"Harvard Comes To Montana", Chapter Eleven
By Griz
umgriz@protonmail.com
Happy 2024, Men!
We're finally past 2023. What a year that was. If you haven't made any resolutions yet, may I suggest one?
REGISTER TO VOTE, if you have not yet done so, no matter where you live; and by all means, help anyone you know do the same. Then: VOTE. Vote like your life and the life of your country depend on it. Your vote this year has never mattered more. That's all on that subject----for now.
On a more local note: In this chapter, Jeff will offer to share something with Marc that Jeff's mother made and entered in the county fair. You'll know it when you get to it, because likely only one or two of you will know what it is. I'm not going to spoil that now.....you'll just have to wait for a detailed explanation later!
*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.
All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***
I loved up on Sebastian a few minutes more and cleaned up his stall, and replenished his food and water. I had a carrot in my pocket (YES, that was a carrot), so I broke it in parts and fed it to him. I think he was expecting another apple, but he ate the orange root politely. Sebby definitely had manners. I hugged him and kissed him right between the eyes again, and left the stall for my truck. This would be his first of four days here.....and honestly, for his sake, I wished it was Sunday instead of Thursday. He had done me proud, and I know he'd rather be out in the little pasture with the cows than sequestered in 15' x 15' of indoor stall space.
With the afternoon came a bigger crowd to the fairgrounds. People brought horses from miles and many counties away to be seen in the horse show. It's not a rodeo, exactly; this is where the barrel and pole racers competed, as well as other events that are just for a reined horse and rider. Tom and I would've been in the rodeo, not the horse show. This is also where breeders would come to see if there was potential for crossing a blood line or two.
American Quarter Horses----their own breed----and Arabians would show primarily, but some distant ranchers might bring in their draft horses. Monstrous Morgan horses always draw a crowd, and they're the most gentle of beasts. Well, they and Sebastian. I would've watched the horses now, but I wanted to go see Marc. I didn't think it would be difficult to convince him to come back with me to see Tom show his Arabian stud, Jadaan.
I wove through traffic to the highway, and turned to drive into town. A steady stream of vehicles moved in the opposite direction, including three small tour buses taking residents of The Eagles' Manor assisted living facility in town. By the end of the day, faces young and old alike would be covered with smiles and the tell-tale evidence of cotton candy consumption. Pay attention, Kiddies; if you're lucky, that is your future, and if we're lucky, you are ours.
I stopped to fuel up the truck. It's quite a difference, the non-taxed, on-farm price for Diesel fuel, vs the taxed, road-use price. Dad and Mom didn't complain about taxes, at least not that I ever heard. The roads I drove on from Sunday until today didn't build themselves, after all.
Parked on the other side of the pump was Lyle Connor. I knew it was him before I saw him. There are voices unmistakeable in every community. You need to hear them only once, and after that, no matter how hard you try, you'll have to recognize them when you hear them again. But if you try, you can ignore them. Lyle's is one of those. From the moment he opens his mouth, his tone, attitude and choice of words will make sure you and everyone else knows he's a victim, if not THE Victim. Every community has one of those, too.
Lyle preyed upon Eva until she just couldn't avoid him any longer. His father, a good man, had the cement plant and five mixer trucks in town. For decades, Lyle Senior had contracts that would've lasted until Lyle the Third showed up. He and his wife had been strong members of the community, and were among the first to buy whatever school kids were selling. Their own daughter had been a promising theater celebrity while in high school and landed a role in the made-in-Montana movie "Heartland". Lyle and Shirley bought `used' new lighting equipment and a control board, as well as other things for the choral and drama departments at Fergus High School. Lyle was also one of the few business owners in town who would give a released felon a second chance, and many got their feet on firm ground again, thanks to him. Three former prisoners still worked for him.
His son.....was not his father. Lyle rested on his parents' laurels from his earliest convenience. A school bully from Kindergarten to graduation. The very definition of `gaslighter'. When Anders left for college, Lyle moved fast on Eva, and over only a few months, convinced her Anders went away because he was tired of her. That he wanted a girl who was smarter and prettier than Eva. And Eva who was never born to conquer the planet with self-esteem anyway believed Lyle. It was during the Winter Break between quarters that Anders did not come home.
There were three reasons for that. One, Anders had not wanted to come back to the farm because of his and Dad's estrangement. Two, Anders had a job on campus, working with the Maintenance Department to install a dropped, insulating ceiling in the Ag classroom building, and Three, the worst snow storm in recorded Montana history closed the highways in and out of Bozeman for three days. A `Trifecta' of incidences, and any one of them able to stand on its own merits to preclude Anders from coming home that time.
Eva did not get the messages that Anders left for her. Eva's mother was succumbing to dementia more and more, and while she could answer the phone and carry on a conversation, she could not remember any messages passed along from the caller to whomever else in the house was the intended recipient. So, Eva steadily bought into Lyle's `conspiracy theory' that Anders had written her off. She still had her senior year of high school to finish. This was all long before she became an entrepreneur. This was Eva's year that should've ended on the highest note in her life, but instead found her barely able to save her own life from a terrorist in her own neighborhood.
I turned my back to Lyle to get the truck fueled. He made a couple of comments obviously directed my way, and loud enough for me---and everyone else---to hear them. I kept my silence, but my anger was growing by the second. I knew I could steer clear of him and his comments as long as he did not go anywhere near the only important one: Dad's death. I could've just stopped pumping the fuel and gotten out of there before he could pump more adrenaline through my body, but by now he had the attention of more people at the Wrangler Mart.
One other farmer, Roy Goddard, walked past Lyle and told him to mind his own business, get his gas and leave. Lyle had a witty comeback about being an American, and he had his First Amendment rights----backed up by his Second Amendment rights. Two guys from my graduating class pulled up behind me and both got out, smiling and talking about having seen Sebastian at the fairgrounds. They were congratulating me on the win, but were oblivious to Lyle's comments directed my way. I was grateful to the guys for redirecting my attention from Lyle, but then he just had to `go there', and everyone heard him.
