Phin smiled. “Back to the asparagus. There will be time enough in the next couple weeks to harvest all of it. This is an old patch, but you still have to leave about 25 to 30 percent so it comes back every year.”
Scott nodded, enjoying learning all these things. He was an earth sign, so maybe the dirt and earth had been calling to him all this time. Then again, maybe it was just the musky aroma of Phin’s skin calling to him.
Soon he was too caught up in the chore to worry about how good Phin smelled. It took almost an hour to span the entire length of the fence, and Phin’s basket and Scott’s bucket overflowed with green and purple asparagus. Scott’s back and knees ached, and he’d probably sunburned his neck. It was a far cry from romantic as he’d imagined, but it was fun to work side by side with Phin, hearing his stories and watching him yell at Sister Mary Katherine when she wandered off, though she couldn’t hear him. He had to get up and physically bring her back.
When Phin went to get her again, Scott paused and took a photo of the growing asparagus and the overflowing basket.
“What are you doing?” Phin asked.
“I know it’s totally narcissistic, but I post daily updates on my Facebook page. Because I’m a writer, I have to have a lot of online activity so people don’t forget about me or my books.”
“So you’re gonna post about asparagus?”
“It’s the least humiliating adventure I’ve had today.”
“Don’t feel bad about the burdock, Mouse. It’s an easy mistake. And it really was a sweet gesture.” Phin smiled at him, his face glowing with happiness. “Thank you again.”
Then why didn’t you kiss me if it was so sweet?
Because he’s not into you!
“Anyway,” Scott said, ignoring his inner argument. He slipped his phone back into his pocket to compose a post later. “Little things, like me picking rhubarb and asparagus, are far more interesting than taking a picture of my lunch.”
“Do people really put pictures of their food on social media?”
Scott laughed and raised his hand. “Guilty!”
Phin shook his head and continued cutting asparagus.
“You know,” Scott began, “I’ve never seen you go to work. What do you do for a living?” He gestured around the property. “Do you just do this?” He couldn’t picture Phin in a suit in a cubicle somewhere.
“I work from home, same as you do.”
Scott’s eyes widened. “You’re a writer?”
He chuckled. “No, I’m in finance. Mutual funds, 401(k)s, that sort of thing. Technically I’m retired, but I have clients I still take care of.” Phin gave him a small smile. “But I have read your books.”
“Shut up!” he cried, cheeks warming because he didn’t leave out the naked bedroom scenes. “You did?”
“Yes, all of them.”
“Did you read them recently?” he asked, unable to deny his curiosity.
“No, Nancy always bought them when they first came out, then gave them to me.”
“My grandmother read my gay science-fiction romance novels?”
Phin seemed to thoroughly enjoy the shock on Scott’s face. “Yeah, and I had quite a few laughs watching her figure out what two men do together.”
“Oh my God!”
Phin glanced at him seriously. “She was very proud of you. She told everybody her grandson was a famous writer. You should know she never talked about Mandy or Mike like that.”
“I feel bad I never knew her,” he admitted.
Over the last couple of weeks, he had learned so many little things about his grandmother. He didn’t want to be angry at Mom for keeping them apart. Considering the circumstances, she made the right call, or so he’d always believed. But like Phin said, life and people change. Seasons come and seasons go. Life begins and life ends. The woman Mom knew was obviously not the woman Phin knew. Scott would’ve liked to have had a beer with the latter one.
“Don’t let it get you down,” Phin said. “I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sad. I just thought you should know.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
After a long moment of quiet, Phin said in a bright voice, “When I cook this asparagus tonight for us, you’ll have to sign the books. I still have them.”
“No, no,” Scott insisted, then corrected himself. “Well, I’ll sign the books, but I’m making dinner.”
“You are?”
“Yes, it’s your birthday. Don’t look so shocked,” Scott said. “I can grill a mean cheeseburger.”
Phin raised his hand, four stalks of asparagus in his grip. “All right, I will let you prove your grilling prowess. Asparagus is great grilled too.”
