Dawn in the Orchard

by Cooper West

  Hours later, he had run through only one and a half boxes, getting too caught up in listening instead of sampling whenever a good artist appeared in the selection. It was a nice time of not worrying or wondering or even thinking much outside of the music, but he realized he was hungry and stiff from sitting. He got up and finally went about settling in for the evening, trying unsuccessfully to not think about Chuck’s earlier invitation.

  Gary was not blind to how things worked in a town like Holden, much less an outlying village such as Cornerstone. He sighed, wishing for his own simpler poverty-stricken days in a modern metropolis, living with a man who cooked dinner and expected nothing more than that he give good Xbox while they argued over whose Internet porn downloads were kinkier. Yet even that familiar memory felt like a world away now, and he was at a loss trying to figure out what was normal these days—other than wandering around in a directionless haze, which for the first time in years was beginningto feelmore like a prisonthanfreedom.

  After eating a sandwich for dinner, he went to fall down face first on his bed, where he stayed until dawn came back the next day. He knew he was in a holding pattern, but he was used to that.

  ChapterFive

  “Didn’tsee you on Thursday,” Fran said, polishing a

  glass, and Gary began to suspect the whole glasspolishing thing was a schtick. No glass needed that muchattention.

  “Still getting the house sorted out.” He sipped his boilermaker. It was Monday, and he spent the last four days completely absorbed in listening to the old records and practicing his guitar. It was cathartic, and he knew that, but sharing that information was likely to make him sound a bit crazy. He wondered if “crazy” was a side effect oflivinginthe house.

  Fran pursed her lips. “Chuckie seemed a bit put out. Was hopingyou’d show Thursday.”

  Garyslowlylowered his glass. “Oh?”

  It was obvious that Fran was trying not to smile. “He just mentioned you, is all.”

  He lowered his head onto the bar. “I did not move to Holdenfor this.”

  “Thenwhat did youmove here for?”

  “Nothing!”

  Fran set down the glass she had polished to a high shine and folded her arms. “But still, here y’are. What yougoingto do now?”

  “Okay, see, just because you’ve served me twice now doesn’t mean….”

  Franactuallyclucked at him. “Sure it does.”

  Gary rubbed his mouth and sighed. “I don’t know, okay? Mostly this was a move away. Away fromChicago, away fromthe ex, away froma doomed career….”

  Fran nodded understandingly for a moment, then waved her bar rag around. “You just going to sell the house?”

  “Probably not. Hell, I don’t have the money to sell the house, much less move. I spent all my money moving down here and then buying that damn stereo off ofChuck.”

  Fran smiled. “The Blaupunkt? Yeah, he was pleased as punchyoubought it.” Garytook a sip ofhis drink and set it back down, looking around at the mostly empty bar section. “Fran….”

  She leaned over. “I think I know what you’re asking, and best not to say it. But yeah, most people know, even if they don’t want to admit it. It’s why Chuckie went to college inAtlanta, I think. To get away fromhis… family.”

  Gary heard “his father” clear as a bell in her final word and nodded grimly.

  “Yousure caught his eye, though.”

  Garystared at her, horrified. “What?”

  “Oh now, he’s been low-key about it. Just mentioned you a few times. With Chuckie, that counts for something.”

  “Oh my god.” Gary slammed his drink while Fran laughed at him.

  “Don’t tellme youdon’t see the appeal?”

  “Shut up, woman, and get me another drink.” Fran did, still laughing, and then turned to serve some regulars who walked in. After a while, she came back, crackinga grinat Gary’s discomfort.

  “Oh come on, you’re fromthe big city!You can’t claimto be upset.” “I’m not… upset. But this is Holden, right? So let’s just sayI’mcautious.”

  “Uhmhmmm.”

  “And I’m not looking for a hookup, anyway,” Garysnarled at his emptyglass.

  “Trust me, Chuckie ain’t the ‘hooking up’ sort.”

  Fran shook her head. Gary lowered his head again,

  almost wishing that Fran had confirmed Chuck as slut instead. “He don’t take many too serious. And Daddy

  Everett… well, his thumb is broad and heavy.” “I get that. Ironfist.”

