Liv
Liv poured herself a tall glass of lemonade, her third that morning. She'd forgotten how hot Macon could get in summer. Unless the heat affected adults more. The twins and Li'l Eric didn't seem to mind as much, playing out in the back yard. "Hotter'n hell and a helluva lot less comfortable," Daddy used to say. "Thank God for cold beer!" Of course she remembered
about
the heat; only her body had forgotten how it felt. Had July always been this hot? Maybe those activists were right about global warming.
She looked out the kitchen window to check on the children before returning to the pile of half-packed boxes in the living room. She saw that one of those men next door—the white man, Franklin—had come out to work in his garden. No harm in that other than his apparel: a sleeveless tee-shirt and one of those skimpy Speedos men like him liked to wear. He wasn't paying them any attention, and they'd been warned not to talk to
those
neighbors. That black cat of her mother's, the one she called Ronnie, lay curled up in the sun. How fitting that
that
cat had attached itself to them!
The thump-thump of Li'l Eric's ball on the back of the house blended in with the familiar sounds of a Macon summer: flies buzzing, the whirring of the ceiling fans, and the absolute quiet in the street outside on a scorching day. What other physical memories had stayed with her? The sour odor of beer on Daddy's breath and the sweat sticking to his body when he'd hug her close. "You like the feel of a strong man's arms, doncha Princess? Nothin' queer about you!" Her brother, Ronnie. No one ever mentioned his name. Had Daddy been that attentive when he was around? She only remembered wishing for a brother or sister to share in those hugs.
Now she was sweating like Daddy. Why hadn't Mama put in central air like those men next door? It wouldn't have surprised her to learn it was the heat that killed her. She'd refused an autopsy when the police called, out of consideration for the doctor who'd have to perform it. She'd been dead for a week when they found her… and in this heat!
The heat. She'd have visited more often after Daddy died except for that, she told herself, but only their summers were free since the twins had started school. Christmas was for Eric's family—dozens of people from all over the country, while in Macon there were only Daddy and Mama, and Eric loathed Daddy, loathed him from the very first, even before he got drunk at their wedding. "Thank God for cold beer."
They'd come home to ask permission to marry. She wasn't quite eighteen yet. She'd gone to Atlanta with a girlfriend to take some secretarial courses so she could land a decent job, and never really came back. She signed up for a course on investments, thinking it would come in handy, but it turned out to be
corporate
investments and not much use. The instructor, though, was a young man out to earn a little money on the side while he finished up his MBA. Eric—so smart, so worldly. A few weeks into the course she found herself shacked up with him. Then, towards the end of the semester he was offered a good job in Idaho. She figured she'd never see him again. She never expected him to propose. So they went to Macon and he met her father.
Now she was back home, after all this time. At the Heymers', that is. Who owned this house was up in the air; she was only allowed in to pack up the contents. That much Mama had left her, though she couldn't sell them off yet.
She remembered her surprise at seeing those two men, Mama's neighbors, there when Evan Marker read them the will. He said they'd helped her with the house after Daddy died. She thought maybe she'd left them a token something to thank them. Some token—the whole damn house, and to turn into a home for queers! What the hell had gotten into Mama? It was like a slap in the face. She'd nearly sunk through the floor.
She'd left the office fuming, but Eric shrugged it off. The house was peanuts, he'd said. He'd even laughed.
"What's so funny?" she'd asked. "People like that make me sick. You suddenly approve of homosexuals?"
"Are you kidding? You know what I think. I just wonder what made her come up with that one. Gay teenagers—what a kick in the balls to that redneck father of yours! Alma finally had the guts to spit in his face. Can't you appreciate the irony of it all?"
"No, I can't. What does Daddy have to do with it anyway? It's not your name that'll be dragged through the mud if this house thing is upheld. The local papers will have a field day." And all the time she was thinking:
They'll dredge up Ronnie
.
Eric had made light of it: "What the hell? You'll be far away." He only knew that she'd had an older brother who died when she was four.
They'd had the same argument two or three times before he left and since then had thrashed it out over the phone more than once.
Liv had never known Eric to be so stubborn. True to his word, he wasn't standing in her way, although he wasn't much help to her, either. At least he'd promised to come back for the hearing. "If it comes to that," he'd said. Of course it would come to that! None of them was going to back down; a settlement was out of the question.
