CHAPTER thirty-one

 

Mac

When Mac woke up, he felt pain. His back ached and legs throbbed and head pounded. His body was an orchestra of torture, and the overture wouldn’t stop.

He looked around at the unfamiliar room. The blank walls and the smell of disinfectant slammed his senses.

Mac wailed out in agony.

A nurse ran into the room moments later. She tapped some things on the machine and greeted Mac with a wide smile.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just give me one second.”

The pain was blinding, literally. Mac’s vision turned white. He wanted to chop off his whole body and leave just his head. He looked down at the tubes and wires covering him. Red and purple bruising blotched his skin.

Just as the pain reached a fever pitch, it began to subside.

“That should be better,” the nurse said, unfazed by his squirming and yelling. She had probably seen worse.

“What happened?”

Before the nurse could answer, someone grabbed his hand. He looked up at his mom, and his dad right behind her.

“Oh, my baby.” She tried to lean down to hug him, but the wires and bed made that an obstacle. He still took in her warmth. His dad kissed him on the top of the head. Mac had to be on drugs because that did not just happen.

“You were in a terrible accident,” she said.

The night came back to Mac in flashes of recognition. The headlights. Being chased. Something slamming into his back. Bits and pieces of a puzzle that wasn’t complete, but was put together enough to make out what it looked like.

“It was Justin Weeks,” Mac said. Saying that name was a deeper kind of pain.

“We know,” his dad said. “He’s been arrested.”

“He has?” Mac tried to sit up, but it caused a sharp hit of agony. “How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” his dad said matter-of-factly.

“I’m going to need a little more.”

“I’ll take it from here.” A policeman stepped forward. He seemed to be in his thirties, with a sturdy build and a thick mustache that Mac couldn’t stop staring at. “I’m Officer Calhoun.”

“Hi.” Mac winced from a general pain that he would deal with later. “What happened?”

“It seems that the Weeks boy hit you with a baseball bat when driving, and you stumbled off the road over the railing. You tumbled a ways down into the woods.”

Mac caught flashes of trees and bare branches hitting him. He thought he dreamt that.

“How did anyone find me?”

“Well, a woman was driving on the road a few minutes after you were attacked. She found you and called nine-one-one. You were hit right by a private driveway, and the owners had installed security cameras, so we were able to get the whole thing on tape. Justin’s currently out on bail, but we’re watching him closely.” Officer Calhoun had a tiny smile that only Mac seemed to catch. “I have to say, you are extremely lucky, Mac. That road doesn’t get much traffic. If that woman hadn’t stopped, who knows when we would’ve found you. And if Justin had attacked you just a quarter of a mile in either direction, we wouldn’t have caught any of it on the camera.”

His mom trembled behind the cop as that reality sunk in. His father held her tight. He looked at his son with warmth Mac hadn’t realized he missed.

“How did she know to stop?” Mac asked.

“This four-leaf clover keychain was reflecting terribly off her headlights in the middle of the road. She had to stop to see what it was. When she got out, she heard you wailing.” Officer Calhoun picked up the keychain from the bedside table. “This yours?”

Mac nodded. Words escaped him.

Officer Calhoun examined the four-leaf clover. “I guess these things really are good luck.”

Thank you, Aunt Rita.

“That Justin Weeks needs to go to jail,” his mom said to the cop, full of Norma Rae-type passion that was new for her.

“We’re going to try to make that happen. We have a good case.”

Mac wasn’t buying it. “Bad things don’t happen to the Weeks family, especially if all he did was beat up some gay guy. He’ll probably get a fucking parade for that.”

His parents didn’t try to point out his cursing. They seemed to hate that Mac was right as much as he did.

Officer Calhoun gave Mac a heavy look. “Mac, I know what happened to you years ago. I know the stories going around about you weren’t true. I couldn’t sleep for weeks. I’d lived my life in the closet, but after your attack, I couldn’t stay quiet. No matter how scared I was, I knew by staying quiet, people like them won.

“I came out to my squad six months later. They took it well. Not everyone, but most. I’ve been working with our unit to include LGBT sensitivity training. I’ve gotten guys who used to hurl Bible quotes at me to at least recognize that gay people shouldn’t have to live in fear around here of being attacked. I won’t let what happened to you happen to some other kid.”

