21. Vaughn
TWENTY-ONE
VAUGHN
Dante Reyes runs the Ridgeline the way his sister runs the Sunrise Bakery—with the warmth of someone who considers feeding and gathering people a genuine vocation rather than a business.
He’s younger than Maria by a few years, with the same dark eyes and the same quality of making you feel immediately at home, and he’s given over the entire back room of the bar to the so-called dick competition.
The back room has been transformed.
A long table covered in a dark cloth runs the length of one wall and is set with individual display stands for each entry. The lighting has been adjusted so it looks more like a museum display than a small-town competition for vegetables that resemble dicks.
The Knot Today members arrive at seven on the dot. There are six women, ranging from what I’d estimate as early seventies to genuinely indeterminate. They’re wearing T-shirts, each with a knitting pun that makes me think they got them made just for this competition.
Before the judging starts, a couple of young women and a guy wearing the same T-shirt join the ladies.
I stand beside Silas, who’s clutching his hands together while the women—and gent—get ready to start. They pick up the first entry, which is an eggplant that seems to have a couple of tiny balls growing near the green stem. It might not be realistic, but it does look the part.
Watching the judges’ faces as they work is entertainment in itself.
“They move together like a tiny swarm; it’s both cute and menacing,” I say.
“I certainly wouldn’t want to come up against them at the farmers’ market,” Silas says.
The room fills up around us, with more people coming in to witness the judging.
Chris is practically bouncing on his toes and following the movements of the panel like his life depends on it. Hux, as usual, is right next to him like a silent bodyguard ready to pounce.
“Hey, Vaughn.” Silas pulls my shirt sleeve so I get closer to him. “Are Chris and Hux a thing?”
“As far as I know, they’re not, but you know I’m not the one to ask.”
“How can you be part of a community and not know these things? What are you doing with your life, Vaughn Reeves?” He shakes his head. I want to grab him by the neck and kiss him just to show him what I’m doing with my life, but Tess and Clayton join us.
Tess is hugging glass of wine like she’s been waiting for it all day. “Who’s winning?”
Silas pulls her close to him. “No one yet. They’re still judging, although I don’t understand the need for so much … touching and poking.” Teresa snorts. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you. Are Chris and Hux together?”
“Hmm. There’s a long story there. They’ve been best friends since kindergarten.
Inseparable. Then when they turned eighteen, Chris went away to college and Hux went traveling.
About four years ago, Chris’s grandmother passed away and left him with a small inheritance.
He came back and opened Riverside Outfitters.
Next thing we know, Hux is back and now he’s Chris’s business partner.
They behave like they’re together, but as far as I know, they’re not.
I’ve seen Chris dating men, but Hux is never seen with anyone. ”
The story is new to me, and I find myself as interested as Silas, who’s focused on the guys like he can solve the riddle of whether they’re together simply by staring.
I lean over into his side to whisper in his ear, “You know it’s okay for people to have secrets, right?”
He turns his face to me, his gaze on my mouth before he meets my eyes in an expression that’s best explained as it’s okay for us to have secrets, not anyone else.
“Which of the squashes is yours?” I need to change the topic before I kiss him in public.
He points at the penultimate squash on the table. Sir Squash-a-nova has developed in a direction I genuinely did not notice over the last three weeks. I have to admit it’s an impressive specimen.
“He’s quite something,” I say.
“Thank you,” Silas says.
“I’m horrified.”
“Also valid.”
The Knot Today panel keeps moving along the table in a line, pausing at each entry, conferring in low voices, making notes on the clipboard.
When they reach Squash-a-nova, there’s a longer-than-average pause, followed by a murmured exchange I cannot hear but that produces nods from all nine of them, and then they move to the last one, which is Chris’s.
I turn to Tess. “Is the gay cruise still on the table as the prize?”
She nods. “It seems so. There have been a few sponsors, and they’ve apparently raised enough money.”
“What if the winner is a woman?”
Tess shrugs. “Maybe they can pick a different cruise?”
I look at Silas. “What will you do if you win?”
In the dim light of the room, I feel Silas’s hand clasp mine. “I don’t know. Convince my best friend’s dad to take a vacation?”
I hope my eyes communicate to him how much I want that even if my brain is telling me how much I can’t do it.
The judging panel reaches its verdict for the evening and announces the entries that will go through to the next round. Sir Squash-a-nova is among them, and Chris’s entry also goes through.
The crowd spreads into the main area of the bar, and the evening settles into the warm noise of people drinking, talking, and arguing pleasantly about vegetables, which is probably the most and the least “me thing” ever.
