Stones in the Road (25 page)

“Margret Spencer,” Aunt Margret answered, pausing for a long moment to look at the bony hand that had been extended in her direction. “You’re not from around here, are you, dear?”

“Goodness, no! We’re from Boston. Have you been?”

“Have I been what, dear?”

“Have you been to Boston?”

“Well, no. I don’t reckon I have.”

“You really should. They would adore your makeup. I’d heard the 1970s were back in fashion, but I didn’t want to believe it. Those bell bottom jeans were so ridiculous.”

Aunt Margret frowned.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Mrs. Ledbetter went on. “Wiley and my Jackie are getting married. So very twenty-first century, isn’t it? I’m going to be an instant grandmother! They have to sign the papers first, and believe you me, I’m in no hurry to go around saying I’m a grandmother. But of course, you must be a grandmother.”

“Well, yes, I am.”

“I thought so. You have a solid look to you. Very solid hips. All kinds of babies must have gone thundering down that great big old chute of yours, I would imagine. You’ll have to give me advice on dealing with grandchildren. My Jackie says they want to adopt more. Imagine that! Stephen and I had one, and we quickly came to the conclusion that one was more than enough. One does get tired of having this little thing around that’s constantly throwing up and pissing the bed and all the rest of it. They don’t tell you about that in the books, do they?”

“I don’t guess they do.”

“The nanny took care of most of it, mind you, but still. The smell!”

“Mom!” Jackson said, offended.

“I’m just kidding, darling. Wait till you have some of your own.”

“Well, about that, I was just saying—” Aunt Margret said.

“I heard you,” Mrs. Ledbetter said, nodding. “I’m quite sure we all heard you, dear. How could we not? I’ve always believed you should speak your mind, and speak it loudly and firmly. I do hate people who mumble. But you… you don’t need advice from me on that score, do you?”

Aunt Margret pursed her lips, staring at this bony Yankee woman as if she couldn’t decide whether she was being insulted or complimented.

“Are you a friend of the family?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked.

“Martha was married to my brother Elvis.”

“Elvis?”

I could see Aunt Margret resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Jackson glanced at me, raised an eyebrow.
Your dad’s name was Elvis? Are you frikkin’ kidding me
?

“Yes, dear,” Aunt Margret said, “It’s a common name in these parts. At least it was until… well, you know.
Him
. That Elvis. Anyway, Elvis was Wiley’s father. Handsome man, he was, my little brother. Such a sweet person. He adored his children.”

“I’m not sure
adored
is the right word, Aunt Margret,” I said.

“Oh, he had his ways,” she said dismissively.

“Indeed he did,” I agreed. “Or at least he did on those few occasions when he wasn’t drunk out of his goddamn mind.”

“As I was saying,” she went on, “Leandra told me that y’all were living together. I wonder what your little boy has to say about it.”

“He doesn’t say much,” I pointed out.

“Oh, that’s right. How’s he doing with the hearing aids?”

“They don’t work.”

“So he can’t hear anything at all?”

“No.”

“Is he talking any now?”

“Not much.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it? Is he in school?”

“Of course he is!”

“Is he in special ed? Your mama taught a special ed class once, when they first introduced them way back when. Frankly, you ask me, homeschooling is the way to go for children like that. School can be such a harsh environment for cripples and what have you. Children can be so mean.”

I lowered my eyes, bit at my lip. Noah looked up at me as I put my good arm around his shoulders.

“They say Helen Keller’s favorite dog was actually a cat,” Mrs. Ledbetter offered.

Aunt Margret’s large, round face scrunched itself up as she tried to decipher what that statement could possibly mean. I glanced at Mrs. Ledbetter, wondering myself. She offered the merest hint of a smile.

“They have the technology now to simply get rid of all these ‘special needs’ children,” Mrs. Ledbetter went on. “Genetic testing, all of that. Perhaps the way to go is just to abort all those fetuses. I know that sounds a little harsh, but they’re a drain on the resources of the community, aren’t they? And what possible life could such children have? Must be utter misery. I think it would be a kindness to just kill them all.”

