Page 11 of Beneath the Stain

Their mom was young—Mackey knew that objectively, although it didn’t really settle in for many years to come that if she was thirty-four and Kell was eighteen, she would have been Jeff’s age when she was tossed out of the house. But now, getting excited about doing Mackey’s hair, Mackey saw some of that youth in her. Her hair was always dyed blonde and black and put up in a little fan on the back of her head, and her eyes were always smudged with kohl and mascara, but when she smiled like she was at Mackey now, talking about doing his hair for the big performance, he suddenly felt it.

Their mom wanted to be a good mom. Shewantedto be a good mom. She wasn’t always there, and they spent a lot of time in charge of Cheever and a lot of time worrying about money to keep their shitty little apartment. He knew that some of their Christmas presents came from coat donation and that most of their clothes came from Goodwill, and he knew that their birthdays were usually celebrated with cake and a book—one book, new—because that’s all she had. She bought school supplies in gross when they went on sale and had cleaned the church lady’s house so they could have music lessons, and her temper was short when she came home late and her boys were still up.

But she wanted to be there that night. She wanted it with all her soul.

And fixing Mackey’s hair was what she had.

So Mackey let her, and the results were….

“Oh God,” Kell muttered, looking in. “Mom, he looks like a girl—can we just buzz cut it and let it go?”

She looked so hurt.

“I like it!” Mackey said staunchly, and she smiled almost desperately, desperate to help, to be included, to be a part of her sons’ lives. “Thanks, Mom. It’ll look great.”

“Grant’ll laugh himself senseless,” Kell muttered, but he turned his solid, hunched shoulders away and barged into the boys’ bedroom. “Jeff, please tell me you’re not putting on makeup!” he hollered.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jeff sounded really confused. Mackey’s mom laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

“Poor Jefferson,” she said, and Mackey smiled at her in the mirror.

“Yeah. Poor me, if Grant doesn’t like it.”

But he looked in the mirror, at his eyes, almost inhumanly large. For a minute he thought of eyeliner, like he’d seen on David Bowie, but decided against it. Even without the eyeliner, Grant would get lost in his eyes.

“Everyone will like it,” Heather Sanders said proudly. “I wish I could get someone to tape it for me, Mackey. I’m so proud of you boys, practicing, performing. I wish I could give you more time to do it, but you boys are just so good.”

Mackey smiled at her, because she was proud and happy, and he didn’t want to burden her with the stuff that had been roiling around in his gut since the day Grant had shotgunned smoke into his mouth and touched their lips together.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said softly. “I gotta go get changed.”

He’d kept his suit neatly in the closet, away from Cheever, tucked carefully in the middle of everyone’s Sunday school clothes that Cheever knew hemust not touch.

Jeff was combing his hair in the little mirror they kept by the window while Mackey pulled on his suit, and when Jeff turned around, he grinned.

“Mom knows her shit,” he said proudly, and Mackey grinned back. Jeff didn’t say much, but it couldn’t be argued that the boys loved their mama.

Then, before Mackey could say anything, Jeff swept his eyes up and down the tailored shirt with the tails and the low-hipped jeans.

“Oh Jesus, Mackey—did you have toshave?”

Mackey nodded, thankful he could confide in this to someone. “I had to shaveagain,” he muttered. “It was growing backitchy!”

Jeff laughed. “Well, if I ever have to shave my balls for music, I know who to ask!”

Mackey scowled. “Wasn’t my balls, it was just… you know….”

Jeff took in the low-slung jeans again. “Well, if they’d been any smaller, it woulda been your balls. You better hope you don’t get a woody or that thing’ll pop right out.”

Mackey stared at him. “Sometimes brothers are a real fuckin’ plague of locusts, you know that?” he snapped, and Jeff laughed quietly all the way out the door.

STEVIEANDGrant arrived, and they all piled into Grant’s minivan. Samantha already sat in the front, but she moved to the backseat for Kell. On one hand that seemed really gracious, but on the other, Mackey didn’t give a fuck.

It was so easy to blame her.

“So, Mackey, you nervous?” she asked, and Mackey gave her his best smile, which, at the moment, was thin as January sunshine.

“Not really,” he said, being honest. “I memorized that last song real good.”