"Sure is too bad another run-down farm is gonna go out of business and leave the bank high and dry. Oh, well. Can't expect kids to know what they're doin' when their Daddy was mostly clueless, anyway."
That was it. I turned to see him laughing and looking right in my direction. My classmates suddenly knew what was going on, and stepped between Lyle and me, facing him and clearly ready to take him out if he said another word. It was then that Ted Rappaport, owner of the Wrangler Mart, appeared beside Lyle. He grabbed the hose from Lyle's hand and slammed it back into the holder on the pump. Lyle was now backed up against the closed driver's door of his truck.
Ted reached in his pocket.
"Siri, FaceTime call Lyle at Centana Cement and Concrete."
A second later and the call was connected. Ted turned the phone's speaker on, and faced the front at Junior.
"This is Lyle."
"Lyle, this is Ted Rappaport at the Wrangler Mart."
"Hey, Ted; how's it going? Busy with all the fair traffic, I'd bet!"
"Oh, yeah. I'm looking forward to the new pump area and the four additional pumps. I'm just kinda concerned, though, that my business is gonna drop off, and I might not be able to afford the improvements you and I discussed. Hey, Lyle; I'm standin' outside here, right next to your boy. Junior, say hi to Senior."
"Dad....."
"What's going on there, Ted?"
"Well, we have ourselves a situation here, Lyle. I came outside to help someone with refilling their propane bottle, just in time to hear Junior say some unkind things at and about Jeff Wojtowicz, and his family's farm. And his father. Junior, why don't you fill your dad in on your blinding flash of wisdom....."
"Fuck you! I didn't say nothin'! You don't know what you're talkin' about! Get the fuck away from my truck, asshole!"
Lyle Senior could be heard on the phone's speaker clear as day.
"Stop talking, you goddamned idiot!"
"Lyle, I'm real sorry, but I'm afraid I got maybe 25 or 30 people out here right now, and most of `em saw and hear what he was saying to Ned's boy. It's just not right, Lyle; the boy's father just died, and this jackass is turning this end of town upside down right now. Definitely not good for business."
"Nope, I get it, Ted. And I'm sorry. I'll take care of this. Junior, pay for your gas and get out of there. And you are never going to Ted's station again, because if I hear about it happening, I will call the sheriff himself and have you arrested for trespassing and disturbing the peace. You got that?"
"Fuck it. Lots of other places to get gas in this town than this one. Big deal."
My guys turned to look at me. I had gone from red and raging to calm, cool and collected, complete with a smile on my face. I didn't have to lift a finger to defend my farm, my name or my dad; Lyle Senior and Ted Rappaport took care of that right properly, and in front of a few handsfull of both farm- and townsfolk.
I turned my back on Junior and finished filling both tanks. I returned the hose to the pump, but the receipt didn't print. I walked across the pump island to Ted, still standing only inches away from Junior.
"Oh, hi, Mr Rappaport; sorry to interrupt this, but the receipt didn't print at the pump. Can I get one inside from you, please? Dad made sure the day I got my driver's license to always get the receipt when buying fuel or anything else. I'll always remember what he taught me, but this one works for the moment, I think."
"Come inside, Jeff. Junior here is just leaving."
"Oh; hi, Junior. Didn't know you were there. `Scuse me....."
I smiled and walked past him, and even tipped my hat. Another sure way to emasculate a jerk is to give him the etiquette typically offered to a lady. My guys at the pump behind me laughed and returned their attention to fueling their pickup. I heard Ted as I walked in the store.
"You heard your father, JUNIOR. Get off this property and stay off. You're done here."
Junior just sneered at Ted, as well as everyone else there while getting into his pickup.
"This ain't the only gas station in town."
"No, it sure isn't. I'll be sure to let my buddies know at their own stations that they can welcome your business. We all know each other, Junior. Everyone in Fergus County knows each other, and everyone knows the names of Lyle Connor, Senior, and Centana Cement and Concrete. Are you getting any mental images in your head how this day is going for you, Junior? And for your dad?"
He was stuck, or rather his vehicle was, right behind another truck and ahead of a car behind him. The drivers of both vehicles had witnessed everything. Mrs Cleary in the car behind Junior said called out to him while she had her phone up, camera aimed at him, obviously recording his behavior for all Time and Posterity.
"I'll just be a minute or two, Dear; I want to get some things in there, and maybe choose numbers for a few lottery tickets!"
Dick Overmayer also assured Junior he'd be out of his way in `just a moment'.
"Junior, just hang tight; I need to check the fluid levels under the hood and the air in the tires. You need me to put the gauge on your ears to check the air between `em, too?"
Others were just laughing out loud at Junior now, and he knew he was stuck. Everyone saw what a complete fool he'd made of himself, and of his father. Junior just got bad news for a good name. It's bad enough to be an asshole spawn of a respected businessman, but to potentially cost him a lucrative contract, too? Well, that just doesn't happen much in Fergus County. Those kinds of problems stop before they start. Every once in awhile, though; well, even a village can't raise all the kids to grow up to be.....well, `grown up'.
I got my receipt and walked out of the store. I got back in my truck, turned the key and rolled the window down. I waved as I drove away. My `high' from getting the last word---with a smile---leveled off fairly quickly. I didn't 'make it right'. I just flowed with the energy of the moment, which wasn't good. Killing with the image of kindness---but no kindness itself---is still killing. Or soul-sucking. Including my own. And that bugged me.
`Dad, I didn't exactly take the high ground this time, but I didn't manage to behave as badly as Junior had. I know you'd have just fueled the truck and driven off. Maybe in time I will have your good sense. Today, though.....I was on a high today from all the blue and purple ribbons at the fair, coming out of a low from seeing you off yesterday. Stay with me, Daddy; always on my shoulder, always in my heart. Please. Help me do better next time.'
In two blocks I was at the Taylor home. I parked and got out, checking my appearance in the mirror before walking up to the front door. Before I could knock, Mr Taylor opened the door.
"Jeff! Come in! We understand congratulations are in order!"
