by Brandon Witt
Shame flooded him. Not so much for his thoughts of the town or its residents, but that after so few weeks he was trying to hide who he was. No one had asked him to. He’d been called a fag before. Why was he hiding now? Just because a closeted asshole and some beefy corgi-daddy had called him a fag?
“I don’t have a spare tutu to change into, Wendy. Or an extra pair of stilettos, no matter what you might think.”
She glanced at the clock, then motioned to her wings. “Look at me, hunny. You think I can’t fix you up in a matter of moments? You’ve got more of those ugly-looking scrubs at home to replace these, right?”
Within fifteen minutes, as they carried rectangular folding tables out the front doors to set up on the sidewalk, Wesley was a full-fledged zombie veterinarian—shredded green scrubs, with lipstick bloodstains. Mascara smudges over his pale, powdered skin. Sparkly red eyeliner—“To make your brown eyes pop and look a little sinister—win, win!” The entire outfit was completed with Wendy’s signature wire-and-duct-tape wings, because this was apparently the year of the fairy.
Other merchants were setting up along the street as well. Mei-Lien’s red-and-gold clothed table outside of her corner jewelry shop looked more like an homage to Chinese New Year than it did Halloween. Across the street, Mark’s Gun Emporium had a huge spread of tables running the length of the store. It looked as though they’d even set up some game stations, all gun related, of course. Wesley was pretty sure one of them had targets with zombie faces painted over the bull’s eye. Perfect. Farther north up Main Street, other stores were setting out tables, but they were too far away for Wesley to discern any details.
Directly across the street, on the corner across from the park, rock-like Christian music blared from an old-fashioned boom box. Wendy just rolled her eyes. “It’s the youth group building of the Holy Church. I’d ask them to turn it down, but that’s the church the kids and I go to. And this is their first year in their new location.” She turned, inspecting the kids setting up across the street. “Actually I tried to talk Caleb into joining them this year, now that he’s a freshman. He didn’t want to leave the twins, though. I hope he does. It would be good for him to build a social life that didn’t involve taking care of his family.”
Wesley placed a doll-sized scarecrow in Nutmeg’s makeshift graveyard-inspired pen set up beside the table. The tiny rabbit shuffled over and began eating the straw sticking out the scarecrow’s pant legs. With a jerk of his head, Wesley motioned toward the small CD player Wendy had placed outside the store’s front doors. Creaking, clanking of chains, groans, and screams could just be heard over the Christian rock, and only if you were right in front of The Crocheted Bunny. “I can ask them to turn it down, if you want. How do you say no to a zombie with wings?”
“I did a stellar job on you, if I say so myself. Granted, if you’d given me advance notice, I could have done your wings with the designer patterns of duct tape at least.” Wendy nodded at him approvingly. “Much better than a boring old vet in any case. And no, let them be. I’m the new kid on the block. No reason to make waves. Especially if there’s a chance my nephew might grow a social life. It’s one of the main reasons I go to the Holy Church.”
“What do you mean you’re the new kid on the block? Your store looks like it’s been here forever.”
She scowled at him. “I’ll try to take that as a compliment. I just opened the store last year. Before then, I was too busy helping Travis take care of the kids, but they’re more independent now, and the twins have their own spot in the store that we converted to a playroom.” Her voice grew quieter, almost impossible to hear over the blare of the music, and her eyes grew unfocused as she got lost in thought. “Those first three years after I moved here were rough. No time to think about myself, what I wanted, you know?”
Despite how close Wesley already felt with Wendy, he was reminded how little he really knew of his new friend. “When you moved here? You haven’t always lived in El Do?”
She gave him a surprised look. “Huh, I guess I just assumed you already knew all of that. I’m so used to everyone around here already knowing everything. Travis and I grew up in Neosho, about an hour and a half away. Our folks still live there.”
For some reason this heartened Wesley, making him feel like he wasn’t the only outsider. “You moved after your divorce?”
Wendy gave a half shrug, half nod kind of motion. “Yes, kind of. I got divorced a year before I moved down here. I was already planning on setting up The Crocheted Bunny there, in downtown Neosho, but then Shannon died, and Travis needed me here. So I moved.”
