Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

by Brandon Witt

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  About the Author

  By Brandon Witt

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

  By Brandon Witt

  Fifty-six-year-old Samuel Phipps is all alone on his small farm in the Ozarks, with nothing but a menagerie of chickens, pheasants, turkeys, and other birds as company—which is just the way he likes it. In fact, if Samuel had his way, he’d tear down his neighbor’s house so his solitude could be absolute. One day Faloola, his favorite turkey, escapes, forcing Samuel to make the trek next door. When Raymond Webber—sixty-seven—answers the door as naked as the day he was born, Samuel doesn’t know whether he’s more annoyed… or attracted. The two men are opposites in every way—Samuel is serious, while Raymond believes in free love and herbal relaxation. The weeks leading up to Christmas are rocky to say the least, but some holiday spirit might help them get past their differences….

  ONE

  FEATHERS WERE going to fly. It was only fair. I told Faloola the time before that if she wandered off again, it would be her last. I gave her too much leeway. Pretty soon all the other turkeys were going to start taking little holidays as well.

  I kept threatening to turn her into turkey noodle casserole.

  We both knew I wouldn’t.

  But damn, she had to pick a day like this to wander off. Even with the thermal underwear, thick felt hat, gloves, and wool scarf, the freezing air cut through me as surely as if I’d jumped into my icy pond. Snow was pretty looking out from my window, but that was it. When I was a child, five decades ago, I’d loved the white shit, thought it the best thing ever. Those days were long gone. Now it just made my bones ache and tried to give my cattle’s noses frostbite.

  Honestly, if it hadn’t been nearly sunset, I wouldn’t have worried about it. Faloola always came back. Even though she was my favorite, she wasn’t a kindred spirit. She liked adventure, travel, seeing new things. In all of my fifty-six years, I’d yet to leave the Show-Me State. Not even once. I used to be proud of that fact. Made me the most genuine of all Missourians. Somehow made me better than the rest, even if I didn’t completely fit in with them.

  Of course, maybe if I’d traveled some, I’d have ended up searching for Faloola somewhere warm.

  It hadn’t snowed in over a week, but it had been so cold not a single flake had melted. The snow had solidified into a thick gray crust over the earth, cracking with each step of my boot. Even the icicles that hung from tree branches over my head had lost their shine, now looking like shadowy fangs ready to devour me. I snorted out a laugh, causing steam to billow in front of my eyes for a split second. Mamma had always said I was a bit dramatic. Maybe she was right. Didn’t mean the trees weren’t ominous at the moment. Nor the woods just beyond my pastures.

  Lord, if Faloola had wandered into them, I really was going to make her into a casserole. Although, if she was actually in there….

  I didn’t want to think about it. Despite the heavy weight that grew in my gut with each step.

  Fox. Coyote. Or even a damned opossum, for fuck’s sake.

  Shit.

  I should’ve done a better job at securing the chicken wire. She was the only one who ever went wandering, though. She enjoyed it. And she always came back.

  Always.

  Of course, lots of things stop coming back at some point. Even people.

  BY THE time the sun vanished, I’d looked everywhere. She wasn’t in any of her usual favorite places. She liked visiting the rabbit hutch the most, but sometimes she’d be at the dove enclosure or pestering the chickens.

  In a last ditch hope, I went back to the pen that held the pheasants and the rest of the turkeys. Maybe she’d returned home to roost, waiting until I was distracted and then slipping past me like the sneaky little bitch she was.

  They were all there. I counted twice. Even counted the pheasants, for good measure. Sixteen pheasants. Eleven turkeys—there should’ve been twelve.

  Damn Faloola.

  I locked the coop back up and glared at the woods. I so didn’t want to mess with that. I wanted to have dinner, then curl up with a book by the fire and fall asleep. Hell, I just wanted to be warm.

  But Faloola. My poor Faloola. Probably lost and scared.

  Fine. No dinner. No book. No warmth.

