For Mac (16 page)

Before long, it was Thanksgiving. But Branson didn’t seem to think there was really much to be thankful for.

“Bran.” Liam was sitting beside Branson at Mac’s side on Thanksgiving morning, having picked up on that emotion. “You have quite a bit to be thankful for.” When Branson didn’t answer, Liam continued. “You have friends who love you. You have a job that understood your situation and worked with you to give you time with your brother. You have had more time with your brother!” When Branson started to interrupt, Liam quickly continued. “No, it’s not in the way you want. No, he’s not getting better, and no, I can’t give you any guarantees about how much longer you’ll have him, even in this condition, but you’ve had all this time to… I don’t know… say good-bye, make your peace with it. I don’t know. But not everyone gets that opportunity, lad.”

Branson hung his head. “I guess you’re right.” Then he looked at Liam with such a lost look that it nearly broke Liam’s heart. “I just want my brother back.”

Liam took a chance and enfolded Branson in his arms. “I know, Bran. I know.” As he rocked him, he said, “I wish I could give him back to you, bud. I really do.”

To Liam’s surprise, Branson grabbed on with all he had and held on for dear life.

T
HAT
AFTERNOON
found Liam and Branson at Amy’s mother’s house with Amy, Andy, and the rest of Amy’s family.

“Thanks for inviting me, ma’am,” Liam told Mrs. White.

“We’re happy to have you, my boy,” she responded. “And call me ‘Mama’ or ‘Mama White.’ Everyone else does.”

Branson whispered, “Thanks for coming. I know you usually spend Thanksgiving with your family.”

“It’s nice to spend it with new friends too,” Liam explained. Branson had asked him to come, obviously unsure of his response, so Liam had vowed to be there. He smoothed it over with his family and knew that he’d have plenty of other dinners with them.

O
NCE
THE
table had been cleared, the dishwasher loaded, and all the leftovers put away, everyone gathered in the living room to talk. At one point Branson had been pulled away by his honorary nieces and nephews—sons and daughters of Amy’s brothers and sisters. Andy and Amy and most of the other adults were off somewhere, and that left Liam and Mrs. White in the living room alone.

“You two make a cute couple,” Mrs. White started the conversation.

“Um….” Liam cleared his throat. “We’re not like that, ma’am, uh, Mama. We’re just friends.”

“Liam.” Mrs. White gave him a matter-of-fact look. “I’ve known Branson Farrell all his life, and that is not the way he looks at his friends.”

“Ma’am.” Liam was getting nervous, and all thought of what Mrs. White preferred to be called went out of his head. If she said something like this to Branson, would he pull away from him again? “Branson isn’t gay. He doesn’t want that kind of relationship with anyone, let alone me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, my boy,” Mrs. White started to answer, but changed tactics. “I know he won’t let himself act on his feelings, and I know why, but it’s obvious he feels more than friendship for you.”

“Well,” Liam stuttered. “Please don’t say anything to him about it, ma’am. Andy took the piss about this with him once, and Bran stopped talking to me for what seemed like forever.”

“I know how to be discreet, young man. And, like I said, I’ve known Branson his whole life. I know he wouldn’t appreciate that kind of observation. But that doesn’t mean I can’t tell
you
that I approve. I’m pretty much the closest thing he has to a mother, so I think that my approval should count for something, right?”

Liam smiled but was still nervous. “It certainly does, ma’am. But I don’t think Branson is ready to hear it.” He dropped his head. “May never be.”

Mrs. White patted Liam’s hand. “Give him time, son.” Then she stood up to busy herself with something, but looked back down at him. “Do you think you’ve calmed down enough to go back to calling me ‘Mama’ now? ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old.”

Liam chuckled. “Yes, ma’am… um, Mama,” he corrected himself. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.” She grinned and left Liam alone with his thoughts until Branson came back, minus his brood of munchkins.

L
ATER
THAT
evening at Branson’s house, Liam and Branson talked about the day and how everyone accepted Liam so readily.

