Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  After thinking for a moment, Shane said, “Yeah. I can support myself, and that’s real important. For a long time after the accident, the docs said I never would. That would have killed me by inches, spending the rest of my life depending on other folks. Even if they didn’t mind me being a burden. And I like the inn, that old heap of bricks. Plus, I get to meet some real interesting people.” He reached over to smooth his free hand over Jimmy’s chest.

  It was Jimmy’s turn to think for a while. He’d always thought that when dreams died, the heart grew bitter. He’d seen that with his mother; even though the doctors blamed cancer, he’d always been convinced it was rotting hopes that had killed her. But here was Shane with his life and body broken, yet he moved on and found room in himself for new happiness.

  As if he’d read Jimmy’s thoughts, Shane sighed. “I recovered a lot better than anyone predicted, and for a time I swore that someday I’d get back in the saddle. But that’s never gonna happen. The doctors tell me that if I let them at me again, they maybe could get rid of some of the pain. But not all of it, and I’m never gonna move around any better than I do now. Took me a few years, but I accept that. I’m grateful for what I do have. Not everyone’s so lucky.”

  Luck was a relative thing. Maybe Jimmy should remember that more often.

  “So the pain—they can help you with that?”

  “Maybe. I got some plates and pins stuck to my bones. They tell me they could take ’em out and I might be more comfortable. But they’d have to cut into me again. I’d have to go back to the hospital and I can’t… I don’t like hospitals.” He shuddered slightly.

  “Do you take pain meds?”

  “Nah. I already take enough ’cause of the seizures, and I don’t want to end up an addict. I don’t like how they make me feel either, like I’m not in control.” Unexpectedly, he laughed. “My brother Ty got himself a medical marijuana card after he hurt his back lifting something. His back’s fine now but he still has the card, and sometimes he drives to the dispensary in Jackson and picks up a little weed. Maybe one Sunday a month we get high together. I don’t think Mom’s happy about it, but it helps a little, and I figure as long as I don’t make it a habit, it’s okay.”

  “So the rest of the time you just… live with it.”

  “Don’t have much of an alternative.” Shane looked at Jimmy shrewdly. “You can’t outrun your pain, Jimmy, ’cause it’s a part of you. You just have to make your peace with it.” He gave Jimmy’s hand a final squeeze before letting go and climbing slowly to his feet. “We’d better find our clothes. Pokey’ll be waiting to drive us back to town.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  JIMMY WAS going to leave on Monday, but his morning started early with the arrival of the linen service truck. He helped unload clean sheets and towels and load the bags of dirty ones. Then a whole caravan of other deliveries arrived—liquor, beer, and other bar supplies as well as huge packages of toilet paper and soap and teeny bottles of shampoo. By the time everything was off the trucks and put away, he was hungry and it was time to meet Shane at Mae’s. And then, well, there was the basement organization and inventory project he’d begun on Sunday, plus the realization that if he stuck around until the end of the day, he had an entire week’s pay coming his way.

  So he stayed. Just one more day.

  That night they had sandwiches for dinner at Shane’s place, and Jimmy spent a couple of hours at the bar, chatting with him between customers. Later, Shane came to his room and they had gentle sex, and it was good even though they were both too tired to make much of an effort.

  Tuesday morning he had a thick wallet. He actually got as far as shoving his clothing into his duffel. But then he realized he had nothing to read. He’d finished the Stephen King he’d brought and the Elmore Leonard that Shane had given him. He had two other books—Kurt Vonnegut and Dean Koontz—but he’d already read them both three times. He hated traveling without something to read. Besides, Belinda wanted him to repaint a scuffed wall in the downstairs hallway. He sort of wanted to accomplish that much, at least.

  So he spent the morning getting ready to paint: taping off the edges, scrubbing the walls, filling the holes where something heavy had once been bolted. Then he discovered that the paint he’d found in the basement, which was supposed to match the opposite wall, didn’t. Someone had mislabeled it. He took the can to Belinda, who was perched in her usual spot at the front desk, and explained the situation.

