Chapter 15

 

 

 

 

Raymond was sitting in the living room reading a law journal, the TV tuned to a news channel in the background, when Donovan entered the apartment. He looked up and scowled. “What’re you doing here at this hour of the day? Are you sick?” His scowl deepened. “What’s in the box?”

Donovan set down the bankers box, along with his briefcase, which he’d emptied of all Walker & Holmes files before leaving the office. “I’m not sick, Dad,” he said, smiling at his father though butterflies were swarming in his stomach. “Let me just change my clothes and I’ll be right out. We need to talk.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, boy,” his father replied, but Donovan kept on walking toward his bedroom.

He had called Carlos on his drive from the office to the apartment. The guy was still eager to publish a book about their experience as castaways. “I have an excellent editor in mind,” he had said. “She is especially good with first-time writers. We’ll need to strike while the iron is hot, so you’ll want to get to work right away.” They had discussed terms, which, to Donovan’s surprised delight, included a sizable advance. He was excited to get the project started. Even if it didn’t end up being a bestseller, he was looking forward to trying his hand at writing something other than legal briefs.

Donovan hung up his suit and pulled on his favorite gray cashmere sweater over his most comfortable jeans. His old Nikes completed the outfit. He packed a duffel bag with several days’ worth of clothing along with his toiletries, and set the bag on his bed.

When he reentered the living room, Raymond put down his journal and folded his arms over his chest. “So,” he said evenly, though Donovan sensed the barely controlled temper beneath his apparent calm, “what’s going on with you, Donovan?”

Donovan had gone over any number of scenarios in his head on how to best talk to his father, and decided that a calm but respectful approach would be best for them both. He was done reacting to his father as if he were still ten years old.

He sat down on the sofa across from Raymond and leaned forward. “I’ve got some things I’d like to discuss with you. If you can, Dad, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me talk without interruption so I can get my thoughts out. Would that be okay?”

Raymond grunted, and Donovan took that as agreement.

“I had the discussion with my boss this morning,” he began, willing himself to speak calmly. “It didn’t go especially well, but the outcome is one I’m content to live with.” His father started to speak, but Donovan held up his hand. “Please, Dad. Just let me talk.” To his relief, Raymond closed his mouth and sat back. “Mr. Klett wasn’t especially receptive to the idea of a leave of absence, so we agreed it would be best if I severed my ties with the firm.” A slight fudging of the events, but one he thought would be easier for his father to swallow.

“You what?” Raymond exploded, no longer able to keep silent.

“I’m leaving my job, Dad. I have savings, and I’ve been offered a publishing contract to write a book about my experience. I can’t tell you how happy and relieved I am to have come to this decision.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re—”

“Dad, stop,” Donovan said firmly. “I know you love me and believe you have my best interests at heart, but I need you to take a step back. This is my life we’re talking about, not yours.” He forced himself to speak more gently. “I love you, Dad. I know it’s been really hard for you, losing Mom. And I know you take great pride in the family tradition of practicing law. But I also know you would want me to stand up for what I believe in. That’s what I’m doing right now. Maybe for the first time in my life, I’m actually taking a stand and making decisions for myself. I’m not sorry I got a law degree, but my heart’s never really been in it. It wasn’t even something I consciously decided to do.

“You’ve told me many times over the years that I need to be a man. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what that actually means. And for me, it means taking responsibility for my own life and my own decisions. It means making considered choices that I hope will ultimately lead to a happy and fulfilled life. I need you to understand that your definition of that life and mine aren’t necessarily the same. I need you to recognize that I’m ready to make my way in the world. My way, Dad. Not yours.”

“That’s quite a speech,” Raymond said gruffly. “I had no idea you didn’t want to be a lawyer.”

“You never really asked me. And, to be fair, I never said otherwise. It didn’t even occur to me that there were other options to consider, but then everything changed. I nearly lost my life, Dad. I was washed overboard when the ship capsized. Sam Jamison rescued me, and we learned together how to survive. Those were life changing events that both empowered me and woke me up to the fact that we better seize the life we have and live it to the fullest extent we can.

“I’ve never really done that. I’ve been passive in my own life. I’ve been living out someone else’s idea of what’s right for me, instead of doing the hard work of figuring out what I really want, and then going for it.”

Raymond’s expression had softened from staunch disapproval to something less critical. There was an expression in his eyes Donovan couldn’t quite define. Was it sadness?

“I’m not blaming you,” Donovan added gently. “Please don’t think I am. I get it that you’ve only done what you believed was best for me. But it’s time I started making those decisions for myself. I want to follow a new path and see where it leads me. I don’t like disappointing you, but I have to be true to myself first and foremost.”

