Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  Dunkyn Diamond was all right.

  Travis Bennett was not. He told himself that he’d managed just fine, that he’d acted normal. He knew better.

  Even Avery, who typically never stopped talking, was as quiet as Mason at dinner. Only Wendy had managed to keep a steady conversation going, but her tone had been tentative, as if she was worried the wrong word would send her brother over the edge and cause a torrent of screams—or worse, tears.

  He’d done pretty well. After the twins had gone to sleep, Wendy had set the large cardboard box of beer beside Travis’s recliner, kissed him on the head, and retired to her room. He hadn’t even gotten halfway through the twelve-pack by the time Caleb had gone to bed, Dolan pounding after him like the brainless bulldozer he was.

  He wasn’t sure if he would have gotten through the past four years without Wendy. Actually he knew he wouldn’t have, and neither would the kids. His sister had been the one to hold the family together, not him. She had faced his fury when his drinking had gotten to be too much a few months after….

  She’d been the one to make him see his children had lost their mother and father.

  She was the one who knew when it was all too much, when her brother wouldn’t be able to find any other way through the darkness than to get lost to it, if just for a night.

  It had been a long time since Travis had had more than two or three beers in one sitting. Sure, on the weekly bowling nights, it would do no one any good to make an attempt to count all the beers he and his buddies put away, but that was with an equally endless supply of pizza, hot dogs, and nachos.

  Travis had only made it through eight cans before realizing he wasn’t going to last much longer. Using the wall to make sure he was balanced, though he probably hadn’t really needed to, he carried Dunkyn to his bed.

  To their bed.

  The night Shannon had died, after Travis had to be forcibly removed from the hospital, he had walked into their bedroom and stared in horror at their bed. He was supposed to get in that thing? Then his eyes found Dunkyn already asleep on the floor beside Travis’s side of the bed, as always.

  Travis slept on the floor with him for the next three nights. After Shannon’s funeral, he’d picked up the dog, placed him in the bed, crawled in beside him, and drifted off around sunrise. Within the week, he’d made a wide set of steps that the short dog could easily maneuver, allowing him to come and go from the bed as he pleased.

  The night after Dunkyn’s surgery, Travis got the dog safely into bed. He had one more beer after he got in beside Dunkyn, buzzed nearly to the point of sleep, but stopped just before it took away his choice. He needed to stay up and watch over the dog. Just in case.

  Protocol.

  Procedure.

  Simple.

  No big deal.

  I know what I’m doing.

  He couldn’t lose him. Dunkyn was his last link to Shannon. He couldn’t lose him. Sure, he saw her every time he looked at Avery. Every time the little girl lost her temper or fell into fits of laughter. They could be twins, save for the girl’s inheriting his softer strawberry blonde hair instead of her mother’s curtain of fire.

  Shannon was there in the compassion that always shone out of Caleb’s eyes, in his constant fight for the underdog.

  Shannon’s habit of biting her lower lip was evidenced each time Mason was deep in thought, which was nearly all the time.

  Shannon was everywhere, always, in each of their children.

  But Dunkyn was his friend, his companion. Dunkyn was always by his side. He was loyal, no matter what. He was Travis’s friend.

  Shannon had been beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. Looks that matched her temper, her laughter, her love of life. She had been his first love, the mother of his children. She’d been his friend. More than anything else, Shannon had been his best friend.

  He couldn’t walk through this alone.

  Wrapping an arm around the dog, Travis pulled him closer, spooning him. Dunkyn issued a low, contented grunt, then shifted, readjusting himself against his master.

  As long as Dunkyn was there, the dog Shannon had unintentionally given him, Travis could feel her beside him every night. Closing his eyes, he felt the warmth against his skin, and she was there. His best friend hadn’t really left. As long as Dunkyn was there, he would still be able to hear her whisper.

  His head nodded, his eyes drooping before he flinched, forcing himself to stay awake. Maybe that last beer had been too much.

  Nine beers? That barely used to make his teeth tingle.

  The dog let out a sigh, followed by a whimper.

