Fireflies.
Sorry for the delay in getting this done. Life intervened. (Yes, I do have a life, so stop laughing.) In any case, this continues the story, as Aaron grows up, Lance and JC grow old together, everyone struggles, and life goes on. Now here's my whine: I got like two emails for the last chapter (TWO!) and I slaved over that last chapter. Interestingly, one of the (of the TWO!) emails I got wondered whether the story was getting close to the point that it was time to bring it to a close. Hmmm? Maybe. I can't say the end is near, or not near, but I can tell you that I've already written the last chapter, and it's coming eventually. Oh, one last thing: I got a bunch of BBSA nominations at www.nifty.org, so please go vote for me. The email address is at denis141@hotmail.com. Feedback is the gas that keeps this car running.
DEDICATION: This chapter is for all the people who nominated me for a BBSA, including a nomination for James and Aaron as "most anticipated couple." (Hmmm? Maybe.) And it's for Aaron, because when I write this, it's always with him in mind.
DISCLAIMER: I don't know NSYNC, and this story is purely a work of fiction.
This story also contains male/male sex (albeit mostly implied, since I try to avoid full-on smut). Thus, if that's not your thing, or if you aren't old enough to read this, you should stop reading now.
CHAPTER 29: AXIS MUNDI: Part Four: The Dance of Fireflies.
I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore:
And having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.
-- John Donne, A Hymn
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know
You had a father: let your son say so.
-- William Shakespeare, Sonnet XIII.
"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was."
--Anne Sexton
Part One:
JC always knew when Lance was close because his thigh muscles tensed and he curled his toes back and the underside of his erection would tauten and bulge. Tightening his mouth around it, and wrapped his arms around Lance's waist, and lifting him slightly off the bed, waiting for it to happen. That was when, just as Lance began to sharply arch his back, and JC tasted the first pulse of semen, that they were startled by a loud knock on their bedroom door, and a rattle of the doorknob, which Lance had locked, and the sound of Aaron calling out to them, "Dad!"
"Oh fuck," Lance groaned, clutching the bed sheet as he tried to restrain himself, and not make any sound that might be recognizable to Aaron as anything sexual.
"One second Aaron," JC shouted as he reached down off the side of the bed and grabbed Lance's boxer-briefs off the floor and used them to wipe his face.
"My god that kid has bad timing," Lance whispered.
"That's the third time this month," JC said, as he tried to pull his pants up over a still obvious erection.
"Wait," Lance said, sliding off the bed and running into the bathroom. "Let me get in here before you open the door."
"Okay," JC said, smiling as he watched Lance's naked body disappear behind the bathroom door.
JC took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, and opened the bedroom door a foot or so, standing behind it, and then sticking his head out into the hallway. Aaron was standing there, wearing just pajama bottoms, and sleepily rubbing his eyes. It was not yet nine, which was early for Aaron, who was usually a marathon sleeper. There was a telephone in his left hand, and when he saw JC he thrust it out at him.
"Here," he said. "It's Uncle J. He had twins."
"What?" JC said.
"Here," Aaron said, yawning and shaking the phone at JC. "Talk to him."
JC took the phone from Aaron and watched him as he immediately turned around and walked back to his bedroom. The phone was from the small office-study that sat next to Aaron's room, and its ringing had awoken him. Watching him now, as he walked down the hall, JC shook his head, barely able to believe how tall he was at only ten years old - five feet at least, and probably ninety pounds. Suddenly remembering that Justin was waiting on the line, JC raised the phone to his ear and spoke into it.
"Hey - Justin," JC said, his face breaking into a broad smile.
"Man - Jayce," Justin said, trying to sound irritated. "I been waiting on the damn phone for like an hour, where you been?"
"Sorry," JC said. "Me and Lance were kind of busy, if you know what I mean."
"Oh - no way," Justin laughed. "That's precious."
"Yeah - just wait," JC said.
"So, Jayce - listen up, we had twins. Two boys."
"That's amazing," JC said.
"I know," Justin said. "I'm like totally swooning."
"I bet," JC said, laughing. "How's Mel?"
"She's doing great," Justin said. "And the boys are great -healthy and beautiful. I can hardly believe it though. I mean, me, a dad? Twice!"
"Congratulations," JC said. "I'm really happy for you."
"Thanks!"
"They have names yet?"
"Connor Thomas and Cameron Mathew."
"Those are nice," JC said. "Did Mel pick them?"
