South of Sunshine (20 page)

“Thank you, sweetie, for trusting me.” She gives me a hearty pat on the back before releasing me.

I do an awkward spin-away move and scurry for the door. “Yeah, sure thing.” Then I stop and lean back in. “Nice mug, Mrs. B.”

She grins huge and winks.

There’s an actual smile on my face when I walk away, the first one in a while. The chance that Van might talk to me and that I will have one friend to reach out to while I’m in exile makes my future a little less hellish.

A little something flutters inside of me: life.

“Where do you want these, Ms. Jackie? The returns cart or the drop-off bin?” I stand at the public library’s front counter with the stack of books, waiting for her to finish binding the latest periodicals with plastic covers. The familiar scent of paper and lemon Pledge greets me.

Ms. Jackie’s salt and pepper hair sags from the heavy bun in the back. At least two pencils poke out of her hive like misplaced chopsticks. She makes quick work of the magazines and turns around to face me. Leathered cracks crinkle around her eyes when she smiles. “Oh good. Just put them there. There’s a couple for you.” She hands me three books and pulls a set of keys from her drawer. “Let me check the drive-thru drop box to make sure we don’t have any more.”

“Yes, ma’am.” As Ms. Jackie heads out the front door, I check out the latest arrivals on the YA rack next to the front desk. The first book I pick up is a summer romance. No thanks. The next is a sad cancer story. I’m not even going there. Why don’t they have a good ole zombie apocalypse story to cheer me up? A were-creature book is the closest thing to non-depressing I can find. As I read the back, I’m hoping the prom queen gets eaten.

“I heard they moved back to Boston,” a woman’s voice says at the main counter. A couple of books thunk into the library bin. I stop reading the back cover and listen.

“Good. He can take that wetback wife with him too,” a second woman says. The hard edge of her voice is unmistakable. It’s Mrs. Goodman, Andrew’s mother. The rack I stand behind barely hides me. As long as I keep still, maybe they won’t notice I’m here.

“I’m sick and tired of being attacked because I believe in upholding family values. Serves them right to be run off for raising that girl to be a lesbian. Next thing you know, she’d have had every kid in town confused, thinking it’s okay to be a homosexual.” Both ladies uh-huh in agreement. Heat flares all over my body. I have a death grip on the hardback I’m holding.

“That’ll teach them. They can’t come to Sunshine and corrupt our children,” Mrs. Goodman says. “We don’t need foreigners “fixing” things around here, no way. We’re better off without them. I’m glad Larry fired that man. The factory can go to hell. We’ve got farming.”

“Amen. I hear that daughter of theirs attacked that Hannigan girl. And these are the gay rights those liberal activists are fighting for. I just don’t know how much more we’re going to have to endure.”

The tiny bit of the lunch I consumed earlier rolls in my stomach. Fear and anger mix in my blood, icing me frozen. How could it be okay, in any world, to run somebody out of town? Bren’s father has been fired, and the factory is going to close. Do these ladies have any idea what this does for my family? For lots of small-business families here in Sunshine? I just don’t understand how these women can be so selfish, so small minded.

“Got one more for you, Kaycee,” Ms. Jackie says behind me. I startle. A quick glance to my right, and I see Mrs. Goodman has taken notice of me.

My eyes hit the floor. “Thanks, Ms. Jackie,” I say in a whisper, as if that might make me smaller, more invisible somehow. I grab the book, give her the worst excuse for a smile, and head for the door. As I pass Mrs. Goodman, I keep my eyes on the carpet and pray she doesn’t say anything to me.

Just as I push through the door, I hear Mrs. Goodman speak loud and clear. “Only way to protect our kids is to run every last one of them out of town.”

The keys jangle in my hand so bad, it takes me several tries before I am able to unlock my car. The second I’m behind the wheel, I turn over the engine, throw the car in reverse, and get the hell out of there.

Panic builds in my body, and I can’t seem to find enough oxygen. Holy crap, Mrs. Goodman knows. She knows! It’s unmistakable—that comment was aimed at me. I’m sure of it. It’s one thing to know the kids at school gossip about me and know I’m gay, but it never dawned on me they would tell their parents or even talk to their parents about this stuff.

