Common Powers

by Lynn Lorenz

  Yet those were the very things that attracted Jack.

  If Jack had any type of relationship… Shit, did I just use the R word? Jack’s mind rewound and began again. If he hung out with Edward around here, tongues would wag. Jack would be labeled ‘fag’ right along with him. The good folk of Spring Lake might not say it to his face, but they’d snicker behind their hands and behind his back. He’d lose their respect and become an object of derision.

  Guilt by association.

  Only in Jack’s case it’d be truth by association.

  Either way, it spelled the end of his career and the life he’d worked so hard to build. So far from that run-down trailer, the hard fists of his drunkard daddy and the abusive put-downs of his mother.

  This was just like all those years ago when he’d had to make a choice about his own survival. Stay with his family and wind up like them, or save himself and cut them out of his life. He’d chosen himself and saved the only person he had the power to save at the time.

  Now, it was Edward or him.

  Jack chose himself.

  Really, there wasn’t any other choice.

  * * * *

  Holding his breath, afraid of what he might find on the other side of the door, Edward put his key in the lock and went inside.

  “Meemaw, I’m back.”

  “In the kitchen, honey.” Her voice sounded good and strong. He exhaled and let go of the fear he’d find her ill again. His heart just couldn’t take that, not today.

  “Are you ready to go to lunch?” He stepped into the kitchen and froze.

  Olivia was putting a thermos into a large picnic basket.

  “What’s all this?” he asked.

  “I thought we’d do something special. I want to take you to the old ranch. We’re going to have a picnic.” She smiled up at him.

  “That’s wonderful! I haven’t been on a picnic in ages.” He beamed at her. He just barely remembered going once or twice to the ranch as a young child. The horses had seemed so huge to him, all thick lips and big teeth. In the distance, the cows seemed so small, dotting the wide fields they’d clustered on. “Is it still a working ranch?”

  “Yes, if you count the pumping jacks and gas compressors.”

  “Pumping jacks?” Jacks? Jackrabbits? Jumping jacks? He had no idea what she was talking about and it must have shown, because she laughed.

  “Oil and gas wells. But the old homestead is still there and in good condition. I keep it maintained. The power’s been shut off out there for almost fifteen years. Nowadays, I go there sometimes for some peace and quiet. It has a working well, though, so there’s fresh water, if you wanted to work the pump.” She chuckled and pointed to the thermos. “But I thought we’d enjoy some fresh-squeezed lemonade.”

  Edward came over to the table and inspected the basket. “What else have you got in there?”

  “Just some sandwiches, some fruit and a slice or two of cake I made this morning.” She winked at him.

  “Cake?” Dear Lord, please let it be chocolate, because I could sure use some right now.

  “Chocolate.”

  “Thank God.” He sighed.

  She laughed. “I figured chocolate can cure what ails a body.” She gave him a piercing look.

  “Chocolate can never be a wrong choice, in my opinion.” He nodded, avoiding her gaze.

  “Then let’s go!” She slapped the lid closed and Edward carried the basket to the door. “Wait.” She opened a closet door, pulled out a folded quilt then motioned for him to go on.

  At the car, she put the quilt in the back seat and he put the basket on top of it to hold it down.

  “I hope you don’t mind that the top’s down?” he asked as he settled her into the car.

  “I was counting on it.” She grinned. “And I hope you plan on driving fast.”

  “Meemaw!” He chuckled. “You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

  “I like that, Edward. I want that on my headstone. She was a bad influence.” Then she laughed and he laughed, and they pulled away from the house.

  * * * *

  Jack glanced at his watch. Two o’clock and he hadn’t had lunch. He couldn’t have eaten before anyway. He walked to the door, opened it and leaned out. “Kristen?”

  “Yes, Chief?” She looked up at him.

  “Can you order me a lunch from the diner? Whatever the daily special is will be fine.”

  “Sure. Working through?” She had that look in her eyes, the one that mothers reserved for wayward children.

  “I want to get out of here early today. I’m going fishing.” He ducked back into his office before she could launch into a round of questions.

  Fishing sounded good. He hadn’t been thinking about it, but when she asked, it was the first thing that came to his mind. Sure. He’d get his pole and go down to the creek, toss a line in, and just sit. Maybe kill a beer or two. Watch the sun go down.

  Not think about Edward.

  He ground his teeth and went back to work. If he got this done by four, he could be at the creek by five.

  * * * *

  Edward turned off the road onto a gravel and dirt…well, it was nothing more than two ruts…and came to a gate.

  “I’ll hop out and get it,” she said, her hand on the door.

  “No way. I’ll get it.” He got out and approached the gate. It was almost shoulder high on him, four thick metal posts crisscrossed, with some kind of latch.

  “Just push down, it’ll lift and unlock,” she called to him.

  He did and it swung open without any help from him. He trotted back to the car, got in and pulled through. “Should I shut it?”

  “Better. I let John Macon graze his herd here, so best keep it shut so they don’t get out.”

  He got out and shut the gate. “Now where?” he said as he got behind the steering wheel.

  “Just up the road, over that rise.” She pointed and he took off.