"Shut up!" Justin said, laughing. "Actually - Connor was my pick, although I was pushing hard for Justin Jr."
JC laughed and turned around as he heard Lance come out of the bathroom. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, tousled wet hair, and a quizzical expression on his face. Holding his fist next to his head, like he was holding an imaginary phone to his ear, Lance pointed at the phone and mouthed the words, Who's that?
"It's Justin," JC said, covering the phone with his hand. "Twins!"
"No way!" Lance said, smiling. "Here - let me talk to him."
"One sec, Justin," JC said. "Lance wants to talk to you."
Lance took the phone from JC and then, slowly lowering himself, he sat down on the edge of the bed, a smile spreading across his face as he listened to Justin going on and on about his new sons. He had not himself experienced what Justin had just experienced, the birth of a son, but he nonetheless recognized the joy that Justin felt, and the fear that went with it, the fear that something that felt as good and right as this could not last if not nurtured protected treasured and made to grow and thrive. It was a fear that Lance felt every day, a fear that revived and inspired him, not to flee, but to embrace the possibility of failure as the only way he could succeed in raising his son to succeed himself, succeed in every and any way he might ever desire, and to be happy.
"No," Lance said, smiling and shaking his head back and forth. "You're going to be a great dad. Just wait and see."
The room was dim, almost dark, except for the bluish-gray glow of the TV, which seemed ominous in the way it filled the room with looming fog-like light. Standing in the doorway, Lance saw them first as shadows on the floor, Aaron with his head lying on the bare outstretched legs of James, as they watched a show, probably found by chance, but interesting enough to continue watching. The sound from the television was muffled at first, more like a memory than something Lance was hearing then and there. It was a song...in a room full of people, you're the only one around...I always wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid, it was JC, the song he'd written about them, and then the song faded away, and a person started to speak, someone Lance recognized - it was Chris...Chris Kirkpatrick, and Justin too, and Joey laughing, then Josh, and finally himself.
"It's your dad," James said, not knowing Lance was standing there. "Look."
"That's so weird," Aaron said, shifting his head so that now his cheek was pressed on James knees and he was looking up at him.
Lance had been watching Aaron and James, laying there on the floor, but then he looked at the television and saw himself, his face filling the screen, with JC sitting to his right, practically on top of him, wearing that tight red shirt, staring at Lance, and smiling as he spoke, saying I wear boxer-briefs, and Larry King saying Boxer-briefs, and Lance saying, You know what's funny is we were like "We're going on LARRY KING, we're not going to get the boxer-brief question.
Stepping into the room, Lance was about to tell Aaron to turn the television off, but he heard the video clip change, and the sound of a voice-over narration say, No one would have guessed that five years later the dream of a possible reunion tour would die a tragic death off the coast of Mexico when Joey Fatone....
Lance found himself suddenly with tears in his eyes, and he felt himself about to stagger, as if someone had shoved him unexpectedly, or punched him hard, which is what it felt like to hear those words - a tragic death...Mexico... Joey Fatone... He reached for the chair that sat next to the door and fell into it.
"Aaron!" Lance shouted, startling both boys. "Turn it off. Now!"
James fumbled for remote control and pressed the power button. The room turned dark, with only the slightest of light now filling it from outside the window. The boys stood quickly up, and faced Lance. They looked embarrassed, as if caught stealing. Lance flicked the light switch next to the door. Aaron's cheeks were flushed, and James plunged his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and bowed his head.
"We did the dishes," Aaron said, looking confused. "And dad said we could watch TV when we were done...really, he did."
"No...that's fine," Lance said, collecting himself. "I'm sorry I shouted. I was just ...I don't know, I was just surprised to see myself there, on TV and, I'd...anyway..."
"You don't look very different," James said. "Not older, I mean."
"Yeah, thanks," Lance said, smiling weakly.
"Dad was totally staring at you during that one interview," Aaron said. "Where you were talking about your underwear."
"Oh lord," Lance said, resting his forehead in his hand and shaking his head.
"Mr. Bass," James began.
"James - it's Lance. Call me Lance. Really."
"Oh - sorry," James said. "Were you guys married then?"
"Uh - no," Lance said, laughing. "It was still sort of a secret that...well, anyway...Why don't you get your stuff James and I'll give you a ride home."
"Okay," James said, looking at Aaron and shrugging his shoulders.
"What's going on?" JC said, stepping into the room, and looking at Lance. "Was that you yelling in here?"
