Between These Walls (30 page)

“How would it make it harder?” asked a guy across the circle.

Hunter measured their words and tried to find an inkling of a breather in which he could speak up. His arms trembled.

“My parents stayed together, but I always wondered what the transition must be like for blended families,” Ross answered. “I mean, what’s it like for a kid? In a way, he has two father figures, right? A father and a stepfather.”

“Better than two
dads,
though,” Joe chuckled. Because he sat beside Hunter, his voice sounded forth in a sudden boom, louder than the other voices in the room.

“Two dads?” asked Ross.

“Yeah,” Joe replied, his eyebrows now raised, a smirk on his face as though he found the conversation amusing. “Like in those gay relationships where they adopt.”

“Do you know anyone like that?”

“Of course not,” Joe snorted. “I’m just saying, that’s all.”

By this time, every group member had fixed his attention on Joe and Ross, back and forth, as the verbal tennis match played out before their eyes.

“But that’s different from what I’m talking about,” Ross said. “That’s two equal fathers, not a father and stepfather. The kid with two gay dads knows his dads from birth, so right or wrong, it’s at least been consistent.”

“Consistency isn’t exactly what I was talking about,” Joe said. Another smirk, another chuckle.

“Okay, then what’s your point?”

Joe straightened his posture. “I’m thinking more about the
environment,
where the two dads are ... well, the
perversion
of it, you know? Think about it: Eventually the kid is gonna wonder why each dad chose to be with another dude instead of with a woman ...”

Hunter froze. No way could he say anything now, given the direction in which the conversation had veered and the flippant way in which Joe had spoken of people who struggled like Hunter. Hunter locked himself down in fear.

Motion startled him, but he recovered in time to suppress an outward reaction. The movement had come from Jesse Barlow, who sat on Hunter’s other side. Jesse sank back into his chair, arms crossed, but said nothing. Just listened.

Hunter pondered Joe’s last comment, a rusty nail which punctured Hunter’s heart. A new wound formed.

Hunter knew his attractions wouldn’t be met with approval, but now, Joe’s words revealed a harsher truth, one Hunter had never considered: Some people wouldn’t see Hunter as merely shameful; they would regard him as
perverted.

The word sounded both glib and horrible at the same time.

Some people wouldn’t see him in a conflict. They would look at him as an individual who awoke one morning, made a conscious choice, and started a new life as, in their view, an evil person.

Hunter had never looked at his struggle as
perversion.
He had always thought of perversion as the result of a long road of intentional, specific actions—a series of
desired
choices, things people
welcomed
into their lives. Yet Hunter’s battle felt
nothing
like a choice, and he certainly never considered it welcome.

In fact, Hunter’s feelings had little, if anything, to do with any type of sexual encounter. Rather, it felt more like a need for acceptance, a desire for companionship with someone who could understand him.

He didn’t know why the need was there. It just was.

Of all people, the individuals in this Bible study group were the ones that should feel like a second family to him, in whom he could confide and find help. But now, he realized it was a mirage: He could
never
open up and trust them. They could never
begin
to understand him.

And once again, with that fresh awareness, he felt alone.

Dan’s voice interrupted Hunter’s contemplation.

“Hey, guys, this discussion has really drifted off course. Why don’t we move on to the next paragraph in the book?”

Heads nodded, followed by scattered
Yeahs
and
Okays.

“Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, so this is our last meeting until January,” Dan added. “We might as well try to make it through a full chapter in the book
once,
right?”

Hunter peered down to discover his knee jostling as fast as his heart rate. It resulted from bouncing the ball of his foot upon the floor, a frequent reaction when he felt anxious and didn’t catch himself in time. He put an immediate halt to his fidgeting, maintained his poker face—he almost hadn’t stopped his eyes from widening the moment he’d noticed his knee in motion. Hunter begged God that nobody else had noticed. Looking around, he doubted anyone had; they appeared too enthralled with Joe and Ross’s conversation to have noticed anything else around them.

