Chapter 2
Teague
T he thing I liked best about running the log splitter was that it didn’t require my full attention. As long as I didn’t let my mind wander too long or too far. Which is why I had my earbuds in underneath my earmuff ear protection and was jamming out to an early 2000s rock mix. I sang along as I rolled another birch log onto the machine and watched as it was first chopped to the right length and then each piece split before it was pushed onto the conveyor that carried the newly made firewood to the hopper. Eventually, I’d have to load that into organized stacks but that was a task for future me.
I liked the work. It was physical and sometimes hard, but it was satisfying. When my dad said he was going to use his retirement to open a firewood business, I thought it would be a good way for him to pass the time. I’d had no idea that pretty soon, he’d be busy enough to hire me on. It wasn’t always a full day’s work, but Mulligan’s Firewood was popular enough that, most days, it took us both to get through the workload. It was even busier in the early spring when we planted more trees to make up for the ones we cut down. Dad’s biggest goal was to keep the balance.
Loading another log—this time maple Dad had cut down into more manageable logs with the portable sawmill he was so proud of—I thought about my schedule for the week. Other than stacking the cut firewood, I had deliveries to make. A lot of people picked up their own firewood, but for a small extra fee, I’d attach the trailer to my Toyota Tacoma and drop it off. I liked that part too, talking to people as well as the physical work. Hearing their stories as I unloaded and stacked for those who were unable to do it themselves made my day.
I was happiest when I was active and having a job that used my brawn more than my brains was ideal. Not that I was stupid but being cooped up indoors made me itchy and restless. I’d tried it before. So even though I ended most days covered in sweat and sawdust, it made me happy.
I was so in the zone that when my nephew’s ringtone interrupted mid-song, it made me jump. Oakley was one of the few people on my phone that had an individual tone, so I made sure never to miss his calls. Given his situation, I always wanted to be available if he needed me.
Using my teeth to pull one work glove off, I fished my phone out of my pocket and jabbed a thick finger on the answer icon. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”
“Hey, Uncle Teague.” Oakley’s voice was tight, strained, in a way it usually wasn’t. I quickly shut down the machine and jogged further away from the noise. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he blurted out, “Can I come stay with you?”
The phrasing made me freeze but only for a second. “Of course, Oak. You know you’re always welcome.”
His exhale was a crackle of static on the line. “Great, uh, because I’m already sort of here. Well, in Plattsburgh. And I, uh, need you to come get me. My car is kind of dead.”
“Kind of?” I questioned, then shook my head. “You know what? Never mind. I’m on my way. Where are you?”
“The car was being weird so I pulled into the Dunkin’ on Route 9 and ran inside for a coffee, but it won’t start again, and I’m so close and I thought I could make it all the way there but—”
“Oakley, take a breath.” I waited for him to do so and then again, before I spoke. “Don’t worry about it. It’s like twenty or twenty-five minutes from here. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.” He did sound calmer, like he was fine now that he knew I was coming.
“Sit tight,” I said, pulling off the other glove and tucking them both in my back pocket. “See you soon.”
“See you.”
I ended the call, then jogged across the clearing to where my dad was working the sawmill. I waved to get his attention, and he held up a finger to acknowledge that he saw me and to ask me to wait. It would only be a few seconds as he finished the cut, but still I was anxious to get going. I watched him as I waited and couldn’t help but smile. Sean Mulligan was still tall and strong despite that he’d seen his sixty-seventh birthday this year. I’d gotten my height from him, but the broad shoulders came from my mother’s side. Dad was wiry, always had been.
A moment or two later, he shut down the saw and we both removed our ear protection. The clearing practically rang with the sudden silence, though that was probably my ears. Even with the muffs, the machinery was loud.
“Hey, I gotta go get Oakley.”
Dad’s brows scrunched together. “From Utah?”
I could understand the confusion. “No, he’s here. Well, Plattsburgh. His car died or something. I don’t know all the details yet.”
