Dawn in the Orchard

by Cooper West

  Gary had a chance to watch Chuck as he settled in with his order of sweet iced tea, and they waited for their sandwiches. He moved carefully but confidently, as ifhe was scared ofbreaking things, like his napkin or the straw. His fingers were long and elegant, a musician’s fingers in shape but not texture. His skin was weathered and well worn, dry in patches, his knuckles scarred over from repeated abuse. Gary wondered if Chuck was a fighting man or if the damage was job related. He looked up to find himselfcaught.

  “Expressive hands.” He pointed, trying to put a professionaledge inhis voice.

  Chuck looked at his own hands carefully, and Garywas beginningto realize that was somethinghe did with everything: look carefully. Then he unselfconsciously licked the tip of his middle finger. “Workinghands.”

  Gary was too busy trying to fight down the blush that crashed over him as he watched Chuck run his tongue over his skin. It was not as if Gary had lived like a monk after breaking off with Roger, but neither had he had much time, opportunity, or interest to pursue anything more than a few quickies with people he did not worry about seeing often or even ever again. Sleeping on friends’ couches was a great way to practice abstinence, and the result had been that he simply was not used to being put on the burner. That Chuck was turning Gary on completely unconsciously and without clear motivation made it that much worse. Gary frowned at himself, trying to find a way to move the conversationto safer waters.

  “Farmer?” He knew it was a stupid question but figured the only safer topic he could bring up was fishing.

  Chuck opened his mouth to say something, caught his eyes, and shut up without a sound. They sat uncomfortably for a bit while Gary waited for answers that were not coming any time soon. He figured next time, he would talk about fish.

  “So you found Mr. Lee’s albums,” Chuck suddenly offered, picking up his tea and sipping at it, then holding the glass in front of him. It struck Gary as anoddlydefensive gesture.

  “Not worth anything, not collectibles, but… well, you saw my guitar the other day. I’m actually a professional musician. I’m trying to break out of a career rut, and honestly I could use all the encouragement I canget.”

  “Old country albums are your idea of encouragement?” Chuck eyed him speculatively. Gary nodded.

  “It is whenyou’re tryingto get out ofjazzand into traditional.”

  “Traditional.”

  “Industry term.” He waved a hand. “Bluegrass, traditional, roots music, progressive bluegrass, jamgrass….” He paused, trying to think of what else he was missing.

  “Jamgrass?”

  “Pretty much what happens at the Lower Forty every Thursday.” Gary grinned, and when Chuck got it, he smiled back.

  “Youdo that a lot?”

  “Jam? Used to. I’m known for my jazz chords, right?” He shrugged. “Used to do it regularly, back home. Withfriends.”

  Chuck’s eyes clouded inconfusion. “Home?”

  Sighing, Gary nodded. “Chicago. I lived in Chicago before movinghere.”

  “And that’s home?” His confusion changed into another expression that Gary could not easily read, but it made him very suspicious of Chuck’s interests. Probably worried that Gary would leave soon and give up the pecan contract. Sighing, he took a breath and decided to just get onwithit.

  “Was there for years. College, masters, career… all my friends are there. Mymanager is there.” He gestured weakly around them. “I grew up over in Taylor county, in Insbrook, so yeah, this is home in a way. But it’s hard to think of it that way, living in a house I don’t really consider mine with all my people back up North.”

  Chuck did not act surprised or insulted, just put the glass down. “Hard for you, then, to be here. You planongoingback?”

  Gary paused for a second, staring at his napkin, because remaining in Holden was an idea he was not yet adjusted to, but it was a fair question. His plans had never been fully thought out from the moment he decided to drive to North Carolina, and now, as the situation began to solidify around him, he was still thrown by the changes. “I don’t know, honestly. Doesn’t look that way. But if I can’t make ends meet here soon, I’llhave to sellthe house and do something.”

  Chuck nodded. “Won’t be easy.”

  “To sellthe house or to make ends meet?”

  Chuck grinned sardonicallyand nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Not like I’m not used to living on the edge. Starving musician, remember?” He took a huge bite of sandwichwhile Chuck pondered his statement.

