Foothills Pride Stories, Volume 2

by Pat Henshaw

  I’d been reborn last night, just as the year was crawling out from under its winter blanket to become a new summer. For the first time, I acknowledged nature’s transition.

  When we got to the farmhouse and settled in the kitchen with mugs of coffee in front of us, Lloyd started talking before I could.

  “You realize you caused quite a stir in town this morning.” He drank as I jerked to attention.

  “I did? Why?”

  “Well, you weren’t answering your phone, and you weren’t at the store where you always are.” He took another sip. “Plus you were seen driving the stranger and his son out to your place last night. Some people assumed you were dead. Cut up in little pieces. Especially after they found out Emil wasn’t at the bank today.”

  “Oh no.” My groan held a hint of laughter. “So what was the story?”

  “Obviously, he’d cut all three of you up, and the house was a bloody mess. Of course, then you had to go and spoil the whole gruesome scenario by sitting calmly in front of the store and holding hands with the stranger. I think the current story is that you’re under some sort of mystical spell the stranger put on you.” He looked out the window into the backyard. “Now my van’s parked outside your house. There must be something going on. I’m surprised people haven’t stopped by and come up to the door to ask what’s happening.”

  I spewed coffee out of my nose. It took me a little while to stop chuckling and wipe up the mess I’d made. Lloyd sat through the whole production, watching me with a smirk on his face.

  “Wait until they see the new Frank and the new McCord’s Hardware.”

  “McCord’s Hardware? You’re finally changing the name? Why not Frank’s Hardware?”

  “Nope. McCord’s. Putting the family front and center like it should’ve been all along. I always thought my grandfather’s austerity went a little too far—naming it just Hardware.”

  Lloyd nodded and sipped. “A new Frank and a new name for the store, huh?”

  “Yup. No more overalls, no more bow tie, and a lot more variety in merchandise. I’m going to expand out of the hardware business and into the twenty-first century.”

  His eyes got wide, and he grinned at me.

  “Well, that should keep the talk around town interesting.” He ran a finger along the lip of his mug. “This have anything to do with Christopher and Henry Darling?”

  I nodded.

  “It has everything to do with them. And with Emil. And my longtime disgust with my life.”

  “Well, if you need any support, you know me and the husband are behind you a hundred percent. He looks like a real nice guy and was very helpful last night.”

  That’s what I loved about small towns and the people who’ve known each other since birth, like our gay sheriff and his charming husband. The ones who accepted me lined up unquestioningly on my side. Most of them didn’t ask anything from me other than to be myself—and do handyman jobs now and then. The ones who hated me or my family would go to their graves that way. It took an exceptionally strong person to change his mind and stick to it in a small town. Most of us weren’t usually rebels like that.

  “I appreciate your support.” I nodded to Lloyd’s mug. “Refill?”

  He looked at his wristwatch.

  “Naw. Actually, I came out here on official police business. Not to find your bloody body or shoot the shit.” He handed me his mug as I got up to clear the table. “Your boarder says he needs clean clothes and some of his personal belongings as long as you’re going to make him spend the weekend in jail.”

  I walked back from the sink and sat hard on the kitchen chair. I’d been having second thoughts about charging Emil.

  “Okay. I’m wondering if I acted too hastily last night.”

  Lloyd looked concerned, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how I’d take whatever it was.

  We waited a few minutes, me looking down at my finger, which was tracing some of the nicks and scratches on the table. Should I stop the legal process and tell Lloyd that I wasn’t going to pursue the breaking and entering charges? If I did, would Emil see this as a sign that I liked him and wanted to get together with him again? Would he see my ignoring his behavior as giving him the go-ahead to do whatever he pleased in my house? He hadn’t paid his rent in months, so I’d be looking into eviction anyway. Surely that would convince Emil that I didn’t want him around.

  I was about to ask Lloyd his opinion when he stood.

