Homecoming
*21*
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Generations
Brian
I have no fucking idea why the little twat I live with decided that coming out
to see the old fossil would be a good idea, but he's beaming as we walk up the
pathway, so obviously he's happy about it at least. Gus is walking between us,
holding onto our hands. He's excited and picking up on Justin’s good mood so
he's doing little hop-skips and laughing up at us. I feel my heart do some
ridiculous flip thing.
There must have been some moments even in my fucked up childhood when I was that
happy, but I seriously don't remember any. Some pathetically lesbionic part of
me wishes I could frame this moment in time so I could keep it safe for Gus
forever. Getting to the front steps gives me the excuse to pick him up and
although he squirms at first, when dear old Dan opens the door, Gus suddenly
decides that he wants to cling like a limpet to my neck.
Dan actually smiles at us all and leads us down the hall to the kitchen, leaving
Justin, who's already nattering away, to close the front door. The sight of the
plate of cookies on the table detaches Gus' arms from around my neck and before
long he also is chattering away as if he's known Dan all his life, telling him
about the flight down from Toronto and how he's going to be staying with Daddy
and Dus and wanting to know what's the other side of the glass wall and all
sorts of shit.
Dan doesn't say much in response, just sits and listens to the two of them,
occasionally throwing in some comment in that clipped British voice of his.
Gus climbs up on Justin's knee at one point and starts testing the waters with
his old man by scraping the sole of his probably filthy shoe all over my D&G
pants. I give him a look, but I don't expect it to stop him for long, and it
doesn't. When I feel his foot nudge my leg the second time, I realize I have a
decision to make. I can let old Jack win, and give Gus the chance to learn to
fear his father, or I can try another way to stop him. Even as my fingers start
tickling the sole of his foot while he wriggles and squeals and laughs, his
little face not afraid, but full of something damned like joy, I have an
epiphany.
Not being Jack is really that fucking simple. I just have to choose not to be;
every fucking time Jack starts forcing his way into my head, into our lives, I
just have to choose not to let him win.
Put like that, it's a fucking no brainer and I'm left wondering why I was afraid
for so long; afraid of turning into a weak bastard who took out all the
disappointments and frustrations of his life on the nearest person who was
smaller than him. Smaller, not weaker; I was never weaker, I realize suddenly. I
was always tough enough to at least survive. And now I'm tough enough to resist,
to fight, not to let him win. In part that's due to the two who are sitting at
the table with me, but I don't have to think about that. I know it, it's part of
me, part of who I am now, who they've helped to make me.
And maybe, some tiny weird-assed part of my brain considers, maybe this is the
way I can turn even Jack's life into some sort of victory - by moving past the
limits he set - hell, the limits that were probably set on generations of
hard-drinking Irish Kinneys - and setting Jack's son and his grandson free of at
least some of the curses that have formed a good part of our heritage - till
now.
But that's way too fucking maudlin a thought and I banish it, putting Gus' shoe
back on and standing up.
Justin, who has been spilling a whole lot of private business to the old buzzard
about why we need the photos, helps Gus down and then stands up himself.
"Let's take Gus upstairs first," he suggests, "and take photos of his room."
Dan stands up also but says quietly, "I'll just let you get on with that while I
clear up down here."
Justin goes to protest, but I cut him off. The old geezer probably doesn't want
an unnecessary trip up the stairs. If picking up a few coffee cups saves him the
climb, it seems like a good trade off to me. Besides, it gives us a chance to
check out the rooms upstairs without him hanging over our shoulder like a
fucking living ghost.
*****
Justin
I want to clean up for Dan, but Brian cuts his eyes at me and I realize, much
slower than Brian did, that clearing up gives Dan an excuse not to have to climb
up the stairs; and that by accepting that with no fuss, means that Dan's pride
doesn't get tromped all over.
People who think Brian is an asshole all the time really don't know him at all.
