A Kind of Honesty Read online

  “Why not?”

  “Why do you think? We weren’t gay! We weren’t supposed to do shit like kiss other boys. Next time we saw each other was at practice. We pretended nothing happened. Life went back to normal for a while, but the feelings wouldn’t go away.” I paused and shook my head at the memory. “It was crappy timing. My dad was in a spiral that made being at home intolerable. I hated him for being an ass. I hated my mom for putting up with him. I took up a new instrument and moved to the garage to drown out the sounds of their screaming. All the things that once made me happy didn’t do it for me anymore. Piano, baseball… you name it. General teenage angst wore on me. The only person I felt connected to was Rob. After a while I stopped fighting the feeling. And he did too.”

  I shrugged to let him know I was finished sharing. “You hungry?”

  “Hang on. Did anyone find out?”

  “My sister,” I scoffed. “That’s a whole other story. Rob and I parted ways when we were eighteen. And that particular slice of history is filed under ‘do not repeat.’” I gave him a sharp look to convey it wasn’t something I wanted to dissect either. “Whatever. There was no official ‘coming out.’ There still isn’t.”

  “No one else in your family knows you’re bi?” Carter’s forehead puckered in disbelief.

  “Only my sister. There was never a point. Trust me. My mom does not want to know, and my dad doesn’t count. There’s no one to tell. My closest friends, who happen to be my bandmates, are the only ones I’ve told. It’s been mentioned in the press, but our PR team insisted we let the public think we’re all bisexual.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s no one’s business. The music is what matters. Not who we sleep with.”

  “Hmm. Let your adoring fans decide if you’re gay or straight depending on what they want you to be. Clever.”

  “Maybe it is. My so-called personal life has always been distracting.” I let out a humorless huff. “I’ve never been emotionally invested in anyone the way I was with Rob. I haven’t cared enough to try to put the effort into being a good boyfriend. The only person I wanted to have more than sex with was him, but… we were too young. We didn’t know how to get out of our own way.”

  “So he was your first heartbreak?”

  “And my last.” I rolled back to kiss Carter, slinging my leg playfully over his. “Suffice it to say, it didn’t end well. But… the sex was good. First times aren’t the greatest, but we got pretty good at it. Or at least we got good at one part.”

  “I assume you’re referring to being on top. Tell me about your ‘sort of’ bottoming experience.”

  “It was awkward and it hurt. It was easier to do what we knew we were good at. We always talked about switching things up another time, but… we never got around to it. I just couldn’t relax enough to make it work,” I said with a laugh.

  “Will you try with me?”

  “Uh….”

  Carter chuckled as he reached out to brush his fingers through my hair. “You don’t have to answer now. Think about it. You can trust me.”

  “I do trust you, but—here’s the thing… I’ve only been with a few guys. And a couple of those were one-night stands. The desire has always been there, but the freedom to act on it… not so much. You weren’t supposed to be a repeat. And you definitely weren’t supposed to become my friend, but—”

  “But I am.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Hey. It doesn’t have to be today, next week, or even next month. When you’re ready, I will be too.”

  “In the meantime…,” I began as I rolled on top of him.

  Carter wrapped his legs over my ass and smiled up at me. A gorgeous, bright grin that reminded me of sun peeking through clouds after a rainy day.

  “In the meantime, we’ll do other things. Play cards, watch baseball, do yoga….”

  I groaned, and then gave him an evil grin before pulling his hands over his head. “Everything but yoga.”

  6

  The crisp days and cooler evenings of April passed in a blur. Spiral practiced almost daily. There was a lighthearted feel to our sessions that made every day fun. I knew from experience the mood would intensify when we headed into the recording studio. It was best to enjoy the halcyon phase while it lasted. Add the thrill of having a secret lover with an insatiable sexual appetite, and I had to admit, I felt better than I had in months. I was excited about the band’s direction. Our newer material was catchy and showed a wide range of growth that demanded more of each member. And knowing most nights I could look forward to seeing Carter after a long day in the studio kept my energy level high. I noticed Cory, Rand, and Isaac exchange bemused glances every once in a while. They probably figured the cause was regular sex, but they didn’t press me for details. Thank God. I didn’t want to talk about Carter. I just wanted to be with him.

