Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  “And, you thought this wasn’t pertinent information before bringing me to church? That because one of their family members was gay, a whole family had to move out of town?” Despite the biting cold, sweat was trickling down Wesley’s sides.

  “I’m sure there’s more to the story than that. A lot has changed. And, it was years ago.”

  “You moved here four years ago, Wendy. We’re not talking decades here.”

  “Well, you’re not planning on getting a job at the church.” Wendy bugged her eyes at him. “Iris has already made sure about that, hasn’t she?”

  “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think we should do this. We should have at least asked Travis. After everything that happened with your folks yesterday, this is the last thing he needs to drive home to this afternoon.”

  She shook her head. “No, this is exactly what he needs. We need to start making this normal. You’re not trying to influence their kids or preach about God. You’re taking care of their animals. And the more they can put your face with all the rumors, the more they will see you as just another person. That’s what Travis needs. That’s what you need. And the kids. For this”—her hands fluttered between them, including herself with him—“to be normal.”

  Wesley wasn’t sure church was the way to do it, especially after Wendy’s story, but he couldn’t argue with the logic of it. There wasn’t a more social place in El Do than church. Maybe she was right. Maybe if they saw he was just another person, like them, that he was normal, it might make it easier for his and Travis’s relationship. In the back of his mind, he heard Travis suggesting he butch it up.

  “Fine. Okay, Wendy. Let’s do this.” Wesley pulled the rust orange scarf from around his neck. “Can you open the car so I can put this back in there?”

  Wendy narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  He sighed in exasperation. “We’re gonna be late, and the last thing I want is the entire church turning around to watch us walk in.”

  She didn’t relent. “Don’t you dare leave that scarf in the car, Wesley Ryan!” She motioned down to her ever-vibrant ensemble. “Look at me—I am who I am, and they have no problem with it.”

  “You’re a girl.”

  She lifted her chin. “You be who you are.”

  Though he was past wanting to discuss anything, Wesley loved her protectiveness over him. He softened his tone. “I will, Wendy. However, a scarf doesn’t make or break me. Let’s ease these people into this. Maybe the Durkes wouldn’t have had to move if they’d gone a little slower.”

  Her blue eyes darted back and forth as she searched his face. “Fine. But if you walk in with a cowboy hat tomorrow, we’re gonna have a talk.”

  Wesley laughed. “Deal.”

  Wendy opened the car door long enough for Wesley to toss the scarf into the front seat, then relocked it.

  As they walked up the steps the kids had taken a few minutes earlier, a voice called out from behind them.

  “Dr. Ryan!”

  His nerves spiking, Wesley turned toward the voice. Carrie Michaels was walking across the parking lot. Speak of the devil. A gorgeous mountain of a man walked beside her, holding her hand.

  Wesley waved, and he and Wendy waited for them to catch up.

  Carrie’s smile was bright and genuine. “Dr. Ryan, I’d like you to meet my husband, Craig.”

  Wesley took Craig’s outstretched hand, doing his best to keep from staring. The man was even better looking up close. Way to go, Carrie!

  “It’s nice to have you here, Dr. Ryan. Carrie tells me we’re slated to get together for dinner when our son, Darwin, comes back from school.” Though Craig’s expression wasn’t as open as his wife’s, his greeting seemed genuine.

  “Yeah, that sounds great. And you can call me Wesley.” He motioned toward Wendy. “Do you all know Wendy?”

  “Of course. Though we haven’t ever done more than small talk after a church service every once in a while.” Carrie reached out and gave Wendy a quick hug. “We’ll have to remedy that.”

  Wendy smiled and shook Craig’s hand as well. “I’d love to.”

  From above, the chimes of the church bells cut through the air, which seemed to be getting colder by the moment.

  “And we’re late, apparently.” Wesley had started to feel a little less nervous as they spoke to the Michaelses, but the bells sent another spike of adrenaline through him.

  Carrie piped up, her voice excited. “Would you guys like to sit with us?”

  “Um, sure.” Wesley glanced over at Craig, uncertain the man would have the same feeling as his wife.

  He smiled with a nod. “Please do. It’s good that you’re here.”

  For a moment Wesley wondered if Craig meant it like it was good for heathens to come to church, but he seemed genuine enough.

  Wendy settled the matter. “That would be great. Thank you. Let’s just get out of this cold already.”

  DESPITE THEIR lateness, few people turned around at their entrance. As they walked up the aisle, a motion caught Wesley’s eye. Turning slightly, he saw Iris Linley waving at him, a friendly smile on her sour face. Wesley gave a small wave back before he and Wendy sidled in beside Carrie and Craig several rows up from Iris. He wasn’t sure how he could have missed her. Her church muumuu was even more audacious than those she used for everyday wear. This one had lace around the collar, nearly causing the eye to water as it battled with the floral print underneath.

  As they settled in, Wesley felt more at ease. The music was upbeat and pretty. A six-person worship team led the congregation in an assortment of contemporary choruses. They even had a small orchestra off to the left. It didn’t have a small country-town feel at all.

