My Hometown

by SJD Peterson

“All done. They headed into town to have dinner with some friends.” Jimmy sat down in the rocker next to Scott, set the cooler next to his chair, and pulled out a couple of beers. He handed one to Scott, then popped the top on his, drinking down half in one big gulp. “I don’t remember it ever being this hot.”

  “You have a short memory, then. In ’02 it was over a hundred every day for two fucking weeks. You just forgot how to dress for this shit.”

  “Ain’t that the damn truth.” Jimmy pulled his wet T-shirt off and tossed it on the railing and then pulled off his boots and socks. He had half a mind to shuck his jeans too but decided to spare Scott. Instead he ran his cold bottle over his brow and then his neck before taking another drink. “You talked to Eric lately?”

  “Yeah, he came by last night for a beer.”

  Finding out that Eric had gone right by his place and hadn’t stopped was like a kick to his gut. “What? I’ve been trying to get hold of him for two days,” Jimmy gritted out.

  Scott gave him a curious look but then shrugged and sipped his beer. “He’s been busy. Rode up late last night after checking his traps. Coyotes been bad this year.”

  “Do you know where he was today? I called his cell and the house phone, but I ain’t heard from him.” The kick he’d taken to his gut left him feeling nauseated, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the tightening in his chest was worse.

  “Said something about a big load of feed coming in to Pete’s today. Other than that I don’t rightly know. He doesn’t normally go over his schedule with me. What you so hell-bent on finding him for?”

  ’Cause I fucking miss him. “Wanted to go over some numbers with him is all. Guess it’s not really a big deal.” Bo, one of the old hounds, came bounding up the stairs and plopped down next to Jimmy’s feet, and he reached down and patted the mutt on his head. The dog sighed and closed his eyes. Jimmy wasn’t the only one the heat was making sleepy.

  “Anything I should be concerned about?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Nah, nothing serious. Hey, you hear Ronny Kimes is selling off his livestock?”

  “Heard that. I thought about giving him a call, but I hadn’t been impressed with his stock the past few years. Chickens might be okay, but his cattle….” Scott shrugged one shoulder. “Probably the reason he’s gone belly-up. You got to rotate grazing pastures, and he ain’t done that in years.”

  “What about machinery?”

  “Yeah, he’s got a nice Farmall I’d like to get my hands on, but I ain’t got the funds.”

  “Give him a call. See if we can go over and check it out and what he wants for it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is a partnership, remember? If we need it, then let’s see if we can get us a good deal. I’d rather pay for something that don’t shit.” Jimmy laughed, trying his best to push away the unease that had settled into his head and heart. He needed a distraction, and he’d rather keep busy than dwell on crap he couldn’t change.

  “Be right back. I got his number in the house.”

  Within a few moments, Scott returned with a big grin on his face. “Ronny said we could come over now. You want to go?”

  Jimmy looked down at his bare chest, and the thought of putting his boots back on made him physically ill. However, the thought of traipsing down the dirt road in his bare feet wasn’t all that appealing either.

  “Tell you what, you give me a ride back up to the house so I can change, and we’ll go check it out. I need my shorts and flippies.” Jimmy stood, patted the hound one last time, and grabbed his boots and cooler.

  “What the fuck are flippies?”

  “Flip-flops. You know, sandals?”

  Scott stared at him for a moment with a disbelieving look and then shook his head before heading down the stairs. “I’ll give you a ride if you promise to never say that word again.”

  “Sandals?”

  “Those are bad enough but a grown man shouldn’t be calling them flippies. Just ain’t right.”

  Jimmy slid into the passenger side of Scott’s truck, laughing. “I take it you don’t wear them?”

  Scott fired up the truck and glanced at Jimmy with pursed lips. He ignored Jimmy’s question, asking instead, “Should we grab Eric? Might be something over there he needs.”

  The laughter died, and Jimmy turned to look out the window so Scott wouldn’t see the pain his question caused. It would kill him if Scott called Eric and the guy answered him or, worse yet, dropped what he was doing to ride with them. Especially since Eric couldn’t be bothered to call Jimmy back.

