He drove down Front Street, noticing several shops were flipping their Open signs now that it was past noon. He headed toward the only bank in town, Gilead National Trust. The colonial-style building had a drive-thru on one side with two lanes and an ATM machine. Still chewing his fries, Scott pulled into the second lane and noticed a familiar SUV at the window next to the bank. Then he spotted a little gray head peeking out the window.
Phin and Sister Mary Katherine!
Grinning ear-to-ear at the unexpected surprise, Scott stopped his car and rolled down his window. Phin was talking to the woman at the bank and didn’t notice him, but Sister Mary Katherine was looking out the passenger window and spied Scott when he waved.
She barked and Phin looked over in surprise. Then his face split into a big grin. He rolled the window down part way, probably knowing his mischievous pooch might decide to take a leap. “Hey, Mouse.”
Scott’s stomach did a flip-flop. “Hey, neighbor.”
“What brings you to town?”
“Went for a jog, got some lunch, and just need some cash from the ATM.”
Phin nodded in response and didn’t say anything.
Though Scott had wanted to talk to Phin, he suddenly realized he had absolutely nothing to say other than hello. Still smiling, but losing some of his enthusiasm, he waved at Phin once more. “All right, I’ll see you later.” He rolled up his window and pulled the car forward.
“Moron,” he scolded himself. “Why did you do that? Why didn’t you just drive through to the ATM?”
Shaking his head at his nerdy awkwardness around Phin, he pulled out onto the road.
Dammit!
He forgot to go to the ATM.
Phin was probably still at the window, and if Scott looped back around, he would look like an even bigger moron. But then again, he told Phin he was going to the ATM, then he drove right past it, so he already looked like a flake.
Not exactly sure what he should do, Scott drove down Front Street, ate more fries, did a loop around town to kill time, then went back to the bank. Thankfully Phin’s SUV wasn’t there, so he quickly pulled up to the ATM and got some cash.
When Scott got back home, he was a little surprised Phin hadn’t beaten him back to their houses. He grabbed his food and headed inside. He’d eaten all the fries, and rather than dirtying a plate, he ate his cheeseburger directly out of the Styrofoam, holding it over the sink so he didn’t make a mess. Chewing thoughtfully, he looked out the window at Phin’s driveway. He still wasn’t back. Scott wondered where he went.
“Why are you waiting for him to come home?” Scott asked himself. “So you can spy on him some more?”
Rolling his eyes, he tossed his trash into the garbage and then let out a satisfying belch. He was definitely getting to-go from that diner again. It was delicious!
He kicked off his shoes by the back door and headed upstairs to take a shower. On the way, he paused to examine the photographs hanging on the stairway wall, Vivian’s kind words about Nancy playing in his mind.
Had she been a great lady?
How should he know?
Scrunching his face, he examined the photographs of himself as a toddler and a baby, still unsure why Nancy had hung them. Yeah, he was her grandson, but it was odd. Like, why go to the trouble to hang pictures of a grandchild if you never bothered to send him a birthday card?
He studied the picture of Mandy with her three children next. The little boy looked Hispanic, but the girls just looked white. Where did Mom hear that she had three different baby daddies? Had she made it up? What for?
He swore he’d never understand his mother.
He took a couple steps up, passed a graduation pic of Mike and one of him with a redhead and a little girl. He paused at the photograph of his father, a candid shot of him sitting in a lawn chair with a beer, probably taken when he was a few years younger than Scott. The man had led a life of violence and crime, but he was smiling happily in the photograph. Scott could almost see himself in the stranger’s eyes.
Eerie.
Shaking his head, he ascended the rest of the steps, dismissing the strangers hanging on the wall. Maybe he would take all the pictures down after his shower. And do what with them? Send them back to his cousins? Throw them away? Either way, he disliked the way they all watched him. Like he was an intruder.
Gilead might be homey and welcoming, but Scott didn’t feel that way in this house yet. Perhaps because it wasn’t his. Or perhaps because hundreds of memories were made here that he’d had no part in. Then again, maybe it was just because the previous occupant had been a stranger and he was beginning to wonder why.
Chapter Eight
COUNTRY UPDATE #16: Spiders. I HATE spiders! They are HUGE here! #demonarachnids #spiders
The big hairy thing stared at Scott from the kitchen floor.
Using his iPhone, he took a pic of the beast and added it to his post. He should’ve squished it rather than posting it on Facebook, but he didn’t think anyone would believe spiders were this big in Ohio.
Besides, he had to figure out how to kill it without getting too close. What if the thing could jump? He shuddered.
Tapping his chin, he surveyed the kitchen for a suitable weapon.
The broom!
Seized with inspiration, he waded up paper towels then wrapped them around the end of the handle like a giant Q-tip, intending to squish the thing from a safe five-foot distance.
With a deep breath, he jabbed at it several times.
And missed.
The spider scurried under the pantry door.
Scott jumped behind the table, heart pounding. “Shit!”
Inching forward, he slowly opened the door.
The ugly spider was in the middle of the floor.
Taunting him.