  I stomped back through the ugly crust toward the house. I’d just get a flashlight and….

  My gaze wandered to the house on the other side of my three-acre field.

  No neighbor within miles and miles and miles, except for the shit-brown house that had been built practically on top of our living room. I could still hear Momma yelling at Dad for being cheap and not buying the adjacent acreage. Of course, Old Man Webber had built on this side of his farm. His land was big enough, bigger than ours, that he could have built on the east side and neither of us would’ve ever known the other existed. Except for the occasional wandering cattle.

  Or possibly turkey, in this case.

  Old Man Webber had died several months ago, finally. I tried to buy the property. I was gonna tear down that shit-brown house and finally have my bit of the world in complete peace. But it seemed he’d left it to family, and they weren’t selling.

  The idea of Old Man Webber having family was baffling. He’d hated everybody, and everybody hated him.

  I’d seen someone messing around there several days ago. I’d been trying to build up my nerves to head over and see if it was the family and if I’d be able to talk them into selling.

  Maybe they’d seen Faloola. Although, if they had, they’d have come over and checked to see if she was mine. But still…. I glanced out toward the woods again, then back to the Webber place. I wasn’t sure which was more daunting—the frozen woods just waiting for me to slip on an icy branch and break my elbow, or talking to someone related to Old Man Webber.

  The house was closer. And, if nothing else, maybe I could plant the seed of them wanting to sell.

  I turned on the spot, not bothering with the flashlight, and trudged over toward the eyesore of a house.

  True dark had settled in by the time I got close to the house. It was almost pretty in the shadows. The swirls of stars in the cloudless night sky softened the packed snow, making it look fresh, and a single window emitted a warm glow. Kinda looked like one of those glowy cottage paintings. The ones by the Christian guy. The one with the drinking problem. I hated those paintings.

  From the way my heart pounded as I stepped up to the front door, I decided I’d chosen wrong. Should’ve done the woods.

  How long since I’d talked to somebody?

  I’d not gone into ElDo for near a month to get supplies. I was adapted enough at canning that I was well stocked on the vegetable front, and I had three deep freezers guaranteeing I wasn’t going hungry. Probably two weeks ago, Travis had dropped off the normal load of cattle and chicken feed. But Travis didn’t count. I’d known him forever, and he barely spoke more than I did.

  Lifting my hand to knock, I hesitated.

  I couldn’t do this.

  I turned and started to walk away. But… Faloola….

  With a growl I turned once more and knocked before I could think better of it.

  Stupid. So fucking stupid.

  What did I expect? Faloola to be seated at the table having dinner with the long-lost Webber clan just waiting for me to come fetch her?

  Just as I debated either knocking again or running away, the door was flung open, the light from inside blinding me for a
moment.

  My eyes adjusted quickly. Too quickly. My tongue, however, didn’t, and I forgot how to create words as my mouth dropped open.

  I stared at the man in the doorway.

  Tall, over six foot. Short-cropped white hair. Lined yet handsome face. Older than me. Lean body but muscled. Not like me—definitely didn’t grow up doing farm work—but healthy-looking nonetheless. A light coating of silver hair over his chest cascaded down his flat stomach and spread around his pendulum-like cock and testicles. I got stuck there, just staring at them as they swayed ever so lightly.

  It might have been months since I’d talked to anybody, but it had been much longer since I’d seen one of those. Besides my own.

  “Can I help you?”

  I suddenly realized I was staring and forced my gaze back up the body and met ice-blue eyes.

  Then my tongue worked. “You’re naked.”

  The man smiled, increasing the lines on his face and also making him more handsome. “Thanks for noticing. You need something?”

  “You’re naked.” I glanced down at his dick again. I’d had fantasies like this. Go to a stranger’s house, they answer the door naked, and then take you inside and fuck your brains out. Fantasies from a billion years ago. I met his gaze again, almost pissed that stupid fantasy would show up now. “Who the hell answers the door naked?”

