by E. Davies
He swiveled his head as if he could see through the wall of the building. One of their only neighbors, besides the drive-thru and the theater, was the church. But they’d never had a problem with them before—hell, the pastor had come and walked through and chatted with him on opening week.
Why had they suddenly flipped?
“Okay, I’m getting to the bottom of this.”
This time as he dialed his mother, the script was flipped. He hoped she wasn’t having a busy day at work.
“Hello, dear. Aren’t you supposed to be helping people lift heavy things and grunt?” His mother’s voice was teasing but fond as ever.
A little nervous piece of him unwound. Of course it wasn’t his own family behind it, but it felt personal now. The church was a neighbor, for God’s sake. They could come to him if they had a problem. “Hi, Mom. Can you talk to Pastor Robinson today?”
“Of course, sweetie.” She gasped. “Is there a wedding?”
“N-No.” He stumbled over the word, embarrassed at how quickly the mental image of Caspian popped into his head. He was not proposing to that man before they’d even had a third date. “No, um, I got this petition…”
He read out a few sentences and she scoffed, then laughed. “Not a chance. Pastor Robinson would eat his own hat before ever saying this. Let me make some calls.”
Before he could even remind her that she was at work, too, she hung up.
He laughed quietly and shoved the papers in the envelope. “I guess I could have driven over. Now the whole town’s going to know about it.”
Rory stiffened up when he looked at her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She looked a little off-balance, but it only made sense. The last thing she probably wanted was a national spotlight. She cleared her throat, fidgeting with the strands of hair behind her ears. “It’s just… they might bring a lot of attention to the gym, or try to link up with bigger campaigns. You know, the ones who protest at funerals and shit.”
It was Matt’s turn to stiffen and draw a quick breath. “You think they’d care?”
“Who knows? This might be their battleground of choice.” Rory shrugged.
“That’s just fucked up,” Matt muttered. “Okay, good point. I’ll let the cops know. Thank God the security cameras are going in tomorrow.”
His phone rang and he picked up. “Hey, Mom.”
“So, I called Cora, and Cora called Remi’s mom. You know her, right?”
“Yeah,” Matt said, even if he didn’t, because he didn’t need the full family tree he would be treated to otherwise. “You couldn’t have called just the pastor?”
“No, no. I wanted to make sure everyone knew.”
He snorted with amusement. “You’d be a terrible secret-keeper.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t said a peep about you and that boy you went on a date with last weekend.”
Matt’s jaw dropped. “Wha—but…” Of course Doris told her. Or someone, who then told her. Lord, it’s impossible to keep a secret here.
“Anyway, that’s not the important bit right now. So, she called Pastor Robinson, and apparently the pastor had no idea this letter existed. He’s on his way over right now.”
Matt looked up just in time to see the dark-clad man approaching. “So he is. Thanks, Mom,” he sighed drily. He could have just driven over himself if he’d wanted to make a scene.
“Pastor Robinson. Hello,” he greeted with a handshake. He’d seen him around the community once or twice, but they hadn’t really spoken since the pastor had welcomed him into the neighborhood.
“Pleasure to see you again, Matt. And Rory,” the pastor nodded to her. “Do you have a minute?”
“We sure do,” Matt told him. He tried to keep his guard up, but he could immediately tell his mom was right. The pastor had a certain kind of restrained fury blazing in his eyes, and it wasn’t directed at either of them.
“I’ve heard that there’s a letter going around…”
Matt silently handed it over and waited for him to read it. He exchanged glances with Rory. She looked worried, too, but was standing tall behind the desk and ready to represent Lift’s official stance.
Pastor Robinson’s brows snapped together like a foam floor mat. “Nobody at our church was ever shown a copy of this letter.”
“Is that even legal?” Rory muttered.
“I don’t know. We could call the cops,” Matt debated. “It might not be a bad idea, with…” he waved his hand at the paper when the pastor handed it back.
