Chapter Fourteen
Chapter
Fourteen
“I know you’re probably getting sick of
hearing it, but honestly, Alex, it really does get better.” Mark
focused his energy on this kid, in this room, trying to leave all
the rest of the complications behind.
But Alex wasn’t being soothed as easily as
he’d been in the past. “Is that why you look like that? All tired
and grumpy, because your life is so damned easy? Everything got
better, and now you’re living happily ever after. Is that honestly
what you expect me to believe?”
Mark had always prided himself on his
professionalism. It was important that he seem caring, but also
important that he maintain boundaries. Friendly, but not friends.
Comfortable, but not exactly casual. Keep the focus on the
parishioner. Let them feel that they know you, but don’t actually
disclose much about yourself. It was a balance he’d always
maintained instinctively, but it somehow didn’t feel natural
anymore. “No, Alex. My life isn’t perfect. My life is a pretty big
mess, to be honest. But it’s not because I’m gay. My sexuality is
right near the bottom of my list of concerns right now.”
“So what is the problem, then? If it’s not
because you’re gay, it’s…”
“It’s personal, Alex. Nothing you need to
worry about.”
“Yeah, okay.” Alex leaned back in his chair.
“I get it. Every time I come in here you push at me and get me to
tell you stuff about me—personal stuff—and that’s okay. But you
don’t want to turn it around.”
“It’s important that everyone have someone to
talk to. But it doesn’t have to be a reciprocal relationship; you
don’t have to talk to the same person that you listen to. You seem
to find some value in talking to me, because you keep coming back.
And I’m glad that you do. I like listening, and I hope I’m helping.
I talk to someone else. And he tries to help me.”
“No offense, Father, but it doesn’t look like
it’s working.”
Mark snorted. “You should have seen me last
night.” It was true. Mark was in a much better state than he’d been
the night before when he’d come to the church to find Terry waiting
for him. It had been a sleepless night, filled with prayer and
self-doubt, and Mark knew there was more of that in his future, but
at least he’d taken a first step. “Believe it or not, things are
looking up.” He shifted around, trying to look a little more alert,
or less pathetic at least. “Look, Alex, life is going to have hard
times. Absolutely. You’re going to make mistakes, or someone else
will make a mistake and it will affect you, or maybe it’ll just be
bad luck. Who knows? The point is…well, there’s two points.
Possibly more. But the first point that comes to mind is that the
good times more than make up for the bad. They do. There’s a lot of
great stuff waiting for you to discover. The second point is that
during the bad times, you’re going to need to focus all your energy
on whatever you’re going through right then. You really won’t have
time to worry about your sexuality, or hiding it from people who
are too ignorant to accept you for who you are. So what I’m
suggesting is that we focus on that right now, while everything
else is going pretty smoothly. We can get that out of the way. I
don’t mean I can wave a magic wand and cure all the homophobia in
the world, but hopefully you can get yourself to a place where that
bullshit becomes the homophobic assholes’ problem, not yours. You
know?”
“I’ve never heard you swear before, and now
you drop two in one sentence? Seriously, Father, you’re falling
apart.”
“Yeah, sorry. Look, I’m doing my best.”
Alex leaned forward and reached out to rest
his hand on Mark’s forearm. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s kinda
nice to know, really. I mean, all that stuff about how you were
fine about being gay…I figured you were a superman, or something. I
mean, it bugs me, but that’s ’cause I’m weak…”
“No, Alex! I’m sorry. I should never have
given you that impression.”
Alex just shrugged. “I get it. You’re God’s
guy, right? You have to be pretty perfect.”
“I’m far from it.” Mark needed some time to
think about this. What image of himself had he presented, and for
how long? And more importantly, why had he been doing it? Maybe
he’d been trying to make people comfortable so they’d let him help,
or maybe he’d been acting out of pride. Maybe he’d been trying to
fool them, or maybe he’d been trying to fool himself.
“Father?” Alex still sounded good, as if he
were enjoying the chance to be the strong one. “There’s a guy over
there, kinda beat up? I think he’s waiting for you.”
Mark jerked his head around to look in the
direction Alex indicated, and then he stared. Cain’s bruises were
bolder now than they’d been the night before, and he was leaning
against the pillar at the entry to the nave as if he needed its
support to keep himself upright. But his eyes were clear, and they
were staring straight at Mark. He didn’t look like a killer. He
looked like a confused, battered young man, and he seemed to need
something from Mark. For the first time, Mark didn’t feel the
familiar wave of rage toward Cain. His emotions now were just as
intense, but considerably more complex.
“I need to get going anyway, Father.” Alex
stood, confident and in control. “I’ll come back in a few days to
check in, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.” Mark stood as well and forced
himself to look away from Cain’s hypnotic gaze. “You’re feeling
well? You don’t need to talk about anything more?”
“Not today. I’m good.” The boy picked up his
knapsack and slung it over one shoulder before starting toward the
door. “Thanks,” he said easily, then turned and headed away,
leaving Mark with no choice but to look back toward Cain.
And no choice but to walk toward him. He
stopped a little farther away than he normally would have, and he
waited. The man had come here for a reason, and now Mark would hear
what it was.
