Heart of Timber (Gay Romance)

Chapter 1

Anderson left prison with a panicky, dismal sensation and arrived home with the same feeling. He had hoped his party was going to be something small and pleasant; something he could actually look forward to after eight years in prison. But his family never did anything easy. Within an hour, the polite cheerfulness had worn off and his relatives became as drunk and obnoxious as they always were. His tolerance finally reached its limit when one of his drunken uncles slid up beside him with low whispers about how he must have had his pick of men while he was inside.

What? What did I say? It was a joke… he stammered as Gia pulled him away and tucked him back under the arm of his domineering wife.

He’s a jerk, always has been, Gia said when she returned to Anderson’s side.

I haven’t heard from any of these people in eight years, Anderson said, taking a sip of the beer he held as he looked over the Passero clan. What a freaking family.

Why are they here? he asked Gia.

They always asked about you, Gia replied in an almost believable tone.

Anderson turned and leveled his eyes at her. No, they didn’t. Likely you offered the information and they were polite enough to listen because it was you. I’ve never been a part of…this.

When he first walked in the door, they had whirled around him, treating him like he was some Mafioso boss fresh from the joint. He played the role for his mother, like they all did, and then he thanked each one for all the warm wishes and support he never got.

His father was the only truthful person at the party. He looked across the room, narrowed his eyes and turned away. That was the full extent of their father/son reunion. He and Anderson spent the rest of the night avoiding each other. Anderson knew his mother noticed, but after her visit to the prison, he figured he and his father could stop playing roles for her benefit and simply loathe each other without making a scene.

When’s Michael coming? he asked Gia. He was the only person Anderson had been looking forward to meeting and the only person not present.

Just got a text, Gia replied. He’s not going to make it. Had an emergency.

Not much for our family, huh? Anderson’s eyes swept across his relatives.

Not much for large gatherings, Gia corrected. I have to rope him into fundraising appearances for the hospital. But in this case, it’s honestly work related. He’d be here for you.

Anderson wasn’t sure he believed it. Really? Why?

Because he knows all about you, Gia answered with a tilted smile that tried to endear, and failed.

Yes, I’m sure he’s dying to meet your queer, drug-pushing, ex-con brother. I know I would be.

He’s not like that, Anderson. She seemed slightly perturbed at his quick assassination of Michael’s character. The first thing he asked was how we could help you. He’s got a big heart, she added. Family means a lot to him, not gatherings.

Anderson pretended to study the floor. He still had his doubts. He was barely a part of his own family, and to his knowledge, not a part of Michael’s. He stole a peek at Gia. The unfortunate truth about her was that she tended to attract men who were more interested in a trophy wife than a real partner. Not that he could offer advice on choosing men. His past spoke for itself and his future…Well, if he was lucky, he’d bag some troll from the club who didn’t know about his record, drag him home, put a lock on the door and call it a ‘relationship.’

Funny that I don’t know a thing about Michael. You’ve been kind of vague. Anderson was suspicious suddenly, wondering why she had been so stingy with the details.

"You don’t know anything yet."

You have something planned? Anderson asked, knowing Gia too well to believe that she hadn’t already set up a dinner or a luncheon for the three of them.

Long before Gia got married to her now ex-husband, she had gotten into the habit of bringing her dates home for Anderson’s approval. He never knew why, but if they didn’t pass the Anderson test, she dumped them. The only person Anderson had not vetted was her now ex-husband, whom Anderson had declared an asshole upon their first meeting. Anderson thought it unlikely Gia would make that mistake again.

I’m going to see if Mom needs some help, Anderson said when Gia didn’t answer with anything more than a larger smirk.

Gee, thanks. Gia said as he stepped away.

Hey, you’re the one who planned this, not me, Anderson called out over his shoulder.

When he walked into the kitchen, his mother had one hand extended and was holding herself upright against the counter, but it was the set of her shoulders that made him pause. It was the posture of defeat. Anderson had witnessed it on his mother only once before – the day he had accosted her with his father’s ongoing affair. He had hoped to never see it again.

Mom?

She turned, quickly wiping her face with the kitchen towel she perpetually had in her hand. Anderson went to her immediately. What is it? What’s wrong?

It just struck me, she answered.

What?

You’re home. I’ve…been worried.

Oh, Mom. He wrapped his arms around her. I’m okay. See? He stepped back so she could look him over again.

She nodded as she looked him up and down, fresh tears springing up and being absorbed by the towel she continued to dab her eyes with.

She had hugged him when he first came in the door, pushing everyone else aside and pulling him into her grasp like she would never let go. Then the tears started and he held her for a few extra moments, telling her how much he loved her and letting her fret over his weight, his tired eyes, and anything else she could worry about. When she finished squeezing him and assured herself she would make all these things right, she disappeared into the kitchen. He had immediately dismissed her worries without a thought. It was what he had always done.

