Chapter 15

Fifteen

Transitioning was a group effort, except for Truman, who remained seated.

Pedro cleared the table, taking the dishes into the kitchen where Patricia was making fresh coffee. Titus plated desserts, providing everyone with fresh spoons and napkins.

Once tasks were carried out, they all met again at the table.

Titus took a bite from his bowl, closing his eyes and groaning emphatically. "My God," he said. "Amelia's banana pudding is one of my favorite things on earth. And it's still warm."

Patricia chuckled. "You were overzealous in serving, I noticed. You gave us all enough to feed an army."

"No worries. Whatever anyone can't finish, just pass it my way."

Truman slid his bowl over to Titus. "Here, son. Coffee's good enough for me."

"So, yes," Patricia continued from earlier. "I suspected that both you and Barb were different when you were children. Just the little things I saw in your behavior. In retrospect, it's probably clichéd and irrelevant–stereotypes—but still. Barbara was always headstrong, determined– independent , as your father said. You were just incredibly sweet, so open, so loving. Opposites, though neither of you had any inhibitions back then."

Truman added, "I told your mother that it was probably because we raised you two out in the country, away from most folks. Your minds had free rein without the baggage of social imprints. Also, Titus, your closest friends have always been women."

"That's definitely a stereotype," Pedro was compelled to say. But he couldn't help but think how open and receptive Titus had been the day they'd met. It had caught him off guard, made him suspicious even, how childlike and overjoyed he had been. "I'm curious, though. How is it you ended up raising Barb?"

"She was a friend's child," Patricia said. "Agnes, her mother, and I were close when we were young. But, she–well, how do I put it?"

"She was a Deadhead," Truman answered.

Pedro's brow furrowed with confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"She followed that band, the Grateful Dead. Ended up in San Francisco, pregnant. We talked her into coming home, which she did… long enough to have Barbara. Then she left, and we never saw her again."

"She just abandoned her?" Pedro said, incredulously. He looked at Titus.

Titus raised his hands. "This is news to me. I mean, we grew up together. But I never knew the details."

"How did you end up with her?" Pedro asked. "Why wasn't she raised by family, grandparents?"

"Agnes's parents were killed in a car accident in the late '50s. She was raised by her own grandparents–James and Lila Hawthorne. They were much older, nowhere near prepared to take on a baby. I was already knee-deep in raising Titus, so I volunteered."

"That's–well, wow," Pedro said, still processing. "That's very generous of you, going from one baby to two. Overnight, I presume. I can't imagine."

"I loved it," Patricia said, smiling. "Being a mother was one of the highlights of my life. And to duplicate it without all the grunt work of pregnancy? Why yes, I said, please and thank you . Of course, the context at the time was that it was only temporary. We all thought Agnes would eventually return, regretting her choices. But she never did."

Pedro shook his head, baffled. "How on earth could someone abandon their child like that?"

"Counterculture," Truman said, derisively. "Free your mind. Tune in and turn on. Break from the norm."

"Drugs," Patricia added, the one syllable summing things up neatly. She set her spoon down and pushed her bowl toward Titus. "Finish mine too, dear. I can't eat anymore."

"I'm sorry," said Pedro. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No. I'm glad you did," Titus said. "I had no idea."

"Does Barb know all this?" Pedro asked.

"She knows she was abandoned," Patricia said. "And that James and Lila were her real great grandparents. That's how she wound up with the Hawthorne House. Barbara was their sole heir. I spared her the sordid details. By the time she was old enough for us to explain, she was completely our child. We're her parents, Pedro."

"I get that. I just–it explains a lot." So much so that Pedro felt a bit overwhelmed. Suddenly, the two most important people in Spoon to him had a backstory, reasons why they were the adults he knew. "What about her father?"

"No idea who he is," Truman said. "We suspect Agnes didn't either. Hell, we don't even know if she's alive. Haven't seen or heard from her since 1974. She's dead as far as we're concerned."

Pedro noticed a slight shift in Patricia's demeanor. He reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "What you did was selfless and exemplary. But, if you don't mind my saying, I think there's something unresolved. Barb needs help. I thought it was about money, but hearing this, it might go deeper."

"She inherited a good bit from Lila," Truman said. "Enough to support her and start that bed-and-breakfast. She also has a trust from us for schooling, which she hasn't even touched. I can convert it if she needs the funds. No problem. Truth is, I think she still has her heart set on getting a degree."

"That wouldn't surprise me at all," Pedro said.

"She was so eager to leave the nest, though. Like she was a burden once she knew we weren't her actual parents. I told her if she ever needed anything, we were always there for her. But, like I said, she takes pride in her self-sufficiency. Always has."

"I'll see what I can do," Titus said. "I feel like I'm partially to blame. I got so wrapped up in Violet, I lost touch with everyone else. It's time I made up for it."

"Devotion," Patricia said. "Compassion. Empathy. It's traits like those that also made you a special little boy."

"Traits of good humans ," Pedro said. "Not just good homosexuals."

"I suppose you're right, but Titus wears his emotions on his sleeve. Something I'm sure you already know. When he was joyous, it was often spontaneous, unfiltered, and brimming with enthusiasm."

Unfiltered and spontaneous –two more words Pedro could easily use to describe that first day he met Titus.

"But when he got older–" Truman said, "–things began changing."

"Puberty?" Pedro ventured.

"I think it was earlier than that. Elementary school. When he started socializing with other children, he withdrew, started focusing his energy in other areas–sports, in particular."

"Isn't that what a lot of boys do?"

"Yes," Titus answered. "But I was doing it for different reasons. I wanted to prove myself worthy. Daddy's right about imprints, and kids are mean. The first time I heard the word faggot was in second grade. It didn't take long for me to realize what it meant and that I totally identified with the concept. Not sexually speaking, but I definitely knew something different was going on inside me. It began a decade and a half of self-imposed denial and masquerade."

