Wild Things (20 page)

Michael pulled the collar of his shirt down for a moment, making his burn scars painfully visible. "Every night I thank God I'm alive. I'm alive because a faggot pulled me out of that burning room. I've only got burns on my arms and chest. He burned his face. I was lying on my back thinking I'm going to burn to death, and there he was, pulling me out. I saw that faggot's eyebrows catch fire. Do you have any idea what I owe him? He could have left me there, but he kept saying, I've got you, Lieutenant, I've got you. And I'm screaming because I'm on fire, and now he's on fire, and at the same time I'm thinking about how every day someone would write
faggot
on his locker in chalk, and every day he'd have to wipe it off. And I never put a stop to it because of the crap you taught me. Even though I was his lieutenant and he was a damned fine sailor. I never asked, and he never told. And that faggot would have had every right to have left me there to die. But he didn't. So don't you say faggot. I owe my life to a faggot. If they were all like him, I'd want a Navy full of faggots!"

My father's face had gone white, and he suddenly looked older. I thought irrelevantly that the old dog had finally met a young dog he had to bow to. I
didn t see his face flush with purple again, and only when Michael lunged forward did I realize my father was swinging back to me.

I had enough time to throw up my hands, then his closed fist slammed into my hands, driving them back into my face so hard I fell across the chair I'd vacated. In another second I was on the floor. Through my ringing ears I heard my father screaming with rage.

My mother didn't move. When I focused my eyes on her I realized she was in a daze, seeing nothing, remembering nothing. She was always that way when he hit me.

I got groggily to my feet and realized that my father had stormed out of the house. Michael steadied me, then slipped his arm around my shoulder.

Meg stood in the door to the hallway holding David, her mouth open and eyes like dinner plates. "Faith, are you all right?"

"I'll live," I said, shakily. I could feel my lower lip swelling, but the skin wasn't broken. He was never going to get another chance to hit me. "You'll be coming to visit me if you want to see me in the future, Meg. I won't come here again."

"What is it?" She stepped warily into the room, looking at my mother for guidance. "Mama, what happened?"

My mother slowly looked up, then seemed to focus on David. Without looking at me, indeed carefully not looking at me, she said to Meg, "You are my only daughter."

"Faith," Meg said. "What the hell did you do? Marry a Jew by chance?" Of all things, she smiled at me.

I realized then that Meg had been where I was now, though my father hadn't ever hit her. I was certainly a late learner. "No," I said, and I managed a weak smile. "But I'll probably marry a woman someday."

Meg shrugged. "Like I didn't know that," she said ironically. "I wondered when you were going to figure it out."

I blinked at her in surprise. "How did you —"

"Abe's sister is gay. He asked me once if you were, and though I said no, it got me thinking. You're lovely to look at and there haven't been many men in your life. There were a couple of guys at church today who made me look twice, but you never look."

"Dad's going to come back soon, Faith. I don't know what he'll do," Michael said. "Spare yourself some grief. I'll come visit."

"I have a sofa if you ever need it," I said. I took a deep breath and turned to my mother. "Good-bye, Mom."

She didn't answer.

"I know you think that God is going to punish me," I said in a flash of anger, "but he's your God, and they're your rules.
You
burn in hell." As soon as I said it, I regretted it. I had been trying to take a higher road than that. Still, I felt better for saying it. My mother just turned her head away.

I picked up my handbag at the door. Meg asked David to give me a kiss, which he did quite willingly. The wet smear was comforting. "Thanks, Meg," I said with a tremulous smile. "Aunt Faith can still babysit."

"I know," she said. She kissed me gently on the
side of my face that was a solid, throbbing ache. "There, all better. Moms have magic kisses, you know." She swallowed and her jaw tightened. "If he ever lays a hand on David I'll kill him."

"They're going to be all alone at the end, you know."

"No," Meg said. "They'll have the Church." She hugged David. "Maybe they're happy with it, but I'd rather have my son."

I reached home in a state of exhaustion and fell asleep with an ice pack on my face. I was roused well after dark by the phone ringing and let my new answering machine take the call.

"Hi there, sweetie. I hope grading your papers is going well. Let's get together this week as soon as you're done, okay? I'm leaving for Hong Kong again next week, so how about Wednesday? And Saturday? I think I can scare up some tickets to a play."

I drowned out the rest of Eric's message by burrowing my head under the sofa cushions. I needed to recover from today's confrontation before I saw Eric, but perhaps Wednesday would be best.

I felt really strange and different, but I didn't feel as awful as I had thought I would. James had been right. I'd lost my parents and was surviving. I'd unexpectedly gained a closer relationship with my brother and sister. And, most unexpectedly of all, I'd gained a better relationship with myself.

9

That which is crooked cannot b
e made
straight.

—- Ecclesiastes 1:15

"Really, Alan? You wouldn't lie to me about a thing like this, would you?" Sydney knew Alan wouldn't, but she wasn't sure she had heard him right.

"You've got the go-ahead to put your name in. Mark says he can almost guarantee no opposition, and perhaps even staunch party support, even though you have those two strikes against you."

"Two strikes? My sexuality and what else?"

Alan laughed. 'You're a woman, Sydney, remember?"

"Oh yeah," she said sheepishly. "Sometimes I forget. Well, I don't need any guarantees from Mark, I'll make them on my own." She was tired after nearly two weeks of nonstop work. It was proving good therapy to get past any drinking urges, and she only thought of Faith in the moments before she fell into exhausted sleep each night.

"Well, we'll let Mark live with his fantasy, if you don't mind. At least for now," Alan said, always pragmatic. "Let's get together tomorrow and talk about announcement strategy and staff we'll need to hire. I know at least one speech writer who's eager to come aboard your campaign. After all the money you've given to Emily's List you should get a few personal endorsements there."