She didn't regret her decision to contest the will. As Eric had predicted, the case showed signs of dragging on forever. She'd stay to see it through, though, with or without her husband. In the meantime she was alone.
At last there had been a glimmer they were making some progress. A glimmer—no more than that. Up till then, her lawyer had been in correspondence with their lawyer; now they had decided that everyone concerned should come together and try to reach an agreement. Pointless, of course, but still progress if you saw it as a last gasp to forestall the inevitable.
The meeting would take place in Evan Marker's office two days from now. She didn't look forward to it. Those men gave her the creeps. In spite of that, she dragged out the packing and constantly risked running into one of them by coming over for a couple of hours every day to check on the house… her mother's house.
Her
house. It wasn't fair that she couldn't live there but had to pay the electric bills if she wanted lights and cold drinks in the refrigerator. Thank God Eric was the big earner and he sent her money to cover her expenses. She didn't have a job anymore. Well, it couldn't be helped. She'd find another once she'd put this business behind her and gone back to Idaho.
She went back to her packing.
Li'l Eric
The lemonade was almost gone; Liv had been gulping it. Had she been this thirsty as a child? Probably. The kids kept coming in to ask for something cold to drink. Bet they'd be wanting more any minute now. What were they up to? It had been a while since she heard Li'l Eric's ball. She started back to the window to see what was up.
She wasn't really worried. Eric was right about those men—they did keep to themselves. Liv picked the vegetables now, though she couldn't use most of them and they were piling up in the fridge, and the weeds had started to take over. Those men might not come into the yard, but it would still be irresponsible not to keep an eye on the kids with people like them living next door. She wasn't too concerned for the twins. They were older and always together. One of them wouldn't go off on her own. Also, they learned about not trusting strangers in school nowadays, and girls were naturally more obedient than boys. Li'l Eric, now, had only done first grade. No telling what he might do. An overly sensitive child—sometimes willful, sometimes timid and fearful. And besides… She wished his sisters would include him in their games. She didn't feel comfortable with him playing alone.
The boy had evidently mastered bouncing his ball against the wall to his satisfaction. Either that, or he got bored doing it, because now he was throwing it as high as he could and trying to catch it. She smiled. He missed every time. He needed his father; Eric would have played catch with him, taught him, if he were here. He'd have said something to that man too, told him to put on a pair of shorts. Perhaps she ought to say something herself. No, better not to acknowledge him; he might think she was ogling him.
The sweat glistened on his body. He'd taken off his tank top and was standing in the middle of his yard, swigging down his pretentious bottled water with his head thrown back and his shock of straight blond hair hanging loose—and wearing next to nothing, no doubt to show off that indecent bulge of his. Did he have to make a display of being thirsty? People like that had become shameless, making a spectacle of themselves, flaunting their gayness as if it were something to be proud of!
As she was turning away from the window, she saw the ball go over the fence. She was about to tell Li'l Eric not to touch the allamanda—she'd warned the children several times already, but kids forget these things when there's a ball involved. The man noticed it too. He walked over, picked it up, and tossed it back to Li'l Eric, who fumbled it and had to run after it. The man smiled and said something. Liv flew to the door.
"What did you just say to my son?"
"Not much. I just said, 'You're welcome.'" He must have thought her a mother hen.
"He remembered to thank you, then. That's good."
"Not exactly. I said it as a reminder. He wasn't rude, really. I think your children are afraid of me, you know."
"It's safer when kids are a little distrustful of people they don't know. We've told them to keep their distance. That's all."
The man frowned. "Don't you think it would be better not to involve your children in this unpleasantness about the house?" As if it were any of his business how she brought up her children!
He must have caught on as soon as he said it, because a look of anger flashed across his face and his body stiffened. Liv was prepared to stare him down, but he simply turned his back on her and walked away. "And I'll thank you not to walk around like that when my children are here," she called out after him. "I don't want them staring at you."
He ignored her. His rudeness rankled. She almost wished he had answered her back so she could give him a piece of her mind. On the other hand, if they got into an argument there was no telling what he might say, and in front of the children, too! She'd said too much already. The girls had paid them no attention, absorbed in their game; Li'l Eric, of course, had taken it all in. It made her nervous. Like a sponge, he was—such an observant child, always wide-eyed, always watching.
