Heart and Home

By C.L. Etta

For the past two years, Kevin Monroe has lived his dream, performing alongside his partner, Robbie McMaster, as noted Las Vegas drag queen Layona Beach.

Raphael Delgado's love for Kevin made it easy to set aside his dream of becoming a teacher, to care for Mr. Monroe and his own disabled mama. Now Mr. Monroe is dying, and Kevin is coming home.

Raphael's inadvertent refusal to publicly hold Kevin's hand is the catalyst for a chain of events that answers these questions. Will Kevin go to gay inmate prison? Will Robbie end Layona Beach and Robbie Rhythm? How does Raphael become accidentally engaged?

Within its themes of family obligations, unrequited love and acceptance, Kevin, Robbie and Raphael discover that heart and home are synonymous.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Dec 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781786514974

C.L. Etta

With a shriek heard from sea to shining sea when her first book, Heartache and Hope, was accepted for publication, C. L. began her journey into the world of storytelling. Having raised a husband and three children, C. L. spends her free time reading and enjoying her life. After acquiring a wealth of experience in consumer and mortgage finance, software support, and nursing, C. L. is ready to nurture her creative muse. A self-described romance novel junky who considers tequila a food group, C. L. began hearing voices and was alarmed until she realized there was a cast of characters banging around in her head, demanding their stories be told. Not wanting to let them down, she keeps her laptop nearby and her thesaurus handy.

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Heart and Home

ISBN # 978-1-78651-497-4

©Copyright C.L. Etta 2016

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2016

Edited by Sue Meadows

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2016 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Beyond Heartache

HEART AND HOME

C.L. Etta

Book two in the Beyond Heartache series

For the past two years, Kevin Monroe has lived his dream, performing alongside his partner, Robbie McMaster, as noted Las Vegas drag queen Layona Beach.

Raphael Delgado’s love for Kevin made it easy to set aside his dream of becoming a teacher, to care for Mr. Monroe and his own disabled mama. Now Mr. Monroe is dying, and Kevin is coming home.

Raphael’s inadvertent refusal to publicly hold Kevin’s hand is the catalyst for a chain of events that answers these questions. Will Kevin go to gay inmate prison? Will Robbie end Layona Beach and Robbie Rhythm? How does Raphael become accidentally engaged?

Within its themes of family obligations, unrequited love and acceptance, Kevin, Robbie and Raphael discover that heart and home are synonymous.

Dedication

For my family, who supports me unconditionally whenever I follow a different path.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Hobbits: J.R.R. Tolkien

The Lord of the Rings: J.R.R. Tolkien

Lego: The Lego Group

Matchbox cars: Mattel Inc

Yesterday: John Lennon and Paul McCartney

Stairway to Heaven: Jimmy Page and Robert Plant

Taps: Army Brigadier General Daniel Butterfield

Chicken Soup for the Golden Soul: Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Paul J. Meyer, Barbara Russell Chesser, Ph.D., Amy Seeger

Honda Accord: Honda Motor Co., Ltd.

Dockers: Levi Strauss & Co.

Prius: Toyota Motor Corporation

TAG Heuer: TAG Heuer S.A.

Top Gun: Paramount Pictures

Adam 12: NBC Universal Television Distribution

Defying Gravity: Stephen Schwarz

Styrofoam: The Dow Chemical Company

VW: Volkswagen Group

Halo: 343 Industries

Rock Band: Electronic Arts

McDonald’s: The McDonald’s Corporation

Superman: DC Comics, Inc.

Rock Your Body: Justin Timberlake, Chad Hugo, Pharrell Williams

Goodwill: Goodwill Industries International, Inc.

Walmart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

Jeopardy: CBS Television Distribution

Wheel of Fortune: CBS Television Distribution

Snoopy: Universal Uclick

Hair: James Rado, Gerome Ragni, Galt MacDermot

Age of Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In: James Rado, Gerome Ragni, Galt MacDermot

Arizona Diamondbacks: Ken Kendrick

Brokeback Mountain: Focus Features

Gerber: Gerber Products Company

Plexiglas: Arkema

Yankees: Yankee Global Enterprises

Cap’n Crunch: PepsiCo

Tom Sawyer: Mark Twain

Harry Potter: J.K. Rowling

Albuquerque Isotopes: Albuquerque Baseball Club, LLC

iPad: Apple, Inc.

