by P D Singer
A chill breeze licked my cheek, a reminder than the wind came from Canada and across a frigid inland sea. “I think it’s still interesting in the winter. Different.” Textures more than color and lushness, the bumpiness of bark and twigs lashing the sky.
“Keeping up with the yard work looks like a full-time occupation.” Kurt crunched through the fallen leaves to my side of the car.
“Yeah.” I remembered the pre-tractor days, when all available cousins were sent to wield leaf rakes. The shed might still have a rack full—raking kept the Landon youth out of mischief on autumn Saturdays. “You can get a lot of trees on three-quarters of an acre.”
“And they all drop their leaves,” Kurt mused. “That looks like a hell of a lot of leaves.”
“It is. Mom and Dad say people burned the leaves when they were kids. The neighborhood would smell like smoke for a couple of months.” Child-me had been fascinated and yearned to set the piles on fire. Forest ranger adult-me was horrified and wondered how many housefires it had taken to get the laws and practices changed, or if it had all been because of air pollution standards changing in an industrial metropolitan area.
“What do you do with them now?” Kurt looked like he was calculating the fuel load and not liking the answer for a residential area. Then his eyebrows went up when they’d been down—he must have multiplied for the whole city.
“Brown bags. Dozens of tall brown bags. The city picks them up once a week and composts them.” I’d filled hundreds of those bags over the years, and lined them up in regiments where the grass met the pavement. This neighborhood didn’t have sidewalks.
“Do we need to rake?” Kurt stood at my shoulder, not close enough to touch, and surveyed the multi-colored carpet. “It’ll give me something to do while you talk to Gramps.”
“Might do that. Usually Dad or Uncle Steve would take care of it, but the lawn tractor’s down. Otherwise Gramps would have to call a service to do it. There’s just too much for him.” Gramps was pretty vigorous for his age, but the job was huge. “My shoulder should be fine.” My gut, only slightly on fire. My throat, clogging up fast at the thought.
“It’ll be easier work than swinging an axe.” Kurt rubbed the small of my back. “It’ll be okay, Jake.”
“I hope you’re right.” I swallowed hard, and led Kurt to the door.
“Hi, Gramps!” I said when he’d opened the door. Times had changed—I knocked now instead of walking in. Four, nearly five years had shifted my perspective. This was still my auxiliary home, but I was adult now, and not a child running in through any open door.
My grandfather had changed too, with hair more silver than gray, a little thinner on top but still present, the laugh lines around his eyes deeper. My father’s face, twenty or thirty years from now. I looked like my dad. Was I looking into my own face in some unimaginable future?
His bushy gray eyebrows flickered upward, but settled over a wide grin. “Come in, boys.”
He offered us coffee, but we were fresh from the breakfast table, and kept him company while he poured a cup. The kitchen was barely changed from my memories. A ceramic rooster I didn’t recall presided at the middle of the kitchen table, and Gramps had switched the sunflower pictures out to folk-art chickens, but the cannister of kitchen utensils remained at the side of the gas stove. Grammy’s forest green Kitchenaid stand mixer had taken up residence where the fluted glass Waring blender used to be. The blender was lighter, so Gramps had probably swapped the heavier appliance to where he didn’t have to move it.
Not that I remembered Gramps ever using it, but he had to fend for himself these days.
Probably every single lady of a certain age from church would like to look after him. Bet Gramps could fill his social calendar as full as he liked, being handsome, well-read, and witty.
Gramps sipped his coffee and kept me talking about school and life in Denver, propelling me from one story to the next with well timed questions. I wasn’t sure at all how I was going to get to the topic I’d come to discuss.
Gramps turned to Kurt. “What do you think of Detroit so far?”
“Well, sir, I’ve really only seen the airport and this area. I’m used to evergreens, so all the deciduous trees are real different. All the colors on the ground.” Kurt, ever the diplomat, feeding me lines.
“Since we’re here, Gramps, do you want us to rake? I don’t know what Dad and Uncle Steve have to do to the tractor to get it working again.”