  Our “yoga morning” changed everything. We didn’t have any major powwows about it, but the day spent in bed talking about everything from our favorite brand of peanut butter to the Yankees’ current lineup was a beginning. It was different from the night at Marcelle’s when we’d agreed to clandestinely meet for no-strings sex. We were friends now. Friends who texted baseball and basketball highlights peppered with suggestive pics of athletes’ asses we found online.

  Sometimes we’d agree to meet at an out-of-the-way bar for a drink before heading back to one of our places. Our considerable libidos influenced our decision to stay in. We could hardly sit still in a crowded bar without touching each other. The slightest brush of his knee under a bar table sent my heart rate through the roof. I’d end up begging him to bore me with player stats until I could stand without making a fool of myself while Carter laughed gleefully at my predicament. By the time we fell into bed, we’d torn shirts, ripped off buttons, and knocked down lamps in our haste to get to skin. After a while we agreed it was easiest, and probably more cost-effective, to skip formalities and meet at his place or mine.

  For a few blissful weeks, we successfully avoided the real world. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but I was determined to savor it while it did. I didn’t want anyone’s opinion, and I didn’t want any BS to undermine whatever crazy force in the universe had me waking up early on Saturday mornings to attend yoga classes without complaint. Or minimal complaint. I was acting out of character, but fuck if I cared. It wasn’t anyone’s business anyway.

  Though my mother would probably disagree.

  I boarded a private jet to Baltimore to visit my family as promised at the end of the month. My mom was happy to see me. She fussed over me like a prodigal son and stocked her pantry with things I hadn’t eaten in years, like Cap’n Crunch cereal and Eggo frozen waffles. I didn’t have the heart to tell her not to bother or remind her that I had my own condo in town with my own refrigerator and washer and dryer. She wanted to spoil me and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  I spent most of my three-day visit with my nephew. I’d planned my visit to coincide with a random school holiday and I was happy I did. Liam was fun, vivacious, and in constant motion. He always had a story to tell and something really awesome he wanted to show me… like how he got to the highest level on his new Marvel’s Avengers video game or how he could now climb the biggest tree in Grandma’s backyard. The only time he was quiet was when he slept. We spent all day Sunday and Monday doing goofy things like flying remote control planes, playing video games, and building a giant LEGO Star Wars Death Star.

  When his dad came by to pick him up from my mom’s house Monday evening after dinner, I was sad to say good-bye. And when Li’s eyes welled with unshed tears, the lump in my throat grew so big I could hardly swallow.

  “Hey, I’ll be back soon. We can—”

  “Okay. When?” He brushed the moisture from his blue eyes and cocked his head so his straight blond hair fell over his forehead.

  I chuckled at his exuberance and held him in a headlock before kissing his cheek. Wet and sloppy. He slithered out of my grasp and gave me an expectant
look to let me know he hadn’t forgotten his question. I glanced at his father waiting in the driveway. “I’ll shoot for next month, buddy.”

  His small shoulders slumped in disappointment, but he nodded and gave me a winning smile. “Cool. Bye, Uncle Tim! Love you.”

  He skipped down the pathway and jumped into the waiting Jeep. I waved when the truck pulled away and thought for the millionth time that Liam made up for every fucked-up thing my sister had ever done. He was joyful and kind, and in a weird way he reminded me of Carter.

  Carter said he used to wish for a normal family. Two parents and siblings. I hadn’t supplied the obvious comeback, “you can have mine,” because yeah… I wouldn’t wish some parts of my so-called “normal” family life on anyone I liked. But a bigger part of me knew to be grateful for what I’d had. Liam was a perfect example of the sentiment. He was the product of one of the worst times I’d ever been through, but he was by far the best thing about my family now.