“So, show me why they’re bringing up these concerns,” Pastor Robinson said, clapping Matt’s shoulder. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen the place. Maybe you’ve added a hotbed of sin.”
Matt’s sigh turned into a laugh. “Oh, why didn’t I tell you? The licensing application was last week.”
“Of course.” The pastor gave him a gentle smile as Matt led him around the place to show him the gym equipment, and then the changing area.
“So, ten single stalls.” The pastor looked back at Matt and shrugged. “Very private. What’s the problem? I had the impression everyone was stripping down to share the sauna in a licentious display of loose morals.”
“I can’t tell if they think that, or they’re just trolling,” Matt admitted.
“Have there been any… incidents?”
Matt knew what he meant: the letter had descended into a frothing rage about homosexuals cavorting in sin in the stalls, and the mixing of the sexes leading to downfall of civilization. He wasn’t sure a single-sex bathroom would help the gym be less gay—in his experience, single-sex gay gyms tended to have a lot of cavorting in the men’s showers—but pointing that out wouldn’t help his case.
“Not in the slightest. If there were, it’s twice as likely there would be someone around to intervene as a witness, because it’s not segregated. We’re getting cameras on the entrance for clear images of anyone’s face when they enter or exit. If there ever were an incident, it’s already against the law, and we’d report it, of course.”
“So it’s a non-issue they’re campaigning on.” Pastor Robinson folded his arms and scowled. “And setting aside love thy neighbor and lest ye be judged… they’re from out of state? What gives them the right to tell you what to do with your private business here?”
Matt shrugged. “Maybe they need a hobby. Landscape painting? Underwater basket weaving?” He walked him to the entrance again.
“If we can offer any aid or support, please let us know,” Pastor Robinson asked him, taking his hand. “I mean it. You are not standing alone here. You’re working to make the town feel safe and confident, and grow in themselves as human beings. Self-improvement is cherished in the eyes of the Lord. That’s a worthy cause.”
Matt shook hands firmly. “Thank you, Pastor.” He felt embarrassingly warm and fuzzy at that statement. Just hearing that someone else stood with him meant enough in itself.
“I already plan to contact these individuals and order they stop forging our signature on hate-filled letters,” Pastor Robinson said with a grim smile. “Hopefully that will never be a problem again. Speaking of which, I have some calls to make. God bless.”
Matt waved and watched him out, then looked at Rory. “We have allies.”
Rory let a long breath out and sat down, her shoulders slumping in relief.
Yeah. Matt felt that.
18
Caspian
Caspian’s canvas bag was already loaded down, but he made the mistake of asking for one more thing. “I could use some corn, too.”
“You’re in luck,” Cora told Caspian. “We’ll have the last of the harvest at the market this weekend. But come up to the farm and let’s see if we can get you any.”
Cas tried to insist that it was fine and he could get his corn on Saturday, but Cora wouldn’t hear of it. She was already moving swiftly with her cane across the freshly-resurfaced walkway back to the house. Orion and Gabe had worked together to m
ake sure she could easily get around the place, and now she couldn’t be stopped.
“How’s the herb business going?”
Cora grinned at him. “Oh, just dandy. All my seedlings are behaving themselves.”
“So would I,” Caspian murmured. As big-hearted as Cora was, he wouldn’t want to cross her.
“What was that?” She eyed him.
He tried to look innocent. “Nothing.”
“I’ve raised more boys than you know. My ears have ears,” Cora told him, clipping the back of his head lightly as she grinned. “It keeps my seedlings in line.”
That reminded Caspian of an idea he’d had and he brightened up. “Oh! Actually, I had a proposal.”
“Oh! For that, I’ll need my best dress and some sweet tea. You sit in the garden by that beautiful sculpture you did.”
However he tried to protest, he found himself steered to her garden along the side of the house. Within a few minutes, she joined him, balancing a tray with a pitcher and glasses in one hand, a bag of corn on the handle of her cane.
