Smoky Mountain Dreams (21 page)

Jesse had pulled back, thumbed Christopher’s chin, and said,
“See you soon, okay?” It’d been a promise, his voice husky and soft, low and
full of meaning.

Christopher had nodded and pulled away, shaking and unable
to stop laughter from spilling out like hysterical joy. He’d texted with Jesse
sporadically all day Friday and Saturday morning, but no particular plans
materialized. There were texts about Brigid’s dance recital costume (“faux-hip-hop
chic: disturbing” had been Jesse’s summation), Will’s baseball game scores,
discussion of Fleetwood Mac (Jesse’s favorite band, and one Christopher
associated with the overhead music in grocery stores of his youth), Ryan Adams
(both thought he was talented but unreliable in product), and the best acts at
the bluegrass festival SMD had sponsored down in Knoxville the prior spring.

Then late on Saturday afternoon, as Christopher had exited
the employee locker rooms, his face freshly scrubbed of stage makeup, he’d
rounded the corner by Black Bear’s Beer Garden to find Jesse waiting against a
sidewalk railing.

Joining up with traffic on I-40 and increasing his speed to
somewhere near seventy, Christopher smiled, his entire body humming with
remembered excitement. Jesse had looked so handsome it had almost hurt to see
him standing there in his dark jeans and a gray-and-black striped sweater that
made his dark coloring look almost swarthy and his eyes shine like warm
chocolate.

“Amanda insisted on taking the kids to see the latest Disney
film,” Jesse had said by way of hello. “Some Halloween thing combined with
princesses, I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll know everything about it and have the
songs memorized in a week. Or maybe not. Brigid’s not sure if she’s too old for
Disney princess movies now, even if they are about a skeleton princess and a
vampire.”

Christopher had just smiled. “What’s the plan?”

“When’s the last time you went to the top of the Ferris
wheel?” Jesse had asked. “I hear it’s a romantic thing to do with someone you
like.” He’d waggled his eyebrows and laughed. “What do you say?”

Christopher had said yes, of course, and they’d done the
Ferris wheel, the flying swings, avoided the Firebender (both of them feeling
too chicken), and wasted sixty of Jesse’s dollars on the ring-toss games in the
arcade. Well, Jesse had wasted it while Christopher watched, because he’d long
known the games were rigged, ever since Meryl Quaid had shown him the
mechanisms when he first started at SMD.

He told Jesse as much, but Jesse’d shrugged and said, “I’m
going to win a stuffed black bear for you anyway. Wait and see.” He hadn’t, but
it had been pretty charming to watch him try. Jesse had taken his failure in
stride, laughing and winking at Christopher when he finally gave up. “I’ll give
you something much better later.”

The innuendo had made Christopher laugh and the old man
manning the arcade booth look uncomfortable as he set up the ring-toss again.
Christopher hadn’t cared. Given the heterosexual couples holding hands and
kissing every few steps, he’d thought a tease wasn’t anything to be worried
about. Besides, Melissa Mundy had long-ago put in LGBT friendly regulations in
her hiring and firing practices. He could probably kiss Jesse right then and
there and his job would be safe. It just didn’t seem like a good idea in the
middle of a theme park filled with Appalachian good ol’ boys.

The night had ended beautifully, with another visit to the
mill. This time, since the park wasn’t closing and the bakery was still open,
they’d simply ducked beneath the building where the water wheel slapped, and in
the darkness and shadow they’d kissed and kissed, grinding together like
teenagers. When they were close to orgasm, they’d unzipped enough to pull their
cocks out and Jesse had dropped to his knees, jerking himself and suckling the
head of Christopher’s dick until he’d swallowed his pleasure down. Christopher
had returned the favor, and they’d left the way they came, laughing and wiping
their mouths with the backs of their hands.

Christopher sighed dreamily as he remembered the way their
fingers had laced together until they’d exited the bushes. One day, he’d be
brave enough to just hold a man’s hand in the middle of Smoky Mountain Dreams.
Maybe that man would be Jesse. For now it was just amazing to be with him in
public, to know that he could touch and
would
touch
again. To suspect that maybe, just maybe, this amazing, handsome man was going
to be his boyfriend.