  I stared up the street, and then back at the two-story brick house where I’d grown up. It didn’t seem that long ago that I was bragging about climbing that stupid tree out back or racing around the neighborhood on my bike with my buddies. Life was simpler then. My dad was still home, my mom wasn’t as neurotic, and my sister was someone I looked up to. Nothing had fallen apart. Yet.

  I took a deep breath before heading back into the house.

  “Are they gone?” my mother asked. She was standing at the sink, drying her hands on a kitchen towel.

  Gail Chalmers was a pretty woman in her midfifties with shoulder-length brown hair and light brown eyes. I remember thinking she was beautiful when I was a kid. The prettiest mom on the block. If her eyes weren’t so haunted all the time, I’d still think it was true.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sure Liam wanted to know when you’d be back. What did you tell him?”

  I leaned against the kitchen counter and observed her. “Next month probably.”

  “Probably?” she asked, suddenly anxious.

  “What’s wrong? Do you need anything?”

  “No. I’m—fine. I just worry about Kat. Liam hasn’t seen her in over a month. It’s not right. Sometimes I think Liam might be the only person who can fix her. They should spend more time together. Will you say something to—?”

  “No. Kat is the only person who can fix Kat. Liam is nine. That’s too much pressure for a kid. Don’t ask or expect him to solve grown-up problems. He’s a great kid with great parents who—”

  “Hmph.”

  “Be fair. They’re good people. They love him. I’m not going to advise them to do anything they’re uncomfortable with. Kat’s getting help. All we can do is support her, tell her we love her, and be there for her.”

  “Will you go see her?”

  “I don’t know if—”

  “Tim, she needs you. She snarls and gnashes at everyone, but she talks to you. You’re right about Liam being too young to help. But you might be able to get through to her and—”

  I put my hand up to stop her speech. “Yeah, I’ll go see her. But I’m no miracle worker. Kat has a major battle to fight with addiction. And like it or not, it’s her fight.”

  My mother sighed with relief. She’d obviously chosen to hear only the parts she wanted, and the adoring smile on her face made it clear she thought I had a little Jesus in me after all. I didn’t. And if I had at any point in my life possessed any beatific qualities, they were fucking long gone by now. A visit to the rehab clinic outside of town was sure to send me deeper to the dark side.

  The following morning I dutifully drove to White Oak Care and Rehab Center to visit my monster. Excuse me… my sister. I paced the reception area, which most likely had been a sitting room in an earlier incarnation. The stately manor had been remodeled and repurposed over a decade ago to serve as a drug-and-alcohol addiction clinic. It was one of the best on the East Coast. Or so they assured me when I signed over an ungodly amount for Katrina’s fourth stay. I couldn’t say why, but I felt a sudden longing for Carter. I hadn’t seen or talked to him in a few days now. He’d called me once, but I missed it and responded with a text message. At the time, I was leery of inviting him into this part of my world, as though his live voice would have granted him entry to something private. A place I wasn’t ready to share.

  As I gazed around the well-appointed but lonely-looking living room, the twinge manifested into a physical need. I pulled out my cell and typed an impromptu text.

  I’ll be home tonite. Miss u.

  I stared at the message but didn’t push Send. It was mushy. It wasn’t me. I shoved my phone back in my pocket. Overthinking was always dangerous. I ran my fingers over the ornate wood mantle above the giant fireplace and looked up at the antique mirror just as a figure entered the room.

  “Oh. It’s you,” she said in a flat tone.

  I bit back the fuck you that sprang to my lips and smiled instead. “Gee, I thought you’d be happy to see me, sis.”

