Alma's Will (4 page)

Part II: Brothers

Marc

It was one of the oldest safe houses in Boston. Marc, the director, had founded it… when? Had it been twenty years already? Here he was, a balding man in his early sixties with a bit of a paunch. How time flew! He had made the house his life.

Funny that Jay Franklin should have called just then. He'd been thinking of him. The new kid, Galen, reminded him of Jay, one of their success stories. Jay had first come to the home so guilt-ridden and wounded he wouldn't even talk about sex, which of course was the other kids' favorite topic of conversation, both as an affirmation of the sexuality they'd so long tried to keep hidden and because at that age one's hormones are in control. Not so Jay. He'd hide his body from the others when he changed into his pajamas and panic if anyone touched him. The other kids understood that and respected his space—they'd gone through similar experiences—but when it came to sex talk they were irrepressible.

In the beginning Marc had kept a close watch on Jay, thinking he might try to kill himself, and when he finally learned what he'd gone through he marveled that the boy had survived at all. Marc was still uncertain about him when Jay turned eighteen and left the home, though he had made a lot of progress. He wondered what would become of him, if he would ever find fulfillment in a loving relationship with another man. Then, a few years later, Jay came back to show off his partner, a beautiful African-American from Georgia. They were still together, living openly as a gay couple in a smaller Southern city, proud of who they were and unafraid to stand up to the ingrained homophobia of the surrounding community.

Jay had called on business. The woman next door had died and—quite unexpectedly—left her house to be used as a shelter for runaway gay teenagers, naming Jay and his partner as the people who should make the arrangements. Jay thought the house too small and its location in the middle of a residential neighborhood unsuitable, but it could be sold and the proceeds used to purchase another. While he and Baron would gladly volunteer to help with the boys once it opened, neither had the time or expertise to set something like that up. They'd been discussing the possibilities, and somewhere along the line Jay had had the idea of calling Marc for suggestions and contacts that might come in handy.

Marc directed him to a couple of organizations in Atlanta.

"There's something else," Jay had said. "The woman's daughter is contesting the will. She made quite a scene in the lawyer's office when it was read. She even went so far as to make the counter-suggestion of donating it to 'a Christian group that cures those youngsters'. Her very words." Marc groaned. "I'm not kidding, Marc."

"I know you aren't. I doubt she'll prevail, but you should still get a lawyer right away. Have you called Lambda?"

"It's the first thing we did, but I thought I'd get your recommendations as well. I'm thinking tactics. You had to deal with the same kind of ugliness when you organized Pride House."

"Okay, I'll give it some thought."

Marc remembered all the work it had taken to set up his safe house. In those days only a handful existed in cities widely scattered around the country, and he'd just about despaired of getting it done, despite his experience and determination.

He was Brother Marc then, preparing to enter Holy Orders and assigned by his abbot to work at a Catholic shelter for troubled and runaway teenagers. It surprised him how many of them were gay and how brutally the other kids picked on them. He became convinced these boys needed a home just for themselves, and not one run by the Church. Lectures on sin and pressuring them to lead celibate lives did more harm than good.

It also led him to confront his sexuality for the first time in his life. Until then he had lived chaste and tormented by his desires. Recognizing his own frustrations and incompleteness in the struggles of his gay charges, he left the monastery and went into psychotherapy to prepare himself for what he now knew to be his true calling. He soon realized that to help the teenagers he would first have to deal with his own issues and that would mean exploring gay sexuality as well as his psyche. Inevitably, he petitioned for and was granted release from his vows.

He then faced the problem of financing his project, getting it accepted by the authorities, locating a suitable house, finding professional counselors willing to volunteer their time, hiring a cook, handymen, reliable monitors, and all that. He started out on a shoestring budget and could only take in boys where there was clear evidence of physical or sexual abuse in the family or whose parents had disowned them, plus one or two from orphanages eager to hand over their homosexual charges, whose presence "only caused trouble." It took years before Child Protection would admit he was doing vital work.