“I do need to tell you about something, though,” Liam announced. He had thought long and hard about this, but he didn’t really like the idea of lying to Branson, even by omission. “Before you hear it from another source. I had originally asked her not to tell you, and she said she wouldn’t, but if Andy hears about it and—” Liam brought himself up short and started again. “Mrs. White mentioned that she thought you and I made a good couple. Like she thought we were. I told her we weren’t.”

Branson smiled. “Well, she knows I’m gay. Well, that is….”

“That’s the first time you’ve admitted you’re gay.” Liam was stunned.

“I told you before,” Branson started to answer.

“I think you said you weren’t exactly straight, or might not be, or something, but I don’t think you actually said you were
gay
, used the actual word.”

“Well, I can’t be… but I… well…. Mama White knew about the
Playgirl
magazines, and, well… she was more of a mom than my mom ever was. I talked to her about stuff, when I was much younger. Once Mac took over parent duties… well, I stopped talking to anyone about it, but….” Branson paused, apparently trying to decide whether or not to say this next bit. “She’s actually the only reason I’m still here.”

“You were thinking of moving?” Liam was confused.

“No, Liam.” Branson looked at him like he was being dense. “I wasn’t thinking of moving.” Then he kept silent until Liam figured it out.

“Suicide?” Liam was shocked. “You?”

Branson looked sheepish. “Only the one time, and I’m not sure I would have gone through with it, but yeah, when I was younger, about eighteen or nineteen.”

“Why?” Liam didn’t mention that was only four or five years ago, and Branson really didn’t seem like he had come to terms with his sexuality since then, so if that had any bearing on things back then, well….

“Mac was more than clear about how he felt about homosexuality in general and especially about me being gay. He beat the crap out of me when he caught me with those
Playgirls
at fourteen. Bad enough I thought I might have needed to go to the hospital. From then on, he pushed girly pictures at me for a long while, then pushed actual girls at me, figuratively speaking. ‘Ask this one to the dance, Bran,’ ‘take that one to the movies, Branny,’ ‘be a man, Branson.’ He kept pushing me to have sex—with girls, of course. I finally gave in when I was eighteen, almost nineteen, and went out with a girl down the street. We had known each other all the way through school, and she said she had always found me attractive. We went out a couple of times, and then she kissed me one night, and then I….” Branson paused.

Liam got the wrong idea. “You didn’t force her. I think I know you better than that.”

“No, I didn’t force her.” Branson was spurred to continue the tale quickly. “It was all mutual, but we were the first for each other. I didn’t know how to give her pleasure. She didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted. It lasted about five minutes, and it was miserable. We didn’t see each other again after that, and I felt awful, like I had taken something precious from her, for no good reason at all. I hadn’t even wanted to have sex—that was all Mac’s idea. Well, not for me to have sex with that particular girl, but you know what I mean.”

“Surely that wasn’t enough to make you want to commit suicide.”

Branson tried to inject some humor. “Are you always this talkative when someone’s trying to tell you something?”

“I tend to be an active listener.” But Liam recognized the gesture for what it was and acted in kind. “Please continue.” He smiled, then brought his thumb and forefinger to his lips and pantomimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

Branson grinned but then returned to his serious tale. “But no, that by itself wasn’t enough to cause it. It was all of it. I was attracted to a friend at school, a male friend, but found out in a roundabout way that he was every bit as homophobic as Mac was. Fortunately that was before I had said anything to him or done anything. Not that I was planning to. Mac was making life miserable. After the disaster with the girl down the street, I screamed at Mac to leave me the fuck alone the next time he said something about ‘being a man.’ He didn’t talk to me for two weeks—literally did not talk. But he left religious fliers and shit all over the place. I don’t know where he got them because the church we attended when our parents were alive, the one the Whites still attended, didn’t preach that kind of shit. They didn’t say much on the subject at all. But these fliers were nasty. I mean, how can someone call themselves Christian and spit out that kind of vitriol at the same time?