Not wanting it to get away—or worse, get into his cereal—Scott flipped the broom around. He swung down with the flat of the bristles, screaming like Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween. He beat the floor five times for good measure.
Breathless, he examined at the floor and the spindly remains of the arachnid. “Boo-ya! I win.”
Scott was using the discarded paper towel to clean up the Battle of the Spider when the phone rang.
He jumped.
He’d had no idea the landline was still active.
Tossing the spider and the towel in the trash, he hurried over to the old-fashioned wall phone, but the third ring had already sent it to the answering machine.
“It’s Nancy, you know what to do!” an unfamiliar woman’s voice came over the machine.
A chill went down Scott’s back as if the woman herself or perhaps her spirit were in the house with him. He followed the sound of the beep into the living room.
“You fucking faggot.”
Scott’s blood went cold.
“You’re probably out somewhere sucking a cock. I hope you choke on it, you nasty cocksucker. I don’t know why Grandma left her house to some queer who disowned her, but that house should be mine and Mandy’s. You’ll pay for what you stole from us, you fucking faggot.”
His cousin, Mike.
Scott knew how angry his cousins had been about Nancy’s will. But would Mike actually try to hurt Scott? Would he—
The doorbell rang.
He let out a cry, the air torn from his lungs.
Pulse racing, he crept toward the door. The silhouette of a man was on the other side of the lacy curtain.
Oh my God, he’s here….
Then his mind registered who stood on his porch.
He threw open the door with a relieved sigh. “Thank God it’s you, Phin!”
The big guy flinched, then narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”
“No,” he told him but then thought better of it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just battling a huge spider.”
“A spider turned you that white?”
“Well, yeah, no,” he admitted, dropping his shoulders. “Actually I just got a creepy message from my cousin. Then you r
ang the bell, and it gave me a fright.”
“It gave you a fright?”
Gee, could you sound more like an old lady? “Yeah, it did.”
“Mike or Mandy?”
“You know my cousins?”
“Yeah, they stopped in every now and again. Mostly on holidays to get gifts or if they needed money. I was relieved Nancy didn’t leave the house to them.” Phin scowled in disapproval. “Would’ve probably trashed the place.”
Scott stepped back and invited Phin inside with a gesture. “It was Mike. He called me names and said I was gonna pay for stealing the house from them.” He walked over and played the message for Phin.
“You need to call Sheriff Bentley.” Phin wore a stern expression. “He should know about this.”
“I don’t know.” Now that Phin had arrived and Scott could think clearly, the message didn’t seem as frightening. “The estate lawyer told me Mike’s on parole. He wouldn’t leave Kentucky and risk being sent back to prison.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You own a gun?”
“Hell no! Why would any rational person own a gun?”
“Because there are plenty of bad guys out there with one, that’s why,” Phin countered rather quickly. Then his face softened. “Hey, it’s none of my business, but I’ve never trusted Mike. You should call the sheriff.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “So what can I do for you?”
The big man blushed all the way across his bald head. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner tonight.”
“Like a date?”
Phin blushed deeper. “Well, um, no… maybe?” He cleared his throat. “I’m getting low on chicken broth, so I need to roast a chicken, and it seems a waste not to share.”
While that made little sense to Scott—he could barely cook stuff from a box—he smiled. “I’d love to come over for dinner. What time?”
ABSURDLY NERVOUS, Phin surveyed his kitchen counter, all his ingredients and tools laid out mise en place—the French culinary term for “everything in its place.” He’d chosen a simple flavor palate: thyme, rosemary, and some of the fresh summer savory growing in his greenhouse window by the dining table. Prepping like this made cooking a joy, rather than the stressful running back and forth for things he needed.
Today not even mise en place could keep him calm.
Why had he said no it wasn’t a date when Scott asked? Was it a date? He barely knew the guy, but then again, wasn’t that the point of a date? Getting to know someone?
Am I really doing this?
He’d had a lot of sex after losing Tom, but he’d never dated. He and Tom had become a couple so quickly and so easily, as nineteen-year-olds are wont to do, that there hadn’t really been a dating process back then either. He’d never had the unsure feeling gnawing at his insides now.
Did that mean he shouldn’t be doing this?
He glanced at Katie, right under his feet next to the cupboard, waiting in the wings for scraps. She’d be happy when she spied the potato peeler. She loved the potato and carrot peels that didn’t go into his scrap bag in the freezer for making broths.
Between the two of them, very little went to waste in his kitchen.
“You think Scott likes peas?” he asked her. He had a freezer bag left of last year’s peas and always liked to have something green on the table. Scott didn’t sound very experimental with his food, but peas were a generic veggie most people ate.
She didn’t answer, per her usual. Instead, she stared intently at the ground in front of his feet, waiting for scraps to fall.
He gently pushed her back with his foot so he didn’t trip over her as he peeled the potatoes. Peeling away from himself, he put most of the scraps in the bowl, shifting every now and again so he could flick one to Katie. One landed on her head. Chuckling, he brushed it off, and she gobbled it up.