His father said nothing for several moments. Then, his tone grudging, he said, “I guess I have to respect that, son. I think you’re making a mistake, but then, a man has to make his own mistakes.”

“Thank you,” Donovan said, a little shocked this part of the conversation had gone so well. “I appreciate that.”

His father grunted again, adding, “Now you have no excuse not to find a nice girl and settle down. It’s always mystified me that a handsome, eligible guy like you can’t seem to sustain a relationship. It’s high time you were married. You’re not getting any younger.”

“About that, Dad,” Donovan said, girding himself for what came next. He’d considered not telling his father about Sam. After all, his private life was none of Raymond’s business. Though he planned to move out of his dad’s place whether or not he moved in with Sam, and thus could have probably kept their relationship a secret from his father, he found he didn’t want to. To leave out such an essential part of his life would just be another lie by omission, and he was done with all that. He refused to skulk around and pretend.

Now Raymond had just given him a great way to segue into what he had to say. “I’ve wondered the same thing about myself—about why I’ve never connected emotionally with a woman,” he said now. “That’s the other thing I need to talk to you about.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Something happened when Sam and I were on that island alone together. We connected in a way I wasn’t expecting. Sam’s an amazing guy. He’s kind, insightful and caring. He’s honest without being cruel. He’s resourceful and brave and definitely the best friend I’ve ever had in my life. Sam makes me happy. I like who I am when I’m with him. I like how I feel when I’m around him. For the first time in my life, I can just be me, and it’s enough. We connected both emotionally and physically—”

“What!” Raymond interrupted, his face and neck flushing a dark, angry red. “That boy is queer, isn’t he! I knew it the minute I saw him. Whatever you think you’re feeling for that boy, it’s not real.” His father clenched his fists, his eyes wild. “You’re just temporarily deranged. It’s like Stockholm syndrome or something. He was all you had, so you clung to that. You’re back in the real world now, boy. Write your book. Do whatever you have to do to find yourself and all that happy horseshit, but know this: no son of mine is queer. McNairs are not queer. End of discussion.”

Donovan blew out a breath. He’d thrown too much at his father, too fast, but he refused to back down now. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Dad. But this is not just some reaction or rebellion on my part. My connection with Sam is real, and I’m not going to deny that—not to you or to myself. I just know what I feel, and I hope someday you’ll understand that.”

His father kept shaking his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened to you on that island was nothing new. Men have been, uh, intimate”—he spat the word like a glob of phlegm— “in traumatic situations just as a way to cope. It happens on ships and in prisons, but it doesn’t mean you have to keep on like that now that you’re back in civilization.” He struck his thigh with a closed fist. “Stop talking nonsense and do the right thing. Find a nice girl and start a family. That’s what your mother would have wanted.”

Donovan sighed. “Mom would have wanted me to be happy. She would have wanted me to be true to myself. And the truth is, I love Sam Jamison, and I want him in my life.”

“Get out,” Raymond said, looking away. “Just get out of my sight.”

Donovan sighed and got to his feet, aware there was no point in trying to continue the conversation. He went to his room to retrieve his bag. When he returned to the living room, Raymond was staring down at his law journal, his hands trembling.

A rush of compassion moved through Donovan and he stepped close to his father, placing his hand lightly on his shoulder. Raymond stiffened but didn’t pull away. He continued to pretend to read his magazine. “It’ll be okay, Dad. I promise,” Donovan said gently. “I love you, but I’m not going to live a lie. Mom wouldn’t have wanted that, and I know in your heart, you don’t either.”

His father didn’t move.

Donovan let his hand fall away. He went to the hall closet and selected a warm jacket. Shouldering his bag, he left the apartment, tears in his eyes, but a smile on his lips.

~*~

Donovan and Sam sat side by side on the futon. Donovan had shared the gist of his conversation with his father over the speaker phone as he’d driven to Brooklyn, and they’d discussed it at more length once he’d arrived. Now Sam reached for Donovan’s hand. “I’m going up to Maine in the morning to see my family. Will you come with me? There’s a train that goes from Grand Central right into Portland, and then we can get an Uber to my town, which is only like twenty minutes from there.”

Donovan grinned. “I was thinking we’d spend our weekend a different way.” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, making Sam laugh. “But yeah, I get it they’re probably dying to see you.”

“They are. And I really want to see them. I’d love for you to come with me.”

“They’d be okay with that? With you bringing someone along?”

“Sure. The house isn’t big, but they’re the-more-the-merrier types. As long as you don’t mind cramped quarters, we’ll be fine.”

