Comfort and Joy (27 page)

She would proceed to discuss the family, its concerns, the news from Savannah, the health of his elder uncles, aunts, and grandparents. She spoke without any hint of mocking, and she betrayed no bitterness. Except, if he dared mention Dan, she would say, in her chilliest tones,
I had as soon not discuss your roommate.

From his father, never a word, neither protest, threat, nor anger. No phone calls to Emory to get Dan fired, no ultimatums. Silence. Stretching over months. Till one day when Ford dialed the familiar number, his father answered.

"Hello, Dad,"Ford said.
"Hello, Dad,"Ford said.

"Fine. How have youbeen?"
"Fine."Ford's voice shook a little, and he fought to control himself. "Seems like you're never there when I call,

these days. Does Momgive youmymessages?"
"Well, ofcourse she does, Ford. But I stayprettybusy." "I know you do." A knot in his throat, intense. "How's the

practice?"
"Doingprettywell. Would youlike me to get your mother?" "No, sir, I'd like to talk to you."Putting every ounce of feeling

he had into the request.
"Well, son, I don't really feellike talking right now. Let me get

your mother for you." Setting down the receiver softly. Ford felt himself nearly strangled. After a few sentences of talk with his mother, he excused himselffromthe conversationand hungup.

Time passed. Every day, Ford heard the echo of the conversation with his parents, like a song playing over and over in his head. Every day, he saw the change wrought in Dan by the fact ofit.