“That would be most welcome, Jake.” Gramps glanced out the sliding glass door to the brightly carpeted lawn. “If you could just get the side yard, that would keep Karla Mandry next door from getting cranky with me. It’s the section she can see.”
I remembered those neighbors. Yeah, best not to get Mrs. Mandry riled, she’d jaw at you until you were ready to scream. Probably Gramps could shut her down better than ten-year-old me did, but still.
“Not a problem. Rakes are still in the shed?” I took my light jacket off the back of the kitchen chair. Kurt shrugged into the blue down vest that he’d deemed enough outerwear for sea level. Raking would get his blood pumping, and if he got too cold, I’d swap him. His long-sleeve thermal shirt might feel too warm before the side yard was clear.
Gramps unlocked the shed for us, handing out leaf rakes like prizes. The wiry fans cleared an eighteen-inch swath. We’d only have to do ten thousand sweeps each to clear the lawn.
Gramps worked alongside us. Felt like old times, with him raking along to keep us kids on track, teaching us work ethic and lawn care. A mound of leaves built quickly with three of us raking. And by mound, I meant a berm of leaves twenty feet long, and growing higher. And higher. The middle grew to three feet high, and twice the width.
Kurt paused to admire our efforts. “I don’t think I ever understood what the books really meant when they talked about jumping in the leaves. That looks like it would be fun.”
I goggled at him. “You never did? Well, if you’re not used to deciduous trees, I guess you wouldn’t.” Kurt had ridden saddle broncs, hopped unicycles off parking barriers (and wrecked his ankle doing it) but never jumped in the leaves? “You have to try it.”
“Okay!” Kurt left his rake with me and backed up a good thirty feet. He took a running start and a flying leap smack into the center of the pile. He yipped with glee as he disappeared into the leaves. They puffed up around him. “Whoo hoo! It all makes sense now!”
Gramps and I laughed. Damn but the man enjoyed whatever he did. He reappeared, upright, with leaves in his hair and stuck to his sleeves. “Jake! You gotta try this!”
I had twenty years’ experience leaping into the piles, but… It had been a while. I took my own running leap. “Cowabunga!”
Fwoosh, into the leaves. How to feel ten years old again, and carefree. I surfaced, laughing with Kurt. “Makes piling the leaves up all worthwhile.”
“Oh yeah! We need more leaves.” Kurt waded his way out of the heap. “Well, I guess we have all the leaves we could want.”
More than we wanted, really; they all had to be raked up and bagged, eventually. But yeah, some fun to make the work worthwhile.
“Well, boys, looks like I should leave, you should excuse the expression, you to your fun.” Gramps had probably had enough raking for one morning. We’d been out for a couple of hours, and my right arm wasn’t working as well as it had been. In fact, a couple of pain pills sounded like a really good idea.
I caught Kurt’s eye. He nodded, and took up the rake again to add to the long drift of crackling debris.
I followed Gramps to the sliding glass door. “Can I raid the ibuprofen bottle, please?”
“Of course, Jake.” Gramps took the bottle from the narrow cupboard where he and Grammy kept their meds away from the younger set like me. I hoped there wasn’t anything going on with Gramps’s health he hadn’t mentioned: there seemed to be a lot of amber vials with prescription labels.
I swallowed down six hu
ndred milligrams of soon-to-be relief and parked the glass in the dishwasher. Grammy had trained me well.
This was my big opportunity—how I wished I could let it slide. We were alone in the kitchen, where I’d poured out my heart to my grandparents, over hopes and dreams, triumphs and failures. But never over my sexuality.
Until now. I inhaled deeply enough to satisfy evil respiratory therapists a thousand miles away and let it all out at a trickle. “Gramps, could we talk?”
CHAPTER 11
Gramps gestured me back to the kitchen table. “This sounds like a ‘we should sit down’ kind of conversation.”
Definitely. The risk I was about to take weakened my knees.