I knew he was talking about Sebastian, but in my noggin I was fantasizing that it would be a different conversation:
"Sit down right here! Mrs Taylor and I were just hearing Marc tell his story about calling you his boyfriend today! Well, it's ABOUT TIME `This One' settles down and makes an honest man of himself! He's awfully proud, and we're awfully proud of him! Looks like he roped himself the best stud in the county, hee-hee-hee! Want some Seven-UP? Or would you rather have a CREAM soda this time?!"
Geez. Get a grip and come right on home to Reality, Jeff.....
So, instead, I told them about Sebastian's win, as well as the ribbons that Dad and Mom also took. I bragged up Eva's cherry pie, too. Mrs Taylor regretted that they would not have time to go to the fairgrounds.
"Jeff, everything has happened so fast. It seems we're leaving sooner than later. We were just discussing that with Marc, so your timing is good!"
"Are you sure....? I can come back another time."
"No, please stay! Would you like some 7-UP? Or I have Root Beer? Cream Soda?"
"Um, Cream.....Soda?! No, just 7-UP.....yes, please.....thank you. So you said you're leaving town early?"
"We are, Jeff. Mrs Taylor and I talked about it yesterday afternoon, after she and Marc returned from your father's funeral. I am sorry to have missed going, but the phone call I received was from a real estate attorney I know in Missoula. He was advising me that to avoid all sorts of legal and tax problems, we should sell this house before we take possession of the new property in New Mexico. I had a short period of time to make it all work, but now it's behind us. We are no longer the owners of the house in which you're sitting at this moment!"
"Oh.....well, wow! What about moving your things, and the auction for your personal property? Will all that happen before you leave? When DO you leave?"
"We leave Friday morning! Marc is driving us to the airport in Great Falls! This afternoon, UPS will come by with a scale and some packing tape, and pick up everything we want to take with us! As for the auction, the house, the truck----talk to the new owner about it----he's sitting right next to you!"
I turned to see Marc's smiling face. He was a little red, too; I could tell this was his first time with this kind of surprise transaction. I reached over and shook his shoulder, hoping it conveyed what I was really thinking, which was admittedly pretty X-rated--and better left unsaid in present company.
The shoulder-shake would have to suffice for awhile, though. That's okay. This was big news, and I looked forward to hearing about it in detail. A thought crossed my mind, though.
"Marc, you're driving Mr and Mrs Taylor to Great Falls tomorrow morning; you have a lunch date with Mr Boldonovic for lunch Friday. Um, if I may ask, are you no longer thinking about an interview with him?"
"Of course, Jeff. The interview will be later Friday afternoon. The flight is at 10:10 AM. I'll be back here by Noon----unless I get lost and wind up in, oh, I don't know; Wyoming.....!"
I laughed at that. The joke' was still only a few days old. It was amazing to me how Time has crept slowly for me since Sunday, when Marc and I first discussed him getting lost and running too far south. So much had happened since then. Dad died. Anders moved home. We looked at crops together. He had been talking with Eva. Marc had been talking with the superintendent of Lewistown's public schools. Lola Cola had a dozen puppies (they're cheaper by the dozen, you know). We buried my father. Sebastian won me a purple ribbon at the fair. Lyle Junior came THIS CLOSE to eating a Polish knuckle sandwich. And between all that, from then to now, Marc and I got closer and closer. I had his shirt and his scent. I had a boyfriend and he had a boyfriend. And my boyfriend now had a house in town. And a truck. Now he just needed The Job'.
Mrs Taylor returned with my 7-Up---including a scoop of not ice cream, but rainbow sherbet! My lucky day! She handed Marc a root beer float, too. We talked more about their trip, and another thought crossed my mind.
"Um, Mr Taylor, if Marc takes you to the airport, then he'll drive your car back here. Won't you need that in New Mexico?"
"Lands, no! Our community there has next to no vehicles. Everyone gets around in these side-by-side things now. If we want to go to town, we catch one of the shuttles that run every 30 minutes or so. I was going to sell the car once we got there. Marc is saving me the trouble.....although now I wonder if we're not just saddling you with more work, Marc....."
"It's all right, Grampy; how about I just hold onto it here for you, and if you decide once you're there that you want it after all, I can drive it down to you. Until then, it can keep the truck company in the garage. Maybe you really would want to have your car there; I bet it's the only one like it in the entire community!"
At this point, I should tell you that Mr and Mrs Taylor's car was a brand-new red Mustang Shelby GT500. Ah, retirement.....what joys you have in store for people. We laughed and got back to the conversation at hand. Mrs Taylor must've seen the bewildered look on my face.
"Now, Jeff; I know you're getting busier and busier with harvest, but I'll rely on you to get this young man out and about when possible. Maybe bring him to your farm for dinner. Things like that. I don't want him making endless loops through the Dash-Inn!"
"Won't happen on my watch, Ma'am; in fact, we're having a picnic on the farm this weekend to celebrate the end of the fair and a couple of other things. My brother Anders has moved back to the farm to stay. We're going to be business partners in the farm. Also, his huge mini-bear dog had twelve puppies yesterday, all of whom are still with us a day later. Looks like they'll make it. So yeah, Mr and Mrs Taylor; Marc won't be sitting home alone, even if he wants to. Yeah, you heard me, Marc; even if you want to!"
We laughed and I noticed the time was getting into the middle of the afternoon. I wanted to get to the farm and help with the pups, as well as whatever we needed to do for the crops. Mom would probably have an update on the hired combiners and crew. I thanked the Taylors and took my glass to the kitchen. Marc walked me outside to my truck.
"Wow, Marc; this is the week of some serious changes for you. Moving too quickly?"
"No. The Grandies explained it to me, and it makes sense for them to sell me the house. I can still sell it if, well, it turns out I won't be needing it. Before you got here, Grampy was getting page after page of documents emailed for me to sign. I think my name went on at least two dozen pages. I had my credit union in Massachusetts wire the money to them. Cash sale; no inspection, no title insurance costs. I think they knew they were going to do this; they had the house inspected two days ago, and Grampy pulled a complete deed history pulled yesterday. They're even leaving me a notebook dating back to the 50s when the house was built to show all the maintenance work done, as well as the full rewiring of the house in the 1980s."
