Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  That she remembered. Maybe she couldn’t see Dean’s face anymore, but she could still see her son’s sixteen-year-old body hanging stiff from the branch in their backyard. He’d strung the rope up right next to the tire swing he and his older brother used to play on. She couldn’t recall his face, but she could see that, the way the rope cut into his neck. She didn’t even have to close her eyes. She could still hear the screaming, though she didn’t always remember that she’d been the one doing the screaming.

  No longer did she speak to her sons. Just stared at their names, at the dates of their coming and going. She would look at the empty spot beside them, the one with the blank tombstone. She’d be sixty soon—not nearly old enough, not nearly close enough. Maybe the food would help her lie next to them quicker. As she always did, she pushed that thought away promptly. It was a sin to kill yourself. She pushed that one away even faster.

  The clock had a funny way of moving when Iris Linley spent time with her boys. The world did too. Everything faded away. Thoughts and smeared memories played in loops in her mind, but for the most part, she was just there, but not there too. It would seem like minutes, and then Iris would realize she was hungry or cold, or it had become night, or she needed to pee. Hours would go by, and she wouldn’t sense their passing.

  Maybe it was the cold on this particular twenty-third. Maybe it was that the screaming somewhere in her past was louder than usual. Maybe it was God, though, to be honest, she didn’t really believe in him anymore, not since standing by that tree.

  No.

  No, God.

  She pushed that away too.

  That was a sin.

  Whatever it was, time returned to her sooner than was typical. Not saying good-bye, she turned and walked back up that second hill, then down, then started up the first hill. Near the top, while she was still shadowed by one of the massive, leafless oaks, she heard a voice.

  She’d not earned the title of the town gossip back in the good old days for nothing. Iris recognized the voice instantly. It was that Dr. Ryan fellow. The queer who had saved her dear Horace.

  While philandering and drinking were sins—and suicide and maybe gluttony—eavesdropping definitely was not.

  Careful to make no further noise than she might have already, Iris placed her gloved hands against the tree and peeked cautiously around.

  Thankfully, his back was to her, so the vet wasn’t aware he was being watched. For a moment, when he grew quiet, Iris was worried she’d been found out.

  Then he continued.

  Iris was quick. She could put the pieces of a story together quicker than any reporter. The pieces she couldn’t find, she easily made up. She was a good judge of character, and she was certain the bits of her own making were as close to the truth as truth itself.

  On this occasion, though, Iris didn’t require that particular skill. It was all spelled out clear as day.

  The vet was kneeling in front of Shannon Bennett’s grave. And though he whispered, in the still, frozen air of the evening, his words carried easily.

  Iris listened as Dr. Ryan spoke to the dead woman.

  He told Shannon how much he loved her husband.

  He told her how much Travis still loved her.

  He told her about her children and how much he loved them.

  He told her he would love the children as if they were his own.

  He told her he would love Travis with everything he had.

  He told her he would take care of her family.

  Iris leaned forward, almost to the point of losing her balance, but not quite. She squinted, bringing the vet into sharper focus. It was the strangest thing. The man was tilting his head, lifting his ear to the side. He looked like he was listening.

  Iris strained.

  She heard nothing.

  A branch snapped under her foot.

  Dr. Ryan flinched, then looked around.

  Iris’s first instinct was to whip back behind the tree, but she doubted it was thick enough to conceal her. Instead, she stepped back out into the open, forcing an innocent expression on her face.

  The vet raised a hand in greeting, but left it suspended in midair, looking panicked.

  It was clear he’d been crying, and Iris felt a touch of guilt for intruding. Betrayed by stepping on a twig. She’d lost her touch somewhere along the line. “That was a real beautiful thing to say to Ms. Bennett, Dr. Ryan. Real beautiful.”

  Dr. Ryan’s hand fell back to his side, and his cheeks flushed pink.

  Iris couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or angry. She motioned behind her. “I was just here visiting my boys.”