  “Terry,” she sighed. “He’s a nice boy, but how Trudy puts up with him, I’ll never know.”

  “I can dig around in the basement some more. Maybe there’s—”

  “Don’t bother. I’m not all that happy with the color anyway.” She tapped her finger thoughtfully and then looked up as a young couple walked in the door. “Maybe Shane can stay here for me while I drive to Sonora to pick out something new. Would you ask him?”

  “Sure.”

  He walked down the hall and around the corner and knocked on Shane’s door. It took a moment, but when the door swung open, there was Shane with his curls still wet and his white T-shirt stuck to his chest. “It’s you,” he said, frowning.

  Evidently the moment had arrived: Jimmy had overstayed his welcome. He looked down at the floor. “Sorry. I just—”

  “Why didn’t you just come in? You have the key. Now my clothes are all wet. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have bothered throwing them on before I was dry.” He reached out to quickly stroke Jimmy’s cheek.

  That sudden lightness in Jimmy’s chest? That was just stupid. He was a stupid man. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Jesus, Jimmy. I already told you, you’re welcome anytime. You never complain when I barge into your room at night.”

  “I’m not about to complain about that.”

  Shane quirked a smile. “Yeah, and whenever you want to pop on over for a quickie, be my guest. But that ain’t— You can come over just to talk, you know. Or do your laundry or make some toast or… hell, whatever you want. In fact, I’ve been thinking….” But whatever he’d been thinking, he must have decided not to share it. He squinted at Jimmy and leaned in the doorway. “So you here for sex? Or toast?”

  “Neither. Belinda sent me. She wants to know if you’ll mind the store while she heads to Sonora for paint.”

  “Paint?” Shane snorted. “And I bet she stops for lunch at that frou-frou place she likes. And then admires but doesn’t buy the overpriced dresses in the store next door.”

  “So you want me to tell her…?”

  “I’ll be out in just a few. But now I can’t join you at Mae’s today.” He sounded genuinely disappointed.

  “Want me to deliver your meal?”

  Shane’s face lit up. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

  Mae’s was a little slow that morning. Katy, their regular waitress, dimpled at Jimmy as soon as he entered. “You guys want a window seat today?”

  “Actually, I’m going to take our omelets to go. Shane’s stuck at work.”

  She clucked her tongue. “He works too much. You oughta take him out sometime. One of his sisters or uncles or someone can take over the bar while you catch a movie.” She winked. “Johnny Depp’s playing at the Jewel Box.”

  He gave her a noncommittal nod, and she went off to put in his order. But she returned shortly and leaned against the counter, telling him about how her younger kid was home with the flu—his grandmother was taking care of him while Katy worked—and her older kid had just gotten glasses.

  “Candy told me your daughter won the school spelling bee,” Jimmy said. “And she’s going to the county competition?”

  Katy beamed. “She sure is. She’s been practicing. Only in sixth grade and she can already outspell me and her daddy.”

  They gossiped until the food was ready. She’d recently started charging Jimmy less than the menu prices, and when he asked her about it, she’d shrugged. “Friends and family discount.”

  Balancing the foam co
ntainers in one hand and a paper cup full of OJ in the other, Jimmy pushed out the door. A couple of the local codgers sat on their usual bench outside. One of the guys had a medium-sized dog as portly and gray as he was. The other man cackled and said, “Now Shane’s got you waiting on him? He’s as bad as my wife.”

  “I’ve met your wife,” Jimmy replied. “She’s way too good for you.”

  The geezers were still laughing as he crossed the street.

  Jimmy ate his omelet standing at the front desk, while Shane sat in Belinda’s seat to eat his. Grisel walked by pushing her vacuum and scolded them about leaving a mess.

  “You can wait here with me until Belinda gets back with your paint,” Shane offered.

  “Thanks, but I think I’m going to try for more progress downstairs. But who’s covering the bar?”

  “In the unlikely event a customer comes in, I’ll be two places at once. I’ve done it before.”

  “Well, give me a holler if you need me.”

  Shane nodded thoughtfully. “You need a cell phone.”

