The Nothingness of Ben (3 page)

“Making lemonade?”

“Making do with ugly chicks. You know, when life deals you lemons….”

“Ouch. That’s harsh.” Travis turned again to look out the window. “Don’t take that the wrong way. I like harsh. I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I lack compassion. It’s what makes me a great lawyer
and
a shitty brother. I didn’t know that leaving Texas would make me the villain.”

“It ain’t that you left.”

“What do you mean?”

“Quentin’s not angry that you left. He’s angry that you checked out. Give him some space to breathe, know what I mean? Right now he’s just agger-vated. He needs a crosshair for his anger, and sure enough, that’s you. Talk to him, get to know him again. He’s smart. Like you, I hear.”

“And you? Certainly you’re not planning on being a mechanic for the rest of your life?” Travis’s cheeks flushed enough that Ben could see his scarlet face in the dark cab of the truck.
Shit
, Ben thought to himself,
that’s exactly what he was planning
.

“I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to imply….”

“I don’t have what you’d call ambitions to higher education, and I don’t think they’d take me even if I did. I know you’re probably one of those folks who thinks it’s natural that everyone goes to college, but where I come from, it ain’t even natural to finish high school. Being a mechanic, working with engines, it’s what I’m good at. I can fix anything. And just ’cause I don’t have a degree don’t mean I’m stupid.”

“Objection! The witness is putting words in my mouth.”

That made Travis smile.

“You think you’re so damn charming, don’t you?”

“I think… you don’t want to know what I think. Except that I really am sorry.”

They had arrived back at the cemetery, and Travis pointed out his truck in the corner of the far parking lot. Ben pulled up next to it.

“So,” he said. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Travis repeated.

He opened up the passenger door and stepped out. He paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something, and then finally turned back.

“I’m real sorry about your parents, Ben.”

“Thanks, man. And not just for the words. Thank you for looking out for my brothers today. It took a big load off my mind.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime you need help, or if you just want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Old Mrs. Wright’s place.”

“Indeed. Just knock on the side door.”

Travis thrust his hand out across the seat. Ben shook it. Firm and sturdy. They said good night and Travis climbed into his truck, an old beat-up Ford Ranger. Ben backed out of the parking lot and drove away, glancing in his rearview mirror to see a pair of headlights following him. Those headlights stuck there all the way back home, until they finally broke off and headed up the driveway of the house across the street. As he was walking up the front porch steps, Ben looked behind him and saw Travis get out of his truck and walk over to the side of Mrs. Wright’s house. He leaned down and grabbed some cords. He plugged them into an outlet and Christmas lights lit up all over the front yard, along the porch, and in the trees. There must have been hundreds—maybe a thousand—of the tiny white lights strung everywhere. As Travis headed back toward the side door, he looked across the street and saw Ben staring at the display, transfixed. As a boy, Ben had always wanted to cover the Walsh house with lights at Christmas, but the end of the semester was a busy time for his father and they never got around to it.

“Ben.” Travis raised his voice enough so that he could be heard from across the street.

“Yeah?” Ben pulled his gaze away from the lights and looked at Travis standing on the side steps.

“Ain’t nothing broken here that can’t be fixed.”

And then he was gone, closing the door behind him and disappearing into the back of Mrs. Wright’s house.

Chapter 3

B
EN
woke up Sunday morning at six. He stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He found stacks of plastic containers with everything from egg salad to fried chicken. He went to the cupboard and checked the cereal shelf. Two kinds of Cheerios (original and Apple Cinnamon), Froot Loops, Frosted Flakes, Corn Pops, some Raisin Bran, Special K, Rice Krispies, and Honey Smacks. And that was only the front row. He rummaged around behind and pulled out a box of Frosted Mini-Wheats, poured some into a bowl, and covered them with milk. He grabbed a spoon and headed for the living room, where he pulled out his iPad and started reading the
Times
and the
Journal.
He hadn’t seen any news in three days.

After a few minutes, he looked up from the screen and around the room. He had to admit he loved this place—a large, two-story, five-bedroom house located north of campus on the law-school side, a few blocks from the football stadium. Built in the late 1930s, it had a one-bedroom apartment over the garage, a Depression-era feature designed to provide supplemental income. A young grad student named Betsy currently rented the apartment, but she had left for the winter break. When Ben lived there, his friends at UT called it The Ben Pad and loved sitting around on the floor talking until the wee hours of the morning. The house itself had two bedrooms upstairs, where Quentin and Jason no doubt still slept. The downstairs included Cade’s room, the guest room where Julie was staying, and his parents’ room, where Ben had slept. He found the arrangement more than a little creepy.

Ben stopped to listen. The house was only blocks from I-35, which provided the soothing white noise of freeway traffic at all hours of the day and night. Ben returned to his reading until, half an hour later, he heard a rustling from the guest room. He couldn’t see around the corner to the hallway, but he could hear the patter of Julie’s feet as she went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
We’re all disoriented
, he thought. She came into the living room about an hour later, fully dressed and obviously ready to go somewhere. Of course, it was Sunday. It hadn’t even occurred to him that they would all be going to church this morning.

“Good morning, Ben. Mass is at nine thirty. I can drive the boys if you had something else planned.”

Something else planned? Did she mean whatever things homosexuals do on Sunday mornings once they stop going to Mass? His mother’s family had never really accepted the whole gay thing and certainly had nothing good to say about his decision to leave the church. And they wondered why he wanted to get out of Texas. Ben decided he could use the time to himself. It was only an hour, but it would be a break from everything and he desperately needed that.

