The Rhubarb Patch

by Deanna Wadsworth

  In an uncharacteristic show of confidence, Scott read the erotic piece to Phin in bed one night—naked. Phin had been enthralled, eyes drunk with lust as he listened to every word Scott read in breathless whispers and passionate cries. The sex afterward had been mind-numbingly incredible. Though he’d gotten on PrEP, they were still using condoms because it took a few weeks to become effective. Scott had asked Phin if that hurt his feelings, made him feel dirty the way Davis mentioned. But Phin didn’t mind the delay, insisting it was Scott’s body and Scott’s choice.

  Another first for Scott.

  Scott studied his gorgeous new lover, his boyfriend. Over the past few months, the sun had darkened Phin’s skin to a deep rich tan, making Scott wonder if maybe he had some Mediterranean blood in him. When he’d asked, Phin just laughed and said he was a mutt like any other American.

  “Well,” Scott said to him, then leaned over and kissed his sweaty face, enjoying the fragrance of sweat, garden tomatoes, and sunblock. “If you’re gonna be out here vanquishing tomato bugs, I’m going inside. It’s hot as hell out here.”

  “Yeah, it’s way too hot. My peppers don’t like it. I’m thinking of bringing out a fan and cooling them off.”

  No matter what weird thing Phin said about his garden, Scott never questioned it.

  “I could go for some toast and tomato,” Scott said. “You hungry?”

  Phin grinned, a splash of white against tanned skin. “I told you that you’d love my tomatoes.”

  “I will admit, you were completely right.” He held up his hands in defeat. “Those Italian tomatoes are pretty amazing.”

  Their kitchen was filled with tomatoes, the entire table covered. What Scott had been loath to try, had now become his favorite food. Phin’s homemade bread, toasted, with mayonnaise and fresh slices of Italian tomatoes? Yum! He could eat it every day. In fact, he was worried he might get a canker sore from all the acidity, but he couldn’t stop eating them.

  “Yeah,” Phin said again. “It’s too hot out here to really do anything with the plants. Just let me get the fan set up and I’ll be in.”

  Grinning, Scott left him in the garden and headed up to the house. Sister Mary Katherine was right where she’d been before his run. Lying in her bed and sleeping hard. He stared at her for a moment, nervous about how still she was. Heart skipping, he reached down and touched her chest. She raised a weary head and looked at him. Scott let out a rush of breath.

  “Don’t you be crossing the Rainbow Bridge when Phin isn’t here,” he told her. “He won’t be able to handle it.”

  But the deaf dog just laid her head back down and fell asleep. Brushing aside a tear, Scott headed upstairs and took a shower, then put on fresh clothes.

  His phone buzzed.

  Davis left him a text: How’s Ohio?

  He must be bored. Smiling, Scott texted back: Excellent.

  And it was.

  But his family issues were a whole ’nother issue.

  He’d texted Mom Happy Birthday last weekend, but they hadn’t talked. He wasn’t in the mood to hear more excuses about Joe or listen to another rant about Nancy. Scott couldn’t hate a woman who brought Phin into his life, so he was finished with the whole drama. Of course, Scott texted Davis regularly, but he left out Henrietta’s murder and that he was living with Phin. He didn’t want family drama to cast a dark shadow over what was finally going right for him. He was a grown man, had his own home—even if he didn’t sleep there—he had a feeling his book would actually be a success, and he had a good strong man by his side.

  Scott had never been happier in all his life.

  He went back downstairs to make their snack, texting off and on about nothing in particular with Davis. The heritage tomatoes Phin grew were fat and round but the skin was thick, so Phin had taught Scott how to rub the back of a paring knife along the skin to loosen it so it would gently peel off. Halfway through the first tomato, Sister Mary Katherine started yelping.

  “I’m coming, honey,” he told her, rinsing his hands while she continued to yelp.

  She had done the same high-pitched bark for the first time last night at 2:00 a.m., then again at six. Scott had a feeling she was waking up afraid because she settled down when one of them scooped her up. He gave her some caresses until she calmed, then he took her outside.