Dad frowned even harder. “What is he doing here?”
“I dunno.” I shrugged, even though it was unnecessary. “Once I get to him, I’ll figure out what’s going on.”
“Yeah, okay.” Dad nodded. “Bring him to the house for supper. Your mother will be happy to see her oldest grandchild.”
I almost agreed without thought, but the second before the words left my lips, I paused. I didn’t know what was going on, but from Oakley’s tone I guessed it was more than just showing up for an unannounced visit. Given what I knew of my sister, Oakley’s mother, I worried it was the worst thing that had sent him running across the country.
But I wasn’t going to borrow trouble, to use one of my mom’s favorite phrases. Until I talked to Oakley, I wouldn’t think about it.
To my dad, I said, “I’ll ask him. See what he wants to do. He might be tired or whatever. It’s a long trip. It might be tomorrow before I bring him over.”
For a long moment, Dad just looked at me, then he nodded and put his earmuffs back on. “Good idea. Let me know either way.”
The implied “let me know Oakley’s okay” made me smile, and I clapped my dad on the shoulder before heading to my truck. Dad had a huge heart, accepted everyone for who they were, and wasn’t one to cause trouble. He would speak up when he saw an injustice, but he was more for keeping the peace. I’d learned that from him, though I was more outspoken about certain things than he would ever be. Generational thing, I guessed.
Plattsburgh was a straight shot south down Route 9, and as soon as I left the town limits of Fairville, I hit the accelerator. Even though the speed limit was technically 55, most people sped down the open stretches. I was no exception, especially when I knew Oakley was waiting for me.
Twenty minutes after I left, I was slowing to turn into the Dunkin’ parking lot. There weren’t many cars at this time of day, and after searching for just a few seconds, I spotted a late model Civic that had seen far better days. The Utah plates gave it away.
I’d barely parked next to the car when the driver's side door popped open. As soon as I had my door open, I had an armful of gangly teenager. Except he wasn’t a teenager anymore, I remembered. He would be twenty-one next month, and there was a strength in his frame I hadn’t expected. It had been a few years since I’d seen him in person, due to my sister’s so-called morals.
I didn’t let go until Oakley did, and then pointedly looked away when he wiped his face. I listened to him breathe deeply for a few seconds, then squeezed his shoulder.
“Okay, first things first. What’s going on with the car?”
Oakley took a second to answer. “I don’t know. It was fine up until a few minutes before I got here; then it kind of like slowed down? It was weird, and I saw the Dunkin’ so I pulled in. I thought maybe it needed a rest, so I went in and got an iced coffee but then when I tried to start it again….” He made a “poof” motion with his hand. “Nothing but clicks.”
“Sounds like your alternator died. And the battery is out of juice.” I gave the car a once over. It looked like it was being held together with duct tape and a wish. I couldn’t begin to guess what year it was, but I knew it was old. “Get your stuff in the truck and I’ll call for a tow.”
Oakley nodded and pulled open the back door, and I immediately noticed the sheer amount of stuff. This was not a quick visit, and probably not even just for the rest of the summer. The backseat was packed all the way up to the rear window with just enough room to see out of. I had a feeling when he opened the trunk it would be packed too. The bad feeling in my stomach grew.
But first I called the garage where I took my truck for service, even though it was in Fairville, because I trusted those guys to do the right thing and not overcharge. After a quick discussion with Bob, who had gone to school with my dad and had a standing monthly order for firewood, he agreed to send one of his kids down with the tow truck. It would take them a bit to get there, so we had plenty of time to transfer Oakley’s things.
“Don’t leave anything in the car,” I said, moving to help. I trusted the guys at the garage, but my gut told me this car would end up at the scrap yard instead of fixed. It didn’t seem like it would be worth the amount of money it would take to repair, unless it really was just the alternator. Even then, I wasn’t sure it was all that safe.
