4. Hickory Grove

Kent got to the cabin and suddenly worried about what it would look like to his boyfriend. It needed a major cleaning, that was for darn sure. It hadn't been dusted since he moved in, and he had way too many magazines thrown around, Auto Mania, Hoosier Hunting, Indiana Angler, plus all the policing titles. He was never home to read any of them, so why did he keep subscribing?

He changed into his charcoal suit, slipped on his black loafers and wondered what tie to wear. He looked at his collection and quickly picked his loudest one, bright red with wavy stripes, a little comic. The tie said he was respectful of the Lord and also, This is my birthday!

Decided he didn't need an overcoat, so went to the kitchen and grabbed his mother's birthday gift, which Schaefer's had wrapped in gold foil. His watch said he was in good time and would probably be early. He got back in the F-250 and started off.

He almost always drove fast like a cop, but not on Sunday mornings; going the speed limit to church was one of his father's habits, because their ancestors used to drive a horse and buggy to Kessler Chapel. It was Quaker back then, not Methodist. That all changed during the Civil War.

Kent might have time to visit the cemetery today. He always rubbed Old Josiah's gravestone for good luck before spending time with his father. What would he say to him?

Would he tell his mother about Jamie? "Hi Mom, guess what, I'm Gay" didn't sound right, but he'd need a plan.

One thing he wouldn't do was apologize. If his Mom got upset, she just did, it was her tough luck.

He loved his mother dearly, but he wasn't going to apologize for Jamie. If he had to, he'd let her know that, so she'd understand what the stakes were, not to oppose him on this.

He hoped he didn't have to give up his mother to be with his boyfriend; but if he did, he would. He turned on the radio for some country music.

He really hoped he didn't have to give up his mother to be with Jamie; that would be awful. He loved his mother so much; she'd always been so good to him.

In a few minutes a new song came on, and five bars later he cranked it up. "No, I Ain't Gonna Let You Go."

As soon as it was over he switched to the rival station to hear it again. That song had "hit" written all over it.


He arrived 15 minutes early, not many cars in the gravel lot yet. Before venturing to the gravestones he checked the ground for mud, but the grass looked dry enough to walk on. He went first to Josiah's simple marker, crouched down and ran his fingers over the letters that spelled out KESSLER. By consensus no one ever touched Josiah's name anymore, lest they wear down the markings, but Kent insisted on touching his family name. Thanks, old man, we're still here.

Then he went to meet his father, JAMES EARL KESSLER.

The gravesite looked good for early winter, a gleaming slab of dark red granite, the biggest headstone in the place. Kent brushed some leaves off the top and read the legend:

HUSBAND
FATHER
LEADER
HONEST MAN

It choked Kent up to see those words today, like his father's final directions to him.

His eyes focused on the first line. He whispered, "Daddy, I got married last night. His name's Jamie."

He almost felt as if his father accepted this, though he couldn't really know.

He found the second line. "Don't know how we might have kids, we ain't even talked about it. Maybe we could adopt, or ya know, there's all kinds of technology these days. I gotta talk to him, once we get settled in."

His Dad seemed to nod a little, or maybe Kent was so blown away by Jamie's story last night he was imagining things.

He paused over the third line, leader; it's what his father was and raised him to be. Kent wished Jamie was here to see the grave, it might help him understand better.

Then the fourth line, honest man. "I'm gonna tell Mom today; don't know how, but I will. She deserves to know, and ain't no time like the present." He tried to listen for his father's advice. "She's my Mother, I ain't gonna make a major move without her knowin'. We been so close all this time, I hope we still get to be. She might not like it, Dad, but I ain't gonna hide nothin'. I'm tryin' to be like you were, even if that don't make no sense; I wanna be an honest man, so I'm gonna be.

"She's become more religious since you been gone, I know that; don't know if it might change things. If it does it does. I love my Mother, Daddy. Thank you for everything you ever give me, especially her."

He bent down, touched his lips to the polished stone, turned and went toward the church just as Joey and Cher drove up. He gave Joey an elaborate look of astonishment, you made it. Joey grinned and flipped him off.

Kent sat in the family pew, waiting and looking around. In a few minutes his mother came in. They quietly greeted each other, but they had a tradition no one else remembered anymore, of keeping silence before church.

At the sermon time Kent led all the little ones to Sunday School so he had an excuse to miss the boring part. His only real duty as the superintendent was taking attendance and looking tall, to keep the kids in line; otherwise he read the Sunday paper in his little office till it was time to count the pennies, nickels and dimes of the Sunday School offering. But he always made it back upstairs in time for the recessional.

Afterwards Mom told Kent, "You stay and visit if you want, I'm going home to finish your dinner."

Kent said okay and started lifting up little girls who came streaming towards him, "Uncle Kent!" Kids made a beeline for him, pulling his legs, jostling to get close, laughing and hollering. The youngest of the Wesley Kesslers, a 4-year-old boy named Sam, kept yanking his sleeve, "Lift me up, Unca Kenty! Lift me up!"

Kent bent down low to him and said, "I dunno, Sammy, you think you can do it this time? Think you're strong enough?"

