“No, Mom. I thought I’d talk to you guys first. Is Dad there?”
“Yes, of course he’s here, what’s going on?” She sounded so annoyed.
Mark kept himself as still as he could. Without thinking, he put his left hand on his thigh. “Can you put me on speaker so he hears me too?”
After a moment of muffled sounds, his father’s voice came through loud and clear. “What is this nonsense, son?”
“Hey, Dad. Uh, I wanted to talk to you guys about something,” he started. Then, because all the scripts he’d come up with in his head for this particular moment had vanished in the last two minutes, he blurted out, “I don’t want you guys to call me ever again.”
“Youwhat?” Mom shrieked.
“What are you trying to say, son? Why are you upsetting your mother like this? We’re calling you as often as we wish, you know better than—”
“I’m gay.”
Well, that shut them up.
Mark dug his fingers into the bruise, because he knew exactly what was coming.
“No son of mine is a dirty fucking faggot!” his father snarled. “You take that back right now, Mark, you fucking take that shit back!”
“Mark,” his mother wailed, “It’s not true! You’re just confused!”
Something about her words stopped his panicked thoughts. He’d expected vitriol from her, too. But she sounded genuinely upset and sad, forlorn, even.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but it’s true. I’m gay, and I’ve always been.”
She made a choked sound and his father began a tirade like no other. Mark sat there, letting the hate and abuse wash over him one last time.
He didn’t disconnect, because he knew he needed to do this his way. A few minutes into the rant, he let go of his thigh, feeling the throb of the abused flesh as it gave him strength.
Dad had to breathe occasionally, so when he did the next time, Mark said, “Dad, I’m sorry you never loved me, because I loved you, as a little boy. Mom, I loved you too, but I don’t have any positive feelings left for you guys, and I have to let you guys go.”
Dad growled. “I will jump into the car and—"
“No. You won’t because I’m a cop, and if you come anywhere near me and my town, my boss, the sheriff, will kick your ass out and I’ll get a restraining order. I’ll find a way to get you a permanent record, do you understand? So you guys stay right where you are, and try to be happy. Bye, Mom and Dad.” Mark disconnected the call.
The phone slid from his hand to the passenger’s seat, and he sat there, heart trying to crawl up from his chest through his throat, gasping for breath.
He looked at his shaking hands, and then something in his mind clicked and he quickly slammed his left hand over the bruise and squeezed until he let out a yell. And then, then he cried.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, weeping. Eventually he dug a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. Then he started the car and drove the rest of the way to the Grahams’ house.
Chapter Fourteen
Francis worried all the way to work. How could he not? He just hoped that his last ditch effort to alleviate the situation would work.
He got to the Grahams’ house just past eight, and of course Henrietta and Charles were already up and about.
“Good morning, dear, did you have a nice day off?” Henrietta asked when he got to the kitchen to make coffee for himself.
“Yes, very much so. I’m worried about Mark, though,” he said, because she’d know something was bothering him and he couldn’t have that happen.
“Oh, what’s wrong with our favorite deputy?” She turned to look at him, and he realized she was readying ingredients for breakfast.
“Let me do that and you sit down. Where’s Charles?”
“He’s reading in the den, I promised him breakfast in the chair. He’s a bit wobbly this morning.” She frowned.
