The Perfect Family (27 page)

He swallowed hard but he didn’t answer.

So she kept going. “We decided we couldn’t abide by the birth control edict so, like millions of other Catholics, we ignored it.”

His face tightened.

“And we conveniently accepted Craig Johnson’s annulment and never discussed it with him or Father Pete. We also don’t openly object to the church’s position on women, but I should hope you don’t actually subscribe to that thinking. When
are
we going to deal with the fact that we don’t agree with the Vatican on most issues?”

Usually Mike was fair and backed down if someone out-argued him. Not when the debate involved his religion, though. “I agree with the church’s position on homosexuality.”

The lines had been drawn, and Maggie felt any promises they’d made to each other after Kenny’s death evaporate.

So she said bitterly, “Then I feel sorry for you. It might very well cost you your son.”

The United Church of Christ on Clayton Avenue was a modern brick building, striking in its simplicity. Its inviting interior consisted of high ceilings, pews and benches made of oak wood and an intimate altar. The faint smell of candles and flowers scented the air and Maggie noticed beautiful groupings of them decorating the sanctuary as she entered and sat in a pew halfway down the carpeted aisle. She was surprised to see that the modern cross on the wall behind the altar didn’t have Jesus nailed hand and foot to the wood. And there were no kneelers anchored to the floor, either. The entire structure was the antithesis of the Catholic Church they attended. St. Mary’s had peaks that arched and loomed above its congregation and a forbidding altar sectioned off with a railing at which people used to kneel to receive communion.

Maggie’s discussion two nights ago with Mike had brought her here. And to some degree, so had Caroline’s return. She couldn’t stay in a church that had taken her sister away from her and was threatening harm to her son.

The door to the sanctuary whispered open and a few people entered. They scattered themselves in different pews. One of them approached her. “Hello,” a woman said from the aisle. “I’m Anabelle Brooke. The minister here.”

“I’m Maggie Davidson. I e-mailed you to see if it was all right to come to Centering Prayer today.”

“I was hoping you would.” Anabelle’s short blond hair framed her pretty face. Her smile was easy, her blue gaze direct. “If you’d like to talk afterward, I’ve cleared my calendar.”

“I’m not sure but I’ll let you know.”

Reaching out, Anabelle touched Maggie’s arm. “No worries.” The reverend found a seat farther down the aisle and five more people joined the group.

One of the women switched on a tape recorder. Stringed instruments filled the open space and voices sang in harmony, asking God for insight and inspiration. Maggie let the spiritual melody soothe her. Then the music went off and there was absolute quiet.

After Maggie had contacted her, Reverend Brooke had e-mailed back and explained the process of Centering Prayer. Participants were encouraged to simply clear their minds and let God’s spirit fill them. But sometimes, people worked out issues in their own lives or simply talked with God about what they were feeling.

Maggie had chosen to come to this informal event before attending a worship service on Sunday. Besides, it had been a while since she talked to God.

Maggie prayed that she’d made the right decision when she’d telephoned Darcy’s minister after the debacle with Mike over reparative therapy camps…

“Reverend Jones? This is Darcy’s friend, Maggie Davidson. You told me I could call you.”

“That’s right. You were inquiring about our denomination at the luncheon.”

“I wondered if I could ask you some questions about it.”

He cheerfully agreed and gave their history. The United Church of Christ, with its roots in the Protestant Reformation, took a liberal view on most issues. They believed in God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. But each person in the congregation was encouraged to wrestle in his or her own mind about the particulars of their faith understanding. She and Darcy’s pastor spoke a long time about theological freedom and the responsibility that comes with it, about sin and grace, and about a loving God.

“I can recommend a UCC church in your area for you to visit.”

“That would be great.”

“Hang on.” Computer keys clicked in the background. A minute or two passed. “There’s a small United Church of Christ not far from Sherwood, on the west side of Rochester.” He gave her the address. “It’s open and affirming, Maggie.”

“Which means?”

“Everyone is accepted regardless of race, gender, income level, physical ability or sexual orientation.”

“Sexual orientation?”

“Yes. Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgender people are embraced by the congregation.” He paused, then added, “As a matter of fact, the minister there is a lesbian.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s not a problem, it’s a godsend.”

He chuckled. “Go to their Web site. Visit the church and give them a try…”

Maggie was so deep in her own thoughts that she was shocked when the music began to play again, signaling the end of the session. And pleased to find herself feeling better, which was why she waited in the narthex for Reverend Brooke to exit the sanctuary.

“Would you like to talk?” the minister asked.

“Yes, I would.”

“Fine, let’s go to my office.”

As she followed the woman down the hall, Maggie had a strong sense of God being with her, a feeling she hadn’t had in a very long time.

*

For the first time since Jamie came out, he wished he hadn’t told anybody he was gay. He wished he
wasn’t
gay.

He wished he was dead.

“I gotta go.”

His father, on the edge of his bed, grabbed for his arm. “No, Jame. We have to talk about this.”

Jamie backed away from him. “I gotta find Mom.”

“Forget Mom. You and I need to talk about this.” His dad’s tone had turned anxious, panicky, which made Jamie even more scared. He was always the rock of the family.

“I need Mom.” Jamie stampeded down the staircase and skidded to a halt at the doorway to the laundry room where his mother was doing the wash. Where he’d started this whole thing. Had he been wrong to trust them?

Buck was at his side, wagging his tail.

Jamie said to his mother, “Did you know about this?”

“About what?”

“Dad thinks I need a shrink. To turn me straight.” His whole body cramped at saying the words, the truth, out loud. “He thinks I’m broken, Mom.”

