Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  Travis nearly glared at Wesley, his earlier desire to flee forgotten. “I don’t give a fuck. Let people think what they think.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t certain the words rang true.

  Wesley inspected him. And though he didn’t jump to words like Shannon would have, there was something familiar in the way he looked at Travis, something that left Travis feeling vulnerable. While he couldn’t say he liked the sensation, he didn’t shy away from it, either.

  “I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Travis.”

  “I just don’t want you involved with John Wallace. He’s no good. And I don’t trust the piece of shit farther than I can throw him.” Travis realized his fingers were squeezing into his burger, a greasy mixture of catsup and mayo starting to run down his forearm. He’d never liked the man, but the thought of him being in contact with Wesley brought an edge of panic he normally didn’t associate with Wallace. He wasn’t sure why, but it was there.

  Wesley glanced around and leaned forward when he was certain they couldn’t be overheard. His gaze was direct, his words firm but not angry. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. The kiss the other night. Then this morning, driving me to the clinic, bringing me here. Is this some kinda game?”

  Travis’s throat constricted, a sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin despite the chill of the fall day. What was he supposed to say? He didn’t know what he was doing either.

  Wesley continued to stare at him. Waiting. The firm set of his jaw and the determination in his expression seemed anything but feminine. After several more tense moments of silence, he pushed himself up off the bench and began to turn away. “Fine. Like I said. Let’s forget it. None of it ever happened.”

  “Wesley, wait.” Travis’s teeth were clenched so hard the muscle of his jaw tingled.

  Wesley turned back.

  “Just wait a second, okay? Give me a minute.”

  The resolve in Wesley’s expression softened slightly, and he returned to the table and sat back down across from Travis.

  Again, Travis had no idea what to say. Or think. Or feel. A static buzzing grew in his brain where thoughts were supposed to form.

  This time when Wesley spoke his voice was gentle and soothing, like he was speaking to a wounded animal. Travis heard pity in his voice as well. He didn’t like it.

  “Listen. Travis. It’s really okay. No harm, no foul. Okay?” Wesley nodded encouragingly. “We really can just move on. We don’t have to talk about it. We don’t have to see each other. Not a big deal.”

  Not a big deal? His first kiss with someone other than his wife in the past twenty years wasn’t a big deal? The static was nearly deafening.

  The past two days of him constantly wanting to do it again were not a big deal?

  “You’d had a few beers at dinner that night. It happens. It doesn’t mean anything. It happens to every guy every once in a while. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with you. You’re not turning gay. It doesn’t make you a fag.” Wesley looked away from him then, his voice losing some of its firmness. “Or whatever.”

  Again the protectiveness rose up in Travis. Similar to when John Wallace had begun tossing around the word. “Stop it.”

  Wesley’s eyes flashed toward him, a spark of irritation clear in that moment.

  Travis tried to keep the anger out of his voice but failed. He wasn’t sure who he was angry at—himself, John Wallace, or Wesley. “Don’t insult me like that. Don’t insult yourself.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me, Travis.” Wesley seemed to shrink inward. “It’s clear I make you uncomfortable. I’m giving you a way out.” He sighed. “From everything I can see, you’re a good man. A good father. There are no hard feelings. Let’s just let it go, okay?”

  He should. He should let it go. God knew he wanted to. He wanted to launch himself from the picnic table and run. Leave the truck, leave the dog, leave the vet and just run. Run until things were normal. Run until Shannon was back. Run until these feelings didn’t mean anything again. Run until he remembered who he was, who he’d made himself to be. Run until Shannon’s whispered requests of promises were drowned out.

  “What if I don’t want to let it go?” Travis wasn’t sure if he’d said the words out loud. Wasn’t sure he’d meant to.