"Yeah...the boys were watching that MTV thing I hate, the one about the group, where Chris slams me, and...well, you know...it was on, and ... never mind."
"Dad...I've seen it like twice already," Aaron said. "They play it all the time, and it's mostly kind of funny. So it's okay."
"All right," Lance said, putting his hand on the back of Aaron's head and pulling him into a hug. "But no boxer-brief jokes."
"Okay," Aaron said, pushing Lance playfully away and smiling at him.
"Come on James," JC said, laughing as he put a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't I give you a ride home."
"Thanks," James said, smiling at JC and then Aaron. "I'll see you Aaron."
"Okay," Aaron said. "I'll call you when I get back."
"Have a great vay-kay," James said. "And don't forget to send me email."
"I will. I promise."
"Cool."
James followed JC out of the room, down the stairs, and outside. Once inside the car, and on their way, JC looked over at James and saw a worried look appear on his face. It made JC sad and concerned to see the sudden shift in James' mood.
"You've seen that show before," JC said, as if trying to change the subject even though neither of them had said anything. "About the band breaking up, and about Joey."
"We saw it at my house. Like last month, and once before that."
"Lance wasn't mad at you. You know that. Right?"
"I couldn't really tell," James said. "He seemed kind of upset though."
"It's hard for him," JC said, softly. "Everyone thinks it was him that broke up the band. And it really wasn't. But then when Joey died, and it was over for good, and Aaron came into our lives...it's complicated. And Lance is complicated. So don't worry."
"It's okay," James said. "Aaron told me all about it, how you and Lance adopted him, and all that. So I know."
"Good," JC said, staring straight ahead and nodding.
"It doesn't bother him," James said, turning sideways and looking at JC. "So you shouldn't think it does. Aaron's a really, really happy guy. He loves you both a lot."
"Yeah -I knew that," JC said, smiling briefly at James. "But thank you for telling me. It's a nice thing to hear."
"I think you guys are great too," James said. "I really like spending time at your house and stuff, especially when my mom is all busy. And since I don't really have a dad, it's nice that you don't mind me hanging around all the time."
"You're welcome anytime," JC said. "But, James, seriously - everyone has a dad. You can't get born without one."
"I know," James said.
"Have you ever met your dad?" JC asked.
"Yeah. But I didn't know it at the time. I was five. We were living in Wisconsin still, and it was the summer right before I started school. This man moved in with us, like a boyfriend, my mom's boyfriend - or that's what I thought. He stayed there for like two or three months. He was mean, really mean. And he was always staring at me like I'd just done something wrong, like I was this big mistake he wished he'd never made. My mom made him move out - when he hit me one time.
"That was your father? That man who hit you?"
"Yeah," James said. "But I didn't find out he was my dad until later."
"How?"
"On my birth certificate. Frank Black. That was his name. I think my mom was too embarrassed to tell me."
"Or maybe she was trying to protect you," JC said.
"I know."
"But you never saw him again?"
"No"
"That's too bad," JC said.
"It's okay," James said. "I'd rather have no dad than a mean one."
James and JC drove the rest of the way in silence, both staring straight ahead. It was a fifteen minute drive to where James lived in the North Park area of San Diego, not far from the Red Fox Inn, just off Hillcrest Avenue. As the car slowed to a stop in front of his house, James turned and thanked JC for the ride home.
"I'm happy to do it," JC said, smiling at him. "And - James, if you ever want to talk to me about something, you know, that you're worrying about, or that you don't want to talk to your mom about, you just let me know, okay? I'm a good listener."
"Thanks," James said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door. "That's really nice of you."
"Hey - I'm a great guy," JC said. "What can I say?"
JC watched James climb out of the car, and shut the door behind him. Without looking back, James walked across the small front lawn toward the door. JC waited until James was safely inside the house and had waved at him from the front window. Waving back, and smiling, JC put the car back in gear and slowly pulled away from the curb, giving the horn a short good-bye honk to signal his departure. James watched JC's car disappear around the corner, biting his lower lip to fight the urge to cry. He envied Aaron, envied the certainty of his knowing that his biological father had died.
Standing at the window, James tried to imagine that his own father was dead, but he couldn't imagine him at all, or even remember him, not clearly, except for the angry mean look on his face when he left for that last time, looking at James like it was all his fault, that everything bad that had ever happened to Frank Black, up until that point, and forever after, was all his fault. That was what James remembered, that angry mean look, and how bad it still made him feel. It was all he could remember of his father, because it was something that James could not forget, even when he tried.
