Boys of Summer

by Steve Berman

  “You think I don’t know that people talk? I’m the one raising Wyatt. He’s been gay since he was little. He wanted to marry Batman when he was three. I’ve spent my whole life listening to people talk, and so has Wyatt.” I could hear Mom pacing now; four steps across the bedroom, five steps back. “It’s not a new experience for us. I understand that it might be for you. But you’re either going to have to man up and deal, or you’re going to have to spend your nights in your own bed. I’m not putting my boy out on the streets for you.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Clyde protested.

  “What do you think sending him to his father means, exactly?”

  “Calm down—”

  “Don’t you tell me to calm down. This is Wyatt’s home. And it’s going to be Wyatt’s home as long as he wants it to be.”

  “Of course. Of course it is. I’m sorry.” I could hear Clyde get up—the bedsprings gave a sigh of relief when his lard butt moved—and kiss Mom. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’d never want to do that.”

  Jacksie never sleeps. I scrunched down in my bed and texted him. OMG Clyde thinks I’m hot for his fat ass!

  LOL! U a chubby chaser now?

  EWWWW. Laughing did make me feel better.

  He wishes, Jacksie sent back.

  He wants me out.

  There was a long pause then, so long that I thought that maybe Jacksie didn’t get the text. I was about to write him again when he replied: You can come here if you have to. Always.

  That made me tear up a little bit. Even though he was my best friend, I wasn’t expecting him to say something like that. Of course, I wasn’t expecting to ever need anyone to say that.

  Thanks. Mom won’t let him do it tho. It’s ok.

  Anytime, Wy.

  It was hard to get to sleep after that. Not impossible, but hard.

  *

  “Oh, Wyatt, wait until you see the sorry-looking mongrel we got in today!” Miss Vivian started screeching at me the minute I walked into Happy Valley Animal Rescue. “I told him we were in the business of saving lost causes—but between you and me, I’m not sure there’s any hope for him!”

  I rolled my eyes. My boss was almost fifty, but she liked to act like she was fifteen. “There’s always hope, Miss V.”

  “You always say that, Wyatt.”

  “Only when it’s true.”

  When Miss Vivian laughed, the reluctantly rescued alley cats we’ve got confined in cages stopped their scrapping and looked up in awe. There wasn’t a tom in the place that wouldn’t have cut his own nuts off to be able to yowl like that. I, on the other hand, was trying to figure out exactly how painful it would be to puncture my own eardrums.

  “Let me check out this mongrel situation.” Miss V. waved me to the back, intent, as always, on whatever she was reading on the computer screen. I was expecting some awful nip-happy Chihuahua-beagle mix…not the hot guy from the county fair.

  Yet there he was, sorting out bags of donated pet food. Cat food to the right, dog food to the left. There was always more dog food than cat food, even though cats outnumber dogs three to one most of the time. People just don’t care about them as much, I guess.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He looked up, brown eyes widening a little as he studied me. “Hey, I know you,” he said. “Or I think I know you. You go to RCS.”

  I nodded. “I’m a senior this year.”

  He laughed. “I would be too, if I’d stayed in.”

  “When were you there?” RCS isn’t a big high school, and I definitely would have remembered this guy.

  He waved his hand vaguely. “Nearly two years ago, maybe? I only made it a couple of times before things went bad. But you were there. You’re Wayne or Winston or some shit.”

  “Wyatt. Wyatt Haynes.”

  “Brody,” he said. “Brody LeBeaux. Here to entertain and serve—for the next 196 hours and twelve minutes.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that about?”

  “Community service. Judge told me I had a choice. It was this or go to jail. I didn’t really want to spend the summer in lockup.”

  “Can’t blame you there. What’d you do?” I asked. “To get in trouble?”

  “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s how us lost causes get started, you know.” He rolled his eyes toward the front, where Miss Vivian sat.

  “She’s not so bad,” I said. “Just loud.”

  “I don’t think she likes me much,” Brody said. “What about you? What did you do to wind up stuck here all summer?”

