Smoky Mountain Dreams (22 page)

“Who?”

“You know damn well who, Christopher Alan Ryder. You can’t
fool your Gran. You’ve got the air of a man with someone on his mind.”

“Gran, that’s ridiculous. You can’t tell something like that
just by looking at me.”

“You’re calling your Gran a liar?”

“Of course not.”

“So is it just sex?”

Christopher choked on his burger and sucked his soda as he
sputtered. “
What
?”

“You heard me. You think I don’t know what kids are like
today? I know. I watch the reality programs.”

“Gran, I’m not a kid and, no, it’s not about sex.”
At least I hope not.
“Probably.”

“Ha! What’s his name?”

Christopher felt his cheeks get hot, and he rolled his eyes,
feigning more annoyance than he felt. “Jesse.”

“Not that Gareth, then? The blacksmith I met at Smoky
Mountain Dreams the last time you took me.”

“No.”

Gran’s eyes narrowed and studied him. “He was something to
you, though?”

“For a night.”

“See? I know kids today. All about sex.”

“I wanted more but he got back together with his ex. So,
story over.”

“You deserve better anyway.”

Christopher laughed. “Thanks, Gran. I’m pretty sure you’d
think I deserved better than just about anyone.”

“Do you deserve better than this Jesse?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“And he’s got a last name?”

“Birch. Jesse Birch.”

Gran was silent, her mouth open in a rare look of surprise. “Well,
I’ll be dag-blamed. Jesse Birch, huh? I knew him when he was just a young’un.
He and his sister used to come in my shop. He ended up married to Marcy
McMillan. Shame what happened to her.” Gran clucked her tongue, and Christopher
was just about to ask her for the gory details he’d never wanted to make Jesse
tell him when she said, “So, he’s back to liking men?”

Christopher cleared his throat, bit into his burger, and
chewed a little before answering. “I’m not sure he stopped? I mean, I think he
likes both men and women.”

“Oh. Well, that’s awfully convenient. Must make things
easier.”

“I don’t think so, Gran. Probably makes everything more
confusing, actually.” Though he didn’t know. He’d never been attracted to a
woman in his life.

“Huh. Maybe.”

Christopher wasn’t sure what else to say so he stared at the
sun sparkling on the gray lake and cleared his throat.

Gran asked, “So, how’d you meet him?”

Christopher’s mind slid in gravel and skidded as he tried to
think of an answer. He couldn’t tell Gran about the gift he was having made and
he couldn’t lie, because he was a terrible liar and no one read him as well as
Gran did anyway. “He comes to Smoky Mountain Dreams a lot. He’s a fan of my
singing, I guess. Comes to see the shows.”

Gran’s eyes shone with pride as she looked at him. “He comes
to see you perform? Not that Lash Hinkins?”

Christopher nodded. “That’s what he claims.”

“Jesse Birch is a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. So if
he says he’s coming there to see you, boy, he’s there to see you.” Gran’s voice
vibrated with delight. “Obviously he’s got good taste.” Then she frowned again.
“And he’s got children. That makes things a might more serious than you might
be expecting.”

“I know. We’re taking it slow.” He cleared his throat again,
thinking the amount of sex they’d had in the last two weeks probably didn’t
count as “slow” in Gran’s book.

She glanced over at him sharply.

“What?”

“Are you sure it’s not just sex?” she asked.

Christopher sighed and put his burger back in his bag. “Talk
about a conversation I never expected to be having with you, Gran.”

“I had sex. How do you think I got your mama, Rodney, and
Laurie Ann, young man? And I hate to break it to you, but your mama has had sex
too.”

Christopher rolled his eyes. “I know that.” He was still
traumatized from hearing a lot more than he ever needed to hear through the
thin wall separating his room from his mother’s and Bob’s after they got
married.

“So…” Gran wagged her bony finger at him. “Answer the
question. You’re holding something back, and ‘taking it slow’ doesn’t mean what
you want me to think it means, I’m betting. It means you’re holding back from
getting emotionally involved. Is it just physical between you?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I only ask because there are kids involved, Christopher,
and that changes everything.”