The Bellagio: MGM Resorts International

Andrew Christian: Andrew Christian International

Armani: Giorgio Armani S.p.A.

Blue Surrender: Paul Richmond

Shades of Strength: Paul Richmond

Camouflage: Paul Richmond

Fusion: Paul Richmond

War Paint: Paul Richmond

Chapel of Love: Jeff Barry, Ellie Greenwich, Phil Spector

Red Hot: RuCo, Inc.

The Star: Santa Ana Star Casino

Red Bull: Red Bull GmbH

The Price Is Right: Fremantle Media

Tippee cup: Tommee Tippee

BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke AG

Gangnam Style: Park Jae-sang, Yoo Gun-hyung

Party Barn: The Party Barn Albuquerque

Cabaret: Allied Artists

iPod: Apple, Inc.

I Am Woman: Ray Burtin, Helen Reddy

Mrs. Doubtfire: 20th Century Fox

101 Dalmatians: Walt Disney Pictures, Buena Vista Pictures Distribution Inc.

CliffsNotes: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Chapter One

Kevin

The clanging and ringing of slot machines follows me as I push through McCarran International Airport’s bustling maze of travelers. The smell of flame-broiled burgers, the sounds of crying and laughing, and the occasional barking dog compete in vain to capture my attention. Upon arrival at my destination, I join the throng of people crowding around gate C-5.

As the jet takes to the sky for the ninety-minute flight to Albuquerque, I realize it’s been almost two years since I last set foot in the Duke City. That was the summer of 2010 when my singing partner and lover Robbie McMaster and I attended PrideFest with our good friend Raphael Delgado, the man who owns my heart. Today I’m returning home, not for a joyful reunion with my childhood companion, but to keep vigil at Jasper Monroe’s, my father’s, deathbed.

Since my dad first received his Alzheimer’s diagnosis three years ago, Raffle has taken care of him, managing Dad’s care, along with the specialized needs required for Raffle’s disabled mother. I call her Mama D, because she’s the loving woman who nurtured me as a child growing up in Albuquerque. His unselfish care of our parents has earned Raffle’s place in Heaven. ‘Raffle’—it’s the name I gave him when we were children—the name that comforts me. He called last night to tell me Dad’s refusing to eat or drink and to recommend I come home, since Jasper’s growing weaker. After conferring with his doctor and setting Dad up with hospice support, I’m on my way to say goodbye.

Is a child ever prepared to say their final goodbye to a parent, even one who’s as flawed as Dad? I’m not prepared but I’m not using Dad’s faults to keep me from doing the right thing. God knows I’ve done enough of that already. We all carry a flaw of some sort or another. Mine’s abandoning my dad to Raphael’s care while I pursued my dream of becoming Layona Beach, my drag queen persona. Yet, people say I’m flawed because I’m queer and a drag queen. Perhaps that’s the king of flaws, I don’t know. I’m so tired and stressed over Dad’s dying, I’m not making any sense.

I wish Robbie were here to support me, but our boss wouldn’t give us both time away from the club where we entertain—he with his guitar, and me with my singing and entertaining as Layona. So I’m making this depressing trip alone to watch my father die. I’ve never seen anyone die, and I’m afraid. After reclining my seat, I put in my earbuds and use the music to muffle the drone of the jets, but there’s no amount of music capable of silencing my thoughts.

Dad’s been dying a cruel, demeaning, and slow death since my senior year in high school. That was the year he discovered me practicing my female impersonations. The beating he gave me was so severe it put me in the hospital with broken bones and a broken heart. Oh, I know a broken heart doesn’t need hospitalization, and my cracked ribs drove me to my knees and not my heart. The moment I recognized Jasper Monroe hitting me, I realized he would never love me, Kevin Monroe, like the father I’d always wished for. That was the night the idealized father I’d held in my heart died. Now, with mixed feelings, I’m on my way home to sit with him while his body expires.