He leaned against the counter, suddenly disgusted with himself for everything he had put her through. She and Gia were the only people among all the guests, including him, who had dressed with the idea that this party was supposed to be a festive event rather than a funeral.

She pulled him into her embrace and squeezed him one more time. It’s so good to have you home, she said, quickly releasing him.

Thanks, Mom. You need help with anything? He looked around. The kitchen was spotless, but smelled of some hidden deliciousness. His father had the kitchen remodeled years before with every gadget and new appliance on the market. The idea at the time had been that they would hire a cook or a maid, a notion that was quickly nixed by his mother. She would not have any female, other than herself, in charge of her brood. In the end, she got a professionally equipped kitchen and a designation by the rest of the family that their home would be the place for most social events.

When Anderson found out about his father’s affair years later, he wondered if his mother had killed the idea of in-house help because she already knew of his dalliances, but he’d never asked.

No, no, his mother said. You go enjoy yourself.

Mom, when have I ever enjoyed family gatherings? he asked.

You used to love them when you were small, she answered.

When I was eight and they were bringing gifts. The only thing they bring now is their silent disapproval about how I live my life.

She touched his cheek with her still damp hand. They still love you, Anderson. They always have.

He smiled patiently but didn’t believe it. They ‘loved’ his mother because she was the perfect doormat – the perfect, fat Italian wife whose door was always open for whatever they needed from her. And that was the only time they called, when they were in need. He was the token gay son to go along with her philandering husband. Anderson had no doubt that they were in the other room right at that moment whispering among themselves about all the wrong she had done to cause such domestic strife.

Everything okay? Gia asked as she came into the kitchen behind them.

Yes, their mother said a touch too quickly. She turned away and started busying herself.

Anderson and Gia gave each other a knowing glance. I just came in for a refill on the finger rolls, Gia said. She slid to the refrigerator for another tray and quickly went out the door again.

Mom, what is it? Anderson asked.

She stopped wiping the already spotless counter and froze. I’m sorry, she whispered, a pained expression crossing her face momentarily. She stared at the countertop and would not meet Anderson’s eyes.

Anderson stared at her. For what?

Her shoulders slumped forward again and her voice lost its normal cheerfulness. For everything I did wrong, for everything that made you feel unwelcome here…for everything that…led you to prison.

Mom. Mom, look at me, Anderson begged.

She turned to him, tears wetting her face.

None of that was you. None of it, Anderson reiterated as he came to her and took her hands. I made my own mistakes. You’re a great mother. I don’t understand why you would think my mistakes were your failures. I screwed up.

Because I was a bad mother.

Anderson shook his head. No. I… It wasn’t you.

Then what was it?

He let go of her hands and leaned against the counter. His eyes wandered around the room in silent contemplation. No one had ever challenged him for such an answer, but he refused to allow her to believe that anything she did caused him to land in prison. You loved your mom? he asked.

She was confused by his question. Of course. You know that.

And he did know that. He was a small child when his grandmother died and his mother had been an absolute wreck. But your love for Dad is different from that, right?

She seemed slightly unsure where he was going with this, but nodded anyway.

I think I’ve made so many crappy decisions because I’ve always been searching for the kind of love you have for Dad, and when I couldn’t find that…. He shrugged, embarrassed by his own sudden realization. I guess I took whoever was convenient. It’s pretty pathetic when you think about it.

He searched her face and wondered why he hadn’t ever seen this about himself before. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see it. Wasn’t this the same perpetual failure of the habitually single crowd? That would certainly explain Jacob, he mused. Mom, my screw-ups have never been your fault. Never.

She appeared to accept that answer but became unnaturally still. I could have supported you more, she admitted.

It was one fact that he couldn’t deny. He would never tell her that, but it was a harsh truth between them nonetheless. He loved her fiercely despite their ups and downs, but would not allow her to take the blame for him being such a boneheaded jerk. He knew how much she had tormented herself over his coming out. His father blamed Anderson’s sexuality on her coddling, her church condemned him and anyone who supported him, and she was stuck in the middle – an old-school Italian woman who loved her son but had no reference for the kind of man he had become. It was the main reason he had never brought anyone home.

Mom, that’s behind us, Anderson said. For once, I just want to be happy.

She smiled gently. You will be, eventually. You need to stop trying so hard, she offered. Happiness comes when you least expect it, not when you’re grabbing for it.

