CHAPTER SEVEN
Marlon Barton
He needed to be alone. Just to have half an hour to sit in his own mind so he could unravel… what? What needed unraveling? There was no great mystery to solve and really nothing to be done. As his father had said at the end of it all—“Now it is what it is, and you live with it.”
But how was he supposed to live with the entire force knowing he was gay? Knowing that the man they’d worked beside for so many years wasn’t who he’d claimed to be.
No, that wasn’t right. He was still the same person. He was. But he didn’t feel like it. Not at all.
He felt exposed. Naked. Vulnerable.
It didn’t help matters that he’d called in sick. Didn’t help that he’d have to face Chief Schmidt after his “be stronger, be better” speech, all the while knowing the man would have no illusions about what kind of sick Marlon had been. A case of the yellow-bellied flu. That was all.
Marlon banged the hood of his car with his fist, then shook away the pain before leaning against it once more. He watched the reflections of lighted rollercoasters at Lakeside Amusement Park blur over the dark surface of Lake Rhoda. How many times had he sat here, the lights, music, and happy cries from the theme park drifting toward him as the white noise of I-70 buffered at his back?
Ever since he’d gotten his driver’s license, this was the spot he came to think. There had been fewer houses around back then, but the spot still served him well. It was where in his senior year in high school, he’d come to terms with the fact he was gay. Where he’d wept over the loss of his grandmother less than a week before graduating college. Where he’d had to choose between a career in law enforcement or the friends who said he was betraying his race. It had always offered clarity.
It didn’t that night. Too many thoughts crowded his mind, making him feel like a million people were screaming in his head.
Maybe if he’d come here first. Not spent the entire day…. Honestly, he couldn’t remember how he’d spent the day. He’d wandered around his apartment aimlessly and then the city. Wandered until he’d found himself standing on his parents’ doorstep and then being ushered into his childhood home.
For a moment, it had felt like the right decision. Instantly knowing something was wrong, of course, his mother had led him to the kitchen table and began reheating the leftover casserole she and his father had eaten earlier in the evening.
Half of the plate of food was gone when his father placed both elbows on the table and leaned forward, his gaze leveled on Marlon’s. “Spill it. What’s happened?”
Feeling like he was coming out to them all over again, Marlon struggled to find words. Then the words wouldn’t stop. Tumbling out of him in such number that the food was forgotten and cold before he ended.
“It’s all gone to shit. I—” Marlon’s breath caught, and he glanced at his mom. He hadn’t let a curse word slip in front of her since he was thirteen. “Sorry. I mean, everything is wrong. Ever since Sam left to be with his mother-in-law, I started hating my job. I absolutely hate it. My new partner is a racist, a—he’s horrid and unsafe. I don’t know if I can do it anymore, if I even want to. Maybe if I… moved….”
His mother, whose gaze had gone hard with the cuss word, instantly got teary. “No. No, baby. You can’t leave. Your home is here. We love you. Your nieces and nephews need you. You can’t—”
His father cut her off. “Celeste, Marlon’s a grown man. He isn’t tied to Denver or to us. If he—”
She interrupted him right back, an unusual act for his normally wives-should-be-submissive mother. “No. No, you don’t, Larry Barton. You’re not giving my son permission to leave me.” She turned a hard gaze back on Marlon. “And my son doesn’t run away. My son is a police officer. My son protects. My son is brave, and strong, and good. Hedoes notrun away.”
He held his mother’s gaze for several seconds, feeling completely naked in front of her. Hearing echoes of the pride and joy both of his parents had felt when he’d announced his choice of law enforcement. When he’d graduated the academy. When he’d let them hold his badge. The one other time he’d felt his mother’s disapproval was when he’d confessed that he was gay.
“They know, Mom. Everyone.”
She didn’t need any other explanation. Her eyes widened in what looked like fear, and then hope seemed to take its place. “Maybe this is the time, dear.”
Marlon didn’t require clarification; this was an old argument. An event he knew she prayed for constantly.
She went on. “The Lord works how he does, Marlon. He’s provided you a fork in your path, and you can choose the way that leads to him. There will be no more shame, no more conflict. Nothing left of this issue because it won’t exist.”
None of the old anger he used to feel at his mother’s belief that God would wipe away his “affliction” if Marlon would simply have faith rose up in him. Maybe he was too tired. He didn’t see judgment in her eyes. Only fear for her son’s soul and a rekindled hope of this new possible salvation.
No. He felt no anger. More guilt, but no anger. By dumping all this at their feet, he’d opened her up to the illusion he might be different than he was, good enough, finally, for the God of his parents.
He searched for the right words to correct his mother, but they didn’t come.
His father, who had no less faith than his wife but was worldly enough to know his son, shook his head. “Dear, that isn’t why Marlon is here. And I don’t believe it’s a path he’s willing to start down.” He turned his attention to Marlon. “There’s nothing for you to figure out, Son. The truth is out, and you made your choice a long time ago. It’s too late to hide it anymore. Now it is what it is, and you live with it. No more hiding. Be the son we’re proud of.”
Be stronger, better, tougher.
He wasn’t sure if he could. He was tired. Like he was 1,001 years old. Just tired. Like he’d been waging war all his life and there was nothing left to fight for.
Be stronger, better, tougher.