  Actually Wesley realized that, as far as church went, he kinda liked it. The space was vast and modern, and the vaulted ceilings seemed nearly limitless. Things were clean and sleek. Even the podium was a minimal design of glass, an open Bible showing through the clear structure.

  The crowd was a good mix of old and young, and despite the vastness of the sanctuary, it was surprisingly full. Whatever the Holy Church was doing, it seemed to be working. Add to this the killer youth building on Main Street and he could see why families with school-aged kids would want to be there.

  When the music ended and announcements had been made by a dynamic, well-spoken woman—Wesley would have placed money on her being lesbian—a large older man waddled up to take his place behind the glass pulpit.

  The groan Wendy let out beside him was loud enough to make Wesley turn toward her.

  She looked at him guiltily and leaned toward him to whisper. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I forgot. Pastor Carver is out of town today.” She motioned toward the pulpit with her chin. “This is Pastor Thomas. He was the preacher before the guy I was telling you about in the parking lot. I hate when he preaches. Actually, when I remember he’s doing a service, I skip it.”

  Great. Wesley started to turn away, but Wendy pulled him closer.

  “See that woman over there? The one with the dyed-black beehive hair?”

  Wesley found the thin woman on the far right of the sanctuary, seated primly in the front row. She looked more like a crane perched on the edge of a pond, searching for small fish to devour, than an actual woman.

  He nodded that he saw her.

  Wendy put her lips to his ear. “That’s Brother Thomas’s wife, Twyla. That woman is a biiiitch.”

  He whipped his head around to glare at her. His whispered admonition was louder than he’d intended. “Wendy!”

  She shrugged. “Well, she is.”

  Wesley shook his head and turned his attention back to the preacher. It took all his resolve to not look away. He would have given anything to trade the sleek glass pulpit for an oversized wooden block. Brother Thomas was a huge man, rolls of fat visible from his too-thin shirt and overhead lighting. Sweat was already pouring down his face and wetting his shirt, causing it to be even more transparent.

  It was tragic. />
  His amplified voice cut through the silence. “Open your Bible to Revelations, chapter six.”

  There was a brief period of rustling as people turned in their Bibles, despite the scripture being prominently displayed on the screen behind the stage.

  Without so much as a transition, Pastor Thomas launched into his sermon, his fist rising in the air from the first word. “The first part of the chapter reveals the opening of the first five seals and entrance of the four horsemen. The slain righteous calling out unto God for vengeance. For retribution to fall upon those who do not follow the Lord your God. Read with me at verse twelve.” His voice rumbled, rising and falling with each inflection of the words. It reminded Wesley of the stereotypical televangelist. He remembered hearing Jerry Falwell a couple of times on the TV as a kid. He loathed that monster.

  “And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood; And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind. And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places. And the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; And said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb: For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?”

  Pastor Thomas’s voice rang out with passion, like a cry to war as he read. His sweat increased as if the fires of hell were licking at his back. “Those who do not follow in the ways of the righteous will cry out for death, for mercy, for relief. It. Will. Not. Come!” His fervor hinted that he was just getting started.

  Wesley gaped at Wendy in astonishment.

  She shrugged again. “See why I skip when he’s up there?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  HE DIDN’T plan it, but Travis changed course from the road that led to his home as he exited the cemetery early Sunday afternoon. Of course, what had he done that he had planned lately? Life seemed to be unfolding one second at a time. That was better than where he had been, he supposed—stuck in the past, buried in a grave as surely as Shannon.

  HE’D WOKEN up before the sun, as always, although momentarily confused by the sparse hotel room. He’d gotten used to waking up in Wesley’s bed, Wesley’s lithe chest rising and falling in sleep, Dunkyn curled up over the covers at their feet. At the sight of the unfamiliar alarm clock, the events of the day before came back to him, along with the pang of a headache when he moved to sit up. He glanced down at the brown shag carpet below the bed. Empty beer cans.

  Oh, right.

  He barely remembered stopping to pick up the six-pack before checking into the room. Well, whatever; being disowned by your parents entitled you to tie one on.

  And if it didn’t? Fuck it anyway.

  With another groan, he pushed himself out of the bed and stumbled in the dark toward the bathroom.

  Dunkyn made a similar noise as he carefully jumped off the bed.

  After flicking on the light, Travis stood in front of the toilet and emptied himself of at least four of the cans. As he groaned for a third time, this one in relief, he caught sight of his naked reflection in the full-length mirror across from the open bathroom doorway.

  Still pissing, he rubbed a hand over his hairy belly.

  Wesley claimed he thought Travis’s body was manly and sexy. Travis didn’t really believe that, despite Wesley’s body’s reaction to him. He should lose a few pounds. Maybe have one less pitcher of beer on bowling nights. Oh, shit, he’d forgotten the Old Bulldogs were meeting later that evening.

  He narrowed his eyes in accusation, peering at his reflection again. He flexed his heavy triceps as he shook his cock after the stream ebbed. He hadn’t thought about his body or appearance for years.

