Andrew and Art
Page 7
“It’s still warmer, he said, and he draped our wet clothes over chair backs and hung them off the hooks on the wall. We eyed the bed for later and hoped it wouldn’t squeak too much. Then we went out to join our hostess for dinner, or whatever it might be.
We washed up at the sink and sat at the table where she pointed us to. I could have scarfed up everything there with my bare hands, I was so hungry, but with a woman present, well, you have to act civilized sometimes, you know?
“Dig in, boys, before I give it to the dogs. Not that there are any dogs.”
Art looked around at the pictures and nodded. “Looks like there were plenty of dog fights, however. Was that your husband?”
The old lady looked around, then back at us. “Well, actually, there’s a bit of a story about that. But first tell me about yourselves, so I can feel I was right in not shooting you.”
“You were going to shoot us?” I blurted out as she scooped a huge ladle full of stew onto my plate.
“Well, see I heard over the radio that there was a pair of lunks out on a snowmobile, looking for cocaine. They’d heard about someone who sneaked a huge stash of it over the border and were checking all the cabins, so I wanted to make sure you two weren’t them.”
I ate. I didn’t want the invisible dogs to get it, did I? Besides, it was great.
She went on, “So back over the way you were, Garnet way, these two mugs found a cabin with a bear on the porch, so they went and checked a few other places, and they came back later. The bear was still there, so they shot it a few times, which only caused a bunch of little animals and carrion birds to get riled up. So the one idiot got pissed off and lobbed some fire crackers at the place, which set the cabin on fire. The other idiot started screaming at the first idiot, and then the window broke out and all hell came out of that place. Turned out, it was only chickens, but some of them birds was on fire and flew straight at our two heroes.
“They lit out of there and headed back to whatever Hell they’d come from where the cops were waiting for them and got the whole story. But you two don’t look like those heroes.”
“Well, we are more the chicken kind of folks,” I said sweetly, and Art choked.
Willow pounded him on the back. “Easy there, sonny, chew your food a hundred times first, then swallow.”
“Swallowing is good,” I said innocently, but Willow gave me a strange look.
“So, I know your first names. What are your full names?”
“My last name is Evans.”
“Mine, too.”
“So, you’re brothers, are you?”
“Yes.”
“No”
“Like that, is it? Listen, I don’t care if you’re fakers or married or first cousins, it don’t matter to me at all, as long as you’re honest and don’t try to sneak into my bedroom at night, because I keep my guns in there and I’m a damn good shot.”
I happened to be looking at one of the photos right then. It was of a handsome young man in a paratrooper uniform with sharpshooter medals on his lapel. “What’s that guy’s name?” I asked.
“Oh, him? He’s nobody. Not anymore.”
“Like that, is it?” I smiled broadly. I’d noticed a few things about our hostess that Art had apparently not. He was looking from me to her to the photo with confusion all over his face. It didn’t cause him to eat any slower, however.
“Mostly out here in the boonies, nobody much cares about your past. It’s like we all left those other lives behind us, back east, or wherever we’re from. And sometimes, it’s best to just leave that past where it lies, you know what I mean?” Willow wasn’t upset, but she was looking at me strangely, with an odd twist to her lips that I couldn’t tell was humor or what. She was either laughing at me, or at herself, or just life in general, but I knew. I knew what she meant, and who that man was, and who she was. And I loved her for it. She was part of my own, chosen, extended family.
I think she read in my smile that I knew her secret.
Anyhow, after dinner, she got some paper and asked us for more information about ourselves and why we were here. I was happy to know our families and friends, and even that stupid tour group who had let me stay lost and behind, would know we were all right and would be home when we could get there. Then she got on her radio, and word went out into the world that two of its favorite sons, ahem, if I do say so myself, were all right, found, safe, and ready to get back to normal, if we had even been anywhere close to normal to begin with, but you know what I mean.
Nine months later, Willow came to our wedding, and Art’s mother, who was perfectly well and alive, said Willow looked very familiar, didn’t she, to Art’s father, who grunted, took a second look, and only smiled. Later, he said he’d known that person, as he put it, back in the Army, when he and a guy named William had been in the same unit in Vietnam.
We decided we’d like to run a bed and breakfast out in the great heartland somewhere, not as far north as Montana, but somewhere similar, where lovers of all types could come together to rest, retreat, or party.
And, of course, we’d raise chickens.
THE END
ABOUT EMERY C. WALTERS
Emery C. Walters was born Carol Forde, a name he soon knew didn’t fit the boy he was inside. Transition was unknown back then, so he married and then bore and raised four children. When his youngest child, his gay son, left home, Emery told Carol that she had to step aside, and he fully transitioned from female to male in 2001.
Emery worked in county government and as a college writing tutor before retiring. He and his wife Robyn, herself raised mistakenly as a boy, live in Hawaii where they combine snorkeling, scuba diving, and volunteer work with activities to boost LGBT rights and awareness.
Interested in Ninjutsu, both land and underwater photography, and writing, Emery can usually be found writing, reading, or sailing on his imaginary pirate ship.
Emery’s 2010 first published novel, Last Year's Leaves, is an intense story of recovery from abuse and loss, finding love, and coming out whole. The book is laced with his trademark humor. His recent publications include four other coming of age novels involving coming out and overcoming obstacles as well as two books of short stories. All are humorous and filled with hope. Drystan the Dire, Emery’s Welsh pirate ancestor, shows up at times to help the heroes and annoy the villains. Emery currently has two more novels in the publishing pipeline.
Between them, the Walters have eight adult children, umpteen grandchildren, and one great grandchild, none of whom can do a thing about the genetic material handed down to them—their gift to the future. So there. More information can be found online at ftemery-theemeryboard.blogspot.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!