Mac was speechless. This guy couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be Kingwood. Mac had spent four years thinking the worst of this town, but maybe there were some decent people here.

“Thank you,” he said quietly to Officer Calhoun. The cop nodded at him in understanding that transcended words.

“Anyway, I’ll let you rest up and spend time with your family.”

“Thank you, officer.” Mac’s dad shook his hand, and the officer walked out, leaving three Dalys.

His mom scanned his body. Mac didn’t want to look.

“You’re really here,” he squeaked out.

“Of course we’re here! It doesn’t matter who you love. You don’t deserve to get attacked!” She burst into a sob against his dad’s shoulder.

“We love you.” His dad kissed his head again. Mac yanked him down into an awkward embrace. It felt so good to hug his father again.

A few minutes later, a tall, black doctor with a shaved head waltzed into the room. Right away, Mac could tell he was a straight shooter who was too busy and tired to feed Mac lies.

“Mac, I’m Dr. Wright.”

“Sounds like I’m in good hands already.”

The doctor managed a polite smile. “Mac, you sustained a number of injuries. Fortunately, we’ve stitched up your cuts and gashes, and did surgery to repair the compound fractures in your legs.”

Panic took over Mac, overrode all of the drugs flowing through his system. “I broke my legs? Will I be able to walk? People break legs all the time and still walk, right? That’s why they say ‘break a leg’ in theater, because it’s not that serious.”

“Your legs should heal, and you’re lucky there was no infection. However, you did suffer a spinal fracture when you fell. That will not heal on its own. I’m recommending you have a vertebroplasty procedure. We inject this special bone cement, and it will form an internal cast around the weakened vertebrae.”

“You’re going to operate on his spine?” Mac’s mom asked.

“Yes, though it’s not as involved as you’re thinking. It’s a minimally invasive procedure. Without the surgery, there’s a strong chance you will have chronic lifelong pain and might need to use a walker to get around.”

Mac pictured himself in a walker at twenty-years-old. “A few days ago, I was cleaning my apartment. I was thinking about finals. That’s what I should be thinking about. What piece of furniture I can buy for my apartment, not if I’ll be able to walk again without pain the rest of my life.”

His mother squeezed his hand. He was scared shitless, but he wasn’t alone.

“That’s why we are recommending the vertebroplasty. Now that you’re up and alert, we would want to get you into surgery as soon as possible,” Dr. Wright said. “The orthopedic surgeon can come in tomorrow morning for it.”

Mac nodded. His body felt like a junk heap, his tower of junk in Gideon’s sun porch. He looked at his parents, and they gave tight nods of solidarity. “I’ll do it. Tomorrow morning.”

Dr. Wright put the clipboard with the consent forms on the bedside table and left.

Mac’s dad sat in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, and his mom rubbed her back. He wondered if they slept in the room with them.

“How are we going to afford all of this?” Mac asked.

The dark cloud of money cast its shadow over the room.

“Now’s not the time to think about that,” his mom said. “We’ll figure it out. What’s most important is getting you healed.”

Mac looked down at his bruised and battered body. The enormity overtook him, and he started crying.

“Now, son.” There was his dad’s firm voice, just as he remembered. “You’re bent, but you’re not broken. You’re going to be okay.”

This moment was almost perfect, except for the bodily injury. It was just missing one important person. “Can one of you hand me my phone?”

His parents traded looks. At some point, they stopped needing to talk each other. They were on some other wavelength.

“Your phone was destroyed. It was crushed by that idiot’s truck.”

“He ran me over. You can call him a fucking piece of shit.”

His dad smirked at that.

“I want to talk to Gideon.”

“I spoke to him yesterday,” his mom said. “I gave him the whole scoop. I don’t have his number with me. Do you remember it offhand?”

Mac shook his head no. He didn’t know anyone’s phone number. It was a scary thought. Damn cell phones.

“We’ll call him tonight and let him know you’re awake,” his dad said. Mac couldn’t imagine his dad and Gideon having a conversation. The thought made him smile a little.

“What day is it?”

“December 26th,” his mom said.

“I missed Christmas?”

“Santa didn’t forget about you.” His mom pulled wrapped gifts off the window sill. “He left these for you under our tree.”