  The wide-eyed expression on Wesley’s face told him Pandora’s box had been opened.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE BUSTLE and commotion of the crowd at Gringos felt like a soothing blanket over Wesley’s nerves. He’d only come to the Mexican restaurant once since he’d moved to El Dorado. The first time he’d eaten there, the crowd had been so sparse Wesley had felt as though he was on display. Of course, he’d been eating lunch at two in the afternoon, which wasn’t done. When Dr. Fisher had suggested meeting at 7:30 p.m. on a Sunday evening, Wesley hadn’t even considered the rush as people got out of their Sunday evening church services. Hell, he’d forgotten there even were services twice on Sunday. If he’d remembered, he probably would have suggested a different time for dinner. But now that they were seated in the middle of the restaurant, Wesley was glad she had suggested the time. He almost felt like he blended into the crowd. Almost. There were a few glances here and there, but no more than curious looks. Most people were too busy with their families and friends to pay them much attention.

  Gringos was pleasant—bright, clean, and homey. There was nothing about it that would lead anyone to guess it served Mexican food, other than the name and a few strings of dried chili peppers hanging above each doorway. The rest of the place was country chic, from the chicken coop with the fake eggs hanging in the vestibule, to the checkered plastic tablecloths, to the paintings of cowboys hanging on the wall. Maybe chic wasn’t exactly the right descriptor, but it was a pleasing, safe effect, nonetheless.

  “Here ya go, Dr. Fisher.” The waitress slid a steaming plate of cheese-covered enchiladas in front of Cheryl.

  “Thank you, Shelly.” Dr. Fisher leaned back, making room.

  Shelly transferred the plate balanced in the crook of her left arm to her right hand and plopped it down in front of Wesley, hitting the edge of his fork, knocking it to the ground.

  With a frustrated sigh, she bent down and retrieved the fork from where it had landed under their table. She smacked it down beside Wesley’s burrito.

  He flinched and peered up at her in surprise.

  “Oh.” Shelly looked down at the fork, then back to Wesley. Her right eyebrow slowly rose. “Would you like a new fork?”

  Wesley was fairly certain he could hear the implied, you big Nelly, finish off her question. Maybe not, but he definitely was able to read it in her expression. “Ah, no. I’ll just wipe it off. I’m certain it’s fine. Thank you.”

  Shelly’s expression didn’t waver.

  What had he done to piss her off? She’d waited on him the other time he’d come in. He’d left her a decent tip. Or at least he’d thought he had.

  “Do you need anything else? A Diet Coke, perhaps?”

  Wesley shook his head and hoped his voice didn’t sound as scared as he felt of the woman. “No, cherry Coke is fine, and I don’t need another for a bit.”

  Seemingly satisfied, the waitress finally looked away and patted the other side of the table before walking away.

  Cheryl’s green eyes sparkled as she addressed Wesley. “What in the world did you do to her? Kill her dog?”

  Wesley shrugged. “I have no idea.” He glanced down and lifted the edge of his burrito with his fork. “You think she spit in this?”

  Dr. Fisher chuckled. “I doubt it, but you forgot to wipe off your fork first.”

  Wesley yanked the fork away from his food. “Oh dammit.” He lifted the green cloth napkin off his lap and scrubbed the offending fork.

  Dr. Fisher cut into her enchiladas, scooped up a bite, and extended it toward Wesley. “Here, taste this. It’s the best thing on the menu.”

  He tried to not make a face. “I told you. I hate blue ch
eese. And the thought of it in enchiladas….” He shuddered.

  “Oh, just try it. At least it’s on a clean fork.” She waggled the fork in front of his face.

  “Fine.” He leaned forward and gingerly removed the morsel off her fork with his lips. After biting into the cheesy mixture, Wesley couldn’t suppress a grimace.

  A hearty laugh sounded from across the table. “You look like you just bit into a lemon.”

  Wesley forced himself to swallow, then took a long swig from his cherry Coke. After a moment, he was certain it was going to stay down. “I hate to be rude, but that is disgusting. And blue cheese enchiladas? Really? Could they get less authentic?”

  Dr. Fisher seemed to ponder the question, as if it had never occurred to her. “I think one of their chefs is Chris Sanchez. He’s Hispanic.”

  “Well, if he was, after making that, he isn’t anymore.” Wesley took a huge bite of his shredded chicken burrito, accentuating his point.

  “Why don’t we ask Shelly when she returns?”

