Norwegian Woody
By J.D. Walker
Published by JMS Books LLC
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Copyright 2016 J.D. Walker
ISBN 9781634860888
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
NOTE: This ebook was previously published by Amber Quill Press.
* * * *
Norwegian Woody
By J.D. Walker
I’d always been seen as a tragic figure in this town. I’d learned to deal with the unwanted stigma that followed me wherever I went, but I hated it. To simply be a person who’d grown up here like everyone else would have been nice. A regular Joe, rather than the boy who pity built. I was a living, breathing urban legend.
The boy who lived.
Yup, I was Woodrow Anker—the kid who’d witnessed his parents’ death at the age of three and survived. I’d hung upside down in the car as they bled to death in front of me. The person who’d caused the accident was never found, and I could still remember the smell of gasoline and my parents screaming in pain until they stopped, forever. I’d felt like I was floating. It had taken a long time for help to arrive, and not once did I cry or make a sound. In fact, I didn’t speak again until I was ten years old.
Lucky for me, lifelong friends of my parents, the Zumpanos, took me in and I became part of their family. I was as different from them as night from day. I had pale gray eyes and white-blond hair—my Norwegian ancestry was front and center—whereas the members of my foster family were dark-haired and brown-eyed Italian Americans going back four generations.
The youngest boy, Serge, was the same age as me and became my best friend. Rafe Zumpano, who was eight years older than us, became our self-appointed protector in all things. There was a sister, Helen, who was two years older than Rafe and ended up marrying and moving to Florida later on. She had three kids now.
I attended many therapy sessions growing up, and we, as a family, learned sign language to help me communicate and feel confident while I was speech impaired. Mila and Peter Zumpano got me into a school an hour up the coast that would cater to my needs, a place where I now worked as a teacher.
The return of my ability to speak had been abrupt. It happened when Rafe turned eighteen and announced to all of us at dinner that he’d been accepted to a university many miles away. I didn’t want him to go, and the anguish I felt at his upcoming departure made me cry out, “No!”
My first word in seven years, and it was bittersweet. I had Rafe, painful as it was, to thank for my return to speech, but it wasn’t until my teenage years that I understood why I’d reacted that way.
Rafe returned home a few years later after graduating with a criminal science degree. Serge and I were in our mid-teens by then. We mostly ignored his attempts to meddle as “big brother,” and it was at that time that I started to notice boys, and Rafe in particular.
He became a cop and was highly respected by all. But he was also a heavy drinker and his binges were legendary. His beer consumption had begun in his teens. Serge and I caught him sneaking bottles out of his dad’s stash and he’d bribe us to keep quiet. Rafe’s descent into alcohol had been sudden, and I had yet to figure out the trigger.
And now, I was almost thirty. The townsfolk still treated me with kid gloves and Rafe was still an ass.
* * * *
It was already late May and the town was filled with tourists. Thankfully I didn’t have to deal with that too much during the day since I worked up the coast. But it still made getting around in town a pain since there was just one main road through the town center. At least it wasn’t so bad in the mornings because I left home before six-thirty. The afternoons were a nightmare.
I lived up against a hill in the cabin I’d renovated some years back. It was a two-bedroom residence that had a nice view of the ocean from the front. Serge had helped me with it over the years while we still lived at the Zumpano house. Our friendship had matured, though I didn’t see him as often since he traveled a lot on business. He didn’t seem to like it much.
After they’d moved to the southeast a few years ago, Mila and Peter Zumpano had left the family home to Rafe and Serge. Rafe was now the town sheriff. So, instead of just overprotecting me and his little brother, he did it for the town, too. It was in his makeup. Certainly his shoulders were broad enough to carry all the troubles in the world, not that I ever noticed. Much. What would be the point, since he went through women like candy?
I was Rafe’s complete opposite in temperament, though we matched each other in height, and I was actually a little wider than him now, go figure. Must be my Nordic genes. Black hair cut military short, his brown gaze piercing, Rafe reminded me of lawmen from the old west. He was intense in all things, whereas I tended to be mellower, unless really riled up. We’d both played sports in school, but he went to college on a football scholarship, and when it was my turn, I’d gotten a full ride because of my grades. Not that Rafe was dumb. He had to be smart, to make sheriff.
As to his sexuality, I often wondered what his deal was. On the surface, he seemed straight. I’d seen Rafe with lots of girls growing up, and he dated widely in town even now. He was a “catch,” after all. But the man was getting near forty and hadn’t settled down. And he never seemed to be that enthusiastic, either, when I saw him with his girl of the week around town. It was as if he was playing pretend. Or that was just my wishful thinking.
There was also that one time, too, that I could have sworn I’d seen him at a gay bar, but I figured I must have been imagining things, things I wanted badly, despite the truth before me.
