Part 45 (2/2)

”It didn't just happen,” he said. ”You chose it, Wiley.”

”But I didn't. All I did was decide to be honest about it.”

”You're not attracted to women?”

I shook my head.

The look on his face said this couldn't possibly be true.

”Are you attracted to men?” I asked.

”Of course not.”

”If it's a choice, as you say, why can't you just choose to be attracted to men like me?”

”Don't be ridiculous.”

”You're being ridiculous. It's not that complicated. Most guys like girls, but there's a handful of us who like other guys. That's just the way life is. Do we all have to be the same?”

”No.”

”What's the problem?”

”It's icky, Wiley.”

”What's icky about two people who love each other?

”I don't know,” he confessed. ”It just is.”

”I do know,” I said a bit too forcefully. ”You're a bigot, Billy. You don't like gay people. That's fine. But it's your problem, not mine. I can't go around pretending to like girls because you think it's icky if I'm honest. If you had any respect for me, you wouldn't ask me to do that. You'd let me be who I am and you'd get over your darned self.”

”I'm trying to understand,” he said. ”You're going to have to give me some time.”

”I'm still your little brother. Still the same person I've always been.”

”My little piece of s.h.i.+t brother,” he said, but not unkindly.

”And you're my big piece of s.h.i.+t brother,” I added with a smile.

The first volley of fireworks went suddenly up into the air and Noah hooted.

66) A love story

ON THE THE Sunday morning after the party, Noah wandered to the kitchen as I sat at the table in my boxers, laptop open, my fingers flying over the keyboard, sweating because of the heat. Sunday morning after the party, Noah wandered to the kitchen as I sat at the table in my boxers, laptop open, my fingers flying over the keyboard, sweating because of the heat.

KUDZU played Dolly Parton's ”Here You Come Again.”

Noah came over to me, checking in by draping an arm over my back and putting his face against my shoulder. Then he pulled away and faced me so I could see him.

Are you working again? he asked. he asked.

I nodded happily.

What are you writing about? he asked. he asked.

I'm writing about a little deaf boy, I said. I said.

Why?

Because he's amazing and I want the whole world to know how smart he is and how much I love him.

He smiled.

Are you going to write about J. too? he asked. he asked.

Yes.

And Memaw?

Yes.

And Uncle B.?

Yes.

And K.?

Of course.

I think you should make K. a vampire. She'd like that.

She would, I agreed. I agreed.

He went to the fridge to get a Pop-Tart. He placed one in the toaster, pressed the b.u.t.ton, and waited patiently.

I'd been up since three in the morning. I'd woken up with an idea in my head that wanted to be written down, that insisted on being written down, and right away. An image of that first time I had seen Jackson Ledbetter in my line purchasing two cases of Dos Equis was strong in my mind. It was the beginning of my story, the beginning of a whole new chapter in my life, perhaps the beginning of the rest of my life.

Or at least it would be in my new novel.

Mysterious man purchases beer for housewarming party. Casual invite. Gaydar off the charts. What could it mean? Doesn't he know that I'm just a cas.h.i.+er? Was this Prince Charming come at last, not riding a white horse but wearing hospital scrubs? Would my son finally have a second parent, a complete home? And me: Would I finally find real love, a companion in my old age, a mate, a husband?

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