Page 162 of Beneath the Stain
“God, that’s a load off my mind. I mean, I was going to do this anyway—I had the lawyer draw up the papers before your mom came by—but I’m just so glad I get to tell you.”
“Tell us what?” Kell asked, squatting down.
Grant leaned forward and touched foreheads with Mackey’s brother. “I have been sitting on this porch for an hour,” he said, smiling. “Think you and Mackey could help me across the yard? Man, I hated this place for so long, but I sure would like to see more of it right now.”
Kell nodded and stood. “C’mere, Mackey, get his other side.”
He smelled like old pot and sickness—even a little like urine. Mackey guessed it was probably hard to get to the bathroom when everything hurt. As Mackey and Kell helped him stand up to walk across the yard, the scant weight on his shoulder felt hollow and insubstantial, like the bones of a dying bird.
But Grant kept talking like his body hadn’t wasted away, and his life with it. “Yeah, Katy can’t get enough of the horses. For a little while after we moved back, I was in remission. I used to get home from work and take her out for an hour, just walking around, talking to each horse and the chickens. At least one of us liked ’em. We’d ride the tractor and yell at the dogs. I miss doing that with her.”
“She’s going to miss you.” Mackey was glad Kell could say it.
“Yeah, well, I like to think I’m not going to miss everybody. I’ll be here.”
Mackey’d thought about it—of course he’d thought about it. He’d been damned near suicidal—hellyeahhe’d thought about the afterlife. “I like to think you’ll be far away,” he said apologetically. “Someplace green, like England. You’d like England. Man, the pubs are awesome. You can just walk in and drink a pint and if you root for the right team, you’re everybody’s best friend.”
“So you want me to spend the afterlife in England?” Grant asked, but he was smiling, so Mackey knew he wasn’t hurt.
“I want you to spend it somewhere you’re happy,” Mackey said sincerely. “Happy and free. All the beer you can drink, all the ass you can handle, and nothing but good fucking music unless you want a golden silence and a sunrise, you know?”
“Hmm.” Grant’s legs stilled for a moment. Mackey and Kell both turned to look at him, and his eyes were closed, and he was doing what he’d done on the porch—turning his face toward the sun. “That’s a real nice afterlife you got planned for me,” he said happily. “I’m down with that.” He started moving again, toward the barn, so they followed, supporting as much of him as they could. “I do have to confess, there’s really only one ass I’m interested in, but it’s taken.”
Mackey grunted. “Yeah, well, Trav’s possessive.”
“I appreciate that I got you on loan today,” Grant said. “Kell, what do you think—is Trav good enough for your little brother?”
“More’n Mackey deserves,” Kell grunted. “I swear, that man saved Mackey’s life.”
Grant halted again, this time in surprise. “What do you mean?” He searched Mackey’s eyes, and Mackey realized that “rehab” had just been a word to him. A sorrow. Not the hard and true reality of “get clean or die.”
“I was….” Mackey grimaced. “God. Grant, I was so fucked-up after you left me. And then our first manager died and….” He shook his head. It was like the only words he could find for that time were in songs. “Trav had to carry me to the ambulance to detox, you know that? My first memory of Trav is when he was giving me a shower ’cause he couldn’t stand my smell anymore. And after all that—he stayed. I mean… when someone sees you at your worst and stays, you want to show them your best. And… and I think he’s seen that. And it was good enough. So, yeah. Trav. Saved my life. Go figure.”
They walked in silence for a moment, and Kell said unexpectedly, “It’s true. Trav sorta saved us all.”
Grant stopped, and they stopped with him, and he stood for a moment and watched as Jefferson and Stevie took turns giving Katy runs on top of their shoulders. She was squealing, and they could hear her screams of “Giddyap!” from across the yard.
“I wish I’d been there to be saved,” he said. “Because really? What saved me was dying.”
Mackey swallowed hard. He had no answer to that.
“Youwillexplain that,” Kell demanded.
Grant let out a breath. “So, see, I was going to do this all by lawyer, guys,” he said, and he sounded apologetic. “I didn’t… I mean, I wanted to see you before I died, but… if you were still pissed at me? I didn’t want to know it.” He caught his breath, and Mackey saw what looked like a spasm cross his face.
Then he realized—Grant’s eyes didn’t tear up anymore. This was his voice giving in to tears.
“I couldn’t stand it, Kell, if you didn’t want to be my brother anymore. Mackey, I didn’t think anyone could forgive what I did. So I thought I’d die with the way we used to be, all fixed up in my brain, and then you guys would have to deal with the fallout.” The look he gave Mackey was bitter with self-hatred. “You should recognize my methods by now.”
Mackey swallowed. “I was pissed,” he rasped, “but I didn’t even blame you. You got no idea what it took for me to tell the fucking world. And I was pretty sure my mother loved me.”
Grant laughed humorlessly. “Mine doesn’t. Not anymore. She’s said so. But that’s okay. See, your mom came in and told me you all were coming, and I realized for once, I didn’t have to take the coward’s way out. For once I could do things aboveboard, like a man. So I came out to my family—about all of it. About you, about Tony—”
“Tony?” Mackey said, so stunned he didn’t even have a chance to be sick.
“We were friends,” Grant said quickly. “That’s all. But we were friends because we knew about each other—and I should have known. I’m sorry, Mackey. I should have fucking known, but I kept thinking if I could do it, so could he. I used to think he was real brave, remember?”
“We both did,” Mackey said numbly, although they’d never talked about it. It had been there in the way Grant had kept Tony off of Kell’s radar, in the way he’d been kind.