It wasn’t until I was eleven that I went to live with Dad. My mother had dropped me off on his doorstep, like an unwanted litter of kittens because she’d suspected I was gay. I shudder to think what she might have done if she’d ever confirmed her suspicions. She probably would’ve drowned me at sea and continued to collect child support from Dad. She’s an evil woman, my mother.

I’m embarrassed to admit I used to envy her because she was beautiful and desired by many men. When she readied herself to go out at night, I would yearn to be as beautiful as she. I craved to dress up in her gowns, and make up my face, wanting men to desire me. Yep, that’s right. I wanted men to want me. Not in a sick, pedophilic way, but just to pay attention to me and to make me feel important. I’ve always known I’m gay and the only person I ever confided in was my childhood friend, Raphael. Turned out Raphael’s gay too, although he’s taken his sweet time coming to terms with his sexuality.

My morose thoughts stray back to my dad. When I was little, I watched television, longing for a father like those famous dads of the sitcoms—fathers who hugged their sons and handed out sage advice in times of crisis. How often did I yearn to have my dad hug me? Jasper Monroe spent most of my life ignoring me, but I kept my hope alive that someday he might change.

His impending death will kill my hope and change so much of the status quo to which Raphael and I’ve become accustomed. I’m uncertain how we’ll cope. If I know Dad, he probably has his funeral preplanned and paid for. I’m sure Raphael has the papers outlining Dad’s last wishes. Certain Raphael will manage all that needs to be done to make things easier for me, I ponder the financial ramifications for Mama D and Raphael. Dad pays Raphael to take care of him and rents his house out to one of Raphael’s friends. He pays for Mama D’s caregivers and has provided the food for the household since I lived there. I guess I’ll inherit whatever’s left after his passing. Besides the house, there’s not much more. I suppose the rent will continue to go to Raphael, and I’ll offer a small amount of financial support. Raffle’s still working on his degree and the burden of full financial responsibility for Mama D’s care would end his dreams of teaching.

The pilot announces our approach to the Sunport. I prepare for our arrival, following the attendant’s instructions—place table tray up, adjust seat upright, turn off electronic devices. Outside the window, the familiar vistas of the Sandia Mountains rise in the distance. The muddy Rio Grande comes into view as the plane flies over the river on its flight path toward the airport. The grinding noise of the landing gear, and the bumpy approach that’s an Albuquerque certainty, announce my arrival home. Home where Raffle waits for me, home where Raffle’s broken my heart more times than I like to remember, and home where my dying father lies unaware of my arrival. In no hurry to face the inevitable, I wait until the cabin is emptied of its passengers before I deplane.

Cassie, our friend from high school, meets me at baggage claim, where I’m waiting to pick out my suitcase among the assortment of bags traveling in circles on the squeaking carousel. She waves her arm to catch my attention, wearing a bright smile on her face, and a cute man with a friendly face and sleek, styled blue hair on her other arm.

Welcome home, Kevin. Gosh, it’s so good to see you. She envelops me in one of her patented bear hugs after releasing the blue-haired cutie who stands back, rocking on his heels, and waiting for an introduction.

Thanks, Cassie. It’s nice to be home. I smile at the blue-haired guy and offer him my hand. Hi, I’m Kevin. You must be Bluke. Raphael’s mentioned you.

Sorry, meet Lucas, Cassie adds. He’s the same guy, but with a grown-up name. Lucas, this is Kevin Monroe—Jasper’s son.

Hey, man, good to meet you. Sorry about your dad. He’s a good guy.

Lucas has helped out with Jasper since you moved to Las Vegas. Mama keeps Raphael plenty busy, so he coordinated the hospice care for you, while making sure Jasper’s comfortable. Cassie’s love and pride for Lucas is nearly tangible.

Thanks, I appreciate all you guys have done. These are my bags. I grab the handles of my cobalt-blue hard-side suitcases as they circle by me. The set is a gift from Robbie. He says the color matches my eyes, and since we’re a successful act, I need proper diva-style luggage, and Layona agrees. So I gave up my ratty old brown case I left home with, and I now travel in style.

