Timmo
The dry irony of Cameron's "Why so unforgiving, sister?" hit home, and increased Ed's determination not to renew contact with his own family. There was too much resentment and hurt on his side, too much hatred on theirs. The only one he cared about was his little brother, Tim. Timmo, he used to call him. He must be grown up by now. Ed hoped he hadn't turned out gay and had to go through the same pain he had. No, he wanted nothing to do with them.
Still, he was curious. What had happened since then? And all those unanswered questions that had nagged at him over the years! Without telling Cameron, he went to the computer and did a name search.
First his father. If the old man were still alive he would go no further. The names popped up quickly, lots of them. He had to read down a long list to find the right one. Check birthdays, addresses, things like that.
His father had died some eight years ago, and his mother shortly afterwards. And Tim? He found him—he felt fairly certain it was him—still living in New Hampshire, in a small town not far from where they'd grown up. A "Janice Blacknoll (Mrs. Timothy)" also popped up. So he was married.
Should he contact him? Part of him wanted to, part of him didn't. He couldn't talk it over with Cameron, not yet, not in the middle of the dispute over his mother's will and with his bitch of a sister behaving the way she was.
The part of him that wanted to know wouldn't go away. There was a phone number, but he didn't have the courage to call. He waited two days, then sent an email.
Dear Timothy Blacknoll,
I think you're my brother. I hope I'm right. I'll be pretty embarrassed if you're not. It all fits: name, age, birthday, parents' names, town you live in. I see you're married. That's cool.
I haven't forgotten you, Timmo, and find myself thinking about you a lot lately. I wonder how you're doing and what your life's been like. I found out on the Internet that mom and dad are dead. I couldn't go back to them after everything that happened. None of that involved you, and I thought maybe… If you want nothing to do with me, I'll understand. It's been 18 years. I just wanted to let you know I'm alive.
I live in Boston now. I went there after I left home. I'm pretty happy. I have a good job and lots of friends. What else can I say? I don't know how much you want to know about me.
Your brother (?)
Ed Blacknoll
He thought a moment, added "Eddie" in parentheses after his signature, and sent the email.
* * * *
Janice looked up from her magazine when she heard her husband come into the room, and her smile died on her lips. She'd never seen Tim so shaken—trembling, his face blank, disturbed, and at the same time she could sense his excitement.
"What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not seen; heard from. I just got an email from my brother Eddie."
It took a few seconds for what he said to sink in. "How is that possible? You told me he was dead."
"It seems he isn't. He lives in Boston."
"But wasn't there a funeral? Didn't you bury him?"
"No. He ran away when he was teenager. About a month later my mom told me he'd died. That's all I know."
"I just assumed… I mean, you never talk about him."
"What's to say? I was just a little kid when he died… or disappeared. Whatever."
"Do you remember him?"
"Every detail."
A short silence, then she said, "After all these years… You're sure it's him?"
"Absolutely. He knows too much about us. He called me Timmo. No one else has ever called me that."
"Are you going to answer him?"
He nodded. "Just as soon as I compose my thoughts. I have so much to ask him, so much I want to find out about. I want to meet him, Janice. Boston's only an hour and a half away."
She stood up. "I could use a drink. Should I make you one?"
"No thanks. I think I'll go out for a walk. I need time to think."
"Good idea. Take the cell phone. If it looks like you'll be out really late, call."
* * * *
Tim went to sit on a bench in the park a few blocks away. So many questions back then, and so many questions now! One learned early not to ask questions in his family, at least not certain questions. He'd asked anyway: "Where's Eddie?" He'd asked at supper the night before he disappeared, and his mother said he was in his room, being punished; and he'd asked again at breakfast the next morning.
Other questions followed. Why had he run away? Why didn't he say goodbye? When was he coming back? Shouldn't they go looking for him? Those questions he could ask, and he did. They either brushed them aside or told him to shut up. "Quit harping on it!" his father had finally roared. "Can't you see how it upsets your mother?" He'd never forgotten that answer. The look on his father's face had terrified him.