Marc never regretted his decision to make the safe house independent of the Church. He still believed, but he'd grown away from religion and didn't miss it. They had refused to support the project and the bishop had actively campaigned against it, though some of his former confreres in the monastery had helped "unofficially" and the connections he'd made while still a monk had proved invaluable. Later, when so many instances of sexual abuse on the part of the clergy came to light, he was glad he hadn't involved the Church and that his project remained untainted by suspicion. Until he heard some of the boys' stories about what priests had done to them, he hadn't known it was going on. It was, in fact, partly his passing the information on to the police—out of spite, according to the bishop—that brought the scandal to public attention. Marc sometimes asked himself how
Brother
Marc could have been so naïve. Or had he, like so many others, simply closed his eyes to it?

Now the idea of safe houses had caught on, and more and more resources were becoming available to gay youth, such as the opportunity Jay had called him about. He wanted to share his excitement with someone, and immediately thought of Ed Blacknoll, another of his success stories, who came once a week to lead a group session and play basketball with the boys. But Ed wouldn't be in this Friday or the next. He was on his honeymoon.

Ed

Ed and his new husband, Cameron, returned to Boston Sunday night after two weeks in Vermont. They'd spent the first week at a resort on Lake Champlain, where they hiked the Green Mountains, and another week driving home, staying at campgrounds and stopping at pottery studios, glass blowers, and hand-made furniture outlets. They'd picked up a large wheel of Colby cheese and a maple carving board, the first household item they bought as a married couple.

Monday morning Ed's colleagues and the staff at the clinic welcomed him back and congratulated him on his marriage, all very low key. It would have been tacky of professional psychologists to tease him about it.

Not so on Friday. After finishing his degree, he'd returned to work one day a week as a volunteer counselor at Pride House, the shelter that had taken him in. He found the place decorated in his honor, champagne corks popping, the congratulations effusive. Marc, the director, warned him about the boys in group. "Prepare yourself for a ribbing. They're excited and happy for you, and you know how they jump at the chance to make a bawdy crack. Relieves the tension."

That he blushed with pleasure at the card and flowers they'd chipped in for provided the opening they needed. "Look, he's blushing!—All wore out from the honeymoon, I bet.—Hey, Ed! Does it hurt as much as they say when you lose your virginity?"

In a sense they were right. Marriage
had
made a difference; after over five years of living together their honeymoon intimacies had felt like a new beginning. The kids were irrepressible, forgot about their own problems for an hour, and spent the whole session on him. He evaded the overly personal questions, while giving them a glimpse into a loving, stable gay relationship that would make their future seem less bleak. It was no secret he'd been in the same boat when he was a kid.

The director asked him over lunch, "Do you remember Jay Franklin?"

"I've heard the name, of course. One of your success stories."

"Like you."

"If so, you don't lack for success stories. I'm not all that special."

"You're our first married graduate as far as I know."

"Oh, you take credit for that, do you?" Ed teased.

"You know my feelings: It's always the kid who deserves the credit, not me. I'm no less proud for it. But I thought you knew Jay."

"Not personally. He arrived after I graduated high school, and by the time I got back he'd already turned eighteen and left. What about him?"

"He called us about the time you left on your trip."

"It's nice when they keep in touch, isn't it?"

"I'll say, and Jay especially. I've never seen a kid as fragile as he was when he first came to us. I wondered if he'd ever heal."

"Traumatized, eh?"

"Many times over. It took weeks before he'd open up to me, and when he did… But we won't go into that."

"Of course not; I know you don't betray confidences. How's he doing?"

"Good, I assume. Still with the same partner. That's longer than you and Cameron. That's not what he called about, though."

Marc explained how one of Jay's neighbors had passed away and left her house for him and his partner to turn into a home for gay teenagers; how her daughter was contesting the will, and it was possible a small town Southern judge would rule against them.

"He needs a lawyer? Why not go directly to Lambda?"

"He already has. He mostly had questions about the house. You know—seeking advice on how to set one up. Because he values my opinion. If it weren't for us, he says, he'd be dead now."

"Me too."

Yes, Ed thought, he and Jay had survived; but how long had they been on the streets? A couple of weeks? Cameron, his longtime partner and now his husband, had lived there for years. He was a born survivor.