  “Why?” Jimmy had never owned one of the things and didn’t know how to work them. “Who’s going to call me?”

  “Belinda, maybe, if you’re somewhere else in the inn and she needs you. Or… me. I’ll ask her if she’ll get you one. My cousin Ricky can get her a good deal.”

  “I don’t think I need one,” Jimmy mumbled uncomfortably. “I’m, uh, I’ll be in the basement.”

  That afternoon he painted the hallway a soft yellow. Then he and Shane ate pizza, and Jimmy spent a couple of hours in the bar. He knew several of the regulars by name now. Mostly they kept to the tables, but occasionally one of them would wander to Jimmy’s stool to talk about politics or the weather or the damned tourists.

  In the wee hours of the morning, Jimmy and Shane traded blowjobs in Jimmy’s room. But this time they dozed off together in postorgasmic peace. Although Jimmy’s bed was a tight squeeze for two grown men, Shane didn’t head back to his own place until shortly before dawn.

  After Shane left, Jimmy tied a towel around his waist and slunk to the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t run into any guests. Not having his own toilet was a little inconvenient. And he laughed at himself when he thought that. Fuck. Aren’t we turning into a spoiled prima donna?

  Back in his room, he almost considered getting dressed, maybe going for a walk before he started work. Maybe hitting the road. But he was tired and the sun wasn’t even up yet, so he dropped the towel and climbed back into a bed that smelled of Shane and sex.

  He fell asleep right away. And he dreamed.

  He drove down a wide empty road, very fast. So fast the wheels barely stayed on the pavement, and when he took a curve or topped a hill, the car was in danger of flying away altogether. It was a strange car, big and open-topped like a jalopy from some old movie. When he glanced behind him, he saw that the vast backseat was filled with books, which made him happy. But the next time he looked, the books were gone, replaced by folded sheets of paper that kept escaping the car and floating away. They were important. He didn’t want to lose them. But he kept on driving.

  At some point he realized he had a passenger. Not a dead hitchhiker, which was a relief. No, this was Eddy, one of the old men who sat on the bench outside of Mae’s. Eddy’s dog was down at his feet, and Eddy droned on about taxes, and his upcoming surgery to replace all his bones with titanium plates, and his plans to turn the Rattlesnake public parking lot into a miniature cattle ranch.

  Jimmy thought that Eddy was weighing the car down, keeping him from driving as fast as he wanted. So he screeched to a halt and pushed a button that opened the passenger side door. Eddy and his dog got out and gave Jimmy a sad wave before he tore away.

  Although the road in front of him was sharply visible, everything else was obscured by heavy fog. He caught only glimpses of landscape as he sped by—trees, a gold mine, a hill, a shiny skyscraper—and he kept thinking he was supposed to look for something familiar, but he couldn’t remember what.

  The car started making ominous growls and rattles. “No!” he shouted in the dream. “I don’t want to ride a horse instead.”

  When he looked in the backseat, the papers were gone, but now the space was crammed with people. Belinda was there, and Grisel and Candy. Katy and Mae—who held a plate of french toast—and Pokey and Paula and Emma and Adam and Valerie, and lots of cousins and aunts and uncles whose names he couldn’t remember. There was a man whose cowboy hat obscured his face, but Jimmy somehow knew his name anyway; it was Jesse.

  “Get out!” Jimmy yelled at the crowd. “You’re slowing me down.” They all hopped out of the moving car without complaint—even Mae, who probably topped four hundred pounds and wasn’t in the best hopping shape.

  He floored the pedal and the car went even faster. He’d be getting there soon, he thought. But where was there? Ah, now Tom in the passenger seat, looking considerably worse for the wear and grinning a death’s-head smile. “You know exactly where you’re going, boy. It’s where we’re all going. Are you sure this is how you wanna get there?”

  Jimmy tried to scream, but his throat didn’t work. All that came out was a desperate hiss. No, wait. He wasn’t the one hissing. That noise came from his passenger, because now Tom was gone—replaced by an enormous snake with bright blue eyes. The snake rattled warningly. “It’s the tail you have to watch for,” said a disembodied voice. “That’s what’s going to bite you.” Which didn’t make sense, because the fangs were the dangerous part.