Then there were the questions he couldn't ask. What had that fight been about? He'd heard it all from his bed, not their words, but the crying, the yelling, the fists banging on the table, the slaps. He didn't dare go see what was going on. And other, more frightening questions. Why wouldn't they talk about Eddie? Why didn't they seem to care? It was as if they'd cut him out of their lives. Would they do the same to him if he made them that angry? He'd been scared ever since.
Eddie he could ask, even if he was a stranger when you came right down to it. But did he want to know?
He had to. He'd send an email. But what would he write?
The Blacknolls
Ed sat staring at the computer screen in the front room of their hotel suite, uncertain how to answer Timmo's message.
Eddie,
Your email came as a shock, to say the least. I thought you were dead. As far as I knew, you ran away and then got killed somewhere. Mom & Dad never talked about it, and I was afraid I'd upset them if I asked. What happened?
How could you even think I wouldn't want to meet you? You're my brother. I want to get together as soon as possible.
Yes, I'm happily married to Janice Walker. We were in grade school together. Our little girl, Kendra, will be 2 this fall. I run my own insurance agency. Janice works as a real estate agent. What do you do for a living? Are you married? Answer soon. I'm dying to know all about you.
Timmo
"Hey," Ed thought, "I'm an uncle." That didn't help him know what to write. Best be blunt and get it over with.
Timmo,
I didn't run away. Mom & Dad found out I was gay and drove me to a Christian rehab center in the middle of the night to be reprogrammed. I ran away from there. Do you still want to meet me?
Eddie
He was still at the computer, wondering if he'd been too blunt, when Tim's reply popped up.
That explains a lot. Do I still want to meet you? More than ever. Can you come up to New Hampshire some weekend? Bring your significant other, if you have one. Or should I come to Boston?
Still your Timmo
So his being gay didn't turn Tim off, unless he had a little reprogramming of his own in mind. It didn't sound like it, though.
Actually, I'm in Georgia right now. Cameron's here with me. He's my husband. We got married in June, but this isn't our honeymoon. We're here on business. We'll be staying a couple more days, maybe longer. Call the hotel if you want to talk. We're usually here in the evening.
He glanced at the phone, typed in the number, and clicked "send". The phone rang before he got to the bedroom.
"For you," Cameron said. "Someone who calls you Eddie."
"I know who it is. My brother Timmo. I'll explain after I speak to him."
"Do you want me to go somewhere else?"
"No, stay here. I have no secrets from you." He sat down in the armchair to take the call and added, "Except that I got in touch with my brother yesterday."
They both imagined they would talk about themselves and how they'd spent the eighteen years since they last saw each other. Instead, most of the conversation centered on the night Ed had disappeared and their memories of their father, Herb.
"It makes sense that Mom and Dad were homophobic," Tim said," not that we ever talked about it at home. I had no idea."
"But you knew instinctively. I wish I had. How could you tell?"
"By seeing Dad's face when there was anything about gays on the news. You could feel it in the air when something made him really angry. And I remember Mom saying to him once, 'How can they put this kind of stuff on the television, Herb? Don't they realize how offensive it is?'—or something like that."
"And it didn't affect you?"
"Nah, I just shrugged it off as something that didn't concern us, not anything worth getting all bent out of shape over. When I first found out about gays and what they do from the kids at school, I thought it was kinda funny, only being attracted to girls and all, and I took their snickering in the same way. I didn't realize how vicious it all was till much later."
"Did you ever say anything to Mom and Dad about how you felt?"
"Are you nuts? I knew better than to open my mouth about something that would get Dad going. It was bad enough if I said something positive about a Democrat. But as I said, we never talked about it."
"Did they ever talk about me?"
