Sons (7 page)

“Yes, thank you.” Jan patted Amal on the shoulder as he passed. “You’re a good man, thank you.”

“Effendi, has the woman gone? Or—”

“The woman has left, Amal. She won’t be returning, but if she does return, you are to refuse her. Do you understand?”

Amal nodded, then said, “Effendi, forgive me, you do not look well. May I get you something, tea perhaps?”

Jan gave Amal a tired but grateful smile.

“No, no, I’m all right. The boy shouldn’t be left alone.”

Jan squared his shoulders and climbed the stairs. At the end of a long hall, he saw the guest bedroom door ajar.

Six

C
OLIN
was sitting on the far side of the bed with his back to the door when Jan entered the room. Even in the dim light Jan could tell from his uneven breathing, the boy was racked with sobs. Jan knew that kind of sorrow. At age twelve, he suffered the loss of his father through suicide. Six years later, his mother drove him from the house. The overwhelming feeling of abandonment and sense of aloneness, of helplessness and raw, nerve-wracking fear, was still very much a part of his memory. The difference here was, unlike Jan, Colin had a father to turn to.

My son.
Jan wondered what he felt for the boy he’d just met. Pity, empathy, a tugging at the heart for a lost son now found? He didn’t know Colin. Was it reasonable to expect he should love this boy, a person he didn’t know? Would he come to love him? Only time would answer that question.

“Colin?” Jan said softly.

The boy stifled a sob.

“Colin, we need to talk. We don’t need to say everything there is to say right now—tonight, I mean—but I think we should at least say something.”

Colin remained silent. He put his hands to his face and bent forward. This man, his father, was a stranger he had been taught to hate all his life. A queer! Now he was in his house. Colin felt sick. He was breathing hard. He felt like he needed to vomit. Why had Aunt Elaine left him here? Why did his mother have to die and leave him?

What if his father tried to do something to
him
?
Queers like boys. That’s what everyone says.

In a panic, Colin looked around. He had to get away, but where could he go? He didn’t even know where he was. He had never been to Philadelphia. Who could help him?

As Jan sat down on the edge of the bed, he reached out lightly, touching Colin’s shoulder.

Colin pulled sideways. He moved as far away from Jan as he could get without falling on the floor. Still refusing to look at him, he was determined not to let this man touch him.

Jan sighed, not knowing what to do or say.

Keenly aware of Jan’s presence, Colin tried to clear his thoughts of panic. This man made his mother sad, and he hated him. Aunt Elaine and the whole family hated him too.

“Colin, please, can’t we—”

“Don’t touch me!” Colin yelled.

“What’s wrong? You act like you’re afraid of me,” Jan complained.

Colin refused to look at him. Father or not, he hated the man who had made his mother unhappy.
Hate! Hate!
Suddenly, Colin blurted, “I hate you! I don’t care if you’re my father! I’m not queer like you!”

“I didn’t think you were. What made you say a thing like that?” Jan asked, shaken.

His father’s calm voice confused Colin. He expected him to get angry and yell at him as Aunt Elaine always did. He looked away, not wanting to look into Jan’s face.

“Aunt Elaine said when you were a kid you were okay until some guy got you, and he, well, well, he made you have sex with him. After that, you couldn’t make yourself like girls again, but you tricked my mother! Well, I like girls! I’m not like you, and you can’t make me be that way!”

Colin’s nose began to run. He looked around for a tissue before drawing his sleeve across his face. Tears mingled with snot smeared his shirt.

Jan sat, stunned. Elaine said they made sure Colin wasn’t gay, but she didn’t say they’d made him homophobic too! This, he hadn’t expected.

How do I talk through this? How do I make Colin understand this is as scary for me as it is for him? How can I convince him I’m a good person, that I didn’t intend to hurt his mother, that our relationship just didn’t work, and if I had known about him, things would have been different?

Jan knew he had to think fast. He needed just the right amount of sincerity in his voice and the words to back it up.

Of all the issues they were bound to face, this was the one Jan had hoped would be put off until much later, yet here it was, first and foremost. Sexuality had never been a problem before. Now the stakes were no less than his future relationship with his son.

“Come on, you’re a lawyer. You can do this in your sleep,”
Jan’s devil chided
. “Charm him as you would a jury. Make him know you didn’t wrong him. His mother’s the one that screwed him up.”

“Pride goeth before a fall,”
his angel warned.

Jan ignored his imps. One claimed to be from heaven, the other boasted Satan as a comrade.

“Colin,” he said. “No one here is going to do anything to you. Do you understand that?”

Colin shrugged off Jan’s assurance. Still sobbing, still angry, still hating, he was in a combative mood, like a small animal far outmatched by a larger one but unwilling to go down without a fight. Nothing this man could say would make him drop his guard.
He’s nice now, but he might try to come in the night and rape me. This kind of stuff is on TV all the time.

Colin thought about his mother crying when she thought no one was watching. He remembered the wedding picture she kept hidden in her bureau drawer. She looked so happy then; so did his father.

Colin breathed deeply and gave a glaring sidelong look.

“Why did you leave my mother if you’re not a fag?” he demanded.

Jan wanted to correct Colin’s use of the word fag, but confrontation was the last thing they needed right now. If he was going to succeed with the boy, he needed a peaceful atmosphere between them. Slowly, Colin tipped his head toward his father, trying hard to keep a
stay away from me
look in his eyes, but he had to look, he had to see Jan’s face as well as hear his answer.

Jan hesitated. The question, as well as Colin’s palpable rage, had caught Jan off guard.
God help me. How am I going to make him understand a lifetime of events and emotions, especially with his attitude so skewed by his own fears?

The two sat a few minutes before Jan spoke.