He didn’t believe that either, not really. Wanting to be happy was like wanting to be Irish. You either were or you weren’t. Now that prison was behind him, most of his time would be focused on surviving, and not necessarily on finding someone to share his life with. He needed a job, a place to live, a car… The list was so endless; he didn’t even want to think of what was ahead. Maybe I can find someone perfect for me, like you did with Dad, he offered to ease her worries. The thought disgusted him, but he gave it a shot.

Her smile faltered. You can find someone better than him, she replied, her tone inching toward acrimony. Your father isn’t a bad man, Anderson. He’s selfish and always has been. I thought I could change him... she said with a retrospective shake of her head. Don’t look for someone you think you can change. Find someone you can love. Someone who will love you back, even if you get old and fat. She patted at her hips with a smile.

Jesus, I’m getting advice on my love life from my mom. If that isn’t the epitome of failure...

Now I want you to go out there and enjoy this party, she ordered. It’s the last one you’ll see in this house. I’m done with them.

Anderson was shocked to silence.

A grin etched the corners of her lips before she turned him by the shoulders and ushered him out of her domain. Apparently his mother was done being a doormat. He was thrilled to see it, but a little confused too. They had never talked so openly. His love life had always been taboo, as was nearly everything connected with it. What the hell has happened since I’ve been gone? Anderson asked himself as he went to find Gia for an explanation.

Chapter 2

By law, Anderson had forty-eight hours to report to his probation officer after he was released from prison. He wanted to go alone, but Gia was adamant that she was going to accompany him. Since he needed a ride, he couldn’t argue.

But Gia wasn’t allowed in the probation office. She wasn’t even allowed to sit in the waiting room. A big sign in legalese informed all visitors that the rule was put in place to keep the public safe from the vicious criminals the office serviced. Gia wasn’t happy about it, but when Anderson looked around at the other probationers he thought it was probably put up for good reason. The lust-filled stares which followed her as she went out the door confirmed it. She would definitely be safer waiting in the car.

When they finally met, it only took Anderson a few minutes to realize that his probation officer was an asshole. Every word Wendell Berry uttered was barked at him like Anderson was a new recruit in boot camp rather than a man trying to restart his life. Anderson considered his own anger and then pushed it aside. Berry likely had a file cabinet full of knuckleheads who made his job difficult. His tone was probably something he used to sort the trouble makers from those who truly did not want to return to prison. But maybe Anderson was wrong in that too. Everything Berry said sounded like a specifically personal threat.

You understand everything I told you? Berry asked.

Yes. In a nutshell, you own me until I’m off probation.

Berry stared at him from the other side of his desk, a frown pulling down his thick jowls. He folded his hands and studied Anderson long enough to make the silence uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to care for Anderson’s wit. Probably hates fags, Anderson thought as he dropped his eyes to the Jesus Saves plaque prominently displayed on his desk.

Come with me, Berry said as he stood.

Anderson followed him to a conference room. Berry opened the door and pointed at a chair, directing Anderson inside. Sit, he said without explanation.

Anderson looked around the room curiously, wondering if they were still waiting for the results of his urine test to come back. It was the very first thing he had to do when he came in, and Berry had already warned him to expect many more in the future. He could be called to the office at any time and ordered to take one. Refuse and you go back to prison, Berry threatened. But as a convicted drug dealer, Anderson had expected that. He didn’t do drugs, even the more casual varieties, so it wasn’t something he worried about.

FORTY MINUTES LATER, Anderson was still tapping his fingers on the table. Patience had never been one of his greater virtues. What the fuck? he whispered to himself. He had already waited three hours before Berry had begun to lecture him about all the things which would result in his immediate return to prison. Now this? He took a deep breath as his frustration matured. He couldn’t wait to be finished with probation and anything else connected to the judicial system. He wanted to get on with his life and be done with it.

When the door opened again, Anderson’s jaw dropped. Manny C. Houston, the man who had prosecuted him eight years before, stepped into the room and closed the door. He looked at Anderson and sneered.

Houston walked over to the table and looked down his nose. It was readily apparent that he hadn’t come for a pleasant chat. I see you remember me, Houston said.

Anderson was not sure how to react. Does this asshole have some control over my probation? If he did, Anderson was screwed. He’d be back in prison before the end of the week.

You recognize this? Houston asked as he placed a matchbook on the table.

A slight smile came to Anderson’s lips. He hadn’t seen one in almost a decade and was a little surprised that they were still floating around. From my old club. What about it?

I found this in my son's dresser, Houston answered. After he ran off to California.

Anderson looked at him with a blank face, suspicious about what significance the matchbook held.

I don't raise faggots, Houston snarled. He was a good, God-fearing boy until… The disgust oozed from him with an old, internal rage. "You, he spat. You and your kind corrupted my son. You're never going to be safe. And you won't be free for long if I can help it.