Chapter 17
Owen
“Is this for the new book club?” people ask as he works on his new posters.
“It is. I should be ready to put them all over town in a couple of days.” For a while there, he thought of keeping the next event more low-key since so many people made jokes about his over-the-top advertisement campaign, but he loves making these posters, and they do add a bit of color to this rather plain town.
This new batch of posters shows the interior of the library, filled with books and smiling people as they read around the long table or in the comfortable armchairs.
He’s done three posters so far, and each has the same repeating element—Will.
He’s wearing different shirts in each one to make it less obvious, but it’s still very much him.
Toward the end of his shift, Shelby arrives at the library. Holding the book she came to replace, she marches to the counter. Owen smiles, but the look on her face sobers him. “Hey, Shelby.”
“Owen.” She leans with her palms on the counter, a white scarf wrapped around her neck. Her perfume is too strong and sweet. “Working on the new posters, I see.”
“Yeah, I decided to focus on the interior of the library this time.”
Shelby looks down and sighs.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
She glances from side to side to make sure no one’s listening.
“It’s one thing to be openly gay in this town, Owen, but it’s another to add the town’s pervert—who you are allegedly dating—into each of your posters.
I lived in New York, darling—nothing can shock me—but for you to date someone like Will Thomas… why would you do such a thing?”
Owen’s heart beats in his ears. “Where did you hear that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
She watches him with pity. “I’ve heard it twice today, from different people. I don’t know how long it’s been going on between you two, but the cat is out of the bag.”
Owen’s heart beats even louder. This is bad.
It has been five days since he and Will had the conversation on the riverbank.
They have seen each other every evening since then, but they were careful not to touch in public, and whenever Owen came over to stay as Will’s, he checked that no one was following.
Did people simply assume the two gay men in town would be together?
Owen hasn’t announced his gayness in a newsletter, but he hasn’t hidden it either.
Something tells him there’s another force at play here; the same force that had told him those lies about Will.
“I have no comment,” he says sternly.
Shelby rolls her eyes. “I’m not Oprah, dear—I don’t need a comment. This is simply a friendly warning that nothing good can come of you having a relationship with that man. The things he did to poor Joel Buchanan—”
Owen slams his fist on the counter, making Shelby and the few other people in the library jump.
Poor Joel Buchanan. He feels sick knowing that Will has had to deal with this bullshit for all these years.
“I’ll say it one time and one time only.
” The cold anger in his voice sounds foreign in his ears, but it’s still him, unapologetically furious.
“Whatever is happening between me and Will is nobody’s business.
All of you have a wrong and twisted vision in your head about what happened between him and Joel, and Will is kind enough not to share the truth about a dead person.
I just wish that all of you could be half as kind to him. ”
Shelby straightens and arranges her white scarf. “Well, I guess you can’t help those who don’t want to be helped. I wish you luck, my dear. Obviously, I will not be attending the next book club; something came up.”
She leaves the library, and Owen watches numbly as the rest of the people leave as well.
They have all heard that exchange. He leans his face in his hands, trying to stop his shaking.
He thought he found a home in this place, a space to become a better man with less baggage, but things are clearly not going according to plan, leaving him with the cold realization that he must prepare for war.
*
He should go to Rodie’s to meet Will, but he can’t bring himself to do that.
He decides to go home, where his aunt would likely be waiting.
She’s not the kind to waste time on gossip, but it’s a different story if the gossip is about your family member, and you realize that person has been lying to you.
And even if she hasn’t heard yet, Owen wants to be the one controlling the narrative.
He’s experienced firsthand the damage that can come from hearing a story from the wrong source.
The lights are on inside the house, and the street is completely quiet.
Owen stands by the stairs to the porch, breathing heavily and wishing he were anywhere else right now.
Before he can gather the courage to climb the stairs, the door opens.
His aunt stands in her white nightgown, her hand on her hip and a hard look on her face.
“Standing there won’t make your problems go away, so get your ass inside. ”
Owen exhales and climbs the stairs. The house is warm, but his aunt’s look is icy. “Living room,” she says, and he goes to sit on the sofa. She sits in front of him in an armchair, crossing her arms. Behind her are the old photos of him and his parents.
