The Road Home

  “Not bad for a crippled guy,” Sam teased.

  “Not bad for a guy in a kilt,” Burke countered.

  “It’s the bears,” said Sam. “You can’t not have a good time around them. They won’t let you.”

  Burke laughed. “I kind of got that,” he said. He looked out at the bonfire. “So, how does this manifesting thing work?”

  “Just think of something you want to accomplish, and promise yourself to do it for the next moon cycle,” Sam said.

  “That’s it?”

  “It can be. Some people perform a ritual. That’s what I was doing out there.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The dancing,” said Sam. “I thought about what I want to do. As I danced, I imagined energy building up inside of me—energy to fuel what I need to do. I imagined drawing it from the fire, from the ground, from everyone around me. When I imagined myself full of it, I released it into the universe as a way of signaling the beginning of my process.”

  “You make it sound like you had a cosmic orgasm,” Burke said.

  “It sort of is,” Sam agreed. “And some people do use orgasm to do the same thing—release their energy. I expect there will be quite a bit of that going on tonight, actually.” He laughed.

  “What is it you want to work on?” Burke asked him.

  “That’s a secret,” Sam told him. “I’ll tell you at the next full moon.”

  “How will I know you’re not lying? You could just say it worked. I wouldn’t know the difference.”

  “You’ll just have to trust me,” Sam said.

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Not from me,” said Sam. “I mean it.” He gave Burke’s shoulder another squeeze.

  I believe you do, Burke thought, closing his eyes and feeling the pressure of Sam’s hand.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Who doesn’t like funnel cake?”

  “Me,” Burke said, batting away the piece of powder sugar–covered dough Sam was waving around. “It’s a heart attack on a plate.”

  “‘What is food to one, is to others bitter poison,’” Sam countered.

  “Let me guess. Julia Child?”

  “Lucretius. But I’m fairly certain they were contemporaries.” Sam popped another piece of funnel cake into his mouth.

  The Newton County Summer Daze was in full swing. The annual celebration occupied the whole of the county fairgrounds. There were rides of dubious safety, an arcade of games, at which most players were guaranteed to lose, and vendors offering everything from the funnel cakes Burke refused to eat to egg rolls on a stick. Sam had already sampled one of those as well.

  “We should try everything on a stick,” he suggested, eyeing a booth offering the ubiquitous skewered hot dog, a hallmark of fairs everywhere.

  “You already have,” said Burke. “I don’t know why you haven’t gotten sick yet.”

  “I can eat anything,” Sam told him.

  Burke sniffed the air. It smelled of animals—cows and horses and pigs. “We’re getting near the livestock,” he said.

  “Great,” Sam said. “I want to see the chickens. Come on.”

  Burke didn’t argue. He figured that in the livestock barn he was at least safe from the horrible rides and awful food, not to mention the shockingly haggard-looking band currently playing on the grandstand. Their most recent hit had been a quarter century ago, and they were clearly tired of playing it. But the middle-aged fairgoers dancing and singing along about working for the weekend seemed not to notice.

  The inside of the livestock barn was hot. Electric fans placed around the space did little to cool it and succeeded mostly in just pushing the smells from one corner to another. Weary 4-H members stood near their animals’ pens, looking wilted and bored. Even the animals appeared to have had it with the fair. Instead of looking over the gates of their pens in search of food or pats, they sat in the corners with their backs to their admirers.

  “Chickens!” Sam said excitedly, heading for the rows of cages containing the birds.

  Burke followed without enthusiasm. He looked for a place to sit down, but every chair was occupied, so he trailed Sam as he walked down the line of fowl in cages.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “They’re chickens,” Burke said. “If they were fried, they’d be beautiful.”

  “Chicken hater. How can you not appreciate that?” Sam pointed to a large black chicken whose head was crowned by a ridiculous explosion of feathers.

  “I can appreciate it,” said Burke. “On a plate. With potatoes. I suppose now you’re going to hit me with a quote about chickens.”

