Cultivating Love

by Addison Albright

  “You sure you’re up to it? I could drop you off, then go back out.”

  Joe raised his eyebrows. Ed sighed. Joe’s color seemed normal.

  “Sorry,” Ed muttered.

  “I’m sore, but this won’t be any more strenuous than sitting in the sheriff’s office, or hanging out at home.”

  Ed put the truck into gear and headed out of town. “I wish I’d thought to pick some flowers before we left this morning.”

  “We’ll be back. We’ll need to get one of those vase things that stick in the ground anyway.”

  “I guess.”

  Following Russell’s directions, Ed found the gravesite without any trouble. After parking the truck, he sat staring with a hand to his heart. Clearly, he hadn’t needed to worry about arriving empty-handed. The upright monument with an attached vase on the left-hand side was already full of fresh-cut flowers—purple irises like the ones all along the fence bordering Bill’s long driveway. Russell had described the stone as “Georgia Pink,” which appeared to be a mix of pale pink, white, and dark gray, with scattered tiny black flecks. The stone was simply cut with straight sides and a slight arch at the top. “In Loving Memory” was engraved in cursive style along the top, with Frederick William Jamison in the middle, and his birth and death dates below. A farm landscape was etched across the bottom.

  As they approached, Ed saw a wreath made of fishing bobbers leaning against the right-hand side. They squatted next to it, and Joe fingered the colorful plastic balls. Bill had reminisced fondly about their fishing expeditions, and Ed had seen Fred’s equipment in the basement.

  Beyond the tributes that appeared to be from Bill, there were several petite sprays of flowers, and a number of small stones with flowers and other farm-related scenes painted on them placed on the base of the monument. Ed sniffed, and Joe placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “This is nice,” Joe said.

  Ed nodded. “It is.” It was heartwarming. Literally. Or maybe it was the warmth of Joe’s hand that spread through his body, but Ed was sure the thoughtful gestures evident here contributed to the feeling.

  “I’m…uh…gonna walk around.” Joe cleared his throat. “Stretch a bit,” he added, as if Ed wouldn’t be able to see through the fact he was giving him privacy.

  He was glad for it. There were things he wanted to say, and saying them aloud felt right.

  With Joe out of earshot, Ed sat cross-legged in front of the monument. “I don’t know if you’re floating around out there somewhere and can hear me or not. Bill thinks so, and I like the idea, even if I don’t really believe it myself.” Either way, it would be therapeutic to get this off his chest, so he began.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His eyes filled, and he wiped away the tears with his forearm before they could fall.

  “I had mixed emotions when I first heard about you, and as I learned more about the situation. Confusion was probably the most prominent, along with sadness, but anger was there, too. Anger at Mom, but also at you. I questioned why you stopped trying to contact me, but I’ve found that box in the basement where you kept the documentation of everything you tried, and everything she did to stop you.

  “We never had enough money, yet she rejected your attempts to offer support. I don’t know if her hate was just that strong, or if she wanted to avoid any kind of paper trail that might offer a clue about your existence. I went through her stuff when she died. There was nothing. No divorce papers. Nothing.”

  Ed sighed and lowered his head. Birds chirped happily as if all was right with the world, and nobody had to deal with death, sadness, and the inhumanity of people they’d loved. He looked up again and stared at the engraving of his father’s name. “I’m sorry for what she put you through, and I realize you had to do what you had to do for your own self-preservation. I forgive you for not trying harder…or longer.

  “I’m sorry for not questioning the things that now, in hindsight, stick out like a sore thumb. The lack of a death certificate in her papers. The fact she’d had no photos of you to show me. She was always curt, and cut me off anytime I asked about you. I’d figured the memories made her sad. I never in a million years suspected you were actually alive.” Ed shook his head.

  “The timing of things sucked. I was a month away from turning eighteen when she died. The system failed us both by not checking out what I thought was true since I was so close to being of legal age anyway. They were happy enough to let me stay at a neighbor’s house while I finished my senior year without investigating my claims.

