The Road Home (29 page)

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Authors: Michael Thomas Ford

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BOOK: The Road Home
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“Still, that must have been weird, living with them after what your father did.”
“At first,” Sam agreed. “Kids at school said stupid shit. Some people gave my aunt a hard time. But she and my uncle loved us like we were their own. From the first day we moved in with them, we knew that. And after a while that was all that mattered.”
“How did you not hate him?” Burke asked.
“I did hate him,” said Sam. “For a long time. I hated him for being mentally ill. I hated him for drinking. I hated him for killing my mother and destroying our family. But at some point I realized that hating him wasn't changing anything. It wasn't making me feel better, and it wasn't bringing my parents back from the dead. So I stopped.”
“How do you feel about him now?”
“I'm sad that he didn't get the help he needed,” Sam answered. “I'm sorry he thought his mental illness was something to be ashamed of.”
“And your sister?”
“Angie? She's still angry. Can't let go. She blames what happened for everything that's gone wrong in her life, when really the only thing wrong is that she inherited some of our father's faulty wiring and his stubbornness to accept it.”
“She's . . .”
“Bipolar,” said Sam. “We both are. Only, Angie won't treat hers.”
“Wow,” Burke said. “And you seem so well adjusted.”
Sam laughed. “I've learned how to live with it,” he said. “Meds help. And mine doesn't manifest itself in physical mania. It's all in my head. You know how I can think of twelve different things at one time? That's how. My mind is always going. I used to think it was weird when people would say they weren't thinking about anything. I couldn't imagine
not
thinking about things every single moment.”
“Is your sister the same way?”
“Poor Angie has it tough,” said Sam. “She gets the physical mania
and
the emotional ups and downs. Still, she could control it if she'd do what the doctors tell her to. She just doesn't want to.”
“Why wouldn't you want to?”
“It's like a drug,” Sam said. “The manic episodes are really exciting. The crash afterward is fucking hell, but when you're caught up in that rush, you don't think about anything else. A lot of people don't want to take meds, because they don't want to lose that.”
“This is making what my father said seem like nothing,” Burke remarked.
“We each get our own shit,” said Sam. “And it's all hard in one way or another. All you can do is deal with your particular shit the best you can.”
They turned onto the road that led to Sam's house, pulling into his driveway a few minutes later.
Turning off the car, Sam turned to Burke. “Do you like Douglas Adams?”
“Of course,” Burke said. “What sane person doesn't?”
“Do you remember in
Hitchhiker's
when Ford and Arthur are first picked up by the
Heart of Gold,
and Zaphod is freaking out about it, and Trillian is doing something to achieve normality?”
“Vaguely,” Burke told him. “Apparently, I've been out-nerded.”
“Trillian has a great line in that scene,” Sam continued. “She gets everything under control, and then she says, ‘We have normality. I repeat we have normality. Everything you still can't cope with is therefore your own problem.' I love that, because it's true. We all have our own problems. We can help each other out, but ultimately we have to deal with our problems ourselves.”
“Where are you going with this?” Burke asked, slightly confused.
“Welcome to your
Heart of Gold,
” said Sam, gesturing at his house.
CHAPTER 30
“T
hese came for you today,” Lucy said. She handed Burke two large, thick envelopes.
“The pictures,” said Burke. “I forgot all about them. Thanks.”
He'd been at Sam's house for two days. He'd made no attempt to contact his father or Lucy, and was surprised that Lucy had known where to find him.
“I went to the library first,” Lucy said. “I figured Sam would know where you were.”
“I should have called you. I'm sorry I didn't. It's been a little . . . weird.”
“Your father didn't tell me everything that was said, but I think I've got the gist of it,” said Lucy.
“I don't know that you do,” Burke told her. “He basically accused me of killing my mother.”
“He was angry,” said Lucy. “He didn't mean it.”
Burke smiled tightly. “I don't know much about my father,” he said. “Clearly. But I do know one thing—he never says anything he doesn't mean.”