"Marc.....I know I can't get all my hopes up, but this.....just makes it seem like you're that much closer to living here. God, I want to hold you right now and plaster that face with my best kiss yet. I love that you call me your boyfriend. My head has been spinning ever since."
"Well, y'are, you know. And.....maybe soon we can, you know, explore the definition of the word `boyfriend' in its broader application, Jeff."
"Broader application'? Like, It's Friday night; I think I'll apply my boyfriend on his back to the mattress and crawl on top of him and kiss until the cows come home'?"
"Do cows ever really come home? I've always heard `you can't really ever go home again'."
"Doesn't apply to cattle. Not until they can evolve opposable thumbs, succeed at job application and training, and not spending their paychecks on flavored vodka and Bingo. They're stuck relying on us to feed `em, so yeah, they come home, time and time again. They'd be a very bad investment if they didn't."
"So `kissing until the cows coming home' is an alarm clock of sorts?"
"Marc, you're coming along brilliantly, I'd say. If you get the job as superintendent of schools, you can create a class called `Agricultural Metaphors And Other Lame-Assed Desperate Communications'. Not that I'm judging you, of course. My name's not Judy."
"But you ARE a `Friend of Dorothy', it seems."
"Okay, now you're involving two Judys, and neither one would want being Red-Ribbon to the other's Blue Ribbon. And my Ma would not like me being late getting home after her own multiple blue ribbon wins. I'm sure by now she has kept a tally of every other woman in the county calling to either congratulate her, or get her recipes for the winning canned Garlic Pickles, Root Vegetables, Peas and Carrots, Cherries or Rocky Mountain Oysters."
"Um, what is the last one?"
"Heh.....you don't know?"
"Nope. Never heard of a....."
"Rocky Mountain Oyster'. Oh, do I have a surprise for you. I'll open a jar of em this Sunday, when you come over for the picnic."
"No hint until then?"
"Sure, Marc; you get a hint. Mine are bigger."
"What?! Maybe I should ask Grammy if she knows what they are....."
"I'm sure she does, whether by personal consumption or not; however, I think you should just be patient until Sunday. We'll just pass the jar around, and you can take as many as you'd like. Some people like them as a garnish for a `Bloody Mary'. I bet no other Harvard Prof has ever eaten any, so you'll have that singular distinction."
"Hmmm.....I don't know if I should trust you....."
"Why? I got you back to town when you were tryin' to run away, didn't I? And I protected you from Lu Barney, right?"
"Well, THAT'S true.....gotta say about Lu Barney, though: hers is a voice that would be rare in Cambridge. SERIOUS set of pipes on her. That was beautiful."
"I'll remember that for the rest of my life. Her singing, Eva playing the organ, then my best friends also singing. The way I felt about it, I was at a concert, and my Pa was the guest of honor."
"I don't wonder at that, Jeff. And the way your mother spoke of her husband. I would bet that every other man at that funeral left it hoping that someday his own spouse would speak even half as fondly and kindly as that. I thought perhaps you'd speak, too."
"I did. Later. I will always have something to say about, or to, my dad. Marc, don't read too much into this, okay, but I'm sincere when I say: when I was driving home on Sunday, after dropping you off here, I was smiling and thinking how good it would be if before you left back for home, you'd come to our farm and meet my parents. And my horse, of course. The more I know you, the more I'm sure Dad would've liked you, and you, him. And Mom will like you. Anders, too. Actually, he knows about you, and we've discussed you. He freaked out in a good way when I walked into the house wearing your shirt."
"Heh.....well, your brother and I will have some things in common: academic careers and his farm boy brother. Oh, and puppies. I have a strong affection for puppies. Particularly ones who grow up to be small bears. What're you going to do with twelve Bear-nese dogs?"
"Half go to the sire's human, and we keep half. Anders didn't pay a stud fee, so the even split is the compensation. I suppose Anders will sell them, and profitably; their parents are registered with pedigrees, and the pups will be, too. There's one little fella I'd like to have, though. We bonded a lot already. I fed him myself a few times."
"Are your nipples sore?"
"What?? Oh, smart-ass! Your mind sometimes! I think you're out to corrupt me!"
"Every chance I get, and twice on Sundays. This house, as you may have heard, is mine now. As I see it, the first time would be bright and early Sunday morning, being properly sinful. Then you can go to Mass and get holy again, and when you get back, we can work to bring you back down to Earth until next Sunday."
"So you're saying it's only gonna be on Sundays?! What about Mondays? And all the other days before the following Sunday?"
"You'll be too busy with harvest, and I'll have a new Mustang and an old pickup to wash. Probably have to harvest the grass on this lawn, too. Can I borrow your tractor and combine? This is a half acre lot, you know."
"My harvest and your harvest will need some built-in flexibility in scheduling.....I'm not waiting all week for `twice on Sundays'. That's like buying a gallon of really good ice cream and then leaving it to get freezer burned as only one teaspoon gets eaten each month."
"And here you were, making fun of MY metaphors, only minutes ago."
"I have that privilege; I won a purple ribbon today."
"Your STEER won you a purple ribbon. YOU won ME a purple ribbon. And this Sunday, you'll get your reward when you drive me back here after the picnic at your farm."
"Oh, yeah! You'll meet just about everyone important to me. Well, really important, I mean. Everyone around us is important to me. So, you're leaving tomorrow morning?"
"Yeah. Probably around 6:00AM."
"What're you going to do about dinner tonight? Is there a farewell dinner planned?"
"Nope. The Grandies are sneaking outta Dodge before the Sheriff gets wind of it."
"Well, that's not right.....not right at all. Let's go back in. I need to ask Mr and Mrs Taylor a question."
Marc smiled and moved out so I could get out of my truck. We went back in the house.
"Jeff! You're back! Want some more 7-UP and sherbet?"
"No, Ma'am; but thank you! Actually, I wanted to ask what your plans are for dinner this evening. I suspect you don't want to cook something if you're leaving tomorrow morning."
"Well, you're right; that's the last thing I want to do. Mr Taylor was just saying we could go to the Yogo Inn."