  “It’s kind of like an internship deal.” I could feel my face flush. I wanted to be a vet someday, but who says stuff like that? “I’m pretty good with working with the troubled dogs. The ones that have been abused and shit. I’m hoping it helps me get a scholarship.”

  “So they’re not paying you either.”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “You wouldn’t be better off working somewhere and saving up the money for school?” Brody narrowed his eyes. “Seems like that would be more of a sure thing for you.”

  “I go over and clean Stuckey’s in the mornings,” I said. “That pays all right, I guess.” Mopping the bar, hauling empty kegs down to the basement, and getting all the empty bottles and cans bagged up for returns paid twenty-five dollars a day during the week, fifty on weekends—plus whatever cash I happened to find while I was cleaning. The ladies’ bathroom was usually good for at least another twenty.

  “Stuckey’s? That’s a cop bar.” Brody’s face looked like he had just been slapped.

  I shrugged. “It’s an empty bar when I’m there.”

  The dogs were getting bored with our conversation. They’re smart, and they know when I show up that playtime is coming. By this point, they were going nuts, barking and jumping around. You couldn’t even hear yourself think in there, much less have a conversation.

  “What’s wrong with the dogs?” Brody asked.

  “They want to get out of those cages. Who’s ready for some fun?” I asked. A dozen dogs howled in response. “All right!” This was the best part of the job. I pointed down toward the far end of the room, where the older dogs are kept. “Why don’t you grab Sheba and Max and the twins, and I’ll get these guys out.”

  Have you ever seen what happens when a dozen dogs who have been cooped up all day finally get a chance to run and play? It’s total chaos. It’s hard not to get caught right in the middle of it. I stood out there, sweating as I ran up and down the yard to throw tennis balls for the dogs to chase.

  That’s what I was doing when I heard Miss Vivian snapping at Brody. “I thought this community service thing meant you were supposed to be working! Not taking a nap with the dog.”

  I stopped and looked. There Brody was, sitting along the yard wall in a patch of shade. In his lap was one of the oldest dogs we had at the animal rescue, a big fat hound dog named Ponder.

  “I asked him to do that, Miss V.,” I said, right off. “You know Ponder won’t go to just anyone. I think it’s a good sign that he’s so comfortable with Brody.”

  She snorted. “Dogs love everyone. They don’t know any better.”

  There are dogs that do love everyone. These dogs are the lucky dogs—dogs that haven’t been beaten, or starved, or loaded up with BBs by drunk rednecks “target practicing”—dogs who haven’t seen humanity at its worst. These are the dogs that will wag their tails and roll over for everyone. You’ve seen these dogs. They expect the world to scratch their belly and give them a treat, and because they’re lucky dogs, that’s what happens. But not all dogs are lucky dogs.

  The dogs who aren’t lucky don’t love everyone. They know better. Life has taught them that they have to be watchful and wary. They figure out fast who they can trust, and who they need to avoid. It’s like they develop a sixth sense, an early warning system that lets them know if a person is a friend or a foe. If these dogs don’t like you, they’ve got a reason. And if these dogs, these unluck
y dogs, give you a chance, odds are you’re a pretty decent person.

  Ponder is one of the unluckiest dogs I’ve ever met. When he came into the shelter, he had burns and broken bones. Some idiot had poured battery acid onto his head, burning away fur and more than a little scalp. He was blind in one eye. I’d been working with him for months, and he still wouldn’t take treats from my hand. But there he was, curled up in Brody’s lap, fast asleep without a care in the world.

  It was a good sign, if you asked me, that Brody couldn’t be 100 percent bad boy.

  The rest of the day flew by. I spent it showing Brody the ropes—including my foolproof trick of rubbing Vicks VapoRub under my nose right before tackling the nastiest cages—and working up the courage to ask him what his plans were after work. I still had that twenty bucks from Clyde. Maybe he’d want to check out the fair. You know, just hang out and stuff.