Excited about their dinner plans, Scott loved the easy way Phin assumed they would be spending the evening together. Were they dating? He didn’t know. It was awkward, and he didn’t know how to bring up the conversation, but he was thrilled to death Phin wanted to spend time with him. Sure they were both living on the same six-acre patch of land cut off by cornfields, a Metro Park, and a bushy row of pines, but that didn’t mean they had to have dinner together. This would be their sixth time—and yes, he was counting.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Sister Mary Katherine by the basket of asparagus. With no hesitation, she helped herself to a nice juicy stalk.
“Hey, you little thief,” Phin scolded, but he didn’t take it from her.
Scott chuckled as the little scoundrel plopped in the grass, asparagus stalk between two paws, and happily munched away. He got out his phone and snapped a pic of her to add to his asparagus post.
“Can you email that picture to me?” Phin asked.
“Sure.” Then he entered Phin’s email handle, thegardenking. “Nice email,” he teased.
“Well, it was either that or fatbaldguy,” Phin joked.
“Stop.” Scott laughed and watched Sister Mary Katherine eat her pilfered asparagus. “I’m gonna have to keep an eye on the grill with you around,” he told her.
Phin’s chuckles faded, and he got up and sat in the grass next to the old dog. He ran his big hand down her bony, gray back. “I don’t think you have the energy to get up on a picnic table and steal something from a grill anymore, do you, old gal?”
Feeling a bit like an intruder on the tender moment between man and his best friend, Scott watched him caress his little schnauzer.
When Phin looked up, there was a profound sadness in his eyes. “I think this is gonna be one of the last times I pick asparagus with my little Sister Mary Katherine.”
“Don’t say that,” Scott said, though he knew the words were empty. Little dogs lived a long time, but she was sixteen. Her days were numbered, but it seemed Phin was intent on making her last days as joyful as possible.
Funny, but Phin had made Scott’s days full of joy too.
Chapter Fourteen
“DO YOU like your fries soft or crispy?” Scott opened a red bag of processed french fries and emptied them onto a cookie sheet. He tossed it into the oven and waited to set the timer until Phin replied.
Phin scrunched up his face. “Crispy, of course.”
The Ohio weather had decided to change from a lovely sixty-five and sunny to a cloudy, rainy evening, so they moved their barbecue inside. Phin smiled as Scott scurried around the kitchen like the nickname he’d given him—a cute little mouse hurrying to get things done. He’d insisted Phin not help, wanting to make dinner by himself. Pop music played on his cell phone, his musical preference not surprising Phin.
Katie wandered around the house, giving Phin a pang because she was looking for Nancy. It had been months since she’d been over here, but once she gave up her search, she sprawled on the kitchen floor completely in Scott’s way as he fried the hamburgers. He worked around her, never seeming annoyed or bothered.
Phin hadn’t planned to bring her, but when they got back to the house, Scott had insisted, promising to make her a burger. “That way she doesn’t steal one off the grill,” he’
d joked.
Inordinately pleased the man included his baby in the dinner invitation, Phin had taken special care to look his best. He shaved his head, gave himself a manicure—no small task considering how much he liked to play in the dirt. Katie didn’t smell too bad, so she escaped her bath. The older she became, the worse she smelled. But baths stressed her out, and she’d had a lot of activity today. Phin wouldn’t add to it just to appease his olfactory senses.
“Thanks for bringing the cobbler.” Scott pointed at the baking dish with the ball of hamburger meat in his hand.
“You’re taking quite a liking to rhubarb.”
He gave a surprised expression. “It’s really delicious. Why haven’t I seen it on menus at restaurants?”
Phin shrugged. “You find rhubarb pie on menus once in a while. Maybe places like Cracker Barrel? It’s just an old-fashioned fruit people forget about.”
“You know all about old-fashioned stuff.”
“Maybe that’s because I’m an old-fashioned fruit myself.”
They both laughed.