"You know I can! Lift me up! Pwease? I'm stwong enough!" So Kent crouched down, made a big bicep, Sammy clutched his arm with both hands and Kent stood up six feet tall so the boy could hang and swing. He hollered, it was so much fun.

His big brother John Wesley, 17, got down on one knee to catch Sammy when he fell, which never took very long. John Wesley got him, kissed him and Sammy started clamoring, "Do it again!" But he knew the rule, one per customer.

Joey and Cher came up with their brood, three so far and another one planned, and Kent tossed the oldest boy J.J. around. The middle girl, Cherisse, got her special noogies; she loved to play in his hair and get tickled. Then Kent picked up the little one still in diapers, Kent Earl Kessler, and looked raptures at him. "You smell like baby powder, son. I know somebody who'd like you." The brown-eyed boy loved to pull his uncle's nose and poke him in the eye. Kent ducked and laughed, "Someday, fella, you're gonna wish you never tried that." But Little Kent, as he was universally known, took it for encouragement instead, poke poke.

After all the kids got their attention, Joey pulled him aside and said, "So, d'jou get lucky last night?"

"None of your beeswax, buster, we're in church. Is that one of Cher's pubes on your chin?"

Joey brushed his mouth twice and said, "Maybe I started growin' a goatee."


Twenty minutes later Kent opened and shut the gate, paused in the driveway as always, then sped up the avenue at Hickory Grove, raising a cloud of dust for the heck of it.


He spun out perfectly, gravel flying, then parked around back by the third garage door, his spot. His mother was waiting for him on the back steps, smiling and waving a kitchen towel.

What a sight she was, now in jeans, sweatshirt and apron — always the apron. He was amazed how young she looked once she was back in everyday clothes. He had to grin and shout, “Hey Mom, I'm home!” He ran to her.

“Son, happy birthday! I could hardly wait till today got here. Are you good and hungry?”

"Heck yeah." He bent down to kiss her cheek, and shook her shoulders in his enthusiasm. “Don’t you look good!” She smelled of that familiar sweet perfume.

“The vegetable soup's ready right now.”

She watched him bound up the back porch stairs two at a time, through the solarium and into the kitchen.

He stood in the middle of the room when she got there, head back on his shoulder blades, drinking in the aromas of her food. “Mom! This smells grrreat! How do you do it? The flowers look terrific, you always arrange them so good. And what else did you do in here, everything just sparkles. Come here, let me give you another hug.”

She happily did, though the kitchen didn't sparkle in the least; it was clean but it hadn't been redone since World War II, and she dismissed his rampant enthusiasm. Then he was off to the family room crying, “Let’s get some music going.” He tuned in his favorite country station, returned to the kitchen snapping his fingers with both hands, humming along with the tune.

He was animated like she'd seldom seen before. His whole body seemed alive, he was dancing almost in her kitchen. He’d never done that before; Kent was never a dancer, not even the senior prom.

Something good must have happened.

“You look so handsome in that suit, dear.” She checked her green beans. “You seem to be feeling well today."

“I’m feeling great. You wanna take out the horses later? It’s been a long time since you and me rode together. I think we should go on a birthday ride.”

She smiled, "What a nice idea. It has been a long time." Riding together was something Kent and James Earl used to do; she didn’t get asked along very often. "That would be fun."

An idea formed in her head. Did you meet someone possibly?

“It’s a beautiful day,” he said expansively. “All this sunshine in late November? It would be a shame to waste a beautiful warm day like this indoors.”

“Well, let's eat first. You’ve got jeans and work shirts hanging in the basement.”

He pulled off his jacket and tie, hung them on hooks in the solarium and went downstairs to change clothes. Soon he was back in his Wranglers, denim shirt and black riders. "Dang, I left your present in the pickup, I'll be right back."

He went out to the truck, grabbed the box and back inside, placing the gold foil on the table. "It's good to be home." She glanced at the box and knew where it came from. "Want me to set the table?"

She sliced homemade bread, which by itself had the power to make his mouth water, and set out a stick of butter. "I thought we'd eat in the dining room today. It's already set up, thanks."

He sniffed the last-of-season giant yellow mums as he sat down at the old maple table Father Josiah had built for this kitchen eons ago. Kent remembered re-glueing the legs with his Dad one winter night when he was in high school. He tested them again, as he always did when he was here, to make sure they were still holding strong.

He watched her ladle soup into bowls and realized he had no ability to outplay his mother. A strategy might work with Jamie, but it wouldn't with her. With Jamie he had the element of surprise; he had a surprise for his mother, but not necessarily one she'd welcome.

She loaded a tray, told him to grab the flowers and led him to the dining room with its portraits of Father Josiah and Miss Evangeline. Martha took the chair opposite him at the far end of the long table, their accustomed spots, leaving an empty space at the head. They held hands and bowed their heads. “Thank God for my mother, this food and my life. We miss ya, Daddy, and we always will. So look down and bless us both, Amen,” Kent said. “Short and sweet, huh?”

"So much for dreams of my son the minister. You wouldn't last a day. People wouldn't get their money's worth with your ten-word prayers."