  He looked past her and back again. He seemed to be searching for words. “I’m—” His words caught and he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss, Iris.”

  She only nodded, not acknowledging the sentiment. “If the Bennetts can’t have their mother, they’re real fortunate to have someone like you to love them instead.”

  Dr. Ryan’s shade of pink deepened. “Um, thank you, Iris.” He looked back at his car. “I should, um, I should go.” He looked back at her. “Do you need a ride?”

  She shook her head. “No, dear. I like taking my time. You go on. Your pant legs look mighty wet.”

  Without confirming, Dr. Ryan offered her a forced smile, then turned. He walked to the end of that row, got into that prissy yellow car and drove off. He might have waved over his shoulder, but Iris wasn’t certain.

  When she was sure he wasn’t returning, Iris left her spot beside the oak and moved to stand in front of Shannon Bennett.

  The two women had never gotten along. Shannon had been too full of herself in Iris’s opinion, always acting like she was better than everybody else.

  Still. It was sad. Children without their mother—almost as bad as a mother without her children.

  Iris tilted her head, assuming the same position Dr. Ryan had previously taken.

  Nothing. She heard nothing.

  She almost spoke to the gravestone, nearly told Shannon the vet was a good guy. She didn’t.

  On her way out of the graveyard, though she didn’t pause, she nodded at Dionysius Durke’s grave.

  She asked for God’s forgiveness, and she was going to show God’s love this time whether she understood the ways of Dr. Ryan and those like him or not. He really was a good man.

  She would show God’s love.

  Even if there was no God.

  She pushed that thought away before she passed back out of the wrought iron gates.

  Part Three

  Summer

  Chapter Thirty

  THE OLD Bulldogs consisted of four El Dorado Springs natives. Three of them, Jason Baker, Charlie Mumock, and Squirt Daniels, had played on the football team in high school. Jason couldn’t remember Squirt’s actual name, if he’d ever heard it. Their senior year, the three of them had taken the Bulldogs to state, or three games away from it at any rate. Close enough for El Do. Belinda Friar was an Old Bulldog, too. She had been on the cheer squad. Considering she’d fucked nearly every guy on the football team, she might have been the most responsible for the team’s close brush with greatness. She still slept with Jason and Squirt from time to time. Charlie was married. So was Squirt, but Charlie actually acted like it. Only the fifth member, Travis Bennett, wasn’t an actual Bulldog. However, Jason had vouched for him when the team was formed. Now, twenty years later, he doubted Charlie, Squirt, or Belinda even remembered that Travis hadn’t graduated with them.

  Sunday evening had always been Jason’s favorite night of the week. It was filled with old friends, greasy food, and endless beers—perfect. Oh yeah, and bowling. That was pretty fun too.

  Actually, Jason loved every aspect of his life. He had a cake job that he loved where he got to hang out with his best friend every day. He and Travis had built CCF up so that, as long as they didn’t go crazy, they were set on the money front. He was handsome, still had a killer body, and was charming. And he knew it. He had an endl
ess supply of pussy.

  Fuck. He was living every guy’s dream—up until the past few months.

  It had started when Travis hired Krissy. Jason didn’t have any problem with the girl. But Travis hadn’t even asked for Jason’s opinion. Granted, CCF belonged to Travis. However, the place felt as much his as it did Travis’s, at least most of the time. If Travis had asked, Jason wouldn’t have had to even think twice. He would have hired Krissy in a minute. Hell, Krissy’d had her baby a week ago and would be out for a couple of months to spend time with… Jacob. Yeah, Jacob. It had only been a week, and Jason already missed her snarky, irreverent sense of humor. He loved the girl working there. She’d blended in perfectly with Travis and him.

  But Travis hadn’t asked.

  Even more than being hurt about Travis’s lack of inclusion, Jason was upset that he was upset. It made him feel like a pouty little bitch.

  He would have gotten over it. He had gotten over it.

  Then the other shoe dropped.

