Passing to Payton (4 page)

“
Ah, good. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. Mrs. Rosalie Greene passed away recently.”

“I just found that out. I had spoken to her on the phone just last week,” and I’m dazed by the news for a second time. It’s going to take a long time for it to all sink in.

“
Yes,” Mr. Eves’ tone goes somber. “It was a sudden turn. Sad, after all the hoping and praying this town did for her recovery. But, I suppose when God really wants one of his angels back…” He lets out a soft sigh then clears his throat. “Anyhow, I’m now handling the Greene estate.”

Not sure where this is going, I wait a few seconds for him to continue then fill in the awkward silence. “Oh?”

A shuffling of paperwork on the other end is the response, then “Sorry, just… Ah! Here it is. Now, her funeral is tomorrow, and I know it’s a few hours’ drive for you, but-”

“I’m in Alvarado.”

“What? Oh, you are?” The shocked surprise is… well, no surprise.

Deep breath… 
“I was coming to visit Mrs. Greene.”

“Oh, that’s good then,” Mr. Eves pauses then clears his throat again. “I mean, it’s good that you’re here, though I wish the circumstances were better. Would you be able to come by my office after the funeral?”

The heck? Maybe Dad’s estate is worse off than I thought… Figures, it’d fall on my head to clean up whatever mess he’s got himself into again. “I guess. May I ask what for?”

“For the will reading. You’re in it.”

“I…” But my throat swells, choking my response to a hoarse sputter. “I am?”

“Yes, sir.”

That can’t be right. “Sh-shouldn’t it all just go to Cody?”

“He’ll be there, too.”

Fuck. 
My head taps back against the car seat. Of course Cody will be there. And the funeral. And, since you can’t spit in this town without hitting both sides of the tracks, chances are high I’m gonna run into Cody eventually.

“Sam?”

“Hmm? Oh,” 
well, shit
. What can I do? Deny Mrs. Greene her final wishes? 
Never
. “I’ll be there, Mr. Eves.”

After writing down the office’s address, which is just a stone’s throw from the Blessed Savior church, I put the Civic back into drive and head into town. The first thing I notice is the new Dollar General, followed by a Taco Bell not yet open. Looks like the high school kids no longer have an excuse for late-night trips to Midlothian, other than toilet-papering the lawns of rival teams.

Despite the new builds, the main street going through the heart of ‘downtown’ remains beautifully picturesque, like one of those old 1950’s Home and Gardens magazines. Historical buildings. Wide, flower-bedded avenues. Well-kept storefronts and lawns. No big box stores. Just a few fast-food restaurants and recognizable name-brand stores littered amongst shops still run by the same families for a few generations. The hardware store may say ACE on the front, but everyone calls it the Fields’ Five & Dime, since the Fields family has owned and operated it since 1927.

Alvarado is a town that feels like 
home
 the minute you drive into it, its farms and fields not yet gobbled up by the ever expanding Dallas-Fort Worth metro suburban plague. It’s impossible to ignore that feeling of comfort and appreciation for small-town life that hits me as I pass by places I remember from childhood, even if most of those memories are outlined in misery.

In those days, I’d wanted nothing more than to fit in with the people who closed shop early on Fridays for football games in the fall, or the kids who ran unattended down the street without big-city fears about not making it back home, and teens who snuck out to bonfires in the fields at night after helping their folks bale the wheat that morning. It had been an aching desire to be part of it all, but I’d been outcast early on. Relegated to the sidelines, because every town needs its pariah.

Like a few things in my life, that hadn’t been a choice. The title had been handed down to me from my father, just like the hardware store would end up being owned by Kevin or Carl Fields someday. I wasn’t in line to own a store. No, when you grow up as the motherless son of the town drunk, there are certain expectations set on your shoulders. Or, perhaps, a lack thereof.