Who was I to judge, anyway? My own dating life was sparse. I’d had lots of hookups in college, and enjoyed the occasional trick away from town. But I didn’t get out much, content to work on small renovation and woodwork projects around town, and teaching the kids at the school to which I owed so much was my passion. I was a loner, and comfortable that way. Too much attention made me skittish. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.
Rafe’s drinking concerned me, though, more and more each day. His personality changed when he was soused and things got out of hand, fast. I’d seen it happen many times, and was the one who’d get the call to drag his ass home from whatever hole in the wall where he was making trouble. It was a wonder he still had enough brain cells to do his job.
* * * *
It was a warm Friday afternoon in June and I’d just arrived home from work when my cell phone rang.
“Hello?” I said without looking at the caller ID as I tossed my keys on the wooden table I’d carved from an old tree trunk.
“It’s Serge, buddy. What’s up?”
“Hey, man! Are you coming home?” I asked as I went to the kitchen to grab a beer.
“I’ll be there tonight, maybe around eight. I can stay until Monday. Tell Rafe, would you? They just called my flight and I need more coffee. That croissant I had was gross. Why can’t people bake worth a damn? I’d give anything for a good croissant like back home. Love you, bro!”
“Why can’t you call Rafe and—?” But he’d already hung up.
Serge was a hit-and-run kind of guy. Always moving at super speed, very high energy. Half the time he wore me out with his enthusiasm and mile-a-minute chatter, but he was my brother, and family was everything to me. Serge tended to avoid Rafe when possible, not the least of which because Rafe kept badgering him about wasting his life, that he could do more, that he needed to come home and find a job locally, blah blah.
I sent the sheriff a text, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. He’d want to hear the blow by blow of a ten-second conversation. So overkill. Rafe was still on shift—he made sure that I had his schedule at all times should anything happen to me, God forbid—and I needed groceries.
Back in my truck, I turned on the engine and heard my cell phone beep. With a half-smile, I checked the screen. Rafe had responded…
Come see me right now.
I rolled my eyes and headed into town, merging into traffic. The sheriff’s office was right next to the fire station that was served by a mostly voluntary crew. A spot opened up just when I needed it, and I zipped in.
I headed inside, waving at Jonah Kemberling, the cop on duty at the front desk. “Sheriff said to send you on back when you got here,” he offered with a look of sympathy and a smile. Everyone knew just how much of a hard-ass Rafe Zumpano could be, especially if it was something to do with me or Serge.
“Thanks,” I replied and went on my way.
The place wasn’t that big, and I knew everyone there. I murmured “hello” as I moved along until I arrived at the door marked “Sheriff.” I knocked and heard a gruff “Come in” from the other side.
I opened the door. “Sheriff,” I greeted him, mainly because he hated when I did that.
“Fuck you,” was his grouchy reply as I closed the door and sat in the chair in front of his desk.
Rafe had always looked good in uniform. He filled it out so nicely. He seemed tired, though, and he hadn’t shaved. His eyes looked bloodshot. I wondered if he’d been out drinking late the night before. Or worse, this morning.
I decided to ignore that for the moment and needle him a bit, as only two men who’d grown up around each other could.
“I really don’t see why I have to come in here to tell you something that was clearly explained in a succinct text,” I said.
“I’m a control freak. You know that,” he growled, running a hand over his hair as he leaned back in his chair. The ends stuck up. He needed a haircut.
I coughed into my fist while saying, “Overkill.” He glared at me. I smiled back at him, innocent as the day I was born.
“Serge is coming in tonight around eight. He talked at super speed ‘til he hung up the phone on the way to catching a plane.” I snagged a paperclip from the pile on Rafe’s desk. “You have anything aside from beer in the house?” I knew the answer before he gave it.
He had the grace to blush. “You know I don’t. Marianne said she’d bring something over tonight, but I guess I’ll tell her not to worry. And don’t give me that look or start in with the nagging about drinking. I’ve got it under control.” Right.
I felt a ping in my heart, but I ignored it. “Why do you even go out with these girls? You don’t care one bit for any of them.” That bugged me the most about his dating habits, almost as much as his drinking.
“Gotta stick my dick somewhere,” he replied, and I groaned.
“Classy, Sheriff. Real classy.” I leaned forward. “You drink last night? Is this why you look hungover?”
“I’ve got it under control,” he snapped and I backed off. Now wasn’t the time to broach this, though I might have to, soon.
Instead, I said, “Tell you what. I need groceries, too, so how about I shop for the three of us and I’ll cook something up? Maybe on the grill?”
His eyes lit up. “Hey, would you do some ribs in that secret sauce you guard like the Holy Grail?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll work on a renovation project with you on my next day off.”
I was surprised and oddly touched. The man could handle a gun, but give him a hammer and a nail and he’d hit his thumb every time. “You would do that? It’s not really your thing and you won’t get worker’s comp.”