  Travis a fag?

  A fag?

  Jason had no problem with Wesley Ryan. Up until he’d realized the vet was fucking his best friend, Jason had really liked the guy.

  Jason also didn’t have a problem with fags, for that matter. He’d had more than one threesome in which he was not the only naked body with a dick. Never in town, or anywhere close, and there’d never been any real gay shit. Just casual contact as he and the other dude double-teamed the chick.

  If a guy liked fucking dudes, what did it hurt Jason any? He didn’t give a fuck.

  But Travis—a fucking faggot?

  Travis was his best friend. He was family, more than family. They were brothers, more than brothers. They loved each other.

  Jason was enlightened enough and intelligent enough that he’d considered the possibility that he was so upset about Travis and Wesley because he had some unrealized feelings for his best friend. He’d done more than just consider and push it aside.

  He’d tried to jack off to Travis’s picture. He’d had to put it facedown on the bed to finish. He didn’t feel a thing. He loved the guy. Fuck, he’d die for the guy and his kids, and Wendy too. But he wasn’t in love with him, not like that.

  He’d come to the conclusion that he, Jason Baker, was a little bitch. He was butthurt that his best friend hadn’t told him about such a big part of himself. There was nothing Travis didn’t know about him. Nothing. Jason even told him when he’d fucked that married chick in Collins several years ago and then paid for her to have an abortion. Travis knew all his dirt. Everything. It was part of the reason Jason loved him so much. Travis might call him an idiot or call him on his shit, but Jason knew he could trust Travis with anything.

  Apparently, that hadn’t been a mutual feeling.

  To make it even worse, Travis didn’t tell him even after he and the vet started fucking. He did, but not till after half the town was already talking about it. Jason had been defending the dude. Saying there was no way Travis liked cock. He would know. He was the guy’s best friend. He’d even joked to Squirt that if Travis had a craving for dick, he’d be choking on Jason’s meat and nobody else’s.

  The thought of that made him cringe.

  Jason missed his best friend. He missed the ease that had existed between them. Jason didn’t do well with conflict, never had. He was ready to end this awkwardness and get things back to normal. He wanted Travis back. He wanted the whole Bennett clan back.

  He missed his family.

  He just didn’t know how to go about it.

  He’d almost thrown his arms around the big redheaded moron when Travis had walked into CCF last week, just to end it and get things back to normal. He just couldn’t make himself.

  He needed to fix things. He just didn’t know how.

  Then he got his chance.

  He, Belinda, and Charlie didn’t give a shit about how the Old Bulldogs scored. It was bowling, for fuck’s sake. It was a big ball you rolled down a plank of wood so you could get trashed on cheap beer. He knew Travis felt the same, though Travis was actually pretty good at the game, better than Jason and Charlie, that was for sure.

  Squirt felt differently. He lived and breathed bowling. He often said if the finger holes in bowling balls were wet, he’d rather fuck them than pussy. And that was saying something for Squirt, who had even lower standards than Jason. Squirt was on a more competitive team that met on Tuesdays; he only stayed with the Old Bulldogs because of their friendship. He always got more belligerent during the third game, when all five of them were toasted and everyone besides Squirt was playing worse. There wasn’t a Sunday that passed where Squirt didn’t threaten to leave the team. Belinda always told him to not let the door hit him on the way out, and that he would be using the bowling ball because her pussy would be off-limits to him.

  Jason loved it when girls said pussy. So did Squirt.

  They were four frames from the end of the game. The bowling alley’s air-conditioning was out and, even though the sun had set an hour or more ago, the June day had been stifling. The bowling alley was stuffy and miserable. To make up for it, the Old Bulldogs had ordered a couple extra pitchers of beer.

  They were sweaty, loud, and trashed.

  Travis was up. Even drunk and on their third game, Travis had still been playing well. Probably better than usual. However, whatever the reason, as he threw his ball, it went askew, tipping into the gutter before it reached the pins.