He's actually one of the most thoughtful people I know; it's just that the way
he does things doesn't let people see that most of the time. Like, if Debbie or
Michael were here, they'd be all over Brian for not helping to clear, and then
all over Dan about helping him up the stairs and shit, and Dan would hate it.
But Brian, although it might look like he's just too thoughtless to offer to
help, is, in fact, protecting Dan's feelings, especially his pride, which is
really important to him. As an artist, I’m fairly observant about people, I need
to be, but sometimes, like this time, Brian is miles ahead of me. Of course,
it’s also what makes him a great advertiser - because he really does understand
what makes people tick. And with the people he cares about, he uses that
knowledge to go out of his way to look after them.
That’s when I realize that despite all his growls about “geezers” and “the old
buzzard” and shit, Brian must really care about Dan. For some reason that makes
me really happy, so I give him a little bump with my hip as we go out the door
and, although he shrugs and sort of pulls a face, he also wraps a hand round my
neck and squeezes, which makes me grin at him like a loon, and he gives one of
those tongue-in-cheek grins back at me.
And just like that I have this profound revelation - this is what “happy” is
like. It really is.
Anyway, we go upstairs and leave Dan to just clear up the few cups. The rooms
are nearly all empty now, which sort of shocks me. I’d never thought about it. I
mean, I know that Dan is leaving, obviously. And that the place has to be
cleared out before we can move in. But it’s still weird. Makes it all real, I
guess.
Gus looks around the empty rooms with his eyes wide.
I guess Brian and I had sort of assumed that Gus would have the second bedroom,
but as soon as we get to the top of the stairs, he runs into the tiny room at
the front of the house, and says, “Is this my room, Daddy? Is it?”
Brian shrugs. “If you want, Sonnyboy, sure. But wouldn’t you like the bigger
room across the hall?”
We both try to coax Gus to at least look at the other room, but he won’t budge.
“No, Dus!” he protests when I try to pick him up to carry him to the other room.
“I want this one.”
“Maybe he’s afraid of the glass wall,” I say, mindful of how the two larger
bedrooms have floor to ceiling glass walls that look out onto the miracle of
light that Billy created in the stained glass window of the great room of the
house. As I’m speaking, Gus kneels on the little window seat and peers out over
the front porch.
Brian shrugs again. “Whatever. He can always change his mind later if he likes.”
I nod. That’s true, of course.
Gus turns to us then, his eyes all lit up and his face flushed to deep rose pink
with excitement.
“It’s like a pirate’s room,” he claims. “On a ship. And I’m the cap’ain.”
Brian laughs. “I think Dus is the captain on this ship,” he says unexpectedly,
and I feel myself go pretty much the same color as Gus.
*****
Brian
Every time I hear one of those things come out of my mouth, I wait for the
thunderbolt to strike. The thing is that I’m determined this time round that I’m
not going to let my fear of that stop me saying them. I decided a long while
back that if we crash and burn again it will not be because I’m so fucked up
scared that I don’t have the balls to lay myself on the line and do all the
things that are in me to do to make sure that Justin has no cause to doubt how I
see his place in my life. For a fraction of a heartbeat there’s absolute
stillness, but no lightning rains down from the Heavens, so we get on with what
we came for.
We take some photos of Gus’ room, including one of him on the window seat
laughing at Sunshine’s lame-assed attempts at being a pirate. Then we take
photos of the rest of the house, including the security around the pool, and the
safety gate at the top of the outside step.
We talk about how we should fence off the end of the garden so Gus can’t run
straight down into the fucking water and finally the little twat agrees to a
chain mesh fence as long as we disguise it with a hedge. Fine. That will,
apparently, give the garden itself more privacy from people on the river without
making the place look like a fortress.
It’s fairly clear that we’re going to need a gardener anyway; it’s not like
either Justin or I are into the whole dirt under the fingernails thing - well,
unless, in his case, it’s paint, or charcoal or whatever shit he’s working with
this week. We’re standing on the deck talking about it when Dan joins us so I
ask him who he uses. He says they’re reliable so I’ll probably give them a call.