"Tomorrow's fine," Sydney said. "I'll clear the evening."

She hung up in a daze and looked around her desk at the case folders. She was going to have to turn many of them over to associates if she wanted time to plan a Campaign. The associates would probably be happy, but for a moment Sydney felt a little panic. Her cases, by their sheer number, were steady, grounding, and absorbing. The campaign would be a roller-coaster ride.

She put aside the panic and let the glee of the roller coaster take over. Maybe she wouldn't win, but she would definitely get to say her piece about a lot of issues. Writing discussion briefs and white papers on health-care access, civil rights, domestic violence, education — she looked forward to the challenge.

Would the challenge be enough fulfillment to make her forget about Faith? It had to be, she told herself. In fact, she was quite sure it was.

* * * * *

"I'm so glad to see you," Eric said. He swept me into his arms for a hearty hug, then set me down. As always I felt an inner warmth when he held me, but I no longer considered it something a life partnership could be built on. "Get your coat, it's hellish out there." The warm fall had ended abruptly, and more seasonable rain and cold winds had arrived earlier in the day. "I've got reservations at Ambria, if you feel like French."

"Sure," I said. I couldn't help a nervous swallow. "But can we sit down and talk first? I need to... tell you something." My heart started to hammer. I so cared for him and dreaded telling him more than I had dreaded telling my parents. He was going to be hurt, and I would be 100 percent responsible.

"Sure, sweetie." He took off his greatcoat and sat down easily on the sofa, turning toward me as I sat down next to him. He looked so trusting and comfortable. He had no idea what was coming.

"Eric, this is not going to be easy."

He sat forward. "What is it, Faith? Have I offended you?" He suddenly looked like a hurt little boy. "Are you breaking up with me?"

I couldn't speak, so I nodded.

"I thought we got along really well," he said, looking down. I could see he was biting his lower lip.

"We do," I said huskily. "That's why this is so hard and it took me so long."

"Can you give me a reason?"

"Yes. Let me ask you a question, though, because I'm curious." He nodded without looking up. "Why haven't you made any sexual overtures to me?"

His head shot up. Is that what this about? Are you afraid I'm not really attracted to you? More than anything I respect you, Faith. I could tell you weren't ready for sex, and I was happy to leave it that way. I'm not one of those men who has to have it or die. I frankly don't understand men who can't keep their pants zipped. And we were becoming close friends, and from there I thought, well, I thought we would have something like my parents have. Something that would last forever. I thought sex would come naturally to us when the time was right. I've had some really disastrous relationships that were built on sex, and now friendship matters more to me."

"You are such a rare man," I said. I took his hand. "If I could be with any man, it would be you, Eric. I do love you." I broke off as his fingers tightened on mine. "I've done a lot of soul-searching this last month or two. And I've come to accept the truth about myself. I. .. I'm gay, Eric. I thought I could change myself. I prayed I would change. You don't know how much."

His fingers clenched on mine, then he abruptly let go. He turned his head away, and I saw him take a deep, shuddering breath.

"Eric, I'm so, so sorry. I should never have kept going out with you. I never meant to hurt you." I wiped away a tear. I had done more crying in the last two months than in my entire life. I was sick of being sodden all the time.

"For a minute, I thought you were going to tell me you wanted to be a nun," he said in a low voice. He looked up with a slight smile, but there were tears in his eyes. "Somehow I knew you were too good to be true."

"Don't, I said. "I'm not good at all." I mopped ineffectively at my face with an edge of my sleeve, then smiled as he proffered his handkerchief. Always a gentleman, I thought. "You don't know the half of it."

"You don't have to tell me. Faith, sweetie," he said, taking my hand back, "I'd like to stay friends. I mean it."

"I do, too. I wish I could be different."

"As the song goes, I love you just the way you are." He swallowed noisily, then tried for a brave smile with partial success. "I think you've read so much about Eleanor that you're starting to be like her."

"How so?" I blinked at him. If anything, I had compared Eleanor to Sydney in my mind. They were both fearless and ambitious.

"You might have played it safe, but instead you've chosen to sail off to the unknown." He sighed.

"I don't feel like I chose anything," I said slowly. "I just stopped denying the inevitable."

He patted my hand and gave me a resigned look. "This may seem anticlimactic but I'm starving, and I really could use the company of a good friend since my girlfriend just dumped me." I smiled at him with a sniffle. "Why don't you get your coat, okay?"

In a misty daze, feeling far better than I thought I would, I let him help me on with my coat. He turned me to face him and buttoned me up as if I were a little girl. "It's cold out — sweetie, what happened to your face?"

I realized then that my mopping with his hand
kerchief had disturbed the careful layer of makeup I'd used to hide the yellowing bruise. "It's not important."

"Somebody hit you," he said in disbelief. "Were you mugged?"

"Eric, it doesn't matter, and it won't happen again. I won't be going home again. Let's just say that my father wasn't as reasonable as you were."

"Jesus Christ," he said. "Your father hit you? You said he was very religious."

It was my turn to sigh. "So was Pope Alexander the sixth, and he poisoned people, or had his daughter Lucretia Borgia to do it."

"Jesus Christ," he said again. Shocked to the core, he gently touched the side of my face. "I can't believe this. Sydney came to a family weekend with a woman, and both of them were roaring drunk. They were crawling all over each other. My parents hadn't known until then that she was a lesbian, and I thought my father would have a stroke. He was so angry with her, but never, ever would he have hit her. I just... I can't believe that people hit their kids."

"Sometimes I think you are the most innocent person I've ever met," I said. "Let's not talk about it, okay? It's over and I'm done with it."