“He was
upset,
” Lucy said, trying again. “Don't just walk away.”
Burke looked at her face. He could tell she was near tears. They pushed at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.
“I know you want to make this okay,” he said gently. “I know you're thinking about your daughter.”
“Don't make the mistake I made,” Lucy begged him. “Please don't make that mistake.”
“Have you told Dad that?”
Lucy nodded. “You know how stubborn he is,” she said, sniffing. “That's why I think it's up to you.”
Burke nodded. “That's what I thought,” he said. He sighed. “I can't do it, Lucy. Not right now. Honestly, I don't know if I ever can. He said some terrible things.”
“Just think about it, Burke,” she said. “Please?”
“Sure. And thanks for bringing these over.”
Lucy opened her arms. Burke allowed her to hug him. He felt her thin frame beneath his hands. She was shaking. Burke wanted to tell her that everything would be all right. But he couldn't lie to her. He couldn't make that promise.
Lucy let go. She didn't say anything, just reached out and touched his arm. Then she turned and walked back to her car, leaving Burke to shut the door before he started crying.
When he'd calmed himself, he took the envelopes to the living room and sat down with them. He opened the first one and pulled the photos out. They were some of the shots he'd taken at Destiny. The one on top was of the three bears.
And it was good. It was
very
good. Somehow it captured the energy of the trio, the love that existed between them. Burke saw it in the way they stood, the way they looked unflinchingly into the camera. The image radiated happiness, friendship, even lust, in a way that made it more than just a portrait. Burke was amazed.
He looked at the next picture, and the next. Each was a portrait, and each moved him as much as the one of Ginger, Thadeus, and Jonas did. He opened the second envelope and looked through the rest of the images. As he did, an idea formed in his mind. He didn't just have a bunch of portraits; he had a potential
show.
And it wasn't something he'd set out to do. It had just happened, because he'd allowed the camera to see what he saw.
He wanted to call Colton and tell him he had something for him. He wanted to call Sam. He wanted to share his excitement with
someone.
But then he saw his father's face and heard his words, and the fire of his excitement was extinguished.
He slumped back against the couch, the stack of photos in his lap. Suddenly they didn't excite him. They were dull, pedestrian, nothing more than snapshots. He tossed them on the coffee table.
The photos on top slid aside, revealing one he hadn't yet seen. It was the photo of him and Sam, the one Ginger had taken. He picked it up and looked at it more closely. He was leaning against Sam. Their hips were touching, and Sam's hand was tucked around Burke's waist, one finger hooked through the belt loop of Burke's pants. The paint on Burke's chest, caught in black and white, shimmered.
But what struck him most was the expression on his face. He looked happy. Usually in photos he was tense, pained. In this photo he was relaxed. His smile was natural, not forced. Yet as he remembered it, he'd been anxious. He hadn't wanted Ginger to take his picture.
It's Sam,
he realized. Sam had changed him, helped take away the tension that normally gripped Burke in unfamiliar situations. And he'd done it without Burke even knowing it. Was
he
aware of it? Had he done it on purpose?
True, there had been that moment between them at the dinner party. But it had passed, and since then Burke hadn't thought about Sam in a romantic way. He wasn't Burke's type. And they were so different.
It's a bad idea,
he told himself.
You've finally found a friend—a real friend. Don't fuck it up doing something stupid just because you feel like shit and need something to pick you up.
He set the picture down. He was right; it was a stupid idea. Besides, Sam wouldn't want someone like him. He should be with someone more free spirited, someone more like himself.
I'm too uptight for him,
he thought.
But he could still tell Sam about his idea for a show. He knew his feelings about the photographs were temporary, caused by his anger at his father. But in a day or two, maybe a week, he would be able to look at the pictures more objectively. Then he would decide if he could make a cohesive collection. And he would ask Sam his opinion, too.
