Rainbow Hill

by Alex Carreras

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Ethan said you’d be in here.”

  Frank’s voice resonated off the stone walls of the springhouse.

  Quinn placed his hands in his back pocket and looked around. “You come to lend a helping hand?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Did Tucker ask you about getting the electricity up and running?”

  Frank pulled a generic looking light bulb out of the front pocket of his loose fitting shirt. “I believe it’s not as hard as all that.”

  “You think it’s only a dead bulb?”

  Frank inserted the light bulb in an empty socket above the one and only door, a tattered, dingy string hanging from it. “It usually is. Most people tend to create problems where there are none.” Frank pulled the string, bathing the dark musty space in golden light.

  Quinn rocked on his heels and laughed. “Are you going to tell Tucker that a seventy-five watt bulb solved his decade-long electrical problem?”

  Frank shook his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t want to offend his intelligence. I’ll just say it took a little tinkering, that special touch.”

  “I think he’ll believe that.”

  “Usually does. He has a heart of gold but doesn’t know his way around an electrical box to save his soul.”

  “He is a good man,” Quinn said. “Much like his son.”

  “Ethan will come into his own one day. He still has some growing to do, starting with Randall. Won’t be easy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I see something in his eyes that says he’s still hooked on that asshole.”

  “I see it too.”

  “Hard not to.”

  Quinn grew silent, the sound of trickling water reminding him of last night’s rain, thoughts of Ethan’s hungry lips sliding up and down along his hard shaft. Even if Ethan chose to stay with Randall, Quinn did not regret making love to Ethan. It would be one of those memories that would keep him feeling young when he was an old man and all he had left were memories.

  “This place has loads of potential,” Quinn said, taking a small step toward the pool of spring water that was in dire need of some TLC, his reflection rippling in the murkiness.

  “So does Ethan.”

  “I’m not getting involved.”

  “Too late for that, wouldn’t you say?”

  Quinn lifted his chin, eyed Frank. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I’m not in the mood to decipher your hidden meanings.”

  “You give me too much credit.” Frank met Quinn’s gaze. “What I’m saying is, if you like Ethan, then tell him. It might give him the courage it takes to leave Randall. It’s a wonderful thing to have someone on your side, pulling for you. Believing in you.”

  “Like Mom.”

  Frank’s head hung. “Like Connie.” He said her name in a rush of exhaustive breath.

  “Dad,” Quinn began, choosing his words carefully, “just because Mom is gone, it doesn’t mean your life is over. You have so much to offer to those around you. You have plenty of life to live.”

  “I don’t feel like I do.”

  Quinn cocked his head. “Or is it that you don’t want to? That you’ve decided life is no longer worth living and you want to kill yourself slowly with that shit you keep poisoning your mind and body with? You kicked it once, and you can do it again.”

  “I had your mom then. She gave me the strength to face my demons and get sober. She kept me sober too.”

  “I’m sure you believe that, Dad, but ultimately, getting and staying sober was and still is up to you. She might’ve believed in you, but it was you who stayed clean for all those years. I’m not saying that Mom didn’t help, but it wasn’t she who kept you sober, it was you.”

  “I don’t think I have it in me,” Frank admitted.

  “Then do it for me because I don’t want to lose another parent. Losing Mom knocked me down, turned my world on its axis, but I’m recovering because I know that she would want me to. Mom wouldn’t want you to drink yourself to death. She loved you. Cared for you.” Although he didn’t remember moving, Quinn found himself standing in front of Frank. He placed his hands on his father’s arms. “I love you… and I need you.” Quinn felt the burn of his tears. “Please.”

  “Son.” Frank’s voice choked, so he tried again. “I’m really trying. It might not look like it from where you’re standing, but I am. Some days it takes all my strength to place one foot in front of the other, but I don’t always have the strength.”

  “Then you sit down and regroup until you do.”

  “It that what you do?"

  Quinn fought back threatening sobs, his throat tight and straining. “I do,” he managed to say.

  “I’m sorry I’m putting you through this. You changed your entire life for me, moving back and starting this wacky-ass idea. Who will ever come here and drop all their hard-earned cash? People don’t spend good money on candles and cutesy pillows and such.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but loads of people do.”

  “Your mother didn’t.”

  “She wasn’t frivolous.”

  “I wonder if she wished that she could have been.” Frank’s voice was wistful.

  “She wasn’t frivolous by nature. She enjoyed saving money, watching it grow. That was one of her favorite pastimes.”

  Frank chuckled with some distant memory. “She was good at it. When you wanted a bike, she saved every penny she got her hands on.”

  “I remember working my butt off to raise money so I could buy that bike. Paper route, collecting cans so I could get recycling money. I did everything I could think of that year.”

  "What we never told you was that we matched your money. The bike you wanted was much more than what you raised.”

  “I was never good at math,” Quinn joked. "How come you never mentioned this before?”

  “You were so proud of your accomplishment. Why would we take it away from you? We were so proud. Your mother was so proud.”

  “I miss her so much.”

  “I know you do.” Frank hugged his son and then looked him in the face. “I do too.”

