The Battle for Jericho (21 page)

I knew what I wanted. Hutch had to stay here. I needed to know that he was safe, and the only way I could be sure of that was if he was here with us. But I couldn’t say that to Dad because I didn’t think there was any way he would agree to it. Hutch didn’t say anything either. The two of us just sat there and waited to see what my mom and dad would do.

“There’s one thing we must do,” Mom said. “We’ll have to call the Department of Human Services.”

Hutch rolled a frightened look at me. We’d talked about that option already. He didn’t want to be turned over to Human Services. “Uh, Mom, you can’t do that,” I protested. “The state will stick him in a foster home with strangers. And once they find out he’s gay, the foster parents could be just as nasty to him as his real parents were.”

“So the solution is for Barry to live here with us,” said Dad. “Is that it?”

“Well?” I looked from Mom to Dad. “Can he?”

Dad leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Your mother is right, Jericho. There are all kinds of legal issues here. We have to turn this over to Human Services.” He turned to Hutch before I could respond. “Barry, your parents abused you. That’s a crime, and it has to be reported.”

“But… that means I’ll have to testify against them in court or something. Doesn’t it?” Hutch answered, fear shining suddenly in his eyes. “I don’t want to do that, Dr. Jiles. I don’t want to have anything else to do with them. And I don’t want to go into any foster home.” He stared at Dad in a way that was uncertain and determined at the same time. “You don’t have to do anything for me. I’ll just leave.”

“And go where?” Mom asked, looking worried again.

“I’ll find a friend I can stay with. And I’ll get a job, something after school. I know this law—”

Dad shook his head. “Barry, we won’t let you leave here without knowing that you’re taken care of.”

“Exactly,” Mom agreed. “We’ll have you stay here with us for the time being.”

“And Monday morning,” Dad added, “I’ll start making some calls to see what we can work out for you that doesn’t involve foster homes or having you face your parents again.”

Sometimes my folks amaze me. “Mom… Dad… I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Of course we are,” Mom replied. “It’s the Christian thing to do.” She turned to Hutch. “Now, what do you need, dear?”

“What do I need?” Hutch repeated, confused.

“Yes. When a person is thrown into the streets, there’s usually not time to pack.”

“Jerry went back and got some of my stuff that my mom and dad threw out.”

“And where are those things?” asked Mom.

Hutch looked embarrassed. “Under the bed.”

“Let me see them.”

Hutch got down on his knees, reached under the bed, and retrieved the green plastic garbage bag where we kept his clean clothes stashed. He handed it to Mom.

Mom dug around in the bag with her hand, looking through the contents. “Three pairs of jeans… four shirts….” She looked at Hutch. “Are these all the clothes you have?”

“Yeah. Except for my winter jacket. It’s hanging in the closet. My backpack’s in there too, with my school stuff.”

“What about shoes?”

“I’ve been wearing some of Jerry’s.”

“Well, that won’t do,” said Mom. “Put on some shoes, Barry, and get your jacket. I’ll take you out and buy you some more clothes.”

Hutch seemed overwhelmed by everything. Still kneeling beside the bed, he was speechless for a moment. He got to his feet. “Mrs. Jiles, you don’t have to do that.”

“This isn’t up for debate, Barry.” Standing up, Mom handed the garbage bag back to Hutch. “Around here, children are expected to do as told. And you don’t have to sleep under the bed. Take your things upstairs to Jericho’s old room. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

“Okay. I’ll be back down in a second.” Hutch grabbed his jacket and a pair of my old sneakers and left the room with his bag of clothes.

“The poor thing,” Mom said once Hutch was gone. She grabbed her jacket from the desk and held it out to Dad. As he helped her into the jacket, she said, “We shouldn’t be gone long, London. I won’t spend too much.”

“Get him whatever you think he needs,” Dad said.

Mom kissed Dad on the cheek and left to get her purse.

“I’ll come with you guys.” I snagged my jacket from the closet and started to follow. I made two steps before Dad caught me by my right ear and tugged me back. “Ow! Ow!”