"Open your present."

She unwrapped the fancy paper carefully, like women do, and reached inside. On top was a little jewelry box nestled in red paper. "There's something underneath, too," he said, "keep goin'."

She set the jewelry box aside and dug further. "What's this?" It was surrounded by bubble wrap, so she couldn't see inside it. "What did you do?"

"Open it up."

"Eat your soup before it gets cold."

"Nah, soup can wait. I'm thankin' you for my life here, Mom."

She managed to find tape and pull the bubble wrap apart, then found a little statue in terra cotta, 12 inches tall, which she set on the table. It was a young mother in a long, flowing skirt, her hair tied up, and below her a little boy, holding her hand and looking up at her as she gazed down at him.

"Oh," she cooed, "aren't they beautiful."

"Had to special-order it, it's made down in southern Indiana. The minute I saw it in the catalog I told Mr. Schaefer, That one."

"I just love her skirt. She's so elegant."

"That was us, Mom, once upon a time. Thank you for what you went through to have me."

She didn't reply but knew what he meant. He said, "Open up the other one."

"I hope it's not too expensive."

"Oh, get over it, see what's inside."

She lifted the lid and her eyes got big. "My wonder!"

"Carat and a half," he told her.

They were dangly diamond earrings made to go perfectly with what he bought her with his first baseball money. That necklace was a showpiece. "They're beautiful! But wherever am I going to wear them?"

"Don't know, but you got to find someplace, 'cause I didn't buy 'em just so you could stick 'em in a drawer. How 'bout Christmas this year?"

"Well, yes, but after that, I just don't know. I don't go anywhere to put on jewels like this."

"Well, maybe it's time we started goin' to better places." Like with Jamie. The opera or somethin'.

"Thank you, dear." She got up to kiss him. "They're just lovely. I'm thinking of putting the statue in my room so I can see it every day." She picked it up to look at it again. "Aren't they just grand."

"Why not put your earrings on right now? It's kind of a special day, I hear."

"While I'm frying a chicken? They'd end up covered with grease. Let's eat our soup."

So they did. He blew on a tablespoon of soup to cool it, waited a few seconds, then took her taste test. He had to close his eyes, it was so good.

Orgasm for my mouth. Stop, you guys, you’re killin' me.

“I thought so too,” she said. He smiled broadly. He shouldn’t tell her so soon; but if he did, how would he do it?

“Oh, I forgot our water,” she said, getting up. “Or did you want something else?” She served water at every meal. “It does a body good,” she'd say.

“Water’s fine, Mom.” Then he remembered that Jamie also served water this morning along with the juice, in goblets no less, from a crystal pitcher. Knew there was a reason I like that boy.

She brought ice water, sat down again, looked at him expectantly. He took another bite of soup, eyed her brown smiling eyes. He wiped his mouth.

Didn’t know what to say, but forced himself to talk anyway. “Mom, the soup’s great.”

She leaned back and relaxed, smiling and waiting, enjoying the soup too. He ate another spoonful. She had added something different this time, what was that taste?

He looked up at her again, at a growing loss for words. If I don’t tell her about Jamie, what else is there to talk about? He searched his personal news from the past week, but it was all about his new boyfriend.

Her eyes were inviting, undemanding, accepting — which pleased him no end. He knew he was spoiled, and he was dying to tell; but how to tell her this?

He got tongue-tied. There is nothing harder than keeping a secret you're dying to tell. He worried his mother would sense that too.

“Did something happen, Kent? You’re awfully happy today. If you want to talk about it, I want to listen. Or if it's too new, too personal, that's all right, too.”

He looked down at his bowl, decided against that cop-out. But it gave him the determination he needed to lay down his spoon and gaze at his mother. Then one last look away to think; then back at her.

She was so pretty, he loved her so much, how could he not love girls?

Wham, he felt a chemical change in his gut. He did not love girls, he loved Jamie.

Sheesh, I have to tell her sometime. I don't want her to find out on her own, then wonder why I didn't say anything. And really, give me a rooftop so I can shout it out.

How the heck do people do this? He ate his soup.

It got so quiet in the old dining room that Martha started wondering what to talk about too. We wait all week to see each other and now we have nothing to say.

She wondered who it was — Ann Landers, some old wife? — who wrote the rule against prying into your child's life. Then she wondered what the penalty would be for breaking it.

“Mom, I’ve got some news for you, and it may be a shock but I have to tell you,” he began. There, that felt better.

She looked at him evenly, prepared herself slightly for disaster — a shock?— but also doubting disaster. This was Kent, who had never given her any trouble. Well, he stole her car once, but that was quickly dealt with.

Did you get a girl pregnant? Run to Las Vegas and you’re already married? What? You started out so happy and now I'm going to be shocked?

He looked bewildered. “It’s all right, son. You know I love you. No matter what, I love you.”

He copped out with soup, stalling again. He chewed and swallowed. This is my mother. Stop it.

“I’m in love,” he said flatly. “With Jamie Foster.” And that felt better still.

Then he waited. But she didn't say a word.

