Page 222 of The Liar's Reckoning

“He’s openly queer.”

Dad winces. “I hate that word. Do we have to use that word?”

“Fine. I guess my point is, we assumed I’d be run out of the state on a rail when that video came out, and I wasn’t. The video was much more salacious than my simply being involved with a man.”

“You don’t get it,” he says, frustrated, a fist clenching on the tablecloth. “Whenever anyone in the public eye comes out, it’s all anyone thinks about when they see them on TV. For men? It makes them look weak. It’ll make you look weak.”

“It doesn’t have to be an issue,” I insist, but he goes on.

“They won’t hear a word you say. They’ll just be wondering if you throw or catch.”

I assume he means top or bottom. “If that’s the case, then I’d suggest they do some self-examination.”

“How can you be so glib about this? You’ll be the focus of so muchhate.” He’s got genuine anxiety in his eyes. “Think about this, Graham. This party—these times. The death threats.”

I’ve had plenty of those. It’s why all my emails are screenedbefore they get to me. Death threats are forwarded to the authorities, and several assholes have been arrested. There have been no actual attempts on my life.

He unclenches his fist and covers my hand with his, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve lost too much in my life. I can’t lose you, too.”

“You’re not,” I tell him, with all the sincerity in the world.

“I wish I could make you understand this, Graham.” His lips and chin tremble. “I can’t have a gay son.”

I look at him with genuine confusion. “Explain what you mean by that.”

He speaks in a choked whisper. “If this comes out, I can’t protect you.”

“I’m not asking you to?—”

“Graham. I can’t have anything to do with you. I’ll lose—I could lose more than we can afford to lose. Do you understand?”

“No,” I say because I refuse to.

“You’re acting like you have no idea who I am. This family stands for something. I can’t risk everyone for the sake of your…your…needs.”

I slide my hand out from beneath his, and I can feel his reluctance to let go, the tightness of his grip. “It’s kind of ironic—all the things I did, everything I gave up to be loyal, to be the best first born son I could be—that you’d turn your back on me over something I can’t control.”

“Youcancontrol it,” he says urgently. “Like you said—you’ve done it before?—”

“And that’s what you want for me?” I ask. “To be alone? To be your golden boy in public and miserable in private?”

“No—I—I don’t know how to fix this,” he nearly shouts, startling me.

I’m not sure what I expected when I came here today. I prepared my mind to remain agile, allay his concerns, map out a strategy if he wanted to. But he seems so defeated. It reminds me vaguely of the way I felt sitting across from Gibson Hayes andseeing the video for the first time. Like there was no way out that wouldn’t hurt me more than I could bear.

I take a deep breath and try to keep calm. “What I’m hearing you say is I won’t be welcome at Thanksgiving.”

“It’s not—Graham—Your mother…”

He doesn’t need to finish. My mother is far more devout than any one of us. She disowned Theresa for having sex out of wedlock and getting pregnant as a teenager. She and my father turned her out on the street. To say Mom and I have never been close would be an extreme understatement. There’s a reason I’m the one who goes out with Dad to parties and benefits. She finds it unseemly and only attends events that are very, very Catholic. Her life is the church and charity work. She’s involved in pro-life causes and has made her volunteer work a full-time job. The closest she and I ever got was after the miscarriage, and that was more for Avery than me.

The video was appalling to her, and it was far too easy to convince her it wasn’t me.

This would be different. She won’t be able to deny it if I don’t enable her.

She wasn’t always this bad. Theresa was the catalyst, but it wasn’t until all of us boys were grown that she really focused her efforts on one Catholic cause or another.

“What are you planning to do?” my father asks after a long silence.

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