“Cora! Oh… dear.” He hurried over to take the tray.
She clicked her tongue as she followed him to the bench. “Oh, stop fussing. I hardly need this cane anymore, anyway.”
Caspian shook his head. “But Gabe will kill me if he sees you. And then Orion. All the death.”
“They fuss too much, too,” she said, but she smiled fondly. “So, this proposal!”
They clinked glasses gently and sipped before he answered. “Oh, that’s good. Thank you. Right… seedlings. So, I was thinking of a new line of garden sculptures. Living ones.”
“Yes.”
“But you haven’t even—”
“Oh, it’s obvious, isn’t it? We’ll sort out the details, but it’s a lovely idea,” Cora told him.
He blushed. “So I guess I should have thought of it ages ago.” He felt dumb for not having expanded that direction yet. People loved house plants, and they loved cooking herbs. Combining them with decorations made the perfect Christmas gift.
“Bah. You can’t change the past,” Cora told him. “Now, do you have anything designed? It’ll need drainage holes.”
“Unless I could incorporate a water reservoir so it’s self-watering,” Cas said, his eyes narrowed as he started working on that in the back of his head. “It would make the result heavier… but more self-maintaining. Whatever herbs you planted in them would need to be hardy.”
“I can come up with some ideas,” she told him. “You design first and we’ll come up with a deal. Have you thought of indoor possibilities? Because either they could work as planters, or my infused oils could be a good match…”
Caspian hadn’t even come up with that, but now he grabbed his phone to take notes while she smiled. He had the distinct feeling he was being mentored. After all, she’d started up the Miele family farm and grown it into a large regional operation.
He could be so lucky to get mentoring from her.
“We’d need to talk pricing so it’s fair to us both. And how we arrange it—if you provide me bedding trays which I bring back to my place, or what…”
Caspian’s yard was already chaos. He was just damn glad he owned his own place, because no landlord would have liked the piles of junk and wood waiting to be turned into art.
“Oh, details. We’ll decide them later,” Cora told him. “Have you heard any more about Matt and the protestors?”
It took Caspian a few moments to realize the extent of the question: it meant she knew about them, and even more that apparently he didn’t know. “The protestors?”
She grinned. “Good. You aren’t pretending you don’t know Matt.”
Caspian blushed but said nothing.
“I would have picked that one out for you myself. He’s a good, hard worker. Do you remember him from high school? Gabriel does.”
“Cora!” It sounded like she’d been snooping around to find out more about him, and Caspian was torn between laughter and being touched.
“I have to make sure you’re not getting tangled up with the wrong fellows. Like that Chad. He couldn’t even look me in the eye the other day, you know.”
Gabriel’s ex had been a real dick to him. Since then, Chad had kept a low profile in town, and he’d gotten a lot of side-eyes from people. Apparently, his drunken viewpoints on gay people were less welcome than he’d thought. It made Cas proud of their little town.
“What protestors?” Cas protested, frowning.
“Lord almighty, he’s your boyfriend. You shouldn’t hear from me.”
“He’s not—” Cas started, and then shook his head. Going down that road wouldn’t give him any more information. “I’ll call him, then.”
“No, no,” Cora put her hand on his knee. “Now, I only heard this second-hand, but supposedly there’s a group of real Bible-thumpers. The sorry excuses for real Christians, who use their book to thump anyone they’re told they should hate.”
The last thing Caspian wanted was Matt facing a picket line right when he was coming out as bi. He drew a sharp breath and started to stand up.
“They sent a petition, and forged the pastor’s signature.”
Oh. That was better. He sat down again, gingerly, and frowned. “Matt didn’t say.”
“He probably didn’t want you worrying.” Cora smiled. “You need to bring him here. Let me fatten him up. Abs are no good if you could blow over in the wind!”
