Page 20 of Small City Heart
An embarrassing lump stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about his job options or admit that he now had a reputation as a star fucker for sleeping with his more famous boss. He didn’t want to get into the way his friends were maybe not his friends after all.
“My job isn’t exactly … comfortable anymore. I had a falling out with Richard, and it’s been bad, Mom. Really bad. I can’t continue there. Plus, I miss you, and surprisingly, I miss other things too. Like quiet and hills and the prescribed burns and your cooking.”
He hadn’t realized how much of a balm being here could be until he’d gazed at the Flint Hills sunset the night before, and all of him had ached at how lovely it was.
After a deep breath, he blurted out all the thoughts that had prevented him from falling back asleep in Charlie’s arms this morning.
“I could make a living here. There’s the Chase Gallery, and I have a good relationship with Mr. Mikhailov. Last time we talked about my photography, he said he was hoping to retire soon, so there might be opportunities at the gallery. I can still get my photography in some places in Chicago—it’s not like that income will disappear—and I have several contacts in St. Louis and Kansas City. Plus, there’s not a wedding photographer who is more than a hobbyist within fifty miles of here.” He was rambling, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop. “It’s just a thought. A stupid one.”
She had her mom-face on, all serious and penetrating, and he wanted to flinch away from the intensity.
“Patrick, I’d love to have you back, and you’ve obviously thought about this, but let me make one thing very clear. There is notrying to fit in here. You would be miserable.”
A pang of hurt sliced through his chest. “You don’t think I could?”
“Lord Almighty, that’s not what I’m saying. You shouldn’thave to, and I’ll be livid if you try. You’re special, and I’m not only saying that because you’re my son. You can come and live in Small City and be exactlyyou. And if you can beyouhere, and be happy, then absolutely move back. But if you can’t be happy here and be yourself, then you’d better not dim your light to make others comfortable. I’ve never wanted that for you.”
His chin quivered, and he laughed to hide the emotions that had suddenly swamped him. “Yeah, okay. I hear you.”
“You promise this doesn’t have to do with a nice firefighter with a tight—”
“Jesus, Mom. I promise.”
It was a lie, though. Charlie North certainly complicated things.
* * *
The Alumni Cookout and Ice Cream Social was at Bakers Edge—a park that ran adjacent to Bakers Creek, which everyone, including Patrick, pronounced ascrick.It was a townie thing he’d never quite quashed.
The park was full of people. A group of old women were grilling burgers and hot dogs, a handful of teenagers were fishing in the creek, and little ones were flying kites in the open space that was supposed to be a soccer field. Around the park, groups of alumni had circled up in the shade of huge cottonwoods.
Patrick, because he was pathetic, immediately zeroed in on Charlie. He was standing with several burly men under a tree, guarding a cooler of drinks. His outfit today was a too-tight blue T-shirt, shorts, Ray Bans, and flip-flops. He was basically a summer catalog ad, all shiny and perfect.
Patrick, on the other hand, had cut a pair of his black jeans into shorts and been talked into a pink tank top by his mom, who’d insisted on helping him choose his clothes for the event. It was ninety-five degrees in the shade. It hadn’t taken much to convince him shorts and a tank were the best choice.
He’d also painted his fingernails a sparkly pale pink because his mom was right; if he was thinking about making a life here, he had to do so as himself. Fingernail polish and all.
Mom plopped her lawn chair down in a circle of middle-aged alums, and Patrick followed suit. He recognized a handful of the people, knew some of them were from his mom’s high school class, but was happy to simply blend into the background for a while. He’d spotted a few people from his class besides Charlie, but they’d all been cliqued up. He didn’t have the guts to go insert himself quite yet.
“Ronnie! Long time no see!” a grizzled white man said to her, his voice too loud like he couldn’t tell he was shouting. “How you been? How’s Gregory?”
Patrick tensed, and Mom squared her shoulders.
“That didn’t take long, did it?” she said under her breath. Then, “I’m good, Timmy. You should come on down to the diner soon. I’ll bake you cobbler, on the house. And Greg is fine as far as I know. We’re divorced.”
“Oh, Veronica. I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Timmy said. She waved his concern away.
The chatter died down a bit as if her announcement had put a damper on things. It made Patrick want to growl. Mom stood and patted his shoulder.
“I’m going to go grab a hot dog. You want one, darling?” she asked him.
He nodded. “I can go, though. You can stay here and chat.”
“Psshhh. It’s fine. I want to say hi to Mrs. Jenkins anyway.”
Then she left him there among the vultures.
Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but he was definitely getting side-eye from some of them.
