Page 1 of Big Britches

Prologue

SPRING 1993

Dear Titus,

Surprise! Bet you weren’t expecting a letter from me. Just know that whatever condition you saw me in those last few months, I was much better when I wrote this on a sunny day in early December. Once finished, I will get it to Tuttle, instructing him to mail it to you one month after my death. I want to give you time to grieve and get your head on straight before I speak to you this final time. It’s unusual, I know, but I needed to tell you some things while I am still well enough to communicate. Whenever I try to in person, you—my wonderful, thoughtful, caring husband and nursemaid—find ways of changing the subject. So, I got my thoughts on paper to let you know what I was trying to say—what I’ve wanted to say—for a while now.

You’re the best, T. I couldn’t have asked for a better husband or father for our child. Even though life threw a monkey wrench at us early on, you've always been so good to me. Thank you for that and thank you for giving me Tucker. I can’t think of anyone else I would rather spend my last days with than you two. You’re both my world.

If they were giving out spousal medals, you would win hands down. I know it’s been difficult—me dying and you trying to care for both me and a baby. If there were some way I could have made it easier, I would have. That’s another reason why I’m writing this—to acknowledge all the selfless time you devoted to me.

You are only twenty-one years old, T. Yes, you have a son to care for, but please don’t make that your only focus. Please don’t let our brief time together continue to keep you locked away from the world.

I can hear you now—“But I have a boy to raise.”

Yes, you do. But there are two boys I’m concerned with. Tucker and you.

What I am about to say will make you uncomfortable. It was always challenging for us to talk deeply about personal stuff. Maybe if we’d been together longer, we would have become more open. But I’m dead now, so it’s not an option.

I know that you’re gay… or bisexual, or whatever. The labels aren’t important. I may have always known, even at HOCO High and our beloved football games. I looked the other way. You were my big handsome football hero, and I was the doting cheerleader. Destiny brought us together, at least the way small towns do. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, maybe we would have grown apart. Who knows? But I thank God for you every day. And I have no regrets, especially now.

Living with you these last two years, I’ve seen the occasional glance you give a handsome doctor or nurse at the hospital. No judgment, merely observation. When you’re as close to death as me, perception shifts. I would never hold this against you, T. We’re all created in God’s image and life is way too short to get hung up on religious rhetoric. So, what if you’re enticed by the beauty of a man? I was, too. With you.

I’m not implying that you were lustful or contemplating affairs. I know you weren’t. That’s not you at all. What I saw was only an appreciative glance or, perhaps, a notion for something you had tucked aside… whether for me, or for your parents, or for the image a town like Spoon chose for you.

Please don’t do this. Not anymore.

The two things I want most now are for you to raise our beautiful son and to be happy. If you want to ask one of those handsome nurses out to the Dairy Dream on a date, then by God, you do it. You deserve to be happy, and if there is anything I can give you from beyond the grave, it’s absolution. Loving someone is nothing to be ashamed of. You have an enormous heart, T, and you need to fill it. Fate brought us together, but now you are free to be with whomever you choose.

Just promise me you’ll use a condom this time, regardless of gender (yes, I’m laughing)!

So, there it is. I know your secret. I wish we had had the time to be comfortable enough with each other to talk about it because I like to think that we would have. In a way, I guess we just did. But know this—it doesn’t matter. I love you and I know you love me, and our love created Tucker and there is nothing more precious to me than him, including you (Sorry! Yep, still smiling).

So, this is my final I love you. Live your life. Raise our son. To hell with anyone that gives you crap about it. Life is way too short—believe me—to worry about what others think of you. Even though it may not work, I absolve you from feeling any guilt about me. God dealt me a bad hand. I played it the best I could.

Thank you for everything.

Love you both.

Violet

Barb held the letter for a few more seconds before folding it and returning it to the envelope.

“Wow,” she said. “That’s quite a lot to digest.”

“Now, you know why I wanted you to come over,” Titus said. He turned off the light she was reading by.

They were sitting on the screened porch, watching firefly flashes bob in the heat of the early summer evening. The swimming pool glowed out there as well, an oasis in a black night of a thousand stars.

“So, she knew,” said Barb. “Did you know she knew?”

Titus sipped from his whiskey glass. “I suspected. We’ve been in our own little worlds since Tucker’s birth and her diagnosis. You pick up on things, I guess. Isn’t that what married couples do? It’s what I’ve heard, anyway. Her illness took precedence, so the topic was easy to avoid.”

“And you loved her.”

“Of course, I loved her. I was willing to forgo everything for her.”

“I’m not sure that’s love, Titus. I mean, had she not been dying, do you think the marriage would have lasted, knowing that you’re gay?”