  “Like that, and more,” Fran said softly. Gary

  glared up at her, but her expression was tight and

  forbidding. “Look, if you don’t want Chuckie, I don’t

  care. He’s a good man, but that tribe in Cornerstone…

  they’llwork youover as soonas look at you.” “I thought you two were friends.” He rested his

  chinonhis hands, enjoyingthe buzzwhile it lasted. “We are. Don’t mean I get on with his people.

  What I’m talking about is what you plan on doing.

  Looks to most like you plan on settling in, staying on.

  Even if you toss Chuckie out on his ass, there are more

  thana few lined up behind him.”

  Gary narrowed his eyes, but Fran held up her

  hands in surrender. “Nobody’s talking. I’m just saying:

  humannature beingwhat it is and all.”

  “I’mreallynot looking,”Garysaid sourly. “That makes you a rare one around here, that’s for sure.” Fran chuckled and went back to work. Gary pursed his lips and considered what he had found out about Chuck. Fran had a point about human nature, and Gary knew he was not immune to loneliness, being by himself in a new place. It would make him an attractive lure to most single (and some not) gay men in the area, even if he looked like Quasimodo. Being gay in a small town meant a limited and rarely refreshed pool of talent to choose from. That meant, in turn, that he needed to stay on his toes and not accept the first offer to cross his path, like he had when Roger crossed his path in Chicago. He had read everything wrong back then: meeting Roger at a gay bar and hanging out with their queer friends for a few weeks. It was not until he was head over heels that he found out how far in the closet Roger was, how he split his life into gay/not gay in an effort to keep his family in the dark about his

  sexualorientation.

  Gary never liked it and hated feeling like Roger’s

  dirty little secret, but it was still a very comfortable,

  familiar relationship that Gary was not able to walk

  away fromuntil Roger did it for himby trying to date a woman his family set himup with. Gary nearly fell apart when he found out about it, and if Tally and a few others hadn’t dragged him out of Roger’s (not his, never his, not in any meaningful way) apartment, it probably would have been a full-blown nervous

  breakdowninstead ofa near miss.

  In Holden—in all of Marker County, and that

  whole part of the state in fact—it would be even worse

  than when he was trapped in a partial closet with

  Roger. There was no way anyone like Chuck could

  take Gary on as anything but a secret, an idea that

  twisted Gary’s stomach. He knew how it was when he

  hit the road to drive down, but facing up to it, sitting in

  Brunhilde’s while being harassed by a maybe-a-relative

  bartender, made it that muchmore concrete.

  He turned to Fran as she walked back over to

  him. “Chuck’s got responsibilities, anyway. Not like

  he’s going to do anything to rock the boat,” he said out

  loud, tryingto convince himself.

  “That’s no lie. He takes after his father like that.” Given how Fran talked about Mr. Everett earlier, the comment set off warning bells for Gary. Fran must have seen it in his eyes. “He’s not like his old man in most ways, but he takes his responsibilities to Cornerstone seriously.
Most of us never expected him to come back fromAtlanta, those who know his ways.” She wiped down the countertop with extreme prejudice. “We’re friends and play together most Thursdays and might even be related. But he’s the eldest, and he’s got expectations on his shoulders he won’t walk away from, especially his kids. His younger brothers are uppity, and the womenfolk in Cornerstone don’t work outside. It’s like a compound out there, and it don’t matter how far a man may go, he’llget reined in

  eventually.”

  “What, you are saying we got our own Waco up

  the road?” Gary wrinkled his nose. Fran stood up and

  replaced Gary’s empty pilsner with a glass of ice water.

  Gary frowned at it, but Fran snapped her bar rag at

  him.

  “Not saying one way or the other. Probably said

  too much, but I saw how hard Chuckie was looking for you to show last Thursday. I don’t want to warn you off, but I got a conscience, and you need to have your

  eyes open.”

  “Or you’re just warning me off your property.”