After we exit the building, we locate Cassie’s hot, candy-apple red sports car in the parking garage. It’s the same one she drove in high school. It’s still just as beautiful now as it was back then, with its classic lines, leather seats, and an engine which purrs like a contented tigress. She hands the keys to Lucas and crowds into the back seat, leaving the passenger seat for me and my longer legs.

It doesn’t take us long to get home, and fortunately for me, nobody expects small talk. When we pull up in front of Raffle’s house, the first thing I notice is the wheelchair ramp I built for Mama D when she first had her stroke.

Raffle and I fought over his refusal to come out of the closet and acknowledge I love him. We said too many hateful things to each other, and I moved back across the driveway. When he went to Arizona to drop out of school and close out his dorm room, I built the ramp. It was my way of showing him and Mama D my love and willingness to take care of them.

The memory is bittersweet because I was so angry, and yet, to build the ramp, I used the carpentry skills Raffle had patiently taught me. Each summer, I’d help him with the odd jobs he had. We did yard work most of the time, but sometimes there were fences to repair or a dog house to build. He’d shown me how to use the power tools and let me cut the lumber. Of course, me being me, I talked all the time and missed the part about measure twice, cut once. I was more the cut twice or thrice class of carpenter. But Raffle’s the best. He never complained or yelled at my incompetence. There are still times I long for those carefree summer days…

He grins at my clumsiness, which causes his dimples to appear, which in turn tickles my stomach, which makes me forget the measurement and requires me to cut the wood—again. It’s a vicious circle. Thank goodness this dog house we’re building is for Shadow, and Dad’s paying for the lumber. Laughing good-naturedly, Raffle pats me on the back, tells me to focus, and makes me do it again. Heck, if Dad had been here, he would’ve sent me to my room and completed the task on his own, all the while shaking his head with disappointment at my manly ineptitude. Raffle always has the patience of Job, and I know he will make a great teacher.

Like most afternoons, Raffle and I sit on the porch steps, drinking lemonade and waiting for Mama D to come home. Shadow wags his tail and chews on the nearest stick or darts after the ball Raffle tosses his way. More than chewing, Shadow loves for Raffle to chase him. Shadow stops two feet in front of Raffle, tilts his head to one side and drops the ball. Before Raffle can pick it up, Shadow latches onto it, with dog drool dripping from his jowls, and runs. Unable to avoid the inevitable, Raffle chuckles at Shadow’s antics, gets up and runs around the yard until they are both winded.

When Mama D drives up in her battered car, I always help her. Mama D’s heavy sigh, and the fatigue on her face as she carries her bag of groceries sometimes worries me. I jump up from the porch, relieve her of her burden and say, Hi, Mama D. Let me carry your bag.

With her limp hair hanging past her shoulders, rather than coiled in its usual tidy bun, she lumbers up the porch stairs. She hands me the lightest grocery bag, and as always, there’s a bright smile for me and a cheerful "Hola, mijito".

"Raffle? Why does your mama call me mijito? I ask later, when we’re returning from a trip on Mac and Psycho, our bicycles named by yours truly. I’ve heard her call you mijo, but I was wondering about me. What does mijito mean?"

It means she likes you, Raffle answers, removing his helmet and hanging it from the handlebar. "In Spanish ‘Mijo’ is slang for ’mi hijo’, or ‘my son’. It’s an endearment like sweetie or honey. Mijito translates to ‘my little sweetie’. Comprende hermanito?" Raffle teases as he pulls my ever-present ball cap over my eyes.

All right, now what’s ‘air man e two’? What does that mean? I take off the cap and brush my hair out of my eyes. I’m exasperated, knowing I mispronounced the word.

"It’s ‘h-e-r-m-a-n-i-t-o—hermanito’. The h is silent, and the word means ‘little brother’," he replies with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

Raffle was like my big brother when we were growing up. It’s a dynamic I’ve fought against for almost five years. Even now, I still catch Raffle wanting to call me ‘hermanito’. Sometimes, he’s in the midst of a sentence, and there’s an awkward pause as he fights his urge to refer to me as ‘little brother’. It’s those awkward moments that make me realize it’s not the right time for Raffle and me to be together as a couple. Until he accepts me as the man who loves him and not as his ‘hermanito’, I’ll continue living apart from him and waiting for him to love me as a partner and not a little brother.

