Between These Walls (47 page)

“Hunter, that pastor chose his own reaction. It’s not your fault how he chooses to approach things.”

“But there must have been a better way to go about all this.”

“We didn’t get a choice in the matter. Someone else discovered us and decided to talk. You and I didn’t go looking for a battle.”

“I know we didn’t, but regardless, I feel like we’ve let our churches down. We look like hypocrites—despite the fact we felt we
needed
to hide.”

“People would have responded with the same fervor no matter how we handled it.”

“But by keeping it to ourselves, sorting through the confusion on our own timetables, and trying not to cause a disruption, we get branded as hypocrites and the community gets divided—until a kid pays the price.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Hunter.”

They grew silent. Hunter shoved his hands into his coat pockets as they reached Hudson’s town square. The shops along Main Street, which called to mind Norman Rockwell’s pictures of America in its innocence, had closed for the night.

When they reached the clock tower at the corner of the green in the center of town, they strolled to a white gazebo and sat down inside. A nearby streetlamp cast its light upon them. A slight breeze now whirled, which sent Hunter into a slight shiver. Gabe wrapped his arm around him and Hunter allowed himself to settle into the embrace. Hunter felt their shared warmth emanate through him.

“Better?” Gabe asked.

“
Everything’s
better.” Hunter turned his head to gaze into Gabe’s eyes. “You’ve made everything better.”

Gabe rubbed Hunter’s arm. “How so?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Hunter said as a sweet, welcome ache settled within his heart. The ache of vulnerability. “This is the first time in my life I’ve felt comfortable with myself.
Truly
comfortable. Comfortable enough to let anyone see me deep down. And it’s not an attraction thing. It’s just ...” Hunter searched for something complex but wound up with simplicity. “It’s just ... you.”

Gabe rubbed Hunter’s arm once more.

“That’s not a bad thing, right?” said Gabe with a wink.

“It’s not bad,” Hunter replied. “That’s what makes this so confusing. The contentment is real, and yet it doesn’t make sense to anyone else. Here I am, a guy who loves Jesus with everything in me. I’d die inside if I didn’t get to talk to Him or spend time with Him. Yet because of
one
area in my life that doesn’t make sense to others, I’m told what an abomination I am. Some people tell me I’m going to hell. And you know what? For years, part of me wondered if I
am
going to hell.” Hunter paused. “But then, in those moments of fear, I can sense Jesus’ touch. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can feel His arm wrapped around my shoulder, that sense of love and acceptance I’d always wished I could find with other people. And I can hear Him say to me, ‘I love you, Hunter. It’s okay. I’m going to work it all out for you.’ And just like that”—Hunter snapped his fingers—”I have hope again. Hope that I’ll make it through this journey, that I’ll be able to help and comfort people along the way. Hope that, decades down the road, at the end of my life, I’ll fall asleep one night talking to God, and when I wake up, I’ll wake up in heaven. And as I walk on the streets of gold up there, the struggles of this life on earth—these temporary issues—won’t matter anymore, because I’ll have finally made it home, and I’ll climb into those loving, accepting arms of Jesus that I’ve sensed around me during the hard times here on earth.”

Hunter felt Gabe’s muscles relax.

Hunter’s thoughts started to wander. “One week in summer, back during my college days, I went to the beach with a bunch of friends. We had a blast catching rays during the day, building bonfires at night. But what my friends didn’t know is that I’d sneak out of the hotel room after everyone went to sleep. I’d make my way down to the sand and walk the shore after dark. Nights just like tonight, but much warmer. I’d walk half a mile along the empty beach, listen to the waves tumble onto the sand, feel the wind graze my cheeks.

“I’d stop and stare at the expanse of ocean, and it would remind me how big God is. In the dark, I couldn’t see the horizon, but I knew it was there. I knew if I got in a boat and sailed due west, I’d end up on the coast of Portugal or Morocco.” Hunter felt fervor rise within him as he peered at Gabe. “Then a thought would hit me: God
designed
that ocean. He set the boundaries of that huge expanse and keeps it under control. He knows each person on the opposite shore. He cares for them, and understands their cultures and foreign tongues. And I realized if God can handle that ocean and take an active role in all those people groups with their details, then He can handle any detail in my life.” He turned to Gabe. “So why should my own circumstances seem like such a major issue?”

