My, how times change….
Deciding to focus on the good things in his life—the way his beloved had left him financially set for life, seven years of a cherished friendship with an old woman, over eight years with Katie, and the beautiful little patch of earth he was trusted with caring for—he let those old memories drift back to where they belonged. Like treasured mementos in a hope chest, they only needed to be brought out to remember the good times, not to work himself into a depression.
His knees creaked more these days than they had the first time he tried to grow peas, and he used his index finger to make two-inch holes. Then he dropped all the seeds in, and gently pressed Mother Earth over them. No matter how many gardening seasons passed, he never tired of watching a seed burst through the soil to become life.
By the time the seeds were planted and watered, Phin needed watering himself, so he took a long drink from the hose. The water tasted like childhood and summers playing outside with Edmond. Katie woke up, her attention caught by one of the fluffy white Sussex hens who got too close to her napping place. She barked a few times, then climbed to her feet and went after it. She was far too old to catch it, and the bird seemed to know it, not running far when she gave “chase.” He didn’t dissuade her from chasing the chickens anymore because it was good exercise for her.
He glanced up at the sky, the bright blue shifting to gray in the west. More rain this evening. Judging by the shadows in the sky, he still had time to clean the coop.
On the southeast edge of his property, he’d fashioned a rather attractive chicken coop, where a dozen Rhode Island Reds—give or take—laid eggs for him. The six new white Sussex pullets would soon make up for the egg deficiency from the older Reds. Two of last year’s broiler chickens had missed the trip to the butcher and now they were just ornery corn-eating nuisances. He would round them up when this clutch of broilers was ready for slaughter next month. Probably wouldn’t taste that great, but he could always make jerky.
Katie barked at a couple of squabbling hens, and Phin chuckled. “All right, Sister Mary Katherine, leave them alone.”
Phin walked around the chicken coop, looking under the old flatbed trailer and a few other obvious places hens had liked to lay their eggs. More than once since he’d started raising chickens, he’d found a pile of twenty eggs behind a bush or under his front porch, having no idea how old they were or who laid them.
Thankfully, his search turned up with only one egg outside of the coop, which he carefully set aside, then began cleaning. As soon as he entered, all the chickens rushed in behind him for feeding time. But with the warmer weather, worms and bugs had reappeared, so they got less corn.
Not that they had accepted the fact yet.
It was almost the dinner hour by the time Phin had cleaned the coop, replaced the straw, and freshened up the girls’ water. He put all his garden tools in his shed, then rounded up Katie and headed back inside to clean up. He placed her in the tub first, and per her usual, she fought him the whole time. Though at her age, her struggles just made her fall on her rump.
“Now come on, Little Missy,” he scolded her gently. “Bath time isn’t new.”
After he settled her disgruntled self in a towel beside the space heater—he switched it on so her old bones would be cozy as she dried—he too climbed into the shower, tired but satisfied with his day’s work. As the water sluiced over his body, his mind returned to the one thing that had been bothering him.
Scott Howe.
Living this far outside Gilead, one had to rely on their neighbors if anything happened. Phin needed to mend the bridges between him and Scott, if just for practicality’s sake. But another reason—one he’d tried to ignore—rebelliously kept popping into his head at inopportune times.
Phin had known Nancy’s grandson was gay. He wrote gay science-fiction romance novels, and Nancy had read every word. The two of them had shared more than one laugh as the eighty-two-year-old woman discovered what two men did together in the bedroom. Phin had even seen a picture of Scott that Nancy showed him on Facebook. Phin didn’t do Facebook. He eschewed all forms of social media and only owned a flip phone because it was logical to have.
So it should’ve been no surprise that Scott was very attractive. Shorter than Phin, he was far more muscular than expected, though. His black hair was high and tight, and his brown eyes wide and expressive. And his voice was so welcoming, light and sensual….
A warmth simmered in his groin, and he almost took himself in hand but felt guilty. It had been far too long since he’d met anybody who sparked his interest. But just because a cute guy moved in next door didn’t mean they would be anything other than friends.
Besides, Phin had resigned himself to be a widower for the rest of his life, hadn’t he? After Tom, why try to find a happily ever after when he’d already had his?
Yet something about the way Scott smiled resurrected those old feelings of wanting someone in his life, even if he shouldn’t. Maybe the grief of losing his best friend and general loneliness spurred such musings. Reminding him it had been too long since he’d held a man in his arms, been held in return.
Maybe I’m not into Scott and I just need to get laid.
By the time Phin climbed out of the shower, his rising emotions still had no real explanation.
After dressing in a comfortable pair of jeans and a T-shirt, Phin checked the bread machine, pleased the loaf he started earlier had cooled. He gathered up his things and slipped on his Crocs. With his tail between his legs, he made sure Katie was taken care of, then walked over to Scott’s house. His first instinct was to go to the back door like he used to, but halfway there, he thought better of it and headed to the front porch.
New owner, new rules.
He gave a hearty pound on the door and waited, shifting from foot to foot and hoping to absolve what he’d done. Before Phin got the notion to knock a second time, the front door opened.
