Smoky Mountain Dreams (36 page)

“What are you thinking about?” he finally asked quietly.
Hopefully it wasn’t about not wanting to do this after all. Jesse’d felt so
optimistic when Christopher had agreed they were in this together.

“That I need to figure out who I can trust with this kind of
decision in case something happens to me. I don’t think I could trust anyone in
my family. Maybe Joe, my brother-in-law. Everyone else wouldn’t care what I
wanted and just do as they saw fit. And I have no real idea what that might be.”
Christopher leaned back and took a sip of coffee. “I’ll be up all night now.”

The thought of Christopher getting injured made Jesse’s
pulse spike and his mouth go dry. He forced a deep breath and a little smile. “Amanda’s
keeping the kids. We could be up all night together.”

Christopher smiled back, the circles beneath his eyes
looking bruised. “That sounds nice.”

“What time do you have to be at SMD tomorrow?”

“I don’t. It’s Lash all day long. Assuming he’s not too
drunk, and if he is, well, it’s Martin Delroy’s lucky day.”

“It was my lucky day when you came to get your gran’s locket
made,” Jesse blurted. “I just…” He reached across the table and squeezed
Christopher’s hand. “Thank you.”

Christopher lifted Jesse’s hand and kissed his palm. “Maybe
both our luck is changing.”

Later, as Christopher slept safe and warm in Jesse’s arms,
Jesse watched the flickering shadows of the tree outside the window, its
branches dancing in the wind. He squeezed Christopher tighter and hoped that
this new luck would hold.

T
HANKSGIVING
STARTED OUT AS IT
always did. Christopher picked up Gran and took her
over to his mother’s and Bob’s house. Sammi Mae, blonde and thin, opened the
door with a smile and a hug, dressed in a pair of jeans and plain blue shirt
from Talbots. Bob stood behind her wearing a white button-up shirt and his
Sunday preaching pants. His flabby jowls folded into his neck, and his eyes
were small and appeared somehow porcine. He’d been a handsome man once.
Christopher had seen the photographs—black hair, strong blue eyes, and firm,
tall body—but that had all been gone before they ever met him. Christopher had
never understood what drew his mother to Bob, but whatever it was, it was
beyond the physical. That was for sure. Perhaps it was his
hellfire-and-damnation brand of charm.

After they took off their coats and hung them in the front
closet, Bob led a prayer of welcome for them and Christopher even closed his
eyes for it. He suspected that Gran didn’t, though, because she poked at him
through the whole thing trying to make him laugh.

The prayer was long, as all of Bob’s prayers were, and
peppered with comments like, “Thank you, Christ Jesus, for your mercy this year
and for bringing Christopher home to us safely despite how far he insists on
wandering from your loving embrace.” This, of course, pissed Christopher off,
but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Not unless he wanted to just stop
coming to his family’s Thanksgiving. And he wouldn’t do that to Gran.

Or that’s what he told himself. Despite it all, Jackie and
his mother were still his family, and the idea of not seeing them at
Thanksgiving and Christmas made his stomach hurt, like the time when he was a
little kid, before the divorce, when he’d gotten lost in a shopping mall:
terrified, alone, and abandoned.

Then Bob led him into the living room, sat him down on the
sofa while his mother took Gran into the kitchen, and started asking him
questions about his life. There was no pretense that he was interested in
Christopher for his own sake.

“Have you found a church home in the last year, Christopher?”

“No, sir.”

“Some people might find it lonely up on that mountain.”

Bob always made it sound like Gran’s cottage was in the
middle of nowhere instead of a few streets up from a bustling tourist town.

“I’m fine, sir.”

“We pray for you, Christopher. We’d love to know that God is
working in your life.”

For a moment, he almost mentioned Jesse and his kids. If Bob
wanted to keep praying he could feel free, because good things were indeed
coming Christopher’s way. But luckily Jackie showed up with her husband Joe and
his three kids, Lee, Sarah Beth, and Aaron, who ranged in age from sixteen to
six.

Jackie looked beautiful in her red-and-green Christmas
sweater, prompting Gran to mutter about rushing the season, but Christopher
thought it looked great with her coloring—dark brown hair, almost as dark as
Jesse’s, and hazel eyes. Joe was tall, muscled, and looked like he’d just
gotten cleaned up after a day at work fixing up cars and motorbikes in his
garage. That was his main source of income, though he held a full-time job at
Home Depot, too. The kids, even Sarah Beth, the only girl, were little versions
of Joe—strawberry-blond, blue-eyed, and sturdy. They were a fine looking bunch,
Christopher thought, but he was probably a little biased.

Everyone gathered for another of Bob’s welcoming prayers,
this one praising Jesus for bringing Joe into Jackie’s life, and offering
heartfelt pleas for the continued health of their marriage.

“We know that Joe has struggled in the past, oh, Lord, with
keeping his marriage vows. And Jackie has done the same. Lord, forgive them for
their past sins, and bring your peace and lasting love to their marriage.”

Sammie Mae’s fervent, “Praise be!” and “God is
so
good!” encouraged Bob to drag that prayer out, and by
the time it was over, Joe’s kids looked like they might die from a mixture of
horror and boredom, and Jackie was violently red with embarrassment.

Christopher had to admit some
schadenfreude
at the fact that he was apparently no longer the sole target of horrifying
prayers.

After Bob finally shut it, the so-called festivities could
actually begin. Jackie and Sammie Mae started fussing around in the kitchen
while Gran ruled from a distance, resting in the rocking chair by the kitchen
table, telling them they were making all the dishes wrong. In the living room,
Bob turned on the football game. The younger kids argued over whether to watch
a Christian movie up in Christopher’s old room—now an office with an extra TV
in it—or go outside and play on the old, half-rusted swing set that had been
there when Bob bought the place.

