Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Mark’s father had been moved around a bit
early in his hospital stay, but he’d been in the same room with the
same nurses for quite a while now, and the whole setup was
depressingly familiar.
“Hey, Dad,” he said as he eased into the hard
plastic chair by the bedside. Some days his father seemed fairly
aware, but this time it was hard to be sure if he was even awake.
His eyes were open but that didn’t seem to mean as much as it would
have in the outside world. “Sorry I didn’t make it this morning. I
was…” He was what? What story could he tell in order to avoid
telling the truth to this marginally conscious stranger? More
importantly, why should he bother? “I had a bit of trouble. And
then after that…I could have come this afternoon. But I really
wanted…needed…I’m not sure which…to go see someone. Someone I
wanted to talk to about it.”
And talking to Lucas had helped. Just
being around him had helped. Being around the animals had been
good, too, and doing physical work instead of sitting and thinking
about his problems… He was glad he’d gone to the farm.
And, he found, he was glad he was talking to
his father now. They’d never been “best friends” like some fathers
and sons, but Mark had always respected his father and always felt
respected in return. It felt right to tell him the truth.
“Somebody smashed my window, and wrote
something obscene on my door. The police think it’s related to the
situation with Scott Wilson. Not that I’ve told you much about
that…” But that could be remedied. Up to then, he’d been filling
his father’s ears with mundane gossip, discussion of world events,
and the occasional update on mutual acquaintances, although Mark’s
mother knew more about that than Mark did. But now, he was really
talking, telling his father about his frustrations, his failings,
and even his fears. He didn’t talk about Lucas, though, not by
name. Mark was too confused about that himself. He didn’t think he
had a chance of putting it into words that his father would be able
to understand. Assuming his father was able to understand anything
Mark was saying.
Maybe that uncertainty was what made it
possible for Mark to share so much. Or maybe he just had to talk to
somebody, and his father was the one who sat still long enough to
hear it all. When he got tired of talking he leaned back in his
chair. “So, that’s the scoop. I’m being stalked by violent
homophobes, I may be losing my job, and I no longer feel that I
belong in the church that’s always been my second family. Also, I
may be sued by the angry father of a boy who doesn’t seem to want
my help any more anyway.” And I’m finding myself strangely drawn
to the man who killed your youngest son.
He was glad he hadn’t added the last bit when
he heard the rustle of fabric from behind him and then his mother’s
stringent voice. “What on earth is going on, Mark? What are you
talking about?”
He turned slowly and tried not to look
guilty. “Mom. Hi. Uh…how long were you there for? How much did you
hear?”
“I sincerely hope I heard all of it. If
there’s more than what I heard, I think I’d better sit down.”
Well, maybe this wasn’t a totally bad thing.
Maybe it was time he and his mother talked about something other
than his father’s health. He gestured to the chair on the other
side of the bed. “Maybe you should sit down anyway. I guess we
should talk about some of this.”
“I’m already aware of some of it,” she said
archly as she walked around the bed. “I heard about Scott Wilson’s
tirade at the grocery store, of all places.” She raised an eyebrow
at her son. “I was able to make it seem as if I knew all about it,
but please don’t put me in that position again. I should know these
things before Linda Milton talks to me about them!”
That seemed fair. “I’m sorry. I was trying to
protect you from it all. You have enough on your plate, and…I guess
I was hoping it would blow over.”
“But it isn’t? Mark, this is really serious?
The business with Scott Wilson is bad enough, but your apartment
was vandalized? That’s not something Scott Wilson would do,
surely!”
“Probably not himself, no. The police are
looking into it. They think it might be someone who heard his
accusations and decided to act on them. Otherwise it’s a pretty big
coincidence that it’s all happening at the same time.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Are you safe? Do
you want to come home for a bit? Your room is always ready, you
know that.”
A part of him did want to go home. He could
crawl into his old single bed, hide beneath the covers, and be
safe. Maybe if he was lucky, his mommy would cut his toast up into
strips and he could dunk them in a soft boiled egg. Or maybe he
needed to man up. “Thanks, but I think I’m fine. The police are
keeping an eye on things.”