And now Bren is gone, for good. My body seems to shrivel up a little more at the thought. A part of me feared that was why she hadn’t been at school, and now I know. They up and left, moved back to Boston. Over what happened at the hayride? That seems a bit extreme. But then again, if Chelsea is telling people Bren attacked her … oh my God, who lies like that?

Haters, that’s who. How can Sarabeth stomach being Andrew’s girlfriend with a mother like that?

Maybe they left because her father got fired. It’s ridiculous to think that he would get fired over something his daughter did. That would have to be illegal or something. Didn’t Larry Beaudroux think about how his actions could hurt this town? Or maybe he was too worried about his upcoming election for Mayor and reputation to give a damn.

I park down the hill from Hot Flix, aware that I drove here but don’t remember the drive from there to here. The giant Wildcat painted on the brick wall glares at me. I imagine that if it were alive, it would hate me too.

In an instant, my fear and aguish flip a switch inside of me. I slap my steering wheel as hard as I can. “I hate that woman!” How dare Mrs. Goodman say such awful things? And she’s going to heaven and I’m not? Mrs. Goodman and her stupid friend act like they’re the ones being violated. The problem is they’re convinced people can be turned gay, like we’re vampires or something. It’s the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard.

For God’s sake, I’ve tried to let the heterosexual rub off on me. It didn’t work. These are the people that I hide my true self for? I’m allowing the most hateful, judgmental people control my life. People I don’t even like or care about. I get out, slamming the car door behind me, and I march up the hill to Hot Flix.

Once Van accepts my apology, I’m going to fill him in on the crap I just heard. Then I hope he can enlighten me on the real scoop as to why Bren’s family left.

“Well, don’t you look mad as a hornet?” Mr. Bobby’s voice stops me. I lift my head to address the old man. I smile when I see Ms. Doris sipping a cup of coffee across the little bistro table from him.

“Hello, Ms. Carver. What a pleasant surprise seeing you here,” I say.

“Just happened by, that’s all.” She takes a delicate sip of her coffee, all business as usual. Her salt and pepper hair is beauty shop perfect. Her Sunday-nice church dress on a Friday says more than “happened by.”

“Isn’t that lucky Mr. Bobby just
happened
to be here? What a coincidence. Well, y’all enjoy your Friday.” I cock my head to Mr. Bobby. The old man grins from ear to ear.

With that I grab the handle on Hot Flix’s door and stop. Slightly off-center to the heart Mrs. Betty painted on the glass is an indentation. A rock or a brick was thrown at it but not hard enough to finish the job. Cracks run through the glass, splitting the heart and breaking it in half. A few fractures spread out further, slicing up parts of the rainbow, distorting the colorful arcs.

The weight of my words stills my breath. Even though I wasn’t the one who threw the brick, I am the one to blame. If I had never said anything about Van being gay that day in the bathroom, this would have never happened.

I stare at the door and will myself to step forward. The chances of Van forgiving me now are slim to none. Now, more than ever, I need to make my apologies. I grab the door handle and pull—

The locked door jars me forward. Did they have to close down shop because of the window? My face smooshes against the glass, and I cup my hands around my eyes to see in.

Lights are on.
Edward Scissorhands
plays on the big screen. Fresh popcorn overflows out of the popper bin. But nobody is manning the counter.

My fist pounds on the glass door. “Van, are you in there?” With no answer I pound a little louder. “Van, it’s me, Kaycee. Let me in.”

Something moves in the back. Van must have seen me coming while I was chatting with Mr. Bobby and locked the door. Oh man, he hates me that much.

“Come on, Van. It’s three in the afternoon. You’re not closed.”

One of the black curtains waves and the rubbery white toes of a pair of sneakers peek out at the bottom.

“I see you hiding in the porn closet.”

Feet shuffle and the curtain shimmies.

“Please, Van. I want to tell you I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

A lady passes me on the sidewalk and looks at me like I’m a psycho.

“I said some really mean things to him, and he locked me out,” I tell her. Oh yeah, because that doesn’t sound crazy in the slightest. Once the woman is some distance away, I turn my attention back to the door.

“I’m not going away until you open this door. You have to go home sometime.”

No response.

