“Their families were all hot to trot to press charges until they realized it was an eighty-five pound boy who kicked the ever living shit out of their football stars. As if that wasn’t bad enough, that many players out cost us the championship.”
I tried to imagine Morgan laying out five guys probably twice his size, but I couldn’t do it.
“You wanna beer?” Jenny slapped me on the shoulder. “I keep some in the fridge.”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“So what about you, Grant?” She got a beer from inside the door. “How does a thirty-something year old man retire and wind up in the armpit of the south?” She pulled the tab, and it popped with a hiss.
“Not a whole lot to tell.”
“Yah, those with the juicy stories always say that.” She slurped a sip. “Fess up, or I’ll tell Morgan you said he’d look good in pink.”
I was pretty sure she was joking but just in case… “I ran a small international shipping business. Made enough money to live happily ever after and got out.”
“Uh-huh.” She eyeballed me from over the edge of her beer can. “And for shits and giggles you decided to move from Chicago to down here?”
“I was tired of the city.” It was true. “I picked the farthest spot on a map without winding up in the ocean.” Also true.
She took another swig. “You married?”
“No.”
“Got kids?”
“No.”
“You ran a shipping business?”
“Yeah.”
Jenny wiped her mouth. “My granddaddy used to tell folks he drove cross-state delivering Bibles. Every one believed him too, till he got caught with almost two hundred gallons of moonshine in his truck. So what did you ship? Drugs? Guns? Or was it desperate people?”
“None of those. Ever.”
“Then what?”
“Art, jewelry, antiques, occasionally rare books. But my specialty was cars.”
“Nothing else?”
“I’m sure there have been a few odds and ends over the years but never guns, drugs, or people.”
“Most folks don’t have those kind of ethics. Especially when they’re looking at money.”
“It’s why I got out. Business was going in a direction I wasn’t willing to travel.”
“You in trouble with the law?”
“No.”
“Ever been in trouble?”
“I don’t have a record.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” She rocked back on her heels.
“I’ve made enemies on both sides for my unwillingness to cooperate.”
She smiled a little. “So I don’t have to be concerned about Morgan when he’s in your company. ‘Cause I sure would hate to have to shoot that pretty little ass of yours with a load of rock salt because you got him hurt.”
I held up my hands. “I swear. You have nothing to worry about. There’s nothing like that going on between us. I was just helping him out, that’s all.”
Jenny finished her beer and dropped the empty into the garbage next to the wall.
“So you’re straight?”
“No.”
“Well, you don’t look stupid, even if you did fall for the whole toothpick thing. But like I said, everyone does, seeing how he’s so good with those big brown eyes and that sad little voice that can pull your heartstrings. Manipulating little shit, do you know how many times he fleeced me for money by pretending he needed a present for someone’s birthday party when he was actually buying dirty magazines from Billy Thomson up the road?” She tossed a disgusted glance in the direction Morgan had gone. “He knows how to play a person.”
“I think I’ve realized that.”
There was movement in the shadows, and Morgan stepped out. He tilted his head in my direction but didn’t lift his chin. His hand escaped his pocket and fluttered next to his ear. A spasm yanked his shoulder, and he turned away.
“Boy, he sure does like you.” Jenny stuck her hands in her pockets.
Morgan’s laugh mixed with the clank of tools.
Jenny leaned closer. “And from what I can tell, you seem to like him.”
“I do like him. Just not like that.”
“Really?”
Was there anything this woman couldn’t see? “It would be wrong.”
She gave me a look. “Wrong? How do you figure?”
Morgan rocked on his feet while he spoke to a redhead who joined him in the back. Instead of the floor, Morgan stared at the ceiling.
I would have been a liar if I’d said I wasn’t attracted to him. Anyone who wasn’t blind would be. But at the same time, I couldn’t understand why Jenny didn’t agree with how I felt.
Morgan’s strange movements and refusal to make eye contact made it obvious he wasn’t like other people. How could pursuing a relationship with him be anything but wrong?
Jenny clicked her tongue. “Morgan is apt to knock your teeth out if he sees you looking at him like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like that.” She pointed. “You’ve got that ‘he’s not right’ all over your face.”
“Well, he isn’t.” I could not believe the words actually came out of my mouth. Jenny’s expression said she couldn’t either but for a completely different reason.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Morgan’s just like any other guy his age. He just sees the world a little bit differently. Maybe he even sees things we’ll never have the pleasure of experiencing.”
“He’s autistic.”
Her eyes widened. “And your point?”
“That means…” I didn’t even want to say it.
“What? He’s defective?” She laughed. “If you knew the hurdles he’s overcome in his life, you’d think he was Superman.” Jenny jerked her chin in Morgan’s direction. “That boy’s beaten the odds, no matter how big, every time they were thrown at him. When he was two, they said he’d never walk. Four, talk. Six, he’d never read and write. Twelve, he wouldn’t survive on his own and never hold a job.