"Never, and that was so scary." Although Ed didn't know what Tim looked like now, he could imagine the pain on his brother's face as he spoke. "I missed you so much, Eddie, and they didn't seem to care. It was as if you never had been. And I knew something had happened, something terrible, and I couldn't imagine what. I heard that fight you had the night you disappeared, not the words, just their yelling and you crying and the noise of him hitting you."
"Yeah, Dad beat me up pretty bad."
"I hid my head under the pillow so I wouldn't hear. I think I was crying as much as you; it scared the shit out of me. So I became their good little boy who did everything they told me and agreed with everything they said."
Ed felt he ought to say something encouraging. "But you grew up to be your own man."
"The resentment kept building, and in the end it turned me against everything they stood for."
"I used to wonder if you missed me," Ed said. "I wondered what they told you about me and what your life was like. I don't believe in God, but I used to pray you weren't gay too. I was afraid for you."
"It hurt that you didn't say goodbye to me, but somehow I knew it wasn't your fault. Do you know what I want now, more than anything?"
"What?"
"A hug from you."
* * * *
They talked for hours. While their conversation was going on, Cameron leafed through a magazine so as not to listen to what Ed was saying, but looked up now and then, watching his expression for signs of distress. He saw none, only a mixture of gladness, sorrow and regret.
Finally, Ed said, "I guess it's time we said goodbye for now," and, after a short pause, "Cameron. Yes, he's right next to me."
Another pause, and Ed teared up and held out the phone to Cameron. "Timmo wants to say hello to you," he said, with a catch in his voice.
Cameron put the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"
"Hello yourself, brother-in-law." The voice sounded almost exactly like Ed's. "It feels like I know you already; Eddie's talked my ear off singing your praises. What else do you do besides walk on water?"
"I can't say I've heard a lot about you," Cameron said; "not yet, anyway. But I can tell you that I've never seen Ed so happy. Thank you."
"I love you," Ed whispered from his place in the armchair.
Part III: On the Rocks
Big Eric
Eric Redding called every night to speak to Li'l Eric and the girls and to find out how Liv was doing. He made a point of not asking about the case, but she inevitably volunteered information, and as far as he could tell it wasn't going anywhere.
"We met their lawyer today," she told him, "a woman from Atlanta. Mr. Worthy says she's very competent. Only one of the men from next door was there, the black man."
"Christ."
"Yes. The other, that Franklin fellow, is keeping out of it for some reason. I'm glad. I don't trust him. I caught him talking to Li'l Eric the other day."
"Did you find out what about?"
"Don't you think I keep an eye on the children when we're there? His ball went into their yard and that man threw it back."
"That sounds innocent enough."
"I still don't trust him. Aren't you going to ask me how it went?"
"How what went?"
"You know exactly what I mean. The lawyer."
"Okay, how did it go?"
"There was someone there claiming to be Ronnie."
"Ronnie? Ronnie who?"
"My brother."
"The one who died? How can that be? Isn't there a death certificate?" When she didn't answer, he asked incredulously, "You mean he didn't?
"He's supporting them; he's on their side."
Then it hit him. "But Liv, that's wonderful news! Your brother! You must be so thrilled!"
"What's to be thrilled about? So what, if he didn't die? Unless the man's an imposter. It wouldn't surprise me if he was."
Eric was shocked. "Liv, how can you say such a thing? And how can you not know if your brother died or not?"
"Because he disappeared. What was I supposed to think after all these years? Mama said he was dead."
"I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
"What would've been the point?"
What would've been the point? Jesus! Wasn't he her husband? Who was this stranger on the other end of the line?
Completely at sea, Eric picked up from where she had left off and asked, "None of this makes any sense, Liv. I mean, if he wasn't dead… I mean, didn't they look for him? It couldn't have been all that difficult. The lawyer seems to have found him easily enough."
"I don't think Marker found him. Those men next door did."
"All the more reason—"
"My parents didn't want to find him. Eric…" She paused a fraction of a second and blurted out, "Ronnie was a fag."
