The Rhubarb Patch

by Deanna Wadsworth

  “Makes sense.”

  “What you told me the other day, about you and Nancy? That was a real surprise.”

  Phin’s eyebrows rose, the creases of his brow fading into his bald head. “Which part?”

  “The part about you being gay.” Boy, the booze already went to work, didn’t it?

  A half grin lit his face. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “My mom told me Nancy was a devout Southern Baptist who didn’t approve of gays. Yet you tell me the two of you were best friends. It just surprised me, that’s all.”

  Quiet for a moment, Phin took another sip of his whisky. “I can’t attest to the kind of woman your grandma was when your mom knew her. But for the past seven years, I wouldn’t describe her as a devout anything. Maybe a devout partier. She liked a good time.” He chuckled, then sobered. “But she had a serious side too. She and I had a lot of conversations about God, religion, life. She was a spiritual woman, but she didn’t attend church. Not anymore. Said she talked to God in her garden. We had that in common, I suppose.”

  “Did she act weird when she found out you were gay?”

  “No. In fact, she made me take her to a gay bar.” He buried a chuckle. “Said she’d always wanted to go inside one but felt like she wasn’t allowed. She was like a kid in a candy shop, flirting with every man there. We went quite a few times, actually, and when I showed up without her, everybody would be like, ‘Where’s Nancy?’ I was just that bald guy with Nancy.”

  “Are there gay bars around here?”

  “No, not in Gilead, though there are a few closeted guys in town. You want a gay bar, you have to drive almost an hour into Shiloh.” Shiloh was the nearest “city,” but the biggest things there were the university, Walmart, and the fairgrounds. “It’s just a bar, not a club. Called Reverends.”

  “Weird name.”

  “Back in the eighties, the owner lived in California and took care of his partner with AIDS. Since only family or clergy could visit at the hospital, he bought a collar and made himself a reverend. Then when his partner died, he helped other couples, visiting or just delivering messages.”

  “Then it’s a cool name, I guess. So that’s the only gay joint around?” That was going to take some getting used to. But it will help with my Year of No men, won’t it?

  Phin shrugged. “I heard somebody bought the laundromat across from Reverends and plan to make it a gay club, but I doubt it. Shiloh’s pretty conservative.”

  Scott nodded, taking that in.

  “Look, Scott, the Nancy I knew didn’t have a judgmental bone in her body,” Phin told him. “I always assumed she’d spent the greater part of her life being that way and regretted it.”

  “Really?” So Mom hadn’t lied, rather, Nancy had changed. A sense of loss hit him. Maybe they could have been friends. Mom’s parents had been the best grandparents when he was younger, taking him to Disney in the summer and to every geeky blockbuster that came out. Until Grampa started to get dementia and they moved into assisted living, he and Mom, and later Davis, spent every Christmas morning at their house in Ann Arbor. Scott still adored them, making sure to visit before he came to Ohio—though Grampa might not recall the visit.

  But it would’ve been cool to have country grandparents too.

  “It’s really easy to be judgmental until you experience loss,” Phin said. “I know your dad was an asshole. She told me some things. But in the end, he was still Nancy’s son. She lost both her kids. Then she lost her husband, and even though you weren’t dead, she lost you too. A person can’t go through life with that much loss without having a different perspective on the day-to-day stuff.”

  Scott studied him for a long moment. The furrowed brow, the darkness in those light blue eyes, the tense shoulders.

  This man knew loss too.

  “It’s a shame you never got to know your grandma,” Phin went on, twirling his empty glass. “But then again, people come into your life when they’re supposed to. And I guess she wasn’t supposed to be in yours. But you did get this house, and it was a big part of her.”

  “Were you with her? In the end?”

  “No, I wasn’t. It all happened pretty quick.” He refilled his drink and took another sip. “Nancy and I spent a lot of time together, gardening and growing stuff during the summer. We didn’t do as much in the winter. Neither of us wanted to leave the house when it was cold, but every Thursday night, I came over and we’d watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy!, then all the good shows.”