One day, Ford answered the phone and a gentle voice said, "Hello, is Dannythere? This is his mother."
"Hello, Mrs. Crell, this is Ford. Danny's not here right now."
In the moment's pause he heard her confusion, and then heard it pass. "Hello Ford. Now listen. I'mMrs. Burley, not Mrs. Crell, it pass. "Hello Ford. Now listen. I'mMrs. Burley, not Mrs. Crell, thank God. My first husband's been dead a long time, and I say a little prayer ofthanks about it everyday."
They laughed in a perfect blend. "Danny's at some weekend meetingthe hospitalsent himto. He gets back tomorrow."
"How is he doing?"
"Fine, as far as I cantell."
She hesitated a moment, then made her question plain. "I mean, how is his health? Those T-cell things and all. Do you know?"
"He's fine," Ford said, "he really is. He went to the doctor a couple ofweeks ago."
"Do youknow his doctor? Is he a good one?"
"Yes, ma'am. You can bet I'mnot going to let himgo to some quack. Dr. Barnes is the best."
She sighed. "You're a doctor, too, right? So I guess you would know."
"Yes, ma'am, I do."
"I worry sometimes." The hesitation in her voice grew less. "Danny used to get sick and not tell me. I don't want him to be like that now."
The ache of tenderness that rose up in Ford made it hard for himto speak. "Don't even think about it,"he managed. "Ifthere's something you need to know, I'llcallyou myself. Okay? But he's as healthy as he can be, right now. His leg has healed up from that bleed he had, and he's beenback at work since Christmas."
"That's good to hear."
They talked a while longer, pleasantly, and when he hung up the phone Ford savored the warmth. When Dan came back, Ford told him about the conversation, and the story brought pleasure to them both. It was a pleasure that deepened with time, as, from then on, whenever Dan called his mother or she called him, she spent a few moments talking to Ford. He found himselfwishing his own mother had ever been so warmand easy himselfwishing his own mother had ever been so warmand easy onthe phone.
Summer brought the beginning of the last year of Ford's residency, a promotion for Dan, a new car. They fought about money, the house, Courtenay; they went to gay bars, and Ford got all the attention; Dan came home jealous, and threw plates. They had a dinner party for Ford's friends and then one for Dan's. At the hospital, their relationship became common knowledge, to the point that one day Dr. Milliken asked Ford to use his influence withDan to get a new ventilator for the neonatal intensive care unit. As if the request should seem perfectly ordinary.
But with Christmas approaching, the anxiety of what to do for the holidays haunted their thinking. They wakened early one Sunday morning in late autumn and made breakfast. Ford liked to see Dan in their kitchen, moving through the familiar routine in his house robe and soft slippers. His pale handsomeness shone. Ford, seated on a stool, yawned. "This is peaceful. I could get used to wakingup withyouat home."
"I could get used to having you around in the morning, too. Roughnight?"
"Oh, yes." Sighing. "We had a kid come in with bruises all over his skull. His dad claims he fell off a toilet. But we all knew better. The nurses were really upset about it. They wanted to drop the dad onhis head a few times."
"The kid allright? Are theygoingto send himhome?"
"We don't know. The social workers were trying to figure it out whenI was leaving."
Danstared fixedlyout the window. "Was the mother there?"
"Not while I was onduty."
The fragrance of coffee filled the room. From the back door came the scratching of cats asking to be let in. Ford opened the door, and they rushed to their food. "Did I tell you my mother called yesterday?"
"No. She actually dialed the phone herself? Did she say what she wanted?"
"Oh, yes. She wants to know when I'm coming home for Christmas. I guess Thanksgiving, too. As if nothing had happened." He let the silence lengthen for a moment, then said, "I'mnot goinghome for Thanksgiving. I'moncall."
"What about Christmas?"
"I don't know. What do youthink?"
Dan shook his head. "I need to make plane reservations myself, but I don't know when to do it."He busied himselfslicing fruit, washing grapes and cherries. "To tell you the truth, I don't want to go home. I want to stayhere withyou."
The clear, simple statement cut right to the bone. Ford stepped to Dan's side and stood close. "You think we should do that?"
"I think it will hurt my mother's feelings pretty bad if I don't come home." Dan hesitated, putting the knife down. "But I don't see why we should be separated. Do you remember taking me to the airport last year?"
"I didn't want to let yougo, I remember that."
Dan lowered his voice to a whisper, a sure sign ofuncertainty. "I think mymother would let me bringyou. Ifyoucould come."
The thought startled Ford. "Have youtalked to her about it?"
"No. I wanted to talk to you first." Dan, perhaps to conceal his ownnervousness, returned to his labors withfruit and yogurt.
"What about myparents? What do I tellthem?"
He expected hesitation, but Dan answered at once. "Tellthem what I'm going to tell my mom. I don't come home unless you come withme."
Ford sighed, touching fingertips to wispy curls at the back of Dan's neck. "And I don't go home unless you come with me. Ask me for somethingeasy."
"I wishI could."
Ford pictured his mother's face, replayed her silken voice,
Ford pictured his mother's face, replayed her silken voice, smoothand false. "Youknow what myparents' reactionwillbe."
"Yes."
"But youthink I should sayit anyway. Thenwhat?"
Their tenuous peace wavered. "Youtellme."
"All right. I say to my mother, Mom, I won't come home unless Dan comes with me. Mom says, Fine, don't come home. And thenI have to decide what to do."
Within Dan, palpable to Ford, more tension rose. They were learning to endure such moments; Dan refused to pull away from Ford, and Ford refused to let him. Ford suggested, "Maybe we should both stay here. Have Christmas together here. We can put up a tree and do all that holiday stuff for ourselves. And forget our families."
"I don't think either of us will feel better then. If I could forget myfamily, I would have done it a longtime ago."
Ford had often joked about meeting Dan's mother, getting her blessing. But he stillresisted. "We're a family, Dan. You and me. Aren't we?"
Danthought for a moment. "We could put it offifyouwant to. I can't stay here for Christmas. It would break my mother's heart. But I can go home by myself one more year. If you want to put it off."
After hesitationofhis own, Ford shook his head. "I don't want to be bymyselfinthis house onChristmas Eve, not again."
Dan slipped his arms around Ford's waist, and they stood together in the quiet morning. Ford chuckled. "So I call Mom and tell her. And she tells me to stay home. This is going to be fun."
Half-joking, Dan said, "Maybe we should go, anyway. Show up ontheir doorstep and make themdealwithus."
"I can just see the look on their faces."Ford laughed; and that suggestionwas quicklyforgotten.

So events had unfolded, and Ford had come home with Dan, to the Gardens of Calvary, where he sat with the telltale box in his hands. He lifted it from the wrapping in which it had been hidden. He already knew what it was, his heart was pounding. "I don't have one for you."
Dan shrugged. "It's not like I warned you."He was starting to smile. "I was afraid to give this to you. I was afraid you wouldn't want it. But I showed it to mymom, and she wrapped it for me."
He opened the box at last. A gold band rested in satin bedding. "It's your size, or it's supposed to be. I had it matched to your class ring."
Ford studied the gleaming surface. "I like it." Struggling. "I never thought youwould do anythinglike this."
"It's no good ifyoudon't put it onyour finger."
Ford studied the edge of the circle as if it were the brink of a precipice. He wanted words but allhe could saywas, "Allright."
"Does it fit?"Danasked, his voice trembling.
"Oh, yes. It fits fine." A dense weight on his finger, a bright fire. Theysat side byside, insilence, deep into the quiet night.

Dan drifted toward day under the weight of Ford's arm. Gray light crept into the trailer bedroom, and Dan remembered where he was. The dayafter Christmas, at home inthe graveyard.

