by Nick Poff
Jim snickered. “You? Beat me up? With those limp wrists?” He leaned against the post office wall, sneering at Ed. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Well, I don’t see you moving, Jim,” Gordy said. “You afraid of him? Those wrists don’t look very limp to me. In fact, Ed works a lot harder than you do. I’ll lay down five bucks says he can put you in Porterfield General without too much effort.”
“Me too,” Rick said, surprising Ed to no end. “But let’s make it ten.”
“Hell, twenty,” Gordy roared. “Easy money. C’mon, Murky. Let’s see whatcha got.” Gordy hopped down from his perch on the stairs, flipping away his cigarette. He looked up at Jim. “Ya know, Murkland,” he said, suddenly serious, “I’d love nothing more than to shut that trap of yours for good, so what Ed can’t finish, I will.”
Jim looked back at the three of them, blinking. He couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say. Ed was about to start up the steps toward him when the door banged open again and Porterfield postmaster Don Hoffmeyer walked out. Don—graying, paunchy, and granite-faced—surveyed the men in the parking lot, hands on big hips. He turned to look at Jim.
“Everything okay out here, boys?” he asked.
“Aw, hell, Don, we’re just enjoying our coffee break,” Gordy said cheerfully. “You got your smokes on you? I left mine inside.”
“Jim?” Don asked, ignoring Gordy.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Jim muttered.
“Well, then, why don’t you get back to work?” Don said to Jim. “I haven’t seen too much action out of you today. And I don’t see you drinking any coffee. How ’bout it?”
With one last defeated glare at the men standing below him, Jim yanked open the door and vanished inside. Ed, fists still clenched, realized how hard his heart was beating. He was both disappointed and relieved at the same time.
“Hi, there, Ed,” Don said, nodding pleasantly. “Good to see you. How’s your mother doing?”
“She’s just fine, Don,” Ed said, finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Same old Mom, bitchin’ up a storm about the cold weather.”
Don chuckled. “Well, that’s about what’d I’d expect from Norma. You tell her I said hello. That oughta get her good and riled up.” His eyes traveled from Ed to Rick. “I understand,” he said after a moment, “that you two are getting to be pretty good friends.”
Ed, wondering if Don was just making conversation, looked him right in the eye. “Yes, Rick and I have gotten close here lately.”
Don’s eyebrows went up a bit, but otherwise his expression didn’t change. He seemed to be weighing his words before he spoke. “I always said Tim Stephens raised a good son,” he finally said. “And Rick here is the best thing to happen to this post office full of goldbrickers in a long time.” He looked at Gordy pointedly, who just smirked back at him. “You two go on being friends. Nothing wrong with that. But for the sake of my ulcer,” he continued, looking back at the door, obviously indicating Jim, “try to keep it away from the office. Okay?”
Rick nodded. “No problem, Don.”
“Ed, take care,” Don said, nodding at him. “You two, I’ll see you inside later.” He pulled open the door and walked back in the building.
The three men stared at the closing door, then at each other. Gordy started to laugh.
“I don’t think you have to worry about Murkland anymore, Rick. You either, Ed. I’ve never seen him raise a fist in his life. All blow and no show. What an asshole.”
“He can talk, though,” Rick said, looking at the ground. “He’s not here twenty-four hours a day.”
“Hell,” Gordy said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. Shit, Rick, Ed here can tell you that no one’s listened to a word Murk the Jerk’s said in years. He wouldn’t even be working here if Don didn’t have such a soft heart. I think Don just keeps him around as a favor to Jim’s dad. They were in the war together. Besides, this may be Porterfield, but no one’s gonna mess with Ed Stephens. Or his boyfriend. Hell, I’ll see to that.”
Ed and Rick glanced at each other uncomfortably.
“Now, Gordy,” Rick started.
Gordy held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t sweat it. Hell, for once in his worthless life, Murkland was right. I can see that. But shit, Ed,” he said, winking, “I wish I’d known before Rick showed up. He would have had some competition.”
Ed looked at Gordy in amazement.