“He also left
Playboys
around everywhere. In the bathroom, on the kitchen table, even on my goddamned bed. But he wouldn’t say a word. He wouldn’t talk about it. He wouldn’t let me explain that I had no intention of doing anything with a guy but didn’t want to do anything with a girl either. He just refused to talk at all. I couldn’t afford to move out. I didn’t have anyplace else to go. Or at least I didn’t feel I did at the time. Mama White said later that I could have moved in with them at any time. The only reason she didn’t file for custody of me in the first place—she told me much later—was because I wanted to be with Mac and he with me. She hadn’t known of the abuse at the time, not the physical kind anyway.

“So, anyway. One weekend Mac took a lady friend away for a couple of days, and I had the whole house to myself. My dad had always kept a gun in the safe behind the portrait above the fireplace. He made sure Mac and I both knew how to load it and fire it, but mostly it just sat there. Well, that weekend, I’m not sure what drew me to it, but I got it out, loaded it with several rounds, and took it upstairs to my bedroom.

“I went into my bathroom, got into the tub, and drew the shower curtain. I knew that if Mac came home and found blood everywhere, he’d be pissed. I was messed up enough at the time that I really didn’t think he’d care that I was gone… just about the mess.

“Well, Mama White knew I would be alone for the weekend, so she brought some dinner by. She rang the doorbell, but I didn’t hear it. I wouldn’t have answered it anyway. She let herself in with the extra key we had given her for emergencies or for when we locked ourselves out or something. She was going to put the dinner in the refrigerator and leave a note for me about it, but she saw the safe hanging open in the living room and nothing obviously missing but the gun. She started looking for me, calling my name. I didn’t hear her. She knocked on my bedroom door, and when I didn’t answer, she just came in. When she saw the bathroom door closed, she knocked and called my name. I still didn’t hear any of this at the time. She told me all about it later. She opened the door and saw the shower curtain drawn but didn’t hear any water running, and she saw a shadow behind the curtain, sitting down. She announced that she was going to open the curtain and that if I was naked, I’d better speak up and tell her to get lost.

“I didn’t, of course, but I wasn’t. Naked, I mean. I had thought about that, tried to decide whether I wanted to ruin my clothes, but figured it was more important to me that I not be found naked. So there I sat, fully clothed, in the bathtub, looking down the barrel of my dad’s loaded revolver. Mama said later that she about had a heart attack right then and there.”

“I would have too,” Liam interrupted, but when Branson shot him an “I thought you were going to be quiet” look, Liam mimicked taping his mouth shut and gave a “please go on” gesture.

Branson continued. “She finally was able to move again, and she slowly put her hands on mine, all the while calling my name, trying to get any response at all from me. It was quite a while before I even realized she was there, let alone that she was talking to me, and more importantly, that I was supposed to answer her. I was really screwed up. I’m not sure where I was mentally, beyond trying to decide whether or not to pull that damned trigger.

“So she eventually got the gun out of my hands and got me to talk about everything. She already knew about my leanings, of course, and knew I was having trouble with Mac, but she didn’t know about the girl down the street. Yes, I told her about that. I told her everything. She said the same thing Amy and Andy have been telling me since then: that I needed to make the decision for myself and not for Mac. But I’ve never been that brave. I have to, well, had to at the time, live with him 24-7. He had been there for me my entire life, and I couldn’t bear the thought that I was letting him down.” Branson paused for a bit, then looked directly at Liam. “Still can’t. So I came up with a kind of compromise. I wouldn’t do anything with guys but I wouldn’t try anything with women either.”

“So you what? Decided to be celibate for the rest of your life?” Liam broke his silence again, but this time Branson didn’t seem to mind, so he continued. “That’s not really a compromise, is it? It sounds more like capitulation.”

“Well, it was an arrangement I could live with.” Branson looked down. “Until lately.”

Liam reached over and squeezed Branson’s knee.

“Don’t,” Branson whispered.

Liam removed his hand but slid a little closer to Branson on the couch. “Bran, I thought we were past you reading something into every touch. I promised you. I will never do anything you don’t want.”

Branson dropped his head back against the couch. “That’s just it. Part of me wants you to touch me… with more than friendship. Part of me wants you to kiss me, to take me to bed, and show me what I’ve been missing. To stay the night. To stay forever.” Branson turned his head away. “But a bigger part….”