Winning the Lottery - 38. Chapter 38 - Back to Derrick, Gabe and family

Patsy barked three times, woof, woof, woof. Her signal that something was amiss with Dane. Patsy was so much more than a pet. She was a guardian and an emotional support animal. Her unconditional love did wonders to calm Dane and help him focus on task. But not, it seemed, at present.

“Dad, the toilet’s flooding!”

I threw down the medical journal I was reading and rushed up the stairs. Sure enough, the toilet in Dane’s bathroom was full to the brim and threatening to overflow.

“What happened?”

“I dunno.”

Further observation told me that the water was clear. No urine or fecal matter in evidence. Thank the gods for small mercies.

A closer look, however, revealed a wad of crumpled paper in the toilet’s outflow channel.

I looked pointedly at the wadded paper, then slowly lifted my gaze to meet Dane’s wide-eyed, innocent look. I crooked an eyebrow.

Dane wilted. “Am I gonna get into trouble?”

Unfortunately the term ‘get into trouble’ was negatively charged. It was Dane’s euphemism for physical punishment. A slap, or punch, or whipping with a stick or belt—whatever corporal punishment one of his birth parents or grandparents decided to mete out for the occasion.

The word ‘trouble’ was a semantic trap in our household. It need to be de-toxified, and Derrick and I were working on that. We wanted Dane to learn—to instinctively know—that Derrick and I didn’t, or wouldn’t ever, resort to that sort of punishment. Dan was beginning to trust us, but sometimes it was two steps forward, one step back.

I took a deep breath, buying a few seconds to dredge up the wisdom I’d need for this encounter.

“No, you’re not in trouble,” I said. Dane visibly relaxed. “However, it would be interesting to me to find out just how that wad of paper made its way into the toilet....”

“I hate arithmetic,” said Dane.

“Arithmetic?”

“Yeah, it’s stupid. I hate it.”

Realization hit me. “Would I be correct in assuming that crumpled paper in the bottom of the toilet is your arithmetic homework sheet?”

“Um...maybe....” said Dane sheepishly.

It was all I could do to not dissolve into gales of laughter, especially when I thought of Derrick’s likely response when I told him of this latest misadventure. He’s likely to say, “Well, we can be thankful, at least, that he didn’t set it on fire!”

Our wonderful, funny, exuberant child sometimes had difficulty staying on task, especially if that task was, to him, boring. Any given task could be fascinating one minute and boring the next. Often, it depended on Dane’s overall excitement or anxiety level. It wasn’t that he had any difficulty with learning arithmetic. He was inordinately intelligent and learned classroom subjects effortlessly. I refused to label him, or any other child, “ADD” taking umbrage at the words “deficit” and “disorder.” There was nothing “deficit” about Dane and his exuberant personality was quite the opposite of a “disorder.” Dane was Dane.

There was a good reason this time for Dane’s distraction. We were going to visit Cass and Khala in a few days, and Honey, their Golden Retriever, had a month-old litter of pups. Dane was beside himself with excitement. Perfectly understandable, because Derrick and I were equally excited. It had been far too long since we’d visited.

Back to the toilet.... “How are you going to get that paper out of there, Dane?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I’m assuming the paper didn’t jump in there on its own. How do you intend to get it out of there?”

“Um...ask Robert?”

I laughed. “Nice try, buddy, but you know that Robert’s role isn’t running around cleaning up your messes. No, you have to get it out of there on your own. Any ideas? Besides sticking your bare arm in there, which isn’t sanitary.”

Dane mulled over the problem. He always enjoys a challenge. “I could get a stick!”

“Yes, and perhaps a pair of my surgical gloves to keep your hands clean.”

We went into the garden together, lest he get sidetracked by something interesting out there, to find a suitable stick. After much debate, the perfect stick was selected. I fetched a pair of latex gloves from my den. Mission accomplished. Except, that is, for the uncompleted homework assignment.

I managed to get a copy of the sheet from Tyler’s mom who scanned it and emailed it to me. I had to white-out Tyler’s answers and re-photocopy it. Once that was done, I sat Dane at the table and told him to ‘make me proud.’ I kept a sharp eye on him while he breezed through the answers. The toilet drama having banished the boredom, he was more than willing to focus on his homework. Besides, at this point it was a matter of redemption. If there was one thing Dane feared as much as ‘getting into trouble’ it was disappointing either Derrick or me. He would turn himself into knots ‘making us proud.’