  Travis grinned. He loved it when the dog dreamed. He closed his eyes.

  The dog sighed once more, his body relaxing against Travis again.

  Travis’s smile widened. He heard her laugh: soft, close. He could see her beautiful blue eyes and the even more beautiful light that seemed to gleam from them.

  She whispered in his ear.

  Travis wasn’t sure what she said. He listened closer.

  You’re safe, love.

  Behind his eyes and with Dunkyn’s warmth in his arms, he could see her brilliant red hair spread over the pillow as she looked up at him.

  Her warm brown eyes.

  Travis’s head jerked as his eyes shot open. Brown eyes?

  His heart began to pound. Brown eyes.

  She was gone. She was gone!

  He slapped his hand against Dunkyn’s rib cage, holding it with unintentional pressure. The dog huffed at the abrupt movement.

  Travis didn’t hear.

  There was a whisper next to his ear.

  He didn’t hear.

  Only his heavy breathing. Only the panic. Only his own panting filled the room.

  Then he felt it. The slow and steady beat under the fur. Travis kept his hand there, not believing. He felt it again.

  Two more times.

  Three.

  Brown eyes?

  Four.

  Five heartbeats.

  Dunkyn was there. He was alive and fine. He was going to be fine.

  Another whisper at his ear.

  This time he heard.

  You promised, love. Remember your promise.

  Chapter Eight

  A ROLL of thunder rattled the windows, reverberating through The Crocheted Bunny, echoing off the pressed tin ceiling high overhead. Wendy grinned up at him from under her tall witch hat. “Perfect weather for Halloween. So creepy.”

  “Perfect unless you’re a kid who wants to go trick-or-treating.” Wesley stuffed the presorted felt pieces into another plastic black and orange treat bag. “So the kids are supposed to glue the pieces together and they make a bunny?”

  She nodded, long auburn spirals bouncing, hiding her face as she continued to remove paper cups and napkins from the grocery store bags. “They make Nutmeg, to be more precise. And don’t you worry about the weather. El Dorado folks are tough. Halloween will continue with or without the aid of umbrellas.”

  “And, you’re a what again?” Wesley eyed the enormous wings made of wire, yarn, ropes of fake pearls, and colored plastic wrap that stuck out from the back of Wendy’s lacey black robes.

  She looked up at him again, her blue eyes sparkling in delight—blue eyes that were the exact shade of her brother’s.

  Dammit, he shouldn’t even think that. He also shouldn’t have noticed that her brother’s face had few freckles, whereas Wendy’s nose and cheeks were filled with starbursts of them.

  “I’m a witch fairy, obviously!” She twirled, her hair, black robes, and long strands of what had to be Christmas tinsel spinning out around her. Her pink, yellow, and white cowboy boots were revealed in the process.

  “How long did those wings take you to make?”

  She shrugged. “Just a couple of nights. Not much at all. Especially compared to last year. That outfit took forever.”

  More felt bunny pieces into a gift bag. “Dare I ask?”

  “I was a vampire mermaid. It was glori
ous.” She looked down at her costume, her face twisting in a critical expression. “Better than this year’s.”

  “You look great, but a vampire mermaid? That makes no sense. Have you been checked for your sanity? By a professional, I mean?”

  Wendy laughed, the sound a bright dissonance against the thunderstorm outside. “Sweetie, I’m a Gemini.” She gestured around, encompassing the store. “Take a look. There are many aspects to my personality. Things people say shouldn’t go together. But they do. And wonderfully, I might add.”

  Wesley wondered if Wendy’s brother’s eyes ever lit up like hers. He’d love to see that. “The store is quite a mishmash, but I agree, it’s rather wonderful.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What were you thinking there? Something good, I can tell.”

  “Nothing. Just about the store.” He felt his cheeks grow warm.

  “Your blush would say otherwise. But I’ll let it go.” She grinned. “For now.”

  He didn’t respond, just kept assembling the gift bags.

  They continued in amicable silence. Wendy finished first and moved on to opening massive bags of candy.