Silas joined Tess with a glass of wine, and now that he’s had three, he’s a little buzzed and getting all touchy-feely. It would be cute if Tess didn’t keep looking at us like she knows exactly what’s going on.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see Rowan’s name.
“Tess, can you keep an eye on Silas for me? I have to call Rowan back. I’m just stepping outside.”
“No problem, honey.”
I step out through the bar and onto Main Street, where the festival has quieted into its evening mode. Most of the stands are closed, and there are only a few clusters of people hanging out.
“Dad,” Rowan says when I answer.
“Hey. You should be here. Silas’s zucchini just went through to the next round of the phallic gourd competition.”
“I really wish I was there. I’ve had countless messages from Chris about the competition. I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it this time.”
“You have a new case?” That’s always the reason. He really is my son.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s—I can’t talk about it, but it’s significant, and I can’t leave Denver right now. I’m sorry. I really wanted to be there.”
“I know, son. There’s always next year. We’ll send you all the photos. Silas is cataloging this festival in more detail than the local newspaper.”
“How’s Silas?”
“He’s inside arguing with someone about zucchini cultivation,” I say. “He’s fine.”
He laughs. “He’s such an old man.”
“Hey,” I protest. “I grow things, and I’m not that old.”
“Then maybe you should start acting your age and start dating.”
This is an argument we’ve had many times. As most children, Rowan thinks me being on my own means I’m celibate. I’m not about to break his view of the world by saying I occasionally hook up with people, even if until Silas I’d been on a particularly long dry spell.
“Anyway, I gotta go, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I stand on the street for a moment after the call ends. I’m sad that Rowan isn’t coming. I’ve been looking forward to having him here again, to the three of us hanging out at the festival together.
But he’s not coming. Which means I get to keep Silas in my bed longer.
As I’m turning to go back inside, my eyes are drawn to a man across the street. He’s just far enough away from the lamp post that I can’t see much detail, but he’s looking my way. He stands there for a few seconds before he walks unhurriedly in the opposite direction.
I watch him until he turns a corner and disappears, and then I go back inside.
Silas is where I left him, in conversation with Tess about his dream vegetable garden. When he sees me, he gives me that smile I’ve come to know so well. He’s drunk and horny. Not that I’ve seen him drunk before, but he’s definitely horny.
Time to go home, I guess.
Silas gets handsy during the drive back, so I pull him closer to me and promise he’ll get to touch anywhere he wants if he’ll let me get us home safely. Thankfully, he’s not that far gone.
When we get to the house, I tell him to go up to the bedroom while I grab a glass of water for him.
He kisses me, mouthing in between how much he wanted to do that at the bar, and goes upstairs.
When I turn on the kitchen light, there’s something on the floor just inside by the back door.
When I pick it up, a chill runs down my spine. It’s a photo of me with Silas at the restaurant in Warsaw. We’re smiling at each other, our heads so close we look like we’re about to kiss. I remember wanting to do that.
I stand up slowly.
The kitchen is very quiet around me. The house creaks as it settles and from upstairs comes the sound of Silas moving around.
I turn the photo over. On the back, in handwriting, it says: You have been warned repeatedly. This is the last one.
“I missed you,” Silas says, appearing by the door in nothing but his underwear. I fold the photograph and put it in my jeans pocket.
“Sorry,” I say. “Lost track.”
He crosses the kitchen and kisses me again, longer this time, his hands on my face, and I kiss him back. I wipe my mind of all thoughts of the photograph burning a hole in my pocket and the man who seemed to be watching me across the road from the Ridgeline.
“Come to bed,” he says against my lips.
“Drink this glass of water and then we’ll go,” I say, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and taking it to the tap.
When we’re in bed, Silas falls asleep quickly while I lie in the dark, gazing up at the ceiling.
Someone followed me the whole time I was in Warsaw, and now they’ve shown up on my property. My sanctuary.
This is escalating.
I remember what Dale said about reporting anything new. Sleep takes much longer to come this time, even with Silas pressed against me, which so far has brought me only peace.
This feeling of helplessness is not something I’m familiar with.
I’m the man who raised a child when I was barely an adult.
I’m the man who fought to keep my research independent so it can’t be bought by the highest bidder.
And now it seems that someone might be interested in suppressing it because, god forbid, people have the resources to feed their communities and be economically independent.
Silas moves in his sleep and tightens his arm around me. He mumbles something that sounds like “You’re so sexy. I wish I could keep you.”
That brings a smile to my face. I wish I could keep him too.