Scott looked startled. “Oh, hello, um? Mr. Phineas.”
He held up the grocery bag. “Peace offering.”
“Thank you.” With an awkward smile, Scott accepted the bag, then gestured behind him. “Wanna come in?”
“Thanks. And you can call me Phin.”
“Okay, Phin.” Scott smiled.
The place didn’t look that different from the last time Phin had been there, other than all the boxes and a weight bench in the middle of the living room—hence Scott’s muscles.
Stop thinking about his muscles!
They headed down the hallway and passed the dining and living rooms and staircase. They had to turn sideways to get past the boxes he had in the hall.
“I haven’t finished unpacking. We can hang out in here,” Scott said, leading him into the kitchen.
Nancy’s kitchen had been the heart of her home, the place to congregate, and if Phin closed his eyes, the feel of the house and the faint smell of cookies could almost conjure her cackling laughter. But just like so many things in his past, she was gone.
Time for the next season, come what may.
Scott placed the grocery bag on the counter, peeking inside. “What’s this?”
Feeling big and awkward in a kitchen that had once felt like a second home, Phin said, “Rhubarb jelly and homemade bread.”
“Really?” A smile brightened his face. “Thank you.”
Pleased that Scott was pleased, he smiled too. “You’re welcome. Just bring the jar back when it’s empty. Returned jars are refilled jars.”
“Um, okay,” he said, face scrunched in confusion.
So cute….
“Canning jars are reusable,” Phin explained.
“I didn’t know that. Okay, I won’t throw it away when it’s empty.”
Phin was a stickler for his canning jars. He knew the handful of people who never returned his jars even after he asked them to—and they didn’t get any more from his pantry. Of course, Christmas presents didn’t count. But after Phin complained to his cousin Bill
about a neighbor who threw away his jars, Bill got all the cousins to start mailing them back as a joke. “Otherwise, Phinny won’t feed us during the zombie apocalypse,” Bill had teased.
Phin was just happy to get the jars back.
Joining Scott by the counter, Phin picked up the jelly and unscrewed the ring. “See this? When the jar is empty, just wash it and screw this back on. It prevents the edge from chipping when it’s not in use. If it chips, it won’t seal when I use it again.”
“You made this?”
“I made all of it.”
“Even the bread?”
“I said it was homemade.”
“Yeah, I guess you did. I just didn’t know it was homemade in your home.”
Phin sniffed a laugh. “Everything I make is homemade.” The last thing he needed was more chemicals in his body. What with medications, the pollution in the air, and every other environmental contaminant outside his control, why willingly consume processed junk?
“I can’t believe you made me jelly.”
He didn’t correct Scott that he’d just raided the pantry and hadn’t specifically made it for Scott because he liked it when Scott smiled. “I figured you might wanna try rhubarb jelly. See what the fuss is all about.”
Scott removed the Ziploc bag, the warm bread steaming up the plastic. “I’m starved, actually. I was just gonna make dinner.” He gestured to the blue box of macaroni and processed cheese powder on the counter. “Found that in the pantry.”
Phin shook his head. “I told Nancy that junk was poison. But she loved it.”
“Poison?”
“Processed chemicals, hydrogenated oils, dyes. Poison.”
“But it tastes good.”
“I’ll make you some pasta and cheese if you want. Show you the way food is supposed to taste.”
Scott smiled. “I’d like that.”
Yeah, he really liked it when Scott smiled.
Phin removed the bread knife from the cutting block, then opened the bag, the rich aroma of fresh baked goods filling the kitchen.
“That smells amazing,” Scott purred in a voice sultry enough that Phin almost faltered as he removed the cutting board beside the toaster.
Thankfully he held his composure.
You’re supposed to be done with men! Why are you getting nervous and giddy?
Brushing that aside, Phin sliced a piece for Scott. “It tastes even better than it smells,” he bragged as he popped the slice in the toaster, then headed to the fridge. “There should be some butter in here—”
He stopped short. You’re acting like this is still Nancy’s house and you belong here. Straightening up, he gave an awkward gesture to Scott. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You know your way around this house better than I do.”
Still feeling awkward, he placed the butter on the counter—real butter, not the spreadable plastic some people ate. They said nothing as the warm scent of toasting bread wafted through the room. When the toaster popped up, they both jumped.
Scott opened the silverware drawer and withdrew a butter knife. He slathered the bread, then attempted to open the jelly. “How do you open this?”
Phin took the butter knife and gently prodded the lid off, rewarded with the satisfying pop of a tight seal being broken. “Be careful not to chip the glass.”
“Yeah, ’cause then it won’t seal when you use it again.”
Smiling, he watched Scott spread a healthy dollop of jam. When he took his first bite, his satisfactory moan sent an inappropriate shiver down Phin’s spine.
Get ahold of yourself, Phineas. He cleared his throat. “You like?”
“It’s delicious,” he said around a mouthful. “Now I feel really bad about weed whacking your plants.”
The compliment made his chest swell with pride, but then Phin offered a shy smile. “And I feel bad for being a jerk.”
