by David Horne
Chapter Nine
Brett had never personally been to the big farm over the way, or the farmhouse while it had been owned by Mrs. Taylor. Not because she was a recluse, but just because they hadn’t been close like that. Having just taken his first tour inside it, Brett realized that his new room was almost half the size of his parents’ house. The room itself was about twenty feet by twenty feet. A huge, four-poster bed sat smack-dab in the middle of the room on a fluffy shag carpet. Big brown curtains were draped over the stained-glass windows, and there were two crossed hunting rifles mounted on the wall. Brett assumed that they were replicas, or at least he hoped they were.
Brett stared at his empty backpack. It’d taken him all of ten minutes to unpack the few things he’d stopped to get from home, and already he was feeling the first waves of homesickness. This was exactly the kind of thing that was likely to trigger headaches or dizzy spells. When he got into stressful of nerve-wracking situations, that tended to happen.
Suddenly, there was a gentle knock at the door. Brett opened his mouth to say, ‘come in’, but then thought twice about it. He didn’t feel right about giving Lewis permission to enter rooms in his own house. Fortunately, Lewis took the decision out of his hands and opened the door on the third knock.
He stepped into the room. “How do you like the room?”
Brett nodded. He cleared his throat. “It’s…it’s great, Mr. Taylor. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Lewis nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be comfortable in here. If you need anything changed, or you want to redecorate, feel free.”
Brett nodded. “Thanks, it’s perfect.”
“Anyway, I just came up to see how you’re settling in,” Lewis said smoothly, “and to tell you that I’ve made dinner.”
Brett was surprised. “You cook?”
Lewis grinned. “I dabble.”
Brett smiled back. “Thank you. That’s very kind. I’ll be down in just a sec.”
Dinner turned out to be a steaming plate of mutton stew and mashed potatoes. Brett suddenly found that he was ravenous, and dug straight in, shoveling meat and potatoes into his mouth. Mostly because he was afraid that if he weren’t chewing, then Lewis would ask him a question. Then he’d have to answer. Lewis, however, didn’t seem to be deterred by Brett’s frantic eating. At several points during dinner, he looked as though he had a question but then thought better of it. Finally, however, he looked up from his own plate.
“Are you gay?”
Brett snorted into his stew. He looked up and locked eyes with Lewis cheeks already burning red. He dropped his knife into the plate with a clatter. “Wh-what?”
“It’s all right,” Lewis said calmly, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
“I-I never said there w-was,” Brett faltered. He inwardly cursed himself. “Just…how did you…?”
“How did I know?” Lewis laughed. “Put it this way. A few years ago, I was engaged. To a man.”
Brett’s eyebrows went up. “You’re gay?”
Lewis nodded. “Nasty old shock for my family, I can tell you.”
Brett half-chuckled. “Mine too. Well, not my mother so much. My father wasn’t too happy, though.”
Brett found the fact that he’d got through that whole sentence without stammering to be a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.
“So,” Brett said. “Do you always offer your employees dinner?”
“I mean, I would offer Gligor,” Lewis said, “my driver. But he half-terrifies me, so, you know. Plus, if you’re going to be living here, we might as well. I also thought it might be a good time for us to go over what you would be doing exactly.”
“Good idea,” Brett nodded.
“So ideally, I’d just like you to handle all the animal-related tasks,” Lewis said airily. “Milking the cows, feeding the chickens, what’s that brush for brushing down horses called?”
“Grooming?” Brett supplied.
“Sure,” Lewis shrugged. “Grooming the horses. Feeding them too. If it gets too much, and you need any help or whatnot, just let me know.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Brett said, sticking the last forkful of stew in his mouth, chewing and swallowing. He placed his knife and fork together in the middle of the plate. His eyes began to wander around the room and came to settle on a series of photos in frames on the mantelpiece.
“Is that you?” Brett asked, zooming toward the mantelpiece to pick out a framed photo in the middle, one of Lewis and a younger, dark-haired man, both in tuxedos.