Caspian gave her a fond smile. Over the last month or two, he’d felt closer to her than he had to anyone his grandparents’ age. She’d always known he was gay without ever making it a big deal, and she’d ogled men with him. It was almost embarrassing, but in the way he’d always wanted.
His family was accepting, sure, but his grandparents had all passed away before he remembered them. Having someone like her in his corner was a nice feeling. Thank goodness for his friendship with Gabriel.
“Thanks, Cora.”
“Now,” Cora told him, waving it off. “Take the corn and go give me some concepts. If you need plants in time for Christmas, I need notice!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Caspian tucked his phone away and stood up. “Thanks for the corn. How much do I owe you?”
“Come by for lunch in a few weeks, and bring that boy,” Cora instructed him.
“That’s—no, I owe you,” he protested, but Cora wouldn’t hear it.
“Your company is enough payment. Now, shoo! I have a stand to run, you know. Can’t sit around gabbing all day.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He nodded obediently.
She winked. “Much better. And check on that new boy toy of yours. You’d make a cute pair.”
Cas blushed as he fled. That sounded like solid advice for tonight, teasing aside. He’d stop by and see if Matt was closing, and what was going on. What the hell could it be that Matt hadn’t told him about? His texts today had all been light and flirtatious as always.
In the meantime, he had work to get to. After all, love didn’t pay the bills.
Caspian cursed as he hit his thumb with a hammer for the third time in as many minutes. Trying to attach these two pieces in a way that they supported the rest of the structure was often tricky, and he hadn’t figured out a way around it besides patience.
Unfortunately, patience was the last thing he had these days.
He drew a breath and let it out, then glared around himself at the yard. The clutter was starting to get to him. If it weren’t for the to-do list on his phone that was scaring the crap out of him, he might have given up and gone inside for a cold beer.
Shit. While he wasn’t paying attention, he snapped off a limb from the driftwood he was trying to attach—an important one.
The whole piece keeled over like a fainting goat, which was a visual that made him laugh despite the curses that spilled from his lips.
“Well, shit.” He kicked it and folded his arms as he stood back.
At this rate, he was going to need another load of driftw
ood, and that crap wasn’t cheap. They weren’t exactly on the coast, but he had a buddy in Matagorda who beach-combed good pieces for him. He was willing to pay the extra to have the good sorted out from the bad, and not to have to rent a trailer.
Still, a nickel and dime at a time, the cash outlay before Christmas always made him tighten his belt until December. Then he had to pay off those credit card bills, meaning he kept his spending careful until the dust settled in January.
A gym membership had been a really dumb idea, but at least he’d cancelled his Grindr subscription. That would just about pay for it.
Assuming the protestors didn’t drive Matt out of business. He couldn’t stop thinking about the stress Matt must have been under. If people had been harassing Cas about his business, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. Maybe stuck his head in the sand.
The Texan sun was relentless, and he sought cover under his picnic umbrella to think about his next step.
Wait—maybe he could fix this one by making it a one-off. He’d have to sand down the snapped piece and find something else to prop it up with. Metal?
Picking around his yard gave him a couple of options, and after weighing them, he grabbed his drill to try the best bet.
No more big sculptures today, if he couldn’t pay attention to what he was doing. Just wreaths.
So many wreaths he’d need to build more stands to display them all on. But they always sold out, no matter how many he made, so they were the most sensible bet.
Work was lonely sometimes, even if he liked the peace and quiet. He kind of envied Matt for having the kind of job where he talked to people day-in and day-out. Sure, Caspian did, too, but only once or twice a week at markets. In between, it was him and his tools.
After a few more wreaths, and a break to get himself unstuck from a wreath and peel the hot-glue off his aching skin, he decided he’d earned himself a goddamn beer.
Once he’d had dinner and a drink, Cas sent a message to Matt.
swishy like wine: Wanna hang out?
He kept his phone close and sat at the dining room table to cut corks in half until his eyes crossed.