  His smile grew at my tone. “My house. My body. My rules.” He winked. “I won’t show up at your house naked. Unless you ask me to.”

  Something broke in my brain. Whether from shock at such a suggestion or hope that it might happen, who can say.

  The man held out a hand. “I’m Raymond. And I bet you’re Samuel Phipps, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Figured. I think I talked to my uncle twice over the past decade, and both times he was bitching about the faggot Samuel Phipps who lived next door.”

  I flinched.

  I’d not heard that word in years.

  Years.

  Part of the reason I lived like I did. I heard things weren’t like they used to be. That they were better. That gays could get married and such. Whatever. I knew people. Hate liked to linger.

  It had been so long I didn’t even know what to say or tell if I was more pissed or hurt.

  The man’s smile faltered for the first time. “Oh shit. Sorry, Samuel. I’m assuming it’s okay to call you Samuel, or maybe Sam. I didn’t mean—”

  “Samuel. Never Sam.” That’s what I had to say?

  His grin returned. “Got it. Samuel. Well, sorry about that. Didn’t mean offense. I’m a faggot too, so didn’t mean any harm. Just repeating my fucked-in-the-head uncle. He hated me as much as he hated you. But I’m the only blood left, and he hates the government even more than fags, so I got the house.”

  Too much. Too much information. Too much weirdness. Too much penis. God, penis. It had been so long. “You’re still naked.”

  He laughed then. What had his name been?

  Raymond.

  Raymond laughed then. He stood back from the door and made a sweeping gesture with his right arm. “Come on in. I’ll cover up until you ask me not to.”

  Having lost every bit of my mind, as Raymond turned around and disappeared farther into the house, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. I instantly began to sweat. The place was probably pushing eighty degrees. No wonder he’d been naked.

  I started to take off my hat and scarf, then stopped abruptly. I was in a stranger’s house. A naked stranger. Who seemed to either be flirting with me or had possibly offered me sex. Twice.

  In less than thirty seconds, Raymond was back. Way before I had time to figure out what the hell I was doing. He was in midprocess of slipping into a tie-dyed robe that looked part dressing gown, part kimono. I was fairly certain he hesitated a moment longer than necessary, letting me see his cock once more, before he pulled the halves together and cinched the tie at his waist. His smile returned. He was handsome. Very. Eyebrows a little too bushy, but handsome.

  “Nice of you to drop by. I’d been meaning to do so myself. I was going to bring over a batch of my magic brownies, but I’ve been too busy cleaning out the place. My uncle was a bit of a hoarder, and I can’t bring myself to bake until everything is clean. So, sorry. I wasn’t trying to be rude. I’ll bring you the good stuff in a few days.” He winked.

  “Magic brownies?” I couldn’t figure out what to focus on. Apparently brownies won.

  He gave me a look. “You don’t know what magic brownies are? I know I might be a bit older than you, but come on, dude. You’ve got to know what—”

  I cut him off. “Yeah, I know what magic brownies are. I don’t do drugs.”

  His eyes narrowed, but his grin never wavered. “Well, then. I’ll make you a boring batch alongside the good ones.” He cleared his throat. “Can I get you a drink? Water? Tea? Moonshine?”

  What the…? “Moonshine?”

  “Nah, just kidding. I hate the stuff. I don’t drink.”

  Again words failed me. The naked man did pot but didn’t drink.

  “Say….” He cocked his head. “Has anyone told you that you kinda look like….” He squinted and tapped his lip with his finger. “That actor guy. You know, the one back in the day…. He was in that terrible movie about the world being covered in water.”

  I sighed. “Waterworld?”

  His face lit up. “Yeah. Waterworld. God, that was bad. But he’s hot. What was his name?”

  “Kevin Costner.”

  Raymond slapped his thigh. “That’s it! You look like that guy.”

  I’d been told that most of my life. It used to drive me crazy, as Kevin Costner had been six years older than I was. Now, it didn’t seem so bad. “Yep. I’ve heard that before.”