  The convertible bumped and jolted over the ruts. As the undercarriage of the little car occasionally scraped the ground, he could understand why everyone around here drove those god-awful pickup trucks.

  They made the crest of the rolling hill and Edward stopped. It was like a picture postcard. Across a small green valley between the hills sat a white cottage. Well, ranch house, he supposed was the proper term. It had a porch that wrapped all the way around it, from what he could see.

  Surrounding it were a half-dozen majestic oak trees, as fine as any he’d seen anywhere in the South. All they were missing was the Spanish moss blowing in the breeze. Set to the side and behind the house was an old barn, its white paint worn and faded.

  “It’s perfect, Meemaw,” he whispered. “Just the way I remember it.”

  She smiled and touched his leg. “I’m glad you remember, child.”

  He started the car down the hill and followed the road up the front yard.

  The house was bordered by a variety of bushes—oleander, camellia, roses. Some bloomed, others had spent flowers, but all looked healthy and vigorous.

  “Where do you want to spread the blanket?” he asked as they parked and got out. He popped the trunk while she picked up the old quilt.

  “Over there. Under that tree.” She headed for it and Edward followed with the basket.

  As she spread the blanket, he glanced around. “I can see why you come here.” It was lovely and quiet and…home. He’d never been anywhere that felt so much like home, certainly not his parent’s house and not even his high-rise condominium.

  Edward’s heart eased.

  He put down the basket on a corner of the quilt and sat. Olivia was pulling off her socks, her shoes already tossed to the side. “Come on, Edward. Get comfy.”

  He toed off his running shoes, slipped off his socks and put them next to hers—then he just lay back, his arms behind his head, and peered up through the long, thick branches of the tree.

  “I’ll bet I can climb it.” He smiled.

  “You used to when
you were nothing but a tiny thing. One time your dad had to go up there after you. You’d gotten up so high and it wasn’t until you peeked down that you got scared.” She chuckled. “He was so mad at you.”

  “His perpetual state.” Edward snorted.

  “But I’d never seen him prouder, child.” She lay back next to him, gazing through the branches. “He just kept shaking his head and muttering, ‘Why, I never. Look how high he got. Why, I never.’”

  Edward’s heart caught and he swallowed. “My father was proud of me?” Even if it was only for climbing a tree, it was better than nothing.

  Olivia rolled onto her side and smiled at him. “I know he wasn’t much for telling you, but he was.”

  “Father went out of his way to tell me what a disappointment I was to him. Maybe… I don’t know, maybe he did love me. Once.” Edward shrugged.

  She let out a breath. “If your father were alive right now, I’d tan his hide for how he treated you.” She shook her head. “Eddie had his own set of problems and he let them spill over onto you, that’s all.” She patted his hand.

  “Thanks, Meemaw. But I knew how he felt about me even before he found out that I was gay. Once that happened, the gloves were off, not that he ever held much back. But at least he never hit me.” Instead, he’d never touched Edward again. Never hugged him or put his arm on Edward’s shoulder in comfort or reassurance.

  “Your father was…an idiot.” She pished and rolled onto her back again. He had the feeling she wanted to say something else, but had thought better of it.

  They were quiet for a while, watching the clouds float by through the limbs and leaves of the big oak. Edward listened to the sounds of the world around him. No cars, no horns, none of the sounds of city life, only the birds, the bugs and the occasional faraway moo of a cow.

  Maybe I am a Country Living kind of guy, after all.

  Olivia sat up. “I’m hungry, how about you?”

  “Now you’re talking.” He got up and crossed his legs.

  She dug out the food, spread it around for them to help themselves and they feasted.

  When the last crumbs of chocolate cake had been licked from their forks, they lay back, patting their tummies.

  “Oh God. I’m going to have to run twice a day for a week to work off that wedge of cake. That was the biggest slice I’ve ever seen.” Edward moaned.

  “Nonsense. You need to gain some weight.”

  “And lose my girlish figure?” He chuckled.

  She stood and held out her hand to him. “Come on. We need a walk to help us digest, and I want to show you something.”

  Edward stood, offered her his arm and they walked around the house. The porch did wrap all the way around, and several doors opened onto it. At the rear of the house, they took a worn path that led over the next gentle hill. They climbed it and stood at the top.

  Just below was a hollow. More oaks stood in a circle and beneath them were a dozen or so stone markers surrounded by blue wildflowers. A cemetery.

  “I want to be buried here, Edward. Next to your grandfather.” Her voice was so soft and gentle. No fear, no trepidation. Just calm. Peace. Contentment. “Promise me. You won’t let Lillian put me in the ground anywhere else.”

  “I promise.” With his mother that would take a battle, but it was a battle he would win. For Olivia. He owed her that much.

  Olivia wrapped her arm around his waist, leaned her head on his shoulder and they stood there for long minutes. Then she sighed and pulled away.

  “I want to show you the house before it gets dark.”

  They went back down the hill and climbed the steps to the porch. She took out a key ring, opened the door and they stepped inside.

  The house was cool. In the sunlight that streamed through the sheer lace curtains covering the windows, dust motes floated. He smelled cedar and lavender and the faded scent of dead flowers.