  Garyglared at Franand the water glass inturn. Fran laughed and smiled cheekily. “I got my own,

  and he’s the kind that likes what a woman can offer, if

  youget mydrift.”

  Gary nodded in acceptance, drinking down the

  water and hopingit would coolhis head.

  Thefollowing week, he noticed the grove of trees

  surrounding the house were spare of leaves but drooping with nuts. The harvest was going to happen soon, and that thought spurred Gary to get out of the house for the first time in days. He had been locked in his own personal bluegrass retreat, listening to albums compulsively in-between learning new songs on his acoustic guitar. His electric guitar and the bass guitar had yet to be unpacked from the trip, but he did not miss themat all as he barreled through song after song. But the trees were a cue to him that time was moving on, and Gary did not have anyone in his life to make sure the electric bill got paid while he was lost in sheet music. He got properly dressed, insofar as jeans and a button-down shirt would be proper in a town like Holden, called Fred George’s office, and arranged for a time that afternoon to drop by and talk to Marie to find out what Fred George managed to set up for him.

  Marie outlined what was left of the inheritance and how far it would go. Aunt Harriet had several bank bonds that, when cashed out, would give Gary three to five months’leeway on the job hunt, once the bills were portioned out by Marie (with a chunk going to Fred’s office for the service, but Gary was past caring). Speculationonthe pecanharvest, whichinvolved Marie calling no less than five relatives and “Joe at the Feed Store,” put it right at covering the taxes due. Fred did something with the probate of the estate (Gary did not ask for specifics), giving him some lead time for the harvest monies to come in. It was as good as news was going to get for him, so he thanked Marie and got out. He bought a coffee downtown, avoided Chuck’s store, and drove back to the house to submerge himself again inthe music there. His holdingpatternheld.

  On October fifteenth, early in the day when he was sitting on the couch sucking down coffee while listening to a very old and scratchy 78, he heard Chuck pulling into his drive and felt like an idiot for knowing himby the sound of his truck. Rolling his eyes at himself, he dragged himself up off the couch and went out to the porch, grateful for making a full bucket of sweet tea that morning. He would at least have something appropriate to serve a guest, for a change, not that many were dropping by other than Chuck. He opened the door and waved himup the front stairs and let him in, where they exchanged murmured, polite greetings. Chuck had on a straw hat, wide brimmed, more suited for summer than fall, and very dark sunglasses. He took both off just inside the door and hungthemonthe coat rack familiarly, thenlooked at the livingroomwitha thoughtfulsquint.

  “Redecorating?”

  Gary cringed, following his gaze. In his efforts to

  wrangle the den into a studio and make room for the stereo system in the living room, he had bullied Aunt Harriet’s belongings around ruthlessly, but the end result was the old sofa and assorted junk piled hopelessly to one side in the living room. Gary was still deciding if he needed to keep the furniture or not, although the television had been a quick decision. It was the foundation of the “donate to charity” pile opposite the couch, along with all the Barbara Cartland romance novels Gary found stacked behind the sofa. All in all, the den looked fairly musical and orderly, but the living room had the distinct air of “estate sale,” even with the Blaupundkt holdingcourt inthe far corner.

  “No, not really. Just turned the den into my studio and needed space. You know of anyone who needs an old sofa?” He smiled, trying for a joke to lighten the mood.

  Chuck looked at the sofa for a second, seriously thinking about it, and Gary cringed again, because it really was not a sofa he would give to his worst enemy. Then Chuck’s head swung in a smooth arc to look at the den. His easy, sure grace was based more oncoiled tension than a laid-back Southern drawl, and Gary admired it even as it made him nervous, because he realized he was expecting Chuck to pounce at any moment. He huffed out a smalllaugh that caused Chuck to swing his focus back to him, and he pinned Gary down with his intense eyes and a curious expression. They stared at each other for a moment, but Chuck blinked first, and the mood broke.

  “Sorry, just, that sofa is a terrible thing. I was joking about it. I wouldn’t donate it to charity much less pass it off to a friend.” Gary continued smiling, even thoughit was forced.

