Last of the Summer Tomatoes (22 page)

“I’ve seen the way you eat. You don’t taste, you inhale.”

“Growing boy, remember.”

“Yeah and when
you
hit thirty….”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going to enjoy this while it lasts. Time for counting calories and burning carbs much later.”

“So, what are we going to do today?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I never give up the opportunity to sketch, if that’s okay.”

Sam smiled. “And I’d never give up the opportunity to watch you.”

Kyle spent the morning sketching with Sam watching. He was on the last page of his sketchpad when he put it down. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I only have the one pad. It was hard enough to get it. My art teacher, Mr. Thomas, gave it to me. I… I guess I’ll have to wait until I get to school to get another one. Don’t dare let Hank know about it.”

“Doesn’t he know you’re going to art school?”

“Yeah, but until I go, he’s going to make my life as miserable as possible. I don’t ask for anything from him.”

“You’re going to be home for what, two, three days before you head off?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, he doesn’t need to know what you have in your possession.” Sam got up to dig in one of the food baskets. He pulled out a new sketchpad. “Here. I saw you only had a few pages left last weekend.”

“When… how?”

“Dude, we do get mail service out here. Amazon is my friend.”

Kyle took the new pad from him. This one was much better than his old one, a higher quality paper, thicker backing. “I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Just as long as you give me a couple of sketches I could mat and frame. I want a Kyle Jackowski original.”

Kyle handed him the used-up pad. “Pick anything you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

Sam thumbed through the pad, stopping at a colored pencil sketch of the farm from the north ridge. “Can I have this one?”

“Absolutely.”

Sam turned the sketchpad toward him. “Sign and date it, please.”

Kyle signed the bottom corner with the date, then turned it over to write on the back.
To Sam, Love Kyle.

“I hope that’s okay, not too mushy.”

“Nope. I will cherish it. Leave it in the pad until we get back. Heck, let’s take it into town and have it framed.”

“You really want this framed? Spend money on it?”

“Of course. This is going with me back to school. It will remind me of home and of you.”

“I’ve never had any of my stuff framed. Or even taken out of a sketchpad.”

“I’m glad I’ll be the first. I hope you’ll share what you do in art school. Maybe set up a website to show it off?”

“Eh, maybe. If it’s good enough.”

“It’s good enough.”

Sam pulled Kyle into his arms. “It really is good enough. You’re good enough. And I hope if times get rough, you’ll remember today and last night and well, make it your happy place.”

“I will. It’s a night I don’t think I could ever forget.”

Sam looked up at the sky. “It’s getting close to lunchtime. Let’s eat, then start thinking about heading out.”

“I wish we could stay longer.”

“Let’s see what’s going on at the farm; maybe we could steal a three-day weekend before things get crazy for the county fair.”

“That would be so cool.”

“Good.” Sam kissed Kyle’s cheek.

Lunch prepared and eaten, campfire doused and ashes scattered, they packed up to head back. Kyle scooted to the middle of the truck’s bench seat, wanting to be as close to Sam as possible. They rode back hand in hand.

Seventeen

I
T
BECAME
the lazy days of summer, all through July. Kyle and Sam swam in the creek, made out under the stars, took off to various restaurants and movies. Each day Kyle grew more comfortable showing how he felt, allowing Sam to show his love to Kyle. Kyle even learned a couple of Glenda’s recipes, stuff he could use once he was out on his own. First and foremost, how to make a simple roast chicken and use almost every bit.

“Don’t worry about getting your hands dirty. It’s part of the process.” Glenda pulled the cooled chicken out of the roasting pan.

“Dirty?”

“Well, don’t be afraid to get in there to get every little piece. The smaller bits you pull off are excellent for chicken salad. So”—Glenda gave him a carving knife—“start by slicing the breast. Again, don’t worry if it’s not perfect or straight or if you don’t get it all. The knife only does so much.”

Kyle sliced down the breast meat like Glenda showed him.