“Oh my,” Aunt Margret said, her eyes going wide.

“That is what you are saying, isn’t it, Mrs. Spencer?”

“Well, no, I don’t think so.”

“I must have misunderstood,” Mrs. Ledbetter said coyly. “Some children are all right. Noah, for example. He seems happy enough. He seems to have a lot of fun with his father. They’re always doing this and that together. Perhaps we could let them live for a while and see whether they’re happy or not. And if they’re not happy, we could put them to sleep. You know—like they do with dogs.”

“I’m quite sure that’s
not
what I meant,” Aunt Margret said firmly.

“Oh,” Mrs. Ledbetter said. “Well, I guess we have no choice but to try to accommodate the poor crippled little things. That reminds me. I’ve heard there’s a genetic test for homosexuality.”

“Oh my!” Aunt Margret exclaimed again.

“Yes!” Mrs. Ledbetter said passionately. “It can be performed while the mother is pregnant. If the child is gay, we could….” She raised her eyebrows to suggest that we could do anything we wanted with such babies. “It might be a good idea, especially down here in the South, where you don’t like that sort of thing. Might be kinder, actually. I mean, I can’t imagine anything worse than knowing your parents and your family don’t want you. What sort of life is that for a child? And if you know you don’t want a homosexual for a child, it might be a kindness. I realize it’s controversial….”

“Eunice,” Mr. Ledbetter said. “You’ll have to forgive my wife. Too much LSD in the seventies.”

“LSD?” Aunt Margret repeated, incredulous.

“A joke,” Mr. Ledbetter offered. “Eunice, may I see you for a moment?”

“Stephen, I was just telling Mrs. Spencer that there are solutions to these problems. One doesn’t need to suffer in silence, dear. There are options. Medical technology these days—it’s miraculous what they can do. Pretty soon we’ll be able to design our own babies. Hair color, eye color, disposition, bone structure, height, athleticism, sexuality—it’s all in the genes. It will be like going to a restaurant and looking at a menu and just pick what you want. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Well, yes, there have been many advances in genetics and bioengineering, but I’m afraid much of it is quite illegal, and probably always will be.”

“A shame,” Mrs. Ledbetter said. “People like Mrs. Spencer could design their own offspring. That way they could be perfectly sure to get exactly what they want. No mistakes! No misfits! No homos! No little cripples riding in the short bus to school! People with strong religious beliefs would object, of course, but I’m sure they could be made to see the benefits. I mean, just because you’re a Christian doesn’t mean you want a faggot riding the short bus to school, does it?”

“Eunice,” Mr. Ledbetter said again, a hint of despair in his voice.

“Life is sacred,” Aunt Margret said forcefully. “You can’t simply—”

“But some life is more sacred than others, isn’t it?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mom, please,” Jack said softly.

“I was merely trying to help Mrs. Spencer gain a little clarity in her thinking, Jackie,” she said, taking a long drag on her vape pen. “If she had her way,
you
would have been stuffed in a plastic bag and thrown in the river the moment you were born, dear.”

Aunt Margret was now frowning rather deeply and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“You know what I’ve always wondered,” Mrs. Ledbetter went on, offering Aunt Margret a very serious look. “When the
Titanic
went under, why didn’t those people filming it try to help? How ghastly! All those poor frozen bodies in the water! And then they give the filmmaker an Academy Award! Can you believe that? The world truly is a ghastly place, don’t you think?”

“Excuse me?” Aunt Margret said.

“Do they serve cocktails at these things?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked.

“O
H
, W
ILEY
,
baby, I’m so sorry,” Miss Ora said, giving me a very careful hug, mindful of my injuries.

Noah hurried to throw himself into Tonya’s arms, hugging her like she was his long-lost mother. She cradled him in her arms, her glorious bushy hair looking especially wild.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, looking from Miss Ora to Mr. Eddie, who wore a green suit with green shoes, and Tonya and Keke.

“You don’t look much better than you did at the hospital,” Tonya pointed out.

“I’m all right.”