"Marc was saying they might have to sell and get another. Zoning regulations. And, speaking about zoning… Are you listening?"

"Sorry. Yeah, I'm listening. Any idea what the house is worth?

"At least seventy-five thou, he estimates."

"Not bad, but they'll need more than a house. Getting it set up for the kids will cost a bundle."

"Another reason he called—to help him raise money."

"So what do you intend to do?"

"Called Lambda first thing. And I've been asking around if there are any special requirements for Georgia and if there are other facilities of that kind in the state."

"Georgia, is that where Jay is now? Cameron's from Georgia."

"I didn't know that. I guess I noticed a bit of an accent, but I never thought about it. Hey, do you think we should ask Cameron, him being from Georgia and all?"

"Ask him what? Cameron isn't licensed to practice in Georgia. And didn't you say Jay already had a lawyer?"

"You should tell him anyway. I bet it would interest him."

"Good luck. He swore he'd never set foot in the South again."

"I didn't mean you should suggest he go there. What're you shaking your head about?"

"Just that he wouldn't go if I paid him. Cameron's put that part of his life behind him. Even I don't know much about what it was like for him before he came up north."

That much was true: It was close to impossible to get Cameron to open up on the subject. This successful, strong, and—on the surface, at least—well-adjusted man would talk about his past only in the most general terms. Funny thing—initially it was Ed's longing for a father figure that attracted him to Cameron, nearly ten years his senior, but when they got married it was Cameron who took Ed's last name and became Cameron Blacknoll. He hated his childhood that much.

It was no less ironic that he, who had degrees in psychology and social work, should be in no position to work on dispelling his husband's demons. He could be his support person—had been almost from the beginning of their relationship—but not his therapist.

* * * *

Ed had intended to stick to the kids' problems during the afternoon one-on-one sessions, but the business with the will had brought back memories of his stay at the shelter, and he easily fell to reminiscing. Much had changed since then. They handled more kids now, placing some in foster homes once they were over the worst of their depression. They'd come back for group sessions and counseling once a week, more often for recreational activities. Ten years ago the state would never have placed a kid with a gay or lesbian couple, and finding a heterosexual couple, especially one with children, who'd take in a gay teenager was a lost cause. For him it had been little more than a safe home, a place to come back to after school and his afternoon job, with minimal counseling and not much socializing.

Face-to-face, several boys again raised the subject of his marriage, but with a different tone. They challenged him on it, said "it just seemed wrong." In other words, they felt tainted. Behind their ribbing that morning lay the all-too-familiar lingering self-hatred.
It's hard to accept yourself when your family rejects you
, he reflected.
Self-worth comes with love.

Husbands

Having spent most of the day talking up his relationship with Cameron, whether to satisfy the kids' curiosity or respond to their doubts, Ed left work elated and more than a little horny. One look at Cameron deflated him. He was visibly shaken, his face haggard and white as ash.

"Cameron!—Mr. Blacknoll—you look awful. What is it? Has something happened, baby?"

Cameron smiled. "It's nothing, Mr.
Edward
Blacknoll." His smile faded. "Yes, you're right. Something's upset me. I have to go back to Georgia. Will you come with me?"

"Did Marc tell you about that old woman's will? Sure, if that's what you want."

"You know about it?"

"From Marc. He wanted me to mention it to you, but… Well, I know how you feel about Georgia. I wish he'd listened to me. Look how it's affecting you, for God's sake!"

"Don't worry, I'll be okay. I have to go; that's all there's to it."

"You sure you're up to it?"

"No problem… so long as I have you with me." He patted Ed's arm as if to reassure him. "I just don't think I can face those people alone."

"What people?"

"The people in Macon. That's where I grew up."

"As if anyone will remember you! It's not as if that's where you got into all that trouble."

"No, that was Atlanta. I steered clear of Macon."

"Like I said, they'll all have forgotten by now except for your folks. It should be easy enough to avoid meeting up with
them
if that's what's worrying you."

Cameron's features clouded over. "It's not. There's no chance I'll run into them. They're both dead now."

The disconnect between his words and his facial expression didn't escape Ed. "You're sure of that? I didn't know you kept track," he observed.