That left the question of what to do with the rest of his day. He didn't want to just sit around. Nor did he want to go take pictures. He wanted to do something for Sam, something to thank him for his kindness. He knew it couldn't be easy for someone used to being alone to suddenly have a houseguest.
He decided to make dinner. Although he hadn't cooked in a long time, he liked to do it and was good at it. But as he couldn't very well get to a grocery store, he was going to have to make do with whatever Sam had in the house. He got up and went to investigate the kitchen.
The results were not encouraging. The refrigerator held the leftover Chinese from their take-out dinner the night before, along with numerous half-empty condiment bottles, a large container of plain yogurt, three eggs, and in the vegetable crisper, three desiccated apples. But there were also some nice tomatoes, and behind a jar of blue cheese dressing, he found some garlic. Sam had a small garden behind the house, and Burke was fairly certain he'd seen basil there, as well as the ingredients for a presentable salad.
In one of the cupboards he discovered several boxes of pasta, and he knew he would be okay. All he had to do was make sauce and throw together the salad. And that he could easily do in the two hours before Sam got home from the library.
The garden yielded everything he needed, and soon enough he'd chopped and diced and tossed everything into a saucepan. Adding a good quantity of a bottle of red wine he found in another cupboard, he waited until the sauce was simmering nicely, then turned the flame down and left it to cook.
He still had an hour. To pass the time, he decided to read. He'd left his books at his father's house, not wanting to take anything that belonged in the house with him. But Sam had books everywhere. Shelves filled with books. Books in stacks beside the couch and armchairs in the living room. Books lying facedown on tables and the floor. Everywhere you looked, there was a book.
Burke went to the nearest bookcase and scanned the rows of titles. Most of the books he'd never heard of. Then one caught his eye.
In the Wood of the Holly King.
He saw Sam's name on the spine, and he remembered.
He took the book out and carried it to the couch. The cover was a black-and-white drawing, beautifully rendered, of a forest in winter. Walking between the bare trees was a man wearing a crown of holly. He held a candle in his hands, and on his shoulder was perched an owl.
Burke opened the book and flipped through the pages. He didn't know if he should start at the beginning or just pick something at random. He decided to close his eyes, fan the pages, and put his finger down when he felt ready.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that he had selected a story simply titled “Midsummer.”
As twilight fell on the longest day of the year, the Green Man found himself wandering far from home. He had risen early that morning with a desire to walk to a part of the valley he had yet to visit, and by afternoon he had lost himself among the hills and vales. Yet even though darkness would soon cover the land, he was not afraid. He knew that the way home would appear when he needed it, and he had spent more than one night asleep under the stars. He had food in his pack and water in the stream he walked beside, and the whole of the world was his waiting bed.
It happened that as the sun and the moon passed one another in the sky, the Green Man came to a wood. Deciding to take his rest beneath one of the trees casting shade over the mossy ground, he made his way among them until he came to a clearing. The circle was filled with the scent of bluebells, and the Green Man was made drowsy by their smell. While he knew it was foolish for any mortal to spend even half an hour within a faerie circle, he found himself unable to keep his eyes open. He lay among the flowers and soon was dreaming of wild things.
He awoke with a start to the tinkling of bells. When he opened his heavy lids, he saw that it was dark. Moonlight flooded the circle and gilded the leaves with silver, and for a moment he saw only the shadows flitting against the pale backdrop like figures in a pantomime.
Then a light sparked before his eyes, followed by another, and still others. Fireflies floated in the air around him, moving lazily in the warm night like tiny boats on the sea. They danced away from him and stopped, as if waiting for him to follow. Somewhere beyond the edge of the clearing, he heard laughter.
The Green Man stood, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The fireflies rose and encircled him, casting a pale ring of light. They flew forward, gently urging him on, and he found himself walking out of the clearing and onto a narrow path he couldn't remember seeing during the day.
The path led deep into the woods, and the Green Man was glad for the light of the fireflies as he found himself walking between towering trees whose branches hid the moon from view. As he walked, he heard the merry sound of the bells from time to time, and every now and again a laugh would reach his ears.
