Hope Is the Thing with Feathers Read online

  Goddammit. I was. I could feel the tears making their way down my cheeks. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt… oh, yes, I did. And it only served to let the anger in. Thank God. I took a step toward him, fists clenching tighter. “A tame turkey shows up at your house, and your first thought is to kill it? What the fuck is wrong with you? How often do wild turkeys arrive on your fucking doorstep?”

  Raymond’s eyes grew wide, and he took several steps backward. “Man, calm down. What the fuck?”

  His words didn’t register. “Faloola. You fucking bitch. You kill Faloola and then try to get me to eat her? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I could feel myself start to lose control. Any moment either my fists were going to be in the asshole’s face or the tears were going to break free once more.

  “Faloola. Who the hell is…?” Raymond sucked in a breath and glanced behind him toward the kitchen. “Oh shit.”

  Without realizing what I was doing, my gloved hands reached out and took Raymond by either side of his fucking kimono.

  He raised both his hands in the air, not trying to defend himself. “Dude. Samuel. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea. I….” He just shook his head.

  I wasn’t sure how we’d gotten there, but I suddenly realized I had Raymond shoved up against the wall. For a split second, I envisioned pulling him toward me and then slamming him against it. The vision was enough to cut the rage coursing through me.

  Abruptly I released him.

  The robe fell open.

  I didn’t look down at his body. Didn’t care. I just needed to get away from him.

  Once more, I saw him being slammed into the wall.

  I turned and rushed back through the living room and out the front door.

  Raymond yelled my name.

  I ignored him, increasing my stride to a jog.

  Barely halfway home, the tears began again, and I ran.

  TWO

  IF GLARING could turn into a weapon, Old Man Webber’s house would’ve been blown up ten thousand times over the next few days.

  I mean, seriously, who does that? Faloola was the sweetest turkey in the world. True, she didn’t cuddle or anything, but she’d stand there and let you pet her. I’d even held her on several occasions.

  Poor little thing. Showing up on fucking Raymond Webber’s doorstep, expecting a treat or a pat on the head, or maybe just seeing who the new guy was, and ended up being dinner. I hoped it was quick, that she’d didn’t realize what was happening.

  Though, honestly, by the following morning, I blamed myself more than Raymond. I should’ve made it so that Faloola couldn’t escape ages ago. She just enjoyed exploring so much. I’d known it was a risk with wild animals about, but she’d been lucky so far. It seemed like it was okay to press our luck. Plus, that sort of end would’ve fit her wanderer personality.

  Not being on some jackass’s Thanksgiving table.

  The fucker.

  I fixed Faloola’s escape route the next morning. Too little. Too late.

  I stewed over Thanksgiving evening on a constant loop in my head as I took care of the cattle and my birds. In the moments when I didn’t picture going over and grabbing him by his stupid tie-dye kimono again, I tried to see things from his perspective.

  He obviously was a hunter if he’d been so quick to prepare a live turkey. To him, she’d been nothing more than dinner. Like grocery store delivery. It wasn’t as if he’d eaten my dog. If I’d had a dog. People considered turkeys dinner. It was what they did. Hell, I ate turkey. Just not my turkeys.

  But the whole Mother Earth, destiny, tie-dye robes, magic brownies, and naked shit? What the hell was all of that?

  Okay, the naked bit wasn’t too bad.

  Once in a while, in between the glaring, I considered going over and trying to make amends. It was more my fault than his. And if I had to have a neighbor, at least it was a gay neighbor.

  A gay, naked neighbor.

  Of course, that thought brought on all kinds of guilt. I was going to overlook Faloola’s murder and cannibalization because of a hairy chest and great cock?

  I was despicable. I couldn’t even look the other turkeys in the eyes as I fed them.

  Even so, on the second day, I trudged through the snow toward Raymond’s house, determined to be the better man. Then I noticed the huge Winnebago parked on the other side of the house, sunlight glinting off it. I narrowed my eyes. Solar panels? The entire roof of the Winnebago was made up of solar panels.