I could see Kurt through the sliding glass door, raking away. Just the sight of him strengthened me. I wanted Gramps to like him, not just for the effort he expended to help, but because Kurt was the center of my world.
This could go so, so wrong.
Every rehearsed line went straight out of my head. Improvisation wasn’t my friend either—I got as far as, “I’ve talked to Mom and Dad, they’re okay.”
“What happened to them and why were we out in the yard all this time?” Gramps pierced me with his gaze. “Should we be at the hospital?”
“No!” Wow, had I given the wrong impression. “Nothing like that. They’re fine. Nothing happened to them. I meant okay with—”
Before I could clarify what I did mean, a man ambled into the kitchen, dressed in red plaid flannel pajama bottoms, a white V-necked undershirt, and bare feet. His white hair stuck up in all directions.
This apparition in my grandfather’s house took me so by surprise all the words died in my throat. I stared. Where had I seen him before?
“Good morning, Ray.” He rubbed my grandfather’s shoulder, reaching out like he expected that shoulder to be there, to not flinch away. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t realize we had company.” He nodded politely at me.
The voice… I’d heard it, and recently. The clues refused to come together, because, bed-headed man in my grandfather’s house. Handsy man. My head whirled. Two thoughts refused to rub together. Like getting punched in the temple, sparks and birdies and no function.
“Good morning, Floyd.” Gramps reached up to pat the hand this guy had so— so— proprietarily— placed on his shoulder. Like he was allowed. Like Gramps wanted his hand there.
The world had made sense this morning. I glanced out the slider, in case Kurt had turned into the Abominable Snowman or something when I hit my head. But no, he was out there, taking another flying leap into the leaves.
“I think you met my grandson, Jake, yesterday at dinner. He and his friend Kurt came over to rake.” Gramps turned to gaze up at Floyd. He left his hand in place, and gazed back.
I’d seen that look. Not on Gramps. Or not recently, not in five years, not… Not on a man looking at my grandfather. I’d seen that look on Kurt. When he looked at me.
What the fuck…
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Should I cover my eyes, rub my face, press my temples? The throbbing took on the beat of heavy drums. I didn’t know where to look—I was intruding on something I wasn’t meant to see.
Or meant to know. This wasn’t a look that happened overnight. Or for no reason.
This was my grandfather, for fuck’s sake. This man was touching my grandfather, like he had every right…
Whatever incoherent noise came out of my throat disturbed them. Gramps said, “Jake had something he wanted to tell me.”
Floyd finally took his hand away. “I’ll just go out and help Kurt with the leaves.” He disappeared into the back of the house, like he belonged there. Did he belong there?
How the hell were they being so fucking normal?! Like this was just another ordinary moment out of their lives? Like they hadn’t just turned the world upside down?
Gramps leaned his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled in front of his lips. “You were saying?”
What could I say? Where were words? My hands jerked wildly, in a silent I can’t even, trying to pluck words out of the air. My mouth sure wasn’t working right. “You and Floyd…?”
Gramps regarded me evenly. “Jake, I’m quite sure that whatever you were revving up to tell me had nothing to do with me and Floyd.”
Everything I thought I knew about my grandfather just went up in belches of pungent, stinging smoke. My words burst out like tongues of flame. “I was going to tell you I’m gay and Kurt’s my boyfriend, but looks like you have something to tell me.”
“This isn’t how I would have chosen to break the news, but yes, Floyd and I are a couple. He lives here. We’re happy.” Gramps leaned back in his chair. Like maybe my hands would find their direction and come at him fast. “Are you and Kurt happy?”
“Don’t change the subject!” I snapped. “How could you…” How could he change everything, just like that?
“How could I what, Jake? How could I find happiness again after losing my wife?” Gramps’s voice went hard. “By being very fortunate, that’s how.”
“But… but…” I didn’t know where I was going with that. “What about Grammy?”
“Jake,” he said gently. “Grammy is gone. We had a long life together, and she went first.”