  “Nah, he said he was busy earlier. Let’s go see what he’s got and we can give Eric a list.” Because he really, really didn’t want to know the truth—Eric was avoiding him.

  Chapter Eight

  FOR A small town like Hale, there was nothing like the Friday night lights. It was only a preseason game, the heat of August stifling, but neither could dampen the jubilance and anticipation swirling around them as Jimmy and Oliver walked through the gates. People were decked out in their maroon and gold to show their team spirit, pom-poms and horns in hand, or on their hands in the case of the giant foam number-one fingers.

  “You want to get some hot chocolate and a hot dog?”

  “There was way too much hot in that sentence,” Oliver pointed out as he fanned himself with the program. “In this godforsaken heat, I’ll take a frozen margarita.”

  “It’s a high school football game, they don’t serve alcohol.”

  “Hey, Jimmy!”

  Jimmy turned to see Eric’s little brother dressed in his football uniform walking toward him, cleats clicking away on the concrete as he rushed over.

  “Hi, Josh. You ready to kick a little Hornet ass tonight?”

  “You know it.” Josh held out his fist for a bump.

  “Hornets?” Oliver asked.

  “It’s the other team’s mascot,” Jimmy explained. “Oliver, this is Eric’s little brother Josh.”

  Little meaning in birth order only. The kid had gotten a full head taller since the last time Jimmy had seen him. Josh was well over six foot, proof he’d shot upward quickly showing in how rail thin he was even with the bulk of his pads. Jimmy was struck by how much he looked like Eric at that age—taller, thinner, but the features were the same.

  “Nice to meet you, Oliver. I gotta get back to the team. Just had to run to the truck and grab my cup.” Josh grabbed his crotch.

  “Always good to wear protection.” Jimmy chuckled. “Your mom and dad coming tonight?”

  “Yeah, Eric too, but probably not till halftime. See ya later,” he tossed over his shoulder and took off.

  “He seems like a nice kid.”

  “I remember him as a snot-nose pain in the ass, but yeah, he’s a good kid. So about those dogs?”

  “Sure, but can we forgo the hot chocolate for something with ice?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Two dogs, popcorn, a bag of Twizzlers, and two sodas in hand, Jimmy and Oliver made their way through the crowds and found a place to sit high in the bleachers. Jimmy dished out the snacks and drinks as the Hale Wolves ran onto the field to the roar of the crowd. The game got underway with the snap of the ball, but Jimmy was acutely aware that he and Oliver were getting almost as much attention as the action on the field, at least from those close to them.

  He tried to convince himself he was only imagining it, and when that didn’t work, he tried telling himself it didn’t matter, that it didn’t bother him, but it was utter bullshit. It did bother him. His muscles were tense, skin prickling, and he had the urge to yell out “What the fuck are you looking at?”

  “This stupid game makes no sense,” Oliver complained, pulling Jimmy from his angry musings.

  “What don’t you understand?”

  “The whole thing,” Oliver admitted, waving a hand toward the field. “They spend all this time getting into position, only to slam into each other in a big ol’ pile of padding.”

  “Haven’t you ev
er seen a football game before?”

  Oliver sucked his straw into his mouth and rolled his eyes. “Do I look like someone who watches such barbaric games?”

  Jimmy tilted his head and gave Oliver a disbelieving look. “You watch wrestling.”

  “I do not. I only went a couple of times and only to check out those delicious outfits those boys wear. You can imagine my delight when the one with the biggest package asked me out.” Oliver flipped his hair. “Of course I said yes.”

  The guy sitting in front of them who had been leaning back to listen to their conversation suddenly jerked forward and choked on his drink. Served him right.

  “Seriously, Oliver?” Jimmy glared at him, his voice low and seething when he said, “You really need to fix that filter of yours. I don’t want to hear about other guys you fucked and I’m sure those around us don’t want to hear it either.”

  “Oh, sweets, I’m sorry. I’m bored and when I get bored—”

  “Yes, I know you start rambling, but do you mind trying to control it a little? You know you didn’t have to come with me.”