  Mostly, I was hoping for stuff. I could fill out a note card with all the stuff I’ve done with another guy. No, more like a Post-It note.

  The plan was to ask him after work, once we were out of earshot of Miss Vivian. There was only one problem with that plan. As soon as we were done, Brody was through the door and gone. There was a blue car waiting in the parking lot, motor already running. Behind the wheel of that blue car? The tall black guy from the fair.

  *

  That pissed me off all weekend long. Not that it should, really. I’d seen Brody with the guy the night before. I knew he was in the picture. But I didn’t like it. It was just wrong, fundamentally wrong, that the hottest guy I’d ever seen—who also happened to be gay!—wound up working in my animal shelter, only to have a boyfriend.

  My mom thought the family reunion would distract me. I’d tried to get out of it—hanging out at Uncle Stan’s farm watching all my kinfolk tear it up isn’t exactly my thing anymore. I loved it when I was little. The barbecue, the bonfire, swimming with my cousins in the creek: it all used to be fun. But then my cousins started growing up into full-fledged rednecks, and I could think of five hundred other places I’d rather be.

  No such luck. “I need you to come, Wyatt. Otherwise I’ll be on my own.”

  “You’re bringing Clyde.” She wasn’t making much sense.

  “Exactly. I don’t want to be on my own, with Clyde, at the reunion. It’s too much of a change for everyone.” She dropped her voice, afraid perhaps that her idiot boyfriend would stop paying attention to the pre-pre-race show and actually listen to her. “Some of my family still misses your father. More than you might think.”

  “It happens.” Mom looked really sad when I said that, so I agreed to go to the stupid reunion. How bad could it be?

  It turns out that the answer to that question is actually pretty bad. Things were going all right, at first. There was barbecue and fireworks and little kids running around with sparklers. Everyone else was having a good time. Clyde especially. The bonfire was still going strong by the time he ran out of beer. He’d searched the cooler for another can three times before giving up.

  “Well, that sucks,” he announced to the world. Then he staggered three awkward paces and sat down in a lawn chair right next to mine.

  Had I been smart, I would have bolted right then and there. I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s a ton of work, avoiding Clyde. Maybe I was just tired of it.

  “Tell me something,” he said, and I knew I was trapped.

  “What’s that?”

  “You see that girl over there?” He gestured toward the edge of the fire, where my cousin Eileen was talking with her boyfriend. “Those legs? Those tits? They don’t do anything for you?”

  “Dude. You’re sick. She’s my cousin!”

  “Forget she’s your cousin for a minute. Just look at her like a woman. That’s something any normal guy can do. Someone put her together right, that’s all I’m saying. You can’t even appreciate that?”

  I shrugged. “Not my thing.”

  “Have you even tried? Been with a girl?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “So how do you know you don’t like it?” Clyde leaned closer, whispering with drunken volume. “It’s the most amazing thing in the world—and you’ve never even given it a chance.”

  “How many men have you been with, Clyde?”

  He sat back, affronted. “None!”

  “So how do you know you don’t like it?” I bit back the “It’s the most amazing thing in the world” since I only suspected that was true.

  Clyde looked at me for a long moment. I could almost see the drunken path of his thoughts as they traveled through his skull. Wrinkles formed on his forehead. I bet, if it wasn’t so dark, that I’d be able to see smoke curling from his ears. “You know what, Wyatt? Gay kids run away all the time. No one is surprised by it when they come up gone.” It took him three slurred attempts before he managed to finish his thought. “You’d better think about that before you say sick shit like that to me. Think real hard about it.”

  Then his eyes started to roll, and he passed out and fell over.

  I thought about pissing on him then, I really did. But Mom apparently noticed that Mr. Wonderful was having a rough time.

  “What happened?” Mom asked. She studied my expression intently, as if the answers she was seeking were engraved on my face.

  I shrugged. “We were talking, and then he passed out.”

  “You didn’t hit him? You look really angry.”

  “I wanted to, but no.” I pointed at Clyde, facedown in the dirt. “He did that all on his own.”