He mouthed a word of thanks to God, then bit his lower lip as a shroud of sadness settled over his soul.

“Hey man, you okay?” A whisper.

Hunter looked beside him. Jesse Barlow remained sunken back in his chair, arms still crossed. Jesse had leaned so far back, Hunter had to crane his neck farther and look over his shoulder to meet Jesse’s eyes.

From the corner of his mouth, Jesse had managed to whisper soft enough, discreetly enough, to make sure no one except Hunter heard him.

Jesse Barlow, the minister’s son. Talk about a guy who had fought through some rough years. Hunter didn’t know the whole story, nor had he tried to find out. He’d always felt Jesse should have a right to privacy.

Jesse had disappeared to California for more than a decade. Apparently, along the way, he had made some choices that had caused him severe regret. When he’d returned to Ohio, Jesse had found out his high school sweetheart had given birth to a son—
Jesse’s
son. Nowadays, Jesse found himself in the process of trying to raise a pre-adolescent.

Yes, Hunter figured, Jesse must have seen some hardship of his own. No wonder the guy hadn’t jumped into Joe’s discussion a few minutes ago. He’d seemed as if he didn’t even want to hear it.

Hunter gave him a discreet nod.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he whispered from the corner of his mouth.

Fine,
thought Hunter.

If only.

CHAPTER 26

Hunter didn’t have answers. Nor did he have a solution.

He found it difficult to reconcile his feelings for Gabe and didn’t know what his next step should be. But his guilt continued to rise, strengthening by the day—the sense that he had begun to string Kara along.

Along this unfamiliar road, Hunter discovered the presence of many unknowns. But he did know this: His feelings for Gabe had grown and had now replaced any feelings he’d had—or
convinced
himself he’d had—for Kara. It didn’t seem fair to her. Besides that, her travels and absences for long stretches of time only made resistance to Gabe that much tougher. Yet Hunter and Kara’s relationship hadn’t lasted all too long, so asking her to set aside her job for the sake of their relationship didn’t strike Hunter as fair, either.

He’d given a lot of thought to tonight’s location, but no matter which option he considered, he knew Kara would interpret it as a date setting. He wanted to take this step in the kindest manner possible; doing so at her home seemed insensitive, and his own home provided specific memories of romantic evenings.

He had settled on a small winery. He knew Kara loved the place, which meant he could offer at least one pleasant aspect to an evening that might otherwise prove thorny.

In season, dozens of individuals packed the patio on Saturday nights. In late November, however, Hunter knew the winery’s population would be sparse, which meant a private setting. Although it was too cold to sit outside, the owners had added at one end of the building a small annex, with beautiful tiled floors and a gas fireplace made of polished stone. The winery crew had unpacked the Christmas decorations early, and over the fireplace hung a row of stockings with a staff member’s name etched on each. Seasonal music played overhead—steel drum music, which Hunter pegged as a reminder of warm weather, a cue for visitors to return to the winery when summer rolled around.

A Christmas tree sat beside the fireplace. On either side of the tree, Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus figurines, each the size of a toddler, stood guard with smiles on their faces. The figurines’ hands were clasped, as if delighted
someone
had finally come to visit them. Tonight, the room was empty aside from Hunter and Kara, who sat at a table near the tree.

Hunter tried to savor the scent of bread fresh from the grill. He munched on a hot panini of turkey and artichoke, while Kara nibbled on a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich. Hunter also felt a bottle of wine might help keep Kara relaxed—if possible—as they ended their relationship.

How could he transition to that topic? Cutting to the chase struck him as cruel, and he didn’t want to hurt her. So he had started the evening with light conversation and proceeded with care, vigilant not to use words or actions that would lead her into a romantic mood.

“By the way, we never talked about Christmas,” Kara said. “I hope you won’t be disappointed, but I promised my family I’d travel home to see them in Minneapolis. That means I can’t be here for our first Christmas together.”

Maybe he could transition from there. “I understand. When you think about it, we haven’t been together long enough for Christmas to be a given, have we?”

