The Rhubarb Patch Read online

  “That’s awfully nice, thank you,” Scott said. “But if you wanna weed it, you can have all of it. I wouldn’t know what to do with it anyways. And it’s your rhubarb patch, after all.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a heavy sigh. “That means a lot.”

  Amused at Phineas’s obvious relief, Scott glanced over. Their eyes locked for a moment, and they shared a smile. He has really pretty eyes and such long dark lashes….

  Heat bloomed in Scott’s face, and he quickly looked away.

  It was very easy to be out-and-proud in Ferndale, but around strangers, especially large strangers, he needed to be careful not to stare with anything akin to attraction. But the guy was good-looking—any fool would notice it. And he’d already seen him in his next-to-nothings.

  Scott scolded himself.

  Hadn’t he made a New Year’s resolution to stay single for a year?

  “This is the Year of No Men,” he’d declared to Davis after too much champagne, and the predictable failure of his post-Brent rebound relationship. His brother had laughed, but the next day, Scott still meant it. He needed to do this. He’d never gone more than two months without a boyfriend. So far, he was at three and a half and counting. Moving to Ohio, where the distraction of men was nil, was his chance to learn what Scott really wanted out of life. If he didn’t get his shit together, he would end up in another situation like with Brent. Or Joey. Or Ben. And Trey before him….

  Have I always been so desperate?

  Shaking that off, he turned back to Phineas. He thought he should tell Phineas he was gay to avoid any awkward moments. But people who lived in the country could be homophobic gun-toting crazies. Everyone knew that. He’d bide his time and find the right moment to bring up the subject—maybe never, if he was smart.

  Once Phineas had been assured Scott would let him keep his rhubarb patch, even though it was technically on Scott’s property, he said, “How about I show you the asparagus too?” He groaned a little bit as he got to his feet. “Come on, Sister Mary Katherine. Let’s get our old bones moving.”

  “How old are you?’ Scott wanted to know.

  “Forty-one in a month.”

  He laughed. “That’s not old.”

  “Tell that to my back.”

  Looking around—for what he didn’t know—Scott stood up too. “Where is the asparagus? I don’t wanna weed whack anything else and get on your bad side.”

  Laughing, Phineas led them to the back of the property, Sister Mary Katherine setting a very slow pace, both from distraction and age. The grass grazed above Scott’s ankles, brushing her belly. If it rained tonight, it would be all but impossible to mow. A few chickens had wandered over by the little playhouse with matching light green shutters under a big canopy-like tree in the back.

  Why did Nancy have a playhouse?

  Even though she’d made Scott her sole heir, she hadn’t been much of a grandmother to him when she’d been alive. What kids came over to play with it? His cousins Mandy and Mike had kids.

  Maybe they had played there.

  If so, why hadn’t she left the property to them?

  Why do you care?

  Since he’d done a solid for Phineas, maybe he should call in a favor. “You think you could show me how to use the tractor? This grass is really getting long.”

  “Sure, no problem. Make sure to check yourself for ticks after you’re out here, though.”

  “Oh my God, ticks? I don’t wanna get Lyme disease.”

  “It’s not a big deal. You just pick them off,” Phineas assured him. “I don’t suppose you have ticks up in Detroit all that often, do you?”

  “Ferndale,” Scott corrected at once.

  Well, that isn’t accurate either.

  Phineas waved it off. “Tomato, tomahto. If there isn’t a couple of miles of cornfields or woods separating one town from another, then it’s all just one big town to me.”

  Interesting concept.

  And how did Phineas know where Scott had lived? Nancy must’ve talked about Scott, so why hadn’t she ever contacted him?

  They arrived at the edge of the property. Because of the rain, Scott hadn’t been out here since the realtor showed him around. A split-rail fence ran the length of both their properties.

  “Was this property connected at one time?”