Mrs. Greene was the only person who seemed to have expected more than for me to turn out like my old man. The few friends I did let in had walked on eggshells around me, like I could break apart at any minute. Sometimes, it admittedly felt that way. Then, when it became obvious I wasn’t like the other boys, the only expectation folks had was for me to leave.

At least that was one thing my dad and the town had agreed on. Sure, folks kept smiling at me and encouraging me to get out of Alvarado to find 
my place
, whatever that meant. Like there was some ‘gay-town’ run by a ‘gay-mayor’ where all the queers magically ended up living to dance around in boy-shorts with rainbow flags.

A shudder runs up my spine at the idea. I’ve accepted my homosexuality, but flamboyantly ‘out-and-proud’, I am not. Besides, I don’t have the ass to pull off boy-shorts.

Yes, I’ve tried. It wasn’t my best moment.

Anyway, while the town pretended that having a token gay-kid was okay as long as you didn’t acknowledge it as being normal, my dad had simply told me to 
get the fuck out
.

That blunt response to my less-than-optional coming-out had been better than all the pensive smiles and hushed whispers. It’s not like I flaunted it or wore a label through town, either. Some men can hide it exceptionally well. Others are obviously fruitcakes when placed next to all the perfectly masculine steaks. I tried to hide it until I realized it was an impossible battle waged against a body that had a mind of its own.

No, for me, coming out wasn’t a choice. Choices weren’t something I ever had in abundance.

Parking out front of The Pleasant Peach Bed & Breakfast, a groan expels my anxiety as I try to stop thinking about how crappy my childhood was. Not even ten minutes in town, and I’m already regressing back to ‘Emo Boy’. Soon, it would be black nail polish, rubber bands around my wrists to snap, shaggy bangs so I wouldn’t have to look at people in the eyes, and my nose buried in the latest used-bookstore find.

No.
 I’ve had five years to get over that shit, scrub the nail polish off and become happy about who I am – a gay man. I may not have a multicolored bumper sticker, but I don’t hide myself anymore, either. I’m also an SMU graduate with a musical education degree, no job and two weeks left to move out of the dorms with no place to go.

Well, shit.

I have to laugh at that. What else can I do? With the State slashing education budgets and music programs, I’m not the only recent graduate left holding a piece of paper and nowhere to go with it. One of my friends had to go all the way to Colorado to find a job as a substitute band director, and another ended up in Florida doing a music program at a retirement village.

Hell would have to freeze over twelve times before I ever got desperate enough to go to Florida. Hurricanes, alligators and hawk-sized mosquitoes are 
not
 my thing. If all else fails, I guess I could go back to working at Target. Not a horrible option, and it, plus the scholarships, had helped get me through university without a butt-load of debt. It’s just not what I 
want
 to do.

I want to teach. I want to get kids to love and appreciate music. I want to do the same thing for others that Mrs. Greene did for me.

But now?

Now, I need to get my ass out of the car and face the music. I’m back in Alvarado. I’m going to run into people I know whether I want to or not. I don’t have a plan for two weeks from now, and Mrs. Greene is gone. With a final exhale to rid myself of any lingering jitters, I open my car door and put sneakers to pavement.

The Pleasant Peach is a cute country house with a huge wrap-around porch dotted by white, wicker furniture and rotating ceiling fans. I seem to remember the house being Julie’s grandparents, and I’m pretty sure I’ve eaten ice cream on that front porch a time or two. That suspicion is confirmed by the welcome plaque in the tiny lobby with its dedication to Glenda and Ronald Kent. Following the instructions written on a hand-made sign, I tap the bronze bell on the counter and wait.

“Be right there!” A light, feminine voice calls from somewhere down a hallway behind the desk.

“No rush,” I call back, duffel bag in hand. I’d already planned on staying overnight, or a few nights depending on how it went. I’d expected to be staying in Midlothian, though, not the bed and breakfast run by a former band-mate. Would Julie even remember the anti-social, second-chair bassoon player who-

“OhmyGodSam!” Julie’s exclamation comes out in one big rush of energy as she drops a neatly folded stack of bath towels onto the counter before coming around to the front with arms wide open.