The oldest, Lee, sat in the out-of-the-way easy chair in the
corner, where Christopher had always hidden before Lee laid claim to it. Lee
put on his big headphones and tuned out the world. Christopher wished he could
be a surly teen and do the same. Joe sat on the sofa and Bob claimed the
prominent La-Z-Boy by the fire place, settling in for the game. Meanwhile,
Christopher attempted his usual disappearing act.

He lingered in a corner at first, leaning against the wall,
watching the game. There was safety in the roar of the crowd and the drone of
the commentators because it meant that no one was going to be looking at him,
or asking more questions, or putting their hand on his head to pray demons
away.

Eventually, as the game neared half-time, he ventured to sit
in the chair next to the front window where he could still see the screen. He
made eye contact again with Lee, a handsome kid like his dad who gave him a
thumbs up and then looked over at Bob to make a face. Christopher smiled at him
and shrugged. Lee rolled his eyes again and then busied himself with his phone,
ducking down into the winged chair.

The game was dull, and Christopher’s mind wandered. He’d
seen Jesse a couple of nights before when they’d gone on a date and then back
to Christopher’s while Jesse’s in-laws watched the kids. It’d been good to be
alone with him again, since the prior weekend Christopher had spent his Sunday
off at Jesse’s house, playing video games with Will and trying to somehow get
on Brigid’s good side.

It hadn’t gone very well, but it hadn’t been a total bust
since Brigid had been very busy with a school project on electricity.
Christopher had loved listening as Jesse helped her piece together her poster
and encouraged her when she made mistakes. It made Christopher’s gut burn warm
with tenderness, and his heart soar with a giddy affection to witness the care
and patience Jesse put into being a father.

When Brigid had finished her project, she’d bitten out a
reserved goodbye to Christopher and escaped to her room. It’d been a nice
afternoon together and Christopher hoped he was making some progress with both
children, because he wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen how it was with Jackie and Joe.
If she hadn’t at least managed to get along with his kids, it never would have
worked out for them. And it would be the same with Jesse and his children. No
matter how Jesse felt about him, if their relationship pulled his kids apart,
it would be over.

Christopher would want it to be that way too. After all,
those kids had been through enough as it was. They didn’t need him around to
cause them more pain. He just hoped Brigid would come to accept him eventually.
Will seemed likely not to care, but maybe that would change as he got older,
and he came to understand what two men together meant to the rest of the world.

Bored by the slowness of the game, Christopher thought about
going upstairs, but his actual absence would draw attention. So long as he was
quiet and in the room, and so long as he seemed to be paying attention to
football, he was safe. He considered moving to sit beside Joe. It might be nice
to strike up a conversation with his brother-in-law, but that kind of proximity
to Bob increased the likelihood of commercial-break comments or questions
directed his way. So he stayed by the window and looked outside whenever a
break came on, letting Joe handle the discussion of the various plays and
players.

A commercial for life insurance caught his attention.
Christopher watched the insurance commercial play out, the happy family walking
hand-in-hand as the voiceover explained that the family could relax because
they were protected by MassMutual Life Insurance in the event of untimely
death. Christopher wondered what happened in the event of untimely vegetative
state. He sighed, which caught Bob’s attention, but Christopher just waved at
the screen in explanation.

“Slow going, isn’t it?” Bob said. “They’ll pick it up. Have
some patience, boy.”

Christopher agreed and hoped the game came back on soon. No
matter how dull it was, Bob would be absorbed. When the players flashed onto
the screen again, the green of the field and the gray of the sky reminded him
of the weather the prior Thursday when Jesse had convinced him to drive to
Maryville to get sushi for lunch at Anaba.

It’d been Christopher’s first sushi, and it was nice enough,
but probably not something he’d want to drive an hour for again. Except that
watching Jesse eat it and explain each and every bite he’d consumed had been
pretty intoxicating. That had probably been worth it despite the weirdness of
the drive down.

Instead of heading straight to the restaurant, Jesse had
said, “I’ve got to do something. It’ll just take a few minutes, okay?” And then
he’d pulled into the parking lot of a nursing home in Sevierville.

“Where are we?”

“This is…I just need to run in and deliver some stuff. For Marcy.”

“Oh,” Christopher’s heart had started racing. The idea of
going into the place and seeing Jesse’s wife was terrifying. What would she
look like? How would it be? But before he could fully process that, Jesse had
interrupted his thoughts.

“You can just wait here. I won’t be long.”

Christopher was swept with relief, followed immediately by a
strange disappointment and hurt. “No, it’s okay. I’ll go with you.”

Jesse had pinned him with a look then, a sharp, almost angry
expression unlike any Christopher had ever seen on his face. “I
want
you to stay here.”

“Oh.” Christopher had felt slapped, coldness sinking into
him steadily, as Jesse got out of the car and opened the trunk. He’d sat in his
seat, watching Jesse pause by the door to enter a code, and then walk inside
with a laundry bag.

He’d considered getting out and following, but Jesse had
been clear, and Christopher didn’t want to have a fight—their first fight,
unless he counted the night he’d found out about Marcy—over something like
this. If Jesse didn’t want him to come in, maybe there was a good reason. Maybe
she was sick, or—no, if she was sick, then wouldn’t he need to stay longer than
just a few minutes? Maybe he thought Christopher couldn’t handle it? Or that he
didn’t care?

It wasn’t more than ten minutes before Jesse returned. He
was quiet and a little shaky when he turned the car engine over, and put it
into drive. “So,” he’d said. “That’s done.”

“Everything okay?”

He’d laughed, a twisted, hurting sound, more like a bark. “No.
Every time I see her, I’m reminded again that everything is definitely
not
okay.”