Gran’s nursing home was on a small green campus by a
babbling creek and featured a lovely nature walk for the patients able to leave
the one-story building of private and semi-private rooms. Gran wasn’t one of
those patients, since her balance had left her and she’d taken to the
wheelchair. Sometimes the nurses wheeled her around on the patio and decks so
she could get fresh air and see the sky.

Christopher knew Jackie came every Tuesday after her jazzercise
class to make sure Gran was getting out of her room enough and bring her a
to-go lunch from T.G.I. Friday’s
,
her favorite
restaurant. Aunt Laurie Ann and her kids had moved to West Virginia ages ago,
but she’d sent Gran an iPad, and they FaceTimed each other almost every day. He
also knew his mother and Bob came several times a week with food, or sweets, or
just to stop in and say hi.

Gran always complained about their visits, saying she wished
his mother would just leave the asshole at home.

“He makes His holy name a blaspheme by using it for every
dag-gummed thing. Praise Jesus that his hash browns weren’t too greasy? Christ
be given the glory for the duct tape to fix a broken shoe string? I love Jesus,
but he makes Him into someone I don’t think I’d want to know. Your mama knows
how much Bob irritates me. I wish Sammie Mae would just leave him home.”

Christopher wished his mama would just leave him period, but
she wasn’t going to do that. That was clear after over a decade with the man.

All in all, Christopher thought Gran had a good life in the
home, better than a lot of the older people there who were lucky to see their
family once a month. Christopher tried to get down every two weeks, three at
the most, and she’d always beam at him like he was the best visitor she’d ever
had. Her denture-perfect smile made his heart squeeze and he’d do anything to
see it. Anything at all to make her happy.

“Hey, Gran,” he said, stepping into her semi-private room,
holding the pink and yellow roses in one hand and the jam jar in the other.

It was just as it always was. Edna Miller, an eighty-three
year old woman who was half-deaf and suffering from mild dementia, was in bed
on her side of the room wearing her soft, turquoise robe, listening to Amy
Grant and rambling softly to either herself or Gran about a horse she’d owned
when she was thirteen.

Christopher knew all about this horse. Miss Edna, as he
called her, talked about it all the time. It was a bay roan named Butterscotch
Roads, and Miss Edna had adored her. The stories Miss Edna told about her horse
were numerous, but the one she seemed to be telling herself or Gran now was a
favorite.

“There you are!” Edna said, noticing him and speaking a
little louder over Amy’s earnest singing about Jesus. “Scotchie and I almost
got hit! It was so fast! The car! It came from nowhere! I swear I never even
saw it!”

“We know, Edna, honey,” Gran said, turning her wheelchair
from where she was staring out the window at the bright autumn light on the
gray trees and grass. “We’ve heard it all before. Many times. Christopher! It’s
so good to see you, baby!”

“Scotchie was such a good girl. She never even bucked me
off, but—”

“Bless her heart,” Gran said, rolling her eyes and beckoning
Christopher to come closer. “She’s been telling me this one all day. If I was
just a little stronger, I might smother her with a pillow. This is what age
does to you, honey. It makes you too old to commit murder. Now, come on, let me
hug your neck.”

He stepped past the bookshelves full of photos of Miss Edna’s
family and into the space Gran occupied. It was full of pictures too, and
drawings from his youngest cousins. Aunt Laurie Ann had been very intent on
making babies and had popped out five of them over the course of thirteen
years. Next to Gran’s bed in a place of honor was a picture of Christopher on
stage at Smoky Mountain Dreams, his eyes closed and mouth open, and beside that
was one from when he was sixteen, clutching a guitar with one hand while
holding onto Gran with the other. She’d given the instrument to him for his
birthday.

He handed her the flowers and jam, and then leaned down into
her arms. She smelled like tangerine lotion and slightly dirty hair. He knew
the beauty school students came to do the ladies’ hair on Saturdays, and by
tomorrow she’d be back to her regular scent of Aquanet and Head &
Shoulders.

“How you feeling, Gran?” he asked, pulling back and dragging
a wooden, slat-backed chair over from the small desk area. He sat and took hold
of her hand. “You look good.”

“I could look better.” She patted at her hair and smiled. “Hand
me my lipstick, will you? And that little mirror by my bed.”