“As you can see, he walks and talks just fine and he was accepted to Duke University before he even graduated. And I’m sure you’ve seen his house. Restored it from the ground up. Did everything by hand. Wouldn’t let anyone help. Took him two years to make it livable and another to make it nice. All of that by the time he was twenty-two. So tell me, Grant. What had you accomplished by the age of twenty-two?”
I dropped my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Are you done making me feel like the world’s biggest jerk?”
Jenny threw back her head and laughed. A few of the workmen glanced our way, but the interruption was barely a speed bump in their conversation. She punched me in the arm. “I like you, Grant. You’re okay.”
“Is that why you’d use rock salt instead of buck shot?”
She grinned, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just do me a favor. If you’re not interested in him, tell him now. Don’t lead him on, then reject him. He’s been rejected enough by the people in this town. A lot of them he thought were his friends.”
“I think that happens to a lot of men and women when they come out. Especially in a small town like this.”
Her smile turned serious. “You don’t give the folks in this town enough credit. Very few ever rejected him because he’s gay. People can deal with that because they don’t have to see it if they choose not to. But that?” She nodded at Morgan. The redhead had the bike upside down at the edge of the bay door. He spun the wheel and the reflector sprinkled the floor with rainbow fragments.
Morgan wiggled his fingers through the scattered light.
The redhead spoke to him, but Morgan didn’t appear to notice.
“I’ve always wondered where he goes when he does that,” Jenny said.
“You’ve never asked?”
“Nope.”
“How come?”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you to never ask a question unless you’re
a hundred percent sure you want the answer? Especially if you want Morgan to answer. He’ll tell you and you may not like what he has to say.”
The redhead flipped the bike back over. He clapped Morgan on the shoulder, and he walked in our direction.
“Don’t believe anything Jenny says.” Morgan waved at her with his wayward hand. “I did not break Wilson’s knee, Beckman’s arm, or knock out Karl’s teeth.”
Jenny folded her arms across her barrel chest. “You didn’t, huh?”
“No. Wilson had a trick knee from a dirt bike accident, Beckman’s arm was fractured, not broken, and Karl lost his teeth because he slipped on a puddle of punch Annie spilled on the floor, and smacked his face against a bench.” Morgan leaned over to me. “She loves telling that story. Get a few beers in her, and she’ll have me kicking the ass of the entire football team and scoring the finishing touchdown.”
“From what I heard—” Jenny huffed. “—if you hadn’t scored your senior year, we would have at least made it to the playoffs.”
Morgan lifted a shoulder. “Not my fault the quarterback couldn’t walk in the morning.” He tugged on my arm. “C’mon, I need a ride home so I can get a shower and dressed. I work tonight.”
We walked to the truck and got in. I was a couple miles down the road when Morgan said, “You bought the old Anderson place, right?”
“How did you… never mind. Yeah. I did. Why?”
“I get off at eleven and didn’t want you to have to drive far from my place after it was dark. Deer get suicidal this time of year. Even though it’s just a few miles, make sure you drive safe.”
“Wait. I can’t pick you up.”
“You expect me to walk ten miles, at night, in flip-flops.” He wiggled his toes.
“Wear tennis shoes.” I didn’t really mean it. Even in tennis shoes, it was too far.
“I can’t tie the laces. Besides, you let me walk home and someone might tote me off. And I’m too good looking to wind up toted off. Then you’d miss me.”
I pulled into his driveway and stopped by the picket fence decorated with glass bottles. The large flowerbeds around the perimeter were empty but had enough greenery left to suggest the flowers would be impressive come spring.
“C’mon.” Morgan opened his door. “I’ll make you some lunch.”
“What time do you go in?”
“Four.”
“How about I run home for a bit, then come back at three thirty?”
“Why waste the gas? You can just hang around here.” He got out.
“Morgan, I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“And what am I trying to do, Grant?”
“I think you know.”
“How could I? According to you, I’m not even capable of taking care of myself.” He marched up the stairs. “Hope you like chicken salad.”
For the second time that day, I was going to make this mistake. And it was a mistake. Mostly because my dick couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Tomorrow, I’d make a reservation at a hotel in the city, spend a few nights there, get laid, and purge this out of my system.
For my sake and Morgan’s.
I found him in the kitchen. He had two plates on the counter with sandwiches and was pouring a second glass of tea. “Might as well grab it, I don’t wait tables for a reason.”
I picked up the plate and he shoved a glass of tea in my hand. Morgan joined me at the dining room table.
“So.” He drank some of his tea and turned his plate around before taking a bite. “What do you like to do while being retired?” His arm jerked, and he tossed thoughts in my direction.
I reached for my sandwich. Morgan got there before I could and turned the plate halfway around.
“Was upside down,” he said.
“The sandwich?”
“No. The plate.”
“How can you tell?”
He wiped a glob of mayo off with his thumb and sucked it clean. “The cottage motif.”
I picked up half the sandwich. There was a house etched in blue on the center of the plate.
“So, what do you do?”
