“Sir? You got a minute?”
“Yeah, sure, close the door if you want to,” Sheriff Newman said, pointing with the pen he was using.
As soon as Mark closed the door for privacy, Newman put down the pen and looked at him curiously.
“Everything okay, Forrest?” he asked when Mark sat down and wondered where to start.
“Uh… well, yes.” Mark sighed, ran a nervous hand through his hair and made eye contact with the sheriff when he added, “And no.”
“All right. Well, letmestart with I’m proud of you for coming out, son.” The expression Sheriff Newman’s face was fatherly, accepting, and just… everything a gay man would ever want from their own father.
“T-thank you, sir. I….” Mark dropped his gaze and swallowed hard. His hand on his thigh moved so that he could press his index finger against the bruise that reminded him of everything that was good in his world.
“So what’s wrong? Anyone giving you trouble?” The protectiveness in Newman’s tone was familiar to Mark, but it had never really been directed to Mark quite as strongly as this.
“It’s my parents, sir. They’re….” Mark took in a deep breath, and forced the truth out. “They’re horrible people. They’ve been emotionally abusive towards me since I was a little boy.”
“They live somewhere in… Arizona, was it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One of the other deputies came to me and told me about the weekly calls,” he said, then raised a hand before Mark could respond. “It was a worry they had, and this was at least a year ago, so it’s not a new thing. I assume, since I know it’s Wednesdays that you seem the most upset that today is a day they call you?”
The easy way Sheriff Newman handled the situation blew Mark’s mind a little. How the man could be so casual about it, how he just seemed to want to help and had known for a long time….
“Uh, yes. Eleven-oh-five.” Mark sighed. “I’ve decided it’s time I come out to them.”
“That can’t be an easy call to be facing?”
“No, sir. It’s not. It’s…. I’ll try to stay within my lunch break—”
“No. Absolutely not. If you need time, you take time, Mark.” He sighed and looked at Mark with some worry and care. “I know we’re a bit short on staff today, but if you need to take some time, you do that, okay?”
Mark nodded and pressed the bruise. “I might want to drive to the Grahams’ house,” he said quietly. “Francis….”
“If you need your partner’s support while you go through something that might well end up being traumatic, that’s completely fine. If you feel like you’re unable to work the rest of your shift at any point, you give me a call. But how about we say you have a two-hour lunch break today. That’ll give you time to drive to the Grahams’ and back and some time in between.”
Mark nodded at Sheriff Newman, forcing himself to leave the chair and the bubble of acceptance.
“That sounds good, sir. Thank you. I’ll cover the time tomorrow.” He walked to the door. “Thank you, sir. It’s… I know I’ve been horrible, but being through what I have is not a good reason for that, no excuse.”
Sheriff Newman smiled. “I think that’s called character growth, Deputy Forrest.” Then he got serious again. “Know that you’re never alone in this town. Emil always talks about chosen family, and I bet you have that too, whether you realize it yet or not. And if your blood family is no good, then good riddance. You’re a successful man, Mark. You have a job you seem to enjoy and a partner who cares about you. If they can’t see that, if they choose to hate and to abuse you, then they are not worthy of a second of your time.”
Mark swallowed hard, nodded, and fled the office before he started to cry right there. The sheriff’s words had felt like a kick to the chest. He’d always known that to be the truth, but he’d been too weak to get close to the people he could see himself belonging with. If he’d just had the fucking balls.
Anger at himself washed away the… the whatever he’d just felt and he went to sit at his desk. He pressed his fingers to the bruise until it throbbed again and stared at the clock on the wall, willing for the hands to move so that he could get the call over with.
* * * *
At five to eleven, he said bye to Erin and left for his lunch break. Except today, he didn’t drive to the diner, he started toward the Grahams’ house immediately.
He drove until he got to a parking spot for an old hiking trail and stopped the cruiser there. Then he stared through the windshield at the early spring without seeing anything at all.
Exactly five past eleven, his cell phone woke up in his pocket, and he answered the call.
“Hello, Mom,” he said, holding the phone in his shaking right hand.
“Have you had lunch yet?” she asked, like she almost always did.