He stretched over to the nightstand and handed her the
compact and the red tube next to it. Gran’s hands shook a little as she smeared
it on. Then she studied herself in the little mirror and smiled, satisfied. It
was a little bright in Christopher’s opinion, but it was the color she’d always
worn. When she was younger it had been more appropriate and prettier. It was
those sorts of thoughts that made his heart ache and his eyes burn.

“So, T.G.I. Friday’s, Gran? Or do you have another place in
mind?”

“I want McDonald’s today, and you’ll drive me out to the
dam, and we’ll eat it out there looking at the water.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want anything from McDonald’s, Edna?” Gran asked.

“Scotchie was very fond of carrots. And marshmallows.” Edna
laughed. “She’d inhale marshmallows straight out of your hand. They made her so
happy. Such a dear old girl.”

“We’ll just bring her fries,” Gran said, waving toward her
sweater on the dresser and then pulling it on when Christopher handed it to
her. “Let’s go.”

The nurses wished her a fun day out as they wheeled down the
hall. Gran looked proud as she always did to have someone taking her away from
the home. As far as Christopher could tell, the patients judged their own value
and that of others on how many visitors and outings a person got. That made him
sad, but he was glad Gran ranked pretty high on the totem pole.

“You need a bigger car,” Gran commented once Christopher had
her settled in the passenger seat. He opened the hatchback and folded the
wheelchair inside, making a noncommittal noise to the usual complaint.

Gran reached out and patted his hair when he climbed into
the driver’s seat and started the ignition. “Such a handsome boy,” she said. “Such
a pretty face.”

Christopher rolled his eyes, but a smile bloomed up from his
heart. “You sure you don’t want me to break you out for good, Gran? Head out on
the open road? Go see New York City? How about we get a plane to Hawaii?”

“P’shaw, you’re ridiculous. I’m too old for all that. Just
take me to the dam and I’ll be happy.”

“If you’re sure.”

She chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure. But that reminds me—when I die,
there’ll be a little bit set aside for you, and I want you to do something
stupid with it. A trip to Europe or New York or Hawaii. Whatever you do,
promise
you won’t be sensible with it. I didn’t raise you
to be boring.”

Christopher smiled. Gran hadn’t raised him at all, actually,
though he wished she had. She’d been there for him and made his life marginally
worth living during his hideous teen years. But, for better or worse, he was
Sammie Mae’s son, and she and Bob had raised him after Dad had taken off.

“I promise, Gran. Something stupid. It’s a deal.”

As he pulled into traffic he pondered how odd it was that he
didn’t consider himself James Ryder’s son, not the way he considered himself
Sammie Mae’s. He guessed it was hard to feel like a man was your father when he
left and took up with another woman—or other women, as it turned out with his
father. Christopher had three half-siblings through his father’s affairs and
marriages, but he didn’t keep up with either of them. If they ever came looking
for him, he supposed he’d be open to knowing them, but as it was, they were
just people who shared his DNA.

“I’ll have the Big Mac,” Gran said when they reached the
drive through. “And don’t forget Edna’s fries. And get her an apple pie too.
She needs to eat more. She’s too skinny.”

Christopher placed the order and tried to fight off her
attempt to pay, but finally let her, knowing it made her feel more
self-sufficient to pick up the bill.

As she folded her dollar bills back into her snap-clasp
change purse, she said, “Okay, so that’s taken care of. Now, to the dam. And
turn on the radio. Play it loud. Something good, mind you. Not that junk they
call music nowadays.”

Christopher got back onto the road, fiddling with radio
until he found a station playing a Perry Como song. Gran leaned back in her
seat, the seat belt cutting up close to her neck since she was so shrunken, and
sang along, her voice warbling and barely staying on pitch.

Christopher let her drift with the music, driving carefully
on the winding roads until he broke out onto a main street leading to the parking
area near the dam. He wondered if Jesse had a grandmother still alive, and, if
not, what his relationship had been like with her when she’d been alive. Given
what he’d said about his parents, Christopher didn’t imagine he’d been very
close to his grandparents, and the thought made him sad. Everyone deserved a
Gran.

“So, tell me about him,” she said several minutes later,
chewing her Big Mac and gazing out at the water from the car. They’d rolled
down the windows, and a fresh breeze blew.