“Maybe because they churn in the depths of your heart and soul,” said Gabe. “Language, cultures, people groups—those all come and go. But right now,
this
is your life.
This
is your journey. It affects you
now,
so it’s a big deal to you. And if it’s important to you, it’s important to God—as important as keeping that ocean inside its parameters.”

Hunter nodded, grateful to have another individual in his life who understood.

He reached for Gabe’s hand, which felt warm inside his own. Hunter rubbed his thumb along the edge of Gabe’s palm and stared up at the stars. As had the ocean years ago, tonight those stars reminded him of how big God is.

CHAPTER 49

On Monday afternoon, in deference to the public memorial service for Lucas Hampton, schools and businesses in Hudson closed early. A private funeral for the Hampton family had occurred the prior day. The public memorial service took place on the green at the town square, where Hunter and Gabe had sat the night before. Attendees’ vehicles filled nearby parking lots and vacant spots along the streets. Those who lived within walking distance trekked to the center of town. Morning drizzle had cleared; sunshine emerged in time for the service. Although seating accommodated two hundred people, many more attended than organizers had estimated. Those who stood around the chairs outnumbered those seated by a ratio of two to one. Wreaths and flowers adorned the podium area, which paled in comparison to the flood of signs and wooden crosses individuals had placed around the high school in the days since Lucas’s death.

A few students at the high school had worked with the city council to arrange this afternoon’s event. As it turned out, while few had gotten to know Lucas, many sought a way to honor him. Parents spoke among themselves about how they might feel if this tragedy had befallen one of their own children. Several ministers in the community, including Chuck Barlow, shared words of comfort at the memorial service. Lucas’s pastor had received an invitation to speak, but perhaps in a moment of soul-searching, he had respectfully declined.

The high school choir performed a final hymn a cappella to conclude the memorial service. As attendees began to depart, their eyes appeared void to Hunter, their faces reflecting a somber mood. Though the service was intended as informal, some men had dressed in suits and ties; others wore casual shirts and khaki pants. High school sports teams had attended in their uniforms to show solidarity of support for the Hampton family. Hunter marveled at the age range of individuals, from children to parents to retirees, who had gathered for the occasion.

When the choir concluded, he gazed at Gabe and Ellen, with whom he had stood during the service. They considered grabbing coffee in Twinsburg once traffic dissipated.

As the crowd thinned, Hunter looked toward the far end of the green and saw his father, hands in his pants pockets, meandering toward him. His father had worn a shirt and tie. Despite dressing that way in his professional career, Hunter knew his father hated wearing a tie unless he needed to, so he must have taken Lucas’s death to heart.

When Ed Carlisle reached the trio, he did so in a manner Hunter would describe as unsure, trying to appear casual as he gazed at the hundreds of people heading toward the perimeter of the town square. Ed nodded to Gabe, and though his father’s expression was solemn, Hunter perceived in it neither resentment nor anger toward Gabe. If anything, he detected a sense of peace.

“Hello, Gabe. I believe we’ve met,” said Hunter’s father with a handshake, then turned to Hunter. “Can I speak to you alone for a moment?”

Out of respect, Gabe and Ellen took a few steps backward and began a conversation of their own. Hunter couldn’t fathom what his father wanted to talk about in this context. He searched for clues in the man’s eyes but deciphered nothing. When it came to stifling evidence of what stirred within one’s soul, Hunter and his father shared that suit in common. As Ed shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands still in his pockets, Hunter could tell this wasn’t easy for him. He heard car keys jingle in his father’s pocket, which meant the man was fidgeting with his hands.

His father gestured toward the now-vacant podium. “Hunter, this whole ... situation ... has caused me to do some thinking ... reevaluating ... I’m not sure how to put it. I’m not a words man. But I’ve thought about what it means to stand with family.”

This sounded positive, but Hunter kept his defenses rigid. He remained silent and allowed his father to put words to whatever he believed he needed to say.

