eyes.
“Yes, he's still there.”
“I haven't seen him in a long time.” She looked at Lionel wistfully and he wanted to laugh she looked so sweet, but he didn't say anything.
“I'll tell him you said hello.” She nodded and the others came in. Ward lit a fire, and they were all pleased with their gifts, and Ward and Faye looked over each other's heads and smiled. It had been a good year all around.
Lionel was the first to leave, as was John at the Wells' home. The other boys were all gone for the holidays. They had the whole house to themselves, so they didn't have to hide and lock their bedroom doors. It was wonderful being able to relax and be themselves. It was a strain being careful all the time, especially for John, who seemed to be growing more obviously effeminate day by day. Now he could fill the house with flowers, and spend long hours in bed with Lionel every afternoon, who was taking a break from his film over the holidays. The two boys took long walks, and talked a lot, and came home to cook and drink hot toddies or white wine by the fire.
It was almost like being grown up, John teased, so much so that they didn't even bother to lock the front door, and never heard Lionel's father walk in the day after Christmas Day. He had stopped in to see if he could talk Lionel into flying South with him after all, and watching Greg play, before all three of them went to the Super Bowl. But the thought went right out of his head, as he walked quietly in after no one had answered his knock, and he found the two boys lying near the fire, fully dressed, but with John's head nestled in Lionel's lap, Li's head bent low, saying something endearing to him. Ward stopped and uttered an almost animal groan, as the two boys jumped and looked up, and Lionel's face went white. They both scrambled to their feet, and without thinking, Ward advanced toward John angrily, and took a vicious swing at him, making his nose bleed at once, and then he swung at Lionel, but Li grabbed his arm and stopped the blow before it reached his face. There were tears in his eyes, and his father was crying with rage, screaming obscenities at both of them.
“You little sonofabitch … you whore … !” The words were meant for John, but he was shouting them at his son, too, his eyes blinded by fury and tears. He couldn't believe what he had just seen. He wanted them to take it back, to tell him it wasn't true, but it was, and there was no hiding from it now. Lionel felt physically sick as he held his father away from him, and John had begun to cry. It was a nightmarish scene and Lionel was attempting to keep calm. He felt as if his whole life was in question now, and he had to explain it to him. Maybe he would understand … he had to try desperately to explain how different he had always been from Greg … from all of them … how he had felt … he didn't even feel the tears pouring down his cheeks, or the blow when his father finally freed his hands and slapped his face.
“Dad, please … I want to talk to you … I… “
“I don't want to hear any of it!” He was trembling from head to foot and Lionel was suddenly terrified he would have a heart attack. “I never want to see you again! You two fag bitches!” He looked at them both. “You scum!” And then at Lionel. “You're not my son anymore, you little queen. I never want to see you in my house again. I won't pay another dime for your support. You are out of my life from now on, is that clear? And stay away from my family!” He was sobbing and shouting and he advanced menacingly on John again. All his dreams had been shattered at once. His oldest son was queer. It was more than he could bear, more than losing his fortune years before or the threat of his losing his wife shortly after that … in his eyes, this was even worse than a death. It was a loss he would never understand, and in some ways a loss he was inflicting on himself, but he