“You’re right. We’re in that in-between zone. No black or white.”

“Have you booked your flight yet?”

“Not yet, but I’d better get around to it before the flights fill up. I get a free ticket with my frequent-flyer miles.”

“No shortage of those,” Hunter smirked.

“Plenty more points where those came from, for sure.” Kara took a bite of her grilled cheese. When she wiped her hands on her napkin, her fingertips left behind little butter imprints. “Do you have plans for Christmas?”

“Mom and Dad are visiting Bryce and his family in Boston.”

“Are you going with them?”

“That was the plan,” Hunter said, “but when you’re between jobs, suddenly a plane ticket seems like a budget buster. I could always drive, though.”

Once those words left his mouth, Hunter stopped. He wondered what Gabe was up to for Christmas. To his recollection, Gabe hadn’t mentioned leaving town, and he knew Gabe’s only family in town was his mother. Maybe Hunter should invite them over for fun.

“I haven’t decided for sure if I’m going to Bryce’s house,” Hunter said. “I might keep it low key, conserve my budget, hang out with a friend in town.”

“Who?”

“Just a buddy. You haven’t met him.”

At that, Kara shrugged, then sipped her wine.

Yes, this relationship factor had gotten harder. Kara didn’t suspect a thing—neither his lack of interest in her, nor his attractions toward anyone else. And now he had allowed their conversation to drift away from anything leading to a breakup. Hunter couldn’t identify a good way to steer the conversation back onto his intended course, so the direct route seemed best.

He looked down at his dinner, which he hadn’t touched in several minutes and had gone lukewarm, and realized his appetite had departed. He shifted in his seat, procrastinating amid the inevitable.

“Kara, this isn’t easy,” he began, forcing himself to look into her eyes, “but I need to talk to you about something.”

Creases formed along Kara’s forehead. An expression of concern overtook her face. Despite the music playing overhead, the space between Hunter and Kara had grown eerily quiet. Hunter could hear her swallow her wine.

“You look so serious,” Kara said. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t want to do this to her, but it seemed selfish
not
to. Kara’s big, blue eyes had the innocence of a child. Though he struggled to maintain eye contact, he felt she deserved that much, considering he was about to break her heart. He wished she hadn’t grown attached to him as fast as she had.

“I, um, I can’t find a good way say this, so maybe I should lay it on the table.” With a deep breath, Hunter said, “I think it would be good for us to ... take a break.”

In a split second, though anyone else would have missed it, Hunter saw something fall in her pixie stare. The first tear of the fabric upon her heart. Her eyes flinched with a look of dejection, the kind where you search for an inkling of hope—evidence that you had misunderstood what you’d heard—before giving up.

Kara peered down at the tabletop, ran her fingernail along its diamond pattern, before looking up again. Her expression appeared hopeful but revealed hope had gotten shot in the heart.

“By ‘take a break,’ you don’t mean ... to go away together somewhere? As in a break from Ohio?”

True to form, Kara had believed the best about him. Numbness waded into Hunter’s stomach.

“No,” he replied, his voice above a whisper, “I mean a break ... from us.”

“Oh ...”

Hunter could understand her lack of response. Yet silence didn’t seem fitting. He felt responsible to talk, to say
something,
if for no other reason than to keep her from feeling self-conscious. So he trudged forward.

“I don’t know if the answer is to take a step back and see other people—”

“Is it something I did?”

Hunter held out his palms to stop her from blaming herself. “No, it’s not you. I
promise
it’s not you. It’s me.”

“What do you mean, it’s you?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. After all,
he
didn’t even know what was going on inside himself or why. How was he supposed to find words to explain it to
her?

“For some reason, my heart can’t quite, well,
get there.
” When Kara blinked at that statement, Hunter hurried his next words in an effort to protect her. He could sense his sincerity coming through as he spoke. “Look, Kara, I care about you very much. I enjoy our time together. The best way I can explain it is, my
heart
can’t seem to get in sync with ...
us.
Not in a way we both know would be necessary for a long-term relationship.”