Connor shook his head. “Not really. I’m just moving around.”
John frowned. “What does that mean?”
Connor stood up, resting one fist on the ground as he gracefully came to one knee and then rose. “It means you don’t have to worry about me.” His soft smile took the sting out his dismissive words.
John sighed. “I wish it were that easy to turn it off,” he said apologetically, “but I suffer from overactive worry.”
“I’ll be all right, Mr. Ford,” Connor told him. “But thanks.”
“Come on,” John said. He turned toward the separate garage. “I know a place.” He turned back to see Connor watching him, his face unreadable. “Do you have anything you need to get? Besides your bag?”
They stood like that for a minute, a silent tug-of-war between them. Finally Connor shook his head. “No, sir. Nothing.”
John knew that was a lie. There was a lot that Connor needed. But he wasn’t going to find it here. He turned and walked to the garage, listening to Connor’s footsteps as he turned back to the house to get his bag.
Chapter Three
“Want to talk about it?” Mr. Ford asked quietly as he turned onto Bergamot Street.
He hadn’t asked for directions. He must have been in Mercury for a while, then. Conn had been surprised to find him in Mama’s house. He’d just assumed the house would be there, empty. But of course the bank sold it. Of course they did. What choice did they have when he didn’t respond to their letters?
“About what?” He stuck to the man’s question. He’d found that was the best way to get along.
“Want to start with the dog?” The car turned slowly again. It was a little sports car, something Italian. Conn hadn’t paid that much attention. The two of them barely fit in the thing. Conn didn’t see the point, personally. And Ford looked uncomfortable in it too.
Conn saw Harper’s Quick Mart had gone out of business. The strip mall beside the empty building had one business left, a tax preparer of some kind. A lot had died in his absence it seemed, including Mercury. “His name was Digger.”
“Really? Gee, I never would have guessed.”
Conn wasn’t surprised by the sarcasm of his response. He almost smiled at how mild it was. He was used to a lot more abuse than that. This poor guy would never have survived if he’d been where Conn had.
“I got him from my dad. I was about five, I guess. He was the diggingest dog I ever saw.” Ford smiled. Conn couldn’t pin this guy down. Why was he being so nice? What did he want?
“I think that’s the most you’ve said today.” They slowed to a stop at a red light. “Why did you cry?”
“Who wouldn’t have?” Conn replied. He sighed. “Let’s just say I’ve been to a bad place, and coming back to the best place I ever had…” He let the thought trail off as he continued to stare out the window. “I used to own this town,” he said a few moments later.
“Literally or figuratively?” Ford asked as he pulled the car to a stop at the curb on Freemont Street. Conn stared at the Methodist church there and felt as if he were looking at a ghost.
He turned to Ford. “I was the all-American captain of the football team,” he told him with a wry smile. “Most likely to succeed with the cheerleaders.”
“Ah,” Ford said in understanding. “Figuratively, then.” He looked across the street, and Conn followed his gaze to a nondescript house with a small sign in the yard proclaiming it EPSON HOUSE.
“What is this place?” Conn asked as he opened the door and got out. Ford got out too and waited while Conn grabbed his bag from the small shelf that passed as a backseat.
“It’s a shelter and halfway house.”
Conn laughed. “I hope I’m past halfway, but thanks.”
“Come on,” Ford said again, walking toward the house, and again Conn followed him. He wasn’t sure why, except that he had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. “How long have you been gone?” Ford asked.
Conn didn’t have to think about it. “Almost eight years.”
Ford looked surprised. “Eight years? How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
He shook his head. “You don’t look it. I had you pegged at barely legal.”
“Still have some scruples left, huh?” Conn asked without thinking. He jerked his head around to stare at Ford as soon as he said it.
“Hmm,” Ford said mildly, “I didn’t think it was that obvious. Only a few people in town have figured out I’m gay.” He pinned Conn with a sharp gaze. “How did you know?”
