Page 63 of Sight Unseen

I dialed my parents’ home number—Uncle Tim had given it to me—with clumsy fingers.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. I waited for what seemed interminable minutes for someone to answer. Finally, in desperation, I re-dialed.

This time, the phone was answered after the fourth ring. “Hello, this is Duncan Powell.” My father’s authoritarian and brusque tone traveled down the line, bringing back painful memories.

My gut churned and I gripped my cell tightly. “Hello, Dad.”

“Nathan? Why are you calling here?” My father’s voice rose an octave, but there was no mistaking the querulous tone with a healthy dose of disgust.

I cleared my throat. I was thirty years old and still my father had the power to reduce me to that young man he’d rejected so many years ago. “There was an earthquake. I wanted to make sure my family was all right. Are you all okay?”

He harrumphed on the other end. “We’re all fine, not that you really care. Is that all? I have things to do.”

I closed my eyes. Christ, even now the old bastard could make me feel like a piece of shit stuck on the bottom of his shoe.

“Hell, Dad, way to treat someone who’s only calling to see if you’re safe.”

“Nathan, you know we have nothing to say to each other. Have you stopped that disgusting habit of being with men?”

Fuck, I wish things could be different. I wish my family could accept me for who I am. Surely that’s not asking too much?

I took a deep breath. “No, I haven’t. Have you stopped being with women?”

“Don’t be bloody stupid, Nathan, and don’t get cocky with me. That isn’t the same thing and you know it.” The anger in my father’s voice reached out and choked me.

“I didn’t choose to be this way, it’s how I was born. Why can’t you all accept that?” I knew the truth wouldn’t carry any weight with him. But still, I had to try.

“Don’t you say that. Your mother didn’t give birth to some faggot. She gave birth to a boy who should have gone on to be like his father and not some simpering queer using art as a crutch to make a living.”

Blackness filled my head and I struggled to breathe. “That faggot and simpering queer has just won another award for his art, this time in San Francisco.”

I’d been informed I would be awarded the Objet D’Art for a statute I’d made a year ago called Solitude. Cody and I were scheduled to attend the ceremony next week.

My father snorted. “San Francisco, the Queer City? Just goes to prove what I’ve been saying. It means nothing. Anyway, I thought you were blind. How can you do anything worthwhile when you can’t even see?”

The scorn in his voice was palpable and I began to shake. “Being blind doesn’t mean I can’t do anything. I’ve proven that.” I became aware of someone behind me and knew it was Cody. He pressed a hand against my cheek, letting me know he was there.

“Make it quick, baby,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over my cheek. “Don’t let him hurt you anymore. He’s done it enough.”

I nodded, my throat tightening. “Is Mom there? Can I speak to her?”

My father’s harsh laugh reminded me of all those times he’d insulted me after I’d come out. “She doesn’t want to know you either, Nathan. You’ve shown you’re a failure as a son and a brother. The accident you had proved that God works in mysterious and heavenly ways to punish sinners.”

I couldn’t speak.

My father ranted on. “Did you know you have a nephew now? He’s three years old, and our first grandchild. At least Trudy can make her family proud, which is more than you can say. Now, are you finished? I really have to go.”

I exploded. The rage and hurt having built up for years finally made its exit. “You bastard. You couldn’t even call when I had the accident and at least I was man enough to call you to see if you were okay after the earthquake. What kind of father are you? You’re nothing but a homophobic son of a bitch who bullies everyone around you and imposes your will on everyone. You’re the reason Mom won’t speak to me. And as for Trudy, you poisoned her with your version of what you call the truth. I—”

“Nate, love, forget him. He’s not worth it.” Cody murmured in my ear as his hands tried to wrest the phone from me. I gripped it and shook my head, determined to say all the toxic things that had been fermenting inside for me for too long.

“You destroyed the family, not me. You and Mom decided to cut me off because I was gay, even though I was the same person I’d always been.”

“I cut you off for a lot of reasons. That was one of them.” My father’s tone was vicious. “Was that Cody Fisher I heard, the other little trouble-making faggot? You should have gotten rid of him when I told you to. Instead you chose him and homosexuality over your family. Don’t give me that whole pitiful ‘you disowned me’ shit. You disowned yourself staying friends with that little bastard and his disgusting hippie parents. Not to mention your actions when you accosted me in my own boardroom and lost me a valuable contract and made a fool of me.” His breathing was labored. “I should have destroyed his father like I wanted to. It would have given me great pleasure.”

I hoped desperately Cody hadn’t heard that last part. I also wondered for the millionth time why my father hadn’t done what he’d promised to do all those years ago. But now was not the time for that question—not with Cody listening.

I pressed the phone closer to my ear and pushed Cody’s hands away. He moved from me with an exasperated and dirty expletive no doubt aimed at my stubbornness.