  “Why don’t we go upstairs and get him his toothbrush and a clean pair of underwear? You can think about it while we do that, okay?”

  Since I was of two minds and couldn’t decide which one was what I should do, I nodded.

  After we walked up the outside stairs, I opened Emil’s front door. As I stepped into his living room, all feelings of kindness left me. I was stunned as I looked around and saw a bunch of my possessions staring me in the face.

  I blinked and looked around again.

  I turned to Lloyd and pointed with a shaking finger at a picture on the wall.

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on? That’s my mother’s painting. What’s it doing in Emil’s room? I keep it in a cabinet downstairs so it won’t fade.” I walked around, recognizing item after item. Some were precious, some mundane. But all were mine. Why would he take them? None of them was worth much money. Nor should they have any other value to him. They were my memories. The accumulation made up my life, my history, my heritage. Why did Emil want them? Why was he hoarding them?

  I collapsed on the couch, an old couch that I’d loaned him until he could get the cash to buy his own. I started shaking as I realized he had surrounded himself with bits and pieces of my life. I felt cold, as if I’d been cored and filled with ice water.

  “Frank? Frank? How’re you doing, buddy?”

  Lloyd’s voice seeped into my headache, spreading a path of calmness and peace, subduing some of my panic.

  I looked up at him. Now more than ever I was glad I’d taken steps to become Frank McCord, version two. Version one had been felled by Emil’s theft.

  “I don’t understand. Why is my stuff in Emil’s living room? Look around. These things aren’t expensive or fancy or anything. It’s just stuff. My stuff.” I got up from the couch and walked to the bookcase to shuffle through some items on its top shelf. “This rock is from the Empire Mine. It’s just a rock. Not gold. And this. It’s a piece of leather from Sutter’s Fort. I got it during a Living History Day tour when I was in grade school. And over here’s a tiny snapshot of my mother before she died. It’s not even framed. All these things came from one of the shelves downstairs. You couldn’t even see some of them unless you opened the cabinets and looked for them.”

  Which told me a lot about how often I took out the slivers of my past and appreciated them. Emil had to have been going through my things and taking mementos that I’d put away for safekeeping.

  I started shaking again.

  “Why? Why would he do this?”

  As I looked around, spying more and more things that were mine, Lloyd was busy taking pictures with his phone.

  “Okay, Frank, we’re going to get out of here and go back downstairs.” He put his hand on my arm, and like a docile horse, I followed his lead. “You have another count against Emil now. I’d charge him if I were you.”

  When we got to the kitchen, he had me write out a list of the things I’d seen upstairs that belonged to me. I wrote it, but I knew they wouldn’t still be there if Lloyd came back with a search warrant or whatever he was planning. After he left, I was going back up there to take everything back. What could Emil do? Accuse me of stealing? As I was writing, someone knocked on the front door and rang the doorbell. Lloyd went to answer it, telling me to keep writing.

  I heard Henry before Lloyd identified the callers.

  “I’m back here in the kitchen,” I yelled at them. I was still shaking, but I knew having them near would help calm me.

  Henry bounded into the
room while Lloyd and Christopher followed slowly behind him. They were having a whispered conversation. Lloyd was probably explaining why I sounded strange and warning Christopher not to upset me further.

  “I don’t know about you two—” I put down the pen and shoved the paper toward Lloyd. My smile wobbled as I turned to Christopher and Henry. “—but I’m starving. If Lloyd is done here, let’s go to dinner.”

  Their presence made it easier to be the new, stronger me. With them, I thought I could curtail my anger and panic attacks. I hoped this change became a permanent one. My heart went out to them in thanks.

  Christopher didn’t seem to be doing as well as I was. He still looked sad and lost, but Henry bounced around the kitchen, rinsing the cups the sheriff and I’d been using. Then he turned and stared at me as if to say that we’d better be on our way. He looked even more emaciated and starved than he had when I first met him. How much food would it take to make him fill out?