“Santa is so thoughtful,” Mac said with an arched eyebrow. He had trouble keeping his eyes open. Sleep was pulling him down. “I’ll open these later. But I didn’t get you guys anything.”

His dad patted his arm and looked at him the way every son wanted to be looked at. “We got a great gift.”

Φ

Mac was woken up first thing in the morning for surgery, before daybreak. Pieces of wrapping paper lay on his blanket from last night. His parents brought him presents. They ate McDonald’s, while Mac fasted to prepare for surgery. It was a holiday to remember.

The nurse prepped Mac for the operation.

“I’m scared.”

“Mac, think about all you’ve survived,” his dad said. “You’re more of a fighter than anyone I know.”

He shook his head in dissent. “I ran. I ran away from you, from Kingwood. I didn’t fight anything.”

“You didn’t let what happened stop you from living your life. You got yourself into a great school, you’re doing things with your life. And you came back. You didn’t give up on us. If you hadn’t come back to Kingwood, we might never have spoken again.” His dad’s lip trembled again as he fought back emotions. “And I have to live with that. You are more of a fighter than me.”

“Where’d you think I learned it? From watching you run the store day in and day out. I say this as someone on lots of drugs, but maybe it’s time to close up the shop for good. Florida is lovely in the winter.”

His dad kissed him on the forehead. His mom came in the room carrying a humongous floral arrangement. It couldn’t fit on the table. She showed him the card.

Get well soon! Thinking of you up North! Love, Delia and Seth.

Mac rubbed his fingers over the card, wishing they were here. “Anything from Gideon?”

“No. But he’s pulling for you.” Something in her voice made him think there was more to that, but he couldn’t tell. Drugs and all.

Mac held his parents’ hands as the nurses rolled him into the hallway.

“Wait!” A distant voice called out. “Wait!” It got closer.

“Sir, you have to stay back. We are getting ready to wheel the patient into surgery.”

“Please. Just one minute. You can time me.”

Mac couldn’t see what was going on. He was on his back. The ceiling provided no clues. But then there was Gideon’s face and his crazy hair over him.

“Hey, you,” Gideon said.

“Sir…”

“One minute. Please.”

“Please,” Mac said to the nurse. She stepped aside to let them have a private moment.

“Baby.” Gideon ran his finger along Mac’s cheek.

“You called me baby in front of other people.”

“I love you, Mac. Maybe it’s the extreme situation, or maybe I just fall faster than the average guy. I love you. And I don’t care who knows it. Hey,” he said to the nurse. “I’m gay, and Mac is my boyfriend.”

“That’s wonderful. Now can we please continue rolling your boyfriend into surgery?”

“Certainly,” Gideon said. “I’ll admit my timing isn’t perfect.”

“Yes it is,” Mac whispered.

Gideon leaned down. Mac inhaled his familiar scent. “How’d you get down here?”

“I drove my mom’s car overnight.”

Mac ran a finger through Gideon’s hair. He wanted to savor this moment.

“This surgery is going to go great. You’re going to heal. And then we can spend the rest of our lives together.”

The rest of our lives? Even Gideon noticed the slip. “That was jumping the gun. Dramatic moments call for dramatic declarations.”

“Like I love you,” Mac said.

“Did that count as you saying you loved me?”

“You have me on a technicality.”

“I know.” Gideon winked. Mac couldn’t get enough.

“Are we ready?” The nurse asked. Mac caught her smiling.

“Yes! Hit it! Tally ho! I would say break a leg, but you have no more legs to break.”

“You’re a New York asshole,” Mac said.

“I’m your New York asshole.”

The nurse wheeled the gurney down the hall. Gideon jogged alongside it like a secret service agent in a motorcade.

Mac grabbed his finger tight.

“It’s going to be fine, Mac. It really is. You have good doctors here.”

“Gideon…”

“I’m here.”

“Stop the gurney!” Mac yelled. The gurney screeched to a halt inches from the double doors to the OR.

“Last time. I promise,” he told the nurse.

He nodded for Gideon to lean in close.

“I can’t kiss you because of germs,” Mac said.

“Understood.”

“But as soon I get out of here, I’m kissing the fuck out of you.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Gideon said. His gaze nearly set Mac on fire.

“I’m in love with my best friend,” Mac whispered.

“Me, too. Isn’t it great?”