“Yep,” Lewis nodded. “That must have been at least five years ago now. It was my aunt’s birthday.”
“Who’s he?” Brett asked although he felt sure he already knew the answer.
“That’s Harvey,” Lewis said. “He was my…uh…fiancée at the time.”
Brett suddenly found himself wishing he hadn’t spoken. But the silence that followed almost compelled him to ask a follow-up question. “What happened?”
Lewis did not immediately answer but finished his mouthful and then took a drink from the Sauvignon Blanc on the table in front of him. “I brought him with me for my aunt’s birthday one year. My family…they…they’re from Texas, so—”
“I can hear it in your accent,” Brett admitted. “So, are they religious?”
“Then some,” Lewis nodded. “So yeah, my parents kind of turned a blind eye, but my cousin. Douglas. He wasn’t so happy to ignore it. He said some…very unsavory things about gay people, and kind of directed them at Harvey, and…”
“He blamed you for it?” Brett’s eyes widened.
Lewis shook his head. “He didn’t blame me for the things that Douglas said, but…he definitely blamed me for not sticking up for him.”
“Why didn’t you?” Brett asked, without thinking.
Lewis looked at him, and Brett faltered. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to-I just meant-I’m sorry,” Brett gabbled. He put the framed photo back.
But there was no anger lining Lewis’ face. Instead, in his eyes, a single solitary tear glistened there. Brett had no idea what to do. He backed up, still muttering apologies under his breath, and left Lewis alone at the dining table, curls of steam rising from his plate of unfinished mutton stew and tears caressing his cheeks.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Brett was up bright and early, eager to have a good first day on the job. After coming out of the shower, he stood in the middle of his room, dripping water on the rug as he decided what to wear. Eventually, he went with some particularly “farmer-like” garb, dark blue jeans, a swamp-green jacket, and matching rubber boots.
Brett made sure to make no noise on his way down the stairs - it was still early, and he had no desire to accidentally wake Lewis before hours. Not just because it was early, but because of what had happened at dinner the night before. Brett hadn’t meant to make Lewis upset, it’d just been a classic case of speaking without thinking. Brett had no idea that Lewis had any hard feelings about what had happened, but he intended to find out later rather than sooner.
He gently closed the garden door and picked up a metal bucket that sat on the garden path. First task? Milking the cows. Brett briefly toyed with the idea of taking the golf cart, but he didn’t have a clue how to drive, so he decided to walk instead. The walk across the meadow didn’t take long, maybe five minutes or so, and Brett took the chance to take in the scenery on the way. He tried not to let his mind linger on the proverbial elephant in the room, but try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about the possible repercussions of what had happened the night before. Stupid brain, Brett thought inwardly. He’d never been top of the class at school, but he’d been a far cry from a retard before his accident. Brett’s mother told him not to use ‘the r-word’ when talking about himself, but Brett knew that people called him that when his back was turned, or when they thought he couldn’t hear.
Black Bessie was the biggest cow on the farm and probably w
eighed about a billion pounds.
“Hey girl,” Brett said soothingly, stroking Black Bessie’s coat. “My name’s Brett. Aren’t you gorgeous?”
Black Bessie mooed contentedly as Brett caressed her gently. He slid the bucket underneath her, took a knee and got to work. For a few moments, Brett simply concentrated on the splish-splash of the milk squirting into the metal bucket, almost like a rhythmic tattoo. As he worked, he talked to Black Bessie. Animals may not speak English, but they were living creatures, and Brett always treated them as such.
“It’s all right for you, isn’t it, girl?” Brett crooned. “Just grazing in this meadow all day. Nothing wrong with you at all, is there? I used to be like you, Bessie. Back at school. Everyone loved me.”
For the next five minutes, Brett continued talking to Black Bessie in the same soft voice. It wasn’t like he was soothing her, it was like they were soothing each other. Brett became completely lost in what he was doing like he always did. If he’d been paying attention, he would have seen Lewis come up behind him. For a moment, Lewis watched Brett work with a smile on his face. It was so clear to him that he’d hired the right man for the job - he had such a way with animals.
