The Road Home (28 page)
Will stood up and walked over to Burke. He put his hands on Burke's waist. “Don't be mad,” he said. “It doesn't have to change anything. You know, with us.”
He looked into Burke's eyes. When he smiled, Burke felt his anger melt away.
He's just a kid,
he told himself.
He's just scared. You can help him.
He's just a kid,
he told himself.
He's just scared. You can help him.
Will leaned forward, his lips parting. Burke allowed himself to be kissed. He closed his eyes and pulled Will tighter. Their tongues met, and Burke felt Will's hard-on pressing against him. One of Will's hands found its way to Burke's cock and squeezed.
“Let's go upstairs,” Will whispered. “You can fuck me in your bed.”
Burke started to agree, then stopped. He pulled his mouth away from Will's. “No,” he said, breaking their embrace.
Will looked at him, his eyes troubled. “Why?” he said. “I told you, it's okay.”
“That's just it,” said Burke. “It's not okay. What you're doing is not okay, and what I'd be doing if I went upstairs with you would not be okay.”
Will shook his head. “I don't understand. We're just going to fuck around. It doesn't hurt anybody.”
“Maybe not,” said Burke. “At least not now.”
“But that's all we're talking about,” Will said. “Now. And right now I know you want to get naked and let me blow you.”
“You're right,” Burke told him. “I do want to do that. But I'm not going to. Listen, I know how you feel. I really do. But it's not how
I
feel. I'm not going to tell you you're making a mistake, because it's your choice. But I won't be part of it. Not anymore.”
I
feel. I'm not going to tell you you're making a mistake, because it's your choice. But I won't be part of it. Not anymore.”
Will looked as if Burke had slapped him. “You think you're better than me?” he asked.
“No,” Burke said. “I just think we've made different choices. That's all.”
Will grunted. “You mean I'm making the wrong one. Well, it hasn't worked out so well for you, has it? Where's your
husband?
Where's your perfect life?”
husband?
Where's your perfect life?”
Anger flashed through Burke. “You want to spend your life chasing cock behind your wife's back, go ahead. Let guys fuck you in rest-stop stalls. Hook up with guys online. Maybe you'll even find a fuck buddyâsome other guy who says he just likes to get it on with guys sometimes. That sounds like a
great
life.”
great
life.”
Will glared at him, the muscles in his neck tensing. “You know, the other night my dad said he thinks you might be queer. My mother asked why you weren't married, and that's what he said. And you should have heard him. He sounded like he was telling her you had
cancer.
”
cancer.
”
Burke felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. “He said that?”
Will nodded. “Now, imagine what he'd say if it was
me
he thought was queer.”
me
he thought was queer.”
Burke didn't speak for a moment as thoughts raced through his head. “People change,” he said finally.
“Not fast enough,” said Will.
He started to walk past Burke, but Burke grabbed his arm. “Don't hide who you are,” he said. “Please, Will.”
Will looked into his eyes. The anger in them was gone. Now he just looked like a sad boy who'd had a fight with his best friend. Burke wanted to take him in his arms, not to make love to him, but to comfort him.
“I'm not like you,” Will said softly. “I can't be.”
CHAPTER 29
“N
eed any help?”
eed any help?”
Burke looked into the room his father used as an office. Ed was seated at a desk. In front of him was a pile of plastic parts for a model. The air smelled like glue.
“These directions don't make any sense,” said Ed, peering at a piece of paper over his glasses. “I don't see any part A thirteen.”
Burke walked over and looked over his father's shoulder. “What is this supposed to be when it's done?”
“SPAD Thirteen,” his father said. “A French airplane,” he added when Burke didn't respond. “World War I.”
“Oh,” said Burke. “Sounds interesting.”
His father grunted as he rummaged through the pile of parts. Burke knew this was his way of not so subtly letting his son know that he was busy and wanted to be left alone.
“When did you start building models?” Burke asked, not giving in to the temptation to leave.
“Couple of years ago.”
He's not going to make this easy,
Burke thought.
Fine. If that's how he wants to play, we'll do it his way.
Burke thought.
Fine. If that's how he wants to play, we'll do it his way.
“Dad, when did you first think I might be gay?”
Ed dropped the piece he was holding. “Damn it!” He retrieved the piece, took up the bottle of glue, and went back to work. “I don't know.”
“Was it before I was out of college?” Burke asked, pressing. “When I was a kid? You must have thought about it.”
“Why?”
“Because isn't that what parents do? Don't you wonder what your kids are going to be like? What kind of lives they'll have? Didn't you wonder why I never had any girlfriends?”
“No,” said Ed. “Just figured you were a little slow getting started, is all.”