"Well sure, you COULD go there.....or you could go to a better restaurant and get a big, prime ribeye steak, baked potato, fresh peas, garlic Parker House rolls; that is, if I can talk you into it."
"Talk me into it?! I was talked into it when you said `.....or'! But it's almost 4PM; is it too late to plan for this?"
"You don't know the chef and her two sous chefs. Well, ONE sous chef; Anders is more like the bartender and dish washer. You know the way to our place?"
"I surveyed that land twice myself, Jeff! Mrs Taylor and I can find it easily. What time?"
"How about you give me a one hour head start, in case I need to swing by the store and get anything. In fact, let's go for 5:30; no rush. We have new puppies, too; only a day old. See, we run a circus AND a restaurant. Think of it as agriculture dinner theater!"
"Well, who says there's no culture in Fergus County! There's agriculture dinner theater!"
"And yogurt, Grampy; I saw it at the store the other day."
"BOO!!! Go to your room! Jeff, what can we bring?"
"Your appetites! Oh---if you like wine with dinner, you might consider a bottle of that. Otherwise, Anders will be mixing cocktails, opening beer and pouring iced tea or lemonade."
"Young Wojtowicz, we'll be there at 5:30! Naomi, you can drive the Mustang!"
"Well, there was never any question about THAT! Of course I will!"
We laughed and I walked out of the house to my truck, dialing the phone.
"Mom, hey; do you have a moment to talk?"
"Yeah, but why? What did you do.....??"
"HA! You and Dad, always so suspicious! I'm just leaving the Taylors' home. Turns out their plans have been expedited. They're flying out of Great Falls tomorrow."
"Wow! Trying to sneak out of town, are they?"
"Something exactly like that. Hey, um, I kinda volunteered us to grill them some steaks for a going-away party. I was thinking ribeyes, potatoes, peas in butter; you know, the stuff you usually do when you want to really impress someone out there."
"As long as you and your brother are willing to help, of course; I can't believe no one had a going-away-party for them. What time will they be out?"
"5:30. Cocktails until 6:00 and then begin grilling the steaks?"
"A good plan, Jeff. This was nice of you to think of them. Will their grandson come with them?"
"Yeah, him, too. So six, I guess. Wait.....Mom, can we make it seven? Mrs Taylor also taught Eva, and her niece takes over the afternoon/evening shift now. I could invite Eva on my way home."
"I'm more than fine with that, but discuss it with Anders, first.....okay?"
"I'll call him now. Do you need anything from town?"
"I won't have time to bake rolls, but I could roll out some homemade biscuits. That would be unusual, but okay, right?"
"Of course. Call me if you think of anything; I need to get on the road, but also call Anders."
"You have a good idea, Jeff. It's nice to honor people who're going away."
"They came and honored Dad yesterday. This is kind of a thank you' and a see ya' party. We'll all have fun. All right, gonna call Doofus now. Bye, Mom."
I hung up and called Anders.
"What do YOU want? Another purple ribbon or something?"
"Or something."
"What?"
"Your talents in bartending and washing dishes."
"For what?"
"The farewell dinner party we're throwing for the Taylors. They're leaving town about ten days before they wanted to. Flying out of Great Falls tomorrow. I talked them to coming out to our place for a ribeye steak dinner with the works."
"That's a great idea, actually. I like them both so much. What time?"
"5:30 for cocktails or beer or wine or whatever, and I'll begin grilling the steaks at 6:00. Wrap-up probably at 7:00 so they can get home and sleep before leaving for Great Falls at 6:00AM."
"Okay, I'm in. Sounds good. I suppose we're gonna have to meet your shirt-sharer, too."
"Well, to be honest, I kept bragging about all the meat I was dying to put in his mouth, and then his grandparents walked in, hearing that. I had to do some mental and verbal acrobatics to pull myself outta that one. Hence, the steak dinner."
"So; steaks for everyone else, and a can of Vienna Sausages for Milt Travers. Got it."
"Dick."
"Anything else, Dicklette?"
"Anders, only if you're okay with it, I'm wondering if I can invite Eva, too. She had Mrs Taylor for a teacher twice, like I did."
"Eva will be invited, but by me. I'll head to her shack now. If she has something desserty, I'll pick that up for the dinner, too. That was a good and kind thought, Little Brother. Thank you."
"Something happened earlier today I want to tell you about, involving Lyle Junior. Nothing bad exactly happened between him and me. I'm just thinking that you like Eva, Mom and I like Eva, and Eva likes us. You two do what you two do; I feel like we can include her in nice things, particularly since she played the organ so incredibly well yesterday."
"Yup. Eva is Eva. I'll go invite her. You headed out here now?"
"Yeah, unless you need me to get anything from in town."
"Heh.....yeah, there is, but you can't pick it up. I need Rye whiskey. They won't sell it to you."
"No, but they'll sell it to you over the phone with a credit card, and then box it up so I can't get at it, and put it in the bed of the truck. Dad and I did that lots of times. Just Rye?"
"Yeah. I'll shake and pour Manhattans tonight."
"Okey-doke. See you there. Or on the road if I pass you at Eva's. Oh----remind her she's coming for the picnic Sunday. She's bringing her winning cherry pie.
"Okay. This'll be a good send--off for the Taylors. Would've been a shame for them not to get some party of appreciation and recognition. Go, Jeff; we're runnin' out of time. You talk too goddamned much, and I'm busy man!"
"Always the victim, Anders.....whine, whine, whine. Make sure Eva comes this evening. Bye."
"Bye, Little Brother."
My time in town wrapped up with me driving to the alley door of the liquor store. Mrs Tognetti opened the door when I knocked. She had the nondescript box all ready, and placed it in the back of Dad's monstrous truck. As usual, there was no paperwork, no receipt, nothing to show I'd ever been there. So much of what goes on in Fergus County is with a nod, a wink, a discreet handshake. Before I left, Mrs T pulled me into a hug and told me how happy she was to talk with Anders, and to know he was back on the farm to stay. On top of everything else wonderful that happened Thursday, that was one more that meant a lot to me. People were already recognizing that Anders and I would be the sixth generation the homesteaders had hoped for.
