He wanted her to stop talking while he arranged his thoughts in his head and he wanted her to never stop talking, her voice a soothing ribbon wrapping itself around his heart. But should he let it? She had stood to one side and let his dad torture him. Surely he shouldn’t have any soft thoughts about her, not a single one.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear from you, Kell,” she said into the silence. “Two years. You’ve been gone two years. An eternity. I looked every day.Everyday. Spent pretty much all your father’s alimony on PIs and not one of them could find you, not one. But I never gave up hope, never—”
“Mom,” he said again to get her to stop talking. “Why did you let dad do that? Why did you agree to send me away? To that camp?”
There was a long, heavy pause. Kell gripped the edges of the cellphone until his fingers hurt, lifting his head so he could look at Marston, see those eyes, that unsmiling mouth. Feel the safety of the nearness of that strong body, the kind sweetness of a heart that Marston hid beneath layers and layers of silence.
“Your dad thought Serenity Sleepaway Camp would cure you, would keep you from being evil.”
Kell blinked. He’d not known his dad thought he was evil, though perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised.
“But I never did,” said his mom. “I figured we needed to find out—I mean, did I know any gay people? Maybe more than I realized, after I read a few blogs, started researching. But he got mad—he was monitoring my computer searches. Turned out he’d been doing it for years. Nothing was private, and he was so mad, and that temper of his, not in check. Not anymore.”
Kell didn’t know what to say about that, only it was news to him, though still not surprising, that his dad would spy on their computer usage. Luckily, Kell had used the school computers for the things he’d looked up when trying to figure out why he felt the way he did.
“You let him hurt me,” he said, quietly, keeping his voice as level as he could as the memories surged up like a dark black tide. “You let himbeatme.”
Maybe she started to cry, for the sound was muffled, as though she had her hand over her mouth. Maybe he started to cry, too, for Marston suddenly moved, his arms around Kell, holding him, shielding him from the whirlwind that seemed to whip around him, trying to get in where the cracks in his skin might let them.
“Mom.”
“Kell.” She took a breath, and the word sounded so rough, like it hurt her to say it, like it wounded her to say it. Like she had her own maelstrom swirling around her, only she had nobody to hold her.
“Mom.” More gently this time.
“He scared me,” she said. “I knew he had a temper, but when you came out to us, it was like he was unleashed. I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t reason with him. I was scared he’d turn on me—” Another breath, a gasp that sounded as if she was on the verge of drowning, and he was on the verge of hardening his heart to her, when she said, “I love you so much. I’ve loved you since before you were born. I didn’t care that you were gay, but I was confused. Very confused, but I still wanted to help you navigate all of this—how did you know and what kind of boy might you like? What kind of mom would I be if I didn’t do my best to help you? But your dad—the threats, the anger—I was just so scared.”
He waited as she seemed to calm herself down, and then she said, “I don’t expect you’ll forgive me, but I hope one day you’ll understand. I let you down, in the worst way. I should have left that night, suitcases packed, you at my side. I was even thinking it at that moment, but I didn’t do it. I did leave him after you left, but it was too late, and I’d lost you.”
“Mom.”
His heart ached, not just for himself, but for her. He could remember her standing there, crying, not lifting a finger to help him, but thinking that she should. Too scared to try and leave. Immobilized by fear, then riddled with regret for the two years that followed. Kell’s dad made good money, so the alimony must have been hefty, and his mom had spent it all on PIs trying to find him.
“Mom, where are you now?”
“I’m staying with your Aunt Miriam,” she said. “She’s got a little guest house and I work in a fabric store, Dot’s Fabrics and Notions. You remember. Over in Onondaga Hill.”
Kell remembered the rambling old house overlooking a pond where his aunt lived, and where the family would visit in the summers. His dad had never liked going, and sometimes it would just be Kell and his mom, his Aunt Miriam and her three beautiful dogs, Brittany Spaniels all, with their orange and white coats, Trey, Sadie, and Jenny, romping on the slope of green grass in summer’s twilight, the fireflies dancing in the air.
But however good that memory was, he couldn’t imagine his mom wearing a clerk’s smock like the pale blue ones they had at Dot’s Fabrics and Notions, standing behind a counter and waiting on customers. His mom had graduated from college to become Mrs. David Dodson and had never received a paycheck in her life.
“Kell,” she said into the silence of his memories. “Tell me true. Are you okay? You went to prison for trespassing, Mr. Roebuck said. Spent sixty days there before you were released. Are you okay? You’re in Wyoming, he said, on some kind of ranch.”
“It’s a valley,” he said, his eyes sweeping over the view as the tears dried on his face, an urgent desire to describe its beauty to her. The peace he’d found there, the goodness. And Marston. That was the most important thing. “I’ve got a boyfriend,” he said, the words quite clear. “His name is Marston.”
He felt Marston’s arms tighten around him, gentle and so solid, then Marston let go of him and stepped away, as if giving Kell a little privacy, now that the hardest part was over.
“Marston,” she said, the surprise in her voice making it rise. There was a long pause, and then she asked, “Is he nice?”
The question was asked in the way any mother would ask it when inquiring after a child’s newfound love. That’s what he told himself as he nodded and relaxed his fingers on his cellphone.
He wasn’t alone in this. He had Marston, and maybe, just maybe, he’d have his mom back. But it would take time. He needed to let it take time. Not rush. Not flail about.
If being on the road for two years and then being in prison for sixty days had taught him anything, it was to pace himself. Check the train tracks or the road, read the face of the guy in the driver’s seat who was offering him a ride.
“He’s very nice,” said Kell. “He’s exactly what I needed, only I didn’t know it till I met him.”
“Is he—” She paused and he could almost hear her thinking how to phrase the question. “Is he doing his parole there as well?”