  Bowling. Two nights of beer in a row.

  He flexed again.

  He was fine. Shannon had always said she liked him bigger as well.

  What the fuck was wrong with him? He was staring in the mirror worried about his body, and he’d accused Wesley of being too gay. Fuck.

  A chicken-fried steak skillet and two pots of coffee accompanied him as he watched the sunrise from the window of a Village Inn on the outskirts of Neosho. If he’d gotten up earlier, he could have watched the view with the buffalo. That would have been better.

  He’d taken his time driving back to El Dorado, meandering down appealing country roads that paralleled the highway. His thoughts didn’t come in words or clear images. His mind just felt heavy and tired.

  So much loss—Shannon, the life they’d planned, the image he’d built of himself, friendships. Jason had become all but a stranger. He’d probably lose Cedar County Feed. It wasn’t just his imagination that business had dropped off. The books didn’t lie. He’d just lost his parents, but he probably should’ve seen that one coming. Even the loss of Shannon felt different lately—not less, just different, and even that change was a loss.

  By the time Travis had arrived back in El Dorado, it was a little before noon, which meant most of the town would be in church. He’d planned on going to Mr. Walker’s farm to tend the buffalo, but he should’ve known better.

  Realizing what Travis needed more than he did, the F-350 had pulled into the cemetery. Then he and Dunkyn were in front of Shannon’s grave, the knees of Travis’s jeans growing damp from the frost covering the brown grass.

  They stayed there for over an hour, undisturbed. Not even birds or squirrels chattered in the massive tree branches overhead.

  Travis didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Shannon knew it all already. He just needed to be with her, to sit with her, to trace her name.

  He waited. Some small part in the back of his brain, or soul, or something, grieved—for her, their children, his parents, everything. But, mostly, he just sat. Quiet. One thumb endlessly traced her S, the other hand continually passed over Dunkyn’s warm fur.

  He waited.

  Quiet.

  Still.

  Cold.

  Numb.

  He waited. He waited until he felt her whispers. Until he could hear, if not understand them. He waited until he felt somewhat like her Travis again. Caleb and the twins’ Travis. Wendy’s Travis. Wesley’s Travis.

  Travis Bennett.

  AFTER THE cemetery, instead of his home, Travis pulled up behind Patsy and Glen Pope’s old Mercury. After parking the truck, he and Dunkyn exited and walked up to the front door of Shannon’s childhood home.

  He rang the bell and could hear old-fashioned chimes call from inside.

  After some moments and some shuffling, Glen opened the door, his face momentarily surprised to find Travis and his dog waiting on the porch. Glen looked past them, confused. “The kids with you?”

  Travis shook his head. “Nah. Just me.” He glanced down at Dunkyn. “Us.”

  Glen stepped backward, making room to squeeze by his expansive belly. “Well, come on in, boys.” As Travis and Dunkyn entered, Glen called out toward the kitchen. “Hey, Patsy. Travis is here, put out another plate.”

  Patsy’s thin face poked out from the kitchen doorway, her blue eyes bright behind her glasses. “Well, what a nice surprise.” She shuffled out of the kitchen toward Travis.

  He closed in on her quickly, not wanting her to have to put in more effort than necessary. Shannon’s parents were nearly a decade older than his own. Shannon had been their one and only miracle child, when they’d given up ever having a baby.

  Patsy allowed him to place a tender kiss on her cheek, then waggled her spotted fingers down at Dunkyn in greeting, not attempting to bend, before looking at Travis. “Are the kids alright?”

  “Oh, yes. They’re fine.” Travis forced a smile. “I would imagi
ne they are at church with Wendy. Although, if your church is out, theirs probably is as well.”

  Patsy tilted her head ever so slightly, eyeing him. “You look like you need some love. Come sit down. Pops and I were just getting ready to sit down to some sandwiches. We had some leftover turkey from the Lions Club meeting the other night.”

  Patsy retrieved a third plate from the cupboard while Glen got a glass and looked over at Travis. “Beer?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, goodness, no. Water, please.”

  When all was situated and the three of them were seated around the table, Glen offered up a brief prayer.

  It was Patsy, outspoken like her daughter had been, who broached the subject. “I suspect you’re here to talk about you and that vet fellow who took over at Cheryl’s.”

  Travis had been certain they already knew. He could tell from the way they’d acted the past couple of times they’d seen each other. That, and it seemed the whole town knew. Still, hearing the words so directly took him momentarily off guard. Though nervous, he couldn’t help but smile at her. She was so Patsy, so Shannon. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here.” He wanted to ask who told them, but that was beside the point. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. You should’ve heard about it from me.”

  Glen nodded his agreement, though not unkindly. “That would have been preferable.”

  Patsy rushed in. “But we understand. You probably needed time to figure things out. Try to understand….” She fumbled for words. “Well, to understand.”

  He looked back and forth between them. He hadn’t been expecting an outburst or screaming; that was never their style. Patsy might have her daughter’s direct approach, but not her temper. Still, the two of them looked almost commonplace, like they were discussing the weather. Well, almost.