“Who’s Shannon?”
She gave him that look again, the one that said he was supposed to already know everything, like everyone else. “Shannon was Travis’s wife. She died of cancer four years ago.”
“Cancer—” Wesley sucked in his breath. Cancer. Cancer. He’d known there’d been more going on than Travis Bennett worrying about his dog’s health. The anger that had built up over the past few days since the corgi’s predawn surgery began to crumble. Cancer. Shannon was Travis’s wife. She died of cancer…. No wonder the man was such a mess over thinking his dog had cancer. No wonder he was so quick to call names.
“Wendy Bennett? Who you got over there?”
Wesley and Wendy simultaneously looked toward the voice. He was fairly certain he heard Wendy groan.
“Hi, Iris.” Wendy walked toward the woman, motioning Wesley to follow. “This is Wesley Ryan. He’s the new vet in town. He’s working out at Cheryl’s.”
“Ohhhhhh, yeeeees. I’ve heard about him.”
Wesley left Nutmeg’s pen and walked over to the woman. Where Wendy’s size portrayed feminine strength and vitality, this woman was more like John Wallace’s wife. She was a mass of soft tissue. Two huge breasts magically set atop and hung on either side of a substantial belly, all covered up with a large-scale flower print muumuu consisting of enough fabric to upholster a couch. Wesley couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering over her body, pausing at the two white-socked feet stuffed into orange sandals that stuck out from under the hanging flower garden of a dress. A huge calico cat weaved between her cringeworthy shoes.
It took considerable effort to look into her eyes instead of allowing himself to become hypnotized by the purple flowers billowing over her body.
Wendy, to her credit, continued the introduction as if she’d noticed none of Wesley’s reaction. “Wesley, this is Iris Linley. She owns Rose Petal’s Place.” She motioned down to the cat. “And that is Horace.”
He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Linley. I’ve been meaning to stop into your store for a while now.”
Iris stared at his hand like it might contain a flesh-eating disease. Her gaze flicked up to meet his—she was older than he’d first realized—then back at his hand. Right when he was getting ready to let his hand drop, she stuck out her own, clasping his fingers in her pudgy grip.
“I’ve met your kind before. I can honestly say….” She paused again. “It’s… nice to meet you as well, Mr. Ryan.”
He almost made a comment about her knowing Dr. Fisher, then realized she wasn’t referring to him being a veterinarian. “Um. Thank you, I think.” A simple thank you would have been more helpful.
She smiled, then almost beamed at him. Maybe she really had been trying to be nice.
He could do that too. “I love your Halloween costume. It matches your store.” From his periphery, he saw Wendy bug her eyes and give a tiny, frantic shake of her head.
Iris looked at him in confusion and lifted her hand to finger a small pink fabric rose stuck behind her ear that he hadn’t noticed. “Oh, I’d forgotten I’d put that there. I was doing an arrangement earlier and just shoved that in my hair without thinking. I guess it is a perfect outfit for tonight.”
Wesley was so confounded by the woman, he didn’t even have to remind himself not to laugh. Before he could think of what to say, Iris leaned closer to him, her lowered voice
still not a whisper.
“Do you wear that red eyeliner all the time, or is it just part of your costume, whatever it is that you are?”
Wesley shot a glare in Wendy’s direction. “No, the eyeliner is just part of the costume. Wendy thought I needed to be a little more festive for the occasion. She turned me into a zombie veterinarian.”
Iris leaned back, giving him space once more, and inspected him. “Hmmm. Now that you say it, I guess I can see where you get that.” She looked like she was going to bring an end to the conversation, then brightened once more. “Does your… I’m not sure of the word I’m supposed to use… your husband or partner, or lover, or something, have family in town? If so, I’ve discovered that the gays like to give a snake plant to their in-laws. It’s also called a mother-in-law’s tongue, you know.”
Wesley had to force himself to respond instead of simply staring at her with a mix of bafflement and horror. “No. I’m single, actually. My grandparents lived here, and I inherited their house. Leo and Virginia Mitchell. They passed a couple of years ago.”