“Good! Now, put the knife away and let’s get those thighs and legs.”

Between the two of them, they picked the chicken clean. Good slices of white and dark meat for dinner, lots of bits and pieces to make chicken salad. Roasted garden vegetables and a large salad completed their meal, well, along with the bread and butter Kyle so dearly loved.

Sam sat down at the table, grabbing a piece of bread. “So, Mom, you got everything ready for the fair?”

“With Kyle’s help, I think I’ve got a chance at blue ribbons with the tomato preserves and the raspberry. He’s been very helpful here in the kitchen.”

“Awesome. We’ll need to build you a bigger shadowbox for all your ribbons.” Sam passed the bread on over to Kyle.

“The fair starts next week?” Kyle chugged his milk.

“Yep. Lasts a week. Always the second week of August. Mom’s preserves get judged on the second day; figure that’s the day we’ll all go, right, Pops?”

“Sounds like the best day for all of us to pile up and go.”

Sam patted Kyle’s back. “You’re gonna love it. It’s like the Fourth of July festival on a grand scale.”

Kyle smiled. “I look forward to it.”

The week flew by. Kyle helped Glenda get her preserves absolutely perfect. He would never get tired of being her taste tester. He had no clue how he was going to go back to store-bought anything once he went home.

By Tuesday everything was ready. They got the cows milked and the preserves packed up, ready for the county fair. They found a perfect parking spot off the dusty road.

Walt shut the truck’s tailgate. “Okay, boys, be sure to be at the judging booth around two; you don’t want to miss your mother’s next blue ribbon.” He wiped his forehead. “And don’t forget to stay hydrated. It’s going to be a scorcher today.”

“Will do, Pops. Come on, Kyle, let’s grab our first corn dog.” Sam grabbed Kyle’s hand and took off toward the midway.

“Sam, do you ever stop thinking with your stomach?” Kyle took a double-step to catch up with Sam and his long legs.

“Nope, not when I have the opportunity to eat festival food.”

“It is good, but come on, your mom’s cooking is extraordinary. And you want fried dough and corn dogs?”

“Variety, my love, variety. Spice of life. You need to pig out on fried crap to appreciate the finer things.” Sam stopped in front of a small trailer with an elephant painted on the side. “One elephant ear, with chocolate.”

“Sam, that stuff is horrible for you.”

Sam put the plate in front of Kyle’s face. “But smell it.” He took a bite. “Oh my God, taste it.”

Kyle took a bite. “Yeah, it tastes like fried flour and chocolate.”

“You don’t appreciate the ambiance of it all.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate it all right. I swear, this stuff is your drug.”

“So sue me. A couple times each year I get to enjoy stuff that’s bad for me.” Sam finished off more than half. “Come on, you know you like it.”

Kyle gave him a smile and ripped off a huge chunk. “It grows on ya.”

“Come on, let’s go see the horses.” Sam grabbed Kyle’s hand again, and they headed to the horse barn.

Kyle slowed them down as they headed down the main hall. “Slow down. Wow… I didn’t know there were so many different horses.” Kyle stopped outside a stall that contained a Clydesdale. “My God, this one is huge!”

“Draft horses are known for their strength, and their loyalty.” Sam stroked the horse’s muzzle.

“Do you ride them?”

“You can, but not with a saddle. Too big. They pull carts, wagons, plows.”

“People actually use them to pull plows?”

“Eh, some of the old timers for a small field. Oh, and the Amish.”

“I think I’ll stick with riding Bess.”

Sam put his arm around Kyle, giving him a kiss on the temple.

“Didn’t know they let fags in here.”

Sam turned to see three men at the other end of the barn. “Come on, Kyle, looks like some bigots want to see the horses.”

“What did you say, boy?”

Sam turned to look at the biggest one in the eyes. They were about the same height, but Sam had more muscle. “I said, looks like some bigots want to see the horses.”

“Why don’t you take your butt-buddy and leave?”