  Lloyd warned me not to go upstairs and mess with Emil’s rooms, and I nodded like I agreed but made no promises. Without further ado, the Darlings and I went to the Rock Bottom.

  8

  WHEN WE got there, the Bottom was overflowing with customers. In the spring, after the parking lot was repaved, the owner, Bud, had added a covered patio on the other side of the cafe. The view of the forest and mountains spread out as if blessing everyone’s meal, and at night the little strings of lights added a festive touch. Even though it was still chilly in the setting sun, the ambiance and the tall space heaters kept diners cozy.

  Bud’s wife, Lorraine, was no longer the sole waitress, nor was their son, Larry, the only busboy and dishwasher. What had once been a small mom-and-pop operation known only to the locals had bloomed into an area favorite and a destination for those foodies who wanted premium diner food.

  I enjoyed watching Christopher and Henry take in the Bottom’s newest addition.

  “You may have read about this place.” I held the door open for them. “The Bottom was featured in a Bay Area food magazine a little while back. Only a paragraph and a picture, but that seems to be enough to get people to come out on a Saturday night.”

  Instead of the daytime crowd of mostly men in work clothes, tonight the diners wore California casual—jeans, knit tops, jackets, and leather shoes, except for those in Birkenstocks.

  Inside, except for an enlarged and updated kitchen, the Bottom hadn’t changed one iota. The tacky laminate-topped tables and plastic menus remained. Designer Fredi Zimmer swore every year that he was going to redesign the place, and every year Lorraine smiled serenely at him, served his pie, and patted him on the shoulder.

  The smell of down-home cooking remained too. I watched Christopher take a deep whiff and break into a grin.

  My stomach grumbled, as I imagined his did. There’s nothing like good food to downgrade almost any crisis.

  A young girl I didn’t know seated us inside in a booth along the far wall.

  “The special’s corned beef hash with broccoli and sweet lima bean salad.”

  She dealt out the menus.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  Henry mumbled, “May, not can,” but kept his head down.

  Christopher and I shared a smile, and both of us said, “Only water,” in unison. Then we grinned.

  How could he not feel like he’d come home and that we were becoming more than mere friends? His intimate smile warmed my heart. I touched his sleeve, and he nodded like he understood.

  As the sad excuse for a waitress took our orders, Larry, the owners’ son, walked up to the table and tapped Henry on the shoulder.

  They shared a “Hey, man,” and Larry asked Henry if he’d like to chill outside with him and maybe eat out there. Henry’s eager look got a nod from Christopher, so the boys bounded out to the patio. They claimed a table in the far corner, where we could see them.

  The waitress sighed, made a notation on her order pad, and walked slowly away.

  Our family dinner had turned into an ersatz date with Henry gone.

  “I wanted to thank you again for all your help.” Christopher leaned in toward me and spoke in a low, dick-thickening voice. Before I could tell him that it was no problem, he continued, “Abe says his guys can get the house shored up enough for me to get some of our clothes and stuff out in a few days. Then if I want them to keep going, I’ll have to decide how many rooms I want them to create downstairs.”

  He casually put a hand over mine, not so much like we were holding hands, but like he was sopping up comfort from being able to touch me. My body, however, took his touch as a green light. My engine was revving and ready to take off.

  “I checked with my accountant, and it turns out I have more money than I thought I did. I guess the new addition to my game is selling really well, and a new generation of players is buying the original game in order to get the add-on.” He sounded subdued but happy, like a huge weight had lifted from him.

  I nodded and smiled, and his hand squeezed mine.

  “So I can easily afford whatever I have to do to get the house habitable again.” He rubbed the top of my hand with one of his fingers. I wanted to close my eyes and purr. “I was hoping I could run a few ideas by you, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. What’ve you got?”

  Our salads came, and he moved his hand away as he picked up his fork. Christopher explained that the lawyer said the deed was valid and had been registered, so he was hiring Abe to finish the house. He hoped that instead of staying in the ratty old motel off the highway, he and Henry could rent my guestroom.