Burke didn't give up. “Then when
did
you figure it out? Because I never told you, and I'm assuming that you didn't hear it for the first time just now.”
did
you figure it out? Because I never told you, and I'm assuming that you didn't hear it for the first time just now.”
Ed set down the parts he'd just glued together. “What's this about?” he asked.
“I'm just curious,” said Burke. “Are you saying you and Mom never discussed it? Not once?”
“We might have,” Ed replied. “What does it matter? You are what you are, and that's that. Nothing to be done about it now.”
“You make it sound like I have a sickness,” said Burke. He couldn't help but think of Will's comment from the night before.
He sounded like he was telling her you had
cancer.
He sounded like he was telling her you had
cancer.
“That's not what I meant.”
“Do you wish there was something I could do about it?”
“All I said was it's over and done with,” his father said, an edge to his voice. “There's no point in discussing it further.”
“Yes, there is,” said Burke. “I want to know what my parents thought about who I am.”
“You never told us what you are. Why do it now?”
“
Who
I am, Dad. Not
what.
And you're right. I should have told you, instead of letting you figure it out. But why pretend you and Mom never talked about it? There had to have been a moment when one of you said, âYou know, I think Burke might be gay.' Who said it first, you or Mom?”
Who
I am, Dad. Not
what.
And you're right. I should have told you, instead of letting you figure it out. But why pretend you and Mom never talked about it? There had to have been a moment when one of you said, âYou know, I think Burke might be gay.' Who said it first, you or Mom?”
“I don't remember,” Ed snapped.
“I think you do,” said Burke. “You just don't want to talk about it, just like you won't talk about anything to do with Mom or me or how you feel. Jesus Christ, I don't know how Lucy puts up with you.”
“That's enough!” his father shouted. He stood up. Burke could see that his hands were shaking.
“Dad, I didn't mean toâ”
“You want to know when we knew?” his father interrupted. “When you stopped coming home for Christmas. Your mother said the only reason you wouldn't come home is because you had something to hide. At first she thought maybe you were embarrassed by us, by this place. She thought maybe we weren't fancy enough for you, now that you were living in the city.”
“I was never embarrassed,” said Burke.
His father ignored him. “Then one night she was watching some program on the television. I don't know what it was. It doesn't matter. There was some gay fellow in it, and he was talking to his friends about how his sister didn't want him to bring his boyfriend to her wedding, because it would upset their parents. And your mother turned to me and she said, âDo you think that's why Burke doesn't come home anymore?' She was about to call you right then and ask you, but I told her not to. I said even if you were, it was none of our business.”
He stopped talking. Burke looked at his face, which suddenly looked very old. “You didn't want to find out it was true,” Burke said. “Did you?”
Ed cleared his throat. “It was none of our business.”
“I should have told you,” said Burke. “I shouldn't have made you guess.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“It wasn't that long ago,” Burke retorted. “And if I'd said something, maybe we wouldn't have spent the last twenty years not talking about it.”
“People do too much talking,” Ed said.
“But we could haveâ”
“It broke her heart,” his father said angrily. He lowered his voice. “It's what killed her.”
Burke stared at him, stunned. “You think I killed her?”
“I think it hurt her more than anything else could. You were her baby, but she didn't know what you were, and you wouldn't tell her.” Ed sat down. “You were like one of those changelings left behind by something that stole her real boy.”
Burke couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did his father really believe what he was saying? Did he really think Burke was somehow responsible for his mother's death?
“What would you have had me do?” Burke asked finally, his voice shaking.
His father shook his head, then looked up at his son. “I'd rather you'd been normal,” he said.
Burke felt his face flush. He tried to speak, but all the air had been sucked from his lungs, and his mouth refused to work. He felt his heart pounding, and for a moment he thought he might not be able to move. He watched as his father turned back to his model, picking up a piece and applying glue to one end.
Then the air came rushing back in, and Burke found his voice. “You bastard,” he said. “You fucking bastard.”
“Don't speak to me like that!” his father said. “Not in my own house.”
“You and your house can go to hell!” Burke roared. “How dare you accuse me of killing her? How do you know what she felt? You never fucking talked to her! How do you know she didn't die just to get away from
you?
”
you?
”
Ed leapt up, pieces of the model scattering on the floor. He looked down helplessly at them, then at Burke. His mouth twitched. Burke turned his back and walked out, leaving his father standing there.
Sam answered the phone on the second ring. He said he would be there to pick Burke up in half an hour. Burke used the time to pack his bags and put his photography equipment back into the boxes in which they'd been shipped. His father had shut the door to his office.