  Scott chuckled. He would’ve assumed Phin watched the Discovery Channel, not primetime dramas like Grey’s Anatomy.

  “She hadn’t been feeling well for a couple months. Real bad heartburn and indigestion, but otherwise all right. That Thursday I told her she looked jaundiced, and I offered to take her to the doctor in the morning. But she said she had a regular appointment Monday and she’d ask then. We watched our shows, and that was that. Monday night I get a phone call that she’s been admitted to the hospital, so I went up and saw her. They were running tests because they didn’t know what was wrong. Few days go by and I visit her again, but she’s worse. Doctor says she’s got gall bladder cancer and it’s a matter of days. Not months or weeks. Days.”

  A quiet pall filled the room, and Scott finished his whisky, grateful for something to do with his hands because he didn’t know what to say.

  “Few days after that, she’s in hospice. And a few days after that, she’s not responsive. Thirteen days from the night I came over here to watch TV, she was gone.” A tear trickled down his cheek, and he wiped it away with a shaky hand. Grief and pain etched lines onto Phin’s face, his agony clear by the way he clutched his glass.

  Scott brushed a tear from his face.

  “You ever lost someone you loved, Mouse?”

  A little startled by the nickname, Scott shook his head. “No, not really. My dad, I guess, but he’d become a stranger long before he died. And my grandparents—my mom’s parents,” he added unnecessarily. “They’re still alive.”

  “Well, it sucks. It sucks fucking donkey balls. The worst thing in the world is to know someone you care about is gone and you’ll never see them again. I had to do it too many times in my day. And every time it sucks.” Then he looked up, eyes wide with a sudden passion. “That’s why I got so annoyed with you the other day. Your grandma may not have been there for you, but she was there for me, and I defend those I love.”

  “How was she there for you?”

  He was quiet for so long Scott thought he might’ve asked for a story Phin didn’t know him well enough to tell. But then he set his glass down and spoke. “I moved out here to get away from everything and everyone. I was miserable. A hermit. Then this five-foot-one ornery woman moves in next door. A woman who’d suffered more loss than I had. Yet she still lived. She still went on with her life. She taught me it was okay to move on. That it’s okay to be happy again after you lose someone. That everyone deserves a second chance. She was a remarkable woman.” He brushed at his face and forced a chuckle. “Hell, she wouldn’t want me to be sitting here crying. She’d want me to be telling you funny stories about her, making you laugh.”

  Scott cleared his throat. “Will you tell me a funny story?”

  Phin chuckled. “I’ll need a refill first.”

  Chapter Six

  PHIN STAYED for an hour, and they had another whisky. He told Scott about the time he and Nancy went to a fish fry at the local VFW with a group of her girlfriends. Phin was DD and the ladies had a little too much to drink—apparently not that unusual. When the bartender told them they were being too rowdy, they decided to continue the party at home. Phin got the car, and when he pulled up to the door, the three old ladies were sprinting toward him.

  “Nancy had something big in her hands, and before I could see it or ask what it was, they were jumping in the car and shouting for me to drive,” Phin told him, laughing hard. “Nancy yells, ‘Hit the metal, I just stole a turkey!’”


  “She stole a turkey?”

  Phin wiped the tears from his eyes, his big body shaking with hilarity. “Yeah, she stole a frozen turkey.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess she didn’t like the bartender telling her to keep it down. On the way to the door, you could see into the kitchen. I guess she saw the thing and decided it was going home with us.” He laughed again, wiping another tear from his eye. “We deep-fried it that weekend.”

  They laughed for a while until Scott’s phone buzzed.

  Davis.

  He let it go to voicemail. “My brother. I can call him back,” he explained, not wanting to interrupt the interesting evening.

  “I should take that as my cue to leave, Mouse. I didn’t mean to monopolize your evening.”

  “You didn’t,” Scott insisted. “I had a nice time. We should do this again.”

  “We should.” The man’s cheeks reddened clear up to his bald head when he smiled. Scott wasn’t sure if it was a blush or the flush of the alcohol, but he would have to be careful.