“Right now I’m working on the house I bought.” The chicken salad had just enough mayo to soften it, and celery to give it crunch. It was all enhanced by an undertone of something mildly spicy but not salty. I had no idea what it could be.
“Hope you didn’t pay much for the house. It’s a dump.”
“Berry tells me the same thing every time I go into his store.”
“Then I bet he sells you something to fix it.”
“Yup.”
“I guess since you bought it, that means you’re staying a while.”
“That’s the plan.” For now. I ate my sandwich.
“I’m glad to see someone taking care of it. Had a lot of renters move in and out. None of them appreciated the place.” Morgan jerked his head to the side, smearing a line of mayo on his cheek. He wiped it away without a pause.
“Did you know Mr. Anderson?”
“I think everyone knew Joe. He was like a grandfather to anyone under the age of sixty.” He broke off a piece of bread but didn’t eat it.
“What was he to you?”
“Like I said…” He squished the chunk of bread between his fingers. “He was the closest thing I ever had to a grandfather, and I guess a father.”
“You knew him pretty well then?”
“Yeah. He helped Lori when she got sick.” There was something else in that statement, and it made his words heavy.
“Since you call Lori by her name, I take it she wasn’t your real mother.”
“If by that you mean, did she give birth to me, then no.”
“Where are your parents?”
Morgan polished off half his sandwich. “No clue.”
“So, how are you related to Jenny and Lori?”
“I’m not. Good thing too.”
“Why’s that?”
“You want some cookies? I made some killer pecan chocolate chips.” He was gone before I could answer. There was the rattle and thump of the fridge door, and he returned with a Tupperware container. “They’re made from almond butter instead of flour so I keep them cold.” He took off the lid and set the container on the table.
A mound of lumpy cookies filled the bottom of the Tupperware box.
I took one.
“You need at least two.” He put a couple more on my plate.
“That’s three.”
“I know.” He took three for himself.
On the first bite, rich chocolate and mellow pecans hit my tongue in a taste explosion carried on the back of slightly sweet almond butter. A moan escaped from my chest.
Morgan met my gaze and grinned at me.
God, he was gorgeous. “They’re good. You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” He ate one.
“Humble too.”
“No need to be humble when it’s the truth.”
I could only smile.
“Hey.” He snapped his fingers. “You know if I go in early, Jessie might let me off early too. That way you won’t have to be out so late.”
“About that.” I finished off the last bite of chicken salad. “You sure there’s not someone else who can give you a ride?”
Morgan kept his gaze down and somewhere at the edge of the table. He wiggled his fingers close to his ear. His knuckles whitened when he made a fist. Then with his other hand, he forced the wayward one to his lap.
His shoulder jerked a few times then stilled. Morgan drank some tea, put the glass on the right side of his plate, moved it to the left, and then back. “Sure. I can ask Marty. He washes dishes on nights I bus tables. Might have to wait a bit. But hey, I’ll give him some gas money and make it worth his while to pick me up and drop me back off.”
Some of the tension left my body. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
It was the lilt in his voice that made me ask, �
��You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah, why?”
“I just… I just wanted to make sure you’d be okay.”
Morgan lifted his head enough for me to see his smile. “I’ll be fine, no worries.”
“Okay, good.” I stood and reached for the dishes.
“Leave 'em. I’ll clean up.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You’re a guest. Guests don’t do the dishes. Aunt Jenny would tan my ass if she found out. C’mon, I’ll walk you to the door.” At the edge of the porch, he offered me his hand. “It was good meeting you, Grant.”
“You too.” For some reason, exchanging handshakes felt odd. “See you around then.” I went to the truck. Before I could crank it up, Morgan had already gone back inside.
Chapter Two
I finished the porch.
Twenty years out of the country hadn’t impeded my ability to cut a straight line or hammer a nail. What began as grayed, warped planks was now a smooth surface begging for a rocking chair or bench swing. I couldn’t help but stand back and admire what I’d done.
Gravel crunched and a sedan came around the trees and up the driveway. It stopped behind my truck. In a small town like Durstrand, people only showed up at your house to visit or if they were lost.
If only I was so lucky.
Dressed in a nice suit, I almost didn’t recognize Agent Shaldon. He’d never worn anything beyond ratty jeans and a comfortable button-up around me. Even then, it wasn’t for very long.
I was willing to bet he’d even gotten rid of the jockstrap in favor of FBI standard issued tighty-whities.
“Long time no see, Grant.” He walked up. “How are you?”
“I was good…” I looked at my watch. “Until about thirty seconds ago.”
“Great to know you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“Who says I’m trying to be funny?” I hung the hammer off the edge of the porch. “Why are you here?”
“Because you didn’t do a very good job of hiding. Any pimple-faced teenager could have found you with your social security number and Google maps.”
“Who says I was trying to hide?” I knew how to hide. Trust me, I was the best when it came to making items big or small disappear right in front of the FBI’s best surveillance team.
In The Absence Of Light Page 4