I drove out of town with a smile on my face. Tonight would be a laid-back feast, and one honoring two of Lewistown's most respected people. Really, though: it's likely the only opportunity I'll have for Marc's family and my family to be together, and for Mr and Mrs Taylor to see their grandson is welcomed here. What I'd have given for the entire school board to also be there, as well. Marc, his education and his abilities rest on their own merits; but a well-marbled, home-grown ribeye, peas and potatoes out of our own soil and a Manhattan or two might help move Marc's career, Lewistown's public schools and our own growing relationship just a little further toward continued success.
Is there a ribbon awarded for "So Far, Everything Going Right That Can Go Right"? I'm asking for a friend.....
When I got back to the farm, Mom was out walking toward the barn. I parked next to her rig and followed her in the side door. She had moved Lola Cola back into `her' stall. Anders had parked several bales of straw inside the front area, creating a barrier so the pups would not wander off (highly unlikely) or get too much of a draft. They needed fresh air, though. Lola Cola could jump over the bales and come and go as she needed. I noticed the additional cans of formula, so LeVar must've been here earlier. I hoped he would be available if we needed him during calving season, too. He obviously cared about animals as well as his job. I meant to ask him which DVM school he attended. I hoped it would be Colorado; he might have some insight into the school and professors.
"Mom, how're the kids doing?"
"All hungry and accounted for! And they're making noise, each and every one of `em."
"Lola Cola okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I defrosted some calf's liver and kept her in that and fresh eggs. I need to get some Bag Balm on her nipples, though.....they're looking gnawed on."
"I think guys really do have it easy in this whole reproduction scheme. And yet we have nipples, too. Curious. Even more curious: what is Anders going to do with six puppies?"
"Correction, Love; twelve puppies."
"No, he's only keeping six.....isn't he?"
"He's keeping all of them. The sire's human got an unexpected job relocation. He can't take the pups with him where he's going."
"Antarctica?"
"Smart-ass. No. He's moving to Las Vegas. Too hot for this breed of dog. In fact, he wants to sell the sire to Anders."
"Oh, damn.....poor, big brother......as if he doesn't have a completely new life direction already, now this."
"Yeah, he can't really just put an ad in the `News-Argus' for free Bernese puppies. He could, but I'm not sure they'd go to homes that could afford to feed them. I'm not sure how WE can afford to feed them."
"We'll think of something. Just LOOK at them! Can YOU bear to let any of them go?!"
"Jeff, don't play to my weakness for baby animals! I've already started naming them. Don't tell your brother....."
"Secret's safe with me, Ma! Hey, um, I want to tell you about something before someone in town gets to it first."
"Uh-oh....."
"There's Anders driving down now. I'll wait for him. Until he gets here: nothing really `bad' happened. No fights."
"Sebastian?"
"Heck, no. Although seeing him getting into a fight with Junior could be entertaining....."
"JUNIOR!? Lyle Junior?"
"The one and only, Mom. Hold on, though."
Anders parked next to Dad's truck and joined us in the barn. He smiled when he saw the pups, and Lola Cola barked her love at him. Anders touched each and every pup, pleased to see they were all getting fat and bigger. Their chances for unanimous success seemed to increase by the hour.
"Okay, he's here. Now. What happened with Junior?"
Anders crossed his arms and frowned.
"You tell us what happened, and I'll tell both of you what the word around town already is, Jeff."
"Oh? This could be interesting.....okay, well, anyway. I was fueling up at Wrangler Mart. Junior was there. I was ignoring him, but he took the opportunity to make sure I knew he saw me. He made a few choice comments about the farm and Dad."
"WHAT THE FUCK!??! That fuckin' loser asshole!!!"
Both Anders and I turned to Mom, shocked.
"Mother! Don't you dare kiss the puppies with that mouth!"
We laughed, but then I continued. After a minute or two, they had a pretty good replay of the foul on the field.
"I'm telling you this only so you know it happened. I'm not in trouble, but I could've been, if Ted Rappaport hadn't come outside when he did and both heard and saw everything."
"Boys, honestly, I feel sorry for him. I don't know what happened to him or when, but something turned him into the love child of Chucky and Damien. I feel worse for Ted and Shirley. How humiliating for them."
"Jeff, it's good to know from you, but what Eva showed me three videos that are already floating around online. Junior is infamous well outside of Fergus County by now, I'm sure. Had I been there, I'd be wearing County Orange and occupying my own cell in jail."
"We'd be roommates, Big Brother. Lyle Senior handed Junior his ass, though; Ted played the conversation between the three of them live on his phone's speaker. He sounded like a lava dome ready to explode all over Pompeii again."
"Let's move forward, Boys. We have a dinner to plan and guests to get ready for. I have big potatoes scrubbed, and mushrooms in butter simmering. Now. Jeff. About their grandson....."
"Umm.....yeah, Mom?"
"Marc? Is that right? Anders said he's not sure of his name."
"That's because you dropped Anders on his head when he was born, probably from the roof of the Eiffel Tower. YES, his name is Marc."
"Heh.....whatever, Jeff-Freak. Out of ever-polite curiosity, what shirt are you gonna wear tonight, Little Brother? Hmmmmm?"
"God, I hate you. Mom, I hate him."
"Boys, don't fight. What difference does it matter what shirt Jeff wears?"
"Because there's a high probability he stole it from someone."
"Anders, I swear....."
"Not like Mom does!"
All three of us got a good laugh out of that. As much as I hoped to have Dad's sense of humor, Anders DEFINITELY had it. I can only imagine what his classes were like at MSU. His students might've been bored by the subject, but not because of their professor. I really hoped that he and Mom liked Marc, and I hoped the reverse was also true.
The Taylors arrived right at 5:30. It was funny to see a woman with long, flowing white hair driving a powerful sports car, smiling like she was a little kid on a carousel mustang horse. Mr Taylor rode shotgun, and he, too, was smiling. They weren't driving fast; the gravel county road was not exactly conducive to the kind of road trip that car would've preferred. I couldn't see Marc in the back of the car, but I knew he'd be there. He was probably installed back there with a shoehorn; getting him out might require me firing up the back hoe again.