“Hi,” I barely manage as she tugs me into a hug. My duffel bag drops to the floor with a thunk while I try to draw in a breath past Julie’s grip. Wow, I’d forgotten how strong this girl is. “Julie… breathing… human…”

“Sorry,” she giggles as she releases me, her brunette ponytail bobbing. “Wow, you look fantastic!”

“Uh, thanks,” I mutter back, failing to fight off the blush heating my cheeks. The blushing was something I’ve always been prone to do, and it was one of the things bullies had always loved to point out. Bullies like Cody Greene.

Stop thinking about him…

“Wait until Cody gets an eyeful of you!”

“Er,”
 Fuck.
 
Wait, what?

“You’re here to see him, right?” Julie continues, oblivious to my dumbstruck expression. “So sad, about his mom, I mean. She was such a nice lady, but you already know that. Just… Hard, you know? Thinking she’s really gone, and now poor Cody is in that big house all alone… But, you’re here, so, that should totally help!”

What the heck?
 I glance over my shoulder, wondering if I drove straight through Alvarado and into the Twilight Zone. Facing forward again, I meet Julie’s expectant expression, unsure how to respond. I choose to ignore the subject of Cody altogether. “How have you been? I heard you’re marrying Kyle?”

“I am!” Julie bubbles over again, flashing the modest diamond ring on her finger. “Did you know he had a crush on me all through high school? Totally shocked me. I mean, c’mon, it’s 
Kyle
. We were like, clarinet-buddies for
ever
.”

A derisive snort escapes my control. “You two used to share reeds. He told me it was like his secret way of kissing you.”

Julie gasps, her brown eyes going wide. “No way! That little toad-monster! Wait until he gets home… Anyway, we started dating after I got back from college, and he helped me set up this place.”

“It’s really nice, what you’ve done with your grandparents’ house.”

“Thanks! They left it to me in their will, and I was going to sell it, but… I got a degree in business management, so I figure I might as well use it! Kyle and I live in the in-law suite at the back of the house for now. It’s not totally private, but we’re making it work.”

I fight back a chuckle. I’d also forgotten how fast Julie’s lips could move. “How much is it a night?”

“You wanna stay here? Well, Okay. That’s great! It’ll be three hugs and dinner with us at the Chicken Coop.”

“Oh, Julie, I couldn’t ask you to-”

“You didn’t.” Julie raises her chin and plants one hand on her hip. “And I ain’t taking ‘no’ for an answer, mister.”

My body involuntarily flinches. I do remember 
that
 look. She used to get the same one when percussion spent the whole practice trying to get the brass section to play the Imperial March from Star Wars, which was practically every day. It’s a damn cool song…

“Sam, stop staring at me and come on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I blink back to reality and pick up my bag, following as instructed.

Julie giggles as she leads me up a creaking set of wooden stairs. “Still ‘Spaced-out Sam’, I see. I swear, you could zone out into your own little world in the middle of the apocalypse.”

“Nice to hear you can’t outgrow your nicknames,” I huff at the nickname, but I’m also smiling at her bouncing ponytail. It feels nice, being remembered. I figured the town had gladly forgotten all about me the moment I crossed the city limits.

“You kidding? In a small town like this?” Julie barks out a laugh, stopping in front of a white door. “Half the folks ’round here 
still
 call me Shortcake because of that 
one
 time I entered the cake eating contest-”

“-and beat Billy Myers by three whole slices. You were twelve and he was sixteen. I also seem to remember you finding out afterward that you’re allergic to strawberries.”

“I can still feel the dang hives,” she grouses while scratching at her arm. After a brief silence, the hand stills and a smile blooms on her lips. “Wow. It’s like you never even left. Feels good, you being back. It hasn’t been the same around here without you.”

She opens the door, disappears into the room and leaves me standing shell-shocked in the hallway. 
Yeah. Definitely the Twilight Zone
.