  That pissed me off all over again.

  The Winnebago. The solar panels.

  Moron.

  Probably drove all over the country eating people’s pets and using solar power to bake his drug-laden brownies.

  Later that evening, as I lay in bed, trying not to picture the hippy as he answered the door in absolutely nothing, I tried to remember why the Winnebago had made me turn around. I couldn’t find a reason.

  ON THE fourth day, I’d finished all the work with the cattle, had warmed up with half a pot of coffee, and prepared to go back out into the ice and snow to give the birds their evening meal and shut them up for the night.

  Removing one of my gloves that I’d just put on, like I’d never tried opening my door with them before, I twisted the knob, threw open the door, and let out a yelp.

  Raymond flinched and stared at me, wide-eyed. “Oh, geesh! Scared me to death. I almost dropped this all over your porch.”

  I glared at him. “Scared you? You’re the one just standing in my doorway terrifying the crap out of people.”

  The corner of his mouth curved up into the beginning of a smile.

  It did not make him look sexy. Nor did it distract me from my anger toward the weirdo.

  It didn’t.

  I swear.

  “I was actually trying to figure out how to balance this casserole and ring your doorbell at the same time. Your timing was impeccable.”

  I glanced down at the rectangular glass dish in his hands. It was covered in a heaping dome of tinfoil. The glint of the low-hanging sun somehow managed to reflect off its shiny surface right into my eyes.

  Fucking solar panels.

  “Why do you have a casserole?” I couldn’t keep my irritation out of my voice. Then again, I didn’t really try.

  Raymond shrugged. “Well, I know around these parts, when someone passes, people bring casseroles. So….” Another shrug. “I thought….”

  For a split second. The briefest of split seconds, a traitorous part of me was touched by his sweetness.

  Just for a second.

  I continued to glare at him. “Most of the time, the people bringing the casseroles aren’t the ones who committed the murder.”

  He snorted out a laugh, and then his eyes went wide once more. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” Humor left his expression, and he muttered something to himself so quietly and quick that I didn’t catch it, and then he met my gaze. “I really am, Samuel. I’m so sorry.”

  Those blue fucking eyes.

  I could feel my defenses begin to crack.

  Faloola deserved better than me.

  He held up the dish between us. “May I come in, or would you like to just take this from me and send me on my way?”

  There was hope in his words. I swore I could hear it. Like he actually wanted to come in. Probably just thinking with a gay guy so close by, getting laid was going to be cake.

  Well, he was probably right. Damn it.

  Letting out a sigh, I stepped backward. “Sure, come in.”

  Raymond passed by me, glanced around, and then headed to the kitchen like he’d been to my house a billion times.

  Sighing again, I closed the door. What the hell was I doing?

  I followed a beeping sound to the kitchen.

  Raymond was leaning over the oven, punching buttons. He spared me a glance. “It’s only partially baked. It’s a Mexican enchilada recipe my mom used to make. I just used venison instead of beef.”

  I stared
at him. Surely I was seeing things wrong. Who just walks in and helps themselves to your kitchen?

  “What is it?” Raymond looked puzzled, then stood straight. “Oh shit. I didn’t even think. But I should’ve, with the turkey and all. God damn it, you’re a vegetarian, aren’t you? Probably a vegan.”

  “No. I’m not a vegetarian. I just—”

  “Oh, thank goodness. It’s one thing to love a turkey. It’s another not to eat meat. The universe made the rules, and we, dear Samuel, are omnivores. Our teeth prove it.”

  Before I could even begin to process that statement, he turned back, opened the oven door, and slid in the casserole.

  “Now, how do you work this timer?”

  “Actually, I might put it in the fridge and save it for later.”

  More beeping. “Got it.” Raymond looked over at me. “Why? Do you already have tonight’s dinner going?”

  “No. I was probably just going to heat some soup I have in the deepfreeze.”

  He hesitated only for a moment. “Well, not anymore. You’re having Mexican venison casserole.”