“Ha.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “No, but it’s your thing and I’ve been remiss in checking up on you.”
Oh great. He’s being “big brother” again. “I’m an adult and almost thirty. When will you get that through your head?”
“Probably never.” That’s what I was afraid of.
“No need for favors, Rafe. I’ll cook for you anytime. We both know you burn air.”
“Hey now!” He appeared deeply affronted, but I knew better.
“How do you explain the burnt pan in the kitchen the last time I came over to clean your house? If Mila ever found out…”
Rafe imitated a deer frozen in headlights. “Please, don’t ever threaten me like that. Mom would tan my hide.”
Funny to see such a big man, the head of a police department, afraid of a tiny woman like Mrs. Zumpano.
“You’d better behave yourself, then.”
He puffed out his chest, and it was impressive. “Look here. I’m older than you and I’ve been taking care of you and Serge since…”
“Please, we’re adults, remember?”
“Yeah, he refuses to come home and you go to gay bars that reek of piss where you’re likely to catch an STD in the bathrooms while getting a blow job.”
“How would you know about gay bars? Though I suppose, when you’re desperate for a drink, you’ll get it anywhere you can, right?” I shot back, and his expression looked a little fearful for a second.
“What does it matter where I drink?” That wasn’t a denial.
Whatever. “Rafe Zumpano. I’m a grown-up, and I’ll thank you to remember that,” I growled at him. “Don’t forget, I’m bigger than you now and more than capable of handing your ass to you, got it?”
He gave me an undecipherable look. “Yeah, got it.”
* * * *
After buying groceries, I drove over to the Zumpano house. It was up the hill a ways, roughly two miles from my cabin. I’d done work on the house over the years and it was still in pretty good shape, no thanks to Rafe. If it wasn’t for me or Serge, the place would have fallen to pieces after the senior Zumpanos had moved out.
I let myself in with the key that was kept above the door and went to the kitchen. Egads, it was a mess! Maybe the reason why Rafe went through girlfriends like he did was because of his lack of, well, house sense.
I set my purchases on a section of the table that wasn’t packed with detritus, and got to work. It took me forty-five minutes to clean everything and toss all the beer bottles. After that, I headed outside to prepare the grill. Ribs with baked potatoes, salad, and dessert ought to do it for all of us. I made my secret sauce, which I would never share with anyone, no matter what Rafe threatened, then basted the ribs to my satisfaction.
While I worked, Rafe arrived. “Honey, I’m home!” he called. To him it was funny to say that. To me, it made me wish for unattainable things. I needed to get laid.
“I’m out here, you ingrate,” I yelled from the back of the house. I checked my cell phone. It was almost eight o’clock. “Why don’t you shower and be nice and fresh so you can terrorize your baby brother when he gets here? You know he expects it.”
“You make me sound so mean,” he replied from right behind me, making me jump.
“Don’t do that!” I chided, glaring at him briefly before re
focusing on the grill. His sweaty scent from a warm day in uniform was driving me nuts, though there was an underlying smell of hops. “Go clean up already.”
He kissed me on the cheek and I swatted at him. “You sound like a wife.”
“You diss me, Zumpano, and your ribs will be served raw.”
He backed away, hands in the air. “I’ve learned to never mess with a woman while she’s cooking.” He blew me a kiss and took off into the house, leaving me fuming.
God, he got to me sometimes. Ever since I’d come out to everyone in my late teens, the family had been supportive. Rafe had taken longer to work through it, but once he did, he’d ragged me endlessly and constantly made “woman” jokes. It was worse when he’d had a few. Most days, I tolerated it. Sometimes, it hurt.
Serge showed up in time for dinner, as if he’d planned it that way. He wore a crumpled suit and his tie was askew. “Hey, man,” he greeted me, delivering a huge hug and squeeze before he did the same to Rafe, now clean from his shower and with a beer in hand. “It’s great to be home.”
He kept on talking while he stashed his suitcases—three of them, along with a huge overnight bag, a backpack, his laptop bag and a mystery cardboard box in the foyer. “I’ve been dreaming of your ribs since I got on the plane. I was hoping you’d make ‘em tonight. I figured you’d end up over here anyway, trying to clean the place since Rafe has never cleaned anything in his life.”
The sheriff drank from his bottle, then said, “Whatever, runt. You’re not much better.”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve learned a thing or two about cleaning up after myself in my travels. Makes things easier in the long run. So there.” I was sure he wanted to stick out his tongue, but he didn’t. I held in a snicker.
I listened to the brothers bicker back and forth while I finished dinner. It was like old times. Rafe finished two beers before we sat down to eat.
“God, these are always so good,” Rafe announced, moaning like he was having the best sex as he ate and sucked his way to the bone.
“Is this what you sound like when you’re giving it to one of the girls in town?” I asked.
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