  “No planningahead?”he asked, almost demure in his mannerisms as he sipped the tea and looked pointedlyout the picture window.

  “Nope. Me and… uh, my other half lived on the low rungs of the economic ladder. Best we could do, with our jobs. I tried to plan ahead, but we barely covered our bills, and I don’t make as much money playing. Served a lot of coffee.” He waved his cup around.

  “Music’s a hard wayto make a living.”

  “Actually it’s a good way not to. Anyway I….” He stopped, not wanting to go into the whole matter of his performance anxiety and the associated career suicide. “I, uh, did okay, just not that okay.”

  Chuck raised his eyebrows as he turned to stare at him again with his unnaturally clear eyes, his expression clearly stating that he knew he was not telling himthe fullstory. Gary stared back, and Chuck’s expression changed to one of mild surprise, as if he never expected that Gary would not cave to his questioning.

  Finally Chuck wrinkled his nose in consternation and focused on his sandwich for a few bites before starting in again. “Still, quite the change: Chicago to Holden, modernjazzto bluegrass.”

  Gary shrugged. “I like traditional, and I already told you I grew up playing it. Maybe a change is what I need. Might actually work out better to be clear of Chicago for a while. Recharge mybatteries.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine,” Chuck said, and Gary thought he heard a sincerity there borne of some experience or another. He decided to stay on topic rather thanpursue that.

  “I did appear on several albums but nothing lucrative, thenAunt Harriet died… well, here I am.”

  Chuck nodded understandingly. They stopped talking for a while, and Chuck seemed to focus on his food but cast a few blank looks at Gary every so often. There was a familiarity to it, eating with someone else and just not worrying about it, or feeling lonely, or nervous.

  “Thanks for inviting me to lunch.” Gary gave him a sincere smile as he gathered up his trash.

  Chuck nodded. “Glad to. Going to have to lift that stereo up into the car. Thought we might need energyfor it.”

  He knew that was complete bullshit, as Chuck probably lifted much heavier loads than that on a daily basis, but it was a polite excuse for being nosy. Chuck chewed the last of his own food and then gave a pointed look. He was hunched up over his plate, his whole body radiating the defensiveness that he had been falling in and out of during the whole conversation.

  “Elba was talkingto youfine.”

  “She doesn’t usually… talk?”

  He nodded as if that was a reasonable question. “No. Right shy.”

  “Most of the family is nearby, then?” He reached for an innocuous question, unsure of how Elba fit into the suddenswerve inthe conversation.

  “Yes, indeed. Allofit, muchas I cantell.”

  “You… younever wanted to leave?”

  “Went to college inAtlanta.”

  That he went to college at all surprised Gary, and he thought that asking him if he graduated or not was probablytacky. He just kept nodding. “Oh?”

  “Daddy wanted me to get a degree in agricultural management.”

  “Sooo… that was your major?”

  He grinned at him, his face breaking open with a bright, mischievous glee. “Art History.”

  Garylaughed at the improbabilityofit.

  “Daddywas furious, threatened to cut me off. But he knew I’d come back, so he let me do what I wanted in the end. Got a minor in busi
ness administration to keep him happy.” He shrugged, still smiling, although it had turned a bit ruthless. Gary was beginning to hope that he would not have to work directly with “Daddy” too often. He was obviously an authoritarian dictator, and there was something peculiar about that when added to the scuttlebutt Fred George had passed along. Gary stopped that thought and tried to return to the conversation.

  “He knew you’d come back?”

  Chuck nodded slowly, fixing him with an intense gaze. “Family.”

  Gary quickly broke eye contact and drank some of his coffee. In another life, he would have called the flirtation for what it was and thrown it right back, but he was in Holden talking to the eldest son of a clan known for strangeness, and Gary’s long-neglected sense of self-preservationwas kickinginhard.

  “You?”

  “What?”He blinked at the question.

  “Family?” He had finished his sandwich at last but was back to sipping at his drink and studying Gary like a textbook.

