Authors: Michael Thomas Ford

Tags: #General Fiction

The Road Home (11 page)

BOOK: The Road Home

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CHAPTER 11

“I
t's a plant.” Burke's father stared at the laptop's screen, peering over his glasses at the photos as Burke brought them up.

“It's not
just
a plant, Ed,” Lucy said, looking at Burke and shaking her head. “It's about the
feeling
of the image.”

Burke's father snorted. “Well, it
feels
like a plant.” He turned to his son. “I'm not saying it's not pretty. But it's a plant.”

“It is indeed,” Burke agreed. He was trying very hard not to be irritated with his father. The photos were some of the most interesting ones he'd taken, and he was excited about them. But to his father, they might as well have been snapshots of the back garden.

“These remind me of Sugimoto,” Lucy remarked. “The sparseness is really lovely.”

Burke was impressed that she knew the work of the Japanese photographer. He was one of Burke's favorites, and secretly he'd always hoped to achieve the same aesthetic with his work.

“I guess I just don't get art,” said Burke's father, standing up. “It's too much for this farm boy's brain.”

“You make it sound like you're a country bumpkin, Dad,” Burke teased. “In case you've forgotten, you do have a degree in finance. You make it sound like you've been working the land for fifty years, instead of helping people invest their money and making yourself a tidy little pile in the process.”

His father made a vague sound. “I should probably get back to work.”

“Sure, Dad,” said Burke. “Those sheep won't graze themselves.”

With his father gone, Burke relaxed. Lucy understood what he was doing. It would be nice if his father showed a little more enthusiasm, but Burke had long ago given up on that happening. His mother had enjoyed what he did, and she hadn't really understood it, either, but his father was hopeless. Sometimes it felt to Burke that he was deliberately trying
not
to understand his son's work.

“Don't let him bother you,” said Lucy. She was scrolling through the pictures, looking at each one intently. “He's just afraid of looking foolish.”

“It's not like I'm asking him to explain the origins of the universe,” Burke replied.

Lucy turned to him. “Do you know he doesn't read fiction?” she said. “None. Won't even try. I tried to get him to read
Life of Pi
when my book group read it. He said he didn't see any point in made-up stories. I know he was afraid he wouldn't understand it.”

“Now that you mention it, I haven't ever seen him read a book,” said Burke. “I guess I never noticed. Mom was always reading. She read enough for both of them.”

Lucy looked thoughtful. “Maybe that's part of it, too,” she said. “Maybe books remind him of her.” She had stopped at one of the photos on Burke's laptop. “This one is beautiful,” she said.

Burke looked over her shoulder. She was looking at the picture of Will.

“He's such a handsome young man,” Lucy said.

“You think so?” said Burke.

“Oh, all the girls are after him,” Lucy told him.

Burke hesitated before asking, “And none have landed him?”

Lucy nodded. “He has a girlfriend,” she said.

Burke felt his stomach drop.
He has a girlfriend,
he thought. The news upset him more than he would have thought.

“Donna Lewis,” Lucy continued, still looking at the photo. “Nice girl. She was Maple Syrup Queen last summer. This almost looks like a face.”

“What?” said Burke.

“This,” Lucy said, pointing to the cloudy area on the photograph. “It looks like a face. Well, a little bit, anyway. There's the nose, and that could be a mouth. It's missing eyes, though.”

Burke peered at the photo. Now that Lucy had mentioned it, the cloudiness did resembleâin a very primitive wayâa head. It was as if someone were standing behind Will, looking into the water with him.

“That's kind of creepy,” said Burke.

“I used to love finding shapes in the clouds when I was a girl,” Lucy said.

“That's not a cloud, though,” Burke told her. “It's just bad processing.”

“Really?” Lucy said. “It looks so natural.”

Burke straightened up. “Some of the most interesting art is accidental,” he remarked. He was still thinking about Donna Lewis. He wondered what she looked like, and pictured a thin, giggly girl with blond hair and huge breasts. He pictured Will kissing her.

“When will you develop the others?”

Lucy's question broke the spell, and the image dissipated. “I did it this morning,” said Burke. “They're hanging up to dry.”

Lucy smiled. “You're certainly getting around well,” she said.

“Yeah,” Burke agreed. “It's not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.”

“And here I was hoping you'd be with us all summer,” said Lucy. “It's selfish of me, I know. But I like having you here, and I know your father does, too.”

Burke didn't argue this point. He knew Lucy was just being nice, at least about his father being happy to have him there.
He's probably as anxious to be rid of me as I am to be out of here,
he thought.

“I'm supposed to go to a doctor in Montpelier this week,” Burke told Lucy. “To see how the leg is healing. Dr. Liu set it up. We'll see what he says.”

Lucy stood up. “I hope it's bad news,” she said, patting his cheek. “I'll go make you some breakfast.”

“I thought you made Dad do all the cooking,” said Burke.

Lucy smiled at him. “I make the occasional exception,” she said. “Don't tell your father. He's just looking for an excuse to hand over that particular duty.”

She went into the kitchen, and Burke shut the laptop down. He was thinking of Will again. The young man was supposed to come by to look at the photos later. Burke had been excited about showing them to him. Now the thought just made him sick.