Suddenly, the path took a turn and opened upon another clearing. Here the moonlight was bright, and the Green Man had to shield his eyes. As he did, the fireflies around him rose up and exploded in bursts of gold. When the Green Man was able to see again, he found that he was surrounded by a host of faeries. They darted around him, and he knew then where the laughter he had heard came from. Their voices were rich and merry, and they all talked at once so that the sound was like that of moth wings in his ears.
He stood, watching, as the faerie hosts filled the clearing with their beauty. They swooped and twirled in interlocking circles, some with wings like those of dragonflies, some with butterfly wings, and some with no wings at all. He had heard the tales of these creatures and had even believed them. But to see them before him was to be enchanted beyond words or movement.
“They were right in saying that you were fair,” said a voice from within the swirling lights.
The golden, whirling cloud of faeries parted like curtains being drawn aside, and the Green Man saw standing before him a woman of unearthly beauty. Her skin was the color of lilies, and her eyes the green of deep water. Her hair was black like a winter night and fell about her shoulders in curls that trailed to the ground. On her head was a crown of roses and lavender, and her dress was of the palest silver, as though woven from cobwebs and moonlight.
“It is not every mortal who is invited to my midsummer gathering,” said the woman. “How came you to lie in the circle where my servants found you?”
“I am sorry,” said the Green Man, afraid of having offended the lady. “I was tired and wanted only to rest.”
She smiled cooly. “Those who sleep on my doorstep often find more than rest,” she said. “Answer me this—Would you be my king?”
The Green Man lowered his head. “I am no king,” he said. “I am but an ordinary man.”
Laughter filled the clearing as the faeries flew like gusts of summer wind. The Green Man looked up and saw that the lady was laughing with them.
“No one is ordinary who is brought to the court of Maeve,” she said. “Come and join us.”
The faeries once more darted around the clearing, filling it with blinding light. When the light died, the Green Man saw that the place was decorated as if for a grand feast. A table made of a fallen tree was spread with leaves and mounded high with good things to eat. The branches were hung with lights, and music came from somewhere in the treetops as unseen players piped and fiddled.
The Green Man saw, too, that they were no longer alone in the clearing. Guests filled the spaces between the trees and circled the edge of the place. Each wore a mask, and it was impossible for the Green Man to tell if behind the faces they were human or something more. A great owl-headed woman stood beside a man with the ears of a hare, while elsewhere a trio of goat-legged boys played on silver flutes. As the Green Man looked upon them, he saw that each was more fantastic than the next, and all gazed back at him where he stood beside the faerie queen.
Maeve took the Green Man by the hand and led him to the table crowded with revelers. He seated himself beside a man with the laughing face of a bear, and the attending faeries set before him a cup filled with sweet wine. He drank it as he reclined in the soft moss and waited to see what would happen next.
Maeve returned to the center of the circle and clapped her hands together once. “Enter the Oak King,” she commanded.
There was a rustling in the trees and then a man stepped into the clearing. He was dressed in clothes of deepest gold, and on his head was a crown of oak leaves, heavy with acorns. His face was covered by a mask showing the brilliant face of a shining sun, so that the Green Man could not see his features. He carried in his hand a staff of gnarled wood, and he walked slowly toward the faerie queen, as though coming to the end of a long journey.
“Merry meet,” she said when he reached her, holding out her hands to him. “It is long since you began your reign. Now it is time for rest.”
She clapped her hands in the air once more, and the musicians began to play a slow but steady rhythm. The Green Man watched as Maeve took the hand of the Oak King and the two danced. Their movements were gentle, like the slow ripple of the wind through the ripening fields. Hand in hand, they traveled the edge of the circle, moving in the direction of the sun through the sky.