  Scott couldn’t be the one to tell Phin he should call the vet because Phin was still trying to feed her. She would drink water, but it was only a matter of time. He walked down to the grass and gently set her down. She took two steps and fell over.

  “Easy, baby,” Scott said.

  Phin hurried over. “Was she barking again like that?”

  “Yeah.”

  He knelt by her and held her belly, guiding her to take a few steps. In the last forty-eight hours, she’d been falling over constantly. Which would happen when someone completely stopped eating.

  The resolved pain in Phin’s expression broke Scott’s heart. Phin acted like he was prepared for what was coming, even telling Scott he already picked out her burial site.

  Scott had a feeling he wasn’t prepared at all.

  After Sister Mary Katherine did her business, Phin gingerly picked her up and took her back inside. He rested her in her bed and went to the refrigerator to get a piece of the bacon he’d cooked for her yesterday. “You want some yummy-nummies, Katie?”

  Scott had to turn away from the heart-wrenching scene because he knew she wouldn’t eat it.

  He busied himself slicing the tomatoes and then toasted some bread. Once he finished up their snack, he glanced over his shoulder. Phin was sitting cross-legged on the floor staring at his dog and gently caressing her.

  His throat tightened, but he forced a smile. “Hey, babe. Food’s done.”

  Phin didn’t answer, rather he kept looking at his dog. “You gotta eat something, baby,” he all but begged. “You gotta get your strength back.”

  But she just lay in her bed, occasionally glancing at him. Scott couldn’t help but wonder if she hung on for Phin. But he couldn’t say anything. Even though they had an honest relationship, it wasn’t his place.

  He set the plates down, and Phin eventually wandered over to sit across from him at the picnic table. He smiled. “Thanks, Mouse.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After they ate, Scott cleaned up the dishes, then went back to his house for his laptop. Rather than work at his house per his new usual, he returned to Phin’s.

  Phin shouldn’t be alone.

  Scott didn’t have much work to do, but he could schedule some blog posts and tweets. Maybe rework the three-cocked alien story. He’d read the rewrites to Phin tonight in bed, maybe distract him a little from the impending loss.

  That afternoon they settled into a domestic scene, Scott at the picnic table on his computer with a glass of sweet tea and Phin prepping to can. Scott enjoyed watching him in the kitchen, the way his bulky body moved so gracefully. Cleaning the rims on the jars delicately, cursing every now and then when some boiling liquid splashed on him.

  “What are you making?”

  “I was thinking of making bloody Mary mix since I have garlic, onions, hot peppers, and tomatoes. That would be more useful than just plain old tomato juice,” he said with a laugh.

  “You’re gonna make me fat with all these cocktails and home cooking.”

  “No, not with the way you run every day and lift weights. And even if you do get fat, I’ll love you anyway.”

  Scott chuckled. “Good to know. In that case, make a double batch.”

  The afternoon faded to the evening, with Sister Mary Katherine doing that frightened bark several times. Each time Scott watched Phin take her out, he hoped it wouldn’t be her last. But then part of him did too.

  It was a sad, twisted feeling, but one he couldn’t help.

  Phin grilled up steaks and zucchini, then stuffed banana peppers with feta cheese. Scott had learned to work side by side with him in the kitchen, something Phin confi
ded that he loved. With all the experimenting of new foods, Scott had discovered he had quite a diverse palate.

  They hunkered down and dug into the delicious food. Scott was pouring a second glass of wine when Sister Mary Katherine jolted up in her bed and started yelping again.

  “I’ll get her,” Scott said.

  “No, no,” he insisted. “I need to do this.”

  Scott nodded and began to clear the plates while Phin took the dog outside. He was setting the second plate in the dishwasher when he heard Phin frantically calling his name from outside.

  “Scott! Scott! Hurry!”

  His stomach dropped. He tossed the towel on the counter and raced outside barefoot.

  Sister Mary Katherine was lying in the grass, and Phin knelt beside her, his hand on her chest.

  “She just fell over,” Phin whispered, voice cracking. “She didn’t get up this time….”