Chewing slowly, Scott nodded, then swallowed. “Guess neither of us made very good first impressions.”
“Guess not.”
Scott held up the toast. “This is a better start.”
“How about a drink?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one to say that?”
Phin chuckled and headed to the dining room where Nancy kept the booze. “Yeah, but you might not know where she keeps her stash.”
Chapter Five
UNSURE HOW he felt about Phin being more “at home” in this house than he was, Scott followed him into the dining room where his boxes sat in front of a buffet and hutch. He had noticed the wineglasses and ice bucket on top, but was a little surprised when Phin opened the door to reveal it jam-packed with liquor.
“What’s your poison?” Phin asked.
“Whatever you’re having.”
He selected a bottle of Crown Royal and set it on top of the buffet. “This is my own private stash I leave here.” He poured a healthy four fingers into a glass, then sloshed some into another glass.
Scott was quick with a “Whoa, that’s plenty for me. I haven’t eaten.”
Phin chuckled. “That just makes the whisky do its job quicker.”
Taking the glass offered to him, Scott felt like the guest. He took another bite of the toast, enjoying the airy bread and the sweet tartness of the jelly. “Do you think whisky goes good with rhubarb?”
“Whisky goes good with everything.” He raised his glass in a toast. “Then again, so does rhubarb.”
Shifting from foot to foot, Scott asked, “Wanna sit down?”
“Sure.”
They returned to the kitchen with the whisky and sat across from each other at the Formica-topped table.
“Look,” Phin began after they both sipped in silence. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk the other day. Nancy was a good friend of mine. But I’m sorry if I said anything inappropriate.”
Scott squirmed in his seat. “Yeah, I’m sorry too. This whole thing is just really weird. I mean, a month ago, I got a phone call from a lawyer saying I inherited a house and three acres in Ohio. At first, I thought my brother was playing a trick on me.”
“You have a brother?”
“A brother from another mother. We kinda adopted Davis in high school, and he’s never left,” Scott explained. “Senior year Davis moved in with us because his asshole family kicked him out after his scumbag boyfriend gave him HIV. Said they weren’t gonna pay for God’s retribution for his sins.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Phin wore a disgusted expression that matched Scott’s opinion of Davis’s shit-for-family.
“Unfortunately, no, I’m not kidding.”
Unbeknownst to his family, Davis had fallen madly in love with an older man. Turned out the guy was a heroin user and knew all along he was positive. Caught up in the throes of a first romance, Davis had been too young, too innocent, and far too trusting. Now he wore cynicism and distrust like a suit of armor.
“He’s the brother I never had and the only person I allow to call my mother Mom,” Scott went on. “And he’s quite the practical joker, so I didn’t believe the lawyer at first. It was a real shock.”
“That’s how old Nancy liked to do things. She liked to keep everybody on their toes.” He paused. “I had a brother once.”
“Had?”
“Died of cancer when he was sixteen.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. His name was Edmond. We were best friends.” Face lost in old memories, Phin shifted his glass back and forth across the table, then downed half of it in one swallow.
Scott was impressed Phin didn’t wince, because Scott had to carefully sip the whisky. He was more of an appletini kind of guy, or craft beers. But after the burn, the whisky left a pleasant aftertaste, warming his insides. While he finished the jelly toast, he tried not to stare, but he was intrigued by this man.
“So what’s your story?” Scott asked. As a writer, people were a huge curiosity to him, especially someone as interesting and eclectic as Phineas Robertson.
“I got a lot of stor
ies. I don’t know you well enough to share most, but I can tell you some things.”
“Fair enough. So how long have you lived here?”
“Almost ten years.”
That seemed like a long time. Mom had moved them around a lot, so much so, he’d lost count. The longest he’d been anywhere had been with Brent. “Are you married?”
“Nope. Just me, Sister Mary Katherine, and the girls.”
“What girls?”
“My chickens.”
Shit, now I’ve heard everything. He started writing his next Country Update in his mind, which reminded him of how popular yesterday’s update had been. “Can I ask you a question? Why were you picking all the violets out of the grass?”
Phin chuckled. “You saw me doing that, eh? I was harvesting them for jelly.”
“Jelly?”
“Yeah, I steep the flowers, then strain it and make jelly. I’ll have to bring you some to try.”
“If I bring the first jar back, you mean?”
Phin grinned. “Exactly.”
He sipped his whisky thoughtfully. “Do you ever get lonely living out here with no one? I mean it gets so dark at night. There’s no lights anywhere. The blackness just goes on and on.”
“Does the darkness make you uncomfortable?”
The way your blue eyes study me makes me uncomfortable…. Scott cleared his throat. “No, not uncomfortable, per se. But it’s definitely weird. Well, I don’t know if it’s weird, but it is very different.”
“Naturally. City Mouse comes to the country and doesn’t feel at home.”
“I didn’t mean it like that exactly.” Though the whisky loosened his tongue, Scott found Phin easy to talk to. “It’s just I feel like a stranger living in a stranger’s house in a strange land.”
The Rhubarb Patch Page 4