  Kat made a face that either meant she was joking or she hoped I kept this short. I couldn’t tell anymore, which was strange. Years ago we could practically read each other’s thoughts. She brushed her long, dark blonde hair over her shoulder and moved into the room. I gave her a surreptitious once-over as she settled her birdlike frame into an oversized armchair a few feet away.

  My sister’s once-beautiful features were gaunt now. Poor posture, sunken blue eyes, and stringy hair told a story of self-loathing that was frankly difficult to witness. Her fall from grace had been a spectacular event, and in true Chalmers fashion, she couldn’t seem to pick herself up again. In high school Kat had been one of the popular kids. A straight-A student, a cheerleader, and a valued member of the debate team. She was funny, vivacious, and smart as hell. Now… she was a skeletal-looking, sad woman ravaged by a dozen years of drug and alcohol abuse.

  I bit my cheek hard as I moved to sit on the corner of the adjacent sofa.

  “How are you?” I inquired politely.

  She snorted derisively and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Peachy keen, little brother. Peachy fucking keen. Why are you here?”

  “Because I love you,” I said in a mocking, syrupy voice.

  Kat smiled reluctantly, and for a second I was treated to a vision of her former self.

  “Hmm. How’s the rock-star life?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Yeah, I bet it’s tough. All the snatch and dick you want.” She leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Not to mention top-shelf shit, if you know what I mean.”

  I held her stare for a long moment and sighed before looking away. “Right. How are things going? Do you think—?”

  “It’s gonna stick this time?” she finished for me. “I dunno. I’m stuck here, so—”

  “You aren’t stuck. You’re here to get better, Kat.”

  “Better,” she repeated. “Do you ever think how ironic life is? All those sickos out there free as birds telling everyone else how to be better. Get better. Live better… like good Christians. They don’t know shit. Everybody has a story, Timmy. Everybody in this place has got a fucking doozy. One guy in here was a well-respected doctor who couldn’t keep his hands off the oxycodone. Another chick just checked in last month with some big sob story about her husband divorcing her and keeping the house, the kids, and his mistress while she was doing time for selling coke to an undercover cop. She did her time and got out to find she had no home and nothing to live for. Got herself some heroin and holy shit… the cycle started all over again. And you know what freaks me out?”

  “What?” I eyed her warily, taken aback by the immediate verbal vomit. It usually took her a little more time to launch into one of her infamous tirades.

  “I don’t think she’ll ever get better. She has no reason to. Kind of like me. What’s the point?”

  “The point is you have people who love you and need you. Mom is—”

  “She’s fucking crazy!” Kat stor
med to her feet and glared at me. “She’s one of those freaks who’s sure God is gonna save my sorry soul. She needs to save her own and not worry about mine. Everyone in this shithole talks about hitting rock bottom, while everybody out there”—she gestured maniacally toward the window—“is going through the motions… bottoming out in their own way one day at a fucking time.”

  “Kat—”

  “It’s true. They say smart shit here, Tim. ‘Serenity is not the absence of conflict, but the ability to cope with it.’ Good one, right?” She cocked her head and gave me a knowing look before continuing. “Here’s another: ‘Pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth.’ But God hasn’t granted me serenity yet. I’m the same. And I’ve got a feeling some people, like me, have an endless well. There is no bottom.”

  “That’s not true. It’s how you deal with it that—”

  Kat turned quickly and gave me a scathing look. “Oh please! Save your words of wisdom, little brother. You’re no genius. Let’s see how you play it when you hit your bottom. ’Cause you will. It’s in our blood.”

  I stared at her, unable to argue and unsure I was prepared for her brand of gloves-off verbal combat. I couldn’t discount her point of view, because minus her addlebrained edginess and severely depressing outlook on life, I didn’t completely disagree. Life was a precarious balancing act. Everyone got by in their own fashion with their own unique set of hang-ups and issues. Some self-made and others inherited or learned through a lifetime of religious and socioeconomic teachings. I had a good life. I couldn’t complain. But was I balanced and secure in my own head?