  He could very easily develop a crush on this man.

  They said good night, and as Scott watched him go, he scolded himself for thinking that way about Phin.

  Wasn’t this supposed to be the Year of No Men?

  But it was hard not to be drawn to Phin.

  The big man was funny and tender with his dog. He also had a deep side to him that made him sexy as hell.

  Scott locked the back door and sighed. You’re hopeless, Howe.

  Whisky in hand, he noticed the house wasn’t as empty as it had been before Phin visited. With a little understanding of its previous occupant, Scott could almost imagine a growing kinship to the stranger he once called Grandmother.

  “Stealing a turkey,” he muttered under his breath with a chuckle.

  After washing their glasses and setting them on a drying rack, Scott went to the fridge for a glass of milk. That doll watched him with its creepy smile, but he did his best to ignore it. The whisky had made him munchy so while he drank his milk, he toasted another piece of bread, hoping the carbs would soak up the alcohol. Phin hadn’t seemed affected, though he’d had four times as much as Scott. But then again, he was twice as big as Scott.

  Once his jelly toast was done, he fired up his laptop. He found two new emails from Sharon Parker, his editor. One this morning and another ten minutes ago, both inquiring about the progress on book four of his Shi Knight Trilogy—now the Shi Knight Chronicles.

  The science-fiction trilogy had sold well, so the publisher had pushed for a follow-up, and though it went against everything he wanted, Scott had said yes.

  Per his usual.

  Would he ever be able to stop being such a people pleaser?

  What about what he wanted?

  What he needed?

  Then again, how did Scott expect to get what he wanted when he didn’t have the balls to ever say what he wanted? His track record of caving to a man—in every way imaginable—was almost as legendary as Mom’s.

  Knowing he should get some work done, he opened the file. He wasn’t happy with the manuscript, but it was due May 1. The ding of Facebook lured him away halfway through surfing the manuscript. He had two hundred and thirty-two likes on his post about Phin in his underwear and garden boots. Grinning, he scrolled through the comments. He’d never had such a popular post before. Maybe he’d have to keep doing these Country Updates.

  Country Update #8: So I tasted rhubarb today, and it was tangy and delicious. It was hand-delivered by my rather interesting neighbor Mr. Phineas, along with some stories about my turkey-stealing grandmother. Had a good evening. I think I could get used to this living in the country thing #citymouseinthecountry

  He smiled at his hashtag.

  Did Phin realize he called him Mouse?

  And why didn’t it annoy Scott?

  He’d always been sensitive about his height, which was why he lifted weights. But when Phin called him Mouse, it didn’t feel derogatory.

  He kinda liked it.

  While he scrolled through his news feed—typical stuff about new books coming out, political rants, and funny memes—a notification window popped up to show that his friends were already making comments about his post.

  Davis Smith: Come back we miss you! :-*

  Cammie Grainger: Um???? Turkey stealing grandmother???? Please elaborate!

  Mike the Dike: The country is no place for a sane person ;-) Especially if they’re stealing fowl. Come back! It’s not safe!

  Rachel Solomon: Oh don’t give us that. You’ll be back soon. You’re not a country boy.

  Rachel Solomon: And I’m not surprised your grandmother was a thief too.

  The last one was Mom, and while everybody else added smiley faces and LOLs to their comments, her posts rankled Scott. She always commented with crap like this on his posts, turning something funny into a lecture or just being weird. Why did she have to make that comment about Nancy?

  And who said he couldn’t be a country boy?

  Sighing, Scott responded to a few comments, explaining to Cammie—his BFF from college—about the turkey, then Liking every comment except Mom’s.

  If she didn’t get the point, too bad.

  Done with his computer for the night—screw book four—Scott shut it down. The dishes on the rack had dried, so he put them away. He liked keeping the house tidy, which was no small feat, considering all the stuff Nancy managed to pile into nine-hundred square feet. He rinsed the sink clean, glancing out the window at his overgrown grass. After all the rain, it had easily grown three inches in as many days. Feeling more comfortable with Phin, Scott would ask him for help with the tractor tomorrow. Maybe he would YouTube it first so he didn’t look totally stupid.