“
You
will be cooking dinner today,” Dad snapped, “and while you’re doing that, the two of us will have a little talk about keeping secrets from your parents. Hm?”

Yeah, I was really eager to have
that
conversation. But it was all good. At that moment, I loved my mom and dad more than ever.

G
IRLS
have this weird, incredible ability to make a guy feel as low as dirt with just a look or a tone of voice. They’re like parents in that way.

I had just survived a harsh lecture from Dad about trust that cut five feet and eleven inches off my height. As if that weren’t bad enough, he embarrassed me more thoroughly than he did when he gave me the talk years ago about boy parts and girl parts and how he’d absolutely kill me if I put the two parts together before marriage. When he was done sandblasting me for hiding Hutch in the house, Dad wrapped up with this:

“I am proud of you, Jericho. You may have gone about it in the wrong way, but you did everything you could to help a friend who’s in a desperate situation. That’s a perfect example of loving the sinner.”

I was in the process of peeling carrots for the chicken stew I was making. The one in my hand snapped in two with a distinct
pop.
“Loving the sinner?” The remark left me feeling as if I’d been hit in the head. I just stood there, frozen.

Dad took the carrots from me and started peeling them himself. “I’ve always liked Barry,” he said. “He seemed like such a fine boy, more levelheaded than that knothead you run around with from next door.” (Side note: Mr. and Mrs. Travis probably said the same thing to Mac about me.) “But if Barry has embraced homosexuality, he’s headed down the wrong path. You did your best to save him physically. Now he needs for you to help save him spiritually. Talk to him, boy. Try to get him back on the path to being the kind, upstanding young man God wants him to be. If you can do that, Barry will make as fine a husband and father as you will, son.”

Yeah. There went the embarrassing part. Actually, it was more degrading than embarrassing. That’s when it felt as if I’d sunk right down
through
the dirt.

That’s also when the doorbell rang. Since Dad was up to his wrists in raw carrots, I drifted through the living room, guilt dropping off me like leaves falling from a tree. I opened the door and saw Lissandra standing there.

She looked cute in her blue jeans and boots and jacket. I was still reeling from my conversation with Dad, and I gave her a distracted smile. “Hey, Lissa.”

“Jerry. I thought you were going to call me this morning. I thought we decided to see a movie today.”

Pow! Pow!
With that one-two punch, guilt took me down and out.

“L
ISSA
,
I’m sorry. I forgot.”

For privacy, we stood outside on the porch with the door closed. I didn’t have on a coat, and my body was shivering. If I froze to death, it would be a fate well-deserved.

Lissandra shook her head sadly. “Jerry, what’s happening with us? We used to talk a dozen times a day at school. We texted even more than that. We’d talk every evening until our parents made us get off the phone. Now it feels like you’re going out of your way to avoid me.” She shifted to one side, trying to get me to look her in the eye. I turned away. She sighed, an angry rush of breath. “You stood right at your locker yesterday—when I finally cornered you there—and promised me that we’d see a movie today.”

“I know, I know. Things have been really crazy around here today. I got into some trouble, and my dad just got through chewing me out about that—”

“You’re always in some kind of trouble now. You’re always running around with a guilty look on your face, hiding from me.” She grabbed me by the chin, forcing me to face her. “What is it with you? It’s like I have to stalk you just to get your attention. I don’t like feeling that way, Jericho. What’s going on? Have you met someone new? Is that it? Are you tired of me?”

“No, Lissa. Uh… no….”

“Then
what?
Whatever it is, just say it.”

This was torturing the hell out of me. I was hurting her, and I hated myself for it. She didn’t deserve this. But how could I tell her what I was feeling? How could I tell her about the desires I was having that had nothing to do with her, or any other girl? I pulled away from her, backing up against the cold brick wall of the house, trying to think of something to say to her. She stared at me for maybe a minute, waiting for an answer.