  “Yup,” Phineas answered, pausing so Sister Mary Katherine could catch up. “My house was the original farmhouse owned by the Obermeyers.” He gestured vaguely around them. “They used to farm all of this a hundred years ago, and the woods across the street. Somewhere along the way, they let a field go to woods and somebody sold that to the Maple County Metro Park. Your house was built for a mother-in-law. The properties were divided before I moved in. The Obermeyers are still around. That’s one of Mason Obermeyer’s fields.” He pointed at the farm field behind them.

  In between the thick-bladed grass, old dried stalks of corn could be seen, popping up in rows here and there, reminding Scott of a military cemetery. A white house with several large outbuildings lay far in the distance.

  “That’s Mason’s house out there,” Phineas explained. “He’s our closest neighbor. He’s got several fields around here. The biggest one butts up right against Gilead, land-locking the town between the Metro Park and the Shiloh River.”

  “Interesting.”

  Hands on his hips, Phineas stared out at the greening field with a curious expression. “Rumor around town is that investors are looking to buy some of his land to expand Gilead. At least with being this far out, chances are slim he’d sell this field for some housing development. Wouldn’t want that in his own backyard, ya know? Hell, sometimes he doesn’t even harvest it.”

  Scott had never lived somewhere so remote, and thought a housing development sounded awful nice. It would make it far less lonely out here. But he didn’t say anything because Phineas looked as if it would be a tragedy if that happened.

  Phineas glanced at Scott and offered him a half smile. “Ever since Jimmy Hart made it big, everybody and their uncle are coming out to Gilead. It’s nice for all the businesses in town, but I’d rather stare at this field of rye than a bunch of cookie-cutter homes.”

  Though not a fan of country music, Scott would have to be living under a rock to not know Jimmy Hart. Years ago he won America’s Country Star, then went on to get a gazillion number ones and awards. He even recorded a song with Steven Tyler from Aerosmith. Jimmy Hart was born and raised in Gilead, but when Scott learned about his inheritance, he hadn’t known about the connection. He’d expected some backwoods hick town with abandoned businesses from a bygone era, not an adorable village on the river with a bustling little community riding the coattails of their hometown hero’s success.

  It had been a more than pleasant surprise.

  Phineas was still looking at him. Feeling a little exposed under his gaze and not sure why, Scott glanced away and studied the field. The fluttering rye looked like tall grass. “So that’s rye? Like for making bread?”

  “Yeah, but he won’t harvest it. The government pays farmers to grow cover crops in the fall to prevent erosion. In a couple weeks, he’ll kill it so he has plenty of time to plant soy beans or dent corn.”

  “Dent corn?”

  “You really are a city mouse in the country.”

  Scott frowned. “Yeah, so?”

  “They make oil and animal feed outta dent corn. You don’t eat it like corn on the cob. It’s a cash crop. Worth a lot more money than rye.” Oblivious to Scott’s embarrassment, Phineas knelt near the fence and pushed away some grass. “This is asparagus. So don’t go weed whacking any of it.”

  Kneeling beside him, Scott noticed tiny asparagus stalks sticking two inches out of the ground, as if someone had come along and stuck them in there. “Wow, asparagus grows out of the ground like that?”

  “How did you think it grew?”

  Scott shrugged and shook his head, raising his hands. “Honestly, I never gave it a thought before.”


  “The asparagus you buy at the grocery store grows like this, City Mouse,” Phineas said with a faint smile. “And this patch has been here for a real long time. You pick it when it’s five to eight inches tall. The ones you don’t pick keep growing taller and taller until those little buds on the end open up with feathery, green leaves. Come Fourth of July this whole fence line will look like green willow trees are growing all over it.”

  “Really? It comes back every year?”

  Phineas nodded. “Just like my rhubarb, kale, and onions. Nature’s funny that way.”

  Scott scrunched up his face. “I don’t know if I like asparagus. I’ve never eaten it. Everyone says it makes your pee smell funny.”

  “That it does. It’s cleaning out your kidneys.”

  “Huh.” Scott looked down the fence line, easily a hundred yards long. “There’s asparagus along this whole fence?”