  “I know only one,” Sam said. “It’s from E. B. White.”

  “The Charlotte’s Web guy?”

  “Right. He said, ‘I don’t know which is more discouraging, literature or chickens.’”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” said Burke.

  “Not really,” Sam agreed. “But you asked. Oh, look at those Buff Orpingtons.”

  Burke looked at the little girl whose chickens these seemed to be. Maybe eight or nine, she wore overalls and a 4-H shirt. Her hair was tied in pigtails, which lay limply against her damp neck. A spray of freckles blanketed her nose. A blue ribbon was attached to one of the cages next to her.

  “First place,” Burke said. “Congratulations.”

  The girl smiled wanly. “Thanks,” she said. “But all I did was feed them. As soon as this stupid fair is over, they’re going in the freezer. And next year I’m going to be a cheerleader. Four-H sucks.”

  “Good luck with that,” Burke said, walking away to see what Sam had found now.

  “Burke!”

  Burke turned to see Mars Janks coming toward him. Will was with him, along with a young woman Burke didn’t recognize.

  “Hey,” Mars said when he reached Burke.

  “Hey,” said Burke. He nodded at Will. “Hi, Will.”

  Will smiled nervously. “This is Donna,” he said.

  Of course, Burke thought as he said hello to Donna. Who else would she be?

  Donna was pretty. She had a thin, boyish body with small breasts and narrow hips. Her hair was cut short, and if she wore make-up, Burke couldn’t detect it. This explains a lot, Burke thought. She might as well be a teenage boy.

  “Are you here with your dad and Lucy?” Mars asked.

  “Um, no,” Burke said. “With a friend.”

  As if he’d been called, Sam approached. “You’ve got to see these Lakenvelders,” he began. Then he saw the others. “Oh, I’m sorry. Hey, Will.”

  Will nodded but said nothing.

  Burke introduced the others to Sam. “This is Mars, Will’s father. And this is Donna, his girlfriend. Will’s girlfriend, not Mars’s,” he added, speaking too quickly.

  “Nice to meet you,” Sam said. “When are you going to come around the library again?” he asked Will. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Yeah,” said Will. “I’ve been busy. You know how it is.”

  “Will’s been helping me a lot this summer,” Mars said proudly.

  “Right,” said Burke. “How’s the calf?”

  “Calf?” Mars said. “What calf?”

  “The one Will helped you birth,” Burke elaborated.

  Mars looked at Will, who was suddenly very red. “We haven’t birthed any calves,” he said.

  “But Will said that—,” Burke began. “No. Wait. It wasn’t Will. It was my father who was talking about a calf. Never mind.” Burke looked at Will, who didn’t meet his gaze.

  “Mostly it’s been sheep and horses this summer,” Mars said, oblivious to the exchange. “Some pigs. That’s why we’re here. I fixed up one of the sows. I hear she picked up a ribbon.”

  “That’s some pig,” said Sam.

  “You’ve seen her?” Mars asked.

  “No,” Sam answered. “It’s from Charlotte’s Web. Charlotte writes it in the web over Wilbur’s pen. Burke and I were talking about the book earlier, an
d it made me think of it.”

  Mars looked at Sam for a moment. “Oh,” he said. “Okay.” He turned back to Burke. “Did you hear the good news?”

  “Dad—,” Will said.

  Mars waved him away. “We can tell Burke,” he said. “He’s practically family.”

  “But we haven’t even—”

  “Will and Donna are engaged,” Mars announced.

  Burke felt his stomach sink. He looked at Will, who was biting his lip. Donna, though, was beaming. She held out her left hand, displaying the diamond on her ring finger. Burke just stared at it, saying nothing.

  “It’s beautiful,” Sam said loudly, startling Burke back to the moment.

  “Yes,” Burke agreed. “Really beautiful. Congratulations to you both. When’s the wedding?”

  “We’re thinking Octo—,” Donna began.