  Oliver slid closer, wrapping his arm around Jimmy’s waist and laying his head on Jimmy’s shoulder. “But you wanted to come and I wanted to be with you.”

  The crowd around them surged to their feet, cheering. Jimmy followed them and saw one of the Wolves had broken from the pack and was running down the field with Hornets in hot pursuit. The roar of the fans went to a deafening level as the kid ran across the goal line and spiked the ball, and Jimmy joined in.

  “What just happened?” Oliver asked when Jimmy returned to his seat.

  “The Wolves scored.” He pointed a finger at Oliver warningly. “Don’t you dare. They scored a touchdown.”

  “I wasn’t even going to say anything. They’re kids, for Christ’s sake, but I take it the touchdown was a good thing?”

  “Yes, Oliver, it was a good thing.”

  Oliver spent nearly the entire first quarter bitching about the heat, the noise, and the stupid game. Jimmy couldn’t remember ever having a worse time, not even during his senior year when their team lost fifty-six to zip during homecoming. Thankfully, Oliver eventually shut the hell up and concentrated on his cell phone.

  The teams exited the field at halftime, the Wolves up by seven, the marching band and cheerleaders taking their place. The fans took the opportunity to take a bathroom break, stock up on snacks, or mingle, and they left the stands in droves. As it cleared out, Jimmy spotted Mr. and Mrs. Halter as well as Eric sitting in the middle rows of the bleachers farther down.

  “I’ll be right back.” Jimmy set his soda on his vacated seat.

  Oliver looked up quickly, flipping his phone facedown on his thigh. He then looked around the standing crowd with a befuddled look. “Where are you going?”

  “I see Mr. and Mrs. Halter. Just going to go say hi.”

  “You don’t want to introduce me?” Oliver whined and pushed out his bottom lip in an impressive pout.

  “I will.” Someday. Maybe. “I’m only going to say hi and then run to the bathroom. I need you to save our seats unless you want to go stand over in the field near the fence for the rest of the game.”

  Oliver shoved his phone in his pocket, then picked up the program and began fanning himself. “I’ll wait here.” His sour face disappeared instantly.

  “See, I was thinking of you. I didn’t want you to have to stand in this heat,” he lied. The sun had gone down a half hour ago, a cooler breeze beginning to blow.

  “I love you.”

  “Ditto.”

  Jimmy made his way across the bleachers and snuck up behind the Halters. “They’ll let anyone hang out in this joint, won’t they?”

  “Hi, James,” Mr. Halter said with a curt nod, his wife’s reaction as usual much more animated than his.

  “Jimmy!” Mrs. Halter exclaimed with a huge smile, jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Easy, Mama Peg, let a guy breathe. Jesus, you’ve been eating your Wheaties again, haven’t you?” he teased and hugged her back. It wasn’t an unfounded taunt, Peg was one tough lady. She had to be, being the matriarch of a ranch family and the only female in a house of six men. She’d come after him and Eric with a switch a time or two. They always outran her, but she threatened it a lot. It was one thing to tease and play with her, but when she was truly mad, you started with the yes ma’ams and did what she said. She was a good woman, both demanding and deserving respect.

  “Oh, pshaw,” Peg said dismissively. “I should have brought a switch with me. Shame on you for making me wait all this time to see this sweet face of yours.”

  She patted Jimmy’s cheek and he hung his head, properly chastised. “I’m sorry, been a little crazy since getting back in to town.” Jimmy met Eric’s gaze, who like his daddy gave a curt nod, only he didn’t say anything before turning his back to Jimmy.

  Guess he had his answer. Eric was definitely avoiding him. There had to be more to it than Oliver calling while he and Eric were riding, but what? He was dying to get to the bottom of it, but now wasn’t the time or the place.

  “I’ve heard all about the new young man in your life. When am I going to get a chance to meet him?” Peg asked, smoothing her salt-and-pepper hair, which the wind and vigorous hugging had mussed, back into the bun at the base of her neck. For a woman in her midfifties, Peg was still a stunning beauty, much like his own mom. He was sure it had a lot to do with the wholesome living and farm life both women lived. Plus neither of them had ever been big drinkers, both were nonsmokers, and they stayed fit. Regular exercise was a must when working a ranch.