Suddenly he could hear the grandfather clock in the vestibule ticking, as well as the music.

She nodded pensively; but not a single storm cloud passed over her face.

Jamie Foster. Well, that’s a surprise, all right; maybe even a shock.

My all-American boy? My baseball player?

It's a shock, all right. Really?

No. It couldn't be. She ate. Could it? How on earth? James Earl's son.

But he always was a sensitive boy, a sweet, considerate child. He shared his toys as soon as she taught him to — all children have to be taught that, especially only children. But not my Kent. It was like he wanted to share from day one.

The suspense started to kill him. Say something, Ma.

Martha composed herself slightly, sampled her soup again. It did taste good.

So maybe not such a complete shock, but still. He's as masculine as a man could ever be. Just like his Dad.

She buttered some bread and tried another mental angle. He's in love with Jamie Foster. "In love with," that's what he said.

Martha smiled for the first time, a small smile but a real one.

"With Jamie Foster." Who is this Jamie? What do I know about him?

When Jamie got stabbed, Kent was beside himself. No matter what anyone said or did, the whole world revolved around that hospital room, that's all there was to it. Kent wouldn’t leave the whole time Jamie was in the coma, don't even ask. I had to bring food and clean clothes, because he just refused to leave.

When Jamie came out of it finally, regained the world, Kent all but leapt for joy. After he went back to work he still spent all his spare time with him.

Jamie Foster. The blond boy on TV, who spoke so well. The hero, next to Kent, in those awful killings.

She thought about it more, and slowly began to smile at her own obliviousness.

If it'd been a woman I'd have known in a heartbeat. Martha, you’re a blithering idiot. Inside, she laughed.

How long has this been going on? Weeks, probably, if not months. What state was I in not to notice? Earth to Martha, hello.

Elbows on the table, she folded her hands and rested her chin on them to gaze at her only son.

My beautiful child, in love at last. How marvelous. If it's really love, that's fantastic.

The minutes were an eternity to Kent. "Jeez, Ma, say something, willya? Tell me you hate me, throw me out of the house, somethin'!"

Martha realized with a start she was keeping him in suspense, so she said, “I'm so sorry. I’m very happy you’re in love, son.” She smiled again. “I’ve waited 27 years for this to happen. My son is in love. Hooray!”

Then she looked away, towards the stained glass window over the fireplace, Jesus praying in the Garden, and quickly back at him. “I’m so glad, Kent. You of all people deserve to be in love. This is wonderful.”

Kent, remembering how Jamie was with him, spectacular forbidden sex, didn’t know what to think with his mother — are you dense? Ain’t I being clear, Mom? — so he ate some bread, a big noisy bite even for him.

She didn’t look blown away. He heard the sound of his own chewing. Maybe she just didn’t understand.

He swallowed and said, “Mom, he’s a guy. Jamie’s a guy.”

She chuckled at this. “I know perfectly well who Jamie is, Kent. He was your partner on the serial murder case. I baked him a pie when his mother died.”

“A cherry pie, which he loved,” Kent nodded, feeling suddenly less stupid, maybe a little hopeful. "They all did."

“Do you think the soup needs some salt? Or maybe more garlic?”

“No, Mom, the soup is great, it’s perfect. Why are we talking about the dang soup? When I’m telling you I’m Gay?” He felt like she was opening up an artery and bleeding him to death while he watched. No, wrong image, Jamie dying, no no no. But something horrible. God.

"I'm Gay, Mom. I'm Gay." This was only the second time he'd ever said it out loud.

His mother laughed silently to herself, tried to come up with words that would reassure him. He looked frustrated. And it was so unneccesary.

“Well, you know I think soup cures all,” she grinned and scolded. She thought about it, then said it. “I don’t care if you’re Gay. You’re my son.”

He mulled that one over. Driving down here in the pickup he knew how to handle himself, be strong, don't waver. But she confused him. "It takes more than two sentences to work this out." He wiped his mouth again, then wadded up his napkin and flung it over her shoulder. "It’s like you won’t deal with this! Mom, don’t you get it? I’m telling you I’m Gay. Your only son is Gay! No grandchildren, no more Kesslers, none of it! This farm down the drain, you hear me? Dang.” He looked angry, and would not meet her eyes.

She reached calmly for his tanned, muscled forearm and rubbed it. “Son,” she began, "you are hardly the only source of Kesslers in this county, and this farm isn't going anywhere." He searched her eyes for more. "Kent, I love you. I know who you are, a fine man I'm so proud of. And now you’re in love. I think that’s…” she searched for a superlative. “Terrific.”

He scraped his chair noisily on the polished wood floor and stood up to retrieve his napkin. She went to the drawer to get him a new one, handed it to him and sat down again.

“Well?” he demanded.

He stood in the middle of the floor and felt rebellious and guilty and fifteen, like he’d just been busted for that joyride to Shadeland in her station wagon with Dave and Joey and Laurie when he was 14, waiting to get chewed out, his Mom and Dad in their bathrobes at this very table so the ancestors could glare at him, after the sheriff brought him back. And not just the sheriff — his Dad's cousin, the sheriff.

