to sink in now?” Jackson asked. “You and me? Getting married? Me, only child, only heir? You, thanks to gay marriage, possible son-in-law? Noah, my parents’ only grandchild? Are you starting to see the picture?”

“So you might inherit some money,” I said.

“Well, duh,” he said.

“And what has that got to do with me?”

“Do you think my mom is going to leave her money to me if she doesn’t approve of my life partner?”

I did not respond to this right away. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what I thought. I was extremely offended but couldn’t put my finger on the exact reason why.

“Please, Wiley,” Jackson said, pulling on my arm. “I told you this was important to me. Come back inside. Sit down. Make nice. Do it for me.”

“I’m not letting your mother or anyone else be rude to me. I don’t care how much money she has or who her father was or how many forks it takes for her to eat a goddamn salad. Noah and I will walk home. You have fun.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Jackson said.

“She started it, not me.”

“Don’t do this, Wiley.”

“You’re going to stop me?”

“If I have to.”

“You and what Union army?”

“Stop it with the bullcrap, Wiley. This is important!”

“If it was so important, why didn’t you tell me any of this before they got here?”

“I had my reasons.”

“Well, why don’t you and your reasons and your eighteen forks and your cornpone wine list go have dinner with your hoity-toity mommy and daddy? Noah and I are going home.”

“Be reasonable, Wiley. Please!”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am, Jack, but I can’t take any more of your mom right now. I’m not a violent guy, but if she says one more word to me, I’m going to jump over that table and bash her brains in. Tell them Noah was feeling sick or something.”

“Please come back inside.”

“I can’t.”

He made a face, turned on his heel, and stalked off.

Noah looked up at me, frowned.

W
E
CROSSED
the street to the park in front of city hall, our footsteps taking us quite naturally to the park’s crown jewel, a statue of Elvis in his shiny, metallic glory. Elvis was perched on a large pedestal, microphone in hand, frozen in the act of telling Tupelo, Mississippi, not to be cruel. Kids played on swings, and a young black couple sat on the grass having a late picnic.

You don’t like her, do you
? Noah signed as we stood before the King like supplicants before a throne.

I made a face.

She doesn’t like me
, he added.

Yes, she does
, I signed.

She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t see me.

Give her some time.

She’s pretty
.

A pretty pain in the ass, I thought.

But she doesn’t like me
, he added
. I can tell.

That’s not true.

It is
.

We wandered from Elvis to the swings, and I sat on a bench and watched Noah, my stomach rumbling because I was hungry but too mad to eat. Noah grinned as he pumped his feet and legs, propelling himself higher and higher, leaning back in the swing until his head was almost striking the ground.

I sent a text to Tonya, Keke’s mother and my best friend:

OMG
!

“S
O
LET
me get this straight,” Tonya said after she’d picked us up and we had installed ourselves at a booth in Burger King. “Jackson’s parents are rich, and you’ve got a problem with that? And you’re worrying about
this
when you’ve got a DHS visit tomorrow? Can you spell
moron
?”

“His mother is so mean,” I said in my defense.

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She could be the bride of the Antichrist.”

“Oh, please,” Tonya said dismissively. “The rich are different. Just ask Mitt Romney—she can’t be worse than that pasty white nightmare. And you’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“The DHS isn’t going to do anything,” I said dismissively.

“They can make your life hell, Wiley,” she said in a low voice. “They sit there writing shit down on their forms and looking at you and judging you, and God only knows what they might do if they decide they don’t like what they see. And now he’s failing a grade at school. You’d better get a clue.”

Tonya Humphries delivered these words in her no-bullshit tone of voice—and I smiled. She was an Amazon, all arms and legs, head crowned by glorious, bushy curls that said I’m all woman, and baby, you gon’ hear me roar.

Sitting together as we were, a white man and a black woman with kids, we got the usual looks, reminding me that miscegenation was a crime in the state of Mississippi until some point in the 1980s. Intermarriage with the Children of Ham was, how shall we say, frowned upon in the Land of Dixie. Not that Tonya and I would ever miscegenate.

I glanced at Keke, who was signing vigorously at Noah, who had a mouthful of french fries. They were both grinning with secret mischief.

“I’m telling you,” I said, looking back to Tonya and nodding slightly at the kids. “They’re using signs I’ve never seen.”

“All deaf kids do that,” she said easily.

“I want to know what they’re talking about.”

“Why don’t you ask them?” She crossed her arms over her chest, challenging me.

I frowned.

“I see,” Tonya said.

“I know we have to respect their privacy,” I said. “And I do. But I just feel so… left out.”

“They live in their own world, Wiley. You know that.”

I did. Deaf World. Their world.

Keke signed something or other, and Noah began to giggle.

“What am I going to do?” I asked.

“About what?” Tonya asked.

“
Her
,” I said crossly. “Mother-in-law from hell. She refers to me as a homosexual. I hate that.”

“Just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“It’s not polite.”

“I’m failing to see what the problem is here, Wiley. Having money is a good thing. Having money means you can be a little bit weird and people just have to put up with it. Now you know I’m not a big fan of Mister Jackson, but if he comes from money, hey, money covers a multitude of sins, and don’t you forget it.”

“Jackson’s all right,” I said.

“Uh-huh,” she offered.

“He’s a little bit stiff sometimes,” I admitted.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, he’s a bit stuck up.”

“A bit?”

“He’s all right, once you get to know him.”

“Does that man ever have a hair out of place? Talk to me, Wiley. Does he fart once in a while? ’Cause I’m thinking no. Here’s a man who’s so perfect he probably never picks his nose, or burps, or scratches his ass—he looks like he just stepped off a page from a magazine. He’s so perfect he makes me nervous. Probably flosses twice a day just ’cause the dentist said so. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took ex-lax just to unwind. Talk about a highfalutin crackerjack.”

I grinned. I couldn’t help myself. It was true. Jackson Ledbetter was the epitome of whiteness. And in particular, of gay white male whiteness. He was justifiably proud of his looks and would never walk around with a huge zit on his forehead, not to mention dressing in some of the Walmart cast-offs I wore. He was vain.

“That’s my man,” I said, somewhat proudly.

“I know he is, honey,” Tonya said. “And I ain’t picking at him. He comes from money—and that explains a lot. Probably had braces when he was a kid and his own tiara and a pool and the whole nine yards. Thing is, he’s not like you, Wiley. He’s not like us.”

“And thank God,” I said.

“But if you love him, you’ll make it work.”

“I
do
love him,” I said.

“Then you’re going to have to
deal
,” she said pointedly. “There are worse things than having rich in-laws. And they’re leaving soon, so what do you care?”

“Jackson said his mother wouldn’t leave her money to him if she didn’t approve of me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Walking out on the woman is not the best approach, I can tell you.”

“You should hear the things that woman says. Then she started in on my book.”

Tonya laughed.

“What?” I said.

“I forgot about your book,” she said.

“So why are you laughing?”

“Wiley, you
did
read your own book, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Do you have any idea what people must think of you?”

“I was just being honest!”

“You went out there and told the whole world you masturbated so much as a child you were afraid your dick was going to fall off.”