Where was Derrick while all this was happening? He was with Robert, Keno and a real estate agent inspecting a house that was for sale at the end of our lane. It was one of the remaining ‘non-renovated’ houses in this subdivision, hailing from the 60’s. The value was in the lot, not the near-derelict house, because the lot, although small, had about fifty feet of beach frontage. We were thinking of buying the property because, after we’d arrived back from out summer motor home adventure, Robert and Keno announced that they tentatively wanted to get married. Essentially, that they were asking our permission. As single men, they maintained their own residences. Robert’s, of course, was supplied by us and that worked for Robert’s employment. However, married people lived together. Robert’s suite was too small and not private enough for a married couple. Living in Keno’s North Shore bungalow would be impossible because it was just too far from Robert’s job.

Thus, when we saw that the property at the end of our lane come on the market we thought it would be the perfect solution for the newlyweds. That’s what we thought.

Derrick arrived home just after Dane finished his math homework and I’d looked it over (all answers correct). He sensed something was a bit off and, under interrogation, Dane admitted to his role in clogging the toilet.

“I’m guessing you found your homework boring?” said Derrick.

“Yeah...”

“What happened to the strategies that we talked about? The ones that relieve the boredom and help you focus.”

“Um...I forgot....”

“No harm done, buddy. All’s well that ends well, right? Next time, just try and remember to pet Patsy, or play some of your special sounds, or call one of your dads. No need to get frustrated. You know we’re always there for you, right? Now, give me a huge Dane hug. I haven’t had one of those for...gosh...it must be two hours!”

I always marveled at Derrick’s easy rapport with Dane. I say ‘easy’ because many times they were simply on the same wavelength. Derrick himself sometimes had trouble attending to boring tasks—hence is choice of a career that was exciting and stimulating—so he had a lot of empathy with Dane. I, on the other hand, found it easy to focus—hence my career in medicine which had required untold hours of study. Cass was more like me—focussed--so Cass and I shared an easy rapport similar to Derrick and Dane’s.

We got Dane settled into bed and asleep, which was no easy task given his level of excitement. Petting Patsy while Derrick read to him did the trick and he dropped off after two chapters of a Hardy Boys mystery.

Derrick and I were a bit wound up ourselves, and sometimes it’s beneficial to channel that extra energy into mind-blowing sex. Yes, after over a decade together the sex was still mind-blowing. Every time it was fresh; what we did changed from session to session. Sometimes he fucked me, sometimes I fucked him. Sometimes it was a quick blowjob. We just seemed to be in tune with what each other needed at the moment. It never got old.

Lying together in the sweaty panting afterglow I brought up the subject of the property. What was the boys’ reaction?

Derrick sighed. “Not good. “We’ll definitely buy it, of course. It’s a sensible investment for many reasons. But the guys’ reaction was a little...um...disconcerting. Robert didn’t say much for fear of provoking Keno. Unfortunately you could feel the hostility rolling off Keno in waves.”

“Uh oh,” I said. “Would you say it’s a pride thing?”

“Maybe...but it’s more complicated than just simple pride. I think Keno needs time to get used to the idea.”

“I’ll talk to Robert in the morning. I know your mom’s speech by heart now. It’ll probably sway Robert, but Keno’s a very proud, and stubborn, man....”

Sure enough, the next morning Robert wore a hangdog expression, and the bags under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep.

Under normal circumstances Robert’s love life should have been none of my business, but because I’d pushed him to go on a blind date with Keno in the first place, and because we were further interfering by offering them a home it was very much my business. Or more to the point, I was culpable in Robert’s current troubles.

“Do you feel like talking about it?” I asked knowing that Robert would understand what the ‘it’ meant.

“I should explain....” he began.

“Only if you want to....”

“I’m being intransigent...Keno has every right to be angry with me. But my job is important. It took every cent I had to go to butler school,” he said. “It was a roll of the dice, and I wasn’t naïve about a career in service. I knew that a good butler, or major-domo, made an unwavering commitment to his, or her, employer. I suppose you could liken it to a monk ‘taking vows.’”

When I started to object, Robert held up his hand to stop me. “No,” he continued, “that concept was one my school colleagues and teachers discussed at length. A good butler commits himself to his employer 100%. If he can’t, then he’s not a good butler, is he?”

“Robert, you’re not indentured!”

“I know that. I do have the option of quitting any time I want....”

That statement made my blood run cold. What would we do without Robert? The idea was unthinkable.