  I started to protest the idea of him renting, but he wouldn’t let me. “You’re making a sacrifice here. Don’t deny it. Your personal space will be cut by two thirds.” He waved away my rebuttal. “You can say you don’t mind, but we don’t know how long we’ll be staying. So you should get something out of the deal.”

  Hard as I tried to talk him out of paying—and I really did—he persisted and then bowled me over with his final argument.

  “Frank, I’m attracted to you, and I hope you feel the same way. I want to explore the bond we have. If Henry and I move out and stay somewhere else, I’ll get caught up in the house problem and might not have the time or energy to look out of the bunker at what might become the most important person in my life. I have a tendency to bury myself when I get overwhelmed with work or Henry or life. But if he and I are living in the same house with you, then we’ll have to cross paths. I need the reminder that life isn’t all about working through problems, but includes actually having fun and enjoying what’s going on around me.”

  I was pleased, as was my libido. But Christopher was peering at me with doubt in his eyes.

  “We’re on the same page, right? You feel a connection to me? Or am I mistaken?”

  I smiled—okay, beamed—at him, throwing all my happiness in his face. After another cautious look at me, he grinned back. Our agreement constructed an invisible bridge, not a very sturdy or substantial span as yet, but a bridge between us nonetheless.

  “Of course I feel it,” I said. “I want to see where this goes too.”

  He still looked worried, but I was euphoric.

  I’ve never understood this about myself. When I get overly angry, I work myself into a panic attack, but when I’m excessively happy, no attack. My heart seems to beat as quickly. My breathing is nearly panting. But no panic attack. How is this possible?

  No matter. Christopher and I sat across from each other, ate our meals, and grinned. We were testing out our new little rope bridge, and it held.

  In the end, I named a nominal monthly fee, which Christopher tried to raise. When I refused to accept it, he declared that he and Henry would do all the kitchen and living room cleanup and pay for all the groceries. I demurred, but he insisted because he said Henry would be eating as if he were two or three men.

  I didn’t know how this would go over with my weekly housekeeper, but I figured if nothing else, Christopher a
nd Henry would charm her.

  OVER DESSERT, Christopher asked about my shopping spree with Henry. I explained how I was overhauling myself and the store because I was disgusted with my old image.

  “I don’t get it.” He shook his head slightly. “I think you’re a perfectly nice guy. Why should you change?”

  “That’s just it! I’m a nice guy. A nice doormat. I don’t have a life that doesn’t have something to do with the hardware store.” Then I started to blush. “Well, except for a few trips to Sacramento for, well, sex.”

  Christopher got an odd, almost fond look on his face. His hand covered mine.

  “Sacramento?” he asked. “Why Sacramento?”

  Now I was really feeling geeky, not to mention stupidly adolescent. I cleared my throat. I looked around the Bottom, seeing people in couples who I’d known my entire life. They laughed and talked easily. Everyone around us could get laid without having to travel very far at all. Me? I was driving for over an hour for my pleasure. And sometimes as I traveled back home alone afterward, the night seemed darker than ever.

  “Why go out of town? Because I’m a coward, that’s why. Because I’m seen as the sexless town bachelor, one of the nicest guys you’d ever want to know. Helpful, friendly, with a tragic past and an alarming temper when riled. Nobody here thinks of me as boyfriend material, either men or women. I’ve never approached anyone, and no one’s come on to me except Emil. And that happened at the farmhouse, not in town. So why Sacramento? Because there I can be a sexy, handsome, funny Frank, who’s good for a night of action.”

  Christopher squeezed my hand and stared at me. Finally he smiled—a slow, secret upturn of his lips.

  “Like I said, I think we have a bond and should explore it. Sex is off the table because of Henry in the house, but taking you out and us having fun away from your home is a must. You need wining and dining, is what you need.”

  Now I was bright red. When I turned my head to look around us, Henry was nearly back at the table.