by Kim Fielding
The house smelled of food—like Sage. It was as if generations of cooking scents had sunk into the woodwork and furniture. Not an unpleasant odor at all. Tully thought it must be nice to come home to.
Tully’s next impression was of a large, dark creature launching itself at them. While Tully backed up against the door, Sage dropped his duffel and squatted to embrace what turned out to be a slightly chubby black Lab with a dangerously wagging tail. The dog was so enthusiastic in its greeting that Sage nearly fell on his ass as he laughed and rubbed the soft ears.
Then the dog noticed Tully and waddled over to stick its nose in his crotch.
“Um…,” Tully said.
“That’s Tooth. Push him away if he’s bugging you.”
Tully didn’t push Tooth away. He stroked the dog’s head instead, which set the tail going even more frantically. “Tooth?”
“Tooth Filling. My dad named him.”
Tooth had white fur around his muzzle and a goofy canine grin. He licked Tully’s hand before sitting abruptly—on Tully’s feet.
“He does that on purpose,” said Sage. “So you have no choice but to stand there and pet him.”
Tully set his suitcase down, and while he lavished attention on Tooth, he took a quick look around. They were in a living room, dark except for the morning light stealing in through the lace curtains, so he couldn’t make out all the details. There seemed to be quite a few pieces of furniture. Knickknacks crowded shelves and the fireplace mantel, and framed photos filled the walls. He might have called the furniture shabby, but he thought well loved was a better adjective. Despite a bit of clutter, everything looked tidy. He tried to make out the people in the photos, but the room was too dark and Tooth didn’t seem willing to let him move from his spot near the door.
Then a woman limped into the room and turned on the overhead light. Sage ran over and hugged her, while Tooth kept Tully’s feet firmly in place.
Sage’s mother was around seventy years old and somewhat stout. Her pillow-tousled gray hair and rumpled nightgown suggested she’d just climbed out of bed, but she beamed at Sage. “I thought you weren’t coming this week!”
Sage kissed her cheek. “I was rescued by my white knight and his faithful steed.” He gestured at Tully.
Tully had no idea of the proper etiquette when meeting one’s lover’s mother at an obscenely early hour when one clearly wasn’t expected, especially when one was pinned in place by a hundred pounds of elderly Labrador. So he smiled bravely and waved. “Hi, Mrs. Filling.”
“Mrs. Filling?” she repeated with a snort. “It’s Deb.” She hobbled over as quickly as her bad knees allowed, pushed Tooth out of the way, and gave Tully an enthusiastic hug.
“Mom! I haven’t even introduced you two yet!” Sage was smiling widely.
“He’s handsome, he’s wearing an expensive coat, and he was willing to drive you all the way out here in the middle of the night. If he isn’t your boyfriend, I’d sure like to know why not.”
Boyfriend. Well, it seemed Deb was as comfortable about her son being gay as Sage had claimed. “It’s really nice to meet you, Deb,” he said, deciding a handshake was superfluous after she’d already squeezed the air from him.
“And it’s wonderful to meet you. Finally.” She shot Sage a quick glare. “We’ve heard so much about you. I just wish you’d met me when I was a little more put together.” Another glare.
“Mom, I didn’t know we’d be coming until, like, three in the morning. And I didn’t want to wake you up then.”
“Bah. I get up ten times a night anyway. Now. How about if I fix you boys some breakfast?”
“I’ll do it,” Sage said.
He looked like he was going to say something more, but something came shrieking into the room. “Daddy!” The creature flung itself at Sage, who caught it with a grunt.
“You’re worse than Tooth,” Sage complained into his daughter’s hair.
“Grandma said you couldn’t come this week ’cause Old Bessie broke. What happened to her? Is she okay? Oh my God, is that who I think it is?” She stared at Tully wide-eyed.
Kayley had her long hair in a messy braid and wore pink pajamas with smiling dolphins printed all over them. She was tall—almost as tall as Sage—and in person their resemblance was more obvious.