“Oh! Of course! They were fine folks. They had a girl, didn’t they? She moved to Kansas City to be some artist or something?”
“Yes, Anne. That’s my mom. She’s an artist for Hallmark. Good memory, Ms. Linley.”
She waved off the observation. “Fancy. Very fancy. Yes, Leo and Virginia were good people. Always kind to me. Even brought me a casserole when my boys passed.” A shadow fell across her face, making her look even older. With a visible shake of her head, she smiled at Wesley. “Well, I should get back. The kids will be coming any minute. If you do want a snake plant for your in-laws, just come on by. It’ll be on the house.” She looked toward Wendy before Wesley could reply. “You making that hot cider tonight?”
Wendy motioned back toward the percolator on the table in front of her store. “Sure am. Would you like me to bring you a cup when it’s ready?”
“That would be sweet, dear.” She turned to Wesley once more. She reached out a hand, looking like she was going to pat Wesley on the shoulder, then apparently thought better of it. “Are you going to try to get a job at the church?”
What the hell? “No, ma’am.”
She patted his arm. “Very good, then. If anyone gives you a hard time, you just let me know.”
She turned away then. Wesley gaped after her before looking over at Wendy and whispering so it was barely more than mouthing the words. “What the hell was all that?”
Wendy shrugged. “I have no idea. Typically she’s pretty grumpy. That’s the nicest I’ve ever seen her. She must like you.”
He looked back at Iris Linley, her large rump in full floral glory as she bent down, getting something below her minimally decorated table. “I don’t think that’s what she was feeling. I don’t even think that was about me at all.”
A FEW people stared at Wesley’s eyeliner, but fewer than he’d expected. Most of the time, the introductions were brief as the horde of families descended on Main Street at the exact same time. Even when Wendy introduced Wesley as the new vet taking over at Cheryl’s, there were only a handful of people whose eyes widened and who inspected him with knowing eyes. Maybe not as many people had heard of him and his rainbow-clad car as he’d been led to believe.
Wesley realized that after John and the fag comments he’d become somewhat afraid of the people of the town. Wendy was right; he hadn’t been exactly being fair. Within twenty or so minutes, he was beginning to feel like he had when he’d visited his grandparents. While there weren’t carnival rides or the smell of funnel cakes, with the lights and cheerful noise of the crowd, the downtown felt much like it had during the annual July picnic.
This was what he’d wanted. Exactly what he’d wanted. The very thing that seemed to drive his mother crazy about this place. He was an outsider, no doubt. Even if he lived here a decade, he’d probably still be considered an outsider. Even so, he could feel it. There was an ease here he’d never felt in the city. He’d only experienced it with his grandparents. For better or worse, everyone knew one another in this little town. Even if some of them really didn’t like one another, they were kind. You could hear them greet each other on the street, carry on over their kids’ costumes, ask about parents and sick family members. They’d inquire about seeing one another at the midweek church service on Wednesday night, laugh about some joke they’d heard a billion times or the retelling of some scandalous event that had happened two decades ago. This was their town and, for many of them, had been for generations. The sound of it all, the sight of it all, made Wesley relax, offered him some comfort, and at the same time, made him sad. He wanted to be part of it, to be surrounded by that much history, that much knowing.
He’d handed out bag after bag of felt bunny pieces and candy bar after candy bar. He introduced himself time after time and asked about people’s pets or livestock. He answered question after question about why Cheryl Fisher was retiring and how he had ties to El Dorado. The majority of people had known, or at least known of, his grandparents, and all offered a kind word about them or condolence for his loss. Wesley could almost pretend to be part of the town.
Then there were blue eyes. Eyes that met his, widened in recognition, held his gaze for long enough to be uncomfortable, then darted away.
Wendy rushed around to the front of the table, hugged all three of the kids, and smacked her brother’s huge shoulder. “Travis Bennett, what took you all so long? The night’s over halfway done.”
The redheaded teenager answered for his father, pointing down at the ground. “We couldn’t get the hat to stay attached to Dunkyn’s hair just right.” He gave the little girl by his side a pat on the back. “You know Avery.”