“I know. I mean, we’ve hooked up a few times—”

“Hooked up,” Gran whispered with fondness and disapproval
all at once. “Like that barrel of monkeys game, hooking pieces together and
nothing more. That’s the problem with the kids today.”

Christopher ignored her pronouncement. “But I really think
we both want to see if there’s something more there. He made it sound like that
anyway.”

“Let’s not rush, but let’s not act like
this can’t be something. Do we have a deal?”
Christopher remembered how
Jesse had looked as he’d said those words, his eyes still hot from the orgasm
they’d shared on the desk, and his hands tight on the open car window, holding
Christopher’s gaze intently.

“Is he a good father?”

“I think so.”

“His own dad was a bit of a brute and his mother was
useless, but sometimes those kids turn out okay anyway. I hear his sister is
still a sweetheart, and he was always a good boy.”

“He’s a good father.” Though Christopher had no idea really.
He’d only seen him with his children for a few minutes, but he had a good
feeling about what he’d seen.

“Well,” Gran said, nodding. “He’s a fan of your singing?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m a fan of
him
. Doesn’t
hurt that he’s richer than sin too. I can’t think of anyone who could keep you
in better style.”

“Gran, that doesn’t matter to me.”

He didn’t
think
it mattered in
any case. He hadn’t even been to Jesse’s house yet, or seen what his life was
like really. But Gran was obviously already well on her way to them getting
married in white tuxes while the kids danced under handfuls of tossed rose
petals.

“I’ve always wanted you to meet a nice doctor, but with the
way the government is messing that whole system up, you’ll be better off with
an heir to a biscuit fortune. That’s for sure. I always knew you had some sweet
honey to get the bees buzzin’! Just had to have some patience!”

“Gran, you and that honey metaphor are gonna be the death of
me.”

She finished up her burger before asking, “Will he be at
Thanksgiving?”

“God, no!”

“Why not? Can’t you just imagine Bob’s face?”

“Yes, I can. He’d have a stroke.”

“Perfect. Then we’d be done with him.”

“Gran!”

“What?” She smiled innocently. “I’m old. I have dementia. I
don’t even know what I said.”

He snorted. “You do not have dementia and you know what you
said. And yes, I can imagine his face. And the ambulance. And Mom blaming me
forever for her asshole husband keeling over dead because I went and proved
what I’ve been telling them for years—that I’m a big ol’ homo. I think I’ll
skip it.”

“Invite him. I want to meet him.”

“He’s got his own family. I’m sure he has his own
traditions. Besides, we’re not even close to being there yet and Thanksgiving
is a month away. We’ve known each other a couple of weeks.”

“Tsk, tsk. Who wants to buy a cow if the milk is free?”

Christopher sighed and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Gran…”

She burst out laughing, her wrinkles deepening and her
shoulders wobbling. “I’ll tell you who buys a cow with free milk! Someone who
likes to listen to that cow sing!”

“I’m trying to decide if I should be insulted that you’re
calling me a cow or happy that you believe he actually likes my singing.”

“Well, a bull then. A singing, beautiful, milk-giving bull.”

Christopher ignored her nonsense and tried to eat again.
With luck, Gran would move on and he’d be able to finish his meal. He took a
bite of his burger and stuffed two fries in his mouth.

“Here’s the thing, Christopher. I’ve been thinkin’ about
when I die.”

Christopher swallowed, sighed, and put down his burger
again. “Gran, you’re not going to die.”

“Don’t be stupid; we all die. And I’m gonna die very soon.”

“What? You’re not even sick.”

“Shh. I want to tell you what I want, all right? Because
your mama and Bob are idiots and won’t do anything like what I want done, but I
know you’ll do what I tell you, at least for the part you can control. And I’ve
told Jackie what I’m telling you too, so she’ll know.”

“All right, Gran.”