Ford's breath heated his shoulder. The small bed crushed themtogether pleasantly. Soon they would have to get up, since themtogether pleasantly. Soon they would have to get up, since they needed to leave early for their flight back to Atlanta. But for a few more moments Dan relished the comfort of the bed in the lap of his family, and the sheltering heat of Ford. The gold ring rested comfortably where Dan had dreamed of placing it, more out ofinstinct thanout ofanyfaithinthe gesture. But he found he liked seeingit onFord's hand.

From beyond the closed bedroom door floated soft morning sounds, Mom starting a pot of coffee before waking them. Maybe the sounds penetrated Ford's sleep as well; he murmured, reflexively drawing Dan against him as he came to consciousness.

Ford's hands pressed along Dan's lower back. "She'llhear us, won't she?"
"These walls are prettythin."
"How's your shoulder?" Lips so close to Dan's ear, he could feelthemmove whenFord spoke.
"Aches a little. I guess I better get a shot before we leave."
Still, for whole minutes, they lay together, their hearts pounding, until finally they slid naked out of the knotted sheets. Ford held his hand aloft, displaying the unfamiliar ring. Shaking his head witha laugh.
Dan's mother called from beyond the doorway. Dan showered, favoring his shoulder but hardly noticing the pain, and emerged, freshlyshavenand immaculate, fromthe tinybathroom. He kissed his mother's cheek and accepted the cup of coffee as Ford prepared the medicine.
"Good morning,"Momsaid. "How's your shoulder?"
"Better,"Dananswered.
Ford added, in a doctor's tone, "And now I want to make sure it stays that way."
"That's a good idea."
She studied the ring on his hand. Her expression wavered fromone uncertainemotionto another.
Dan prepared the medicine himself while Ford showered. He rocked the bottle in his hands as his mother watched him. Finally Dansaid, "Well, I guess you're satisfied."
"I saw." Momwas trying to smile. "Seeing it makes me feel a little funny."
Anedge ofhis joyescaped him. "It's just a ring."
She lay her hand on his shoulder. "You know that's not true." Unable to say more. But she leaned to kiss his cheek. "I know what it is. I want himto staywithyou, too."
Ford returned then, seating himself beside Dan and beginning the injection. Dan hid the catch of happiness inside himself. The subject could submerge into silence now.
The silent transfusion and Ellen's fragrant breakfast made odd partners in the small kitchen. Ford cleaned the table when the injection was done, and, in the midst of the traditional country ham, eggs, and potatoes, they heard stirrings in the distant bedroom. "That's my husband shuffling around in there." Ellen sipped her coffee. "He'll be out here in a minute with that television going." Something in her manner warned Dan that this was a preamble. She took this opportunity as her last to speak to themalone. "I'mglad youtwo boys spent the holidaywithus."
"I am, too," Ford said. "I really appreciate your having me here."
"And I hope you get things all straightened out with your parents,"Ellen continued. Her gaze fellon the ring again, and this time she met Ford's eye just afterward. She simply smiled as Ford blushed, worryingthe gold band withhis fingertips.
Ray appeared moments later, mumbling good mornings as he shuffled to his throne. Soon the sound of the
Early Bird News
pervaded the small rooms, a background that relieved them of the need to speak.
Soon enough, Ford rose fromhis seat. "Well, we need to get onthe road ifwe're goingto make it to Raleighintime."
"We're all packed," Dan said. "All we have to do is load the car."
"Youmean, allI have to do is load the car."
"That's what I mean." Smiling into his cup. Meeting his mother's eyes.
Ray said his good-byes from the television. He stood and shook Ford's hand; if he noted the ring at all he gave no indication. He allowed Dan the usual perfunctory hug with which they greeted and parted; he thanked the boys for coming to Christmas and wished them a safe trip. Ellen walked with them to the parked car. They stood awkwardly in the open space before the trailer as morning birdcalls rose round them. The field of graves with its ornaments of flowers and alabaster Jesuses grew more distinct as daybroke fullyover the countryside.
After a moment Ellen said, "Well, some people take it the wrong way when I tell themthis, because we live in a cemetery. But I sure hope you boys come back and stay longer." The moment of parting, as always, made her sad. Dan felt the cutting himself; they were both bright-eyed. "We sure are a funny bunch of people, aren't we?" she said, running her hand tenderly throughhis hair.
"We sure are. But I guess it's way too late to do anything about it."
Theykissed good-bye, she gave Ford a hug, and theygot into the car.
She waited in the yard as the car. cruised along the loop road to the gate. Dan felt himself a child again as he lifted his hand to wave good-bye to the dwindling figure framed against the mobile home. The sense of parting seemed endless, as if he had been sayinggood-bye to her for years.