  Outside, the sun set pink in the sky, glaring in his face.

  To his surprise, Phin was wandering around his raised garden beds while Sister Mary Katherine sniffed the grass. He enjoyed watching Phin whenever he was outside, for he was always up to something. Now he used some sort of tool to stir up the dirt in one of the beds.

  Scott looked at the wall clock—a tacky plastic teapot clock that would have to go in the trash right along with that granny doll.

  Eight o’clock.

  What’s he planting at this hour?

  Suddenly Phin moved funny. He stumbled. Then he tried to right himself and fell backward, ass over feet.

  When he didn’t get up, Scott figured he should go check on the guy. After tossing on his flip-flops, he rushed out the back door.

  “Phin,” he called. “You okay?”

  Scott reached him in short order and found him gazing up at the sky with wide eyes like a kid hoping to discover animals in the clouds. Concerned, Scott knelt at his side.

  “Mouse,” Phin greeted him with a stupid grin. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I saw you fall, and when you didn’t get up, I was worried. Are you hurt?”

  He blew a raspberry.

  Scott got a whiff of whisky. “Are you drunk?”

  Holding his hand up, he made a little gesture with his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe just a little.”

  Annoyed, he sat back on his haunches. “Drunk gardening? Now I’ve seen everything.”

  Phin pushed himself up and pointed at his garden bed. “I gotta get the shallots and leeks in. I forgot earlier.”

  “You could do it in the morning.”

  “Well, I was sick of being all alone in my house and getting sad. I came out here to clear my head and be happy,” he snapped. “What’s it to you?”

  Scott stood and raised his hands. “It’s nothing to me. I’ll mind my own business from now on.” He turned and walked away.

  “Wait,” Phin called. “I’m sorry. Come back.”

  He halted, hand on his hip, then returned to Phin and stared down at him. “What?”

  Phin held out his hand. “I can’t get up.” Then he laughed.

  Shaking his head, he offered an arm. Phin wasn’t much hel
p getting to his feet, almost taking Scott down with him. “Whoa,” he said, supporting the bigger man as he wavered.

  “I shouldn’t have had the rest of that Crown.”

  “You drank all of it?”

  “There wasn’t that much.” Which was why Phin had taken the bottle home with him.

  “No wonder you got yourself depressed.”

  “I’m not depressed,” he argued as Scott led him by the elbow to the back porch. Then he pulled his arm free, turning quickly in a circle. “Where’s Katie? Katie!” he called in somewhat of a panic. “Wait! She can’t hear me.”

  Scott looked around too, then spied the little gray pooch sleeping on the porch on a dog bed. “She’s right there.”

  “Oh, there you are, Sister Mary Katherine,” Phin slurred as they climbed the steps to his porch.

  The spacious porch had a lot of stuff but it was tidy. By the door sat a swing with a table and the empty bottle of Crown. No glass.

  Phin plopped down next to the outdoor dog bed.

  Great, now I’m gonna have to help him up again.

  The dog wagged her tail as Phin caressed her, cooing in baby talk she couldn’t hear. “That’s my good girl. Daddy needs a nap too.”

  Scott shoved his hands in his pockets. “Um, want me to pick up your tools before someone steals them?”

  Phin laughed. “You’re not in the city, Mouse. Nobody’s gonna steal anything.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He looked up then, those blue eyes full of clarity as he scratched behind his dog’s ears. “I’m not depressed, ya know? I know the difference between being sad and being depressed. I’ve been both. Right now I’m just sad ’cause a good friend of mine died. Shouldn’t have drunk so much,” he went on, gesturing to the empty bottle. “But that shit goes down smooooth.”

  Scott chuckled. “You want me to help you up so you can go inside?”

  Not answering, Phin stared at his old dog with so much love and affection it gave Scott a pang. Brent had never looked at him with the amount of unadulterated love shining in Phin’s blue eyes.

  It hit Scott like a ton of lead.