Burke was glad that Lucy wasn't there. She was playing cards with some of her friends. If she'd been at the house, she would undoubtedly have tried to stop Burke from leaving, maybe even attempted to broker a peace deal between him and his father. But Burke wasn't interested in that. He just wanted to be as far away from his father as possible.
Sam arrived with five minutes to spare. He carried Burke's things to his car while Burke sat in the front seat, anxious to be on their way.
“You're sure you want to take
everything?
” Sam asked as he loaded the box of developing chemicals into the trunk.
everything?
” Sam asked as he loaded the box of developing chemicals into the trunk.
“I'm sure,” Burke answered. “I don't want to have to come back.”
As they drove back to Sam's house, Burke looked out into the night. The moon was still close to full, and the countryside was gilded in silver. For a moment he almost thought he might be dreaming everything that had happened in the last hour. Then he remembered his father's faceâhow he'd looked at Burke as if he were looking at the face of a murderer. Burke shut his eyes, blocking out the image.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
“No problem,” Sam answered. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” said Burke. “I really don't. Not now, anyway.”
“Anytime you're ready,” Sam said.
“I won't be there forever,” said Burke. “I promise. As soon as I can, I'll go back to Boston. I can get around by myself now, anyway. There's really no reason to wait until the cast comes off. I'm sure I can bribe Gregg into coming up to get me.”
“You can stay as long as you want to,” Sam assured him. “The guest room hasn't seen much use. It will be nice to have company.”
“I won't cramp your style, will I?”
“What style?” asked Sam.
“You know, with the menfolk,” Burke teased.
“Oh, right,” said Sam. “Well, if you come home and there's a sock on the doorknob, just stay away from the room where all the shouting and pounding are coming from.”
Burke leaned back in his seat, trying to stretch his leg. “What a great couple of days this has been. First Will, now this.”
“What happened with Will?” Sam asked. “I mean, anything besides the weirdness at the fair the other day?”
Burke told him about his meeting with Will. “It was like the last temptation of Burke or something,” he said when he was done. “I should have just fucked him. Not fucking him hasn't worked out so great.”
“You know that's not true,” Sam said.
“No?” said Burke. “Maybe he's right. Maybe we wouldn't be hurting anyone. Maybe marrying Donna and letting everyone think he's
normal
really is the right thing to do. Maybe
I'm
the one who's got it all wrong. After all, I killed my mother.”
normal
really is the right thing to do. Maybe
I'm
the one who's got it all wrong. After all, I killed my mother.”
“You didn't kill your mother.”
“Well, I sure didn't make her life any easier,” Burke countered.
“Lying about who you are wouldn't have made it any easier, either,” Sam reminded him.
“Easy for you to say,” said Burke. “Your father didn't accuse you of killing your mother.”
“No, he didn't,” Sam agreed. “But that's probably because
he
killed her.”
he
killed her.”
Burke thought at first that he was joking. Then he saw Sam's face. Illuminated by the moonlight, it looked like it was carved out of stone. His eyes looked straight ahead, not blinking.
“I was eight,” Sam said. “My sister was nine. We came home from school one afternoon, and there were four police cars and an ambulance parked in front of our house. My aunt Cilla, my father's sister, was there. She wouldn't let us go inside. She said something bad had happened and that we would be spending the night at her house. Of course, we asked her where our parents were. I don't remember what she said. Something about them needing to help the police, I think.”
“When did you find out?”
“The next morning,” said Sam. “I woke up early. It was a Saturday. Everyone else was asleep, so I turned on the television to watch cartoons. Only it was too early and the news was on, and there were pictures of my mother and father. I don't know how they got them. At first I thought maybe they'd won something. Then I heard the woman on the TV say that they were both dead. Murder-suicide is what she said.”
“Holy shit,” Burke said.
“I woke up my sister and told her, and we both woke up my aunt. At first she didn't want to tell us anything, but since I'd seen it already, she didn't have much choice.”
“Why'd he do it?”
Sam sighed deeply and exhaled loudly. “He thought she was having an affair,” he said. “And maybe she was. We never found out for sure. My father was depressed most of his life. He refused to take medication. He said it was only for weak people, and that all you had to do to stop being depressed was try harder. Only, when that didn't work, he tried drinking himself out of it. That afternoon he drank himself and my mother out of it for good.”
“Where did you and your sister go?”
“We stayed with our aunt and uncle. My mother's parents were dead, and her brother already had six kids of his own. At first the court didn't want us living with any of my father's relatives. The social worker assigned to us thought it would be too traumatic and suggested we be put into foster care. But my aunt Cilla pitched a fit and said they would take us over her dead body. Probably not the best choice of words given the circumstances, but the judge apparently got the message.”
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