  Quinn hugged harder before letting go. He took a few steps around the springhouse, the sound of his heels against the moist, hard floor covered in a thin layer of soil oddly comforting.

  “Have you been going out to the cemetery?”

  “I have. Take her some flowers from time to time. Clean up the land a little. You know how she hated crabgrass.”

  “I’d like to go with you, if that would be okay?” Quinn suggested.

  “Of course it would. I’d like that very much.”

  “You know, we don’t have to mourn alone.”

  “Hard for a man like me not to.”

  “I think it would help us both if we could try.”

  Frank nodded, scrubbed his face with his weathered hands. “Damn, grief is tiring. Infects the brain and grips it tight. Hard to let it go, to shake it away.”

  This time, Quinn nodded. “But you have to, or it’ll eat you alive.”

  “It won’t be easy.”

  “What won’t?”

  “Quitting.”

  “Do you really mean it?” Quinn asked, referring to Frank’s drinking. “Because I don’t want you to make any promises you can’t keep. It won’t do either of us any good.”

  “I understand that, but I don’t want to harm you anymore. You’ve been through enough, and I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  “I love being here, with you. Jefferson is my home, and there is no other place I’d rather be right now, and I want you to believe that.”

  “I do.”

  “Good.”

  Frank took in a deep breath, blew out. He surveyed the immediate area. “So what’s the plan for this place? You don’t want little kiddies and clumsy folk falling in the spring.”

  “If they do, we’ll be heavily insured.” Quinn took a few steps, following Frank’s gaze. “I�
��m thinking that maybe we should keep this space for contemplation and meditation. It feels almost like a sacred place. Must be the sound of the water.”

  “Maybe do a garden just outside.” Frank went to the only window in the small structure and looked out, his caramel eyes narrowing against the sunlight. “Place a few benches so people can sit. Plant some flowered trees. Who doesn’t like those?”

  “That is a great idea.”

  “I know a guy who makes these beautiful benches out of pieces of abandoned trees he comes across in the woods. Most magical things you ever did see. Fairytale kind of stuff. A real talent.”

  “I wonder if he’d be interested in selling them?” Quinn wondered aloud. “It would fit in great with everything else we’ve been tossing about.”

  “You and Ethan?” Frank asked. “I hope he doesn’t run off. He’s good for you. Your eyes light up when you start discussing future plans.”

  “I can’t sway him either way. Not my place to.”

  “It isn’t?” Frank questioned.

  “What do you mean? What can I do?”

  Frank turned back to Quinn, shrugged his shoulders. “You can tell him how you feel.” He tapped at his chest over his heart. “Here. Ethan is from a good family, and he has a good soul. That makes a good start, or least it used to when I was young. I don’t know much about what attracts a man to another man, but Ethan’s not a bad looking fella.”

  “I don’t think it’s really that simple.”

  “I think it is.”

  “It’ll sort itself out. Things always do,” Quinn said. “Can we change the subject? Because I have lots of work to do, for starters, mucking out this puddle that smells like the Everglades.”

  “Need some help?” Frank asked. “And I promise not to harp on about your love life. It’s none of my business, just want to see you happy. Can’t fault a father for wanting his son to be happy.”

  “No, I can’t.” He smiled at Frank, recognizing some of the spark in his father’s eyes that Quinn was afraid Frank had lost.

  With his chin, Quinn indicated the corner of the room where two metal hoes and a pitchfork he’d brought from the tool shed were propped neatly against the wall. “Choose your weapon, and give me one for that matter. It’s time to get busy.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Quinn,” Ethan called out, walking down the sloping hill toward the springhouse, Randall a few steps behind.

  Quinn barely lifted his head in acknowledgment and continued to work.

  “I feel like I’ve stuck you with all the work today.”

  “I had some help from Dad,” Quinn said. “He just left.”

  “I saw him before coming down. Is everything okay?”

  “Better than ever, but I’ll fill you in later.”

  Randall cleared his throat and stepped toward Quinn, proffering a hand. “If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m Ethan’s boyfriend, Randall.”

  Quinn shook Randall’s hand, a swift and strong movement. “You were mentioned once or twice, but as you can see, we’ve been busy here so other topics took precedence over Ethan’s love life.” Quinn tilted his head down and concentrated on clearing the weeds and debris from around the foundation of the springhouse.

  “Yes,” Ethan began, feeling more uncomfortable over the two men meeting than he first anticipated. “I was telling Randall about our plans. He has some great ideas.”

  “That is, if you’d like to hear them,” Randall added.

  “I can’t say I do. The saying too many cooks comes to mind but in this case, queers.”

  “I was going to make a few mild suggestions. This is very similar to my business after all, and I’ve been very successful at it.”

  “I’m happy for you, Randy.”

  “Randall,” he corrected, his nostrils flared. “Not even my mother called me Randy. She said it was too déclassé.”

  “Your mother was a princess or a baron’s daughter or something like that?”

  “No, but she knew who the—” Randall ran his gaze over Quinn. “—riffraff were.”

  “And where are you from?” Quinn asked, digging the hoe deeper in the ground, his shadowed jaw pulsing with each thrust.