  Scott quickly placed one hand on Phin’s trembling back and the other on Sister Mary Katherine’s chest.

  It didn’t move.

  “Oh God,” Phin said his voice shaking with tears. “She just leaned on my leg. I rubbed her and she fell over.”

  “She knew you were with her,” he whispered.

  “I think so. But….” Phin’s words broke off in a cry.

  Tears poured down Scott’s face, and he had no idea what else to say. He just rubbed Phin’s back and stroked Sister Mary Katherine, even though she didn’t know.

  Phin’s blue eyes welled with tears, his lower lip trembling. “What am I gonna do, Mouse?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

  After a torturous moment, Phin took a deep breath and nodded, determined despite heart-wrenching grief. “I’ll go get a towel to wrap her in. Will you stay with her?”

  “Of course!”

  Phin headed back into the house, not looking back.

  Scott rubbed her head and down her warm side. Her eyes were sort of open and her tongue had slipped out of her mouth. He didn’t want Phin to see her like that. Hell, he didn’t want to see her like that. He fixed her tongue but when he tried to close her eyes so she would appear to be sleeping, they didn’t close.

  Phin returned with an old baby-blue bath towel. He laid it on the grass and picked her body up with the same tender loving care he’d always shown her in life. She was little more than a limp rag doll in his arms. He laid her down and curled her legs up and beneath her. Through his tears, Scott could all but imagine she was sleeping.

  “We’re gonna have to dig a hole.” Phin left a hand on her chest, desperate hope in his face that it would begin to move again.

  “Okay.” Scott hadn’t given the digging part much thought, but he wouldn’t let Phin do it alone.

  “Let’s set her on the porch,” Phin said. “It’s gonna take a while to dig, and I don’t want her just laying here.” Then he wrapped his beloved dog up like a burrito and carefully carried her. Scott followed and brushed away more tears when Phin placed her on the outside dog bed. He rubbed her side for a moment, then stood.

  Eyes brimming and wide with shock, Phin looked at Scott. “I think I need to finish that glass of wine.”

  Scott nodded and hastened inside to get their two glasses and put his shoes on. When he returned, Phin surprised him by taking his glass and sitting on the swing. Scott joined him, quietly sipping his wine and waiting for him to say something. Tears kept escaping him, and when he glanced over, a slow, steady trickle ran down Phin’s face.

  Scott took Phin’s empty hand as the swing rocked slowly.

  The evening had cooled to somewhere around seventy, with a gentle breeze fluttering the trees and Phin’s garden. With no sound outside of nature and the swing’s metal rings creaking back and forth, it startled Scott when Phin spoke.

  “I’d like to bury her in the rhubarb patch, if you don’t mind?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m thinking I should get out the post-hole digger. That’ll be easier to cut through three feet of clay.”

  “Three feet?”

  “I don’t want anything to dig her up.”

  Scott buried a shocked curse and merely said, “Okay.” Then he finished off his wine.

  Phin stood and Scott made to follow, but he only went back inside and retrieved the rest of the wine. He topped off their glasses and set the empty bottle on the table.

  Scott didn’t know if they sat there for twenty minutes or an hour. Time seemed to stand still, the silence and quiet all-encompassing. He’d never had someone he loved pass away, but it seemed everyone Phin loved died. He wished he knew what to say, how to make it better. But nothing could make it better.

  Phin was right, losing someone sucked donkey balls.

  “I guess there’s no more sense waiting,” Phin said after a long while. “It’s not gonna make it any easier.”

  “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  They went to the barn for a shovel and an odd-looking tool—the post-hole digger. Phin studied the rhubarb patch on the western side of the barn, the side that faced his house. Scott felt a little guilty when he selected the place where he’d killed the plant the day they met.

  “This place is good. On the corner?” He looked at Scott with questions in his eyes.

  “Yeah, babe, I think it’s the perfect spot.”

  Phin used a flat-headed shovel to cut away the sod and mulch. And then they began spinning the post-hole digger in the ground tunneling out holes. Scott assumed each hole would be the same depth as the tool, but it only removed two or three inches of dirt at a time. It took longer to dig down one foot than he would’ve imagined.