“Hey, my apartment when I was in law school was a six hundred square foot studio, and it came with a roommate,” Donovan replied with a laugh. “And I’d love to go up with you. We can take my car. That would be easier, right?”

“That would definitely be easier,” Sam agreed.

 

They left Brooklyn just as the sun was coming up the next morning, stopping for coffee and bagels to eat on the way. Donovan had satellite radio in his car. “Oh, cool,” Sam exclaimed. “Can I check out the stations?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Donovan said, smiling at him.

Sam felt like a kid in a candy store, delighted by the incredible variety and selection the subscription offered. “Harry would go nuts for this,” he said, excited to be seeing his little brother in a few hours. “He’s crazy about music.”

As Donovan eventually maneuvered his way onto I-95, Sam called back the producers of both the talk shows, leaving messages with polite receptionists that they were interested in appearing on the shows. It would be weird but fun, they had agreed, to tell their story on national TV.

The drive was smooth, the Saturday morning traffic light as they made their way north. After a while, Donovan said, his eyes on the road, “So, that must be tough, having a brother with Down Syndrome.”

Sam thought about that. “He was born when I was eleven. My mom had a couple of miscarriages in between, and the doctors had told her she would probably never carry another baby to term. They knew while he was in utero that he had Down Syndrome, but my parents didn’t care. They wanted him desperately, no matter what. I was happy, too, because I’d always wanted a younger brother or sister. When he was born, he was diagnosed with an atrioventricular septal defect. Heart defects are fairly common for Down babies.”

“Atrioven-whatchular?” Donovan said, squinting at Sam.

Sam laughed. “Atrioventricular septal defect. Otherwise known as a hole in the heart. It’s caused by a failure of tissue to come together in the heart during embryonic life. He had to have surgery when he was just a baby, but he came through it pretty good. His health has never been great, though. He has lots of respiratory issues. But he’s incredibly good-natured. He makes friends with everyone he meets, and he’s always smiling.”

Sam fished his phone from his pocket and opened his photos, which he’d been able to recover from the Cloud when he got his replacement phone. “Here’s one of my favorite photos of Harry. It was on Christmas when he was thirteen. I got him a sled, and he must have spent three hours non-stop going down the hill behind our house that day. My dad and I finally had to go out there and haul him inside. He was shivering and his lips were blue, but he told me later it was the best Christmas of his life. I get him a new sled every year now because he wears those suckers out.”

He held out the image of his sweet, grinning younger brother swaddled in a snowsuit, mittens and a knit hat, holding his sled by his side, the pride and joy radiating from him like sunlight. Donovan glanced at it and smiled. “He looks really happy.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, putting the phone back in his pocket. “He’s so great at living in the moment. He’s taught me a lot about that. My parents worry about money, because it’s always tight. But he won’t let them argue. It’s just not an option. He’ll get right in between them, grinning like a monkey. He has this unique ability to cause the people around him to reevaluate their priorities. He reminds us that it’s our loved ones who are important, and we need to slow down and make the time to be with them and laugh with them.”

“I look forward to meeting him,” Donovan said. “I wish I’d had a brother.”

“Harry will happily volunteer,” Sam said with a laugh. 

It took nearly six hours to make the trip. Sam’s small town, just south of Portland, was near the water. He rolled down the window as they drove, and the salty smell of the fresh air took him instantly back to their private island. “Open your window,” he said, and Donovan complied.

“Sea air,” Donovan breathed. “So nice. Thanks for bringing me up here, Sam. I needed to get away.”

When they finally pulled up in front of the small two-story brick house where Sam had grown up, Harry, predictably, came tumbling out the front door. “Sam, Sam, Sammy, Sam, Sam! You’re alive, you’re alive! Yay! Look what I painted! Look what I painted!” He was holding a small canvas.

Sam and Donovan climbed out of the car. Harry stopped abruptly when he saw Donovan. He came closer, his face breaking into a beaming smile. “You’re Sam’s friend. Mom said Sam’s friend was coming too.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Harry. Harrison Albert Jamison.”

Sam waited, worried for a second how Donovan would handle the onslaught that was Harry. But Donovan didn’t miss a beat. He shook Harry’s hand, his smile warm. “It’s nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Donovan. Donovan Raymond McNair.”

“I painted this.” Harry held up the canvas as Sam came around the car. “See, Sam? Do you like it?”

Sam took the canvas and studied it. He had bought Harry an easel and paints for his last birthday, when he’d shown an interest in Sam’s work. Harry had painted a landscape with a hill and a tree covered in brightly colored autumn leaves. “This is really good,” Sam said enthusiastically, without the need to pretend. It really was quite good. “This is out back, isn’t it? The sledding hill?”