Sage performed a round of introductions that ended in another hug and was sprinkled with several happy squeals. From Kayley, not from Tully, although he was delighted, if overwhelmed, by this welcome.
Kayley hopped up and down. “Oh my God, Dad, he’s so cute! He’s adorable. Why didn’t you tell me he was so cute?”
“I did.”
“No, you said he was good-looking. He’s way better than that.”
“You’re going to make him conceited. Tell you what, Kay. Get dressed while I make something to eat, and then Tully and I will drive you to school in his fancy car. You don’t mind, do you, Tully?”
“Of course not.”
Kayley bounced to the window and pushed aside the curtain to peek outside. When she saw the Tesla, she squealed again. “Oh my God!” She bounded off down the hall.
Sage smiled fondly after her. “Thirty seconds from now, she could be dragging herself around like her world is ending. Or be angry at the universe. Teenagers.”
“When you were her age, you perfected the silent mope,” Deb said.
“When I was her age, I was getting ready to be a parent.”
Deb nodded. “And you’ve done a darn good job of it. Now get your man some food before he collapses.”
Starvation wasn’t going to be the end of Tully, but he was somewhat overwhelmed by the outpouring of… Fillings. So he felt relieved when Deb went to get dressed and Sage took his hand and dragged him into the kitchen. Tooth followed.
“We’re kind of a lot, aren’t we?” Sage asked with a chuckle. “Imagine if all my aunts and uncles and cousins were here.”
Tully shuddered. “Can I just meet you a couple at a time?”
“Done. And lemme get you some more coffee.”
At Sage’s direction, Tully sat at the large table covered by a colorful oilcloth. Tooth lay down at his feet and watched Sage’s every move, obviously aware food was forthcoming.
The white-painted cabinets in the big kitchen looked as if they might be original to the house, but the oversize six-burner stove was modern. The room had wooden floors, well-worn near the counters and table but very clean, and children’s drawings hung on the cheery yellow walls. As Tully watched, Sage got some coffee going in an old brewer, then began pulling things from the cupboards and fridge.
“You grew up in this house?” Tully asked, entranced as always at watching Sage cook.
“Yeah. Dad too. And his dad. It’s not hardly a mansion, is it? Or a penthouse.”
“I like it,” Tully said honestly.
“Why?”
“It’s….” He struggled to find the right word. “Homey.”
“No million-dollar views.”
“True, but I think I saw your grade school photos on the living room wall, and I’m definitely going to check those out.”
Sage glanced over his shoulder at Tully. “I was a goofy-looking kid.”
“Me too. All arms and legs and a huge nose, like a mutant giraffe.”
“You have pictures?”
Tully shook his head. Maybe his father had once possessed some childhood photos of Tully—or at least some of the whole family—but if so, Tully had never seen them. And likely the old man had destroyed them long ago.
Kayley sprang into the kitchen, followed by Deb at a more sedate pace. While Deb wore jeans and a green sweatshirt imprinted with orange flowers, Kayley appeared to be impersonating a lumberjack in heavy boots, faded jeans, an oversize red flannel shirt, and a black-and-red knit hat.
Everyone ate omelets—even the dog, thanks to Sage and Kayley sneaking him bits—and there were muffins, coffee, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Kayley flung a barrage of questions at Tully b
ut rarely waited to hear the whole answer, and when she grinned, she looked amazingly like her father. Then Deb started cleaning up while Kayley grabbed an enormous backpack and the leather jacket Sage had given her for Christmas.
“I’m ready!” she announced.
Tully had intended to sit in the back seat so she’d get to check out everything on the dashboard. But Kayley said it would be much more impressive if Tully, rather than her father, chauffeured her, so Sage ended up in the back instead. It was a short drive, and by the time they pulled up in front of the school, Tully would have sworn the girl hadn’t taken a single breath between words since she got into the car.
“Bye Dad! Bye Tully!” She glided regally out of the passenger seat, enjoying the attention she got from the other students.
“Your daughter certainly can talk!” Tully said after she was gone.