  When the hole was half-done, they’d worked up quite a sweat. Phin retrieved his wheelbarrow while Scott kept digging, needing to do as much as he could to make this easier on Phin. When Phin returned, he handed Scott another shovel. They piled the loose dirt into the wheelbarrow. It was hot, tiresome work, but the physical labor kept Scott’s mind from the depressing task.

  The wheelbarrow overflowed with dirt by the time Phin was satisfied with the depth. Hand in hand, they went back up to the porch. Scott expected Phin to pick up Sister Mary Katherine, but he went back into the house again, then returned with two beers.

  He handed one to Scott. “She liked her beer, remember?”

  Scott smiled. “Yeah.”

  They cracked open the cans and Phin held his up. “To the best damn dog I’ve ever known.”

  Scott nodded, unable to reply around the lump in his throat. They clinked cans, and he took a long, hard swallow, thirstier than he’d realized.

  They stayed on the porch, looking out into the evening and drinking beer. Scott knew Phin was delaying the inevitable, but he needed to do it at his own pace.

  Eventually, Phin set his can on the porch railing. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Very tenderly, he picked Sister Mary Katherine up, cradling her in his arms. She didn’t flop around much this time. She was already stiffening. Solemnly, Scott followed Phin out to the gaping hole beside his barn. Phin knelt and lowered her inside. Scott wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

  Phin rested the back of his hand on her chest, one last ditch effort to make sure she was really gone. It broke Scott’s heart watching it, and he brushed away the tears.

  Suddenly Phin looked up. “Wait I have to go get something to cover her.”

  But Scott’s attention was fixated on the bundle inside the hole, the blue towel contrasting sharply against the dirt. The tiny bundle that had once been a vibrant life, gone forever. Soon to be nothing but earth….

  He began to weep, harder than he’d ever cried for anything in his whole life.

  “Mouse? Are you okay?”

  Trying to compose himself for Phin’s sake, Scott brushed his face with his arm. “No, I’m not okay. This shit sucks.”

  Phin gave him a trembling smile, his eyes brimming with tears too. “Yeah. And it never gets easier.”

  He rushed back to the house, then r
eturned with the little mat her food bowl had sat on. It was an old cream-colored mat with puppy paw prints and the words spoiled rotten written on it.

  How apropos….

  They knelt, and Phin placed it over her. He’d also brought the rest of his beer. Sitting in the clay-covered grass beside her final resting place, he poured a little beer on top of her.

  “Here’s to you, Katie,” he murmured. “I’ll miss you forever.”

  Then he finished off what was left in the can.

  Scott wondered if they should say a prayer or something, but instead, they stayed still. Phin took his hand, and they both just looked down. The crickets and night insects were chirping now and the sun had set, casting a pink glow over everything. A soft breeze wafted over them, rustling the leaves and cooling their sweat.

  This moment would be etched in Scott’s mind for the rest of his life.

  Eventually, they stood. Scott waited for Phin to put the first few shovels of dirt over her, then joined in. To his surprise, there was a lot of dirt left over that didn’t fit back in the grave. Phin took the sections of sod he’d cut back and placed them on top, making an odd mound at the corner of the barn.

  Like robots, they dumped the excess dirt into Phin’s compost heap, then put the wheelbarrow and tools away. It was quiet, eerie work, and when everything was cleaned up, they went back to the house. Though Sister Mary Katherine had not been getting out of her bed for a couple weeks to greet them, when he didn’t hear the clicking of her nails on Phin’s floor, the silence pained him.

  It had to be so much worse for Phin.

  Unsure what to say, Scott finished the dishes. Phin said nothing as he helped. Wordlessly they went upstairs and climbed into the shower. So physically and emotionally defeated, Phin stood under the spray, unmoving. Wanting to help, Scott took over the nurturing task of washing him.

  When they got out and dried off, it was almost ten. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Stupid how TV shows have people dig a grave so quick.

  Scott slipped off the light, and they climbed into bed. Phin rolled into his arms at once. He buried his face into Scott’s chest, and Scott held him tight while he wept.