It was the Sunday before Labor Day weekend, and they had been there for two days, visiting Lance's parents, in Laurel, Mississippi. Aaron had never been there before, and JC had thought it would be nice for him to see where Lance had grown up. They had already spent a week in Orlando, a week in Washington D.C., and ten days in Raleigh-Durham, where Aaron had attended the Duke Basketball summer camp. JC was sitting at the kitchen table with Lance's mom, Diane. A bowl of freshly shucked peas sat between them, and the smell of just-cut grass filled the room. The lawnmower continued to whine in the distance sounding like the buzz of a dragonfly caught in a bedroom at night.
"It doesn't seem to ever get better," JC said, standing up and walking to the open back door and looking out.
"No, it doesn't," Diane said. "And it breaks my heart."
"Do you think if I..." JC said, letting the words trail off and not finishing his the sentence he had begun.
"No," Diane said, flatly, knowing what JC was about to say. "It's between them. I stuck my nose in it once and about got it clean bit off."
"I could hardly get Lance to come," JC said, turning around and looking back at Diane. "He only did it because of Aaron. And because we were visiting my dad, so it just seemed - well, it seemed like we should."
"I'm glad you did," Diane said, smiling up at JC. "It's good to see you."
"You too."
"That boy - I can't believe how big he's got."
"It's amazing, isn't it?"
"It really is," Diane said. "Lance was always small for his age. Until he was about twelve. Or maybe thirteen. Then he got his growth spurt."
"For what it was worth," JC said, laughing.
"Yeah."
"How was he?" JC asked. "When he was Aaron's age."
"Kind of timid," Diane said. "Maybe even scared sometimes. But he always pretended he wasn't. I think that's why he wanted to sing, to be on stage, to perform. It was like he picked the scariest thing possible, for him at least, and he forced himself to do it just to prove that he could."
JC was silent, just listening, his back to her as he continued to stare outside.
"Oh, and how his father hated it. Just hated it. Lance singing."
"He must've known," JC said, quietly, as if talking to himself.
"That he was gay?" Diane said. "No."
"And you?" JC asked, turning around and looking at her.
"I never thought about it," Diane said. "He was just my boy. And I loved him."
"My mom was like that too."
"Well - it's different for mothers. I'm not sure how, but...it is."
"Lance is stubborn," JC said, shaking his head. "Really stubborn. Which is why I thought I'd lost him that time...because, well, you know..."
"I do. He's just like his dad that way."
"I guess that explains why it's been fifteen years since our last visit."
"Fourteen."
"You should come out to San Diego more often," JC said.
"I know," Diane said. "But Jim won't come along unless Lance invites him, and Lance won't do it. So there it sits."
"Lance says Jim would visit if he really wanted to."
"And Jim says Lance would ask if he really wanted him to visit."
JC turned and looked outside again as he heard the sound of stomping feet on the porch. Or maybe it was someone kicking at the bottom step, to get damp grass off their shoes, before coming inside. It was Lance, and he smiled as he pushed open the screen-door and walked into the kitchen. His gray t-shirt clung to him, darkened by sweat, and the toes of the shoes he wore were stained dark green.
"Are they back yet?" Lance said, frowning as he walked to the refrigerator and took a beer. "Dad and Aaron?"
"Not yet," Diane said. "Lake Bogue is a ways away though, and your dad usually likes to fish 'til near sunset."
"I hope we aren't eating fish for dinner," Lance said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "I can't stand those bony things he catches there."
"You're mom's making pot roast," JC said. "And potatos and creamed peas."
"I thought we'd make ice cream too," Diane said. "Has Aaron ever made ice cream before?"
"Not the cranked kind," JC said. "But we have an ice cream maker. It's built into the refrigerator. It's kind of cool."
"No pun intended," Lance said, smirking at JC, but in a way that seemed pointed, and slightly unkind.
"So what time is your flight tomorrow," Diane asked, pointedly ignoring Lance's comment. "Is it early?"
"Not too bad," JC said. "Just past nine-thirty. We connect in...."
"I'm going to head back to the hotel for a shower," Lance said, interrupting JC as he set his half-empty beer bottle in the sink. "Do you want to come along?"
"No," JC said. "I think I'll just stay here with your mom, if that's okay."
"Suit yourself."
"Dinner should be a little past seven," Diane said, standing up.