  “I hate that that happened—that I didn’t discover you when she died. But then I realize I never would have met Joe if I’d moved here to be with you then, and I’m glad it didn’t happen that way. And then, of course, I feel bad about that, too.” Ed snorted. “Life is complicated, and so are feelings.

  “I do wish we’d met at some point, though. I think you would have liked Joe. He’s a good guy, and he’s helping me take care of your farm. You can rest easy about that—your legacy is much appreciated and we’re taking good care of it.

  “I hope—think—you would have been proud of me and what I’ve done with my life. I’ve always managed to get by, and I’m happy. That’s what matters most, right?

  “I’m sure I would have loved and respected you, too. I said that to Joe’s dad just the other day. I know I would have appreciated your sense of humor. You should’ve heard Joe crack up when Bill told the story of when you served up caramel ‘apples’ that were really onions. I wish I could have seen the look on Ruby’s face when she bit into it.” Ed chuckled. “No, I wish I could have seen your face while you were anticipating her bite.”

  A dog barked in the distance, and Ed looked toward the noise. In the backyard of a house on the other side of the attached meadow, a boy threw a stick, and a dog chased it and brought it back to him. Life was going on all around them. Ed stood and murmured, “I’ll be back. The day lilies will be blooming soon. I’ll bring you some of those.”

  Chapter 11: Feelings

  “How’s your hand?”

  Joe laughed as Ed drove them away from the lawyer’s office. “Cramped. Just imagine being the person who has to actually create all that frigging paperwork. Damn, all we had to do was sign it.”

  “No kidding. I’m glad that’s behind us, though. It’s a relief knowing it’s finalized.”

  “I’m pretty comfortable with it now. It feels good knowing we both have the same stake in all this.”

  Ed smiled. “I got that impression, the way you’ve been talking about improvements you want to make.”

  “Stuff we want to consider.”

  Ed laughed. “But I still have so much to learn. I’ve got the mechanics and general routine down, so I guess I’d make a decent farmhand, but there’s still so much more to learn and understand.”

  “Hell, even I’m not comfortable making big, expensive decisions, like that irrigation system we were discussing, without consulting some trusted old-timers.”

  “Like your dad or Bill?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” Joe sighed. It had been a long week, but he was finally starting to get some energy back.

  “You feeling okay?”

  He leveled his best I’m-not-going-to-budge look at Ed. “I’m gonna help with the animals this afternoon.” Poor Ed had been slaving away all week in the garden on top of the daily chores while Joe had been sitting on his butt writing thank-you notes and snapping green beans over Chrissy’s protests. Ray and Scott had stopped by early the first day to offer their services, but Ed had insisted he was capable of doing everything himself. But today? Joe would let Ed do the heavier stuff, but there was plenty he could do that wouldn’t be too strenuous.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “It’s been kind of a rough week for you. That trip to the sheriff’s and the graveyard on Monday when you should have been resting at home set you back. And it might have been pushing things for you to stay up playing cards when t
he guys came over.”

  Joe grinned. He’d never realized what a big ol’ mother hen Ed had been hiding inside all this time. It was nice, though. “That was nothing. It was all just sitting around, and yakking with that deputy. And what difference does it make if we’re home alone or hanging out with Ray and Scott? Either way, I was on my butt with my feet up.”

  Soon, they pulled onto the gravel road leading to their farm.

  “Okay, how about you groom the horses while I haul out the corn for the cows?”

  Joe smiled. “That’s fine.”

  * * * *

  As Ed put the last of the supper dishes in the dishwasher, he wasn’t surprised when Joe came up behind him. The strong arms around his waist and the persistent mouth nibbling at his neck sent shivers through his body.

  His head fell back against Joe’s shoulder. “It’s about time,” he teased.

  Joe’s smile pressed against his jaw. “Sorry, I’ve been a little under the weather lately.”

  He turned in Joe’s arms to begin a deep, thorough kiss. He ran his hands down Joe’s body and moved gently over the fading bruise. Joe’s way of letting Ed know he wouldn’t break was to back him up to the counter and press his ass against the edge.