Bluke, or rather Lucas, turns off the engine, bringing me back to the present. The silence in the car cues me to open the door. Time to step inside the house to face Raffle and my new reality. I sigh and take my time because I still want to put off the unavoidable duty of sitting with my dad. After opening the car door and stepping onto the pavement, I glance across the driveway at Dad’s house. It appears the same except for the landscaping which needs tending. The paint’s faded under the harsh Albuquerque sun. The empty yard and silence of the place saddens me without the welcoming bark of my dog Shadow. Poor Raffle put him to sleep last year after a respiratory infection.

Lucas carries one of my bags into the house while Cassie stays with me, waiting for me to get my headspace in order before going in the house. The air hitches in my chest as I take in slow deep breaths. Cassie hugs me while I gather my courage, whispering words of encouragement and sympathy. She takes my hand and leads me up the ramp as I drag, not just my feet, but also my fashionable blue suitcase.

A pall of sadness fills the once warm and inviting living room of Mama D’s house. The heaviness in the air is nearly tangible as melancholy and death compete with the once-happy aura of home. Lucas takes the suitcase I’ve been holding and places it next to its mate by the door. He tells me Raffle’s waiting for me while he sits with Dad. He and Cassie hug me and, after a quick assurance they’ll return, Lucas takes Cassie’s hand and they leave me to find Raffle. There’s nothing to do but make the short trip to Dad’s bedroom alone.

From the living room down the hallway, to Dad’s door is fifteen feet. With leaden feet and a heavy heart, I make the longest walk of my life. I don’t want to do this, my mind screams. I don’t want to see what awaits. Tears fill my eyes and blur my vision. I dread hearing Dad’s gasping as he fights to hold on to his place in the physical world. I don’t want to touch his paper-thin skin as it grows colder with his passing. I don’t want to know death’s smell. I don’t want to taste my fear as I’m sitting alone with my Dad in his final hours. But, this isn’t about my wants—it’s about my dad’s needs.

With a trembling hand, I turn the doorknob, sending up a silent and selfish prayer Dad has died peacefully before my arrival. I push the door open. Dad’s breathing is the first thing I notice. I’m both disappointed and relieved God chose not to answer my ludicrous, self-centered prayer.

Raffle sits in a chair next to Dad’s hospice-provided bed. It’s hospital bed, with a puffy mattress which cushions Dad as if he’s lying on a cloud. He has dozed off with his head hanging forward, and his chin resting on his chest. In the center of the bed lies a tiny and emaciated stranger, not the man I remember. He wears a soft gown, and a clean white sheet covers him from his armpits to his feet. There’s a small tube in his nose, attached to a machine whirring in the background. I recognize the oxygen concentrator from my hospital stay. Dad’s skin appears translucent. The highway of blue veins on his skeletal arms is visible beneath the pallor of his complexion. His face is gaunt, his eyes sunken, his cheekbones sharp and hollow, and his lips parched and withered. With each breath, he gurgles in the back of his throat. His long, gray hair has thinned and turned white since I last saw him. It’s braided and lies across one shoulder and onto his chest, enhancing his peaceful appearance as he sleeps. Despite our strained relationship, I reach out and caress his arm, noting the coolness of his fragile skin against my warm palm. I squeeze his forearm, wanting to send him my strength and make him aware I’m here. When he moans, I draw back my hand. Raffle snaps his head up at the noise and gazes at me with confusion before he breaks out into the smile I treasure and love. His smile awakens the dimples in his cheeks. Behind his glasses, his dark eyes sparkle.

Kevin, is all he says before he stands and pulls me in for a welcoming hug. I breathe him in, holding onto him like the lifeline he is and always has been. I’m twenty-one, and I still rely on him to make me feel safe, to keep me together, and to fulfill me. I’m home, and without a second thought, I cup his cheeks and kiss him, relishing the feel of his lips beneath mine as he returns my kiss, both of us unmindful of the dying man lying in the bed next to us.

Rafe, shouldn’t you get Mama out of bed before Kevin—

We jump apart like two guilty children playing doctor. I turn toward the doorway, filled by a beautiful black man whose impressive muscles shout their