“I’m not an animal guy,” Lewis said. “But even I can tell she likes you.”
Brett started and turned around in the grass. “Lewis!”
“Morning,” Lewis smiled, taking a sip from the coffee in his travel cup. “Up bright and early I see.”
Brett immediately began to stutter and trip over his words. “I-I just-I thought I’d get up early start so I could—”
Lewis laughed and took a knee next to Brett. “It’s okay, Brett, calm down, you’re free to start as early as you like.”
Brett smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then both of them started speaking at the same time.
“I’m sorry about last night—” Lewis began.
“I didn’t mean to upset you last night—” Brett started at the exact same moment.
They both stopped, and then started laughing in unison.
“How about we just skip the apologies?” Lewis asked.
Brett nodded. “Thanks.”
“Brett, do you know what I did before I came to this farm?” Lewis asked. “Like what job I did?”
Brett shook his head no.
“I went to school to study for a degree in psychology,” Lewis explained. “Now I’m an occupational therapist. In Manhattan.”
Brett raised his eyebrows. He felt sure he knew where this was going.
“I’ve treated patients with similar conditions to yours before,” Lewis said, proving Brett right. “I know I can help you.”
Brett shook his head. “I appreciate the offer. But…I don’t need help.”
“But playing soccer is your dream, isn’t it?” Lewis asked. “You’re just going to give up on your dream?”
“I’m not giving up,” Brett said. “I just…I can’t play anymore.”
Lewis rolled his eyes. “Right. You can’t. I’ve heard that before. Sounds like giving up to me. When I spoke to Old Man James, you know what he called you?”
Brett frowned but didn’t reply.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Lewis said forcefully. “It’s not a nice word. It begins with ‘r’.”
“I know what—” Brett began, but Lewis cut him off.
“What do you know?” Lewis asked. “That everyone thinks you’re a retard? That you’re mental?”
Brett felt his bottom lip start trembling and he bit back the tears.
“You know why everyone thinks that, right?” Lewis said nastily.
“B-because of my stupid brain,” Brett growled.
“It’s nothing to do with your brain!” Lewis exclaimed. “It’s because you had a chance most kids who grow up here never will. You had a shot at a scholarship! You were good, too. However, you had one setback, and you threw all that away. You gave up. That’s why they don’t like you.”
Brett found he had nothing to say. He was nothing short of stunned. In all the years he’d spent here, he’d never thought of things in that way, and now, it was all he could think of.
“In my opinion, they’re right,” Lewis went on. “You’ve only been here a day, and I’m already getting bored of you moping around, Brett. You want to give up on your dreams, fine. But maybe it’s for the best after all. Great athletes, above all else, need to have tenacity. You need to be able to defeat the demons inside yourself, overcome your own self-doubt before you go out there to overcome other teams. Winners never quit. So maybe you’re not cut out for the pitch. Maybe in the whole wide world, sitting here, milking a cow is where the great Brett Evans should be.”
It was as though a beast in Brett’s chest growled to life. He stood up faster than he even knew he could, knocking over the bucket of milk as he did so.
“Shut your mouth!” Brett shouted. “Don’t you dare say that! What do you know? You don’t know anything! I am cut out for the pitch! Nothing’s going to stop me, not a stupid injury and not you! I can do anything I want!”
Lewis’ face relaxed. He smiled. “Yes, Brett. You can. Deep down, you’ve always known it. You needed to hear yourself say it.”
Brett’s mouth dropped open. “You-you just-did you—?”
“Did I bait you into standing up for yourself?” Lewis asked. He reached out and placed his hand on Brett’s cheek. “Who knows? But what I do know is you should trust me, Brett. I can help you. I will. When you’ve finished for the day, come and find me. I have something I want to show you.”