Phin glanced at his dog, spread in the middle of the kitchen, snoring happily. Yes, he had a penchant for all old things apparently. Old dogs, old asparagus patches, old vegetables, and old recipes. He loved to visit antique shops and garage sales looking for vintage cookbooks. One of his favorite canning recipe books was from the 1940s. The recipes were quite different than the modern ones, and Phin liked to think better.
He smiled at Scott. “I just enjoy things with a bit of history, I guess.”
Scott smiled too as he washed his hands. “Yeah, I’m learning that I do too.”
An insurance commercial played on Scott’s phone, then “Oops! I Did It Again” by Britney Spears began to play.
Scott winced, looking at Phin. “Sorry, I didn’t ask. Is this station okay?”
“It’s great. I think they would take my gay card away if I didn’t like Britney.”
Scott threw his head back and laughed.
Phin was glad he’d become friends with Nancy’s grandson. Phin had a tendency to hibernate year-round, but he needed to be around people, or he’d lose himself in his own head, wallowing in the past. But could he handle more than just friendship? Sure, Scott was cute and funny, but Phin had signed off on that part of his life, hadn’t he?
Yeah, you want to be more than friends. Stop pretending.
But am I ready for more?
More importantly, would Scott even be interested if I told him everything?
“I think these are gonna be pretty good,” Scott said, getting out a nonstick skillet to fry the burgers. “I picked up red salt when I was at the store.”
“Red salt?”
Scott pointed at the shaker of Lawry’s seasoning salt. “Yeah, it makes everything taste better. It’s even good on popcorn.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious.” Phin had been growing his own herbs for so long he’d forgotten all about that particular seasoning. He rarely purchased dry seasonings at the store outside of salt and pepper.
Scott gnawed on his lower lip. “I know you’re like a chef, so be gentle on me.”
“Always.”
Scott seemed as anxious as he had been when Phin said he’d read his books. Scott was confident but perhaps more vulnerable and eager to please than Phin first assumed. Maybe afraid to be criticized because he’d been criticized a lot in his life? That sort of thing could happen, coming from an abusive home. Though his mother left Nancy’s son when Scott was four, insecurities lingered, even if the mind didn’t recall the memories. Phin’s parents had not been the most affectionate, but they had never been cruel. And they supported him when he came out in college, which was better than many got. That story about Scott’s brother, Davis, being kicked out of his home after some asshole gave him HIV still rankled Phin.
Lousy human beings like that were the reason he preferred dogs and his garden to people. Though it did please Phin that Scott and his mother had opened their home and hearts to that poor kid. He was lucky to have them.
“My mom wants to come down here and bring her stupid boyfriend for Memorial Day,” Scott said, throwing Phin a look over his shoulder as he waited for the skillet to heat. “Is it bad that I lied and said I was going out of town?”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Because the guy she’s dating is a total jackass, and I can’t stand being around him. When he first came around, he was all quiet and mild-mannered. I kinda thought he was gay. But when they moved in together, he became a completely different person. He’s this white-trash Republican big mouth. No offense.”
Phin chuckled. “Since I’m not white trash or a big mouth, no offense taken.”
“Anyway, I didn’t see his true colors until I moved back in with them.”
“You lived with your mom?”
Wearing a sheepish expression, Scott placed the burgers in the skillet. They popped and sizzled, splattering grease everywhere. He quickly placed a shield over it. “That sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?”
“No,” he said at once.
The music switched to Andy Grammer’s “Honey I’m Good,” and Scott let out a groan. He walked over to his phone and tapped the screen with determination. “Thumbs down. I hate that song.”
“Really? It’s catchy.”
Scott frowned. “It’s the song my ex played every time he cheated on me and promised to never do it again.”
Phin’s eyebrows shot up. The words every time and again did not go over his head.
“He cheated on me a lot,” Scott said, perhaps realizing what he’d already admitted.
“Define ‘a lot.’”
Scott paused and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, seven or eight times.”
A much higher number than Phin had expected. “You don’t know how many times?”