  “Yup. We usually harvest it from the end of the month till the middle of May. I make asparagus soup, freeze some, and make pickles. If we get too much, I put a little sign up by the road and sell it.”

  “We? You married?” He was very curious about this man.

  A sad look crossed Phineas’s face. “No, I meant me and Nancy. It was just the two of us here for seven years.”

  “You were good friends?”

  “Best friends.” He studied Scott until his knowing gaze made Scott squirm. “You never talked to your grandma, but she left you this house. Why?”

  Does this guy think he should’ve inherited the property?

  Scott stood, feeling less intimidated with Phineas still kneeling. “I don’t know why Nancy left everything to me. I haven’t seen her in years.”

  Phineas studied him, waiting. Scott felt as if those blue eyes pierced right into him, compelling him to defend himself.

  “My dad was a real piece of crap,” Scott explained. “I was four years old when my mom got away from him. We moved back in with her parents in Garden City. I don’t remember much of living in Ohio as a kid other than getting the shit beat out of me. My mom cut off all ties with my dad’s side of the family, including my grandparents. Believe me, I was just as shocked as you when I got a call from the attorney that she left everything to me. But I am grateful, so you don’t need to look at me with those judgmental eyes of yours.”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  “Yes, you are. I can see it all over your face. You think I was a bad grandson or something.”

  “You must feel a little guilty for never contacting her if you’re getting this defensive with a stranger.”

  “Well,” Scott said, agitation mounting. “If you must know, Nancy didn’t approve of gay people, so why should her grandson reach out to her, knowing she wouldn’t approve of him anyways?”

  Guess I’m coming out after all!

  Phineas rocked back on his heels, eyes wide. “Where in the world did you hear that?”

  “My mother told me,” Scott said with the confidence to end this debate.

  “Well, she got her information all wrong. Nancy was a good woman, not some homophobe. You can take that to the bank, because her best friend is gay.”

  At that, Phineas scooped up his little schnauzer and gave Scott a polite nod. “You enjoy the rest of your day, City Mouse. I need to get Sister Mary Katherine back up to the house. She’s tired. Maybe I’ll show you the property another time.”

  Chapter Three

  “I’M SO glad you called.”

  “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

  Her weary sigh came through his phone. “Oh, you know…. The hospital is a madhouse. The house is a mess. The usual. How’s Ohio?”

  Scott glanced around the small kitchen, at the old white-painted cupboards, the butcher-block island, the lacy curtains, and the teacups on display in the glass hutch by the table. The knickknacks on every surface. The creepy little grandma doll on top of the fridge, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and stirring a tiny wooden bowl. The doll’s eyes seemed to follow him wherever he went. He shuddered. That thing has got to go!

  “It’s different,” he answered.

  Understatement of the year.

  “So have you decided what to do with the house? I did some research online. The property values out there are skyrocketing. Gilead is a really up-and-coming town for tourism and stuff. That money could really come in handy.”

  Scott pursed his lips. Did Mom think he would sell the house and give her the money? He probably would give her some, but not if that idiot boyfriend of hers knew about it. Joe was a real jackass, getting drunk until anything offensive one could think of spewed out of his white-trash Republican mouth. Scott had been so sick of his bullshit this winter he’d almost considered making up with Brent. Then he’d inherited this house. It felt like serendipity, Fate even, that Nancy had given him this opportunity. Maybe he would sell it, take the money, and run away, or maybe he would stay here and start a new life.

  He had no idea yet.

  The Year of No Men was all about finding out who Scott was and where his life was headed. He didn’t have a clue if he could live off his writing, but he wouldn’t squander this opportunity. He glanced out the window, still unable to believe his life had taken more twists and turns than a roller coaster at Cedar Point.

  Why would I throw away this chance at a new life?

  “Mom.” He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “I just got here a week ago. I’m not even unpacked. How am I supposed to know what I’m gonna do?”

  “Do you really see yourself living out in the country away from everything? I mean, how far away is the store?”