  This was only the third time Wesley had spent time with Wendy, and that was counting the impromptu drive about town. Still, he already counted her a friend, which was unusual. A part of him felt like he used to, back before the breakup. Todd had always told him the term social butterfly didn’t begin to describe him—he was the entire swarm of butterflies bursting out of their cocoons. That had changed. Everything had changed. The only socializing he’d done the past couple of years in Kansas City had been an endless string of hookups and one-night stands.

  That had been part of his decision in coming to El Dorado Springs. There wouldn’t be an opportunity for hooking up. He would have to focus on his career. He’d worked hard enough to become a veterinarian; it was time to act like it. He needed to focus on remembering who Wesley Ryan used to be, and hopefully figure out who he was now. He hadn’t really expected to make a friend, not this quickly anyway.

  As they worked, the storm outside lessened, and the late afternoon sun began to filter through the windows. “Well, it looks like your fears are groundless. There will be dry trick-or-treating. Which is good, I suppose. Though the other was much more Halloween feeling, if you ask me.”

  “You’re a peculiar woman, Wendy Bennett.”

  She gave an exaggerated curtsey with one hand and flourished the hat off her head with a dramatic sweep of her other hand. “Thank you, good sir! As I’ve said, I am a Gemini and an artist. You will find none better.”

  He chuckled. “I believe you. And I would agree, thus far. You’re quite extraordinary. Still, a bit odd.”

  “And don’t you forget it. I’ll give you my ex-husband’s number, and he can tell you some stories, if you begin to doubt the validly of my originality claims.” She gave him a wink.

  Wesley paused in his gift bag assembly, inspecting his friend. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned being divorced. Tell me about the kind of man who let you go. He must be an idiot.”

  “That he is! Charles Smith is nothing more than the three B’s. A bore, a brute, and a bully, as I like to say. And he doesn’t deserve any more explanation than that.” She smacked her hand on the countertop, as if driving home her point.

  It was Wesley’s turn to narrow his eyes. “A brute and bully? Was he abusive?”

  Wendy looked over at him, momentarily sobered, as if surprised the conversation was still happening. “No. Not physically, at least. Though I wish he had been. I would have had the gumption to leave a lot sooner. And it wouldn’t have been such a sinful travesty to my parents.” She let out a sardonic chuckle, her expression darkening. “Although maybe not even then. A wife should be devoted to her husband. And let’s not forget remain subservient.” She finished the last word with her fingers in the air making quotation marks.

  “Is that what he’d tell you? You had to be subservient?”

  She laughed again, somehow darker than before. “No. Well, yes, he would, although not in that verbiage. Charles was never religious. My mother, on the other hand, well, let’s just say there is little her Gemini daughter does that meets her approval. Including referring to herself as a Gemini.”

  “Your and Travis’s folks are Bible-thumpers, huh?” Wesley and his family went to church on Easter and Christmas. And even those days weren’t completely guaranteed.

  Wendy shrugged. “They are just a product of their culture and their time. I hate that term, by the way. Bible-thumper. It seems discriminatory in a way, not that it isn’t well earned. I go to church. I take the kids. I can’t say I believe everything they say from the pulpit. Well, actually, I can say that I don’t, but there are good things to be found there. Just as there are almost every place.”

  She was larger than life. Her sturdy size was accentuated by her vitality, and on this occasion, by her massive costume. Wesley couldn’t picture her sitting in a pew. A demure Wendy made no sense, not that he knew her all that well. “And your nights dancing at the gay bar in the city?”

  She waved him off. “Details. Insignificant fluff.” She turned the full weight of her gaze on Wesley, propping both hands on the countertop as she leaned toward him, as though she was getting ready to let him in on life’s big secret. “To put it in a way you’d understand, and that retains the spirit of this All Hallow’s Eve, life is nothing more than vampire mermaids.”

  Wesley waited, expecting more. When nothing came, he raised his hands in surrender. “That’s supposed to be a way I understand? Vampire mermaids?”