His mother’s eyes widened. “Oh, honey.”

“I didn’t say that, Jamie.”

He rounded on his father, who’d followed him down. “You and Dr. Crane think Luke and I should be shipped off to one of those
camps
. I read about them on the Internet—they brainwash people!” His voice cracked. “They treat you like a pervert, monitoring your behavior, watching every move you make.”

“You’re taking all this wrong, Jame. I just wanted to talk to you about the camp.”

His mother was silent, and suddenly Jamie couldn’t breathe. “Mom, do you agree with him?”

His father’s voice was ragged. “Jamie, this is between you and me. Leave Mom out of it.”

Like a little boy, waiting for approval, he watched his mother.

“No, Jamie,” she said finally. “I don’t agree with Dad or Father Pete or Dr. Crane. I don’t believe a person’s sexual orientation can be changed, and I’d never let you go to one of those camps”—she glanced at his father with anguish in her eyes—“no matter what your dad says.”

His father grabbed his arm and forced him around. “Jamie, I’m not sure a reparative therapy camp is our best option either. Father Pete also suggested you could get some therapy from their spiritual counselors, but only out of deep love for you and this family.” His dad ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe Mom’s right with her psychological theories. Maybe people are born with a sexual orientation and it can’t be changed.” He took Jamie by the shoulders, his grasp gentle in contrast to his words. “But the Catholic Church is adamant about practicing homosexuality. I wish you’d at least give the spiritual counseling a try.”

“Fuck the Catholic Church.”

Always in the past, Jamie feared disappointing his dad. He wanted to puke when he saw moisture fill his father’s eyes.

Could this get any worse?

The door to the garage, just a few feet from the laundry room, slammed. And Brian walked in. “What’s going on?” he asked glancing from Jamie to their dad.

Nobody spoke.

“Mom?”

Jamie faced his brother head on. “Dad thinks I can change. He
wants
me to change. He thinks I’m defective.”

“I didn’t say that, son.”

Jamie glared at his father. “By implication you did.” He faced Brian. “Do you agree with him?”

Brian looked like somebody had hit him in the stomach with a baseball bat.

His mom stepped forward. “Jamie, it’s not fair to draw Brian into this.”

“I want everybody here to say out loud what you think of me!”

Brian’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he grasped Jamie’s upper arm. “I’m Catholic, Jame. I believe what the church teaches. But I love—”

Jamie shirked off his brother’s touch. “Quit saying you love me.” He glared at his father. “Both of you. If you want me to change who I am, you don’t love
me
.” He looked around wildly. “I-I never expected this. From either of you.”

Knowing he had to get away, he slammed out the back door. Behind him he heard his father shout, “Jamie, don’t leave like this.”

But he did. He jumped in the car Brian had parked in the driveway and made it to the end of the street, where he pulled over, put his head down on the wheel, and cried.

*

Brian leaned against the wall as if it was holding him up. “Is this my fault?”

“No, honey,” Maggie said, “it’s nobody’s fault.”

He turned to his father for help, for the guidance that the boys always sought from him. In the past, Maggie had loved that about Mike’s parenting. “What should I have done, Dad?”

“I don’t know, buddy.”

Reaching out to him, Maggie smoothed down her son’s hair. “You got ambushed, Bri. It wasn’t fair. Want to talk?”

“No, I’m going to my room.” Before he left, he glanced from her to Mike. “Why can’t our life be like it was before?”

No one attempted to answer that query.

Brian headed upstairs and Mike stood there, staring at her. “You don’t think that this was nobody’s fault, do you? You think it’s mine.”

Try to stay true to yourself but don’t alienate your husband or your son
, Anabelle had advised yesterday during their two-hour conversation. Once Maggie had started talking, she’d poured out the whole dilemma to the reverend.

How do I do that?

Be honest. Don’t imply anybody’s wrong.
Then she squeezed Maggie’s arm.
God will be with you if and when the time comes.

Well, Maggie hoped God hung out in laundry rooms.

“I think you did what you had to do and it didn’t work out.”

“No
I told you so
?”

“No, none.”

“God, Maggie, what am I going to do now? How can I reconcile all this with my religion?”

“I’m not sure you can. I went to check out another church yesterday. I talked to the minister. She said believing in God, loving God, is different from following a religion.”

He leaned back against the wall just like Brian had and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe you’d go to another church at a time like this.”

“I’m sorry. I felt I had to.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m planning to attend their services Sunday. I’m asking Jamie to come along.”

“I suppose they’re liberal. Their belief is that God accepts”—he made a sweeping motion with his hand—“all this.”

“It’s called being open and affirming, Mike. They embrace people who are marginalized by society. No judgments are made on anyone.”

Now wasn’t the time to tell him Anabelle was a lesbian.

“Including any judgment of Caroline, I might add.”

“You can’t divide our family like this because of past issues.”

Despite Anabelle’s advice, Maggie snapped, “I’m not the one who’s dividing us.”

“I can’t believe this is happening to us.”

How you work out this difference between you will affect your marriage for a long time to come.

Maggie was struck by a memory. In their younger days, she and Mike fought like most newlyweds trying to navigate the murky waters of marriage, filled with disagreements over money, sex, how they’d spend their time. Once, after they’d made up, Maggie told him she was sad because she’d read somewhere that relationships were like vases. Every time a couple had a fight, the vase cracked. Over the long haul, the cracks would destroy the vase. Mike had come home not long after with a copper vase. “Indestructible,” he’d said confidently. “Like our marriage.”