"Come inside, sweetie," she said. "We can play a card game. Mommy needs a break."
He followed her into the house.
"My, but I'm parched! I think I'll have a glass of cold lemonade. How about you, sweetie? Would you like one too?"
He nodded.
"It's all right to thank people if they do something for you," she said while she filled their glasses. "That isn't what we meant by not talking to them. We just don't want you having a
conversation
with them. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mommy." He hesitated. "Mommy?"
"What is it, sweetie?"
"The man, the one who threw me the ball… I think his name is Jay."
"How do you know that?"
Li'l Eric looked alarmed. "I heard the other man call him that," he explained.
She must have spoken curtly, with an edge to her voice. "It's not nice listening in on other people's conversations," she said gently.
"I wasn't trying to listen. They were talking loud."
"Just keep away from them, okay? Pretend they're not there. Let's forget about it now. It isn't important. What game do you want to play? Rummy? Go Fish?"
Liv handed him the lemonade while he tried to make up his mind. "That's a very full glass I gave you," she said. "You be very careful carrying it into the living room, okay? I'll go get the cards. You see what I meant about them not being nice people?"
Li'l Eric nodded gravely, but she could tell he had no idea what she was talking about.
Jay
Jay watched the Redding woman lead her little boy back into her mother's house, smiling sweetly while she poured her poison into his ears. Jay was sure of it; he didn't need to hear her exact words.
He hadn't quite finished his chores in back when he heard a car pull up in front of the house. That would be Baron back from the airport with Ed Blacknoll and his husband, Cameron. Jay hadn't expected them to get home so soon. Perhaps the plane had come in early and they'd only brought carry-on luggage. And here he was all sweaty with no time to change, much less shower, before he met them! Which would be more rude—to greet them in his living room dressed like a go-go dancer or to wait until Baron brought them out back, where his working in the yard would account for his outfit?
He grabbed the towel he'd left lying on the back steps and hurried into house while he wiped the sweat from his face, arms, and shoulders. To hell with appearances! He couldn't wait to meet them, especially Ed, who'd graduated from the same safe house that had taken him in and now did volunteer work there. On top of that, these two men would be the first gay married couple he'd met—a lot to talk about there. Was marriage in the cards someday for him and Baron? Fat chance of that if they stayed in Georgia!
Jay was no less curious to hear what they had to say. Ed had made it sound so mysterious when he phoned to say they were both coming down and to schedule a meeting with their Lambda lawyer for all four of them. He'd explain why when they got there. Jay had made Baron promise not to question them on the ride home so they could hear it together.
As it turned out, Jay's get-up—white, sweat-stained muscle shirt clinging to his torso, so wet it was almost transparent, and red Speedo molded to his package—was as much an ice breaker as it was an embarrassment. Baron stopped dead in his tracks, and his voice cracked so his rich bass sounded like a squeak when he said, "That's Jay." Those two words were all he could come up with. Anyone could see that he was more surprised than their guests.
The younger of the two men broke into peals of laughter. "And here Marc told me you were shy!" he said, extending his hand. "I'm Ed."
Jay could tell he was blushing by the tingle of blood infusing his cheeks. As with most blonds, to describe him as bright pink would have been an understatement.
"You caught me in the middle of yard work," he stammered. He showed them the dirt on his hands, smiled sheepishly, and wiped them on his shirt before shaking with Ed.
"You can take him at his word," Baron assured them. "He really is very shy; I've never seen him like this. I mean—"
That was enough for both Ed and Cameron to lose it entirely. The obvious inaccuracy of the assertion and the revving up of their hosts' embarrassment—one could detect a flush even on Baron's dark skin—had them both doubled over.
Ed was still hiccupping between giggles and wiping his eyes when Cameron said with a grin on his face, "I'd forgotten how gorgeous the scenery is here, I've been away so long."
"You're from the South?" Jay asked. "Crap. That was a joke, wasn't it?"
Ed's giggles redoubled.
Jay's face was by now as red as his Speedo.
"You brought that on yourself, babe," Baron said. "But he is from around here. I spotted the accent right away." Then, turning to their guests, who had finally brought their merriment under control, he said, "If you'd stop teasing my boyfriend for second, you'd get to see what his skin usually looks like."