"I didn't keep track. I just know."

"So, is the case all that difficult?" (It was time to change the subject.)

"Hell, no. With me there we'll win in five minutes flat, and then we'll come straight home. They don't have a leg to stand on."

Cameron wasn't making sense. He wouldn't be representing Jay, but he had to go and he'd win the case for him. Ed could see something was upsetting him, but he didn't dare press him on it. He'd find out soon enough. "The heirs—do you know what grounds they're contesting it on?" he asked.

"Heir; there's only a daughter. That the old woman had become senile. That Jay and his partner talked her into something against her principles. That everything she owned she'd inherited from her husband, and he'd turn over in his grave if it were used that way, which is right enough."

"How can you know that?"

"Because I know what people are like down there," Cameron said with more vehemence than was called for. "I was the local faggot, remember?" Suddenly calmer, he continued, "How soon can you leave? Do you need time to reschedule your appointments?"

"Don't worry about my appointments. I'll phone the secretary at home."

"Then I'll see if I can book us a flight, if not for tomorrow, then the day after. Whatever's available. I've already called Jay Franklin, one of the guys she left the house to, and he says they have a spare room where they can put us up."

Cameron's haste only deepened Ed's concern, but he kept it to himself. "Why impose on them?" he asked. "We can stay at a hotel."

"I'm going to need all the moral support I can get."

"Look, if it's going to be that hard on you, why don't you just refuse? Surely they can find someone else to send if the case is that easy."

"You're not listening. I
have
to go.
I
could wrap it up in five minutes."

"I am too listening; it's you who aren't making sense," Ed objected, nearly at his wits' end. "I'm trying to be supportive, but how can I be when you're holding something back?"

"I'm sorry. You're very supportive. I just can't bring myself to talk about the things that happened to me then. I want to, but I can't."

"Just blurt it out."

"Not now. Later, when I've calmed down some."

* * * *

For the rest of the evening Cameron kept his emotional distance, so it surprised Ed when he snuggled up to him as soon as they were in bed. Though Cameron usually took the dominant role, he made it clear by his movements that he wanted Ed to penetrate him that night. Lying underneath him, he pulled Ed's arms around him and hung on to them. He sucked on his fingers, pushing back into him and whimpering, "Make love to me, Ed. Fuck me hard and long."

When Ed rolled off him, they lay panting for five minutes or so till Cameron again set about caressing him, nuzzling him, running his fingers up and down his body. Then he put his hand on Ed's penis and said, "Let's do it again."

Startled, Ed looked at his lover. "Now? So soon?" he asked dubiously. "Didn't I satisfy you?"

"It was wonderful.
You
were wonderful. But I need you in me." He sounded not so much aroused as desperate. "I feel safe with you pressing down on me, covering me, holding me in place. Do you think you can get it up if I go down on you?"

"This is about that Georgia thing, isn't it? That's what has you so upset. Really, Cameron, I don't think you should go."

Cameron sat up in bed. He spoke nervously, without looking at his partner. "I didn't want to, but Marc insisted I jot down Jay's phone number, and I said I'd think about calling him. Then I did, and he gave me his address. That decided me."

"What decided you?"

"The address. It's right next door to where I grew up."

"Jesus! But that doesn't necessarily mean… I mean, how can you be sure they didn't sell the house long ago?"

"No, it's my mom's will. I knew it couldn't just be a coincidence, so I asked for her name. And the woman fighting it must be my little sister, Livvie."

Ed put his arms around him and held on tight. Cameron was trembling and had broken out in a cold sweat.

"That's why she's leaving us the house. Because they threw me out of it. Maybe she's been looking for me all along. I should have tried to contact her."

"Don't start blaming yourself. You did nothing wrong."
Like the kids this afternoon
, he thought.
The hurt never goes away
.

"I'm so scared, Ed, just like the day they threw me out."

Ed had lived through the same trauma. Just remembering it was enough for the panicked child to rise up inside him, too, and with him the guilt, the feeling it was he who had betrayed
them
.

They were both shaking now. "I'll be there with you," Ed whispered. "I promise," he added, clinging to his lover as much for his own comfort as for Cameron's.