  “What the fuck!”

  Travis turned around at the yell with a sheepish look, until he saw the expression on Squirt’s face.

  The scrawny man rose off the orange plastic bench and took a step toward Travis. He looked like a chipmunk challenging a bear.

  Jason grinned. Squirt got on his nerves a lot of times. It would be fun to see Travis tear into him.

  Squirt’s voice was so loud the entire bowling alley turned at the noise. “What? Now that you’re a faggot you’ve lost the ability to play like a man?”

  Travis flinched.

  The entire space went silent.

  None of the Old Bulldogs had mentioned anything about Travis, at least not in front of him. After a couple weeks of strained awkwardness, it had all gone back to normal, save for the silence between Travis and Jason.

  The team had adopted the motto “out of sight, out of mind”—at least, up until now.

  Squirt went from angry to irate so quickly that it took Jason a moment to realize he wasn’t just fucking around or trying to push buttons.

  “You shouldn’t even be on this team. You shouldn’t even be allowed in this building or the fucking town.” Squirt closed the distance between himself and Travis and shoved a finger in Travis’s massive chest. “We oughta round up all’a your kind and get rid’a ya. You shouldn’t exist.”

  Apparently Travis was having a similar reaction to Jason’s. Maybe it was the haze of the beer. His expression transitioned from shocked to confused.

  As Jason watched, he was able to identify his best friend’s flash of emotions. For a second he saw embarrassment cross over Travis’s features and then the flush of crimson that announced Travis was ready to explode in anger.

  Squirt was such an ignorant idiot he didn’t even realize the danger he was in.

  Without realizing he was moving, Jason stood as well and strode toward the pair.

  Squirt was in the heat of things and oblivious to Jason’s approach, as well as the furious trembling of Travis’s clenched fists. “We’re gonna run your little faggot-ass vet outta town, and then you. Fuck that. We’re gonna string him up the nearest tree and make you watch. He’s gonna be—”

  Jason’s fist smashed into Squirt’s temple, sending the man crashing to the ground.

  Letting out a cry, Squirt covered the side of his face with both hands. “What the fuck!”

  Bending, Jason brought his left fist down in an arch, smashing into the unprotected side of Squirt’s face.

  Squirt scuttled backward, his bowling shoes squeak
ing on the wooden floor.

  Jason went after him.

  Before he could kick him in the crotch—the fucker had his legs splayed, just asking for it—a death grip pulled him back. “Let me go, you fuck—” His words dropped off as he met Travis’s blue eyes, now more shocked than angry.

  The two men stared at each other, neither paying attention to the whimpering curses at their feet.

  Jason looked at his best friend, his brother. Even in his drunken anger, he felt himself grin at Travis. “Looks like the Old Bulldogs are gonna be short a member. Think your fag boyfriend might wanna join?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “I was thinking it would be nice to remodel the kitchen before Caleb arrives.” Shannon rubbed her hand over her extended belly.

  Travis gave a mock groan. “Seriously? We have less than two months before the baby is born and you wanna remodel?” Fuck, she was beautiful, the sun lighting up the vibrant red of her hair. The last month or two, both of them had been able to let go of the fear of miscarriage. Even if the baby came early, there wasn’t any huge danger. It was one of the last days of summer, and they’d decided to have a picnic by the pond. Over her shoulder, he could see the herd of buffalo grazing by the grove of trees.

  Shannon rolled her eyes. “Yes. There is plenty of time. More time than what we’ll have after he’s born, that’s for sure. When we had Wendy’s party in June, she mentioned that it would look really good if we put in larger windows in the kitchen, looking out over the barn. It would really brighten it up.”

  “Did she? I love how my sister has ideas of how to spend our money.”

  Shannon ignored him. “While we’re at it, I’ve been looking at house magazines. It wouldn’t be too much more work to knock out a couple walls, open the kitchen up to the living room. Make it into an open concept kind of deal.”