Conn wasn’t going to get into that. Not here, not now, and not with this stranger. He’d dealt with enough personal demons today. They just stared at each other, neither giving anything away.
“Mr. Ford?” A voice interrupted the stare down, and they both turned to the house. A man stood in the doorway: average height, sandy brown hair, polite smile on his face. When Ford turned to him, he stepped out with his hand outstretched. He stopped a few steps away, and his hand fell to his side. “Conn? Connor Meecham?” he asked incredulously.
“Hey, Evan,” Conn said. Personal demons indeed. He’d thought he’d have more time. But no, the past was about to slap him upside the head.
A big grin split Evan’s face. “Good God!” He grabbed Conn’s hand and pumped it up and down. “We thought you were dead. Couldn’t think of anything else that would keep you away from your mama’s funeral.”
Conn smiled ruefully. “Nope, not dead. But the state of Georgia found something to keep me away.”
Evan’s gaze narrowed. He looked between Conn and Ford. “You’ve been out to your mama’s?”
Conn nodded. “Yeah. Mr. Ford here was nice enough to give me a ride.”
“Why here?” Evan asked with a frown. “Toby’s still in town, you know, and a bunch of the other guys.”
Ford wasn’t going to help. He just stood there, watching the awkward reunion. “I need a place to stay.”
Evan scratched his jaw with his thumb. “There’s a new motel not far down 87,” he answered as if Conn had been asking for directions. “But that’s about it. Most people just pass through on the way to and from the beach. You know the drill.”
Conn blew out a breath that fluttered the hair on his forehead. He laid his cards on the table. “I just got off probation and out of rehab, Evan. I’ve got no job and no money. So Ford brought me here. I didn’t even know you ran the place.”
Evan looked as if he’d been smacked with a two-by-four for a second. He recovered quickly with a little shake of his head. “I’m a pastor now at the Unitarian church on Summit. You remember?”
Conn nodded, glad Evan had chosen to address that rather than his checkered past. Evan glanced over at Ford. He placed his hand lightly on Conn’s upper arm and pulled him toward the house. “Come on. Let’s talk.” He smiled at Ford. “Thanks for bringing him, John.”
Ford finally spoke. “I’m glad I did now. Take care of him, Evan.” He turned to Conn and held his hand out. “Good luck, Connor.”
Conn shook his hand and was dismayed at how reluctant he was to let go. Strangers were easy. He closed his eyes briefly and felt a quick squeeze of his hand before Ford let go. He opened his eyes to see Ford giving him an understanding look. “Go on,” Ford said quietly. Conn turned to Evan with a deep breath, and he went.
“What happened, Conn?” Evan asked quietly after they entered his office and he closed the door.
“You run this place for the church?” Conn asked instead of answering. He needed a minute.
“Yes and no. It’s a nonprofit run by several churches. Today is my day to man the house.”
Conn was staring out the window, watching the street. It was going to be hot today. Probably rain this afternoon. He heard Evan’s office chair squeak as he moved behind him.
“How do you know Ford?” Conn was more than a little interested in that. He wasn’t sure exactly why and wasn’t in the mood to analyze it.
“He’s a big
donor to the charity that runs this house. I hit him up for money as soon as he moved in.”
“I’m not surprised you’re a pastor. You were always a good kid. Easy to talk to.”
“I had a crush on you in high school.” Evan sounded amused. “Did you know that?”
Conn looked warily over his shoulder. “Yeah, I knew.”
“And you were still nice to me. And because you were, everyone was. If Conn Meecham didn’t mind, well, then, nobody else did. High school here could have been hell for me. Instead it was great.” He fiddled with a pen on his desk. “People expected me to leave here, you know, because I’m gay.” He gave Conn a hard stare. “I stayed because of you. Because you made this town accept me so I didn’t have to leave. I’ll never forget that, what you did.”