“But that life was a lie, wasn’t it!” Every word felt like an arrow in my heart. “All those years and three kids? I thought you were happy, and our family was…” I ran out of words. Our family was based on a lie.
Not only was it based on a lie, but the subject of the lie came through the kitchen dressed in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans, to go through the sliding door to rake leaves. I stared daggers at him. How dare he come into my Grammy’s home, her kitchen, use her mixer to bake pies.
“Ahem.” Gramps cleared his throat and took my murderous glare off the interloper, who was headed out to work with my lover.
“No, Jake, it was not a lie. I loved your Grammy, my Hazel, very dearly. We made a family together, and a life, and it was a good life. We had fifty-three years together. Then she passed on, and I’m still here.” Gramps brushed his hand across his face.
“But… Three kids?” Damn it, I knew about reproduction, even if I didn’t want to think about it regarding my grandparents.
“Yes, three. The standard two point five is rather awkward, you never know which half you’re going to get, so we rounded up.” He placed both his hands flat on the table. “Why are you so easily able to doubt everything you’ve known about me and our family?”
“Because I know about being gay.” I could never, in ten thousand years, make a marriage with a woman, have children with her. Even if Kurt disappeared like he’d never existed.
I had to move before I jumped out of my skin. I’d pace, but the kitchen was too small for that. I ended up staring out the slider at Kurt, who handed Floyd a rake like nothing in the world was wrong. I couldn’t bear to watch—I turned back to the man who was systematically destroying my world.
“Well, Jake, only one of us is gay.” Gramps regarded me sternly, like I should have known this.
“Please don’t try to tell me you’re straight.” The betrayal sat in my gut like hot lava.
“I’m not, and don’t put words in my mouth.” My grandfather sighed the way he’d sighed when I hadn’t put the tools away properly, and he had to stand over me to make sure the job got done. “I loved your grandmother dearly. I also love Floyd. They’re two different people. They’re two different parts of my life. And, if you want to make a huge fuss about it, they’re two different genders. Jake, I thought the young people of today had open minds about such things.”
“It’s easier to be open minded when it isn’t your grandfather telling you everything you know about your family is wrong.” I wanted to cry, I wanted to run, I wanted to bury my face in Kurt’s neck and let him hold me until the universe stopped shaking.
The universe probably wouldn’t stop shaking. I wrenched open the s
liding glass door and stumbled toward the last firm foundation in my world.
CHAPTER 12
Kurt and Floyd seemed to be getting along just fine, damn it. Raking more leaves into the already enormous pile, chatting. I couldn’t hear the words through the roaring in my head. I wanted Floyd away from my partner, away from my grandfather…
I wanted everything to go back to the way it was this morning, when my biggest worry was how to tell my grandfather I was gay.
Kurt took one look at me and his eyes flew open wide. “Jake, what the hell happened?”
I couldn’t answer that, not when there was a boulder in my throat and the cause of it standing there with a rake in his hand. “You…” was as much as I could grate out. He should have burst into flames from the naked hate pouring off me.
“What the…” Floyd looked from me to the open glass door framing a slumped figure. He dropped the rake and rushed back to the house.
Falling apart too hard to pursue him, I looked helplessly at Kurt. “He… Gramps…”
“Come here.” Kurt dragged me to the giant mound of leaves, and then pushed me in. I disappeared into the leaves, and then Kurt was beside me, in our own little cocoon away from the world. He shoved the leaves from between our faces, letting me see him from close up, all concern. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Floyd… Gramps…” I choked out between the jackhammer thuds of my heart. “They’re…”
“They’re what?” Kurt could always tease information out of me, but I hated that he was doing it now. I didn’t want to answer him. He regarded me steadily, waiting for me to finish the thought, and he’d do it for as long as it took.
“Lovers.” I spat the word. “Everything about my grandfather, my family, is a lie.”
“Whoa, whoa there.” Kurt gripped my upper arm. “It’s a long way from one to the other.”