  Wesley spoke over the food in his mouth. “You’re trying to get me run out of town, aren’t you?”

  “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’re doing that yourself. At least, if John Wallace has anything to say about it.”

  He swallowed his food sooner than he should have, and it burned going down. “I’m sorry, Cheryl. I wasn’t trying to cause problems for your business.”

  She waved him off, the smile never leaving her thin, sun-worn face. “I was just kidding, you know that. You did the right thing. Exactly what I would have done if I’d been here myself. Shoot, probably a helluva lot nicer than me, actually. More than likely, I’d have gone out there with my shotgun and raised a ruckus.”

  And that was without her knowing of John Wallace’s other actions that night. Wesley wasn’t planning on telling anyone about those events, least of all Dr. Fisher. Although the thought of John Wallace, wiry little Cheryl Fisher, and a shotgun made an appealing mental picture.

  They each took a few more bites of their meals, settling into an easy rhythm, matching the relaxing buzz of conversations around them.

  Wesley was nearly half done with his burrito, which was actually tasty, when Cheryl spoke again, this time a leading tone in her voice. “So how are you enjoying the clinic?”

  “It’s great, actually. It feels good to be back in the swing of things. I was afraid my slacking off since graduating a couple years ago made me forget everything, but it’s all coming back.”

  Cheryl nodded. “Not surprised at all. You’re a natural. I could tell that much the days we worked together. You just seem to get animals. And they get you.”

  Travis flitted through his mind. “Well, animals are a lot simpler than people.”

  She gave a sympathetic smile. “Have you heard from him?”

  How had she known? “No. It’s been three days. Not a word since he dropped me back off at my—” Wesley sucked in a breath and stopped short. “You meant Todd, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” Cheryl narrowed her green eyes at him. “But, you didn’t. Who are you talking about? Someone here in El Do?”

  He felt his cheeks flush. “Oh, never mind. It’s not going to go anywhere. Just some straight guy who had too much to drink.” Travis hadn’t had anything to drink when they’d eaten at Simone’s. Although he might as well have, as much sense as he’d made.

  “Please, please, tell me you’re not messing around with one of my married clients.”

  “Oh God, Cheryl! No! I wouldn’t do that.” Actually he had been with married men before. Plenty of wedding ring wearers had been at the bathhouses in Kansas City. It was different in a small town, though, and sleeping with a married client was a really bad idea. He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on his friend. “Part of the draw of coming here was to focus on me. And my career. Start fresh. I don’t want a relationship or anything.”

  Her brow rose in accusation.

  “Seriously I don’t.”

  “Okay, if you say so.” She didn’t look convinced.

  “I promise, I’m not going to do anything that will mess up the clinic or its reputation.”

  Again, she waved him off. “I don’t give a shit about that, at least not for the reasons you mean. Now, if you start doing a half-assed job on the animals, then we’ll have an issue. But I’m not worried about that. Not with you.”

  He appreciated the vote of confidence.

  “As I’ve told you before, your call asking for an internship came just at the right time. It was an answer to a prayer. Or it would have been, if I was the praying kind or thought anyone was up there listening.” Using one of the chips from the basket between them, Cheryl scooped up a clump of melted cheese off her plate and popped it in her mouth. “Actually gave me the courage to do what I’ve been wanting to do for a couple of years now.”

  Wesley tried not to shudder as she slipped another chip into the mess of blue cheese. “Well, it worked out perfectly for both of us. I’d already decided I needed to spend some time in El Do to get my shit back together. Be at my grandparents’ house. I just hoped you’d bring me on part-time, but I’d doubted you’d even do that.” When he’d cold-called her asking if she could use a newly graduated vet, Wesley had needed to ask her to repeat her resounding yes, he’d been so certain the answer would be no.

  “Actually, Wesley, you’re making the transition to the next topic perfectly easy for me.” For once Cheryl looked nervous, going so far as to glance around to see if anyone was listening. Satisfied, she looked back at Wesley but lowered her voice. “This past trip was more than just a vacation. It was more like a finalization of plans.” A smile played on her lips. “A dream maybe.”

