39. Lance
Chapter thirty-nine
Lance
When I wake up the next morning, Jonny is already sitting in the chair next to the window, staring out. He turns and looks at me. “Can we go back to the memorial park this morning?” he asks.
“You sure?”
He nods. “I think with all the things going on last night, I didn’t get a chance to…say what I needed to say to the people who most needed to hear it.”
“I’ll come with you,” I say. “Okay?”
“I know. But I need to do this. And I don’t want to do it on my own. We can wait until you get off work.”
“Not a chance. I’m taking remote work seriously for a while.” I stand up and kiss him on the cheek. He smiles at me.
We dress quietly.
The day after the event, the park is mostly empty. They haven’t taken down the podium and the tent yet. He ignores it and goes to the memorial wall. He stares at the thirty-one names, tracing the brass engravings with the tips of his fingers.
I step back to give him space, but he reaches back for me and takes my hand. I stand behind him, feeling stupid.
The Bishops are grouped together, but he first goes to the one on its own that reads, Suzannah Drumm. He touches it. “Wherever you are right now, I hope you are at peace now, Miss Suzannah.”
I squeeze his shoulder. He turns back to the Bishops. They are arranged in a single line by age: Laurel Bishop at the top, Elliott at the bottom.
He crouches down so that he can look at the name.
“Hi Elliott! You’d like this place,” he says after a long silence.
“There will always be other kids to play with. And seesaws like you like. And slides that don’t burn your legs.
” He stops for a long moment. “I love you. I miss you. And I’ll be back to see you soon.
Real soon.” He touches the brass and smiles.
“And Grandma, I love you, too. Remember when I used to sit at our kitchen table and draw, and you would tell me how to make it better? I’m still doing that.
I remember you every time I draw.” He presses on the brass. “Take care of Elliott, okay?”
The breeze lifts his hair faintly. He takes a deep breath.
“Mom,” he says, and stops. “Mom, I grew up.” He pauses and fights to catch his breath.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything earlier.
I was away for a long time. I had a great life.
I went all over the world. And now I’m going to be on the radio.
Can you believe it?” He pauses and swallows.
“For a long time, I was so angry with you, but I’m not anymore.
You didn’t intend this. You were just dealt this really shitty hand and didn’t know what else to do to keep your family together.
And…I want you to know that I’m going to be alright.
” Another hesitation. He puts his head against the wall. “I love you, Mom.”
I let him stay there for a few minutes, until he pulls away and nods at me. I guide him to a bench. He wipes his face. “That was more intense than I thought it would be,” he says.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods, slowly, and then shakes his head no.
“Maybe now I can sleep again. Maybe the nightmares were trying to tell me this the whole time. I was out on that driveway at exactly the right moment. I was close enough to hear. And she never answered him. I only ever heard his half of it, and my head filled in hers, because at seventeen the other option wasn’t something I could hold. ”
I rub his back.
He takes my hand. “But now that I know…I don’t want anything from him.” He pauses and looks at the park. “No. I take that back. I might have half-brothers and -sisters all over town that I’ve never met.”
“Do you want to find them?”
He hesitates and nods. “I want to see if they look like me. If they like the sort of things I do. I want to invite them to barbecues.”
“Then we’ll find them. We’ll take out an ad in the Excelsior if that’s what it takes. You’ve got some money from the survivor’s fund.”
“Your boss’ll be pissed.” He tries to suppress the smile, but fails. “‘SEARCHING FOR THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF REX HARLOW. PLEASE COME FORWARD.’ I can just imagine his face.”
I laugh, and kiss his forehead. “You know that they might not want to be found,” I say. “Maybe they’ve got a dad in place they don’t want to hurt. Maybe they don’t know. It’s a risk.”
Jonny nods. “Maybe they won’t like me because I’m gay.”
“It’s a risk. But I’ll always have your six.”
“I know. You’re a good man.”
We walk for a while without talking. The breeze moves through the empty park. A cloud scuds across the sun briefly, and is gone. A whole life is behind us on that wall, and for a moment we let it just be there, unhurried—the grief and the quiet and the thin October light all sitting together.
I pick out a bench under an oak and put my arm on the back so he can sit next to me.
He sits and looks back at the memorial wall. Then, finally, he looks at me, fully, and smiles.
“What?”
“I love you, Lance Broussard.”
“I love you, too.” I’m unsure of where this is going. I glance at the memorial wall with a sinking feeling in my heart. If this is a goodbye I’m burning this fucking place to the ground.
He takes my hand. “You loved the same way at seventeen that you will when you’re seventy. With your whole body. I was afraid that the Marines would take that away from you and turn you into something else. But they didn’t.”
Well, this is going better than I feared. “That means a lot to me to hear that. I did save your life. Twice. But I’m not counting.”
He narrows his eyes. “Once and I am counting.”
“Agree to disagree.”
He looks like he’s going to argue about it, but then he looks back at the memorial.
“I lost everything in that fire,” he says.
“My mother, my brother, my grandmother, my home, my name. I’ve spent ten years trying to outrun it, and I’m tired, Lance.
I’m so tired of running.” He turns to me.