  “Erie, Pennsylvania.”

  “Is there a lot of riffraff in Erie?”

  “I don’t know,” Randall chuckled. “I was never allowed to associate with any.”

  Quinn mumbled something under his breath, but Ethan couldn’t make it out. Ethan didn’t ask him to repeat it. He could figure out the gist of it, judging by the look in Quinn’s piercing eyes and the set of his mouth.

  “Quinn,” Ethan began, choosing his words carefully. “Randall is very experienced in overseeing major renovations, so a barn or two and a few outbuildings should prove to be a snap.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Quinn questioned.

  “I thought it would be a good way for Randall to be included.”

  Quinn froze. “Included?” He turned and looked at Ethan, but his tense body still remained in position, ready to resume digging at any time. “When is he going home?”

  Randall answered Quinn’s question. “I thought I would stick around for a while, see what country life is all about.”

  “I’ve been to Erie, it’s not all that cosmopolitan.”

  “I’ve lived in New York, Boston, and Washington since leaving Erie.”

  “Too bad you didn’t learn manners in any of those cities.”

  “Do you have a problem with me staying?” Randall stood his ground. “Maybe you had designs on Ethan and I’ve thwarted your plans?”

  Feeling faint, Ethan fought the urge to reach out and grab hold of anything, or in this case, anyone, to steady himself. The pissing contest unfolding in front of him was proving to be exhausting and the last thing he expected from either man.

  Willing the ground to stop shaking under his feet, Ethan tried to placate the two men. “Randall’s staying on for a few days. I asked Dad, and he said it would be okay. We have some things to work out.”

  Quinn perched his elbow on the handle of the hoe to rest his weight.

  Ethan noticed a few silky strands of hair around Quinn’s face were damp with perspiration and the bridge of his nose glistened. It was sexy and manly. Randall never perspired. He paid others to.

  “I thought you’d be going back,” Quinn said, looking anything but rested.

  “Why would I?” Randall returned. “I said I’d stay and get this place off the ground. Looks like you could use the help.”

  “Good,” Quinn said. "It’s settled then. There are some tools in the springhouse. Why don’t you start by helping me weed this place? It’s been neglected for years.”

  Randall made a derisive noise with his throat. “Don’t you have people to do that?”

  “Yeah,” Quinn spat out. “You.”

  “You are sadly mistaken.” Randall raised his chin and looked down his nose at Quinn. “I only sweat when a personal trainer who I’m paying a hundred dollars a session is involved.”

  “If you did more digging and less paying your trainer, you wouldn’t need one,” Quinn retorted. “Plus you would have more money in the bank.”

  “I have plenty of money, thank you very much.”

  “Yeah, I saw it sitting in the driveway.”

  “Quinn’s right, Randall. If you truly plan on helping, you have to learn to get your hands dirty.”

  “But babe,” Randall whined, “you know how my palms chafe.” He scrunched up his face in a practiced pout. “And I am sure there are no decent manicurists in this hillbilly place.”

  “Stop it with the bellyaching,” Ethan said, “and don’t say anything derogatory around our fathers about Jefferson. If you do, they are liable to rearrange your teeth. Consider yourself warned.”

  With his tail tucked between his legs, Randall left to retrieve the tools, allowing Ethan the opportunity to explain to Quinn. He took a step toward Quinn, the smell of his overheated muscles intoxic
ating.

  Focus!

  Ethan went to open his mouth in an attempt to explain, but Quinn beat him to it.

  “What about last night?”

  “Shh,” Ethan said. “Please keep your voice down. I don’t want Randall to hear.”

  “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  Damn, the man was hot when anger was simmering just below that golden skin, Ethan thought.

  “How was I supposed to know Randall was going to show up today? I thought it was over between us. I haven’t heard from him for over a week and then boom, here he is.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  “Because he wants to start over.”

  “Until the next one comes along.”

  Ethan couldn’t argue that point. He was still grappling with that thought himself.

  “So,” Quinn began, his words measured, “are you going to take him back?”

  Ethan fluttered his hands, a nervous gesture he adopted in grade school and never seemed to have left behind. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” he rushed out. “Everything is so messed up, and I’m confused.” He blew out a breath. “Sleeping with you has made it even more confusing. I knew I should’ve followed my head and not my dick. Now I’m being punished.”

  “Who’s punishing you except yourself and that jerk who is taking a damn long time to find some pretty basic gardening tools?” Quinn flicked his forehead with his fingers and stuck out his tongue. “Is he special?”

  “Aren’t you funny?” Ethan hissed. “Actually, Randall is very intelligent.”

  “Then you must be the simple one in the relationship. Why would you go back to him? He doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Then who does? You?”

  “Uhh,” Quinn stuttered, obviously taken off guard by Ethan’s question.

  “Exactly what I thought. Guys like you are always the same.”

  “Wait a freaking minute.”

  “No,” Ethan stabbed his index finger at Quinn’s face, continuing, “you wait a minute. If you’re not promising anything, what’s the problem if I do go back to my boyfriend… although I’m still undecided about that. I have a lot to lose—a house, a life. I’ve worked very hard, and I want to keep those things.”