Conn blew it off with a dismissive wave. “You were a good kid. Nobody cared.” Conn leaned against the window frame and crossed his arms. “Mama always told me you get what you give, Evan. I guess you owe me. You gonna save my soul now?”
Evan snorted. “I think your soul is just fine. Now tell me what happened.”
“You remember I blew my knee out?” Conn asked.
“Yeah, your freshman year at Georgia Tech, right?”
Conn nodded. “I guess that’s where my road forked.”
“Your mama said you kept your scholarship. For how long?”
Conn laughed without humor. “Not at all. I just told her that so she wouldn’t worry. It was a football scholarship. No football, no scholarship. Good-bye, Tech.” He saluted sarcastically.
Evan was listening with a puzzled look. “Why didn’t you just come home?”
“After my big send-off? Hometown boy makes good? Gonna set the world on fire with his fine football skills?” Conn shook his head with a disgusted snort. “I was too proud to come back with my tail between my legs. Afraid to shame Mama.”
Evan sighed. “It wouldn’t have been like that.”
“I know.” Conn walked over to the old chair facing Evan’s desk and sat, suddenly tired. “I got addicted to the pain pills they gave me. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“How did you get from there to prison?”
Conn winced. “I didn’t go to prison exactly. I did my time in county.” He shrugged. “Just the same, I suppose.”
“Did you know she’d died, before you came back?” Evan spoke in that quiet, nonjudgmental way his therapist in prison had. It was soothing and annoying at the same time.
“Yeah, I knew. The local paper’s on the Internet. I kept up.”
Thankfully Evan let that drop. “What were you in for?”
“Possession.” Conn leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands and looked at the floor. “Panhandling.” He looked up at Evan and gave him a weak smile when he saw the knowledge on Evan’s face. “I had a good lawyer, a good guy. He got the charge changed from prostitution to panhandling.”
Evan shook his head. “Aw, Conn, jeez.”
Conn fell back in the chair and blew out a breath. “That actually felt good, to get telling someone out of the way.”
“How long have you been clean?” Evan asked, all business.
“Two years,” Conn automatically answered. “I haven’t had so much as a cigarette in two years.”
“Have you been tested?”
Conn nodded. “Yeah, regular drug tests and HIV tests. I’m clean. I’ve got the paperwork.”
“Good,” Evan said. “You’ll need it to get a job.” He sighed. “I don’t know how easy things are going to be here for you. You’re not the boy who left Mercury.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Conn replied evenly. “Somewhere along the way I lost him. I think I left him here, and I’m trying to find him.”
Evan gave him a friendly smile. “I hope we can help, Conn. I really do.”
Conn stood up. “Me too, Evan.”
Chapter Four
John’s coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth, and then he lowered it and set it on the table. He walked over and opened the front door.
“You sleep there last night?” he asked Connor, who was sitting on the top porch step.
Connor dusted off the step, and John saw it was the one with a set of handprints embedded in the concrete. “Nah. I slept at Evan’s.”
“House or shelter?” John wasn’t sure why he asked that or why he cared.
“Shelter.”
“What time did you get here?”
Connor shrugged. “After sunrise.”
John laughed. “Had to be just barely. It’s only eight o’clock now, and you look like you’ve been here awhile.” He went over and got his coffee and stepped out on the porch, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the other side of the step, about two feet between him and Connor. “How’d you get here?”
Connor lifted his leg and shook his foot. “Walked.”
“You don’t talk much, do you?” John took a tentative sip of his coffee. Still too hot.
“Sure I do.”
When nothing else came from Connor, John smiled as he blew on his coffee to cool it. “Sure you do,” he agreed.
“I told Evan I was gonna look for a job today.”
“Did you?” John looked over at Connor. He didn’t seem in a rush to get to work.
“Yep.”
John sighed. “Where?” Now he was doing it.
“Here.” Connor looked at him then. “He was the last thing my daddy gave me before he died. Seeing that grave…” He looked away. “It was like losing them all again, right there.”