“Life is too short and we have wasted enough of it already. You are, and you have always been, the great love of my life. I could have missed out on a lifetime with you. So when you are 70 and the neighbor’s kids are running all over our lawn, I still want to put my arms around you and tell their parents, ‘Don’t worry, my husband’s more bark than bite. ’”
I stare at him. The air in my lungs feels compacted, like it’s been pressurized. “Is this what I think it is?”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m making a mess of it. I’m sorry. You seem like an old-fashioned guy. Right.” He gets down on one knee. “Lance Stephen Broussard, will you—”
“Yes.”
He grinds his jaw. “I had a speech prepared.”
“Don’t need it. Had an answer prepared.”
He clears his throat. “Lance Stephen Broussard—”
“Skip, skip, skip. Yes. Sit back down.”
He stands up and glares down at me. “Look, this is perhaps the only time in my adult life when I get to sweep you off your feet. You’re supposed to be overwhelmed. Or, at least, less constipated. I was preparing to grovel for breaking your heart.”
“You don’t need to. You’re here, you already mended it. That’s all I needed. I didn’t need a speech, and I didn’t need or want you to sweep me off my feet. I just need you. That’s it.”
“So, you’ll marry me?”
“Yeah.”
He smiles, bends down, and kisses me. “Today,” he whispers against my lips.
I pull back. “Today as in today.”
“Right now.”
“Okay, now you’re sweeping me off my feet.
Holy shit.” I launch myself off the bench and take two steps before I realize he’s still laughing.
“Truck. Now.” I grab him by the hand and drag him through the park, ignoring the stares as we cut through the grass.
I let go of his hand long enough to get him into the cab of the truck, and he’s laughing the whole time.
There’s a parking space on Main Street just in front of Zimmer’s Jewelers, and I pull into it so fast the tires squeal. I’m already half-unbuckled by the time the truck comes to a halt. “Out,” I say, cutting the engine.
Jonny fumbles with his seat belt while checking something on his phone. “There’s an officiant available at 1:30,” he says. He scrolls down. “There’s also one at 1:15?”
“That one.” I open the door and he has to scramble after me.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” the woman behind the displays asks.
“I need two plain wedding bands, and I want to pay and be out the door in three minutes or less. Go. You,” I say, turning to Jonny. “Get sized.” I take out my phone and type 911 into the Broussard family chat.
There are almost immediately three dots.
Bree
What’s going on?
Mom
Honey?
Dad
What do you need?
I type Jonny’s name and add him to the group chat.
Jonny and I are getting married in T-32 minutes @ courthouse. Want you there.
Bree
WTAF?
Mom
LANCE STEPHEN brOUSSARD. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I THOUGHT YOU WERE HURT.
Dad
Need your uniform?
If you can swing it. No time to go to apt.
Bree
Can I get out of Algebra?
Mom
Bree, I’ll tell my boss I have a kid emergency and pick you up.
Dad
I don’t have anybody to cover for me.
“Sir?” the saleswoman says. “Do you know your size?”
“Nine, I think,” I say. “But try it anyway. Jonny, call Shelley.”
She tries the ring sizer on me while Jonny dials. “Can you put me through to Shelley Bishop please? I’m her nephew. Well, I think she would want to be interrupted. It’s very important.” He looks at his phone. “Did you just add me to the Broussard family group chat?”
“Nine and a half,” the saleswoman says. She boxes up the rings and puts them in a bag. I hand her my debit card.
“Two and a half minutes! Well done!” I say as I take the bag.
“Hi, Aunt Shelley. Sorry for bothering you at work, I—”
“Give me the phone,” I say. He surrenders it immediately. “Shelley, he just proposed, and we’re getting married in twenty-nine minutes at the courthouse. Can you make it?”
“Jesus Christ!” she shouts. “Yes! Oh my God, yes!”
“Great. See you soon.” I hand back the phone and open the door for my fiancé, who looks exhilarated and slightly windswept.
My phone beeps as we’re getting back into the truck.
Dad
Closing store. The heck with. See you in fifteen. Tell Jonny I’m happy for him.
Mom
He’s in the group chat now, honey. Tell him yourself.
Jonny
Hi. Guess I’ll be a Broussard after all.
Bree
Great. Could somebody call into the school so I can get out of this fucking class?
Dad
Watch your language. We have a new addition to the family. He doesn’t need to know about your potty-mouth.
Bree
He’s known me since I was seven. Come on.
“Sir?” the saleswoman says. “Do you know your size?”
“Nine, I think,” I say. “But try it anyway. Jonny, call Shelley.”
She tries the ring sizer on me while Jonny dials. “Can you put me through to Shelley Bishop please? I’m her nephew. Well, I think she would want to be interrupted. It’s very important.” He looks at his phone. “Did you just add me to the Broussard family group chat?”
“Nine and a half,” the saleswoman says. She boxes up the rings and puts them in a bag. I hand her my debit card.
“Two and a half minutes! Well done!” I say as I take the bag.
“Hi, Aunt Shelley. Sorry for bothering you at work, I—”
“Give me the phone,” I say. He surrenders it immediately. “Shelley, he just proposed, and we’re getting married in twenty-nine minutes at the courthouse. Can you make it?”
“Jesus Christ!” she shouts. “Yes! Oh my God, yes!”
“Great. See you soon.” I hand back the phone and open the door for my fiancé, who looks exhilarated and slightly windswept.
My phone beeps as we’re getting back into the truck.