  Chuck raised his eyebrows, his gaze unwavering. Garyshrugged and tried for nonchalant. “Youlike some tea?”

  Chuck nodded. “Sure would.” As Gary walked to the kitchen, Chuck drifted toward the den.

  He came back out with a glass of tea, marginally more collected, to find Chuck squatting in front of the stacks ofrecord albums Garywas stilltryingto organize by era and artist. He was flipping through albums carefully, inspecting them, reading the sleeves before gently putting them back, one after another. Gary watched himfor a moment, studying the thoughtful way Chuck actually read the song listings. Obviously he had not heard Gary come back into the living roomand got up casually to look at Gary’s guitar on its stand. He petted it, his hands stroking down the wood. Gary sucked in his breath, genuinely aroused by the erotic gesture, and the noise finallyalerted Chuck.

  “Tea?” Chuck quickly walked out of the den to stand in front of him, reaching for the glass. Gary handed it to him wordlessly. “Thank you,” he said formally.

  “What is going on?” Gary asked, meaning with him generally, but he took the safe route and pointed out the windows rather thanpushit.

  “Trees are near ready. Going to be out with our shakers tomorrow. Thought I’d stop by to let you know.”

  Gary nodded, keeping his eyes off his molested guitar. “Right, to shake the branches. Then you’ll sort?” He spoke slowly, picking up on the languid and slow pace of Chuck’s replies, wondering for the first time if maybe the other man was drunk. He thought for one hysterical second about stepping closer to smell his breathbut stopped himselfintime.

  Chuck nodded, licking his lips, and Gary noticed he was actually staring at his mouth. Chuck gave a tight shudder, as if trying to bring himself back on topic, and finally answered. “Sort by hand. Got enough people to do it. No point in wearing out equipment we don’t need. We’re fast.”

  Gary was not about to start arguing the Everetts’ ways, particularly in regards to a subject he knew nothingabout.

  “Okay.” Something warned Gary to stay on topic, that he did not need to know anything more about him than he already did, but Chuck was being dense and cagey. “Look, is this about last week? I mean, I’msorry, but I’m—”

  “I get it. Not interested.”

  “No, that’s not what—”

  “This is business, Mr. Winston.” Chuck set the

  tea downona box.

  “Is it? It doesn’t feel lik
e it.” Gary crossed his

  arms.

  “Maybe it’s for the best if we keep things

  cordial.”

  “I’mtrying. But I get the feeling you’re taking this

  personally.”

  “And how else is a man supposed to take being

  pushed off?” Chuck finally turned to face him, his face

  flushingwithanger.

  Gary rolled his eyes. “The way it was meant. I

  just moved here, I don’t know you—”

  “And you ain’t trying.” Chuck walked up to him

  head on, stopping when they were close together. He

  had a couple of inches of leverage and pushed it,

  loomingover Gary, his eyes hot withchallenge. Garypointed at him, ill-advised adrenaline running

  through himat the unfairness of pretty much everything:

  music, Chicago, Roger, Holden, his damned dead Aunt

  Harriet. He opened his mouth to say something,

  anything, but Chuck ran his tongue out over his lips,

  thengrabbed Gary’s waist withbothhands to haulthem

  together for a kiss. Gary’s hands flew up and landed on

  Chuck’s shoulders as he fell forward, unbalanced, and

  he ended up clawing his fingers into Chuck’s shirt to

  steadyhimself. Unlike his grab for him, though, Chuck’s

  kiss was gentle and soft, his lips barely open, and after

  a brief pause to adjust to their nearness, he tilted his

  head to press into Gary’s mouth. Gary felt Chuck’s

  tongue swipe over his lips and meet his own tongue,

  and suddenly they were kissing like inexperienced

  teenagers, shaking with it, unsteady and desperate.

  Chuck’s arms looped around Gary, tightening so that

  their bodies pressed up against each other, and his

  accompanying groan was a full-body purr. Gary

  tightened his grip on Chuck’s shoulders in response and

  opened his own mouth, pushing his tongue into him,