“Sure.” Gordy’s eyes twinkled at them both. “You know, Rick, there are a lot of secrets in this town. Some are just kept better than others.” He slapped them both on the back, then bounded up the stairs into the post office.
Ed looked at Rick. Rick looked at Ed.
“How ’bout that?” Rick finally remarked. “This town never ceases to amaze me.”
* * * * *
That night they sat in Ed’s living room, rehashing the events at the post office. Ed was shaking his head, still marveling at Gordy Smith’s revelation.
“I’ve known that guy most of my life, and I never guessed, never suspected. Of course, I sure wasn’t looking at him that way. I never had a reason to.”
Rick stretched out happily, the week’s tension ebbing away. “Well, it just goes to show, we don’t all have limp wrists, girlish voices, or funny walks.”
“Oh, I don’t know, darlin’,” Ed teased him. “You were walking pretty funny when your back was out.”
Rick began tickling him in revenge. Ed laughed and struggled away from him.
“It’s cool, though, about Gordy, isn’t it? Maybe we can invite him over sometime. It would be great to have another friend here in town. Glen and I don’t seem to have much in common anymore. Well,” he conceded with a grin, “not that we ever did, really, but I’ve always liked Gordy a lot, even if I don’t know shit about football.”
“We can do something with Gordy as long as he keeps his hands off you,” Rick said firmly. “I saw the way he was looking at you today.”
“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” Ed told him. “I’ll take a tall, dark, bearded mailman over a blond ex-football player any day.”
Rick pulled Ed back to him for a hug. “And I’ll take my sandy-haired handyman who’s not afraid to defend himself. Or me.”
“Really?” Ed looked at him speculatively. “I was afraid you’d get all pissed off at me for threatening Jim like that. I was just so mad. Thing is, though, I was more mad for myself than I was for you.”
“I know that. And that’s why I wasn’t pissed off.” Rick kissed him. “I was so proud of you. Proud that you’d stand up for yourself, and even for me if you had to. Don was right. Tim Stephens did raise a good son.”
“Speaking of Don,” Ed said, basking in Rick’s pride, “do you s’pose he figured us out? I couldn’t tell.”
“Me either. And I don’t care. He made it clear he respects my work, and for now, that’s all that’s important. I think Jimmy Jerk Murkland has a much better chance of losing his job than I do.”
“Ah,” Ed said, thinking back, “I wish I could have gotten one good punch in.”
“Cool it, Muhammad Ali,” said Rick, his troubled look returning to his face. “Save it for when you need it. Unfortunately, you may really need it some day. Jim Murkland isn’t the only fag-hater in this town. Despite what Gordy said, Jim can talk, and if he wanted to, he could stir up trouble for us.”
“I know. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let him run me out of Porterfield.” Ed considered, for a moment, leaving his hometown, his family, and his clients. “I won’t go without a fight. I proved to myself today, even if I didn’t get to knock Murkland flat, that I’m not afraid to fight if I need to. Remember what you said the other day, about how wrong it was for someone to find something ugly in you loving me? Well, I feel the same way about you. I’ll defend my right to love you, even if the Welcome to Porterfield sign is in our rearview while I’m doing it.”
Rick’s arm around Ed tightened. “I
love you so much, baby,” he whispered. “You’re more of a man than Jim Murkland could ever hope to be. You’d think people would see that, and maybe some of them do. Maybe that’s why Don didn’t say any more than he did today. I don’t know. I guess time will tell if Porterfield will accept or at least tolerate us. I don’t want to leave, either. For whatever reason, this goofy town has become home for me. Maybe it’s because I found you here, but I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I just want you to know, though, that I can live with you, and love you, in Porterfield or anywhere else in the world. You know that, right, baby?”
“I know that. I feel the same way. As long as we’re strong, like Mrs. Penfield said, we’ll be okay, wherever we are.”
Ed kissed Rick, loving him deeply. He didn’t know what time would tell them about living in Porterfield, but he knew that time had already proven to him that Rick Benton was the man with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. That knowledge, he thought, made him feel stronger than he’d ever felt in his twenty-eight years.
