Sounds like he gives a dump truck full of shit. As does everyone else in this town. They all give a shit about everyone’s business. They all make their business known, too. Ternbay is a place where there’s a strong community of front-porch sitters, who just fucking love their gossip. Thankfully, I haven’t been a part of the rumor mill for nearly two decades.
Probably because I’ve spent my life practically in hiding.
It’s a community—not unlike many others all over this state—with such a limited world view, that they’ve shit on everything from the natural food market that those ‘new age hippies’ opened in town a few years back, to the fact that within the last decade the old textile mill down on the ocean got developed into luxury loft apartments, so all those dreaded flatlanders could move into town—mucking upthe place.
Oh, and when someone hung a rainbow flag on their porch one year, right next to where a “Proud Parent of a US Soldier” flagalsohung—you would have thought they’d committed a felony.
It’s not just homophobic, it’sanything progressivephobic, really. Any form of family that isn’t the typical white picket fence American standard is looked at with a hell of a lot of scrutiny.
Not knowing how truly Gannett means that ‘I don’t give a shit’ comment, I resort back to a response more befitting of us—brotherly banter. “Trust me, I don’t think you have to worry about them hitting on your ugly mug.”
He flings an elastic at me, and it lands, striking me in the forehead. “Piss off, big brother. I’m more of a catch than you are.”
I chuckle now. “The fuck you are. I’ve already earned the nicknamehot stuff.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna finally admit you’re ready to get back into the ‘single and ready to mingle’ scene again? This time screwin’ around with another dude?” He snorts sarcastically, waggling his eyebrows.
No chance, not with Kai, but just for posterity's sake…
“What if I did?” I fix him with a hard look. “What would you say to that, huh? Would you give me a bunch of shit?”
He rears back with a quizzical look. “Probably not, you’re my brother. But bro—you ain’t into dudes. Are you? I honestly can’t tell if you’re fuckin’ with me right now…”
I shrug, putting on a blasé affect. I should tell him. The door has already been opened, all I’d have to do is say the words...
Fucking stop it. There is nothing to say. It’s not you; it can never be you. Maybe before Miranda, if you had the balls then, but that ship has now sailed.
Gannett studies me a bit, studies so hard, that he doesn’t notice, until it’s too late, that a lobster is poised to clamp his finger in between its crusher claw.
“Fuck!” he bellows, the echo reverberates around the cove. “Fuck! Ev, get it off me!” He flails his hand around wildly, the lobster going along for a hell of a ride.
His middle finger is as purple as a rotten plum by the time I pry the crustacean off. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t broken. Thathadto hurt like a bastard, but I can’t help but smirk to myself as he stomps around the deck, clutching his finger to his chest, howling in pain.
Looks like little broski just fucked all the way around and found the hell out.
Serves his ass right.
“‘Nother bourbon?” Gordy grunts at me, as he slides a few pint glasses of piss-yellow cheap beer down the row to my dad, Gannett, and the rest of the old cronies.
“Sure.”
He taps the bartop and heads down to pour me another round. I always get a feeling of sick satisfaction seeing him work the bar instead of in the MLB. Makes me feel not so bad about having to work on the boat with my own father, since Gordy ended up having to come back to Ternbay to take over his own father’s establishment, after his dad passed.
Outwardly, Gordy and I appear to have a lot in common. Both single dads to teenage boys. After my seasonal gig, we’ll both be stuck in Ternbay, working a family business that we have no interest in. Both had to give up our dreams to stay behind and raise families. Both bachelors, since Trista-Lynn divorced his ass when she realized he was never going to make it as a famous baseball player.
Both going absolutely fucking nowhere in life.
By all appearances, we should be buddies—and we used to be, a lifetime ago—but now we’re far from it. I keep things civil with him whenever I come here though, only because I’d hate to see Wagner and Gan kicked out and not allowed back, because I smashed a beer bottle into Gordy’s shitty face for haunting me all these years.
“Ay! Taryn! Get your ass back here; we need more clean glasses!” I hear him bellow out to his son, who is out bussing tables at just a year younger than Colt. Then he sets my drink down on the coaster infront of me. “Fuckin’ kids,” he mutters to me. “No one knows what hard work is anymore, do they?”
Hold up—is Gordyactuallytrying to make conversation with me?
I nod, even though I am starting to disagree—at least when it comes to my son anyway. The past couple days at camp, I have watched him work damn hard. I don’t think it was just for show either. There were a few times he didn’t know I was watching, and he’d just start barking out orders to his new coworkers the same way he does calling plays out on the football field.
With Morgan at his side, he appears to have taken a vested interest in the camp.
Inwardly, I hope that Gordy doesn’t realize that my son has been complicit in vandalizing this place for a bit now. One would think he has to know, but then again, Gordy always has been one beer short of a six-pack. Probably poor taste to go with that particular euphemism, actually, because I believe he truly is an alcoholic—just like his old man was.