Don't be stupid,
he chastised himself.
It's not as if the two of you are lovers. Why are you so upset?

He had no answer for this question. He just knew that he was. He didn't want Will to have a girlfriend.
It's like Mars all over again,
he thought.
We're going to pretend nothing ever happened.

He went upstairs and checked on the film. It was almost dry enough to scan. But now he didn't care whether he scanned it or not. The news about Will had sapped a lot of his excitement about the photographs. “Maybe Dad is right,” he said to the empty bathroom as he looked at the strips of film hanging from the curtain rod. “Maybe they're just pictures of plants.”

Lucy called him down for breakfast a few minutes later. She'd made eggs and bacon, all of it perfectly cooked. Burke ate, but without enthusiasm. He felt guilty about not enjoying the food more, but his bad mood was getting worse. “This is great,” he told Lucy, his voice overly enthusiastic.

He was finishing the last of the bacon when Will appeared outside the kitchen's screen door. “Knock, knock,” he said.

“Will!” Lucy said. “Come in. Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Will answered. “I've already had three cups this morning. Any more and I'll get twitchy.” He looked at Burke. “How'd they come out?”

“They're
wonderful,
” Lucy told him.

“Yeah?” Will said, waiting for Burke's verdict.

“Come upstairs,” said Burke. “See for yourself.” He went up the stairs ahead of Will, his irritation growing with each step. As soon as they were in his room, he turned around. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Will, confused, furrowed his brow. “Coming to look at pictures?” he said.

“What would Donna think about you kissing me?” Burke said.

Will shut his eyes and sighed. “Who told you about her?”

“That doesn't matter,” said Burke. “The real question is, why didn't
you
tell me about her?”

Will turned and shut the door to the room. “I was going to,” he told Burke.

Burke sat down on the bed. Suddenly his leg hurt. He didn't say anything in response to Will's words. He just waited for him to continue.

“Donna's just a . . . ,” he began.

“A what?” asked Burke when Will didn't finish the sentence. “A friend?”

“No,” Will said. “She's more than that.”

“Does she know you kiss other men?”

Will's face flushed. “You don't understand,” he said.

“I think I do,” Burke countered. “You like banging girls, but you've wondered what it might be like with a guy. You thought you'd give it a try. So tell me, was it what you expected?”

Will ran his hands through his hair. “That's not it,” he said. He paced back and forth, seemingly trying to find the right words. “I know I like guys, okay? I mean, I haven't really done much, but I know I like it.”

“But?” Burke asked.

“But my dad,” said Will. “This place. You don't know what it's like.”

Burke laughed. “No, I don't know anything about that,” he said. “I only grew up here with your father.” He resisted adding that he and Will's father had engaged in a little man-on-man action of their own.
Like father, like son,
he couldn't help thinking.

“You got out,” Will continued. “I don't know if I can. I
want
to. I just don't know if I can do it.”

“Why?” said Burke. “Does your dad lock you in at night? Are you forbidden to leave the county? Come on, Will. You're a grown man. You can do what you want to.”

Will shook his head. “They expect me to be a certain way,” he argued. “If my father thought I was . . .”

“So you're going to hide your whole life?” said Burke. “You're going to marry Donna, have a couple of kids, and play country vet forever? Maybe sneak off every now and again for a blow job or a quick fuck in a men's room, or hook up with some guy online? This isn't 1956, Will. In case you hadn't noticed, a lot of people manage to escape the
expectations
their families have for them.”

Will sat beside him on the bed. “I know that,” he said.

“But it's different for you, right?” said Burke. “You're different. Things are
harder
for you.”

“Why are you being such a dick?” Will asked.

Because you're doing the same thing to me that your father did,
Burke thought.
Because I know what's going to happen to you if you don't get out of this place.
“I'm not being a dick,” he answered. “I'm reacting the way people do when they find out they've been lied to.”

“I didn't lie,” Will objected.

“Right,” said Burke, nodding. “You just didn't tell me. The sin of omission is still a sin, Will. You let me think that maybeâ” He stopped as he realized what he was about to say.

“Maybe what?” asked Will.

“Nothing,” Burke said. “You let me think something that isn't true is all.”

There was a long silence as neither of them spoke. Outside Old Jack whinnied. The bed shook as Will laughed. “I think he's feeling better,” he said.

Burke knew Will was trying to break the tension, but he wasn't ready to let him off the hook. His irritation at being deceived had grown into a larger disappointment over Will's apparent inability to claim his life as his own. The young man was allowing himself to be bullied into hiding who he was.
No, it's worse than that,
he thought.
He's doing this to himself.

“What did your parents say when you told them?” Will asked after a moment.

“Told them what?” asked Burke.

“That you're . . . you know.”

He can't even say the word,
thought Burke. “Gay,” he said. “The word is
gay.
”

“I know what it is,” Will said.

“Then say it,” said Burke. “If you can't even say it, you'll never be able to be it. Or maybe that's what you want. Maybe you think that if you never say the word, you'll never have to deal with it. Good idea. But it doesn't work that way.”

“Gay!” Will said sharply. “Gay. There. Are you happy? I said it.”

“You forgot the âI am' part,” Burke said. “âI am gay.' Say that.”

BOOK: The Road Home

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