  “We don’t know,” Will interrupted.

  “But you’ll definitely be getting an invitation,” Mars assured Burke. “Doesn’t it make you feel old?” he added. “I can’t believe my son is getting married.”

  “It certainly does,” said Burke.

  Mars clapped him on the back. “Well, we should go take a look at that sow. You fellows have a good time.”

  “You too,” Sam said.

  Will hurried past them, his arm around Donna. When he was out of earshot, Sam said, “That was unexpected.”

  Burke sighed. “Not entirely.”

  “You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Burke answered. “It wasn’t like he and I were going anywhere.”

  “Mmm,” Sam murmured. “Hey, I saw a kid eating a fried Snickers bars on a stick. How about we find us one of those?”

  “Why not?” said Burke. “And maybe a fried banana on a stick and some of that calamari on a stick. Then we can go on the Scrambler and see what happens.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Sam said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Thanks for letting me come over. I didn’t know if you would want to see me.”

  Will stood on the porch. Burke was in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. In the twenty minutes since Will’s phone call, he had managed to work his anger up.

  “I don’t know that I want to,” he said.

  Will ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I don’t even want . . . Dad’s the one who . . .” He paced a few steps up and down the porch. “Are you alone?”

  “My father and Lucy went to a movie,” Burke said. “I didn’t want to go.”

  “Because of—”

  “Because it’s a Clint Eastwood movie, and I hate Clint Eastwood.”

  “Can I come in?” asked Will.

  Burke hesitated. Letting Will in the house probably wasn’t a good idea. Then again, he didn’t want to have this conversation standing on the porch. He stepped aside and motioned Will inside. He closed the door behind him.

  Will sat down on the couch. His hands hung between his legs, and he threw his head back, letting out a loud groan. “This is so fucked up,” he said.

  “Nobody’s making you get married,” Burke reminded him. “You’re a big boy. You can do what you want to.”

  Will shook his head. “You don’t get it.”

  “Get what?” Burke said, getting angry. “Get that it’s hard? Get that it’s terrifying? Get that we shouldn’t have to do it at all? Yeah, Will, I do get that, because I went through it.”

  “It’s different for you,” Will argued. “You don’t want to be married. You don’t want kids.”

  “How do you know what I want?”

  “Well, do you want kids?”

  “No,” Burke said. “But that’s not the point. You can get married. You can have kids. You can do anything you want to.”

  “It’s not the same,” said Will. “People don’t treat you the same. They’re all like, ‘There’s those gay boys with their Chinese baby.’ And no matter how many states let homos get married, it doesn’t change what people think. And calling some guy your husband just sounds freaky.”

  “Let’s assume you’re right,” said Burke. “Which you aren’t, by the way. But let’s assume you are. Are you saying you’re not gay?”

  Will tapped his fingers together. “I’m not gay gay,” he said.

  “That sounds like being kind of black,” said Burke. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I like making it with guys,” Will said. “But that’s just sex. I don’t think I could ever be with another guy. Not forever.”

  “Do you like sex with Donna?”

  “I told you, she’s a virgin, remember?”

  Burke had forgotten about the purity ring. “Right,” he said. “I forgot. And when you’ve done it with other girls, you’ve thought about guys the whole time.” He fixed Will with a look. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, my friend, but you’re gay. Gay gay. With a capital G. And I’m not sure, but I think your fiancée might have a little secret of her own.”

  “Donna? What about her?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, she looks like she stepped out of a boy band. But come to think of it, that might be perfect. If she’s a dyke, you can be each other’s cover.” Like Tess Beattie, he thought.

  Will stood up and walked over to Burke. He put his hands on Burke’s waist. “Don’t be mad,” he said. “It doesn’t have to change anything. You know, with us.”

  He looked into Burke’s eyes. When he smiled, Burke felt his anger melt away. He’s just a kid, he told himself. He’s just scared. You can help him.