He waits for her to speak, but she keeps staring at him, making him feel small, and worse—guilty.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
She snorts. “Rich words from someone who’s been lying to me.”
Oh, that. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been honest, but after what you said about the other gay man in town, it was clear what your reaction would be.”
“I understand that living in a small town can get boring, and there isn’t exactly a gay scene around here, but—”
“That has nothing to do with it. I would’ve wanted him any time and any place. You don’t know him like I do, Aunt Sheryl.”
She shuts her eyes for a few seconds, as if to hold back her anger. “I’ve known this boy for decades. I lived through that shitstorm between him and Joel and saw what it did to the Sheriff to lose his only son to madness, piece by piece.”
“That had nothing to do with Will!”
“He was the closest to him; his partner. The things Joel told us…” She shivers.
Owen rubs his face, trying not to let his frustration take over.
He wants to scream so badly, but he can’t lose his aunt’s support.
“Your entire opinion on Will is based on the stories you’ve heard from a mad person.
A person who abused Will for years, a man who had such strong ties to the law that Will didn’t dare to file a complaint against him, even though he wanted nothing more than to get away from Joel’s madness.
Can you… fuck, can you imagine living in a place where everyone prefers to take the word of a lunatic over yours?
” He wipes his eyes, hating to show weakness when he should be strong.
But every time he thinks of Will in that situation, it feels like physical pain.
His aunt looks away, her jaw tight. There’s still hardness in her eyes, but also something else, which Owen hopes could be doubt. “We saw the marks on Joel.”
“The marks he forced Will to leave on him. Why didn’t you stop it if you thought Joel was in danger?”
“He… he said he’d kill himself if we got between them.”
“Yeah, he said the same thing to Will to make him stay. And at the same time, he kept Will isolated and made everybody think he was an abuser. My God, a man who is supposedly being abused by his boyfriend does not go around town telling people about it just so he can also tell them to butt out. Either you keep your mouth shut and suffer quietly, or you seek help by speaking up. Am I wrong?”
His aunt still looks away, but the doubt is stronger in her eyes. She says, “He should have left town, then, right after Joel died.”
“Back when his sister got sick? He’s a better man than that.”
She lets out a deep sigh and finally meets his eyes. “Whether or not this town has done wrong to Will Thomas doesn’t make your relationship with him any less ridiculous.”
Owen digs his fingernails into his knees. “Please don’t call our relationship ridiculous. We’ve just established that you don’t know everything.”
“I know that I agreed to have my nephew here so he could keep a low profile and get his act together.”
“And haven’t I been doing that?” He’s hurt that all of his hard work can be so easily dismissed.
“Since the day you got here, I have been proud of you—and I made sure your parents knew that. But you have been lying to me, Owen, and I don’t know how you can expect to keep a low profile when you’ve just invited a shitstorm of trouble.”
“A shitstorm for you as well, right?”
She raises a warning finger. “Don’t think I give a fuck about what people think or say about me. Some call me a dyke because I curse too much. Some think I let my husband die for the insurance money. Fuck all of those hillbillies. This is about you, Owen, and what you will need to deal with.”
“Then it should be up to me to decide if I’m ready to face what’s coming—and I am.”
The anger in her eyes is replaced with pity. “Oh, silly boy. You’re not ready at all.”
*
He waits for his aunt to go to sleep and passes the time by drawing Will. It has become like therapy to him, a secret way to calm his anxiety.
In the dimness of the house, he creeps downstairs and takes the cordless phone into the kitchen.
He sits on the floor with his back against a cabinet, hoping it’s not too late to call Will.
He wishes to go there right now and spend the night with him, but there’s still tension between him and his aunt, so he’d rather not push it.
He can’t tell yet if she’ll have his back when push comes to shove, but at least she didn’t threaten to kick him out. Yet.
“Hello?”
Owen lets out a sigh. “It’s me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I thought we’d have more time before people started talking.”