“It couldn’t hurt.”
Colby playfully nudges me with his elbow, aiming that bright, sweet grin my way. I can’t help but smile back at him. A couple of half-working vehicles just waiting to be fixed fill my parents’ garage. That’s the nice thing about being in a family of men like us, there’s always a car around that you can fuck around with.
A few hours tick by as we work in the garage, tinkering around with one of the cars. Just the comfort of silence between us. Something about the smell of grease, of engines, comforts me to the marrow of my bones. The smell reminds me of hard work, days spent with the comforting presence of family. My mind drifts away as we work, so I’m no longer worried about the farm, about the future, about my mom or Andy. Until all I am is a man with my hands on an engine in the crisp Florida autumn air.
Until Andy comes running out of the house frantically looking for us.
Until her terrified eyes and tear-streaked face tell me everything.
When I look back on that day, that run from the garage to the house felt like a million years. Like a million miles. But it only took me seconds. Just like it only took seconds for my dad to draw his final breath. The final goodbye.
One day is all I allow myself to be miserable. One day to wallow in my sadness. Then I pick myself back up and plan the memorial service. Thankfully, Colby’s there to help me with that too.
Impulsively, I even sent an email toThe Boyfriend Experienceasking if Trevor is available for two days.
Hi, Beau,
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but Trevor is not available. If there’s another boyfriend that could fit the bill, please let me know and we can schedule him for three days from now.
Wishing you all the best,
Claire
Despite my grief and how hard the past few months have been with my father’s declining health… my mind still frequently drifted to Trevor. I wondered if he’d ever take me up on my offer to come back here. If he’d ever need me.
Three days with him were enough to know something special flowed between us. Something rare. No one is a good enough actor to fake chemistry like we had. But I can’t focus on Trevor now, even though he’s been my favorite thing to focus on. A little piece of joy that I tuck away to pull out when I need it most.
Clay dirt kicks up behind me as the truck rolls towards the farm. It’s Wednesday and it’s closed to the public. We use thatday to harvest crops, plant, or prepare for events. Today we’re preparing for my father’s memorial service on Friday.
After trying to help, most everyone shoos me off. Maybe for the first time in my life no one wants my help. So, I do the only thing I can think of to do. A few hours out with the sunflowers will cure me. Sometimes a man just needs to stand among the sunflowers, look up at the cloudless sky, and think big, scary thoughts. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Just thinking. Most of my thoughts are about how I’m closer to forty than I am to thirty without much to show for it.
I’ve got the farm and my family but nothing else.
Andy’s starting a new family of her own with Ethan.
What do I have?
I leave the farm feeling better than I did when I arrived. The land has always had a way of calming me, rooting me on earth when I feel like all the suppressed emotions inside me could float me away. Instead of going straight home, I head to my parents’ place to check on my mom. Uncle Patrick’s truck is in the driveway when I pull in with a soft sigh.
The soft sound of crying greets me as I push through the front door. I call out to my mom with a wince because I hate making her feel embarrassed for being sad. But I know she’ll feel that way around me.
“Mom?”
“Hey, Beau,” Uncle Patrick says to me as I enter the living room.
Mom wipes at her face and aims a watery smile at me. “How’s the farm?”
“Mom, don’t worry about the farm right now. Uncle Patrick and I have it covered.”
Mom nods at me before standing on shaky legs. I envelop her in a tight hug, cradling her against my chest, and pretend not to hear her soft cries. Uncle Patrick lets out an anguished sighand heads to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I hold Mom until her tears taper off. She gingerly pushes away at the scent of coffee floating in the air. That’s one thing that’ll always get her relaxed, a nice mug of coffee. She can drink it before bed. That’s always been my mama’s way.
Sitting at the kitchen island, we quietly share our coffee together.
“I brought some food over and put it in the fridge,” Uncle Patrick says. “People keep dropping stuff off at our house, or at the farm. Lots of people love you, sissy.”
Uncle Patrick kisses my mom’s cheek, gives me a hard slap on the back, then disappears out the front door. The house is quiet for a few minutes as Mom sips at her coffee, hiding behind her hair a bit.
“I’ve got the service all planned. It’ll be a hard day, but I think we’ll all feel better once that’s done. Once we can kind of officially say goodbye.”
