Chapter 40 Making Amends #3
Debbie beamed. “I knew you were special, but even I didn’t imagine you were capable of being elected as vice president, then becoming president the next day! As a freshman! That’ll look good on your resume.”
Matt didn’t care about that. Taking down Colton and eliminating Mike Huebsch had been the goal all along: run for, and win vice, knocking Huebsch out of SGA. Then slide into the presidency once Colton got expelled. It had been a two-fer.
Matt had paid Huebsch a visit the day after Colton’s expulsion.
Huebsch had been surprised to see him.
Matt had walked into the creep’s dorm room unbidden, closed the door. “Take a seat, Toady.”
Huebsch had remained standing. “If you think I’m going to congratulate you, you’re mistaken.”
Matt had laughed. “You have no idea how little your opinion matters to me. Besides, we both know you’re incapable of graciousness or sportsmanship.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To play chess.”
Huebsch had frowned. “I thought soccer was your game.”
“It is, but now that I’m president of SGA, I thought I should learn the Game of Kings. You played with Paul a few times, right? You know, when you pretended to be his friend and then blackmailed him?”
Huebsch’s eyes had widened slightly. He shrank back as though he were worried about being hit. “I was just following Colton’s orders. It wasn’t personal.”
“I’m not going to pop you,” Matt had soothed. “Like I said, I’m here to play chess with you. I played Colton Friday evening and beat him soundly. Now it’s your turn.”
Huebsch had backed into the room’s cinderblock wall, could not retreat any further. “Colton was arrested Friday evening. Everyone knows that. It’s been in the papers. So, you’re either saying that you played him in jail, or—”
“Or what?”
“—Or you’re not talking about a literal game of chess,” Huebsch had said.
“Bingo!”
Matt had leaned in close, crowding Huebsch’s personal space, whispered in his ear.
“Colton didn’t drive Bella to that old farm road Friday night.
I tricked him into driving there, lured him with what’s known in chess as a queen sacrifice.
By the time he realized what was going on, the game was over—except for the part where he puked and shit himself and cried for his mommy. ”
Huebsch had squirmed away from Matt. “I’ll report this to the police. You’ll be arrested.”
“Go ahead and try,” Matt had said. “You don’t have any proof. You’d just sound like the sore loser that you are.”
“So, what do you want?”
“Like I said: ‘Chess.’ We’re already a couple of moves into the game. We’re at the point where I’ve made a king’s gambit. Look it up later on your own time. The point is that you have a choice to make. Choose wrong, and it’s checkmate.”
“What’s my choice?” Huebsch had asked. He sounded deflated.
“Drop out of MCU immediately or…”
“Or what?”
“That’s the thing about the ‘or what,’” Matt had said. “You won’t know what your particular ‘or what’ is ‘til it happens. But if you want to know what I’m capable of, just read the papers.”
Huebsch had blanched. “Can’t I at least finish the semester? Then transfer to another school? Please? I’ll lose my scholarships otherwise.”
Matt had shaken his head. “I don’t seem to recall your having any concern for Paul’s scholarships. I’ll give you the same timeline you gave him. Three days. Be gone in 72 hours or be the poster boy for MCU’s next scandal.”
Debbie’s voice pulled Matt out of his reverie.
“Pity about that business with Colton Langley and that female impersonator,” she observed. “Attempted rape! I never would have pegged Colton as a homosexual. But then, what do I know? You were in SGA with him. What did you think?”
What Matt thought was that this was a loaded question.
They both knew Debbie’s gaydar had been faulty where her ex-husband was concerned, so no surprise that she hadn’t spotted Colton for the self-hating gay that he was.
Beyond that, the landscape was a minefield of truth bombs primed to reveal Matt’s secrets as well.
“I never did like the guy,” Matt said, skirting her question.
Debbie stroked Cleopatra’s fur.
The old cat stretched, started to purr.
“Maybe Colton wouldn’t have tried raping that fella if he hadn’t had to hide who he is,” Debbie ventured. “Is it fella or gal as regards those female impersonators? I wouldn’t want to sound ignorant.”
“I think most people refer to them as drag queens.” Matt wasn’t about to explain that the pronouns depended on whether the person was in drag or not. Ditto for the fact that he actually knew Vince/Bella.
“Here’s what I’m not buying,” Debbie said.
“That girl that snapped the photo of Colton outside the police station. Molly Something. She’s a student at MCU, right?
A senior? And I’m supposed to believe she just happened to be standing there when the president of MCU’s SGA paraded by? It smells fishy.”
Matt felt a momentary stab of fear but wasn’t too worried. He’d worked with Molly to craft her cover story.