"Okay," Lance said, reaching out and squeezing JC's shoulder and then kissing his mom quickly on the cheek. "I may take a nap or...anyway. I'll be back later."
"Bye Lance," JC said, watching him leave the kitchen.
Lance walked quickly through the house and outside to the rental car, eager to be away from there. He preferred the generic impersonal feel of the Best Western hotel out on the interstate. Gunning the engine, and pulling out of the driveway, Lance was not sure whether he'd be back for dinner. He'd take a shower first, and maybe a nap, and then he'd decide. Right now, all he wanted was to be away.
Lance said nothing as he ate, his head bowed, staring at his bowl and the ice cream and pie still on it. JC was on his right, Aaron was on his left, and his parents were opposite the three of them, on the other side of the oak table in the dining room. Aaron chattered happily as he ate, filling the room with its sole voice, telling Lance's parents about how he had used the stairs to climb the Washington monument instead of taking the elevator, and about the basketball camp and how fun it had been, and how he'd seen the stage at Disneyworld where his dads performed together for the first time, and how he hoped the he could get a dog soon, because they had a big yard in San Diego, and how he had never been fishing before, but he really liked it, and he was glad that Jim had let him come along, because it was fun. It was only as dinner was over, and everyone stood to help clear the dishes that Aaron grew silent, looking at JC, and then Lance, and Jim, and Diane, and smiling broadly at each of them in turn, expectantly, as if he had realized that it was someone else's turn to talk.
"We should get going," Lance said, putting his arm around Aaron. "We have to get up early tomorrow to catch our plane home."
"But it's not even nine," Aaron said, looking at Lance and frowning.
"Let me help your mom with the dishes," JC said. "Then we can go."
"You don't need to do that," Diane said, patting JC's arm. "I can manage."
"No - I insist. Really," JC said, turning to carry his and two other bowls into the kitchen. "I want to."
"We'll be out front then," Lance grumbled, watching his mom follow JC out of the dining room.
"I'll walk out there with you," Jim said. "It's a nice night. And there might still be a few fireflies here and there. You ever see a firefly, Aaron?"
"No - but that would be really cool to see one," Aaron said, excitedly.
"Come on," Lance said. "I'll show you. There's usually some down back, by the crepe myrtle. That's where I used to sit and watch sometimes."
Jim and Lance and Aaron walked from the dining room, across the kitchen, and then out onto the back porch. JC and Diane swiveled in place as they watched the three of them walk by. Outside, the night air was hot and humid, and it caused sweat to form immediately on Lance's forehead, and the back of his neck. Lance doubted that there'd be any fireflies; there never was this late in the summer. But when he was young, near to Aaron's age, knowing that a firefly had a lifespan of only 24 hours did not discourage him from seeking them out; it inspired him. And so sometimes Lance would sit for hours beneath the canopy of the crepe myrtle, basking in its gently insistent fragrance, and wait for the tiny shining dancing dots of light to appear, lights that he could've caught in a jar, if he had wanted to, but never did. He was content instead to watch the glowing dance of their mysterious luminescence, signaling to each other across the darkness, looking for someone with whom to join before the light no longer mattered, and flickered out forever.
"Down there," Lance said, taking his hand off Aaron's back and pointing. "By the fence, near the tree with the dark pink flowers."
"I'm gonna go see," Aaron said, running ahead.
"He's a great kid," Jim said, continuing to walk with Lance. "You should be real proud of him."
"I am," Lance said, not bothering to hide his anger. "And he knows it too.
I tell him. I tell him every day."
"Fine," Jim said. "You tell him. You're a better dad than I was. I get your point."
"I don't want to fight about this," Lance said, stopping to stand a few feet from where Aaron now lay on the ground, staring up through branches of the crepe myrtle tree. "Not anymore. And not in front of Aaron. I know how you feel. You made that quite clear fourteen years ago and I don't need to hear it again, how you never expected to have a son that turned out to be queer."
"I didn't," Jim said, no anger in his voice at all.
"I know you didn't," Lance said, his voice a harsh hissing whisper now. "Just like I never thought I'd have a father who was ashamed of me, one who thought I was some sort of freak from another planet."
"If that's what you think, Lance, what you really think, then I'm sorry. I really am, because I have never once in my life have been ashamed of you. Never. Sure, you were a mystery to me growing up. Maybe it was because we were different, to me you were, but...."
"Yeah, different - because I was a freak and....."