  But then Jimmy realized his mistake. He’d misheard the voice, and when it repeated itself, he understood correctly. “It’s the tale you have to watch for.”

  And then the snake struck.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ON WEDNESDAY morning Jimmy awoke with a start. His sheets were soaked with sweat and tangled around his limbs, and his heart raced as if he’d just run a hundred-yard dash. He had to leave.

  But perhaps the gods conspired against him, because it was raining again and windy too. The rattling sound from his dream was actually the window shaking in its frame, and the hissing came from gusts of rain splattering against the glass. He would have braved the nasty weather, but he was achy. Feverish, he realized. And his stomach seemed to think he was aboard a ship during a hurricane.

  With weak legs and shaking hands, he managed to pull on jeans and a shirt. He began to shiver uncontrollably, so much that he nearly collapsed back into bed. But he gathered his will and walked unsteadily to the door. He was barefoot, but even the idea of bending over to put on shoes brought bile to his throat. Walking slowly, he made his way to the lobby.

  Belinda saw him right away and narrowed her eyes. “Are you drunk?”

  Shaking his head was a mistake. He held a wall for support. “No, ma’am. Just not feeling well.”

  After a brief hesitation, she sailed his way. She placed the back of her hand to his forehead and then clucked her tongue. “You’re burning up. And you look like death. You should see a doctor.”

  Maybe so, but he couldn’t afford it and had no way to get to one. “I’ll be fine. Just need to lie down for a while. Sorry. I’ll catch up with work later.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jimmy.” Her voice was softer than usual but also firm. “Get some rest. Make sure you drink enough fluids.”

  “Thanks.” He shuffled back to his room. A few days before, Shane had fulfilled his earlier promise and given him a little refrigerator. Jimmy kept some water and a bottle of Coke in there. But opening and pouring was just too much effort right now. Instead he fell heavily onto his mattress, pulled the blankets up past his neck, and felt very, very sorry for himself.

  He must have dozed off, because he startled a bit when someone touched his forehead. “Shane?”

  “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

  “Just the flu.” He was hot and cold at once, his head felt four sizes too big, and he could barely muster enough energy to keep his eyelids open.

  “Hang
on.” Water ran. A moment later Shane laid a cool, damp washcloth across Jimmy’s brow. It felt wonderful, and Jimmy wanted to tell him so, but he was afraid if he spoke too much, he might puke. He hoped his wan smile communicated his thanks.

  Shane looked down, assessing him. “You look awful.”

  Great. That was exactly what a sick man wanted to hear. Jimmy closed his eyes and heard his door open and close. If he had the energy, he’d be angry at Shane, because that was a rude way to leave. But just a minute or two later, the door opened and Shane returned to his bedside. He plunked something onto the floor.

  “There’s a bucket here in case you have to barf. And a towel right next to you on the bed. I need to go get a few things. Will you be okay on your own for a little while?”

  Jimmy almost laughed. He’d been okay on his own for his entire fucking life. “Yeah,” he rasped.

  “Okay. You just hang tight.” Shane flipped the washcloth, putting the cooler side down, and brushed Jimmy’s cheek before he left.

  Hang tight? He could barely hang on to his stomach contents. But he knew he was lucky. At least this time he had a comfortable bed to be miserable in and a roof over his head. He wasn’t huddled somewhere outside, hoping like hell he didn’t develop pneumonia again.

  It was hard to track time when a virus was boiling your brain, but Jimmy thought that less than an hour had passed before Shane returned. He brought the scent of food into the room with him, though, and that was just too much. Jimmy scrambled to the edge of the bed and retched miserably into the bucket. At least he made it to the bucket, although he was fairly positive he’d spewed most of his internal organs in the process.

  He did feel slightly better when he was finished, at least. He wiped his mouth with the towel and looked up, expecting Shane to have fled in horror. But he simply stood at the bedside, smiling crookedly. “Good aim.” Without even looking disgusted, he picked up the bucket and soiled towel. “Be right back.”