“Colin, your mother and I had deeper problems than the sex stuff. I can’t expect you to accept that now. Adult relationships are complicated. When you’re older, I think you’ll understand it better. Someday when you’re ready to talk about it, we will. When you think you’re ready to hear my side of the story, just let me know, but for now, I want you to know that when we married, we believed we loved each other. In the end, we realized we made a mistake, and—”

“A mistake? Are you calling me a mistake? Go away! I don’t want to talk to you!”

“No, no. You don’t understand! I don’t mean you, Colin. I didn’t know your mom was going to have a baby. I had no idea you even existed.”

“If you’d bothered to call her you’d have known!” Colin yelled.

“Colin, some people don’t want to talk to each other when they aren’t married anymore. Some people do. Your mom didn’t want to talk to me any more than I wanted to talk to her. When she left Philadelphia, she didn’t tell me where she was going. Believe me, she sure didn’t tell me she was going to have a baby. Do you think I’d have ignored you if I knew?”

Without warning, Colin blurted, “You don’t want me!”

Jan thought,
so now we’re down to it.

Then he said, “Well, Colin, it’s really not up to me alone. You have to decide if you want me. In most cases, parents and kids don’t get to choose one another. It’s like the man says, ‘You pay your nickel and you take your chances.’ In our case, we have to choose.”

Unbidden tears streamed down Colin’s cheeks. “What if I choose you, and you don’t choose me?” he mumbled.

Jan looked his son in the eye.

“Trust me, Colin, if you choose me, I’ll choose you. In fact, I choose you no matter what you decide. It’s what dads do.”

Colin replied with stoic silence. He didn’t understand this man whom everyone had taught him to hate.

Jan patted his son’s shoulder.

At least he didn’t pull away this time,
Jan thought.

How warm Colin’s body felt under his palm. This flesh and blood existed in part because of him. Half of this being came from him. Jan felt an undeniable connection, a spiritual sense that linked this life, this boy, to him.

Jan sighed. His voice was tired.

“It’s been a difficult evening for both of us.”

Colin stared blankly, not responding. He was exhausted too.

“Look,” Jan said. “The bathroom is through that door. Why don’t you get a shower, and I’ll have Amal lay out a robe and some pajamas.”

Still no response, but the hard edge to Colin’s expression seemed to give way to genuine fatigue.

Jan got up and walked to the bedroom door.

“He won’t come in while I’m in the bathroom, will he?” Colin asked shakily.

Jan said, “No, of course not. We can talk again in the morning. Oh, just so you know, I share this home with my partner. His name is Michael. He’s a very nice man. You’ll meet him in the morning. I hope you’ll like him.”

“Is he que—I mean, is he gay too?”

Jan smiled.
Maybe all was not lost.

“Yes, he is.”

Sensing the direction Colin’s question might be leading, Jan quickly added, “But Amal isn’t, if that makes you feel more comfortable. Not everyone in my life is gay. Amal has some great stories about growing up in Egypt. Maybe he’ll tell you about it one day.”

Jan stood with his hand on the doorknob, his back to his son, hoping for something, any sign, any reassurance that Colin was feeling better about all that had happened this night. Finally, Jan said, “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

No response.

Colin stared at his shoes. He felt so stupid. This was probably the most important conversation he had ever had, and all he could think about was how the salt from the snowy parking lot made a white ring around the soles of his shoes.

Jan closed the door and stood in the stillness of the hall. Leaning against the doorjamb, he closed his eyes and asked a silent,
God, why? Am I so wicked that you punish my son with sadness
?

Jan descended the stairs slowly, went into his study, and closed the door.

Seven

M
ICHAEL
L
IN
leaned back into the soft leather seat of the stretch limousine as it crawled along an icy path made by a giant snowplow. Camille Saint-Saëns opera,
Samson and Delilah,
played softly through the stereo.

Interstate 95 this New Year’s Eve was the only route still open to travelers seeking the city’s sanctuary from the storm, but the heavy snowfall clogged the lanes as fast as they were opened. Jan’s private jet met Michael at Seattle’s Tacoma International airport, leaving little time to adjust from his flight from Hong Kong. The plane’s diversion to Newark, New Jersey, for what turned out to be a perilous landing, made him even more anxious to be back in the serenity of his uncluttered home. Michael was grateful that Jan sent his limousine up to Newark.

The blare of the limo’s horn jarred Michael out of a moment’s nap.

“What is happening?” he asked, irritated by the sudden disturbance.

Guthrie, Jan’s chauffer, spoke into the intercom. “Sorry, sir, some guy pulled off the Arimingo Avenue ramp right in front of us. I don’t think he saw the limo. After all, it’s silver, and in all the snow, he probably didn’t see us. I just wanted to let him know we’re here.”

Michael stared out at the swirling sheets of ice and snow. Barely readable through the car’s steamy glass, a slush encrusted ramp sign read Arimingo Avenue.

The next exit ramp led to Columbus Boulevard and home.

Michael had driven a hard bargain with the Cathay Tea and Import Company. Few people got to see the inner circle of CTIC. That he had done so, spoke loudly of his skill as a businessman and of Jan’s far-flung influence in opening doors closed to ordinary folk. Lifting his briefcase onto the seat, he retrieved a black lacquered box swathed in pale green silk. Michael pulled the cloth wrapper away, opened the box, and inspected, for the umpteenth time, the porcelain figure of a prancing horse made during China’s Tang Dynasty. He ran his soft fingertips across the ceramic’s translucent, slick, multicolored glaze and thought,
When this was fired in a Chinese potter’s kiln, the Venerable Bede shivered in a damp, dark monastery cell completing his History of the Church in England… so long ago.