Finally, she threw up her hand. “Fine, Jerry. Don’t say anything. But I’m through being the stalker. You want to talk, you come to me.” She turned and stormed off the porch, hurrying across the yard to the street. Her mom’s Volkswagen was parked at the curb. She slipped behind the wheel and drove off without another look in my direction.

I went back into the house, my mood so low that it felt as if I was crawling on my belly through the dust.

W
HEN
Mac found out I’d made chicken stew, he invited himself to dinner. It seemed as good a time as any to tell him about Hutch’s new living arrangements. Hutch wanted to tell the truth, that his parents kicked him out for being gay. I didn’t think that was a good idea, at least for me. I didn’t think Mac would handle the news all that well, and I was afraid he would distance himself from Hutch and, by extension, from me as well. It was bad enough having to live with the wall I’d put up between Lissandra and me. I couldn’t stand to be cut off from Mac too. As a favor to me, Hutch agreed to stay in the closet a while longer.

“Your parents caught you smoking weed again?” Mac grabbed Hutch in a headlock and rapped his knuckles on Hutch’s forehead. “Earth to Hutch’s brain. Earth to Hutch’s brain. Come in, Hutch’s brain. Over.”

“Okay, I get it, Mac,” Hutch said with a strained laugh. “You can let me go now.”

We were in my backyard, just hanging out and watching the sun go down while Mom and Dad set the table for dinner. I wanted to push Mac off Hutch, but I forced myself to stand back and smile in a wooden kind of way.

Mac rapped on Hutch’s forehead again. “If you’re in there, Hutch’s brain, listen to me. See, this is what all that dope smoke will do for ya. It messes you up.” He let Hutch go. Then, in a sudden show of tenderness, he smoothed Hutch’s jacket collar back into place and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “That was wrong of your dad to kick you out, man. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Thanks, Mac,” Hutch replied.

“Your old man will come around,” Mac said confidently. “He’ll let you come home sooner or later. Hell, it was just dope, right? It’s not like he came home and caught you in bed with another dude or anything—”

“Wow, Mac,” I cut in quickly. “Who knew you could be such a comfort?”

Chapter 18

H
ERE
’
S
the thing about my feelings. That week I hid Hutch in my room was the most intimate I’d ever been with another person in my life. What I felt for him during that time was pretty intense. He was in a lot of pain, emotionally and physically, in those first days after getting kicked out of his home. Sometimes I sat close to him with my arm around his shoulders while he talked about his fears of what lay ahead of him. Sometimes he cried at night, and I would cuddle him in bed until he fell asleep. There were times when we sat quietly in my room in the dark, watching television or playing video games before going to sleep, and he would just tune out with no warning, his face going slack. I could see that he was sinking into his misery. I took his hand and held on, trying to give him an anchor, wishing I could do more. I had seen him at his lowest. I had literally propped him up when he couldn’t stand. I had bathed him when he was helpless.

In all that, I felt nothing even remotely sexual. He was this tragic figure in my eyes, a wounded soul with nowhere to turn. My only thoughts were that I had to take care of him and protect him. There was no right or wrong in my mind about what I did with him that week. I was never ashamed to touch him or hold him. I was being his friend.

The next week, things began to change. My parents were fully aware of Hutch’s situation, and he was now living openly in the house, with his own room no less. His black eye had pretty much healed. He stopped shrinking into himself and started being more like the old Hutch, even when we were alone. I stopped seeing tragedy every time I looked at him and started seeing something else—a hot, cute guy.

I tried not to feel that little charge every time he got near me. I tried not to think of him so much. At school, with no Lissandra to distract me, I focused my attention on the hot bodies of other girls, and it worked for a while, giving me someone else to fantasize about, someone it was
okay
for a guy to fantasize about. But it always came back to Hutch, sitting across the table from me at dinner, helping me clean up the kitchen, sprawling on the floor in the den, watching television, his jeans fitting him very nicely. He was alive again, and I liked seeing him smile. I liked hearing his husky laughter.