  “Well, sexy, man. Sexy.”

  I felt my cheeks heat. “You’re kinda sexy your—” I clamped my mouth shut. What the fuck was I saying!

  “Oh, I know.” Raymond winked again and rubbed at the white chest hair visible in the deep V of the kimono. “Speaking of… why don’t you take some of your layers off. I keep it pretty warm in here.”

  I actually lifted my hands to remove my hat before I caught myself. Or, actually, realized what was happening to my body. Beneath the layers of wool, felt, and thermal cotton, my erection had sprung to life. Like the fantasy of the naked neighbor was going to play out right here and right now.

  The thought caused a spike of terror sharp enough to cool down my overheating body. Suddenly the layers offered protection more than suffocation. “Actually, I can’t stay. I… uhm….” What? I needed to go home and jack off and then try to remember how to actually talk to people. “I need to get home and make dinner.”

  Raymond’s smile brightened once more. “Oh, perfect, I was just about to have dinner myself. Been making it all day in between taking out loads of my uncle’s shit. Figured if I’m going to work all Thanksgiving, I might as well have a good meal at the end.”

  Thanksgiving. I’d forgotten. At some point last week, I’d remembered the holiday was coming up but then lost track of it again. Not like it really mattered. The realization that I’d forgotten stung. Almost enough to cause an ache in my chest. Silly, though. The years of Thanksgiving dinners surrounded by people I loved were long gone. Wow. “Thanks. I should probably get home, though.”

  Just saying that hurt a bit. Huh, I wanted to stay.

  When was the last time I’d wanted to be with someone for more than a minute? And now, I wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner with a magic-brownie-making stranger? Probably just seeing dick for the first time in a of couple years. I needed to get into the city and visit the bathhouse more frequently it seemed.

  Home. I needed to get home.

  Get out of this house, which was more stifling hot every second. Away from this man who was causing such a disruption.

  Why had I even come here?

  Raymond looked disappointed. “You sure? It’d be nice to have Thanksgiving with someone. E
specially someone that looks like you.”

  Again with the pounding heart and the overheating and the goddamned erection. What was I, sixteen again?

  Raymond continued, looking more confident, as if he could read my mind. “And really, Sam. Er… Samuel, I think it was destiny for you to show up here tonight.”

  What a stupid line. Like he was sixteen as well. And fuck me if it didn’t make my heart speed up even more. “You do?”

  “Yeah.” His voice, which was already low, dropped a bit further, the heat rising. “It’s like the universe was preparing for us to be together tonight. Funny how it does things like that. Us living so close, but not meeting yet. Not till Thanksgiving, of all days. A Thanksgiving turkey literally showing up on my doorstep this morning. And now, you’re here. Just in time to share the feast with me. I’d say we don’t have much of a choice, Samuel. Obviously Mother Earth wants us to be together this evening.”

  The heat vanished as a bucket of ice water seemed to be poured over my head. My breath caught in my throat and then came out in a groan.

  It couldn’t be. I had to have heard wrong.

  “What did you say?”

  Raymond’s expression faltered at the tenor of my voice. “Uhm, which part?”

  My fingers clenched into fists inside my gloves. “The turkey.”

  Raymond smiled again, though it seemed hesitant for the first time. “Oh. Right. That we’ve been provided a celebratory meal tonight. A turkey arrived on my doorstep this morning. Literally. I opened the door and there she was. Just looked up at me and said, ‘Here I am. Happy Thanksgiving.’”

  My eyes began to burn. “What did you do with her?”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. He gestured over his shoulder. “Well… she’s in the oven right now. Should be ready within the hour.”

  The smell reached me then. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it. So familiar. A warm scent of home that should’ve brought memories of my mother back in a pleasant way. But didn’t.

  Raymond stepped closer, and I flinched away. He paused. “Are you okay? I think you’re crying.”