  “Parents died in a car accident when I was in high school. Actually… well, not to sound dramatic, but aside from a few third cousins out the way, my whole family is gone.” He shook his head. Chuck had gone solemn and still out of respect. “Not that there were many of us to begin with. Dad and his brother, and his Aunt Harriet. Mom’s people spread out after her father died, so I don’t know that side much at all. Just a few cousins around, here and there. Distant kin.” He shrugged. “When I left Insbrook, I really never planned to come back. Family’s always been poor, so I had nothing much to inherit anyway. Selling their house paid for me to go to college, though. So….” He raised his coffee mugintoast to their memory.

  He knew that Chuck would be familiar with the story of his uncle, who died in a plane crash with his family on a vacation flight, several years before. Uncle Dale had been a pilot but not experienced or lucky enough to outfly a storm in the mountains. It was big news in a small town like Holden, and given that five people and a whole family had died, it was very big news indeed. As if in confirmation of his thoughts, Chuck brought themup.

  “I remember reading’bout your uncle.”

  “Yeah, well, that was pretty much the end of us as a tribe, I guess.”He had barelyknownthat branchof the family, and the emotional impact of the loss was not very steep, but it still represented something to himthat he tried not to think about often. To his surprise, Chuck shuddered and rubbed his hands together as if trying to rub somethingoffhis skin.

  “Caused Daddy a few bad nights. He knew your uncle fairly well, didn’t like the idea of him moving his family up North to start with. Always said the flights back here would kill’em. Sorryhe was right.”

  “Probably made him a bit more worried about losing any of his own kids,” Gary said, thinking it was the logicaldeduction. Chuck’s expressionwas grave.

  “Of losing anyone. We’re not a small family, but we beengettingsmaller everygeneration. It preys onhis mind.”

  “Surprised he hasn’t been hounding you to settle, make himsome grandkids.”

  Chuck leaned back in his chair, and with absolute clarity Gary knew he already had. Married, maybe, but kids, definitely, and he was not going to talk about it. Garysuspected divorce, ifonlybecause Chuck was too old not to have been married at some point. It seemed like a good time to end the conversation—neither one of themwas going to confess to more than they already had, so he stood up and could tell that Chuck was startled bythe abruptness.

  “Thanks for lunch, but I’d like to get that stereo back to the house and set up, and I’msure you need to get back to work sometime today.”

  Chuck stood up quickly, his strength visibly held in check. He reminded Gary of a dancer with his long and thin body, and he could easily imagine Chuck’s body moving under his clothes—solid muscle and sinewy limbs giving him a loose-limbed grace that always caught Gary’s eye in anyone, male or female— but that had a particular appeal right then. He furiously fought down another blush as they left the diner. They got into his car and drove around to the back of the store, where the roll-drop door was gaping open, the cabinet right inside. Chuck grabbed a few old blankets that were around for the purpose and tucked theminto the back of the car. Together they carefully loaded the cabinet for travel.

  “You’ll need help unloading it.” Chuck stood by as Garyclosed the hatch.

  He stared at his car in dismay, realizing that Chuck was right and that he was probably going to offer to do it. Gary knew that there was no way to stop the steam train of “neighborly helpfulness” when it got rolling, especially when combined with a not-so-subtle neighborlyinquiry. He sighed. “Right. Wellmaybe….”

  “I’ll follow.” Chuck pulled keys out of his pocket and jangled them. “Let me close up this door and let Elba know I’llbe a while longer.”

  Garytried not to read anything into that as he got in his car and drove to the house, careful not to jostle his precious and expensive cargo any more than necessary. When he arrived, he backed up to the front stairs, opened the hatch, then went up into the den to figure out where the cabinet was going to go. He decided to put it in the living roominstead. The den had large double doors which could be opened up when he wanted to listen and play along, and keeping the stereo in the living roommeant he could hear it fromjust about anywhere else downstairs. There was also the fact that he was nowhere near done withsortingout either room, so the den was still smashed full of boxes, broken lamps, and rusty folding chairs. The living room was only marginally better, but with some strategic shoving, the cabinet would fit. He was leaning on an old, stained coffee table against the wall when he heard Chuck’s truck pullingup the drive.