His mother instantly grounded him for a month. His Dad suggested six, unless he "cared to acquaint himself with the hoosegow."

Now she wondered how to tell him, then decided not to work so hard. “Kent Tanquery Kessler, I don’t care if you’re Gay. You’re my son, you’re my pride and joy. What do I have to say to let you know that? You’re… it’s like you’re expecting me to blow up and get hysterical or something. I’m not going to. Yes, it’s a surprise; but son, you’ve just told me you’re in love. How can I be anything but overjoyed?”

He looked at her open-mouthed. "Finish your soup before it gets cold,” she advised tartly.

He grabbed his chair, swung it and noisily sat down, picked up his spoon and slurped loudly; but then, she’d heard worse from James Earl, and she’d rather have Kent slurping here than anywhere else in the world.

His eyes had a new test. “We are talking about homosexuality, you know,” he said crossly.

"Enough of this." Mama put her foot down. “Kent, if you’re expecting me to rant and rave, I don’t know what to say but what I’ve said." Her voice got softer. "I’m thrilled you’re in love. That’s tremendous, son! It’s been a long time for you. Does Jamie make you happy? That’s all I want to know, it really is. As long as he makes you happy, I’m happy.”

And it started to dawn on Kent that Mama was fine.

She always was; why wouldn't she be now? Maybe he was selling her short this whole time. He felt the corners of his mouth slowly tug north, up and up and up, until he was ear to ear and finally laughing out loud. "Oh, Mom, really?"

"Really," she nodded at him, now that she could see him start to believe her. "What does it take around here, a polygraph? Dick Cheney to waterboard me? Believe me, I'll happily spill my guts, just don't send me to Gitmo."

A little part of Kent wept in joy, at least his breath gasped. He threw his bread on his plate and went to her, kissed her forehead four times and hugged her as he half laughed and half cried.

His words came fast now. “Oh Mom, he does make me happy. I can’t tell you how much! I can’t even think about it myself yet. I’ve just come from his place. I just told him how I felt yesterday, we went to the game and then he was leaving and — I can’t tell you, ‘cause I'm half-crazy and I don’t even know myself. But Mom, I am in love!” He pounded the table four times, accompanying his last words, rattling the silver, splashing the soup. "With the cutest, smartest, sexiest dude on the planet. And now he's mine, all mine!"

He whooped. He shook his head in her face and then he danced around her dining room. "Kent wins the lottery! The lottery of love, baby! Oo-whoo! Yes yes yes! Lucky dude, lucky dude, lucky dude! Yes! I can't believe it." He looked at her and laughed again. "I guess you figured that out!"

And he found himself stupid and hilarious, and had to hold onto the buffet to keep from rolling on the floor and frothing at the mouth — an image which launched more paroxysms.

Martha laughed at him till her eyes hurt.

Then she stood, went over and held him, until he swept her up and danced her into the kitchen, through the butler's pantry, up the hall and through the foyer, all around the parlor then a circuit of the gallery, "Tra-la, it's November, the lusty month of November!"


At last she got him settled down enough to sit again for his birthday dinner. She brought steaming mashed potatoes, a boat of cream gravy, Southern green beans with bacon and a platter of the most succulent fried chicken a body could ever eat.

Martha said, “Now, son, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But we’ve always been open with each other, and I’m curious, so I’ll ask. When did all this start?”

“The day I met him. The moment I first laid eyes on him. I fought it at first but it just grew and grew.”

She nodded and smiled, allowing herself to be slightly pleased that he fought it awhile. After all, it's not the easiest life to lead. You should know what you're getting into first.

Then she said again, “You don’t have to tell me, you really don't. You're a man and you're entitled to your own life. But are you saying you stayed the night? I tried to call you last evening and — never mind that, it wasn't important, I just… had no idea. It’s not like you have to wait for marriage, do you?"

He looked her right in the eye: "But that's the thing, Mom. We did wait for marriage."

She was stunned. "How's that?"

"He don't… make love with anyone without a commitment first. Vows, they're called. Last night we exchanged vows. He says the minister don't marry people, he just pronounces over what they've already done. Jamie and me married each other last night; and even if it ain't legal in this state, I know for a fact the Lord was watchin' over us and givin' his blessing. Mom, if you knew Jamie, you'd know the Lord is with him somehow. God talks to him sometimes, and Jamie knows how to listen."

Martha did not know how to take this in. Finally she said, "He's a Christian person, you're saying?"

"Presbyterian, I think. Somethin' like that."

"Well, that's a good sign. My friend Marcia's a Presbyterian."

"How it all happened, at first him and me just worked together, got to know each other, started bein' friends. Then we fell in love, the Incident happened, and I waited for him to recover before I said anything. I didn't want him to be vulnerable 'cause he's sick, or 'cause I'm a cop, or grateful to me or nothin'. He's well now, Mom, he gained all his weight back, he can function on his own pretty much, he can make his own decisions. Then somehow the truth came out, he was leavin' so I kinda halfway blurted it out, and we still didn't jump each other's jeans till after we made these vows to each other."

"Vows," she repeated. "How lovely."