Ed and Cameron started laughing again. "That's twice I've put my foot in my mouth," Baron said.
Jay thought that if he wasn't so shy, he'd just strip down to his skin, climb up on the table, give them a show, and get it it over with. He couldn't believe how at ease he felt with these two men. Normally, he would have crawled under the rug in a situation like this—and he'd only just met them!
When they'd laughed themselves out, Cameron said, "I'm not just from
around
here; I'm
from
here. I grew up in Macon." He grasped Jay's hand and shook it firmly. "I'm Cameron, Ed's husband." Then in a steady voice, totally deadpan, he added, "And don't worry about the lack of formality. We take it as a compliment, not a come-on," sending Ed into another fit of hysterics.
"Why don't I shower and get into some real clothes before we go any further?" Jay said. "I can show you your room at the same time, and Baron can give you a run-down of where we stand. Or would you like to unpack and rest up a bit first?"
Cameron held up his hands. "No. Please stay. No more joking, I promise. Before we do anything else I want to hear about the woman who donated the house, and I want to hear from both of you."
"There's not all that much to tell," Baron said, "but as long as we're going to talk, can I get you something to drink? A beer?"
"Sweet tea would be nice. That's what they call iced tea down here, Ed. Probably too sweet for you. Ed drinks it without sugar," he explained to Baron.
"Weird."
Ed said that if it was already sweetened, he'd have a beer.
While Baron was getting their drinks, Cameron asked Jay, "Did you know her well?"
"Mrs. Enslik? No, not really. We were just neighbors and helped her out when we could. She was a sweet, lonely old lady, and not very strong."
"Please, tell me what she looked like."
"We have a photo of her. Over there, on the end table."
Cameron went over and gazed at it. "With a cat in her lap," he murmured to himself.
Jay overheard him. "She had a lot of cats."
"Really?" He sounded surprised.
"Practically a houseful. That one was her favorite—Ronnie. She lives with us now."
"Ronnie!" Cameron repeated.
Baron, returning with the beer and sweet tea, answered the surprise in his voice. "You think it strange that we have a photograph of a woman we said we hardly knew? It was kind of by coincidence. We took it for her a year or so ago. We'd ordered duplicates of the whole roll, so we kept one for ourselves. Then, when we learned what she'd done—there's no way she could've known Jay here was in a safe home once—we had it enlarged and got a frame for it. And now this ugliness. I think it would've broken her heart. This isn't going to be easy, I tell you. We have our work cut out for us."
"Do we ever!" Jay exclaimed. "That woman! She's so rude!"
"Who?" Cameron asked.
"Next door. Livia Redding—Mrs. Enslik's daughter."
"She's living there?" He sounded stunned, and turned pale.
"No, she's not allowed to," Baron said, "unless a judge decides it's hers…"
"Not gonna happen," Jay muttered.
"…but she's over there all day, every day, cleaning the place and packing it up."
"And they let her do that?" Ed asked.
"Someone has to. Might as well be her."
Cameron, who'd been so full of jokes, seemed suddenly to have lost all his composure. He turned to his husband and said, his voice shaking, "We can't stay here, Ed. Let's get a hotel."
"But why?" Baron asked him. "You're more than welcome to stay with us."
Cameron took a deep breath. "Let's sit down," he said, and he told them his story.
* * * *
"Wow," Jay said after they'd heard him out.
Baron echoed his sentiments. "Incredible. Absolutely incredible. This'll make a ton of difference. It changes everything. I'd better call Magda and make an appointment for before we go to Marker's office."
"Magda?" Ed asked.
"Our lawyer—she's driving down from Atlanta. And Marker, Cameron, he's your mother's attorney. Evan Marker, the one who drew up the will. I've set something up for late morning the day after tomorrow."
"Now you understand why I don't want to be next door to her," Cameron said. "If she has a change of heart, we'll come back here, but I don't think she will."
Baron said he'd call and reserve them a hotel room.
"But not the one Livvie's staying at."
"I heard she's staying with friends," Baron said. "I'll find you something in the center of town where there are good restaurants. Jay, why don't you wash up and change while I call. Then we'll all drive there together and go somewhere for dinner. We have a lot to discuss."