  She almost looked disappointed in him. Like she’d expected a kindred enough spirit that no more explanation would be required. “Dr. Wesley Ryan, haven’t you figured it out by now? After all of your years of school? After the rather privileged life you’ve led in Kansas City—”

  Wesley started to interject, but Wendy held up her hand, cutting him off.

  “That’s not a judgment, just an observation. Life is nothing more than a vampire mermaid. Nothing more than a Gemini. Nothing more than contradictions. To really take part in this life, you have to open yourself up to all things. Don’t cement yourself to one side or the other. Then you are nothing more than my parents, who think I’m going to hell for getting a divorce. Or Charles, who thought a wife was nothing more than someone who cooked, cleaned, and fucked. Nothing more than those who only see your sports car, rainbow dog sticker, and designer clothes. Truth is not found on one side or the other; it is spread out. Truth must be found in all places. Whether those places are a Kansas City gay dance club, The Crocheted Bunny, the driver’s seat of a yellow Miata, or a church. We simply must find the pieces that are made up of the truth and put them together.”

  Wesley just stared at her, openmouthed. He wasn’t certain if what he’d heard was brilliant, sacrilege, or nothing more than rainbowed smoke.

  “Close your mouth, dear. A spider might crawl in.” Wendy pulled a heavy mass of curls over her shoulder and let it fall over her back. `

  He did. “You’re kinda strange. I like it.”

  She beamed. “Of course you do, you big fairy.”

  “Hey! Be nice!”

  “Oh, I am. However….” She looked down the length of his body, then back up. “As the only genuine fairy in the store right now, despite my wings, you should be a little more dressed up, dontcha think?”

  Wesley looked down at his clothes, another flush rising to his face. “What? I’ve got on an outfit.”

  Wendy crossed her arms. “Hmm-hmm. If you wear it to work, it’s not an outfit.”

  “I’m a vet for Halloween. If anyone doesn’t understand what I am, I’ll just pick up Nutmeg and give her an examination.” He looked over at the rabbit’s farmhouse. “She’ll be out there with us, won’t she?”

  “Yes, and so not the point! Are you really expecting me to believe that this”—she uncrossed her arms and waved an accusing finger toward him—“this outfit is the best you can d
o? That if you were going out tonight in the city you’d wear this?”

  “Not all the gays dress like drag queens on Halloween.” His defensiveness was a little too loud in his own ears.

  “You might not be one of the drag queens, but you are not one who wears his work outfits to go clubbing on Halloween.”

  “We’re not clubbing. We’re handing out candy and gift bags to all the kids who come to Main Street.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “This is as close to clubbing as we get here. And you know what I mean.”

  He did.

  Halloween had always been one of his favorite nights of the year. The chance to dress like anything you wanted to be. To be as outrageous, as over-the-top, and as slutty as you never dared to be the rest of the year. When Wendy asked if he wanted to help her pass out candy to the families that started off their trick-or-treating by walking up and down Main Street, he’d jumped at the chance—even before she’d mentioned that it could help him meet more of the people who lived in El Do, maybe give him an opportunity to talk about the changes he was making to the vet clinic. Not just for all those legitimate, genuine reasons, but also to simply have fun, dress up, and be silly. He needed a break, a chance to just have some fun.

  Then John Wallace came into his mind, and the wary expressions on the old men’s faces when they stared at him from their perch on the rock wall. He remembered the tone in Travis Bennett’s voice when he’d called him a fag.

  He looked at Wendy, refusing to flinch at her too-knowing expression. “What do you want me to do, Wendy? Put on a tutu?”

  “No. Although I’d kill to see your legs in something like that, especially if we stuck you in a pair of stilettos. And don’t pretend you’ve never worn a pair.” Her teasing grin grew serious. “What I expect of you, Wesley, is that you be you. Don’t worry about the town. You’re right; El Do probably isn’t ready for a drag queen, although maybe on Halloween. But you, be you. Plus, you’re not really giving us a chance. You say you loved it here when you were a kid. That you have wonderful memories from the times you stayed with your grandparents. Well, remember those. Do you really think you’d love this place as much as you did if the town was full of mobs with pitchforks?”