"He says vows are the essential part of marriage, that the promises people make are what does it. Jamie was the leader the whole way. He don't give his body to anyone without a commitment. And he's real big that we gotta be faithful to each other, which is exactly what I want. So no, it wasn't legal, but he brought God into it right off the bat. So we said our vows, which was a holy thing; and it sure feels like bein' married. I'm his husband now, Mom. He's mine." He remembered his pinky finger, made a fist and lifted his hand up, showing her his ring. "See this?"

She stared at the ring and tried to understand all this. It was a real wedding band, all right, just too small.

Gee. You’ve known each other awhile anyway. I wouldn’t want you to just jump into bed with somebody. It’s been what, three months now since you met him. I'm glad you waited the three months.

That made her stomach bump. Three months. That’s when your Dad and I…

She smiled involuntarily. Why, Martha, you old hypocrite. Waiting those three months to start making love were the hardest thing imaginable. And you still wore white to the wedding. She had to keep from giving herself away on that one.

Kent gazed into the paneled library opposite, a hundred mental images of last night and today filling his head. He nodded. “Yes, we slept together, as close as guys can get. I'm not asking if you think that's okay, 'cause I know it was. Best thing I ever done, and I don't care who knows it. Regardless of anyone's opinion, I plan to keep on doin' it for the rest of my life."

She'd never seen him so determined.

He loosened up then, took a chicken breast in his fingers, bit in, then told the bird with his mouth full, "Oh Lucy, you so juicy!"

It was an ancient family joke; his father called all the chickies Lucy just so he could say that line to praise his wife's cooking. She clapped her hands together softly. “If you really love each other, of course it's okay. There’s nothing that compares to a satisfying relationship with the one you love. A person can't be really healthy without it, in my opinion. We'd have fewer wars if more people had happy sex lives.

“Son, I didn't mean to lead you on. But you looked so worried about all this before, like I wouldn’t love you or something; and of course I love you, I’m thrilled that you’ve finally found him. But I don’t know anything about him really. Is he worthy of you? He kind of sounds like he might be, but when do I get to meet him? Jamie Foster,” she said, trying the name out on her tongue.

"Heck yes, he's worthy of me; Mom, he's better than me. You wait, you'll see what I mean. The stars go out next to him, they lose all their luster. His hair alone's got 'em all beat."

She patted his hand, remembering James Earl, who had made her feel the exact same way.

Kent shook his head, amazed at the last twenty-four hours. “I can’t believe you feel like this, Mom."

“Get over it! When are you bringing him to meet me?”

He grinned excitedly. “Oh Mom, I love you to pieces.” It was exactly what he wanted, to bring together the two most important people in his life. “As soon as possible, I hope. Wait till you meet him. He’s, he’s just beautiful. Physically of course, you saw him on TV, but he's gained all his weight back and looks stupendous now; and spiritually, there’s something in him that I know you’ll like. I’m just finding out about it, he’s got so much figured out. He really knows what he believes in, and he lives it, too, boy.

“And he’s so smart. My goodness, I don’t know what he sees in me. You won’t believe how smart he is. He speaks all these different languages, he just leaves me in the dust. You know where he went to college?” She shook her head. “University of Chicago. Graduated, get this, when he was 17.”

"Oh, my."

“Double major, history and econ. Plus he played varsity basketball, he's got records, co-MVP, conference champs, went to the Sweet Sixteen. Is that unbelievable? He just blows me away. And he acts like it’s nothin’. He won’t even talk about it, I had to drag it out of him. Man, if it was me I’d have it painted on the side of my truck.”

Martha did have to marvel. “They say Chicago’s the toughest undergraduate program in the country. That's where all the Nobel Prize winners in economics are from, year after year, at least until Krugman. My.”

“He's amazing. Remember when I was 17? I was struggling to get through high school econ, all that stock market gibberish, puts and calls and all that stupid junk. He's my same age and he was getting a degree in it. Then he got a master’s from that Ivy League school that’s no good in sports, um, Columbia — in New York City — when he was 20. At 20 I was reading Cliff’s Notes and still learning to just say no to beer blasts at the frat house.” He shook his head. “I was a kid, he was a man. Plus he was working the whole time."

"How ever did he manage all that?"

“He used to model clothes, remember? He put himself through college and grad school both. I guess his family never had any money, ‘cause he had to do it all by himself. Can you imagine the self-discipline that took, the time management? I thought I had it rough, practicin' and studyin' both. But he was out earnin' a living, playin' hoops and gettin' a dual degree, while I was sweatin' it out in high school takin' and retakin' the SATs to make it into IU. The discipline he has is awesome. Somebody like that, he carries a whole team on his back.

“Anyway, he was pretty good at the modeling deal, because he’s been everywhere in Europe and all these places, I don’t know where all. He’s been to Milan, Italy, and London, and Paris, he can speak Italian and French, and he knows about opera and art and all that stuff.”

He stopped, grinned at her. “In other words, Ma, I’m in totally over my head,” he laughed. “If he ever finds out the truth I’m gonna be toast. But I’ll tell you this: now I got him I ain’t gonna let him go, neither.” Kent said this with his index finger pointed decisively. “No way. I’ll cuff him if I have to, and tickle him till he gives up and takes me back.”

