“My sentiments, too,” he says. He reaches into his breast pocket. Draws out a pack of Benson & Hedges. I take one and put it between my lips. He reaches over to light it for me, cupping one hand against the wind. His thumb touches my face briefly before the fire catches. We sit and smoke in silence. His arm presses into me.
“Thank God for moving,” he says. “Louisville’s a long way from a place like Faulkner. Can you imagine how much worse this would have been had I stayed there? I actually have some anonymity here. Strangers knowing intimate details about my life—doesn’t much appeal to me. There were a couple of times after the court case when someone would see my last name and their eyebrows would go up. I went on a date once with a girl who was majoring in criminal justice, and she asked me, almost joking, was I related to Honus Caudill? And I told her he was my dad. Ruined the night. She couldn’t get her head around it. I can’t really blame her. It crosses your mind, when you go on a date with someone. What’s going on with their bloodline? Could we have a kid together? Could the kid end up a sociopath? Or a sex offender?”
He flicks the ash from his cigarette and examines the cherry for a moment. “I think my dad knew it was me,” he says quietly. “I think he knew I made that call.”
We sit for a moment, silent, until I poke my elbow gently into him. “Hey you,” I say. “You okay? Everything in one piece in there?”
He smiles tightly. “I have a good life. I’m in therapy, probably always will be. Which I think is a good thing. It’s like I said earlier. You make your head a hospitable place to be, you might never want to leave it. But if you’re trapped in there, you’re doomed. I decided a long time ago that surviving probably meant achieving something in the middle. Something I could live with, that made me content. So, you know.” His body relaxes. He is done. Turns to me with a slight smile. “Ongoing.”
I reach out and take his hand. This is the sexiest guilt I have ever experienced. I’m a shit. He’s going down the rabbit hole and I am looking for an excuse to touch him.
His hand closes over mine.
He says, “That’s what makes what you and Mel do so staggering, you know? Mel has balls of steel, chancing the sort of personal disclosure she did. I suspect there’s a handling charge involved with that line of work, and it’s probably too steep for me. There was a time when I thought I’d write, or make movies. But it hasn’t happened yet. I’m not sure it ever will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I guess I don’t. But I suspect no. I’m veering toward no. I might be a coward.”
“You most certainly are not.”
He looks sidelong at me. My stomach purrs. “Has it been tough for Mel? Making that, then having to talk about it in interviews and stuff?”
I flash on Glynnis Havermeyer’s face, pale and shocked, as Mel ripped the microphone off the dash.
“She won’t admit it,” I say, “but yes. It’s been pretty awful at times.”
He sighs and shifts comfortably. “Well, I’m not surprised. Making a movie of your own life, there’s some historic mangling involved, I’m sure. Do it enough, it might create a new truth. One that might be more damaging. Maybe you know something I don’t. But.”
Is this a judgment call? I can’t tell. He’s smoking his cigarette the way some country boys do, not between fore-and middle finger, but pinched between forefinger and thumb. It’s quiet in the park. We hear traffic shift. The sky is a clean blue-black, no stars. We’re still holding hands.
“So this new movie is about you,” he says. “About the stroke, right? Is your family in it at all?”
“They might end up in it,” I say. And here it is, one more chance for disclosure. “But probably not. It’s in the first stages. Who knows how it’ll mutate on down the line.” I trail off lamely, gritting my teeth.
“Well, even trying something like this makes you a boss. So right on.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I shift to pull it out, hand going into the space between us. “What it do, baby,” Mel croons.
She’s drunk, but with Teddy beside me, my reaction is softer, dulled. “Hey.”
“Where’d you all go?”
“On a walk.”
“They went on a walk,” she repeats. I hear giggling. Someone makes a spectacularly loud fart noise. “Well, these two gentlemen,” she says, words slipping and slurring, “have suggested we return to base. Watch some TV. Smoke some shit.”
I turn to Teddy. “You ready to head out?”
“I live in walking distance,” he says. “We could meet them there.”
“We’ll meet you at Teddy’s,” I tell her.
“Right on. Keep them legs closed.” She hangs up.
We leave the park. Teddy offers me his arm. I take it.
“So Mel’s gay,” he says.
I laugh a little. Then a lot. “Yeah.”
“No getting around that, I guess.”
“Nope.”
“But you date men.”
“I do.”
“Ever tried dating women?”
“Couple tries,” I say. “Halfhearted, maybe. Wasn’t for me.”
“Did you and Mel ever date?”
“Me and Mel? No. No no.”
“You seem like you even her out. Just the way you two are in a room together. Like you calm her down a little.”
“As much as is possible.”
“You two seem attached to each other,” he says.