We worked silently until all the bags and boxes were in my truck, and then I leaned against my fender as Oakley went through the front console and glove box for anything else important.
The tow truck rolled into the lot five minutes later, and I didn’t miss the way Jamie winced before he schooled his features. But he didn’t say much as he hooked up the car to the flatbed, pulled it up with the winch, and secured it down. I told Jamie to call me when they knew anything, but it wasn’t a rush, and waved him off. Then I turned back to Oakley, who stood there clutching his sweating coffee like it was a lifeline.
“Ready?”
With a short nod, he rounded the bed and got into the passenger side. I waited until he was buckled before I backed out of the spot and then until we were on the road pointed toward home before I asked quietly, “What happened?”
Oakley took a long pull from his straw before gingerly setting the cup in the holder. He fiddled with it for a moment in a completely unnecessary way before he blew out a breath.
“Mom found out.”
“Shit,” I said with feeling.
“Yeah.” Oakley went quiet again, and I didn’t want to push for more information. Even if I was dying to know. My imagination was running wild, and the things I was picturing were pretty bad. The worst part was, I knew it wouldn’t be far off from the truth.
My sister, Erin, was in college when she met Bart Young, a Mormon missionary. She fell for it hook, line, and sinker, converting to the Mormon faith before marrying the man and having five children. But while my sister had been raised as I and our middle sibling, Regan, had—to be open minded and loving—her new religion wasn’t so tolerant. The girl I’d known and loved growing up was nowhere to be found in the woman she’d become. I hadn’t spoken to her in years, since I wouldn’t “change my mind” about my bisexuality. None of the kids were supposed to talk to me or Regan because of our “choices,” but Oakley had gotten my phone number from my parents and we’d been in regular contact since he was sixteen and he realized he was gay.
“Are you okay?” I asked, knowing that was the most important part.
“Yeah,” Oakley said, shakily. He cleared his throat. His voice was stronger when he continued, “Yeah. I packed my shit and escaped, so I’m okay. They can’t hurt me anymore.”
I knew damn well that wasn’t true, and he knew it too. But if he wanted to hold onto that right now, I wasn’t going to burst his bubble. “You wanna tell me what happened? It’s okay if you don’t.”
For a long few minutes and several miles Oakley didn’t speak. Then he leaned his head back against the headrest and sighed gustily. “Rudy went snooping. Fucking kid. He was looking through my phone. Either he figured out the passcode or just saw me typing it in one time. He went running right to Mom as soon as he saw some of the conversations I’d been having with my friends.”
“He’s ten. He doesn’t know any better,” I said, giving the kid the benefit of the doubt. The LDS church was full of indoctrination. Oakley had already started deconstructing what he’d been raised in, but his youngest brother didn’t have that ability yet.
“Yeah, he does. He’s just a tattle-tale who believes all their bullshit.” Oakley’s eyes snapped open, and I saw the anger there. I let him have it. It was justified. But after a second, he scrubbed a hand over his face, and I focused back on the road. “Anyway, my parents said they’d send me to a place to ‘fix’ me. When I refused, they told me they weren’t going to pay for my last year of college unless I went away and got better. I packed everything I didn’t want to leave behind and got the fuck out of there before they could have me kidnapped and taken against my will.”
I’d like to think my sister wouldn’t be that cruel to her own child, but I didn’t know her anymore. And the horror stories I’d heard about just that thing happening were enough to make me believe it was a possibility. I knew Oakley had been holding out long enough to get his education. He’d won the fight to go to a secular college, but I was betting that was part of the argument my sister and brother-in-law were using. That he’d turned gay because he wasn’t at a Mormon university.
My heart broke for this kid, looking so defeated in my passenger seat. But he was here now, with family who loved him just as he was, and we would keep him safe, help him heal, and get back on his feet.
I reached out and squeezed the back of his neck, and Oakley leaned into the touch. “We’ve got you, kiddo. Welcome to your fresh start.”