Ed looked at the stereo, where “Celebration” was lying on the turntable. He got up and flipped the switch. The record began to spin, and soon the joyful song was pouring out of the speakers.
“Enough of this fag-hater talk.” Ed pulled Rick to his feet. “We are gonna spend this whole weekend celebrating. You have your route back, I almost decked the biggest pest I’ve ever known, and I think we made a new friend today. Last time I checked too, you didn’t have to work tomorrow, which means I get to spend two nights with the man I love. If that ain’t worth celebrating, I don’t know what is.”
Rick, laughing, began to follow Ed’s shuffling steps to the music.
“You forgot one thing,” Rick said, putting his arms on Ed’s shoulders. “Every day I spend with you is worth celebrating. Being with you, baby, is a party that never ends.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ed rolled his truck to a stop in his snow-covered driveway and wearily took in the unbroken expanse of white surrounding his house. After a day spent removing snow from his clients’ walks and drives, he now had to take care of his own.
He drove the truck into the garage and grabbed his shovel from the bed. His fingers were tired and his toes were tingling from the cold. As much as he wanted to clear the four inches of new snow from his walks—just get it over with and call it a day—he knew he had to go inside for a rest and allow his toes to thaw for a while.
Ed dearly loved every season of the year and their individual gifts, but he had to admit he’d had enough of winter’s gift of snow. Arctic air had settled over northern Indiana, and a chain of weather disturbances had sent lake-effect snow blowing across Porterfield nonstop for several days. Ed was proud of the fact that he kept his regular clients’ walks cleared with just a shovel and his own sturdy back, but he was beginning to think wistful thoughts about the snow blower he’d seen recently at the lumberyard. Groundhog Day wasn’t far off, and he hoped that any critters who popped their heads up that morning would have to look damned hard to find a shadow.
Once he’d settled in an easy chair with a cup of hot tea, he began to unwind. The furnace thrummed reassuringly in the basement, and he allowed the warmth of the house to settle upon him. He gave thanks it was Saturday; soon Rick would arrive, cold and tired from his daily struggle of delivering mail through the snow. They would have the rest of the weekend to pamper and care for one another, to renew their energy for another week of battling the elements.
He caught a glimpse of a vehicle turning into his driveway. He stood up to see who it was, as it was too early for Rick. It turned out to be his brother-in-law, Todd, who had borrowed Ed’s electric drill the night before.
Ed met Todd at the back door. “You didn’t have to drag yourself out in the snow to get this back to me,” Ed said by way of greeting.
Todd stamped his snow-covered boots on the already snow-covered mat inside Ed’s door. “Call it cabin fever.” Todd grinned. “The kids are driving Laurie crazy. They’re bored with the snow and their Christmas toys. I would have taken any excuse to get out of the house for a while.”
Ed laughed, ushering Todd into the kitchen. “Sit down, sit down.” He poured another cup of tea for Todd. “I’m trying to get myself outside to clean my walks, so I’ll take any excuse to stay inside awhile longer.”
Todd gratefully accepted the hot drink. “Thanks again for letting me borrow your drill. I save a fortune in tools, having a brother-in-law who’s a handyman.”
“No sweat,” Ed said, joining him at the table.
They talked amiably for a while about Laurie, the kids, and the weather.
“There’s something else I should probably tell you, Ed,” Todd said, looking into his tea mug. “I debated all the way over here whether to say anything, but I guess forewarned is forearmed, as the saying goes.”
“What’s up?”
Todd sighed, sipping his tea. “Well, after my businessmen’s basketball league game Wednesday night, I stopped by Buck’s Bar downtown with some of the guys. That jackass Jim Murkland was in there. He’d had a few, and he came staggering up to me, wanting to know how I felt about having a faggot for a brother-in-law.”
Ed felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “What’d you say to him?”
Todd shrugged. “Told him to shut his face if he didn’t want to pick his front teeth out of a snowdrift. What else? Like I’d give a rat’s ass what Murk the Jerk says, but I thought you should know.”