“I want you to have the house.”

“Okay.” His chest hurt just thinking about a day when her
house would pass to him.

“And there’s some money I’ve got put aside for the two of
you. Jackie gets more money, though, because you’re getting the house.”

“All right.”

“I told her I didn’t want her to fight you on the house and
I didn’t want her to complain that you got more than her because, yes, the
house is worth more than the difference between what she’s getting in money and
what you’re getting.”

“Gran, I don’t need any—”

“Hush. I reminded her that I paid for her divorce from that
son-of-a-bitch and paid for her wedding to Joe, and I’m giving each of Joe’s
kids a little money too. So in the end, it’s even-ish. And then I told her you
were my favorite anyway and she laughed. I don’t think she believed me.”

Christopher snorted and fought the lump in his throat. “You’re
my favorite too, Gran.”

“I know. We understand each other.” She patted his knee. “So,
keep the house and do something stupid with the money, all right? Definitely
don’t do anything sensible.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe try Nashville again. Or take a trip to Europe if you
can’t stomach the risk of trying to be a country music singer. I don’t know.
Your heart will know.”

Christopher’s eyes felt wet, and he blinked rapidly.

“And take care of your sister, because she’s an idiot. Joe’s
gonna have his hands full with her. And…well, hell. About your mama. I’d say
take care of her too, but…” Gran’s gray eyes flashed and she turned away from
him, looking out the passenger side window. “You know, I sure wish your father
hadn’t been such a jackass. She was happy with him. Until he ruined it all.”

“I know. I remember.”

“But it is what is. And now she’s married to Bob.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t ask you to do anything for your mama, Christopher.
Because I won’t ask you to spend a single minute around Bob that you don’t want
to. That man’s hurt you too bad.”

“Gran—”

“Shush.”

“Gran, is there something I don’t know? Are you sick?”

“No, I’m old. And a person just knows sometimes. Or I do
anyway. I wanted to tell you these things face-to-face. I feel better about it all
now that you have someone in your life. Jesse Birch—yes, he’s quite a catch.
But if he don’t treat you right, baby, don’t stay with him.”

“We’re not even close to being at that point, Gran.”

“Mark my words. This won’t be easy. But it’ll be worth it.”

Christopher shook his head, laughing softly under his
breath. “What else does your crystal ball say?”

“That Edna needs her french fries to stop her mouth running
about that dang Scotchie. Come on now. Let’s head back.”

Christopher put his unfinished burger and fries back in the
bag—he wasn’t hungry anymore anyway—and drove Gran back toward the nursing
home, listening to her sing along to “It Only Hurts for a Little While.”

T
HE
CABIN CHRISTOPHER’S FELLOW SINGER
Shannon and her boyfriend Drew had
rented for their Halloween party was overflowing with drunk people. Christopher
grimaced as he squeezed past a couple of guys engaged in a slurred debate about
football. He never felt comfortable getting completely trashed around a lot of
strangers, and Shannon’s parties were always mostly strangers. Sure, there were
some faces he recognized from SMD, but for the most part the attendees were
Drew’s friends.

As a grounds maintenance worker for the city of Gatlinburg,
Drew’s friends—buff, often tan, laid-back young men—were usually one of the
main attractions of Shannon’s parties for Christopher. He’d never hooked up
with any of them since they were usually high, and he preferred his one-night
stands mostly sober. Few of them ever seemed to show up at the next party
either. There was a great deal of turn-over in grounds maintenance and Shannon
had told him it was due to the rampant drug use.

Tonight the music was too loud, the company too crass, and
the beer too cheap to really hit the spot. Christopher stepped out from the
humid, laughter-filled living area crammed full of bodies and onto the back
porch. The night air was exactly what he needed to clear his head. The dark
forest all around crackled with the noises of the night—small animals and
bigger ones making their way through, and the creak of tree limbs in the autumn
darkness. He leaned against the porch railing, gazing at the pinpoints of stars
above, and took a swig from his beer.