To Martha, it wasn’t even what he said that was most important, it was how he said it. Yes, this is love, all right.

Then it was her turn to dance over and hug him. He stood, and by the time they were done he was all but jumping up and down again.

“Yee-ha!” he shouted, taking off his invisble cowboy hat and flinging it into the air.

Some hours later they were on horseback, Kent in his actual black suede cowboy hat riding Bust Yer Chops, a gelding and the leader, and Martha with a scarf tied under her chin, plus her brown wool hat, riding Gag Me Lolly, the mare who followed. It was a beautiful afternoon, sunny and not quite 50º. They headed down the trail toward their favorite spot, the hickory grove which gave the farm its name.

The bottomlands beyond the grove, next to Sugar Creek, were once farmed with row crops, but proximity made that acreage a flood risk and pesticides could run off into the water, so Kent's father pulled that area out of production years ago and replanted it with native hardwoods under a modest government program. It was still their private property, but was now officially listed by the USDA as the James Earl Kessler Nature Preserve. It sheltered more wildlife every year, and was a good place for Kessler men to go hunting. Kent was an expert marksman, and he used to love hunting with his Dad.

Bad Cop had no qualms whatever about bagging his prey, and Good Cop loved his Dad.

Kent and Martha decided to ask Jamie to come for supper Wednesday. She said, "We could go to midweek service if he felt like it."

"There's an idea. I can't wait to show him the chapel."

“There’s one other thing I want to know,” she said. This felt like a risk, but she was curious.

“Shoot,” Kent answered with a shrug. He was ready for anything now.

“How do you handle it when it’s two men? I don’t mean the sex act, that’s too personal and I don’t care to know. I mean the…”

I know he's athletic, but is he effeminate at all? Will other people know by looking? Does he talk like those characters on TV? And what about AIDS? I don’t care how he is, I just don’t want either of you to be hurt. Please say he doesn't have AIDS.

“The social roles?” Kent finished, proud of his Indiana University degree in social science, and feeling a bit competitive with Mr. Wizard.

She wanted to be prepared and welcome Jamie, make him feel easy with the other people they might meet. “Yes, partly, the social roles. I don’t mean to be talking in stereotypes. If I am I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter the least bit. I’m just thinking about some of those old biddies at church. If anybody says anything I’ll just tell them to mind their own business.”

“If anybody says anything I’ll just knock their block off,” Kent replied bluntly. "Aunt Frieda's had it comin' for awhile now."

"She's 82," Martha chided with a laugh.

"She pretends to be good, but she's hostile and mean, and she stinks up the whole church with her farts."

His mother's rule was that he couldn't use four-letter words in the house, not that he could never cuss around her. She was a farmer's wife; she knew every four-letter word.

“What about safe sex,” she smiled.

“We're disease-free, Mom. We've both had complete workups and re-tests, so we don't take any risks at all. None, zero. Given his job, he knows all about it. We're not gonna let some stupid bug ruin a good thing.”

Martha looked at her son. She could tell he was sure; was that enough? “Okay,” she said. They rode on.

Kent looked at the western sky, a bright red Hoosier sunset making amazing colors in beautiful white clouds, red stripes like a giant American flag.

It's not just social roles, though, or even AIDS. It's how do two men get together? And what kind of a man is he? Martha tried to figure out how to find out more about this Jamie. "You've told me what he's done, Kent. Tell me what he's like."

Kent remembered Jamie in his boots at Willow Slough, the sound of him striding down the hallway at the Jasper County Jail, the little strut in his walk always; the things they were teaching each other about sexuality.

He looked far off again, then started talking. “Jamie's very intense. He's beautiful to look at, but his looks are totally deceiving. You might think he's just this lightweight prettyboy, but he's explosive, like a great athlete. Except he explodes with his mind, ya know? A burst and he’s twenty yards ahead of you, racin' for the end zone, while you’re burnt to a crisp. And he’s got this amazing physical courage and stamina. You should have seen him down in Indy, a complete stud. Nobody else could have survived what he went through. You get to know him and he's thoughtful and funny, very bright and incredibly masculine." It thrilled him to tell his mother about his lover.

“He’s real sure of himself, he’s got a ton of self-confidence. He’s fought and clawed to get where he is. He’s real competitive, he has a lot of leadership ability. We were two-thirds of the way through that case before I ever got a step ahead of him, and that wasn’t for long. I was the commander, but most of the time he ran the show, really. Because he was better at it overall, he didn’t have the limitations I had at the time. Anyway, I had to challenge him for control of my own investigation.”

“What happened?”

Kent smiled to think of it. “We were at this restaurant in Indianapolis. First time I’d ever been to a Gay place. He set me up kinda, just said to meet him there. Once I realized what kind of place it was, Mom, I was scared to death.

"It’s funny now when I look back on it, but I was on the ropes there for awhile. He got me through it, and I guess I passed his test, 'cause after all it was a Gay case, he was right to get me into the Gay community some kinda way. And then I basically demanded control, and he gave it to me. He was happy enough to hand it over, I think, but he was gonna make me earn it.