“....which I have no intention of doing. I have what must be one of the world’s premier situations in my chosen profession. Why ever would I give that up? Keno doesn’t get that; he said it would be demeaning to accept a home from Derrick and you. He gave me an ultimatum: My job or him. He can’t see why I won’t move to his home in Waianae. He helpfully suggested I could have my pick of jobs in the hotel industry! I told him he could stuff his suggestion. He gave me an ultimatum; I chose my job.”

“Robert, I’m so sorry.”

He waved that away. “Don’t be,” he said. “Keno made his choice too. He’s as intransigent as me.”

Unfortunately I had to cut our discussion short. I needed to get to work. Jordan had taken the week off, and the office was short staffed that week. I’d certainly discuss the situation with Derrick later, but my feeling was that it would be foolish to intervene in Robert’s predicament. He had a good head on his shoulders. Keno and he would have to work it out on their own.

After work, on my way home, my phone rang. It was my mother calling. She was up late. With the time difference it was well after midnight in the UK. Whatever she wanted to talk about must be important, I thought. I answered it on the hands-free feature of my car.

“Gabriel! I’m so glad I caught you! I wanted to update you on the progress on our project. It’s going well! We’re almost ready for our first group, but we’ve made some changes to our original concept.”

“Great! But what changes?”

“Remember we’d talked about horse riding, climbing, flying—those things we thought would help build independence and confidence?”

“Of course I remember,” I said. “It was—is—a great idea.”

“Well, not for everybody, apparently. We held three focus groups: One in London, one in Manchester and one in Edinburgh. My goodness, I hadn’t realized there was such diversity in the gay community!”

“Yes, there is definitely that,” I agreed.

Well, in our...uh...ignorance we focussed on the more...um...masculine pursuits. The young people in the focus group soon set us...uh...straight on that score!”

“What did they say?”

“Oh my goodness! They were very forthright. Some like art. Some like...uh...performing—singing, dancing, acting. Some boys want to express their more feminine side. Some girls want to express their more masculine side. As I said, it’s very diverse.”

“But how are you going to address all those diverse needs? Wouldn’t that dilute your program?”

“Maybe...a little. But that’s why we hired Phoenix!”

“Phoenix?”

“Yes! An amazing person! Very talented! He even competed on RuPaul’s Drag Race! And, he comes with impeccable credentials. He has a graduate degree in social work! We’ve hired him as our program manager!”

“Mom, that’s great. Phoenix sounds like the perfect program manager. I’m really happy that your project is progressing so well. How is Lord Hunterscroft taking all this?”

“Oh, Alastair is pleased as punch. He’s quite involved in the project. It was actually his suggestion that we hire a lesbian to be our stable manager and riding instructor.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got your bases covered,” I laughed.

We exchanged a few pleasantries and ended the call. I was delighted with my mom’s good news and enthusiasm which helped lift my somber mood.

No sooner had that call ended when my cousin—the one in medical school in the Caribbean—phoned. I knew from frequent reports that he was holding his own in the coursework. He’d made respectable marks in all his term exams. I had no regrets about sponsoring him. He’d adopted me as a ‘mentor’ and liked to check in with me every week or so; my encouragement seemed to keep him motivated. It was a role I was only too glad to play.

His younger brother, who was enrolled in flying school, had adopted Derrick as his mentor. We laughed about being “wise old men,” or “Yodas.”

My aunt and her husband (the boys’ parents) were on a long, dream-come-true, meandering trip around North America in their recreation vehicle.

On the home front, all was not so well....

Robert manifested all the signs and symptoms of clinical depression. But he silently soldiered on; his work remained impeccable though his tension was palpable. After our initial discussion, Robert said he preferred not to talk about Keno, and we respected his wishes. But that didn’t stop us from aching for him—it’s not easy recovering from a broken heart. They say time heals all wounds, but I wonder if you ever get over your first love. I sent up a small prayer of thanks to the universe that my first love, with my wonderful husband, was enduring.

Derrick fled. He flew the jet to Maui for a quick visit his Gramps and Gram. They were noticeably elderly now, but could be described as “spry.” Although slowing down physically, they both still had sharp minds. Derrick tried to visit them regularly. They loved seeing him, and he them. And, of course, it gave Derrick a chance to play with his favorite toy: the Gulfstream jet.

Robert, as part of his duties, facilitated those trips by arranging the ground transportation and security on both ends of the journey. He made our daily lives run smoothly. We’d come to depend on him. What would we do without him?