Eric was speechless; he couldn't believe his ears. To Liv, his silence could only mean one thing: He was horrified that her brother was gay and somehow felt that she shared in his shame. In a sense he was right; otherwise she would have told him about it.
"Eric? Are you still there?"
"You never told me that."
"You never asked."
"So you don't want to have anything to do with your brother?"
"If he
is
my brother. Why would I? Would you believe he's married, and to a man? And proud of it?"
"I didn't know they could do that."
"Apparently they can in some places."
"But you're dropping the case now, aren't you?"
"I'm more determined than ever."
"What is it you really hate, Liv—all homosexuals or your brother for being one?"
"What's that supposed to mean? Is there a difference? Honestly, Eric, it's hard enough doing this without your support. You don't have to fight me on it too."
"Drop the case, Liv. Can't you see it's hopeless?"
"It wouldn't be if our laws supported family values."
Huh? Wasn't her brother a family value?
"Besides, I'm not convinced it
is
hopeless," Liv continued. "We have people on our side. Plenty of people—most people—think the way we do."
"Outsiders. And I wouldn't be so sure."
Perhaps he ought to have contradicted her on the "we". She knew well enough he didn't approve of her fighting the will. But it would start an argument that was certain to turn venomous. He could hear the anger in her voice.
"You can't begin to imagine how much support I've gotten here," she said. "I wish you were half as supportive."
He tried reasoning with her. "This is going to go public, Liv; I'm sure it will. A woman who disowns her gay son and years later wants her house, the same house she threw him out of, to be made into a shelter for gay teens—it's too good for them to pass up. There'll be a stink. Have you thought about how it would affect the children?"
"It will be worse for them in the long run if we don't stand up for what we believe in."
Again that
we
. "Won't you come home, Liv? Please. You're doing no good where you are. The results will be the same whether you stay or leave."
"If I'm here I can hurry things along."
"Does it look to you like they're hurrying? And hurrying to what? You're going to lose, Liv, whatever happens."
"What makes you so sure of that?"
"Your brother, for one. How can anyone doubt Alma's intentions now? His very existence explains why she wrote the will she did. She never got over having rejected her own child. It was tearing her apart."
"She didn't reject him. He rejected us."
"Oh, come off it, Liv. What do you mean he rejected
you
?" Either she was repeating what she'd been told or she was making the whole thing up. "For God's sake, you have no idea what happened with Ronnie. You were only four years old."
"He could have stayed with us if he'd been willing to turn to Christ and be healed."
How could she be so stubborn and dense? Wasn't it obvious the same thing could happen to her? Had she not picked up on it or was she choosing to ignore it? And what was with this "turn to Christ"?
"Have you thought of this, Liv? There's mounting evidence that homosexuality could be genetic. Your brother's homosexual. What if Li'l Eric—"
She cut him off. "You don't believe that crap, do you? It's all a lot of gay propaganda."
"But if your own son—"
"How could it be genetic? Wouldn't that line have died off long ago? Nature meant us to reproduce. God created—"
"Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. I've heard all that." Homophobes always spouted those religious arguments. Now Liv was spouting them too.
"Even if they were born that way, they're still freaks. They have no place in a God-fearing society."
Where did all this talk about God come from? They'd never been very religious; they hardly ever went to church. It had to be Jessie and Dennis saying grace and all that Christian literature they had on the coffee table rubbing off on her.
"I know my Bible too, Liv, believe it or not. The Old Testament says that cripples, the infirm, deformed people mustn't enter the Temple. But Jesus's message includes everyone. He went out and healed the sick."
"As God would heal homosexuals if only they'd turn to Him. I don't know my Bible well enough to answer you, Eric, but Pastor Rich could shoot down all your arguments in a second."
"Pastor Rich?"
"The minister in Dennis and Jessie's church."
"You've been going to church with them?"
"Once or twice, to be sociable. What harm is there in that? The children enjoy the singing."
Sweet Jesus, he thought, what poison were his kids being exposed to?