  Will leaned forward, his lips parting. Burke allowed himself to be kissed. He closed his eyes and pulled Will tighter. Their tongues met, and Burke felt Will’s hard-on pressing against him. One of Will’s hands found its way to Burke’s cock and squeezed.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Will whispered. “You can fuck me in your bed.”

  Burke started to agree, then stopped. He pulled his mouth away from Will’s. “No,” he said, breaking their embrace.

  Will looked at him, his eyes troubled. “Why?” he said. “I told you, it’s okay.”

  “That’s just it,” said Burke. “It’s not okay. What you’re doing is not okay, and what I’d be doing if I went upstairs with you would not be okay.”

  Will shook his head. “I don’t understand. We’re just going to fuck around. It doesn’t hurt anybody.”

  “Maybe not,” said Burke. “At least not now.”

  “But that’s all we’re talking about,” Will said. “Now. And right now I know you want to get naked and let me blow you.”

  “You’re right,” Burke told him. “I do want to do that. But I’m not going to. Listen, I know how you feel. I really do. But it’s not how I feel. I’m not going to tell you you’re making a mistake, because it’s your choice. But I won’t be part of it. Not anymore.”

  Will looked as if Burke had slapped him. “You think you’re better than me?” he asked.

  “No,” Burke said. “I just think we’ve made different choices. That’s all.”

  Will grunted. “You mean I’m making the wrong one. Well, it hasn’t worked out so well for you, has it? Where’s your husband? Where’s your perfect life?”

  Anger flashed through Burke. “You want to spend your life chasing cock behind your wife’s back, go ahead. Let guys fuck you in rest-stop stalls. Hook up with guys online. Maybe you’ll even find a fuck buddy—some other guy who says he just likes to get it on with guys sometimes. That sounds like a great life.”

  Will glared at him, the muscles in his neck tensing. “You know, the other night my dad said he thinks you might be queer. My mother asked why you weren’t married, and that’s what he said. And you should have heard him. He sounded like he was telling her you had cancer.”

  Burke felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “He said that?”

  Will nodded. “Now, imagine what he’d say if it was me he thought was queer.”

  Burke didn’t speak for a moment as though
ts raced through his head. “People change,” he said finally.

  “Not fast enough,” said Will.

  He started to walk past Burke, but Burke grabbed his arm. “Don’t hide who you are,” he said. “Please, Will.”

  Will looked into his eyes. The anger in them was gone. Now he just looked like a sad boy who’d had a fight with his best friend. Burke wanted to take him in his arms, not to make love to him, but to comfort him.

  “I’m not like you,” Will said softly. “I can’t be.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “Need any help?”

  Burke looked into the room his father used as an office. Ed was seated at a desk. In front of him was a pile of plastic parts for a model. The air smelled like glue.

  “These directions don’t make any sense,” said Ed, peering at a piece of paper over his glasses. “I don’t see any part A thirteen.”

  Burke walked over and looked over his father’s shoulder. “What is this supposed to be when it’s done?”

  “SPAD Thirteen,” his father said. “A French airplane,” he added when Burke didn’t respond. “World War I.”

  “Oh,” said Burke. “Sounds interesting.”

  His father grunted as he rummaged through the pile of parts. Burke knew this was his way of not so subtly letting his son know that he was busy and wanted to be left alone.

  “When did you start building models?” Burke asked, not giving in to the temptation to leave.

  “Couple of years ago.”

  He’s not going to make this easy, Burke thought. Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, we’ll do it his way.

  “Dad, when did you first think I might be gay?”

  Ed dropped the piece he was holding. “Damn it!” He retrieved the piece, took up the bottle of glue, and went back to work. “I don’t know.”

  “Was it before I was out of college?” Burke asked, pressing. “When I was a kid? You must have thought about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because isn’t that what parents do? Don’t you wonder what your kids are going to be like? What kind of lives they’ll have? Didn’t you wonder why I never had any girlfriends?”

  “No,” said Ed. “Just figured you were a little slow getting started, is all.”