“Okay. You’re making me do it. I don’t want to, but you leave me no choice.” I take a quick glance around to see who’s in the near vicinity. I flash a quick smile to Mr. Bobby and clear my throat. “I’m gay, and I’m proud,” I say in my normal tone against the glass door.

Nothing.

I take a deep breath and I say it again, a little louder. “I’m gay, and I’m proud.” It’s a mix of terror and freedom all in the same. I slip a glance to Mr. Bobby who grins back at me.

A small part of the curtain peels back, and I see an eyeball peeping out at me.

I inhale a lungful of air and scream it. “I’m gay, and I’m proud.”

Van jumps out from behind the curtain and races to the door. He can’t get the darned thing unlocked quickly enough. “Shush.” He drags me in by the elbow and scans the street for witnesses before joining me inside. “Be quiet before you scare all the heterosexuals away.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me, chewing the inside of his jaw.

Here goes nothing. “I was wrong. Way wrong. I should have never said all those awful things.”

Van opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

“You were right. I was being a hypocrite too. I denied who I was to myself and tried to cover it up with boyfriends. At least you didn’t do that. I panicked after the hayride. I had my head up my ass and flipped out. I was angry for the lies Chelsea spread about Bren. I was angry because Sarabeth picked Andrew’s side. I was angry at you because you have parents who love you no matter what. That’s just not fair. Annnnd I’m stalling, because what I really want to say is that …” I exhale. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I spilled the beans on you. All those things I blurted out, those private things about you and being gay …” I swallow. “They were not mine to speak aloud.”

I look over at the broken window. “Not only have I caused you pain, but I’ve caused your family pain as well. I don’t ever expect you to forgive me, but I just wanted you to know that I feel horrible about what has happened between us. I never imagined our friendship would end this way. I couldn’t let you go the rest of your life without knowing how truly sorry I am.”

Hold breath.

Van stares at me, lips pinched. His eyes begin to squint as if he’s so freaking mad, he could shoot laser beams out of them and slice me in half. “You’re an idiot. You know that?”

Okay, not what I expected, but I deserve it. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“You’re not an idiot because of the crap you said.” His arms unfurl. “You want to know why you’re an idiot?”

I hesitate a moment, not sure if this is a trick question or if he really expects me to ask him why.

“You’re an idiot because you think we could have one fight and I’d end our friendship. If you’d bothered to return a call or a text, or to even talk to me, you would have known that I wasn’t able to go more than few days angry. Heck, you’ve been a ghost at school.”

My phone. Oh crap, my phone
. “I chucked my phone out the window on my way to Mississippi,” I confess. He had me on the invisibility act I was pulling at school.

“Mississippi?”

“After that day in the bathroom, the weekend prior, and everything else that’s happened, I needed to drive. And I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

His shoulders drop. “You do know those things have an off button.”

“I know. It’s just … my head was exploding, my heart was breaking, and I needed to kill something. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” I give him a crooked smile.

“Get over here.” He opens his arms to me and pulls me in with a great squeeze. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard to come out. This last week has been hell. I don’t function well without my Kaycee fix, you know?”

I nod my head against his chest. I’ve missed my Van so much.

He grabs my shoulders and pushes me off him, looking me in the eyes. “Are you eating? You feel all boney.”

“Yes. I’m eating.” Not very much though; my stomach can’t handle much.

“As far as telling the school I’m gay, you didn’t say anything everyone didn’t already know.” He flings his arm out. “For Christ’s sake, my own mother drew a bull’s-eye on the storefront window. You can’t get any more gay pride than that.”

I swipe the tears from under my eyes and chuckle. “Yeah, but most people around here don’t even realize what that means.” Even cracked and broken, the window is a beautiful thing. “Your mom does have a flair for over-the-top.”

“Yeah, she does. Now sit down on my couch and let me shrink all your problems.”

I accept the invite and plop down on the sofa. The smell of popcorn, infused in its fibers, welcomes me back home. Van goes behind the counter and perches on the barstool, entering in the new inventory.

To clear up the rumors, I tell him what actually happened on the hayride and what Sarabeth said to me. Instead of feeling indifferent toward her, anger reignites the fresh wound of betrayal. The gay intervention that followed, and now the fact that I’m going to be shipped off to a brainwashing rehabilitation, surprises the crap out of Van.