"No," Jim said, grabbing Lance's arm, and shaking it. "No. You're not a freak. I never said that, Lance, and I never thought it. You thought that. Maybe you still think it. I don't know, but you can't put that on me."
"Well you sure as hell kept your distance," Lance said, sounding defeated. "You made me feel like I had some sort of disease. Okay - I didn't like sports. Okay - I liked to sing and perform and hang out with girls at school, instead of all the guys. And okay I hated to go fishing, and wouldn't go unless you made me. But I was still your son."
"Yes you were," James said, shaking his head and sighing. "And maybe I should have tried harder - I don't know, to build some sort of bridge between us, to reach out to you. But I don't think I trusted myself to not mess it up, so I just left it to your mother. I regret that now - more than you know."
"Dad - look," Aaron cried out, excitedly pointing up. "Is that one?"
Lance walked over to Aaron and lay down next to him. He knew the crepe myrtle was bigger now, or should seem so, but it didn't seem bigger at all; in fact, it looked the same to him, the way its branches still swept upward and then spread and drooped, like a sagging umbrella. Perhaps it was because they had both grown, he and the tree, and their sizes relative to each other had stayed roughly the same. Or perhaps it was because he remembered the tree as being bigger than it had actually been, and only now its size had caught up with his memory of it.
As Aaron continued pointing, Lance rested his head on his shoulder and looked up, following the angle of Aaron's arm, tracing its direction to the place where he was pointing. Lance smiled. It was not a firefly. It was a star. The gentle breeze-pushed motion of the branches made the stars seem to shimmer and move, like fireflies.
"I think it is Aaron," Lance said, smiling. "I think you found one."
"You think there's more?" Aaron asked, lowering his arm, and looking at his dad.
"I don't know," Lance said, looking over at his father, standing there a few feet away, watching the two of them, a sad smile on his face. "But maybe we should keep looking. What do you think dad?"
"Well - it's awful late in the summer for fireflies," he said, suddenly smiling back at Lance. "But if you look hard enough, you can find pretty much anything - or that's what my dad always used to say."
From the old couch on the back porch, JC and Diane could see all the way down across the long sloping backyard to where the crepe myrtle stood so tall. The night sky was brilliant with stars and the moon nearly full. The two of them sat silently there, side by side, smiling at the sight of the three of them down there - Jim, Aaron, and Lance - lying next to one another, staring up at what may only have been a sky scattered with stars, but from where they lay looking up, it looked more like a miracle.
Part Two:
Aaron knocked on their bedroom door for the second time, knowing that it usually took three knocks to get their attention when they were in there messing around, which he knew they were doing, since that was the only time his dad didn't answer the phone himself. After each knock, Aaron stepped quickly back from the door, wanting to respect his parents' privacy, while also not wanting to hear anything that might make him cringe, or even worse, laugh. Besides, Aaron had yelled at his dad just last week for opening his bedroom door without knocking first and, in the process, catching him with his pants and underwear down, right in the middle of jerking off. It was hugely embarrassing, for both of them, and Aaron blushed again thinking about it, and about the fifth "it's normal and nothing to be ashamed of" speech he'd received in the last two years.
As he was about to knock a third time, Aaron was startled when the door suddenly opened and Lance stuck his head out into the hall. Lance's face was flushed, his forehead was covered with sweat, and he looked like he was out of breath. Aaron grinned at him, and then laughed as he thrust the phone at Lance.
"Here," Aaron said. "It's Grandma D."
"Thanks," Lance said, opening the door further as he took the phone. "And stop laughing at me."
"I'm not laughing at you," Aaron said, laughing harder now. "Don't be ashamed dad, it's normal."
"Yeah - well, look whose talking," Lance said, moving the phone up and down several times and smirking at him.
"Dad!" Aaron said, shocked at first, but then happy about his dad being able to joke about such a thing, and not being uptight or judgmental or freaked out.
"It's the facts of life A," Lance said, laughing.
"Or so you told me," Aaron said, as he turned around, still laughing, and headed back to bed.
Lance shut the door, and turned around. JC was under the comforter again, with only his head showing. It was obvious he'd been hiding, and he'd just then poked his head back out. Giving him a quick kiss on the lips, Lance raised the phone to his ear and said, "Hey mom - sorry about that. I was in the shower."
As Lance listened his face fell. JC knew it was bad news, and he slid across the bed to where Lance had just sat down hard on the edge of the bed.
Lance's knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone, saying nothing, just listening. Finally, he spoke, his voice wavering as he did so, saying: "I'll be there as soon as I can - probably tonight, so hang on, and try not to worry. Everything will be all right."