“Said her first words at ten months and hasn’t shut up since.” He watched as she entered the school, adoration clear on his face. Then he turned toward Tully. “How about a tour of the Hair Shaker metropolitan area?”
“I’d love one.”
They left the car where it was in front of the school—parking was hardly an issue—and strolled toward downtown. The morning air felt brisk on Tully’s face, the sky was bright blue, and signs of green showed in front yards and window boxes. A handful of vehicles were parked on Main Street, mostly pickups and a couple of older sedans. Aside from the cars, blacktop, and power lines, Tully guessed the town hadn’t looked much different back when Sage’s great-great-grandfather founded the Hair Shaker Café.
“A little different from the Big Apple, huh?” Sage said.
“Just a bit.” It was even vastly different from Portland. No rushing traffic. No buses or trains or trucks or even bicycles. And not many people. The only sounds were birdcalls and, if Tully wasn’t mistaken, the distant mooing of cows. Hair Shaker should have felt like a ghost town, or maybe like an abandoned movie set. But it didn’t. It was simply… peaceful. And perhaps had a slight air of anticipation, as if the town were holding its breath and waiting for something. He didn’t understand that part.
“The street’s surprisingly wide,” Tully observed.
“I know. I always got the impression our founding fathers expected more than what they got.” He grinned and grabbed Tully’s hand as they walked. “We do a parade every April as part of the Shearing Festival. People come in from all over to watch—even people from Bottle Jaw. Antique cars, horses with carts, kids in sheep costumes. It’s dorky but fun. And then there are booths behind the high school with food and crafts and everything sheep-related that you can possibly imagine.”
“Did you march in the parade?”
“No. It was one of our busiest days at the Station, so I worked. But that was fun too.”
They were passing the Pizza Palace when a large man popped out of the door. “Sage! Where do you think you’re going?”
Sage didn’t let go of Tully’s hand. “Hey, Mike. How’s it going?”
“Same old. Who’s this?”
“Tully from Portland.”
Mike bustled over to shake Tully’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Tully from Portland. Let me get you some coffee.”
Somehow Tully found himself seated at a wobbly table inside the Palace, a white mug in his hand and a dozen or so people clustered around. None of them were younger than sixty and most were considerably older. The men sported faded jeans and plaid button-downs, and the women wore decorated sweatshirts or floral blouses.
The townspeople were even more insistent with their questions than Kayley had been, especially when Sage informed them Tully was a lawyer. Then they wanted his thoughts about their wills, their disputes with the bank or neighbors or the IRS, their grandsons’ drunk driving arrests. Tully might have sat there all day, drinking bad coffee and doling out free legal advice, but when Sage began to yawn, Tully remembered he’d been up for twenty-four hours straight.
“Um, I have to check in with the office,” Tully lied. Did they even have cell service here? He hadn’t looked.
With reluctance, the crowd released them back onto Main Street, where Sage took his hand again.
“They didn’t seem to mind you having a boyfriend,” Tully observed.
“Eh, they’ll gossip. But they’d gossip if I came in with a girl, or hell, if I was by myself. Not much else to do. They argue about politics, they complain about the government, they describe their latest medical conditions, and they gossip. They used to do that at the Station. They’d sit there for hours with coffee and Mom’s pastries. Now they’ve moved to Mike’s. But there’s no desserts there.”
“I’ll bet the ambience was better at the Station too.” Not that there was anything wrong with the Pizza Palace, but the bland interior didn’t carry the weight of history.
Sage gave him a long look. “Want to see the Station? I still carry the key.” His laugh held little humor.
“I’d love to.”
The interior was dark and dusty, lit only from the front windows. Tully was surprised no delinquents had broken the windows after the restaurant closed; maybe the locals held the place in too much esteem.
The Station had never been fancy. Old black-and-white photos of Hair Shaker and environs hung on brick walls, the frames now askew. There were heavy wooden tables and chairs, a plank floor, and an open-beamed ceiling with cobweb-festooned light fixtures. A counter ran the length of the back wall, stools lined up in front of it, and behind the counter, the door to the kitchen stood ajar.