  Wesley started to speak, but she cut him off.

  “Just let me get it out, Dr. Ryan.” Another glance. Still satisfied. “I think I told you my husband died about ten years ago.” She waited for Wesley to nod, then continued. “Well, what I didn’t tell you was that I met someone else at a conference in Chicago three or four years ago. This trip was just a formality, actually. Just dotting some i’s and crossing some t’s.”

  Wesley couldn’t suppress it anymore. “What’s her name?”

  Cheryl’s eyes grew wide. Her mouth worked, but it was a few moments before words came out. “How did you know?”

  “Any refills on anything?”

  At Shelly’s return, Cheryl jumped in surprise and looked up at the waitress like she had just accused her of trying to dine and dash.

  “Goodness, Dr. Fisher. I’m sorry. Wasn’t trying to startle ya none.” Shelly eyed Cheryl’s mostly cleared plate. “You done with that?”

  Cheryl lifted her hand and rested her fingers on her throat. “Oh. No, dear. I’d like to finish. And I don’t need anything else for a while.” She glanced at Wesley. “Do you?”

  He did, actually. His cherry Coke was gone. “No. I’m fine, thank you.”

  Without so much as a nod, Shelly was off to another table.

  Cheryl watched her go, finally returning her attention to Wesley when she was convinced the waitress wasn’t going to return. Her voice was lower than before. “How did you know?”

  Wesley grinned and shrugged. “I just suspected. Gaydar, you know. You knew about me, after all.”

  “That was because I knew your grandparents. They told me about you and Todd having a house together. They were so proud when you finally got accepted into vet school.”

  “They told you I was gay?”

  “Well, not quite as directly as labeling it, but they spoke of you and your partner living together.”

  His grandparents had never said a negative thing to him about being gay when he’d come out as a teenager. They’d never addressed it, either. They just kept on loving him and treating him like they always had. For some reason, Wesley had assumed they’d kept it a secret from those they knew. Don’t ask, don’t tell. His throat constricted, and a nearly tangible desire to see them flooded through him.

 
“You okay, hun?” Cheryl reached across the table and laid a hand over his forearm.

  Wesley nodded, and it took him a second to speak. “Yeah. I just… I just miss them.” A little of the newfound shame that kept rearing its head for the past couple of weeks melted away. With effort, he refocused on Dr. Fisher. “So, her name?”

  “Gale.” The moony smile on Cheryl’s face made her look decades younger. “She lives in Seattle, where her kids and grandkids are. I’m going to move up there.”

  “Oh. That is so great, Cheryl! Seattle? I love that place. And you’re moving in with—” The math added up. “Wait. You’re moving? As in, moving?”

  Cheryl looked nervously over her shoulder again, but her smile didn’t fade. “Yes. I’m moving. I’ve wanted to retire for a while now, as you know. And there’s nothing holding me here. Jim died years ago. And while I miss him dearly, I’m excited to start this new life. I’ve always known about these feelings, but back then, you just didn’t acknowledge them. They’d go away. Or at least they were supposed to.”

  “You’re moving?”

  She nodded slowly, looking at him as if his brain capacity wasn’t as superior as she’d been led to believe.

  “What about the clinic?” Wesley’s heart began to pummel his ribs. He knew what Cheryl Fisher was going to say just like he’d known she was a lesbian. He was nervous—the kind of nervous that was both excited and scared.

  “Well, that depends on you. Obviously I need to sell the place.” She started to glance around, but stopped herself. “I know this part is sudden, and for sure a lot sooner than we’d talked about, so we can do it at your pace. I’d like you to buy it.”

  She must have seen the panic in his expression, because she reached out and placed her hand on his forearm again, this time leaving it there as an anchor.

  “Now, there’s no rush. If you’re not certain, then I’m fine with you renting the place for a while.” Her grip tightened. “A long while, if that’s what you need to make a decision. If you choose to not stay here, then give me a couple months’ warning, and I’ll put it on the market. Maybe someone will buy the whole business. If not, surely someone would at least buy the building and plot of land. Of course, I’d make more if they bought the business as well.”