He was talking about the dog. John didn’t say anything for a minute or two. What was he supposed to say? “I could use help with the fence,” he finally offered.
“I thought you could,” Connor said.
They sat in silence while John finished his coffee.
“What am I supposed to pay you?” John asked while they were taking a break a few hours later. They were sitting in the shade of the live oak, drinking a Coke. Apparently a “Coke” was any kind of soft drink in the South. John wondered how much that kind of advertising cost.
“What do you want to pay me?” Connor asked. He didn’t sound as if he cared one way or the other. He was just content to dig postholes and hammer nails, sweating in the humidity. John wished he could be so agreeable.
“Nothing.”
Connor just grinned at him, showing him a dimple, and then took a drink from the sweating can. A drop of water ran down Connor’s pinkie and onto his wrist, and then John lost it in the dark hair on his forearm.
“What’s the going rate?” John asked, and then he took a drink too.
“For making an ex-con dig postholes in the midday heat? Room and board.”
John paused with his can halfway to his mouth and slanted a look at Connor. He was still sitting there all relaxed and casual, but there was a watchful stillness about him that told John he was expecting a refusal. He’d framed it like a joke. John could pretend that was how he took it. He went ahead and took the drink, looking away from Connor, giving himself time to think about it.
He didn’t think too long. Being in this house alone had been harder than John thought. Maybe he was being selfish and not thinking it through, things Steve had always accused him of. But he didn’t want to be alone anymore.
“All right,” he said, rolling to his knees and standing up. “But you’ve got to clean that room up.” He couldn’t do it. Moving Steve’s things in there had been hard enough.
“I don’t need much space.”
John had to laugh as he took in Connor’s six-plus feet as the other man stood up. “Nope, not much,” he agreed and was rewarded with the crooked smile and dimple again.
They walked back over to where the fence posts were piled in the yard. Connor picked one up and then shoved it in a hole he’d already dug. He worked it in by twisting it from side to side, and John had to pause to admire the muscles in his arms as they rippled with his movements. He was lean, but it was clear by the
way he moved that those muscles had been around a long time.
“What are you gonna do with the stretch over there?” Connor asked, pointing at the far side of the yard. The fence was covered in vines.
“Cut it out, I suppose,” John answered. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. His new philosophy was taking it day by day. He hadn’t gone crazy yet under that plan. The look Connor gave him made him reassess that conclusion. “Or not?” he asked.
“You know what you got there?” Connor asked.
“Um, no,” John answered. “Clearly I do not.”
Connor shook his head and his lips flattened for moment. “That is a healthy wisteria vine,” Connor lectured him. “Took years to grow along the fence.” He pointed to the trees. “Now, you got to cut it off those trees, or it’ll kill ’em. Have you seen wisteria in bloom?”
John just shook his head.
Connor grinned, and John’s shoulders relaxed. Surprise skittered through him. He hadn’t realized he’d tensed up with Connor’s disapproval. He huffed a disgusted sigh at himself. He wasn’t supposed to let other people’s disapproval bother him anymore. Right.
“Big bunches of purple flowers,” Connor said, holding his hands apart in front of him with the fencepost held in place against his chest. “About this big. Look just like grape clusters.” Connor sniffed loudly with a look of pure bliss on his face. “Smell as pretty as anything. Prettier, even.”
John contemplated the fence so Connor wouldn’t catch him staring at him. John hadn’t seen him so animated since they’d met. He must really love those flowers. “Can we fix the fence without killing them?”
Connor leaned his crossed arms on the fencepost and nodded as he looked at the vine. “I think so. We need to trim it anyway. It’ll take over if you don’t tame it. If we slide the new posts in one at a time before we take out the old, it should be all right.”
John tipped his head to the side as he tried to imagine what Connor was saying. He nodded. “It might work.” He looked at Connor. “How do you know so much about it?”
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