"If you ever felt that way because of us, son, I am truly sorry."

"I can't recall you ever giving me reason to think so, Daddy, but I guess I was impressionable. Like a turtle, my shell just kept getting thicker from then on. Being in a small town, I really had no role models, just stereotypes on stupid shows like Three's Company –which I was drawn to, by the way, because I had nothing else to go on."

"Good, Lord," Patricia said.

"I thought I was a freak–an aberration . That's what the Bible-thumpers call it. But, you know what? Aberration is no less harsh a word than the one I heard in second grade. Worse probably. So, I buried any and everything connecting me to it. Plunged myself into sports and found the path I thought the world expected of me."

Pedro's eyes welled. So much was making sense now.

"I guess in some ways I was a success."

"You certainly were on the football field," Truman said, attempting some levity. "You were a force to be reckoned with. Those emotions your mother mentioned–they weren't all joy and love. When you were mad or disappointed, it was also tenfold. And what is more suitable for exorcising demons and pent-up frustration than a gridiron? You were a star, son. Five years later and people are still talking."

Titus pushed his mother's empty bowl away and began on his father's pudding. "Alden deserves credit. I may have made touchdowns, but he was calling all the shots."

"I don't believe that for a minute. You two were a partnership. Still are." Truman glanced at Pedro. "And I think I see the beginnings of another right now."

"You can thank Violet for that."

"Poor thing." Patricia said. "Your father told me about the letter."

"It's funny." Titus said. "We were always so much alike in wanting to maintain the status quo. I wonder if she knew how much her letter would alter things."

"Of course she did," Truman said. "She was dying. Death, as you both know, has a way of redirecting focus. Violet knew exactly what she was doing. By absolving you, son, she paved a path not only for your happiness but Tucker's, too."

"Why do we have to wait, Daddy?" Titus asked. "Why can't people just be who they were meant to be before tragedy comes along and changes things?"

"Human nature? Who knows? Some people can, I suspect. Just be glad that you're still young and have the opportunity."

"It's not fair."

"No, it's not. It never is," Truman said, glancing at Patricia.

"We just want you to know that you have our blessing," she said. "We love you, and we want nothing more than your happiness. I can see right now the effect Pedro has had on you. Feels like I'm getting my little boy back and it pleases me to no end."

"But that's not the only reason for this dinner," Truman said. "There's something else we have to tell you."

"ALS–Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis is the technical term. We know it better as Lou Gehrig's disease."

Pedro observed Titus hearing Truman's words. His heart sank. Had they not been sitting across the large table from each other, he would have taken his hand.

"I don't understand," Titus said. "How long have you known?"

"Helton addressed some concerns a few months back. He referred me to a neurologist, Dr. Sid Perry, in Macon who I've been seeing ever since. Perry confirmed the diagnosis last week."

"So what's next, then?" Titus asked. It broke Pedro's heart hearing the childlike optimism in his tone. Pedro knew the answer. He was all too familiar, having played part in a similar scenario less than a decade prior. Truman was telling his son that he was dying of a terminal illness.

"We caught it kind of late. I was attributing things–pain, weakness–to my arthritis, which is one reason we didn't catch it sooner. I'm on Riluzole now, which is the best medicine there is for ALS. So, that's good."

"So you'll get better," Titus said.

Pedro felt like he was in a well. Titus's words echoed hollowly as his own memories surfaced with dizzying déjà vu.

"No, son. You don't get better with ALS. You get worse. Most folks have two to five years, but, as I said, we caught it late. We're really not sure how long I have. Not yet, anyway."

"Oh," was all Titus could say.

Patricia stood, gathering their dessert plates.

"Here, I can help," Pedro offered.

"No," she said. "Please stay. I just need to get some air."

With that, she left the room.

"I was going to tell you Tuesday when I came by," Truman continued. "But, by then, the news of you and Pedro had reached us and, clearly, you had a lot on your mind already."

"I'm sorry, Daddy. Had I known–"

"Nonsense. My priority is you and your mother. Now that I've met Pedro, I feel I can safely say you're on the mend from your five-year sabbatical . This is important to me because I need to know that you're gonna be there for your mother when I'm gone."

"Of course," Pedro said impulsively. Both men looked at him. "Sorry. I spoke out of turn."

Truman smiled. "No. No, you didn't. I'm counting on you too, son, to take care of him." He pointed at Titus. "Like Pat said, you're good for him. It shows."

Pedro stood, moving closer to Titus, who was still processing everything. He sat in Patricia's chair and placed his hand on Titus's.

"I have Tuttle already working on things. He should have the farmhouse paperwork for you soon. Your mother will get most everything until she, in turn, leaves it to you and Barb. Was there something in particular you wanted? Something maybe I should know about now?"

Titus shook his head. "No. Sorry. I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around all of this."

"That's my fault. You know me, always business-minded. We'll have time to discuss these things later. Money is no worry, but I do hope you continue to work with Alden. Y'all make a great team."

Titus nodded absently, but Pedro could see there was more on Truman's mind.

"What can we do now?" he asked Truman. "For you?"

Titus's gaze lifted to his father's as well. "Yes, Daddy. What can we do?"

Truman sighed with a smile. "You've given me everything already. You gave me a grandchild, the most precious gift ever. The state championships were a bonus, and I would have been proud of you even if you hadn't excelled at football. You're my boy. What more could a father ask for?"

But there was something else, Pedro sensed. Titus had jested that his father was a politician pretty much twenty-four-seven. And here, right now, even in the middle of discussing his mortality, Pedro felt certain there was lobbying taking place.

"Well, there is one other thing," Truman said.