Ed scowled, looking out the window above Todd’s head. “Yeah, I almost beat the crap out of him a couple of weeks ago at the post office. He’d been giving Rick shit about hanging around me. Considering how dumb he is, I don’t know how he figured out what’s going on with us, but somehow he did. Either that, or I just confirmed his suspicions, threatening him the way I did. I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ed. I know that’s easy for me to say, especially since I’m the guy who told you about this, but I just wanted you to know what he’s saying, and that you can’t think of you and Rick as some deep, dark secret. People are beginning to be aware of it. You know Laurie and I don’t care, and I was really impressed with Rick when you brought him over on Christmas. Hell, I’d trust the two of you with my kids before I would my own brother. It’s just that people in this town talk. They always have and they always will. I oughta know. My mom’s one of the best talkers in Porterfield.”
Ed thought briefly of Eunice Ames, Todd’s mother, and what she might have to say about his relationship with Rick. “Does she know about it?”
“I don’t know.” Todd looked unconcerned. “But again, I wouldn’t worry about it. Homosexuality isn’t one of her hang-ups. She gets hot and bothered with how much money someone has and what their social standing is. You know that. Besides, whatever feud she may have with Norma, she’s always liked you. I don’t think it would faze her all that much.”
Ed tapped his fingers on the table in frustration. “So what are you telling me, Todd? Porterfield is talking about Rick and me in shocked whispers or something, and I should ignore it? Or is this when I put a For Sale sign in the front yard and leave town?”
“Ignore it,” Todd said flatly. “Don’t get all crazy on me here. Look, people talk, like I said. They don’t have anything better to do, but they’re not gonna do anything. They want to feel they’re better than you in some way, and let’s face it, it makes good conversation at the bar or over a bridge table. Bottom line, nobody in this town is gonna mess with someone named Stephens, anymore than they’d mess with someone named Ames. If anyone notices what Rick and you have got going on, they’re also gonna notice that you’re still the same Ed Stephens, shoveling walks and repairing lamps and stuff. When they get bored with the topic, they’ll move on to someone else, like always.
“Again,” Todd stressed, “I just wanted you to know, so if some asshole actually has the guts to say something to your face, you’re prepared. Okay?”
“Yea
h,” Ed muttered.
“What’s the old song from the sixties, the one about the P.T.A.? You’re such a music nut you should remember it.”
“‘Harper Valley P.T.A.,’” Ed said, a grin actually coming onto his face.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Todd grinned back at him. “All small towns are like that, just a bunch of hypocrites talkin’ shit while the skeletons fall out of their own closets.”
“I know, but I can’t help but worry about Rick’s job.”
“I wouldn’t. Don Hoffmeyer was one of your dad’s best friends, and he’s not stupid. He’s not gonna unload a good employee because someone like Murk the Jerk is talkin’ trash. And don’t get any ideas about leaving town. This is your home, and it’s Rick’s home, too, now. Your mom needs you, and Laurie and the kids need you. Hell, I need you, too.” Todd laughed. “If you take off, who am I gonna borrow tools from?”
Ed sighed, already wondering if he should tell Rick about this conversation, but knowing he probably would, whether he wanted to or not. “Thanks, Todd. For telling me about this, I guess, but more for being so cool about it. Rick and I are really lucky that our families support us. That’s pretty rare, you know.”
Todd shrugged that off. “That’s what families are for, or they’re supposed to be anyway. I suppose I should get home, make sure Laurie hasn’t killed one of the monsters yet. Thanks for the tea, and for letting me borrow your drill.” He clapped Ed on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Ed. Truth is, they don’t come any better. Don’t let any of the assholes in this town tell you any different.”
Ed watched Todd drive off, Jeannie C. Riley’s voice in his head, singing about small-town hypocrites.Todd was right. Ed knew that. Since the night he had abandoned Cathy Carroll on the dance floor at the senior prom, he’d wondered if someday the people of Porterfield would talk about him. He’d been listening to their gossip for years, letting it roll in one ear and out the other, not unlike the soap operas a lot of his clients watched every day.
