Page 89 of Beneath the Stain
Mackey grimaced in spite of himself. His mom wasn’t stupid.
“Or not with a girl,” she said softly. Then, painfully, like she knew the answer already. “Grant Adams, right?”
“Yeah,” Mackey whispered, and he realized he’d been hoping for this as much as dreading it. Mom knew who Grant was to him. Mom knew that his brothers were all he had and that losing Grant….
“Is that when you started using? When he got married?”
Mackey smiled bitterly. “That and the money,” he confessed. “We ain’t never had money before, Mom. And suddenly I was in charge of keeping it.”
She stroked his cheek. “Honey—you couldn’t have told me?”
“Told you what?”
She sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it. But now—have you told me all of it?”
God. But he had to. Two weeks—he’d been here for two weeks, and every time he’d spoken the truth, he’d gotten a little lighter, a little better. So he closed his eyes and let her touch his cheek and told her about the men. And then, before he could stop himself, he told her about the treating Blake like hell, and finally, Charleston Klum and the rape.
Shewas crying by the time he was done, but Mackey? He just kept his eyes closed and pretended he was fourteen. He’d fall asleep and his mom would stroke his hair, and just knowing someone out there loved him would make it better.
“Baby,” she whispered, and he opened his eyes because he had to look at what he’d done. If nothing else, Blake had taught him that.
“Mom—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said on a shaking breath. “Not about the gay, not about the rape. That shit’s hard. Growing up in our town?” She laughed bitterly. “Honey, I am thelastperson to complain about a person’s sexual history. But about the… the attack….” She just cried harder.
“Mom…,” he said helplessly.
“The papers said ‘assault,’” she hiccupped, and he took her hand and kissed the back of it.
“I haven’t… I don’t remember it,” he said honestly, stroking his mother’s hand. “I… so much other shit. Doc thinks it’ll pop up one day—suddenly I’ll be talking about ice cream and what’s gonna come out is ‘I was raped.’ So, you know. Be careful when we’re talking about ice cream, okay?”
She sputtered laugh-tears into her shoulder. “Will do,” she choked. “So you’re going to keep it a secret?”
Mackey sighed. He’d been coming to grips with grown-up things for a while now; this one was no exception. “Mom, I’m barely hanging on about this other shit, okay? Don’t let the drug-addicted man-whore in rehab fool you—I’mreallya disaster.” She laughed some more, and he clung to that, because he still loved making his mother happy. “I can’t do it in public. In private it’ll be hard enough.”
She nodded, trying so hard to keep it together. “And the gay? You said you were coming out on TV.”
“Yeah.” He paused. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”
Her response was gratifyingly quick. “Oh, honey, I’ve given up giving a fuck what people say. Cheever might not like it—especially when it hits the press—but you let me deal with him, okay? I still love you. I wish to hell I’d been here for you, but I don’t see why that would change when you’re all grown up.” She completely broke then, no words, her head sinking into her arms, and Mackey had nothing to do but get up and hug her while she cried. While he was there, he realized that she was really, really tiny, because Mackey had been nothing but short his entire life, and she tucked into his hug like a little kid.
Trav and the others must have seen them, he thought later, because by the time his mom wiped her eyes on the aloe Kleenex that haunted every damned corner of this nice hotel for the chemically dependent, he had two giant paper bowls of ice cream—and it wasn’t melted at all. Since they’d been talking for over an hour, Mackey could only eat his ice cream gratefully and say thank you.
Finally, finally, Trav rounded everybody up. Hugs all around, of course, and his mom’s promise to text him often. Trav stopped and squeezed his shoulder, and Mackey said, “Screw that bullshit!” and launched himself into Trav’s arms, seeking a real fucking hug.
Yeah, Trav faked not knowing how to give one at first, but after a moment, Mackey felt it. He wrapped his arms around Mackey’s shoulder, and Mackey buried his face in Trav’s navy polo shirt, smelling aftershave and sweat and even strawberry ice cream, because he’d dripped on the front pocket. Mackey didn’t care. He stayed there, letting that warmth and that smell seep into him.
“I want more of these,” he insisted, his voice muffled against Trav’s pectoral.
“Yeah, fine,” Trav said breathlessly. He pulled back and grimaced at Mackey. “You need to finish the program first,” he cautioned.
Mackey managed to pull a blazing smile from his toes. “Man, fucking try and stop me. I’m not doing this again. It’s gonna be a slide down a snow hill on a sled after this, you feel me?”
To his delight, Trav tightened his arms. “Like I’ve got a fucking choice,” Trav muttered, and finally let him go.
The band walked down the nice concrete walkway to the limo, and Mackey’s pocket buzzed. It was his mother.
Trav seems nice. You two an item?