On Friday afternoon I picked up Dane from school and drove straight to the airport. Derrick was already there running through the pre-flight procedure with Joe. Winston was the flight attendant for the trip. Winston was married to Jimmy, a firefighter, who was a friend of Keno. I knew the Oahu gossip mill was churning, and I was dying for an update on Keno’s side of the situation.

Once we had eaten and settled into our flight, I invited Winston to sit beside me. He was more than willing to dish on Keno. Keno was miserable and cranky but was sticking to his hard-line, prideful position. Jimmy, apparently, was giving Keno no end of grief for his stupidity.

“The trouble is,” explained Winston, “Keno’s head-over-heels in love with Robert—I mean, who wouldn’t be?”

I agreed.

“But being in love,” he continued, “Mean’s giving up a part of yourself, and not being in control.... And that scares the hell out of Keno.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. It’s like jumping off a cliff in the dark.”

“Right. So Jimmy is badgering Keno, purposely trying to make him angry, hoping to break through his defenses. But I told Jimmy that if Keno lets go he should run. I swear, I think Keno is a descendant of the volcano god, and when he blows it’s going to be more spectacular than K­­ilauea!”

“Well, for now it’s a standoff. Robert has as much pride as Keno. But I know that Robert loves Keno, and if, as you say, Keno loves Robert, then, hopefully, they’ll work something out....”

“Yeah, and when they do,” said Winston laughing, “The make-up sex is going to be spec-tac-u-lar!”

It was late evening, local time, when we landed in Davis, but because we were on Hawaii time, Dane was still wide awake.

Cass and Khala greeted us enthusiastically at the airport. Dane hung back shyly. Cass was having none of that. He practically tackled Dane, giving him a huge hug and telling him how happy he was to see his little brother and how much he’d missed him. “And Honey is looking forward to seeing you and showing off her babies!” After that Dane was chatting non-stop, encouraged by Cass’s questions and sincere compliments on everything from his newly emerging teeth and rapid growth to his expert care and training of Patsy.

Dane knew to be gentle and avoid sudden moves around Honey and her brood, but the expression on his face was pure ecstasy as Honey greeted him as an old friend and looked on approvingly as he gently handled each of the pups.

Khala, a very calming influence, got Dane ready for bed and read to him until he fell asleep. Then we sat and conversed over a glass of wine. We kept in touch with them regularly, of course, but there’s nothing like physically being with someone and sharing the latest news and family gossip. Cass and Khala were both excelling at school. Khala had been accepted into the PhD program at Berkeley and would be starting there the following September.

Cass told us of his plans to breed Labradors to use as assist dogs. They would be specially bred for their intelligence and temperament. All the pups would be donated to a society—fully funded by Cass--that would train them and assigned them to their new, carefully assessed, working environments. Cass explained that as much as he enjoyed breeding Honey he just wasn’t comfortable placing the pups in strangers’ homes. The guide dog venture appealed more to his sense of right and wrong. Derrick and I were bursting with pride at Cass’s thoughtfulness and generosity.

Later in bed, I said, “We did good, didn’t we? With Cass? He’s turned into a fine young man.”

Dane was sullen on the way home, heartbroken that he had to part from his brother, Khala and Honey and her brood. Perfectly understandable. It was just him and me in the passenger cabin. Derrick was flying and Winston had returned home on a commercial flight rather than spend the weekend in Sacramento. He fussed, but I told him that I knew how to open the fridge if we needed something I’d flown enough in the jet that I knew where the safety equipment was stowed and how to open the doors.

I left Dane to sulk and took the quiet time as opportunity to catch up on some reading. After about three hours, Dane came and stood silently beside me. I opened my arms and he climbed into my lap. Neither of us said anything as I held him tight, but then no words were really necessary. Dane and Derrick may understand each other, but I’m the go-to guy for comfort.

I’d texted Robert to make sure that Patsy was at the airport to greet Dane when we arrived. Dog and boy were ecstatic at the reunion and Patsy listened attentively all the way home to how wonderful Honey and her pups were, and how wonderful his big brother and sister-in-law were. Luckily, Patsy doesn’t have a jealous bone in her body.

Dane might have been over his sulks, but Robert certainly wasn’t. Oh, he tried to put on a good face, but truth be told, he looked awful. His eyes were sunken and even in two days I could see he’d lost weight.

I held my tongue, but I felt like knocking Robert and Keno’s heads together.