“How’s the little man?” she asked, glancing down at Noah, who was clinging to her, his face buried against her chest.

I tried to offer a smile.

“I know it don’t seem like it in times like these, Mr. Wiley, but the Lord gon’ find a way for all of us,” Miss Ora said. “That much I know. He gon’ find a way. He always does, and amen to that.”

“I know,” I said.

“You better be knowing it,” she said. “Your grandfather was a firecracker all right, but he was a good man. I know you miss him.”

“I do,” I admitted.

“Let me tell your mama how sorry I am,” Miss Ora said. “Come on, Mr. Eddie.”

Mr. Eddie followed obediently.

Aunt Margret, who now stood on the other side of the room, stared rather frankly at Tonya and Keke, the look in her eyes suggesting that there was a time, and not so long ago, when the colors weren’t supposed to mix in the great state of Mississippi—and they ought not to be mixing now.

“We won’t stay long,” Tonya said softly, as if divining my thoughts and knowing how it must look for a black woman and a white man to stand together.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said.

“I just came to pay my respects and check on you, Wiley. Lord knows you need all the help you can get, and especially now. I would have brought some beer, but you’re probably not supposed to be drinking with the medication you’re on. If you need someone to watch Noah for you, all you have to do is ask. We’d be happy to. You just come over any time. Keke will take his mind off things.”

“I’m sure she will,” I said.

“What does that mean?” she asked, puzzled by my tone.

“Keke’s been telling him some stuff… I’m not sure I like it, to be honest.”

“What stuff?”

“About me and Kayla.”

“What could she possibly know about you and Kayla?” Tonya demanded.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” I said.

“I ain’t fighting, baby. But I want to know. I ain’t never said nothing about Noah’s mama.”

“Well, she’s getting information from somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Tonya was upset. I hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that. She turned to her daughter and started signing away furiously.

Keke said they’d had a substitute teacher who told her about
Crack Baby
.

She told me not to play with Noah because he has two daddies and it’s not right
, Keke signed.

The substitute teacher told you that
? Tonya asked.

She said N’s daddies are going to hell and that N was deaf because God was mad at them and wanted to punish them for sinning. She said God hates deaf people.

Are you lying to me
? Tonya demanded.

No, Mama! That’s what she said. She said N is deaf because God hates him. I said I was deaf too, but God didn’t hate me, so she must be wrong. She was mad when I said that
.

“Do you believe that shit?” Tonya asked rather loudly. “I’m going to call the school and ask who that substitute teacher was. Please! That woman won’t know what hit her! Talking to our kids like that.”

I tried to process the idea that a teacher at my son’s school had told other students that my son was deaf because his father was gay—and that God hates people like me.

Why was I not surprised?

Aunt Margret continued to look at us from across the room, her disapproval more than obvious.

“I’m getting looks,” Tonya said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I
HATE
this,” Bill whispered.

He sat next to me on the sofa. Noah was on the other side of me, had leaned over to lay his head on my lap. I stroked his hair with my good hand, and although his eyes were closed and he was tired, he was not asleep.

There were a lot of people for the visitation, most vaguely familiar but some whom I’d never seen at all. There were three guest books for signing, and a flat-screen television in the corner played a video featuring photos from Papaw’s life.

More than a few people paused to stare at my face, some wincing involuntarily.

“When was the last time any of these people came to see Papaw?” Bill said quietly. “Bunch of hypocrites.”

“You don’t like funerals,” I observed.

“Does anyone?”

“Reminds me of Daddy’s funeral.”

He pursed his lips unhappily.

“I remember how you sat there,” I said, “and didn’t say a word, and didn’t cry… nothing. Like you didn’t care.”

“I was happy,” Bill admitted.

“No, you weren’t.”

“I was. In a way. Glad it was over.”

“Still.”

“He wasn’t worth crying over,” Bill said. “I didn’t cry then and I ain’t crying now. I wouldn’t get out of bed and piss for that worthless jackass. I was glad he died. Tina says I have a problem ‘expressing emotion,’ but what does that fat cow know about anything?”