He gave Brett’s cheek a playful tap, turned on his heel and left Brett standing next to Big Bessie, shocked to his core.
Chapter Eleven
On his way back toward the house, Lewis’ mind raced. If he hadn’t already known that Brett was gay, the look that the young man had just given him would definitely have tipped him off. At first, he’d thought it was gratitude. Lewis had used one of the most effective, albeit sneakiest, methods in the therapist’s handbook to get Brett to bring out his own self-confidence. But as they’d locked eyes, Lewis had known deep within that Brett wasn’t merely grateful. He felt something for Lewis. Lewis couldn’t be sure what it was, but he had a pretty good idea of what it might be.
As Lewis reached the farmhouse, he decided to dismiss the thoughts running through his head. In any case, he had something far more important to take care of. As soon as Lewis got inside, he proceeded straight to the study and opened up his laptop. It took nearly an hour of browsing through all of the files he’d brought with him to find what he needed - a copy of one of the presentations he’d taken in college.
Lewis murmured the names of the files as he flicked through them on his screen, until he came to rest on the folder he needed. “Gotcha,” Lewis murmured. He opened the folder, did a Master Select on all of the files, and then pressed CMD+P. The printer in the corner hummed to life and began to spew sheet after sheet of paper.
Lewis made a mental note to brew a pot of coffee. This was going to be a long day. Lewis was hardly aware of the time passing as he worked, assembling different printouts into different piles, and he didn’t even realize that it was nearly three in the afternoon until Brett came in, soaking wet and covered in mud.
“Hey, slugger,” Lewis said absent-mindedly.
Brett smiled wistfully. “My Dad calls me that.”
Lewis looked up at this. “Jesus, kiddo, you’re filthy!”
Brett grinned. “Rolling around in the mud with Big Bessie will do that for you.”
Lewis laughed. “I don’t even want to know.”
“You said come and find you today,” Brett reminded him. “You had something to show me.”
“I do,” Lewis nodded. “But it can wait. Go and change. Then come back down when you’re ready.”
Brett bounded up the stairs, threw on some different clothes, and was back down in five minutes flat. “So, what did you hav
e to show me?”
“Right, yes,” Lewis said. “Please, take a seat.”
Brett was already settling into the armchair opposite Lewis. “Okay. What’s this about?”
Lewis gave him a look. “You know what this is about. I said I’m going to help you. And I meant it too. If you’ll let me.”
Brett frowned. Lewis could tell that he didn’t like accepting help, but his curiosity won out. “How?”
Lewis began ruffling through a big sheaf of papers on the table. “What do you know about…neuroscience?”
“New what?” Brett blinked.
Lewis chuckled gently. “Neuroscience. It’s the study of the human brain. What do you know about it?”
Brett shrugged. “Um…I know it’s called neuroscience and it’s the study of the human brain. That’s really all I’ve got on it so far.”
Lewis laughed. “Fair enough. Well take a look at this.”
He handed Brett an A4 sheet of paper. Printed on it, was a scan of a human brain. Brett gazed at the sheet of paper with a blank look on his face. “Okay. What am I looking for?”
“You recognize it?” Lewis smiled.
Brett shook his head. “No. Should I?”
“You should,” Lewis confirmed. “It’s yours.”
Brett’s eyebrows went up. “My brain? How?”
Lewis nodded. “Well, it was your brain. That’s what your noggin looked like about four-five years ago. I called up St. Valentine Hospital. I figured that’s where you were taken after your accident because of how close it is to St. Francis College.”
“I was,” Brett nodded, still scanning his own brain.
“Normally, they wouldn’t release records like these to the public,” Lewis explained. “But I’ve got some pull. Now, you see this area here?”
Brett took a closer look. “Where?”
Lewis got up out of his chair and moved around to Brett’s side. He reached in to indicate the area Brett is supposed to be looking at. “Here.”
Lewis’ head was suddenly very close to Brett’s. He could smell the shampoo in his hair.