She looked at him for a long moment as if
deciding whether to disagree, then shook her head impatiently.
“Fine. But what is all this about your job? It’s all because of
Scott Wilson? I thought you were on leave so you’d have more time
for your father?”
“I was. That was…” How long ago? It seemed
like forever. “That was the original reason. But since
then…well…I’ve been learning a lot, Mom. I think the church isn’t
quite as ready for a gay priest as I thought they were.”
“You told me it wasn’t that unusual! I looked
it up, and there are others!”
That was an interesting point, one that got
Mark thinking. There were other gay Anglican priests. They
didn’t have a club or anything, but maybe they should. If he could
talk to them, share experiences…but that wasn’t what his mother
wanted to hear about right then. “There are others. Maybe I’m
over-reacting. I did screw up. Terry told me to stay away from Alex
Wilson, and I didn’t. Maybe this is all just punishment for
that.”
“You always have to do things your way, don’t
you?” There was affection in her voice, but genuine frustration as
well. “Why does it have to be you, jumping into all this? Why do
you have to be the one who helps everyone? Why do you have to come
out and be ‘honest’ about things that are really no one else’s
business?”
“Wait. There are two different things, there.
I mean, I help people because I believe it’s God’s will. I believe
it’s my duty not only as a priest but also as a human being to help
whenever I can. But coming out? How is that related to
anything?”
“You’re not the only gay person in town, you
know. But you’re the one who has to announce it and draw this sort
of attention.”
“I came out more than ten years ago, Mom.
This is the first time there’s been a serious problem.”
She stared at him. “Are you joking? The first
time?” She waited for a response that he didn’t give her, then
shook her head. “There are people in this town who still won’t talk
to you, and who barely talk to me! There was…you know about the
petition at church when you were appointed, don’t you? I know we
never discussed it, but you knew!”
“I’m not saying there haven’t been
obstacles.” And now that she was mentioning them, he was
remembering more. The awkward silences when he joined certain
conversations, the parishioners who would go without pastoral care
rather than have him visit them in the hospital, the way Terry
sometimes steered him away from certain committees or activities.
He’d always been aware of it, and it had bothered him, but it
hadn’t shaken him, not like the current situation had. “It’s
because this is from the church itself,” he said. As soon as he
said the words he knew they were true. “Because before, it was
parishioners, or members of the community, and I thought, okay, I’m
here to help them learn. I’m here to show them that there’s no
threat and I can be a good priest. But now it’s the bishop, Mom. Or
higher, even. I don’t even know. I talked to a lawyer, and he’s
looking into it, trying to figure out what’s going on. But if it’s
as big as it seems, as big as Terry thinks it might be, then I
don’t know. I guess…I guess they think I’m wrong. I guess they
think I’m not doing a good job at helping people learn. But I
thought I was doing a good job. So either they’re wrong or I am,
and I really don’t know which would be worse!”
Another long, assessing look, and then she
asked, “Who’s your lawyer? Someone good?”
“Daniel Cohen. He seems fine so far.”
“If you’re taking on the Anglican church, you
need better than ‘fine’. I’ll ask around.” She fixed him with a
steely glare. “It is not the custom of this family to pick fights
with respected community organizations. But if we were to find
ourselves in such an altercation, Mark, we would fight. Together.”
She leaned over and took her husband’s unresponsive hand. “So, I’ll
ask about the lawyer and you’ll keep me better informed than you
have been. Understood?”
“Yes.” He felt that he’d been dismissed, so
he stood, then leaned to take his father’s other hand. “You married
an , Dad. Better do what she says.”
“We’ve been married for almost forty years,
Mark. He knows when to keep his head down.” She smiled fondly at
the man in the bed, then smoothed his hair back from his forehead.
“He knows I’ll take care of him.”
Mark nodded, not sure that he trusted his
voice to make it past the sudden lump in his throat. He swallowed
hard, muttered his goodbyes, and retreated. Almost forty years. And
ending like this? Surely not.
He couldn’t think about that. He’d go home to
his fresh scrubbed door and plywood-covered kitchen window, and
he’d try not to think about any of it. He’d try not to think at
all, but he didn’t think he had much chance of managing it.