  “What were you guys talking about?”

  “He wanted to know why Eileen didn’t turn me on.”

  Mom’s eyes widened. “Does he realize she’s your cousin?”

  “Apparently that doesn’t matter to straight people,” I said.

  Mom laughed. “Don’t be an idiot.” She looked down at Clyde. “We’ve already got one more of them than we need.”

  *

  You should tell your mom. Jacksie had been texting me nonstop since I’d told him about what Clyde had said. “He’s threatening you.”

  He was drunk. Harmless. Too fat to do anything, I replied.

  You never know.

  I was beginning to be sorry I’d said anything at all to Jacksie. I know he meant well, but really? What was I supposed to do? I knew Clyde was a moron, but as long as Mom was into him, he was there to stay.

  To distract Jacksie, I snapped a quick pic of Brody, who was having a great time treating the latest batch of kittens for ear mites. Check out our new volunteer!

  Bad Boy!

  I know. He’s here all summer.

  AWESOME! MAKE YOUR MOVE!

  Can’t. He’s got a BF.

  Chickenshit excuse.

  I laughed right out loud. Brody looked up, one mewling gray kitten still in his hand. “What’s so funny, dude? I’ve got like nine million scratches here.”

  I dropped my phone on the counter. “Sorry. Let me help you out.”

  We’d dosed maybe half of the kittens when Miss Vivian came into the back room with a weird smile on her face. “Hey, Brody boy, what you been up to? The police just pulled up out front!”

  Brody stood up. “What? I ain’t done nothing!” He sounded angry, but he looked really, really pale all of a sudden.

  “Then why are the state troopers out front?”

  “Beats me. Why don’t you go ask them?”

  “Yeah, maybe they’re here for me,” I said. I was trying to break the tension. “Distract them while I make my getaway.”

  Miss Vivian snorted. “Wyatt, for you, I would do that.” She gave Brody a nasty look. They definitely had not gotten any closer as the summer went on. “I can’t say the same for everyone.”

  “You never heard me ask you,” Brody said. “And you won’t.”

  “Good thing. Because you’ll know what my answer is before I even say a word.” Miss Vivian turned on her heel and left.

  “Bitch.” Brody said it softly, one hal
f second before Miss Vivian passed through the doorway. Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t turn around.

  The state troopers hadn’t come for Brody. They never asked for him, and as far as I can tell, never even looked for him. They were way more interested in getting rid of the dog they’d picked up.

  “We’re not doing you any favors with this one,” one of the cops said to Miss Vivian. “Meth dealers were using him to guard their lab. It doesn’t seem like they were feeding him real regular. Boy’s got a hell of an attitude.”

  It was true. The dog they were holding onto was the skinniest pit bull I’d ever seen. I could count his ribs from across the room. There was a terrible scrape on his left flank. He was definitely on guard, holding himself at attention, almost trembling with the tension. Every breath he took had a growl that went with it; a steady, rumbling threatening sound that filled the room like thunder.

  “Let me see him,” I said.

  “I don’t know about that.” The cop looked at Miss Vivian. “I’m telling you he’s not real friendly.”

  “It’s all right,” I told the cop. “He’s just scared. Let me see him. I’m the aggressive dog specialist here.” Miss Vivian was saying something, but I wasn’t paying attention to her. Moving calmly, I stepped over and took the lead from the cop’s hand. “It’s going to be all right.”

  The dog looked up at me, and I looked down at him. I’m not sure what he saw in that moment, but it was enough to make the growling stop.

  I squatted down so he could look me in the eye.

  “Wyatt…” Miss Vivian’s tone lowered. “You better be careful.”

  I ignored her. All of my attention was fixed on the dog in front of me. I wanted him to see me. If he could see that I wasn’t scary, that he had a friend, then maybe we would be able to take him in and give him the help he needed. It all hinged on this moment.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked him. “Do you want something to eat?”

  The dog’s tail began to wag. He stepped closer to me, some of the tension melting out of his body.