Lance turned off the phone and let it fall next to him on the bed. It bounced off the mattress and landed on the floor with a thudding plastic clunk. Turning to look at JC, Lance blinked hard, and took a deep breath. JC was holding his other hand, but Lance hadn't noticed; his mind was blank and his body numb.
"Lance?" JC whispered. "Tell me. What's wrong."
"It's my dad," Lance said, slowly lowering his head and pressing his chin to his chest. "He's had a stroke."
"Oh my god," JC said, squeezing Lance's hand.
"I know," Lance said. "But I need to get going. Will you pack some stuff for me while I call the airline? I need to get going."
"Of course," JC said, getting up off the bed. "I'll do it right now. And I'll get Aaron up and ready to go."
"No," Lance said, standing up but otherwise not moving. "The tournament semi-finals are today. When he gets up, just tell him I had to miss the game because of an emergency and that I'll try to get back in time for the finals on Sunday."
"He'll know something's up," JC said. "You never miss his games."
"I know," Lance said. "But there's nothing else to do. Tell him I'm sorry."
"All right," JC said.
"Thanks, Josh."
"Are you going to be okay?" JC said, taking Lance's hand again. "Seriously."
"I'm just going to put it on auto-pilot for now," Lance said. "You know me."
"Yeah - I do," JC said, smiling. "And I love you - very much."
Lance pulled JC into his arms and hugged him tightly, kissing his neck, and then burying his face there. It felt good, and he felt momentarily safe and free and confident that everything would be all right. Finally letting go, Lance stepped back from his embrace of JC, and looked at him, staring for nearly a minute into his eyes, thankful for the solace he found there, and knew he would find there, anytime he needed it.
The sun was hot on the back of JC's neck as he stood at the edge of the field, next to the third-base-side bleachers. Aaron had pitched six scoreless innings in relief after coming in at the bottom of the third inning with the bases loaded and no outs. His team, the Francis Parker School Lancers, had just beat the La Jolla Country Day School Eagles two-to-one to win the summer tournament. His teammates were now surging around him, celebrating the victory with raucous hollering and loud piercing whistles. JC smiled as he watched the spectacle, wishing Lance could have been there to see it.
JC slowly rubbed the back of his neck, wondering whether it was sunburned. He was also trying to decide whether to call Lance, or wait and let Aaron do it. Aaron knew about Lance's dad now. Last night he'd asked JC straight out if someone was sick or hurt or dead. Unwilling to lie, JC had told him what he knew, which wasn't that much, but he didn't try to sugarcoat it either. Hearing the news, Aaron had remained quiet for at least a minute, and then asked, "How's dad? Can I call him?"
Lance and Aaron had then talked on the phone for over an hour. Aaron had lain on his back on the living room floor, mostly staring up at the ceiling, and mostly just listening as he held the phone to his ear. JC had sat next to him, cross-legged, and leaning back against the couch, waiting his turn to talk.
"It's going to be okay," Lance had said near the end of their conversation.
"So you do your best tomorrow, Aaron, and don't worry, because I can take care of this."
"I will dad," Aaron said. "I promise."
"Good."
"Don't worry about me either though," Aaron said. "Not too much. Okay?"
"I'll try not too," Lance said. "Not too much."
"I love you dad," Aaron said, listening to the reply with tears in his eyes and then handing the phone to JC before walking quickly out of the room.
This morning, Aaron had told JC all that Lance had said the night before, and told him that he was worried that his dad might feel alone or lonely, being away from them, and that they should go be with him as soon as they could - right after the game. JC had promised him they would, and he'd made the arrangement right then and there. Now JC stood waiting for Aaron to walk off the field so they could drive to the airport and catch their plane to Mississippi to join Lance there.
Aaron's tanned face was flushed and sweaty as he walked toward JC, smiling broadly at him, beaming almost, his teeth so shiny it was as if they reflected sunlight. JC waited as Aaron crossed the distance between them and then opened his arms. Aaron embraced JC, picking him up off the ground and hugging him hard. He was always surprised at how thin his dad felt, fragile almost, but this time he hugged him harder than usual, and JC hugged him back just as hard, without complaint.
"That was a great game," JC said, as Aaron set him down and let go of him. "I'm really proud of you. And you're dad's going to be too."
"Thanks," Aaron said. "It was fun. I never pitched more than two shut-out innings before. But I just ...I don't know...I just wanted it really bad, you know?"