  I couldn’t hold back a grin, though I tried. “I’m pretty certain that isn’t something that exists out in nature.”

  He pointed to the oven. “Your dinner tonight says otherwise.” He glanced around the kitchen. “You’ve done a nice job updating the place. It’s a lot more modern than I expected. You do it yourself?”

  I nodded but was distracted by the surrealness of the moment. I had no recollection of the last time someone was in the kitchen with me. Genuinely, no memory at all outside of my folks, which had been eons ago. Hell, there hadn’t been a man in my house since I’d moved back nearly fifteen years ago.

  “Well, sir, you did an amazing job. I might have to ask for your input when I start my own renovations, not that I plan on doing the same things you did here, but still.” He cocked his head at me. “You okay? You look a bit scared.”

  I shook my head, trying to erase whatever expression I had. Damn him and his bluntness. You’re crying. You look scared. I killed your turkey. It was irritating. I tried to change the subject and landed on the first topic that popped in my mind. “I haven’t had venison in ages. And never in a Mexican dish.”

  Thankfully, Raymond didn’t press the issue. “Yep. It’s good, I promise you that. And fresh. Got the doe about a week ago. And I grew the cilantro myself.”

  I nodded absentmindedly, then halted. “A week ago? Deer season ended in October.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but I need to eat. She was there.” He flinched. “Sorry, that probably sounded like Fal… your turkey. I promise this deer was in the woods. She did not come knock on my door.”

  A mix of anger and astonishment rose in me, both nearly canceling out the other. “That’s called poaching.”

  Another shrug. “I didn’t kill her for ivory or anything, or for the fun of it. I take life very seriously, and I promise you not one bit of her went to waste or was disrespected.”

  I waited for the punch line, but he looked like he was done talking. “That’s still poaching. It’s illegal.”

  Raymond waved me off. “Overreach of the government. Those laws make sense for people who want to kill for the sake of killing. Me hunting for food out of season is no different than a wildcat prowling the woods. We’re all part of nature.”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  That didn’t seem to detour Raymond, though. “Speaking of, we’ve got about an hour till this thing is ready. Well, forty-five minutes. Then I’ll take off the foil and let it brown. So we’ve got time before we have dinner. Why don’t—”

  “We’re having dinner? You’re staying for dinner?”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “Well, yeah. That’d be rude if I just dropped off food and ran away. We’re neighbors. And I’ve got a lot of making up to do. I can’t have the hot guy next door pissed at me for the rest of our lives, can I? That would totally ruin my plans of getting you into bed.”

  Again, Raymond Webber left me speechless and unable to even think in complete sentences.

  And again, he didn’t seem to mind and just kept right on going. “Like I was saying, we’ve got a bit. I was thinking you might wanna give me a tour of any other animals you have. Just in case others of them come knocking. I noticed quite the setup you have as I walked over. Why don’t you make introductions so we’re all friends.”

  A billion reasons rose up within me for why he had no business meeting the animals. For why he wasn’t going to stay for dinner. And how I spent my evenings by myself.

  Instead, after more awkward staring on my part, I finally gave a shrug of my own. “Well, I was just getting ready to feed them and shut them up for the night. Guess you can tag along. If you want.”

  “Perfect. Sounds great to me!” Raymond beamed. His smile put him just this side of radiant. The fucker. “Now, lead me to these feathered friends of yours.”

  THREE

  AT NINETEEN, I fled our little house in the country. Fled the nearby town of El Dorado Springs. Fled my parents, the church, the assumption that I was going to soon settle down and marry a nice Christian girl.

  I ran all the way to Joplin, Missouri. I made it a whole 83.4 miles, give or take. I hid away there for nearly a quarter of a century. I’d come back every so often to see the folks, but those times were few and far between.

  Being gay in the city was good, until the AIDS crisis took nearly all my friends, skipping me for some reason.

  Even so, it was nice to blend in and have no expectations to be normal.

  What wasn’t nice? The city.

  It was all noise and smells and people. All over the place. People.