After they had made one tour of the clearing, the music began to increase in time and the guests joined their queen. They danced around the Oak King, still masked, who was spun from hand to waiting hand as he was guided in his steps. Many times he was passed around the circle by the faerie queen's guests, until finally he was brought, breathless, back to the center, to the waiting queen. She took him in her arms and placed a kiss on his mouth, after which he collapsed to the ground.
“The Oak King is dead,” cried the queen, and the crowd was silent.
Again, there was a rustling in the trees, and in came six men dressed all in gold. They carried on their shoulders a litter made of birch branches and decorated with summer flowers that filled the air with their scent. They came to the place where the fallen king lay and lowered the litter to the ground. Then they gathered the king into their arms and laid him on the litter.
Maeve bent over the Oak King's face and removed the golden mask. As she did, the Green Man gasped, for he saw his own familiar features, stilled in death. Maeve motioned to him and smiled.
“Come,” she said. “It is time for you to take his place.” The Green Man rose to his feet and stepped forward, not believing what he saw before him. He approached the Oak King and stood beside his body.
“How can this be?” he asked.
Maeve looked into his eyes. “Remember,” she said, “you are in
my
kingdom now. This is the night when the wild magic runs strong, the time when the waxing year and the waning year meet. You will see much here that you would not see in your world. But fear nothing.”
“What am I to do?” the Green Man said.
“You are to take your place as Holly King,” Maeve told him. “The king of the waning year. Until now you have learned much about who you are. You have followed the year as it grew to fullness. Now it is time to use that knowledge, to come into the fullness of your self and celebrate all that you have learned. But first you must make your own mask like that of the Oak King.”
She gestured to the table at which the Green Man had been sitting, and he saw that the food and drink had been replaced by piles of flowers, leaves, stones, and feathers. He walked over to it as Maeve spoke.
“Create the face you wish to show to the world,” she said. “Make manifest your own vision of who you are, for this is the night of giving birth to our true selves. Show us who you are beneath your skin.”
The Green Man knelt and began to make his mask. He formed a covering of holly leaves, dark and shining. To this he affixed different items as he was drawn to them, building one on the other until he had before him the face he saw when he dreamed. His hands did the work of his heart, and soon he was finished. Then he picked up his mask and carried it to where Maeve stood waiting.
“It is beautiful,” she said as he held it up for all to see. She took the ends of the ribbons attached to the mask and secured them around the Green Man's head.
“Now,” she said, “we will make the magic real.”
At the queen's signal, the faeries fluttered around the Green Man. They stripped him of his traveling clothes and placed on him robes of green and red. On his head they placed a crown of holly and evergreens.
“Dance with me, Holly King,” said Maeve when they were finished, and the music began.
The Green Man took her hand and followed as she led him around the circle. The sound of the faerie drums and bells filled his ears, and he stepped lightly with his queen. The faerie court sang and laughed, watching their new king dancing in the moonlight, and the Green Man laughed with them. In their midst, he felt filled with the possibilities of magic. He looked at the Oak King where he lay on his deathbed in the center of the ring, and he knew that it had taken much to become that part of himself. Now it was time to take on the mantle of the Holly King and step into the darkening year.
The music played and the Green Man danced on, faster and faster. He saw those around him through new eyes and felt the magic coursing in his veins. His head swam with the sound of voices and music, and he closed his eyes and lost himself in the whirling magic of midsummer night until he no longer knew if he was sleeping or awake.
When finally the music ceased, the Green Man opened his eyes and found himself alone in the woods. The night was gone, and the first faint stirrings of sunlight crept across the dewy grass where he stood. Gone were Maeve and her curious faerie court. Gone were the red and green robes. And gone, too, were the Oak King and his attendants. Only the Green Man remained, still wearing the mask of his creation and feeling the magic spinning within him.
The shortest night of the year was ended, and the drawing in of the days had begun. The faerie queen and her court had seen in another king and carried an old one away with them for renewal. Now was the time of the Holly King. As the Green Man walked into the morning, he carried his mask in his hands and the memories of his night in Maeve's woods in his heart.

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