Everyone tried one of Anders' Manhattans----myself included. Rye was definitely my drink, if only because it was Dad's, and rye was my grain, too (as you've heard me carry on ad nauseam about by now.....sorry!). I thought I was bootlegging only the whiskey in the back of my truck, but Anders bought the sweet vermouth and bitters, too. We opened one of Mom's pints of Flathead cherries, which were wonderful on their own; but swimming around in a glass of the elixir? Something else entirely. If our farm had a signature cocktail, this was it.
Our grill by the side of the barn dates back to the early-1950s. It was Grandpa's high school welding project, and it was used weekly throughout the year. Even in the dead of Winter, someone would be out there, reducing hardwood or charcoal to lava-hot embers and cooking something above them. I had tried spatchcocking a hen once, and while it was good, it wasn't great. The bones and fat on any poultry add much to the texture and flavor. From then on: a half of a hen, or the poor thing cut up into pieces and marinated for a day or so.
Each ribeye was an inch thick, and at least a pound. Obviously too much for each Mr and Mrs Taylor, but they sallied forth bravely with a steak on each plate, barely enough room for the baked potato and the tender peas in butter. Marc assured them he'd gladly have leftovers whatever they could not finish of their steaks. Marc joined me at the grill while Mom entertained Mr and Mrs Taylor in the barn with the puppies. Lola Cola has never met a stranger; she woofed good-naturedly at the older couple and shook her tail in greetings. Mom reached down to pick up two puppies, giving them to Mr and Mrs Taylor. Immediately, like all humans, they held something tiny and precious in their hands and ooed and ahhed over them. So far, so good; our first party without Dad went the way it would have, had he been the one flipping steaks and telling jokes.
Anders went to pick up Eva, who wasn't ready to come for cocktails at exactly 5:30. Once she was there, it was hugs all around for her, and comments about her organ playing at Dad's funeral. We were all surprised she played; no one had any idea until yesterday. She was happy to meet Marc, a mutually held pleasure by the way they shook hands and then hugged. Passing me afterward, she winked and gave me the a-ok signal. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit! Eva brought a cheesecake she'd baked earlier in the day, covering it with a huckleberry-rum compote. I was drooling for a steak already, but when I saw the cheesecake, I was all ready for dessert first.
Eva saw the puppies, and Lola Cola lifted herself up to actually bring one of her pups to Eva. That was.....incredible. Mama Dog wanted to show off her pups to yet another adoring fan. Mom had set the big picnic table for dinner in the shade of the house, and once I had the steaks loaded up on a platter and covered with foil to rest for a few minutes, we all joined and sat. Mr Taylor brought a bottle of red wine, and we all had half of a glass, toasting to Lola Cola and her family. Before digging in, Anders offered grace. I held Marc's hand below the tablecloth. I wanted to cry. Not for any remorse or giddy gladness; just because this was a really good day, and everything was turning out all right for everyone there.
Anders had little else to say during dinner. He was right next to Eva, and while most people would not have realized it, I could tell he was sitting just a millimeter closer to her than he wanted to let on. It was cute. They were both long-time friends, once close, catastrophically estranged, back together, and still acting around each other like it was a first date. And yes, Marc and I were acting similarly, without regret.
Mom was lovely in a sundress she'd made herself. She was tall, almost statuesque. Long auburn hair flowed below her shoulders, and big brown eyes that made everyone who saw her feel instantly at ease. Anders favored her. I favored Dad. Both my parents could look like they belonged in a Grant Wood painting, and after just an hour getting cleaned up, could look like any elegant celebrity couple. In a display of class beyond most people's wildest imagination, Mom threw together a dinner party only one day and a few hours after burying her husband of almost 30 years.
Focus was turned to Marc, with questions asked about his Harvard job, the books he'd written, and what he was planning on next. I had not told Mom or Anders about him being approached by Emil Boldonovic, but he was candid about the discussion and the interview that would follow Friday afternoon. Mom, Anders and Eva were happy to hear the news, and wished him luck. Without making it sound like she was bragging and name-dropping-----she was not doing that-----Mom said she knew four of the school board members well, naming them and how she knew them. She wanted to assure Marc that they'd be good in an interview, and had the best interests of Fergus County's children at heart.
What I noticed in her eyes, though, was something perhaps slightly more candid: a full intention of connecting with those board members. I'd known my mother for 17, almost 18 years. Almost 19, if one begins counting at conception. I knew that she knew how to get things done. This is a woman who, in a busy restaurant in a big city once (Seattle, if I remember correctly), signaled three waiters at once without moving a muscle below her neck. And this was the same woman who said `fuck!' only a couple of hours earlier.
Junior, it was just your luck that I was the one fueling the truck, and not my mother. Jerry the Coroner would've had a busy day.
The evening wound down. Cheesecake was devoured with eyes on everyone rolled back in their heads, bite after bite. The Sun was closer to the horizon, but still far from setting. Just enough, though, that the winds from the West made their little breezes known. I saw how some of Marc's floppy hair raised up just a little. God, he was so handsome. He was also complimentary to Mom and Eva, which I loved about him. He `outted' himself as something of a coffee connoisseur, and Eva lit right up in that conversation.
Anders asked Mr Taylor about Del Reese, the new county surveyor. New' was a relative term; Del was Mr Taylor's replacement when he retired from the job. 15 years ago. Nothing new' about Del. Since everything was GPS now, Del had an easier time of it than Mr Taylor did, but every once in awhile, he'd call Mr Taylor and ask him his advice, or if he'd like to ride along for a survey job in the far reaches of the county. And of course, Mr Taylor agreed, each and every time.
Mrs Taylor was an active substitute teacher in all grades, and students loved her. Her mind was a steel trap, as always; once she learned a student's name in a subbing class, she didn't forget it. Chances were good she knew the student's parents and grandparents before them, having taught hundreds of kids over 50 years in a classroom. Listening to them at dinner, I realized I would miss them once they moved away. Their house was now Marc's, but I'm not sure I would accept that emotionally. I would, however, certainly allow Marc to correct that assertion, each and every chance he got while we were together and alone in that house.