  It was exciting for about a week and half after I arrived, and then it got old. I was told I’d get used to it, that I’d grow to love it.

  I never did.

  I wasn’t born to be a city boy. I wasn’t even born to be a small-town boy. I was born to be out in the gorgeous Ozark hills, surrounded by trees, cattle, and birds.

  So I came home. Every once in a while, I got lonely. Not really the right word for it, but close enough. I missed my folks. But their absence wasn’t too sharp. Even with the renovations, they were still all over that house. But, I had to admit, there were times when another body, another male body, would fill an ignored emptiness in me. Just the strum of another soul harmonizing silently with mine.

  As Raymond trudged alongside me through the newly fallen snow over the crust of ice below, I felt a strum. For the first time in over a decade. It was quiet. It could almost be missed. But I didn’t miss it. It was there. Just a spark of warmth in my gut. A sigh of comfort and prick of pain. So quiet it was amazing I could sense it, as Raymond didn’t know how to shut the fuck up. All the way from the house and from enclosure to enclosure.

  “I’ve never seen such chickens. Ever, and I’ve been all over this country. It’s like a poodle went to KFC and had an orgy.”

  I paused in spreading the chicken feed over the ground and stared at him, tempted to toss the kernels at his head and let the chickens do a hunt and peck. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He pointed to Claudia, the burnt orange hen closest to his feet. “They’re nothing but fluff balls. They’re like poodle chickens. I think if you stapled five of them together, they’d turn back into a poodle.”

  I started to growl at him but then took another look at Claudia. Shit, I could actually see what he meant. It took effort not to chuckle, but it was worth it.

  He didn’t stop. “I mean, they’re cute and all, for chickens.” He shook his head. “Now there’s something I never thought I’d say. But besides being cute, there’s not much to them. I doubt you could get a meal out of two of them put together.”

  “Seriously? You just ate Faloola. You’re really going to start looking at my other birds like dinner?”

  He raised his hands in the air. “No. I’m saying they wouldn’t make a good dinner.” He glanced down again mumbling. “Kind of a
waste of a chicken, if you ask me.”

  Though he’d said it quietly, his deep voice carried. I felt my temper rise. “You know, maybe not everything is placed on this earth for you to eat. Cochin chickens aren’t for food. They’re show chickens. They’re meant to be beautiful.”

  Raymond made a production of glancing between me and the chicken. Finally, he bowed toward Claudia. “I beg your pardon, madam. I did not know I was in the presence of royalty. I’m sure your pedigree is better than mine.”

  Still holding his bow, he grinned over at me when I laughed. Yes, dammit, I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

  With a flourish of fingers, Raymond stood back up.

  There was that warmth again. And the bite that seemed to come along with it.

  I pushed it aside. “You know, I’ve known your uncle for a long time now. And if Old Man Webber is part of your heritage, I can guarantee you that Claudia comes from purer stock. And I have the papers to prove it.”

  He laughed. A calming, content sound. “Well, you’ll get no argument from me there. Still, had no idea there were such things as show chickens. Fancy stuff.”

  “Wait till you see my pheasants. There’s all kinds of show birds. But, really, cochins aren’t that fancy. Someday I’m going to get a brood of Swedish Black Hens. Then I’ll really have some fancy chickens.”

  Raymond kept his teasing tone. “And what’s so special about them? Are they actually royal?”

  “No, but from what they cost, you’d sure think so. They’re all this gorgeous shiny black. Even their comb, beak, and wattle. Everything.” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my tone. I’d been considering paying the too much money for a long time now.

  For once, Raymond seemed speechless. “Well, I think that sounds—” His gaze found mine. “—delicious.”

  Apparently, not so speechless.

  We stared at each other.

  I debated killing him. Actually killing him.

  Then he gave the crooked, devil grin, and I laughed. So very, very hard.

  IF WALKING around feeding and shutting up the birds with Raymond by my side was unsettling, it was nothing to having him sit across the table from me and eating dinner.