  Olivia had moved into the kitchen, bright and cheery with its empty open-faced cabinets and white linoleum floors. Clean but unused.

  On the counter was a cut-glass vase with a bouquet of withered flowers. She removed them, opened a door under the sink and put them in a garbage pail. “I’ll throw this out later.”

  She opened a drawer, took out garden clippers and a pair of gloves and went to the back door. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Look around.”

  Edward nodded and went back into the empty living room. A stone fireplace with a simple thick wooden beam for a mantle stood against one wall. He went down the hall and opened door after door, finding four empty bedrooms, each with a door that opened onto the porch. There were two bathrooms. The bath fixtures were from the thirties at least and both had old claw-foot tubs and small black-and-white tiles on the floors and walls.

  He fell in love with the house as he walked through it, imagining what he’d do if it were his.

  After circling back to the kitchen, he found Olivia arranging the flowers she’d cut in the vase. “Your grandfather always liked fresh flowers in the house.”

  He smiled. “It’s a nice touch. Homey.”

  “Yes. This was our home. When he died, I stayed for a while, but it was too hard. Everything reminded me of him. It hurt too much, so I moved to town.”

  “But you keep coming back.”

  “I didn’t at first. But it called me home, Edward. He called me home. These days I come quite often just to be with him here.” She looked up at him and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Why didn’t you move back?”

  She shrugged. “It was too far from town and I didn’t want to be so isolated. Besides, when I come here now, it’s special.”

  Edward gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. She squeezed him back.

  “You must have loved him so much, Meemaw.”

  “I did. One day, I hope you’ll find that kind of love.”

  “Me too.” Sure. Somewhere over the rainbow where bluebirds and pigs fly.

  He stared out of the window at the hill that hid the graves of relatives he’d never known but felt closer to than his own family. This place grounded him, made him feel close to his roots, as if he were a part of something bigger than just him and his mother.

  She sighed. “I suppose we should get back. That dog of yours probably needs to go for a walk.”

  “Winston? Oh, he’s very good about being inside for long periods. He never has an accident.”

  They went outside. She folded the blanket and he put it and the basket in the back seat. Then he held open the door for her.

  Once he got behind the wheel, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for sharing this with me, Meemaw. It was a wonderful day.”

  They bumped back over the road, opened and closed the fence and drove back to town.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jack untangled his line for the fourth time as he swore.

  Fishing is overrated. “Peace and quiet, my ass,” he grumbled.

  The line came free and he reeled it in. The hook, bait missing once more, swung around as he jerked the pole in anger and caught himself on the thigh.

  “Son of a bitch!” The barbed end dug into his flesh and he froze, knowing any more movement would embed it deeper.

  It was karma. Cosmic justice. And only a small fraction of the shit he deserved for hurting Edward.

  Carefully, he put down the pole, sat on the ground and, gritting his teeth, worked the hook free of his skin. Blood welled. He grabbed the bottle of water leaning next to his tackle box and poured it over the small wound to rinse it clean.

  Staring at the hook in his hand, he couldn’t tell if it was bloody or rusty. To be on the safe side, he probably needed to get a tetanus shot. Actually, he should have had one when Winston bit him, but Jack hadn’t wanted anyone to know about that. Now he had a valid excuse, one he didn’t mind being known.

  His luck was going downhill fast. He’d better leave before he fell into the damned creek. The fish had eluded him ever since he’d arrived, only
to swim up to the bank to make their presence and his ineptitude known.

  After he gathered up his fishing equipment, broke down his pole and tossed his empty beer bottles and trash in a plastic bag, he headed back to his truck.

  Not a single fish. So much for catching dinner.

  Oh well, there was a frozen pizza at home calling his name.

  Pizza, a cold beer and pay-per-view.

  What a life.

  * * * *

  Wednesday morning, Jack woke on the couch in his living room. He sat up, groaned, back muscles aching, and ran his hands through his hair as he got his bearings. The TV was still on, the sound turned down low. On the coffee table was a plate with the half-eaten sandwich he’d made last night. Next to it stood a warm bottle of beer he’d only had a sip of.

  He wore jeans and nothing else.

  In his bedroom at the back of his house, his alarm clock was ringing. It must have been what had awakened him. He thought he’d fallen asleep around three a.m., same as the night before. He pushed to his feet and shuffled down the hall.

  He slapped at the alarm, knocking the clock off the side table. It fell between the bed and the wall, still ringing.

  “Fuck,” he mumbled as he got on his hands and knees to retrieve it. He reached for it, snagged it by the cord and reeled it in. After shutting off the alarm, he placed it back on the table. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the ringing or the silence.

  He stood, slowly, carefully, then went to the bathroom. He needed to piss.

  Standing at the toilet, he emptied his too-full bladder, flushed and turned on the shower. He slipped out of his jeans and tossed them, not caring if they landed in the proper hamper or not. His shirt from last night lay on the floor next to it.

  Avoiding his own gaze in the mirror, because reality would come only too soon, he tested the temperature of the water then stepped in. A warm stream fell over his shoulders and down his back as he picked up a washcloth and soaped it up.

  Like a robot, he bathed. Rinsed. Toweled off. Got out of the shower.