Finally, conversation lapsed to pleasant silence. Mrs Taylor remarked that she saw the barn owl up on top of the barn weather vane.
"Does that owl stay up there at night? I hope she won't see the puppies."
(Of course Mrs Taylor would know that was a she-owl.)
Anders looked at me, and I at him. Fuck. We had not considered that. Even with OC standing guard, that might not deter his girlfriend the owl from coming down to ground level to further inspect twelve bite-sized appetizers. My mind was racing now to think of a solution. I needn't have worried; Mom was being mom to another mom.
"We have some netting in the loft of the barn that I used to cover some strawberries I was growing last year (oh, yeah; I remembered those now). I'll fasten it to the top of the stall where Lola Cola and the puppies are living, as well as cover the stall gate, too. Zip ties will keep it in place, and the owl's attention on more accessible game. If that owl gets within ten yards of those pups, the next time you come for dinner, we'll be eating poultry!"
Everyone laughed, and then Mrs Taylor and Eva offered to help Mom get the dishes and remaining food into the kitchen. She took them up on their offer, leaving Mr Taylor, Marc and Anders with me outside. Anders decided now was a good time to see about that net, since the Sun would be setting in another hour. Mr Taylor, Marc and I walked over to where the trucks and his car were parked.
"Jeff, I don't know as I'll see you again anytime soon. We'll be awake at four and on the road by six. I want you to know you've been a great kid in this community. Your dad was one before you. I've no doubt your own son will be yet another apple not far fallen. I certainly hope you'll have a few sons. I think you'd be a good dad, just as yours was. My own grandson would be a good dad, too.
You two boys are on your way to being good friends. Mrs Taylor and I see that already. We want you to be. This part of the world has its challenges, its near-sightedness. You two have each other, we hope; you can make something good here, together. We hope you'll at least try. Mrs Taylor and I lived in and loved in our house. Keep that going. And I want lots of great-grandsons, and tons of pictures to go with them!"
He leaned forward and pulled us into a hug. His comments were music to my ears. He essentially blessed Marc and me. What could ever mean more? I now felt I had an obligation to him, to Mrs Taylor, to their grandson to be part of him; part of them. My feet were no longer touching the ground. My head was in the clouds. Yeah, yeah, yeah.....I know what you're thinking: go work for Hallmark already. Nope; too busy with a boyfriend, my family, puppies, my horse, my steer, crops and figuring out school.
Mrs Taylor joined us, as did Mom, Eva and Anders. We said our goodbyes, and the Taylors drove up and out onto the county road. Marc was behind the wheel this time. Honks and waves from us to them, and round-trip again. Eva turned to Anders and asked if he'd please take her back to her shack. She needed to get to sleep so she could be up at 4:00 AM, too. Mom and I hugged on Eva, thanked her for the cheesecake, and again for the hundredth time for making Dad's funeral even more special. She smiled radiantly and turned a few shades of red. Anders opened her door of his SUV for her, and they drove off, too.
Mom and I went into the barn to check on Lola Cola and the pups. I suggested that Mama Dog go potty, and she was happy for the suggestion. Mom took that opportunity to fill the water bowl, check on the puppies, and even give OC some love as he sat on the straw bale keeping watch over them. Once Lola Cola was back in the stall, we reattached the net over the gate. Yeah, they were all going to be well-protected, by an old cat and net. And us. We walked back into the house, and I helped Mom with the dishes. She decided now was as good a time as any to employ the dishwasher she just never really used.
"Jeff, this was a good evening, and a nice idea you had to put it together. The Taylors did not leave town without being shown some appreciation and community, even if it was just the seven of us."
"Yeah. Thanks for making this dinner so good, Mom."
"I like Marc....."
"Me, too."
"Oh? You do? You weren't including him just to be polite?"
"What?? No! Are you kidding?"
"Yes. Yes, Jeff, I am kidding. Do you think we'll be seeing more of him, even with the Taylors moved away....?"
"Um, I hope so....."
"Are YOU kidding?"
"No! He's.....a nice guy, and I think he'd make a welcome addition to the school board."
"Oh----so he's `nice' and good for the school board....."
"Welllll.....yeah....."
"And?"
"`And', Mom?"
"`And' don't listen to your brother, Jozef. You keep Marc's shirt. And as far as I'm concerned, keep Marc. I hope this will be the year both my boys share their incredible, perfect farmboy hearts with people who will share theirs right back."
Oh, damn. Well, there's that, I guess. Mom, Anders, Eva, Mr and Mrs Taylor. Sebastian and Lola Cola and Her Twelve Elves. I hugged Mom, and she hugged back harder. She was okay with this. I didn't doubt most of that as a possibility. She and Dad knew when I was thirteen that I felt I was gay. We talked about it for over an hour. Dad poured me some Rye over ice, along with the same for him and Mom.
"If my boy is going to have a grown-up conversation with his parents, then he can have just a little taste of his crops this way. Now. Tell us more, Jozef."
When my parents used my actual name, rare though it was, I was signaled that I had their full attention. And at the age of thirteen, a half-teaspoon of Rye in hand and my heart pounding out of my chest, I told them everything I was had been feeling for years. And that was that. And this was this. One of my biggest concerns---Marc being accepted by my family---was no longer a concern.
I slept that night, but not before staring up at the ceiling, seeing the shadow of the curtains on it, cast there by the barnyard light below my window. The crickets began their symphony, and the frogs, their croaking chorus. Even that barn owl hooted out a distant warning to the field mice that she was hungry. I sent well-wishes to Sebastian, and asked Siri to wake me up at 4:00 so I could go check on my lonely steer. I'd clean his stall, give him fresh water and hay, and maybe another carrot. And an apple.
I drifted off. Yeah, I had a lot on my plate, and it could wait until tomorrow.
"And what have you learned, Jozef?"
"Patience, Dad. Not much and not often, but I've learned that most things can wait another day for me, even if I can not wait for them."