“Didn’t one of the news stations look into that?” Matt asked. “And it turned out that Molly has an internship for the Oklahoman? Like that was her job, to stand out there and take pictures? Lucky break for her, I guess.”
Matt rubbed his temples. This conversation was not helping his headache. Was it his hangover or did Debbie’s questions seem almost like booby traps? Like there were hidden tripwires meant to snare him?
“I’m feeling better,” he lied. “Didn’t you say you had something heavy that needs moving?”
“Let’s give it a few more minutes,” Debbie said. “Better safe than sorry.”
There was awkward silence during which the Kit Kat Wall Clock ticked loudly. Its eyes swiveled and its tail wagged in rhythm.
“And strange how Garland Stone-Dancer keeps turning up,” Debbie said. “He’s been on the TV a lot lately. He’s representing that fe—I mean drag queen, plus he’s suing MCU on behalf of that boy who got kicked out in the fall and then attempted suicide. Poor thing.”
“I think his name is Adam,” Matt said. “The boy who got kicked out of MCU.” Matt tried to sound casual but bristled at hearing his boyfriend described as “that boy”—even by Mom Debbie.
Debbie arched an eyebrow. “You think his name is Adam? Didn’t you deliver a card to him shortly after all that happened? I seem to remember hearing kids talking about that. I remember because it wasn’t too long after you’d brought me a card and a cookie.”
Nope. Not the hangover. Matt’s body hit the panic button. Full fight-or-flight syndrome. You didn’t grow up gay in Oklahoma without learning to discern when someone was snooping around your sexual orientation.
Matt felt his muscles tense. His heartrate hit the stratosphere.
“OH, YEAH! I DID TAKE HIM A CARD!” Matt feigned sudden recall. Overacted. He did everything but slap his forehead in fake surprise.
Five sets of eyes pivoted his way (Debbie, Cleopatra, Butch, Sundance, and the Kit Kat Wall Clock). No one was buying his act, least of all the clock.
SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!
…shit!
Matt threw in the towel. He knew a lost cause when he saw one. (One didn’t grow up in Oklahoma, surrounded by 38 tribes of Native Americans who’d been “resettled” there without learning a thing or two about lost causes.) “Is there something you’re trying to ask me?”
“Well, honey,” Debbie sighed. “There are some things one doesn’t just out and out ask about—even with people you love.
And I love you more than anything! You know that!
What I will say, quoting my daddy, God rest his soul, is that ‘I baited my hook and plunked it in the water, but the fish ain’t bitin. ’”
Matt felt tears stinging his eyes. “Maybe the fish know what’s on the other side of that hook: a boning knife. That’s what usually happens to fish in this state.”
“Maybe,” he said, tears streaming now, “Maybe the fish don’t want to hurt the fisherwoman’s feelings because other fish hurt her in the past.”
“OH MUSTANG!” Debbie burst into tears.
Cleopatra stood in frustration, ruffled her fur, and jumped onto the back of the couch, joining Butch and Sundance in their half-lidded contempt for human folly.
Matt and Debbie groped towards each other, each blinded by tears, each seeking to comfort the other while they both sobbed.
There they were: she, a childless woman deprived of a family by the gay man who had married and divorced her, hugging the son she’d never birthed—a boy born gay just as surely as he’d been born left-handed, a boy who’d never known a mother’s unconditional love.
12:11 p.m.
Matt grunted, pushing the wheelbarrow across the lawn, fighting to keep it upright as it bounced over tree roots and acorns, past the shepherds and angels.
He was ferrying brick pavers from the back to the front yard.
Debbie had changed her mind about the location of a planned garden path, which was the favor she had called him about in the first place—moving 600 pounds of bricks.
This was his fifth and final load. The sun was shining. The temperature was in the low ‘60’s. He had long ago shed his shirt. He could feel sweat trickling into his crack.
He was hungry but didn’t want to dampen Debbie’s enthusiasm. They’d cried until their tears and sobs turned into giggles, then erupted into laughter.
The cats had not been amused.
Matt had been curious as to when Debbie began to suspect he was gay.
“All the rainbows intersected at you,” Debbie had said.
“Garland Stone-Dancer, the lawyer you got to handle my case: gay. Even I could see that. Then, you somehow knew Nicholas, my ex. Knew him well enough to rope him into helping me get my job back. And he knew you. I guess that’s when I got suspicious. ”
“When?”
“That day Nicholas came here to the house. You both tried to hide it, but it was obvious you were more than casual acquaintances.”
Matt had scrunched his face. “We haven’t had sex, if that’s what you’re implying!”