"I do."
"Hey," Aaron said, unbuttoning the front of his uniform and flapping it to cool off. "Do I have time to go home and shower before we hit the airport?"
"Probably not," JC said, slowly shaking his head. "We could try though."
"No - I don't want to risk it," Aaron said. "I can change in the car. And take a whore's bath on the plane."
"A what?" JC said, laughing.
"A whore's bath - it's like where..."
"I know what it is," JC said, still laughing. "I just didn't know you did."
"Dad. I'm almost seventeen. Geez."
"Okay - let's go then, Mr. Old and Mature."
Aaron laughed and threw his arm across JC's shoulders, hugging them and walking with him toward the car. He was ten inches taller than JC now, and broader and more muscular. His yellow baseball cap was turned backwards, and small bits of sod and grass were kicked up with each step as his cleats bit into the field.
During the game, Aaron had not thought about his dad being in Mississippi, or what might be happening there. Instead, he focused on JC, and how happy he felt to know that he was there with him to watch him pitch, and that he would soon be with his other dad again too, the three of them together. But mostly Aaron focused on how good it felt to know that he was loved, and that his dads were proud of him. That was what he really thought about while pitching. Not the batters. And not the game. He was just trying to do his best - just like his dad had said.
Aaron sensed it as soon as they pulled into the driveway. There were at least ten other cars already there, some parked on the front lawn, and others along the side of the house. JC stopped their rental car behind the last one in the driveway, leaving them about a hundred feet from the house.
JC looked at Aaron and then put his hand on his thigh. It felt tense, as if he was flexing the muscle there, like at the start of a race.
"He's already gone," Aaron said, his voice so soft that JC barely heard it.
"You don't know that," JC said. "We just have to wait and see."
"No. I can tell," Aaron said, opening the door and stepping out of the car.
"We still have to go see," JC said, getting out of the car too, and then quietly shutting the door. "So let's go inside."
"No - I'm going around back first," Aaron said, looking across the roof of the car at JC. "Okay?"
"Why?" JC asked, puzzled. "You're dad will want to see you. And he'll wonder where you were off to."
"Dad - it'll be okay," Aaron said. "Trust me. I just want to see something first."
"All right," JC said. "I'll see you inside then. Don't be long."
"I won't," Aaron said, beginning to walk up the driveway, but then stopping, and turning around. "I love you dad."
"I love you too," JC said, blushing.
JC stood and watched Aaron turn and walk away. The front porch light shined in Aaron's face and it made the back of him, from JC's view, look like a shadow disappearing into the distance. Where is he going, JC wondered. Maybe he wants to be alone before facing a house full of people he hardly knows. Or maybe he just wants to walk off the long flight from San Diego. Then JC knew, just as he knew too that Aaron was probably right, and that Lance's dad was gone. JC knew where Aaron was going and it made him cry - not with sadness, but with the kind of awed and tender feeling that only can be called love.
Aaron stepped from around the side of the house and it was at that moment that he knew it was true. He could see easily across the long sloping back yard, down to where it ran up against the crooked wooden fence, and the crepe myrtles, now taller than before. He could also see a figure lying there, on the ground, beneath the tree. It seemed like just a shadow lying there, but he knew it was not. Aaron knew that it was his dad, lying there beneath the canopy of the crepe myrtle, basking in its gently insistent fragrance, waiting for the tiny shining dancing dots of light to appear, lights that he had never once caught in a jar, never wanted to, because he had always been content instead to watch the glowing dance of their mysterious luminescence, watch as fireflies signaled to each other across the darkness and the void, signaled for someone with whom to join before the light no longer mattered, and flickered out forever.
Aaron joined Lance there, laying down next to him, and took hold of his hand. There was only silence at first, but after about an hour of simply laying there, shoulders pressed together, hands clasped, Aaron told Lance all about the baseball game, inning by inning, play by play, and pitch by pitch. He described it all, the tender scared proud look on JC's face after each inning was over, and how JC smiled at him, and shyly waved as he walked off the mound each inning, after the last batter was out. He described how the grass smelled, and how the sky was so blue and cloudless and clear that it reminded him of the water in their swimming pool. He described everything that Lance had not been there to see that day, giving him a memory he might not have otherwise had, and at the same time pushing away everything else. And then, when Aaron was through describing, through telling Lance everything about his day, he rolled over and hugged his dad, saying nothing more than, I did my best dad.