  Chuck was stoically silent as they unloaded the cabinet and carried it to the spot cleared for it. It was not until Gary was anxiously plugging it in that he noticed his guest was standing quietly in the middle of the room, looking around, and Gary realized this was probablythe first time he had ever beeninvited inside.

  “Still cleaning up.” Gary waved a hand around to indicate apology.

  Chuck gave hima small, sardonic smile. “Used to worse.”

  Completely unsure of what that was supposed to mean, Gary just nodded. “Get you something to drink? I’ve got water, beer, some grape soda, I think….”

  “Nope. I’mgood.”

  He stepped forward and shook Chuck’s hand with as much manful force as he could muster. “Thanks againfor your help here.”

  “My pleasure,” Chuck repeated his answer from earlier, and Garyfelt himselfblushagain.

  “So, I suppose I’ll see you soon… when it’s harvest,” Gary said, continuing to shake Chuck’s hand. They stood staring at each other for a minute before it was clear that Chuck was not leaving until Gary kicked him out. Gary started trying to loosen his grip and extricate himself without it looking too much like a coward’s exit. Chuck continued to hold onto Gary’s hand. Gary finally forwent manners and went to yank it back, but Chuck trapped it in a vice grip with his long, strong fingers, bringing his hand up to his mouth. He paused, smelling Gary’s skin for a moment, then kissed the back of his hand, catching him off guard with the wet heat of his mouth. They were frozen like that for a long minute as Chuck sucked lovingly on his skin, and Gary tried to breathe and to think. Chuck released his hand and licked his lips, and Gary stifled a gasp from the rush of lust that shot up his spine. They looked at each other in complete understanding—Gary knew his reaction to Chuck’s approach was written boldly across his skin, and there was no way on earth Chuck could write that offas anythingother thanmakinga pass at another man.

  “I’m… I’m not…,” Gary stuttered before collectinghimselfwitha deep breath.

  Chuck stepped backward, the open desire he had shown earlier clouding over with wariness, his eyes going hard and steely again. Gary realized what he had said and back-pedaled. “No! I mean I am. I’m like that. You got that right. And I appreciate the attention, but… I don’t think I’m, uh, ready. Just movinghere and all.”


  Chuck bared his teeth, and it took Gary a second to realize that he was forcing a smile and not a grimace. “Understood. SorryifI made youuncomfortable.”

  It was back to formalities, then. Gary nodded, relieved and ignoring the twinge of disappointment that flared deep in his belly. Chuck dipped his head politely and walked out, not looking back. Gary watched him through the window, knowing that things could have gone badlyand wonderingifeither ofthemhad anyidea of what they were doing. Chuck had basically walked through fire to take a risk on Gary only to get shot down, and Gary was not sure how he felt about that either way.

  It was not until later, when he had cleaned the Blaupunkt needle and was setting up to play an album for the first time, that he finallyrealized whyChuck took the chance. Gary had stripped his car of his gay-pride stickers in a defensive measure before driving down, but now he stood in his living room staring at the case for his old acoustic guitar, which was ragged and used and covered in pride stickers, including one rainbow, one pink triangle, and at least two supporting gay marriage. Chuck would have to be blind and stupid not to see the case, which was sitting in the middle of the couch and directly facing the front door. So, really, he had not takenas muchofa risk as Garyfirst guessed.

  He was not sure if he was insulted by that or not. Disgusted with himself, he started up the player with a flourish.

  The first album was a bad country-western record from the mid-1970s, one he was not too worried about scratching up if the turntable was out of whack. It was belt driven, and Gary wondered what he was going to do if the belt was warped or broke during play, but obviously the previous owner had replaced it recently because the terrible music came out of the speakers clearly and evenly with only a few pops and crackles from the surface of the vinyl. With that promising start, he dragged over a box of the more interesting albums and set up to clean and sample them. It would take a while to find out whichones were good, whichwhere salvageable, and whichhad to be tossed.