Scott let out an exasperated sigh. “No, not really. But specifically, I know about eleven times, if you count hand jobs. Brent didn’t think those counted.”
He made a blustering sound. “Um, hand jobs definitely count! In my book, if you’re in a relationship and you kiss someone else, that’s cheating.”
Phin couldn’t imagine how badly it would’ve hurt if Tom had kissed another man. Let alone gotten a hand job or had sex with someone else. Poor Scott! Why would he put up with that?
“I made it easy for him,” Scott said.
“Don’t you dare put that on yourself.”
He gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t, huh? But I let him cheat on me for three years because it was easier than being alone. He paid the bills and put a roof over my head. I just had a mediocre job working nights so I could write during the day. When I finally ended it, I didn’t have the money to get my own place, hence moving back in with my mom five days after my thirtieth birthday.”
“I’m sorry. That had to hurt.”
Scott gave a throwaway gesture that was anything but. “Which part? Being cheated on? Forgiving my cheater and feeling like a piece of shit every day? Or moving back in with my mom and her dipshit boyfriend?”
Before Phin could reply to that information dump, Scott shook his head. “Please don’t say anything. I’m good now. I’m happy. But every now and then, if I talk about it, I still get angry. And I don’t know if I’m angrier at him or myself.”
“Any guy who would cheat on you must be out of his mind.”
Scott gave him a bashful smile. “Thanks.”
“I mean it.”
Their eyes held for another moment, and then Scott cleared his throat. “Subject change,” he sang as he flipped the burgers. “I wasn’t sure how you like your burgers. I’m just a cheese-only kinda guy. I got buns, ketchup, mustard, relish, though. And I went into town to get lettuce, tomato, and onions for you.”
“Sounds delicious.” All the condiments were laid out on the counter, chopped and in separate bowls, in a do-it-yourself setup.
“Connie at the grocery said Jimmy Hart was in town last weekend,” Scott said,
surprising Phin that he was on a first-name basis with one of the ladies from the Village Market. “He snuck in to play at the Six-Shooter with some of his old band. I guess it was all over Twitter.”
“I hadn’t heard that.” It used to be you sneezed on one side of Gilead and someone said, “God bless,” on the other. But with the way the town was growing, becoming a “trendy” place to be, some of that small-town feel was falling by the wayside. Then again, Nancy had always been Phin’s go-to town-gossip girl. Maybe he was just out of the loop.
Clearing his throat, Phin stood. “I should start on the asparagus.”
“Okay. Show me how you cook it?”
Unable to contain his grin, Phin picked up a spear and held it with both hands, like he intended to break it in half, and Scott did the same. “Hold it close to the cut end and try gently to snap the end off. When it gives, that’ll get rid of the woody part.”
“You said ‘woody,’” Scott joked but did as Phin explained.
Soon they had all the spears prepped, and Phin tossed them in olive oil and some thyme he’d brought from home. He knew Nancy kept her cast-iron skillet in the broiler, but when he opened the drawer, it was gone.
“You get rid of the cast-iron skillet?”
“Nope,” Scott said, looking into the broiler drawer curiously. “I didn’t even know there were pans in the bottom of the stove. I mostly eat cereal and use this nonstick one,” he shifted the pan frying the burgers, “so I don’t eat too much fat.”
Phin looked in a few cupboards, then gave up on the missing skillet and got out another nonstick and heated it up.
One thing Phin missed about having a lover was cooking together. As they found a rhythm, the back-and-forth brought back happy memories and warmed his lonely heart.
It’s been so long….
When Scott went to get a plate for his finished burgers, Phin closed his eyes, feeling the ghost of his old lover coming up from behind to embrace him, nuzzling his neck, and whispering, “That smells wonderful, Phinny.”
“Wow, that smells good,” Scott said, making Phin jump.
He hastily turned, Tom’s ghost gone and a new man behind him. But Scott didn’t place his arms around Phin. He didn’t kiss his neck….
The Rhubarb Patch Page 12
