Part 46 (1/2)

It could work.

The words flowed easily, and I was more than three thousand words into it when Noah wandered into the kitchen.

I had never written a book like this, though. I was used to the conventions of the horror genre. What was I writing, exactly? Romance? Drama? Slice of life? Romantic comedy? Would there be an audience for such a book?

Watching Noah sit down, chomping on his Pop-Tart, I realized it was none of those things. It was a love story about a father and a son. The rest was window dressing. As a love story between a parent and a child, it was universal. Didn't matter that I was gay, that he was deaf, that we didn't fit in, that we were each outcasts in our own way. G.o.d, fate, the universe, luck-we had been thrown together in this thing we call life for reasons we might never be able to fathom. As Mrs. Humphries would say, The Lord gon' find a way-and He had.

Are we going to see Grandpa today? Noah asked. Noah asked.

I nodded.

I hate going there.

We always go there on the Sunday after your birthday.

I know.

We could take flowers to your mom, too, if you want.

Okay.

67) Good-byes again

A PEW PEW at St. Francis was filled with Cantrells for morning ma.s.s. Noah, myself, Mama, Bill, Sh.e.l.ly, the kids, and my daddy's sister Aunt Mary, her husband Uncle Rowland, their daughter Mary Margret, her two kids. Even Papaw, looking uncomfortable in a clean s.h.i.+rt and dress pants. Jackson sat beside me, smelling faintly of cologne and good breeding. at St. Francis was filled with Cantrells for morning ma.s.s. Noah, myself, Mama, Bill, Sh.e.l.ly, the kids, and my daddy's sister Aunt Mary, her husband Uncle Rowland, their daughter Mary Margret, her two kids. Even Papaw, looking uncomfortable in a clean s.h.i.+rt and dress pants. Jackson sat beside me, smelling faintly of cologne and good breeding.

Father Ginderbach came over before ma.s.s to greet Noah, smiling at us, happy we'd come out in force, even if it was just a once a year thing. Mama had made a special offering to have ma.s.s said for the repose of Daddy's soul, something she did each year on the Sunday after Noah's birthday party.

We drove to the graveyard after ma.s.s and wandered among the graves until we reached a corner on the west side where the Cantrells were traditionally laid to rest. A large, double headstone rested at the head of one plot. Daddy's date of birth and date of death were engraved into the rock of it. Mama's date of birth was on the opposite side, her date of death still waiting.

”Loving Husband and Father” were written underneath Daddy's information.

Mama put a wreath on the grave, folded her hands to her chest and prayed silently.

”You don't talk much about your dad,” Jackson said quietly to me as we stood there and watched.

A familiar lump of pain swelled in my chest.

”He was an alcoholic,” I said. ”A violent man. I hated his guts and sometimes I think I still do. I try not to. He was my daddy, but I don't remember him ever telling me that he loved me. All I remember now is just a lot of yelling and screaming and what a relief it was when he died.”

Jackson put an arm around my waist and we stood there, holding a vigil of sorts.

”Is that why you try so hard to be a good dad?” he asked.

I had never thought of it that way.

”Or maybe that's why Bill worries so much about Noah,” he added.

”Could be,” I agreed.

Noah came and stood in front of me. I held him, putting my arm across his chest, while we looked at the grave.

Papaw stood next to Mama, looking down at the grave with her.

”At least the Christless p.e.c.k.e.rwood finally shut up,” Papaw observed.

”I know, Daddy,” Mama said sadly.

She turned to look at us, taking comfort in our presence.

”Well,” she said, breathing deeply, ”there's that that done for another year.” done for another year.”

We said good-bye to Aunt Mary and Uncle Rowland and their kids.

Let's go see your mother, Mama signed to Noah.

We got back into our vehicles and drove across town to the Baptist cemetery where Kayla was buried, her grave still quite new. Noah carried the flowers we'd bought at FoodWorld that morning.

He was not a happy camper. He put the flowers on his mother's grave, then came to stand between Jackson and myself, holding our hands.

Bill looked at us frankly, standing there with Noah between us. I thought he might be mad, but instead, he offered a small smile.

”Y'all will have to take care of him now since his mother is gone,” Bill said.

”We will,” I said.

”I know you will, Wiley,” he replied. ”I know you both both will.” will.”

His eyes lingered on mine for a long time before he turned away.

68) Protest

ON S SEPTEMBER fifteenth, which was Jackson's birthday, I packed Noah and my guitar in the back of Jackson's Jeep and we drove to the headquarters of the American Family Alliance, which was a couple of blocks off West Main in Tupelo, not far from where I worked. We parked in the lot for the skating rink and walked down the block. fifteenth, which was Jackson's birthday, I packed Noah and my guitar in the back of Jackson's Jeep and we drove to the headquarters of the American Family Alliance, which was a couple of blocks off West Main in Tupelo, not far from where I worked. We parked in the lot for the skating rink and walked down the block.

Noah and I wore Gay Pride T-s.h.i.+rts despite the chilliness of the afternoon.

The American Family Alliance had a complex of large buildings lining both sides of the street. With a proper protest permit from the Police Department, which George always obtained for us, we could walk up and down the street as well as the adjacent sidewalks, though we could not block any traffic, motorized or pedestrian, from going to one building to the next. We had to keep moving. We could not ”congregate” or ”disturb the peace.”

”I've never been to one of these,” Jackson said nervously.

”We're old hands,” I said.

”You're not scared?”

”Why should I be?”