Wendy tapped the girl on the nose. “Yes, I do. My kinda gal. A woman who knows what she wants!” She raised her hands in a flourish, once again sending the flowing aspects of her witch fairy outfit fanning out around her. “I almost forgot! Speaking of Dunkyn, kids, let me introduce you to the man who made him well again.”
Wendy motioned for Wesley to come out from behind the table. He did, but moved rather awkwardly, for some reason feeling nervous and a bit guilty. Wendy didn’t seem to notice. “Wesley, this is my oldest nephew, Caleb.” The boy gave a shy smile and a nod, but didn’t speak. Without waiting for any response, Wendy moved on, touching the girl beside Caleb and then the boy partially hidden behind his father’s legs. “And these munchkins are Avery and Mason.”
Wesley couldn’t believe how nervous he was. He was never nervous, especially around kids. Kids and animals, better than adults any day. “Hi guys, nice to meet you all.” He focused in on Avery, who was the farthest away from Travis. “I love your outfit. You’re a fairy, like your aunt, huh?”
The girl’s face twisted in annoyance. She pointed to her wings and then the bun on top of her head, as if she needed visuals in order to explain to the idiot in front of her. “No. Wendy’s a witch fairy. I’m Tinker Bell.” She then pointed to the sidewalk at her father’s feet. “He’s Peter Pan.”
For a moment, Wesley caught Travis’s gaze again and quickly glanced away, following to where Avery had pointed. He let out a genuine laugh and knelt, stretching out to pet Dunkyn, who had a green felt hat with a red feather stuck in the brim and a long green swatch of fabric covering his back. Before he could touch Dunkyn, a dog dressed like a skunk collided with his outstretched hand and began licking and whimpering in a crazed manner.
Wendy spoke from above him. “That’s Dolan. You haven’t met him yet. He’s the yang to Dunkyn’s yin.”
He supposed Travis hadn’t filled Wendy in on his and Dolan’s first meeting or that Wesley had run away like a scared child—a child wearing Easter-colored spandex. Some miracles existed. “Hi, Dolan. You’re a friendly guy, that’s for sure. And you make a pretty cute skunk too.”
Avery huffed exasperatedly beside him. “He’s not a skunk. He’s a Lost Boy. Just like Mason.”
Wesley looked over, finally really
looking at the shy boy. It was like seeing a six-year-old version of Travis. The serious face peered down at him, raccoon ears poking out through his red hair and painted black circles around his eyes. He chewed on his lower lip but stuck out a little hand, giving Wesley a tiny wave.
“Avery and Wendy pick out our outfits every year.” Travis’s voice was quiet and low. The sound made Wesley relax and get more nervous all at the same time. Travis didn’t sound furious like he had the last time they’d seen each other. “She’s been obsessed with Peter Pan lately. It seems she’s decided that he’s gonna fly in from Neverland to come to her next birthday party.”
Wesley stood, again marveling that even though he was taller than Travis, he always felt small around him. Travis pointed over at his oldest son, then at his own head. “Caleb is a skunk like Dolan, and I’m a bear, apparently.”
Sure enough, skunk ears stuck out of Caleb’s messy hair, and a headband with two round red bear ears attached had been shoved over Travis’s large head.
“Dad! You’re not a bear! You’re a Lost Boy! Stop messing up!” Avery’s voice rose so she was almost yelling.
Wendy shook a finger toward the girl. “Avery, you don’t speak like that. If you keep that up, you’ll have to go inside and take a time-out.”
Tears welled up instantly in the little girl’s large blue eyes. Caleb knelt down and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, then wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Oh, hold on. You all keep talking. I’ll be right back.” Wendy whirled and dashed back behind the table to get candy for a new family that was approaching.
The five of them stood awkwardly, the only motion the skunk-clad Dolan lying on his back pawing both of his forepaws in the air, trying to get his belly scratched.
Wesley complied, kneeling once more and rubbing Dolan’s exposed tummy. The dog’s swimming motion only intensified. “Wow, he’s a little intense, isn’t he?”