With a tentative glance, Ed continued, “The way I responded to you wasn’t ... right.” Ed grimaced and smoothed his eyebrows with his fingers. “I don’t know what you’re facing in your life. I can’t
pretend
to understand. I’d be lying if I tried to act like I’ve been there. But I ... I want you to know I support you as your dad. I’m trying to, at least. The best I know how. I’m not good at talking about ... I mean, expressing emotional things, but I want you to know how much I love you, son. I don’t say that much ... or ever, maybe ... but I ... do.”

Hunter felt tears well up, but he forced them back. Biting his lower lip, he nodded to let his father know he had accepted his sentiments.

Ed shook his head and lowered his gaze to the grass at his feet.

“What happened to that boy, the way he ended his life,” said Hunter’s father, “I never want that for you. The way things played out with that boy ... I can’t help but think
you
could’ve been in that kid’s situation if things had unfolded ten years ago. It wouldn’t have ended only your life. It would have ended mine, too.”

Hunter’s father ran his finger and thumb beneath his eye as if to remove a speck from his eye, but Hunter knew the man had wiped away a tear he hadn’t anticipated. Hunter couldn’t blame him for the disguise. The man never wept. He probably didn’t know what to do when a tear came. But Hunter couldn’t doubt his father’s sincerity.

“Am I making any sense to you, son?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“I don’t understand why you feel the way you do about ... well, you know ... but I know there are things you don’t understand about me, either. And you’re still my son.”

With that, perhaps to ease the awkwardness the man felt in this moment of honesty, he gave Hunter a gentle punch to the shoulder, the way he did when Hunter was a child. When Hunter had enjoyed the luxury of life’s innocence.

Ed Carlisle scanned the crowd, which had thinned to a fragment of its original size. He took a deep breath and exhaled. The way he squinted let Hunter know his father had more to say.

“How some people have treated you—it’s just not right,” said Hunter’s father almost under his breath. He turned his attention back to his son and looked him in the eyes. “I mean, who is understood one hundred percent by anyone else? Who
doesn’t
come a step or two short of people’s idea of perfection? When we see them doing something
we
don’t like, do we plaster our views about
them
for everyone to see, to humiliate them?”

Absent of a fitting response, Hunter shrugged. Despite all the years he’d wished he could talk to his father, now that it had happened, he couldn’t figure out how to react.

“I haven’t been a perfect dad to you over the years. I haven’t given you all the cheers I should have. I realize that now. But I can say this: I’ve noticed something about you, Hunter. I’ve always noticed it. You were never one to cut other people down or humiliate them. You never treated anyone the way you’ve been treated lately, not from what I ever saw. I’ve seen a hope or faith about you since you were a teenager. I’ve seen it come through during this public flogging. And whatever it is about you, I want that for myself. That may sound ridiculous coming from your dad, but nevertheless ...” He jingled his keys and coins in his pocket again. “You’ve been through fire—dealing with this since you were young, and the last few months in particular—and you’ve stayed strong. So whatever the source of your strength is, it must be genuine. I respect you more than I respect the fearmongers out there. And if it’s faith, then one day, maybe I want it for me, too.”

Hunter shuddered inside—a
good
shudder. It sounded like his father was proud of him.

His father stammered a moment. “Maybe, uh ...”

Hunter couldn’t believe what he saw. His father inched forward, then retreated as if to reconsider. He lifted his arms in a cautious way. A hug? If that were the case, the man had reevaluated more than—

Before Hunter knew it, his father had drawn him into his embrace. Hunter fought back tears, tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He felt bad for not responding better, but this display of affection had taken him aback. Though their hug lasted less than three seconds, it felt like dawn in Hunter’s heart. Ed Carlisle punctuated the embrace with a quick pat on the shoulder blade before they separated.

“You okay now?” asked Hunter’s father.

“I’m okay, Dad.”

When they parted ways, Hunter rejoined Gabe several yards away. Hunter took a quick glance over his shoulder as his father treaded across the green.

Gabe didn’t ask what the two men had discussed. Instead, with his elbow, he gave Hunter’s arm a gentle bump.