“Why don’t you go back to the seventeenth century?”

Kyle pulled on Sam’s arm. “Come on, it’s not worth it.” He got Sam to take a few steps.

“That’s it, get the hell out of here.”

Sam stopped. Kyle moved around to get in Sam’s line of sight. “Ignore them. Let’s go.” Kyle got Sam out of the horse barn.

“I hate people like that.”

“Well, unfortunately the world is full of them. You told me to ignore them, take your own advice.”

“Harder done than said.”

“Yeah, I know. Get your mind off of it. We still haven’t gotten you your corn dogs yet.”

“Now you’re talking!”

Corn dogs eaten, lemon ices drank, and rides were attacked on the midway one by one. They checked out the sheep barn, then the small animals. Kyle had never seen so many different animals in a small place before, and he could pet most of them. Yeah, the city zoo had a mini-petting zoo in it, but it wasn’t anything like this.

“Hey, you think we can go back to the horse barn?” Kyle was giving some attention to a goat that continued to head butt him.

“Yeah, those idiots should be gone by now. Hey, I’m thirsty; I’ll grab us a couple of drinks and meet you there, ’kay?”

“Sounds good. I want to pet the Clydesdale again. He was such a gentle giant.”

“I’ll see you in a couple.” Sam went off to the nearest food trailer as Kyle headed toward the horse barn.

The Clydesdale was standing patiently in his stall. Kyle went up to him and thought he saw recognition in the horse’s eye.

“You are a beauty. I wish I had something for you.” He gently scratched the horse’s muzzle.

“Well looky here. Princess is back.”

Kyle turned to see two of the same men who confronted them before. He gave the horse one last scratch and headed in the opposite direction. His escape was blocked by the third man from before.

“Where ya going, faggot?”

Kyle put his hands up. “I don’t want to fight. I’ll leave.”

The leader of the group turned to look at one of his buddies. “You think we should let him go?”

“Nah. Maybe we should teach those fags a lesson.”

Kyle felt the man behind him grab his arm and wrench it behind his back.

“Look, I said I’d leave.”

Those were the last words he could remember saying. He felt himself being forcibly turned around. He had no time to react; in the past few months, he’d gotten out of the practice of expecting the punch, of steeling himself against the onslaught. The last thing he saw was a fist across his face. The rest were glimpses of time—of a fist hitting his cheek, another one in the gut. Of falling in the hay and a boot hitting his ribs. Of an unworldly yell and more scuffling. He could taste blood in his mouth, could feel one eye swelling shut. Then one last glimpse of Sam, his poor Sam, with a bloody lip, gazing down into Kyle’s face.

A
STEADY
beep tore through Kyle’s mind, followed swiftly by waves of pain. He tried to turn over, away from the beeps but couldn’t. One eye opened, the other swollen shut, he could still see bright sunshine filtering through the window. He felt a hand over his, then a brush of a fingertip pushing hair from his face. He tried to say something, but nothing came out but a grunt.

“Hey, don’t try to talk. Just squeeze my hand if you can understand me.”

Sam’s voice was reassuring. He squeezed Sam’s hand like instructed.

“Squeeze once for yes, twice for no. You in pain?”

Kyle squeezed once.

“The doc says you can have more morphine once you woke up. You want me to press the button?”

Kyle wanted to listen to Sam’s voice longer, but the pain was becoming unbearable. He squeezed once.

“Okay. You’ll probably go back to sleep, which is probably best. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Kyle felt a little rush go through his veins, ending up in his head. The pain subsided as he floated away.

He woke up what had to be hours later as there was no more light from the window, only darkness. He turned his head slightly, trying not to hiss at the pain that radiated down his body. He saw Sam sitting next to him, his head on the bed, his hand over Kyle’s. He wiggled his fingers, and Sam woke up.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, you’ve been out for a while.”

“Where….” Kyle couldn’t form more than a word, let alone a sentence. His brain was all jumbled up.