  “Soon,” Jimmy replied, keeping his answer vague. If Eric had such a harsh reaction to a phone call from Oliver, probably wasn’t the best idea to take Oliver to his house. At least not until Jimmy and Eric had a chance to get themselves right. “I’m heading to the concession stand to fight the crowds. Can I get y’all anything while I’m there?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Halter declined, as did Eric. At least Jimmy assumed Eric didn’t want anything since he didn’t respond nor did he turn to look at Jimmy when he said good-bye and waved over his shoulder. He and Eric were going to have to have a little chat. The angry vibes rolling off Eric were bad enough, but the cold shoulder was horrible.

  It was going to take time, he knew that, he damn sure owed Eric that. Problem was, between transitioning from son of the farm owner to owner, helping his parents move, finding time to spend with Oliver, his residency beginning soon, and studying, he was already about ten hours short in his day to get it all done.

  Jimmy rolled his neck to break the tension that had seeped into it during Eric’s standoffishness. Life was supposed to get easier after college. Yeah, that was a fucking joke. He was done with college, but his life sucked ass big-time.

  ERIC WATCHED Jimmy tromp down the stairs and disappear into the crowd. He could easily admit he had been a dick to Jimmy. It had been his intention to be cordial to both Jimmy and Oliver when he wasn’t able to avoid them. But apparently all his good intentions flew out the fucking window when standing face to face with Jimmy. The anger had rushed up in him so quickly it had left him shaking. It wasn’t Jimmy he was angry at; it was Oliver. Or maybe it was Jimmy because he’d picked Oliver. He didn’t even know what the fuck he felt anymore or who he should be mad at, including himself.

  “You okay?” Mom asked, laying a hand on Eric’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, why would you think something was wrong?”

  “Because I don’t think you could mutilate that poor program any more.”

  Eric looked down and was surprised to see he’d twisted the program into a small tube, his knuckles white with the amount of pressure he’d put on it. He set it aside and ran his hands down his thighs.

  “It’s an intense game,” he lied lamely.

  “It’s halftime, son,” his mom reminded him. She leaned down closer and whispered, “You want to go?”

  “No, I’m good,” he ass
ured her and patted the hand she had on his shoulder. “Or at least I will be.”

  “You need to talk to him.”

  “Who?”

  She squeezed his shoulder and gave him that look—the one that screamed “Do you really want to go there.” Apparently he did, because he kept his gaze on the field and didn’t respond.

  “Okay, I’ll let it go for now. The game’s about to start again. But we will be talking later. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eric conceded, thankful he had a little time to calm down before the dreaded discussion.

  Yes, he was a grown man and no, he didn’t have to discuss anything he didn’t want to with his mother. However, he’d been able to talk to her about anything since he’d been a young kid. In that sense she’d been more like a friend than a mom. She never judged, nor had he ever shocked her with some of the ideas that came out of his head. Most of the time she’d simply listen, giving quiet support—and desserts—while Eric talked and in the end worked through his problems on his own.

  The Hale Wolves won 21 to 7, and the excitement of the game and the celebratory party afterward meant Eric could sneak from the ball field without seeing Jimmy or Oliver. He also hadn’t had to field any more questions from his mom.

  The closed cab of the truck on the ride home also gave him an opportunity to work through the strange feelings running through him. Mom would never ask personal questions in front of Dad. Dad was a great guy; he and Eric had a close relationship. They worked hard together side by side every day, teased and laughed often. However, it was Mom who dealt with the emotional stuff. That’s not to say Dad was unemotional, far from it. He simply didn’t like talking about his feelings, nor did he show them as readily.

  The radio set on an oldies but goodies station—Dad’s insistence—Eric tuned out the music and kept his eyes on the dark road before him, but his thoughts were far from the country road he drove down. He tossed ideas and notions over and over in his head, trying to pinpoint the time and events that had caused such irrational rage in him.