"Later on there was this big crisis, but he handled the whole thing. He said, ‘I choose to follow my commander,’ when politicians started challenging my authority and threatening to ruin everything. He changed the whole outcome right there, this big meeting with the governor's chief of staff, the FBI, the U.S. Attorney. What a gutsy little dude, they all backed down when he confronted 'em. He took on every one of 'em, and even flushed out one of the perps that was behind it. What a fantastic team player Jamie is. Jeez, he has no idea.”

“He sounds very interesting, and kind of complex. I can’t wait to meet him.”

"Then there's this other side to him too, this gentle boy who's innocent and sweet. I mean, Mom, nowadays, nobody even believes in innocence anymore; but he's got this quality about him that's… untrammeled somehow. He never gave in to the forces that beat a kid down."

"Oh, I like hearing that." Martha, an elementary school teacher, knew a lot of beat-up kids.

"It might be why he can listen for God when other people can't. Ya know?

"Some people who don't know any better might think 'cause of that unspoiled part of him, he maybe wouldn't be as macho as I am; but they'd be wrong. Mom, he's got me beat."

"Really? Everybody looks up to you, son."

"Maybe, as insecure as it seems like he grew up — I still don’t know where his dad is, it’s like he tells you not to even ask — he’s not the showoff macho type like some guys are. Like I care about their redneck opinions. I’m bigger 'n' taller than he is too. Didn’t do a thing to earn it, just the luck of the draw.

"But he's real macho. He shows it in different ways than most guys. He can fight with his body, I seen him do it; but his real weapon's his mind. Which come to think of it is a lot smarter than playing football. Which is why I’m a dumb jock and he's a smart one.

"But he's a fighter, all right. Mom, he's the most macho guy I ever met. And my God, is that ever the kicker."

"How so, dear?"

"The exact thing I'm attracted to is his masculinity. After all those years I spent in locker rooms, all the athletes I've loved and been close to and who've loved me, I had no damn idea I was Gay. But in walks this guy I knew in advance was, and he's got the strut and the attitude I recognized right from the start. Macho and athletic, tough when he's gotta be, a little muscleboy, and I said wow, I'm gettin' me some of that."

She mulled this over quite awhile; then finally said, "So it's not about male and female roles at all, is it. That isn't your motivation. You want someone who's like you are; not a mirror image at all, but a guy who's a lot like you."

He stared at her a little dumbfounded. "Exactly, Mom; thank you! Write that down for me when we get back to the house, will ya? It ain't about male and female at all. I'm in favor of that for you and Daddy, but heck, I want me a guy."

He pulled his reins, had to watch the sky redden a little further; was there anything as beautiful as the sun setting over the Indiana prairie? The land between the creek and the Wabash River rolled gently for him, as it had for Potawotamis and Kickapoos and the Shawnee mound-builders. Martha stopped too to enjoy the view.

He thought, We call it Kessler Farms now, but nobody really owns this land. It owns us.

Jamie, come and see. Come soon so I can give you sunsets and dawns and make love to you, naked in the wildflowers.

Man, I’m Gay, too, the big bad trooperman. Just as Gay, just as queer, just as homosexual as you are. God, I love you.

He enjoyed the word “homosexual” for the first time, because it had sex in it.

And yes, finally, there was something more beautiful than this fireball. My lover’s face.

To his mother he said, "Maybe goin' to church before Jamie even gets to meet you ain't such a good idea. Better to get the two of you comfortable with each other first. Why expose him to old Hoosier biddies anyway?"

"That makes sense."

"I wonder if he rides. Wouldn't it be neat to bring him out here next spring when it's warm enough? Gosh, Jamie 'n' me ridin' together on this ol' farm. I'd get pretty emotional about somethin' like that. Maybe grillin' a fish or two over a wood fire."

"You'd have to clean up that old brick grill, we haven't had a meal out here since Daddy died. If Jamie doesn't ride, you can teach him."

He reached down, patted Bust Yer’s neck. “We’re a couple of stallions, Mom, him and me. He's smaller and gentler and sophisticated, when he's not intimidating the whole world. I'm tall, I can be gentle at times, and I ain't nothin' but a country hick" — he puffed his chest out good-humoredly — "when I ain't bein' tough. We’re still figurin' out everything, we just got together last night. So far we're thinkin' I'll lead the physical, and him the mental. I’m not sure we'll ever figure it all out, though. At times I know I'm gonna be his follow horse, who won’t ever leave the stable without his pal.”

Then he dug in his heels to gallop the rest of the way, looking back over his shoulder at her and yelling, "Gotta go, before I tell you all my secrets!"

* * *

When Martha and Lolly caught up with him in the Grove, they let the horses graze, sat on the old homemade picnic table at the edge of the trees, told memory-stories and plotted the days until Jamie could come for slow-cooked pot roast, Hoosier style.

Kent couldn't wait to get Jamie on the farm in the summertime, so they could go riding and get all hot and sweaty together, and one thing would lead to another…++