Soon he and his dog fell into an easy rhythm, she under his feet and completely in his way, while he cleaned and prepped the root veggies. The chicken dried in the fridge, uncovered so the skin would be crispy when roasted.
“Onions!” he declared, putting the peeler down.
How did you forget the onions?
After drying his hands, he hurried into the pantry—a little room off the kitchen where all his canned goods lined the shelves, bright and colorful trophies of bountiful harvest he never tired of admiring. Just inside, a door led into the basement where he stored his onions and root veggies. It also served as a safe haven during storms. He grabbed an onion, took two steps up the stairs, then did a one-eighty and retrieved the peas from one of his two freezers. Hoping he had everything, he hurried back upstairs.
So much for his mise en place.
When everything was in the oven—an hour before he’d told Scott to come over—he hastily cleaned the dishes. It took him longer than he would’ve liked clearing the empty Mason jars and newspapers off the kitchen table. He hadn’t had a guest in a long time, so empty jars he’d been too lazy to return to the pantry and newspapers covered the surface. He enjoyed the feel and smell of a newspaper every morning as much as he savored his coffee and fresh bread with jam. Both habits his father had passed on. After a quick wipe of the table’s surface, he set two place settings, then retrieved the wineglasses.
As he placed them on the table, he hesitated.
Tom had purchased these glasses in California.
His hand shook.
Though it had been ten years since the car accident and he’d used the glasses often, he’d never set Tom’s glasses out for a date.
Hell, he hadn’t even entertained the notion of a date in ten years. He’d resigned himself to being a widower. His lot in life had been cast both by Fate and his own choices. Phin wasn’t interested in starting over again.
He was content, wasn’t he?
Then Scott moved in with that cute smile.
Now Phin was questioning everything.
His insides trembled, flip-flopping his stomach. He glanced at his dog, but she was licking her front paw, completely unaware of his sudden turmoil. Then Phin’s gaze drifted to the ceiling, knowing his old love watched over him.
“Is it okay, Tom? Should I be doing this?”
Of course, Tom didn’t answer.
He hadn’t since the night Phin was attacked.
So he set the glasses down. They were all he had.
He could hear Nancy telling him he was being an idiot and they were just glasses. But they were more than that, weren’t they?
They were Tom’s.
He stared at the glasses for a moment, then quickly changed his mind. He didn’t care if he was being an idiot. He placed them back in the hutch and grabbed two pint jars.
Feeling much better about his decision, he raced upstairs and took a quick shower. He shaved his face and head but was still sticky when he got dressed. The chicken would be done in another half an hour. He checked it and removed the foil so the skin could get nice and crispy, browning the root vegetables too.
“C’mon, old girl,” Phin said, scooping up the dog to take her outside. “Let’s go potty-potty and get the chickens in before my date gets here.”
Christ, am I actually having a date?
Chapter Nine
UGH, I need a haircut.
Scott had gone to the same hairdresser for a long time, but he couldn’t drive home just for a cut. He’d seen a barbershop in Gilead. Maybe he could go in this weekend.
He was overly worried about this dinner date/friendly evening meal situation. Phin had been far too quick to say no it wasn’t a date, but then he’d blushed and squirmed and said maybe.
So did Phin want it to be a date?
Did Scott want it to be a date?
Shaking his head at himself, he knew the answer.
Yes, he wanted it to be a date, and yes, he was really looking forward to it.
So much for your Year of No Men….
“I knew you wouldn’t make it,” he could already h
ear Davis saying.
Whatever.
It was Scott’s life. If he wanted to break his own resolutions, so be it.
Making sure he grabbed the empty jelly jar with the lid pieces—all washed and clean—Scott headed out the back door.
For a moment, he thought about not locking the house. After all, he was just going next door, and there was no one around but him and Phin. But that phone call from his cousin had left him more unsettled than he’d let on.
Casting a few glances over his shoulder, he locked the door.
Better safe than sorry.
What the hell was his cousin’s problem anyway?
Maybe he should call the sheriff. At least let him know he’d received a threat. But was it a threat or just a homophobe calling him names? Mike could make empty threats all he wanted, but would he really risk breaking parole?
No, Mike was obviously just an asshole. He’d probably been drunk or high when he’d left the message.
Deciding he would let it go, Scott headed next door.
A cool evening breeze fluttered the trees dotting their properties. The deep rumbling sound of Phin’s pleasant voice carried on the wind too. Halfway to Phin’s back door, Scott realized the man was out back in his chicken coop.
He changed directions just as Phin and Sister Mary Katherine exited the long wooden structure. It had once been painted red, but now had faded to a mix of weathered gray wood and old red.
It smelled terrible.
Phin greeted him with a broad grin. “Hey, Mouse.”
Yeah, Scott definitely liked that nickname.
“What are you doing out here? I thought we were having a date.” Well, just go and say it, why don’t you?
Before Scott could be embarrassed or retract, Phin’s grin widened. “Oh, we’re definitely doing that. Just had to get the ladies inside. I’ve heard some coyotes the last few nights. Don’t wanna risk it.”
The Rhubarb Patch Page 7