If Tully squinted and concentrated, he could imagine the tables full of customers, the air filled with the scents of good food and the rumble of conversation. And Sage bustling everywhere in a white apron, smiling.
“No Michelin stars,” Sage said quietly.
Tully grabbed him and drew their bodies flush. “Better than.” He brushed his lips over Sage’s cheek, under his ear, across his mouth. “Better.”
For a brief moment, Sage slumped against him. Then he sighed, stood up straight, and took a step back. “Do you mind if we skip the kitchen?”
“Whatever you want.”
Sage nodded slightly. “We still own the building—not worth anything to the bank anyway. But we had some decent equipment. They took that.” His voice cracked, and so did Tully’s heart.
Tully pulled him close again, and this time Sage held on tightly and sobbed against his shoulder. Tully cradled the back of his skull and felt his own tears trickle down his cheeks. He didn’t even know what he was crying about—Sage’s losses or his own. The things he’d never had or the things he’d someday lose.
They separated eventually, snuffling and wiping their eyes. Sage found some paper napkins, which they used to blow their noses.
“Don’t usually do that,” Sage said hoarsely.
“You’re exhausted. How about getting some sleep?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
If Tully had the faintest hope Sage would accept it, he’d have written him a check then and there. Enough to buy new equipment and reopen the Filling Station. Enough to get Kayley through college. Enough to lift some of the grief from Sage’s shoulders. But aside from his family, the most valuable thing Sage had was pride, and Tully didn’t want to ruin that. So he kept his mouth shut and followed Sage back out onto Main Street.
Chapter Thirteen
“DO you want another piece, honey?”
Tully looked down at the plate in front of him, now containing nothing but a few crumbs, and shook his head. “Between you and Sage, I’m going to end up big as a house.”
“That’ll take more than a few slices of pie. But all right. We’ll let that one settle before you have another.” Deb smiled, revealing dimples.
Protests would be futile, he suspected. Besides, the pie—apples with currants—had been excellent. Before going upstairs for a nap, Sage had informed him that his mom was the family pastrycook and that Tully would regret it if he didn’t let her feed him.
As
Deb took their coffee cups and started to get up, Tully jumped to his feet. “Let me,” he said.
“These stupid knees. I don’t have time to be crippled.”
Sage had explained some time ago that his mom needed knee replacements. But aside from the cost, which would be considerable despite insurance, there were practical matters to consider. Surgery would put her out of commission for weeks, and neither she nor Sage wanted to burden Kayley with caring for her. Sage would have been happy to do so himself, but of course he was stuck in Portland. His mom was adamant about not wanting any other members of the extended family to step in. They were too busy, she said.
After refilling the mugs, Tully returned to the table and sat down. He wondered how many gallons of coffee he’d already consumed that day.
“You could take a nap too, you know,” said Deb.
Tully was too mentally keyed up, trying to think of some way to make everything better for Sage. He shook his head. “No, thanks. I can go for a drive if you want me out of your hair.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been wanting to meet since Sage moved in with you. I’m not letting you out of my clutches now.” She smiled, but Tully had the sense she was completely serious. “What do you think of our corner of the world? It must seem awfully boring to somebody like you.”
“I don’t get out much back home.”
“You work too hard. Like Sage. Now, I know why he does it, but how about you?”
He shrugged and stared into his coffee. “Being an attorney is pretty time-intensive.”
“Bah. My uncle Delmer was a lawyer, and he drank more than he worked. He keeled over in his office a few days before his ninetieth birthday, an open bottle of scotch right in front of him. Hair Shaker hasn’t had a lawyer since.”
Deciding not to pontificate on the differences between practicing in a small town and being junior partner for a large corporate firm, Tully said, “Sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, that was five years ago. And to be honest, I never liked the old geezer that much anyway.” She laughed, and Tully realized he genuinely liked this woman. She was funny and unassuming like Sage, and she’d certainly welcomed him warmly.