Cain took a deep breath, wincing as it
stretched something that had recently been damaged, and said, “I’m
sorry,” in a low, husky voice. “For everything. For coming to your
house—I didn’t know you worked there. But, you know…for…for your
brother, as well. I’m sorry.”
Mark wasn’t sure just what to say, and
apparently he thought for too long, because Cain stepped backward,
obviously believing his presence was unwelcome. “I moved out. You
shouldn’t have to change jobs just to stay away from me. That’s not
right.”
“But where will you go?”
“I’ll figure something out.” Cain’s smile was
forced, an easily seen-through illusion of confidence, and there
was something about it that make Mark want to cry.
“It was my fault.” Mark had talked to Terry
about this, and they’d decided that Mark shouldn’t confess to Cain,
not yet. It was an unneeded burden on the younger man, an action
designed to make Mark, not Cain, feel better. But Mark couldn’t
stand there in front of the bruised and battered man and not tell
him the truth. “The assault. Your friends came by the house, and I
told them…I don’t know why…” But that wasn’t true. If Mark was
going to do this, he should do it all the way. “Because I wanted to
hurt you. I made them think you were gay, because I wanted to hurt
you. I never thought it would go so far, but I shouldn’t have let
it happen at all. I’m sorry.”
“No.” Cain sounded confused. “No, you
shouldn’t be sorry. Not after what I did. And it doesn’t matter
what you said to them. I could have told them differently. They
wanted to believe me. At least, Sean did. He would have forgotten
the whole thing, if I’d let him.”
“If you’d let him? What do you mean?”
“He asked me if it was true. I could have
said no.”
Mark’s head was spinning. “And he would have
believed you?” Cain nodded, and Mark said, “So why didn’t you? Why
didn’t you deny it?”
Cain had been looking at the floor, but after
a moment he brought his gaze up to meet Mark’s and for the first
time his green eyes didn’t seem cold or impersonal—they seemed
honest. “Because it’s true. Because I’m tired of hiding it, and
because I knew what they would do. I deserved what they would
do.”
Mark sank into the pew, his hand gripping its
strong wooden back. “You what? It’s…it’s true? You’re gay?”
For the first time there was a trace of
defiance in Cain’s bruised face. “It’s a big sin, right? One more
black mark on my record with God.”
“What?” Mark wished he’d gotten more sleep
the night before. This was all far too much for him. “No. It’s
not…I don’t think it’s a sin. The church—this church—we
don’t think it’s a sin. But what did you mean, when you said you
deserved the beating?”
It might have been better if Mark hadn’t
looked at Cain just then. Better for his peace of mind, and for his
ability to continue thinking of Cain as an unfeeling brute. But
Mark looked, and he saw the guilt, the pain, and underneath it all,
the confusion of a little boy who knew he’d done wrong and couldn’t
figure out how to make it better. “That guy…your brother…Jimmy.
Jimmy Webber. He died. And I spent a few years in jail? That’s all?
I can’t…” And the confusion was on the surface now, the little boy
trying to piece together a toy and slowly realizing that it has
been broken beyond repair. “I can’t change it. I can’t do anything
about it. It’s over. He’s gone.” Cain looked up as if remembering
his audience, and his face hardened with resolve. The little boy
was remembering that he was supposed to be a man. “I can be ‘sorry’
until the end of time, and you still won’t have your brother.
Right? Getting pushed around a little? Yeah, I deserve it. I
deserve it every day until the end of my life, and I’ll still be
better off than the guy I killed.”
“My brother is with the Lord.” Mark had tried
to use the idea to comfort himself in the past, but it had never
worked. Maybe it would be more effective with Cain. “No one is
better off than him. You’re still down here, trying to work your
way through all the pain and suffering of the mortal world, but
Jimmy’s at peace, now.”
Cain squinted at Mark. “So why’d you do it,
then? If you believe that. If you think your brother’s better off
and I have nothing to feel bad about, why’d you tell Sean I was
gay? You said you wanted to hurt me. That’s because you knew I was
guilty. You knew I deserved it.”
Again, Mark wished he’d had more sleep. There
was a way to answer this question, a smooth, proper approach that
would befit a man of the cloth. But Mark couldn’t find it. Instead,
he said, “I was wrong. Weak.” And because he couldn’t look at the
battered face before him and the altar not far away and be anything
but truthful, he added, “I sinned. Against you, against myself,
against God. I need to ask you and God for forgiveness, and I need
to work on forgiving myself.”
Cain’s face contorted as if he were in pain.
“You need to ask me for forgiveness? Are you…” He broke off and
took a step backward, his hands raised before him, palms facing
Mark. “I can’t do this. I can’t…” He stopped again, unable to even
name the challenge he found so daunting. A deep breath, and then he
took another backward step. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “For
everything. I’m gone, I promise.” He turned and started for the
door, saying, “It was a mistake. I’m not ready for this.”
Mark should have been quicker. But he wasn’t
sure he was ready for any of it himself, and by the time he broke
out of his daze and strode to the door of the church, Cain was out
of sight. As he’d promised, he was gone.