  “There’s a little grocery store in Gilead.” He’d found it the day he’d offended Phineas—whom he had not seen since. Scott went into town to stock up on the basics Nancy didn’t already have, like Diet Coke and potato chips. “And I saw a sign in one of the shops that a new bookstore slash coffee shop is opening soon. Maybe I can do a signing.”

  “If they even accept your books,” she countered. “Gay romance novels might not go over very well in the sticks.”

  “I’d feel it out first,” he argued. Did she think he was stupid? “But it really is kinda remote out here. Mostly it’s just cornfields. I took a run this morning around the block, and my Fitbit said I went almost three miles. And I only saw four other houses. One had horses and a llama. Can you believe someone has a pet llama?”

  “You shouldn’t run by yourself in the middle of nowhere. That doesn’t sound safe.”

  “Safe?” He laughed. “There’s no one out here.”

  “Which means no one to hear you scream or to witness your murder.”

  “For the love of fu—crap,” he hastily corrected. Mom hated it when he swore.

  “I’m being serious. You don’t belong there,” she said in that know-it-all way of hers. “What if something breaks at the house? How will you fix it? You’re not handy.”

  He tried not to get pissed. “There’s a hardware store in Gilead, and I have the internet.”

  “Maybe Joe and I should come see the house. He could let us know if it’s worth selling.”

  “You can come down to visit,” Scott said. “I already have the appraisal, and I’m pretty sure the realtor knows more than Joe.”

  He hadn’t told Mom the appraisal value—which still pissed her off—and he didn’t plan to. Especially after her comment on yesterday’s Country Update. Scott had found two hundred and fifteen dollars in an empty Bisquick box in the pantry when he went to make pancakes. He was pretty stoked until he read this:

  Rachel Solomon: Don’t forget you owe me rent for the past seven months.

  What-the-fuck-ever. He’d slept on the couch, and Joe the Cheapskate had made him buy all his own food. Which the pig would help himself to anytime he wanted with a “You’re living here rent-free. These Doritos barely make you even.”

  Such a dick.

  “You know, Joe is pretty handy. He could fix anything broken when we visit,” Mom continued, to
tally ignoring the “uninvite” of her moron boyfriend.

  “I’d rather trust YouTube for handyman advice.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that. Joe’s a good guy.”

  “They’re always a good guy in the beginning, Mom. But then they turn out to be assholes.”

  “Honey, don’t swear.”

  “I don’ giv’a fuck,” Scott said in a deep, guttural imitation of Joe drunk. When the jackass got too loud—in public—and they told him to be quiet, he would say, “I don’ giv’a fuck,” as loud as possible.

  Even in a restaurant!

  It was mortifying.

  “That’s not funny.”

  Scott chuckled. “No, it isn’t funny. Mom, how can you put up with that? He’s obnoxious. And he blames you for everything. You deserve to be with someone who treats you like an equal, not a scapegoat. He’s a total narcissist.”

  There was a long stretch of silence on the phone, and for a moment, Scott thought maybe the call got disconnected. Until his mother said, “Are you talking about Joe or Brent?”

  “That’s a low blow.”

  “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

  Though he counted his lucky stars he got out of his toxic relationship with Brent disease-free, the emotional and financial aftermath had not been so fortunate, and Mom knew it. Brent made a lot of money, and they’d lived in his house. He even paid for Scott’s cell phone while Scott worked second shift at a distribution center in order to write during the day—not the smartest schedule while dating a nightclub-loving cheater.

  Have you always been so pathetic?

  “Fine,” he eventually said. “Subject change.”

  “Any writing finished?”

  “What part of ‘I’ve only been here a week’ did you not hear?” Why did I call her again?

  “Yes, but your editor wants the book May 1. Since you quit your job, writing is the only way you make money. Just because someone gave you a house and a new car doesn’t mean you don’t have to pay taxes and utilities.”

  Scott didn’t know if he was more annoyed about her nagging him over something he knew he had to do, or if it was that hint of jealousy in her voice. Refusing to acknowledge any of it, he said again, “Subject change. Did you see my Country Update about my neighbor running at me in his underwear?”