  Ed’s erection strained painfully in the crush between their bodies and Joe’s unrelenting grind. He swung them around, reversed their positions, and pressed hard against Joe. It was time to remind Joe who the hell’s turn it was, and also time to move this to the bedroom. He broke the kiss and started for the bedroom. “Come on.”

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “My turn?”

  Ed laughed. “I know damned well you never lose track of whose turn it is, so don’t even try it.”

  Joe grinned. “It’s been a couple weeks. It was worth a shot.”

  “It could be argued that you should take the less active position this time regardless of whose turn it is.”

  Joe laughed. “Trust me, if it was my turn, I’d be taking it.”

  “And you can trust me, too—you’ll be coming either way.”

  Joe shook his head but didn’t lose his grin. “Whatever.”

  They didn’t waste any time shedding their clothes. Ed hadn’t gone two weeks without sex since before he and Joe had moved in together. Joe pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. Ed pulled open a drawer and grabbed the bottle of lube.

  He worked to get Joe relaxed. Joe’s eyes closed, and he grimaced when Ed added a second finger. He used his free hand to knead Joe’s tense shoulders. As Joe loosened, he swayed with Ed’s movement. Ed added extra lube ’cause there was no such thing as too much, then caressed Joe’s back. Damn, he’d never been so ready to nail Joe in his life, but something just didn’t seem right this time.

  Fuck it. “Turn around.”

  Joe looked over his shoulder, confusion in his eyes. “What d’ya want?”

  “No. I mean roll over.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s the matter?”

  “I just wanted to try something different. We never do it this way.”

  Joe rolled over, but looked dubious. “I don’t know if I want to watch you fucking me.”

  Ed’s body tensed. “Oh, stop it.” He was tired of the old game. It was such a farce. “Why can’t we admit that we both get off bottoming as well as topping?”

  Joe’s eyebrows knit together. “But I’d still rather top.”

  “We both would, but…well…goddammit, I’d rather bottom fifty percent of the time with you than top ninety-five percent with anyone else.”

  Joe’s eyes cleared and he smiled crookedly. “Me, too.”

  Ed confidence boosted. “Why can’t we say it out loud?”

  “Say what?”

  Joe knew damned well “what.” Ed shook his head. “Say…” Oh, hell. Ed broke eye contact. Forget it. He knew Joe cared, but if he didn’t want to say the words then…well, fuck it. Ed supposed he could live with that.

  “Oh.” Joe touched his face. “I do, you know.”

  Ed looked at him again. “What?”

  “Love you. With all my heart. I love you, babe. You know that, don’t you?”

  Babe? Ed grinned, rather liking the endearment. “It’s just nice to hear it floating in the air. I love you, too, Joe.”

  “I know.” A smile split Joe’s face. “Now fuck me. Hard.”

  Ed laughed, and strong arms wrapped around him as he leaned down to kiss the man he loved with all his heart.

  Chapter 12: Reckoning

  Oof.

  Sharp pain seared through Joe’s shoulder as he landed hard on his back with Ed on top of him, shielding his face from the shards of glass showering down around them.

  Joe shook his head, trying to clear his sleep-fogged mind. Had that been a gunshot? Yes, a shotgun blast!. Someone had shot out their bedroom window!

  “Stay down,” Ed whispered.

  The seriousness of the situation broke through Joe’s muddled brain. Fuck that. “I’ll stay low, but I’m getting our shotgun out of the closet and seeing who’s out there.”

  Ed rolled off. “I’ll call the police.” He reached for his cell on the bedside table as Joe flipped and crawled toward the closet.

  Another crash, different this time, came from the window, along with a bright burst of light and a frightened, pained cry from Ed.

  Fire!

  One side of the window frame was burning, with more fire clearly on the outside of the house. A blotch on Ed’s arm and T-shirt, and a strip across the bed were also burning. Fuck no! Not Ed!

  Ed stumbled back and fell, batting at his arm with his other hand.

  Joe snatched a pillow from the bed, then whapped at Ed’s arm and torso. The flames smothered, and he hauled Ed toward the bedroom door. They had to get the hell out of there before their attacker tried again—with better aim.