It makes sense to use someone who knows the garden, I guess.
Gus starts kicking up a racket when he sees the boat down on the river, but I’ve
never driven one of the damned things before and I’ll be fucked if I’m going to
make my first attempt with Gus on board, so Sonnyboy will have to wait. He’s
easily distracted, though, there’s so much new to see.
Dan insists that we stay for lunch, and since Gus is apparently dying of
starvation with Sunshine probably ready to join him in his death throes any
minute, I figure ‘what the hell?’.
*****
Justin
I’m kind of surprised that Brian agrees to stay for lunch with Dan, but I’m
really glad he does. Dan is pleased too. And Gus is having a great time. He
really likes the house and he tells Dan all about how he thinks his room is a
cabin on a pirate ship.
I start thinking about how we could decorate it in that theme … maybe paint a
mural on the walls. Brian and I haven’t had a chance to talk about what we’d
like to do with this house generally. But we should soon, before he goes off on
some high-handed Kinney kick. Maybe that’s not fair, and he wouldn’t now anyway,
but I’m prepared to make it clear that I want us to talk about this shit, make
plans together.
Brian goes outside at one point - maybe for a cigarette, maybe to call Ms
Hershell and let her know that we have Gus, or maybe just to get away for a
while. By the time he comes back we’ve finished eating and I get up to clear.
Dan starts to object, but Brian reminds him of his promise to give us the
contact details for the gardeners he uses. While he writes those down, Brian
asks him if everything is organized for his voyage. They talk about some details
that Brian has had his PA dealing with and before they’ve finished, the dishes
are washed and put away.
For one moment Brian meets my eyes and gives me - not anything as soft as a
smile - but a look that somehow lets me know his approval. I guess we make a
good team.
It occurs to me suddenly that this time when we say goodbye to Dan it might be
forever, and I realize that I’m not ready yet. But as ever, Brian surprises me.
“So we’ll pick you up around six on Monday evening and take you to the hotel,”
he says. “And Justin can go through the house with you one last time on Tuesday
and then take you to the airport.”
Dan doesn’t even try to object, so I guess this must have been one of those
things that they’d already talked about earlier.
They shake hands, and when Dan turns to me I step forward and stretch up to kiss
him on the cheek. He looks … well, kind of stunned for a moment, then he smiles
and stands a little straighter and his fingers brush my face as he reaches to
pat my shoulder. I feel Brian’s hand in the small of my back and their touches
are benedictions - blessings and thanks and recognition of the kinship I feel
with this man whose experience so far outstrips my own, while at the same time
in some way paralleling it.
*****
Brian
Just when I think little Sunshine might have one of his famous allergy attacks,
it’s derailed by my son - our son - who’s obviously feeling that he’s being
ousted from his rightful place as the center of all attention and starts
dragging on my jacket, demanding it back. I pick him up and he stretches his
arms out to Dan, offering a kiss goodbye. Dan looks like he’s about to join
Sunshine in the meltdown stakes and fuck me if I don’t feel my own eyes
stinging.
The only explanation I have for that is that fucking lesbionic behavior is
catching. I blame it all on the little blond twat. All I can do is get us out of
here before this fucking degeneration goes any further, so I head for the door.
As we stop for one final fucking farewell, I’m sure I don’t imagine the look of
gratitude the old buzzard gives me for keeping it short and ushering the two
main culprits down the steps.
On the way back to the loft, Gus is soon chattering away, but Justin is
uncharacteristically silent. I sneak a look at him, and then reach out to grip
the back of his neck.
“If he wasn’t leaving, Sunshine, we couldn’t have the house.”
He nods, then says, “I know. I just wish …”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to; I know what he’s saying.
He wishes we’d somehow met Dan years ago, when his Billy was still alive maybe.
Got to know them; got to learn what they could teach us.
The fuck of it is that for some fucked up reason … I feel the same way.
The house - floor plans (left - Ground floor, Right - Upper Floor)
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