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Julie tried to sound reassuring, but he could see the disapproval flash across her face. She went into the kitchen and started making breakfast. “You should probably wake your brothers.”

Ben bit down on his lip. He decided to broach the custody subject with Julie while his brothers were still asleep. He turned off his iPad and followed her into the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, he watched her pull out a bowl and start cracking eggs into it.

“You said last night we needed to have a discussion. Do you know what the will says about custody?”

She poured some milk in with the eggs, sprinkled a pinch of salt and cinnamon, and then started beating them with a fork.

“No. Not exactly. But I have a pretty good idea.”

She pulled a skillet out of the cupboard, placed it on the stove top, and dropped a pat of butter into the middle. She flipped the knob to ignite the heat below the pan, then walked across the kitchen to the pantry, where she pulled a loaf of bread from the second shelf.

“What are the options?” he asked.

“Why don’t you sit down. French toast?”

That sounded good.

“Sure, I’ll take a couple slices.”

Ben sat down at the large wooden table in the corner of the kitchen. Julie talked while she continued making breakfast.

“There’s no one on your father’s side. His brother’s not fit to raise a goldfish, let alone three boys. And that, by the way, is not a criticism. Your mom and dad were in complete agreement there. Some people simply aren’t meant to be parents.”

Ben had a great fondness for Uncle Tommy, but he agreed with Julie. Uncle Tommy currently lived in a one-bedroom apartment in Oakland. Forty years old and never met a responsibility he couldn’t dodge. He hadn’t even made it to Austin for the funeral.

“All of your grandparents have been dead for years,” she continued, “so that leaves me and your two uncles.”

She was referring to his mother’s brothers, Sam and Nick, both of whom lived in Houston. Ben thought of them as thick, emotionally distant men who nonetheless provided well for their families.

“And you,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

And me
, Ben thought. So there it was. He was an option, a potential guardian for his three brothers. He’d avoided the obvious for two days, but now at least it was out in the open.

“Of course.”

“The only problem with us, and I think I speak for Sam and Nick as well, is that we simply don’t have space for three boys. Your parents knew that. The only way to keep them together is to keep them here. With you.”

“So that’s it. You each take one of them and I go back to New York, or I move here and everyone stays together?”

“That’s the long and short of it. Best as I can see.”

“And the will? What do you think it says?”

Julie stood in front of the stove, dropping batter-coated pieces of bread into the sizzling skillet. She turned around and looked at him.

“I’m pretty sure they left it up to you.” She seemed almost disappointed by this.

Ben thought about what Travis had said last night when he drove him back to his truck.
Whatever you do, don’t split them up.
If he took his advice, that meant he had no choice at all. As Julie flipped the toast to brown it on the other side, his throat tightened and he had to clear it in order to continue.

“And what do you think, Julie?”

She grabbed a plate and flipped the pieces of French toast onto it, then walked over to the table where Ben sat.

“Here you go,” she said, setting the plate in front of him. “I think the benefits of being raised in a traditional family setting would outweigh keeping them together.”

Ben’s spine stiffened.

“You’d rather split them up instead of keeping them here with their gay brother?”

“Their
single
gay brother,” she said, “who will one day meet another single gay… person. And then what? Really, Ben. Do I have to paint a picture? You’re not even settled down. Becoming a parent means saying good-bye to fun and independence and childish things. Are you ready for that? Don’t kid yourself that this has anything to do with being their brother. This is about guardianship. Parenting. I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

Ben got up and went to the drawer for a fork and then the fridge for the maple syrup. Without saying anything else, he covered the toast with liberal amounts of the sweet goop and sat down to eat.

B
EN
waited in the living room until Julie returned from church with the boys.

“Cade and Jason,” he said, standing up from the overstuffed chair. “Why don’t you two go get changed so we can get some lunch? Quentin, do you mind if we talk outside for a minute?”

Quentin flashed a big fake grin.

“Sure, big brother. Let’s go have a chat.”

“I was thinking barbeque,” Ben whispered to Julie as he followed Quentin to the front door. “For lunch, I mean. Unless you don’t think that’s traditional enough.”

“Stop it,” she said, looking at Ben hard.

Ben hurried Quentin out the door and onto the front porch. They were going to have this conversation no matter what, so no point putting it off. Ben had spent the hour thinking about what to say to him, but hadn’t come up with anything particularly inspiring.

“So, we have a problem.”

Quentin didn’t look at him, but instead stared out across the street. Ben followed the line of his sight, thinking he might see Travis standing next to his beat-up old truck. But he saw neither Travis nor the truck.

“I admit there’s a problem, but I don’t know what you mean when you use the word
we
.”

“We. You know, you and me. You’re obviously pissed at me for something.”

“For something? Jesus, how can one person be so clueless?” He sighed in frustration. “There is no
we
, you moron. At least not how I see it. What? You want me to act all warm and fuzzy? Is that what you’re after?”

“No. But do we really need all the hostility?”

“Oh, Benjy, we need it now more than ever. You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You think I don’t know what the options are? You’re about to split us up between mom’s sister and brothers, and you wonder why I’m hostile?”

“Were you listening to my conversation with Julie this morning?”

“I wasn’t listening to shit. But see, I’m right. You’re already talking about it. That’s sweet, bro. Really, it is.”