  He pulled Ed down the hall and into the bathroom, grabbed a clean towel, and soaked it with cool water in the sink. He wrapped it around Ed’s forearm.

  “Is your stomach burned, or just the shirt?”

  Ed shook his head. “Just the shirt.”

  “Stay here.” Joe ran to the bedroom. Crouching, he ripped the burning spread from the mattress, scattering broken glass, and beat it on the floor to snuff out the flames. Biting pain shot through Joe’s heel as he dashed to the dresser to snatch his cell phone. He yelped as he fell to his knees.

  Ed came running. “Jesus.” He sounded panicked as he grabbed Joe’s arm. “Get out of this goddamned room.” They staggered to the bedroom door, dodging glass as Joe hobbled on the ball of his foot. He grabbed his cell off the dresser as they went by.

  A loud pop, followed by a chilling scream that would surely haunt his nightmares for years to come, pierced the night as an eerie radiance outside the front room window cut the darkness—a glow that grew quickly…and moved.

  “Oh, God.” Ed swung open the linen closet door and grabbed a handful of blankets.

  “Go! Go!” Joe cried. “I’ll call nine-one-one and catch up with you.”

  Ed ran out the front door.

  Joe lurched down the hall, dialing the number as he went. It seemed to take forever for the emergency operator to answer.

  “Police! I need the police. Shit! And the fire department and an ambulance.”

  “What’s the emergency, sir, and where are you located?”

  “Somebody’s on fire in my front yard, and somebody shot out our bedroom window.” He stumbled into the kitchen to grab the fire extinguisher. “And the house—there’s fire on the front of the house.” Hopefully he’d be able to put that out himself.

  “Your location, sir?”

  Joe gave her the address and answered more questions as he raced toward the front door. He burst onto the porch as Ed hopped around, beating the now-silent figure twitching on the ground with a blanket to snuff out the last of the flames. But flames still burned in the grass several yards away.

  He tossed the phone on the porch swing and limped down the steps. />
  Ed’s eyes took on a wild cast. “Are you okay? Did you step on glass?”

  “Got some in my heel. I’ll be fine.” He had some in his shoulder, too. “The nine-one-one lady said to put moist towels on him until the ambulance gets here.”

  Ed tossed the ruined blanket to him and ran for the house. “I’ll get that. Work on the fire at the window.”

  The man wasn’t moving. Was he even alive? Was he the man who’d shot out their window or another victim?

  Rushing toward the bedroom window, he moved mechanically, his mind numb to the horror surrounding him. He raised the extinguisher and pulled out the safety pin before aiming the nozzle at the flames. The extinguisher did its job as he emptied it along the wall and the edge of the window.

  Joe tossed the empty canister and stumbled toward the grass fire. He beat the burning ground with another thick blanket.

  He smelled gasoline, and saw more broken glass on the ground. A Molotov cocktail? He’d suspected as much. The man had thrown a fucking Molotov cocktail at their bedroom window and planned to throw another, but it had blown up on him first.

  Ed rushed out the door with his hands full of wet towels. Joe shivered despite the warmth of the summer night. What would have happened to Ed if the man’s aim had been better on his first toss? Or if he’d managed to throw the second one? Ed said something, but his voice seemed distant as the world started spinning.

  * * * *

  “Is he still alive?” Ed hollered as he ran toward Joe and the man who lay eerily still. A quick look around the yard confirmed that the fires were out.

  Joe stared blankly, without seeming to hear him.

  Ed raised his voice. “Joe? Joe!”

  Joe crumpled to a heap before Ed could reach him. Ed stumbled. He sucked in quick shallow breaths and looked quickly back and forth between the two fallen men. Joe didn’t appear to have hit his head, but still, Ed didn’t want to delay checking on him. Yet the burned man’s condition was probably critical, so Ed dropped next to him first.

  An emergency vehicle’s siren got louder as he covered the man with wet towels. It was too dark, with the porch light not strong enough for him to tell if the man’s chest was rising or not. It didn’t sound like he was breathing.