“Yeah,” Harry enthused. “I’ve painted it like fifteen times at different times of the year. Mom calls it my sledding hill series. I can’t wait till it snows.”

“That is good,” Donovan said. “I love the colors.” Turning to Sam, he said, “I guess artistic talent runs in the family, huh?”

Sam’s mom appeared at the front door. There was more silver in her dark brown hair than the last time he’d seen her, and her bright blue eyes filled with tears as she saw him. “Sam, oh, Sam,” she cried, hurtling toward him. Sam opened his arms and his mother fell into them.

“Hey, Mom, it’s okay. Hey, don’t cry,” Sam stroked her hair. “Everything’s good. I’m home. Safe and sound.”

She let go of him, laughing through her tears. “I know, I know. I’m just so glad to see you, Sammy.” Her eyes fell on Donovan and she wiped her tears with a laugh. “You must be Donovan. I’m Becca. It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Come inside. Pop should be home soon. I made meatloaf for dinner.”

“And we made apple pie!” Harry cried happily.

Donovan looked a little dazed, but he was smiling. Sam put his arm around Donovan’s shoulders. “Meatloaf and apple pie. Food for the gods.”

~*~

 “I always feel like I’m stepping back in time when I come home,” Sam said, dropping his overnight bag just inside the door of his bedroom. Donovan entered the room behind him. There was a full bed in the corner covered in a bright patchwork quilt. A poster of the band Whitestripes was tacked to the wall above the bed, along with a sports banner from the local high school. There was a small desk in the corner, a shelf above it with various trophies for track, baseball and choir. There was a bureau across from the bed, old snapshots still stuck around the edges of the mirror.

“I can see why,” Donovan said with a grin. “Are you sure your parents are cool with me staying in here with you?” Becca had been very gracious, but Donovan had yet to meet Mr. Jamison. “Even your dad?”

Sam shrugged. “Donovan, I’m thirty years old. Don’t let the bedroom fool you,” he added with a grin. He sat on the bed. “My parents are totally comfortable with who I am.”

“What a concept,” Donovan said ruefully.

Sam patted the bed and Donovan sat beside him. “Give your dad a chance,” he said gently, reading Donovan’s thoughts. “You dropped two pretty huge bombs on him, one after the other. Give him some time to adjust. He’ll come around.”

 

Al Jamison looked a lot like Sam, though his blond hair was fading to gray. He had the same large, golden brown eyes and high cheekbones. He had worry lines between his eyebrows and his mouth was bracketed by deep grooves on either side, but laugh lines radiated from the corners of his eyes.

After dinner, they all moved to the small sitting room, which was comfortably furnished with old but well cared for furniture, including a large leather recliner that was clearly Al’s domain. Over coffee and pie, they picked up threads of conversations from dinner, including details about their time on the island, Donovan’s plans to try his hand at writing and Sam’s successful solo show.

Both Al and Becca beamed with pride as Sam told them he’d sold every piece. “I’m not gonna lie,” Al said. “When you said you wanted to make it as an artist, I had my doubts. I know you’ve struggled a long time, but you stuck to your guns, and now you’re a famous New York artist.”

Sam laughed. “Hardly famous. But I have to say, after twelve years of impoverished obscurity, it’s nice to get a little notice.” He sat forward suddenly. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This is for you. A small thanks for all you’ve done for me over the years. Hopefully the first of many, now that I’m starting to get some recognition.”

He handed what Donovan saw was a check to his father. Al looked at it, his face flushing pink. He handed the check wordlessly to Becca, whose eyes filled with tears. “Sam,” she breathed. “We can’t take that. My word, that’s a crazy amount of money. But you need it to live. We know it’s insanely expensive to live in New York City. You put this in the bank.” She tried to hand the check back to Sam.

He shook his head. “No, it’s for you. It’s half of what I earned on the show. I know you can use it. Please. It makes me happy to be able to give back after all you’ve done for me over the years.”

Donovan’s heart swelled with love for this kind, generous man who somehow loved him in return. Seeing the warmth and ease of Sam’s family, and how comfortable they all were with each other both touched him and made him ache with longing.

His family had never shared that easy intimacy and camaraderie, not even when his mother had been alive. And now his father and he were estranged.

“Get out. Just get out of my sight.”

The words had cut Donovan to the quick, but behind the anger, he’d felt his father’s pain and confusion. Donovan would give him another chance. Sam hadn’t given up on him when he’d pulled away, and he wouldn’t give up on Raymond.