A Second Harvest (13 page)

Christie was in way over his fucking head. He cared about David too much. It stung to sit in David’s home and listen to Joe’s reminders during prayer that it was
his mother
who belonged at this table, not Christie, that David belonged
to them
.

It was true, so why did it hurt? David was his friend, nothing more. He wasn’t a husband, partner, or even boyfriend.
Friends
. But even that chaste relationship, apparently, was not something Joe Fisher approved of.

Amy was a sweetheart, but she was way more conservative than even the church women Christie grew up with. She’d explained while they were cooking that she had never cut her hair. Women in her church were
allowed
to, but her own mother never did, and Amy decided to wait until she was married in case her husband preferred it long. She was also a little more interested in Christie than was a good idea, but that awkwardness beat the hell out of Joe’s reaction.

When David passed the gravy to Christie, he put a hand on Christie’s upper arm and smiled briefly. Christie smiled back, but when he looked away, Joe was staring at him with cold eyes.

Christie poured gravy on his potatoes, his pulse hammering. That look! Joe knew. Joe knew he was gay. It had been a long, long time since Christie felt any anxiety about that, but he did now. It wasn’t that he gave a shit what Joe thought, but he did care what he might say to David. Damn it. He should have made sure David knew he was gay a long time ago. At the start. Now it would seem like he’d been hiding it.

Joe and David talked about his classes. Joe was taking Old Testament law this semester, which made Christie want to chuck biscuits at his head. But Amy found it interesting.

“Why do they even have you study that? Jesus overturned so many of those old laws,” she asked.

“Jesus said he came to
fulfill
the law, not destroy it,” Joe rebutted.

“Yes, but we don’t avoid shellfish or pork anymore,” Amy countered. “He said ‘turn the other cheek,’ not ‘eye for an eye.’”

“We need to understand the Bible in its entirety. It’s our history, and it’s the word of God.”

“Isn’t sharia law based on the Old Testament?” Christie put in innocently. “Stoning women who aren’t virgins, that sort of thing?”

Joe smiled thinly. “‘Sharia law’ is Muslim. And it’s based on the Quran, not the Bible.” He used an instructional tone, like Christie was being ignorant. He’d missed the shade, then. Too bad.

“So! Buella’s about to give birth,” David put in quickly.

“Who?” Amy asked.

David blushed. “One of my herd. Thought it might happen this week while you all are here.”

“That would be nice,” Amy said. She turned to Christie. “Have you ever seen a calving? It’s really interesting and, gosh, are calves cute when they’re that little.”

“No, but I’d like to see it. I asked David to text me when Buella goes into labor, no matter what time it is.” He smiled at David, who smiled back.

“I’ve been giving Christie quite the farm education. He’s been helping me out some.”

“How is it that you have so much extra time on your hands?” Joe asked to Christie. “I thought Amy said you worked a job from home.”

“Yes, Joe, I do. But I’m always happy to spend any spare time I have with your father.” Christie dug the words in with a verbal heel, looking Joe steadily in the eyes.

David coughed. “Wow, this stuffing is delicious. Huh, Am?”

“Really good, Dad,” Amy agreed, seemingly oblivious.

“What classes are you taking, Amy?” Christie asked cheerfully. “Your dad says you’re in nursing?”

Amy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! It’s hard, but I love it. This semester….”

She talked about her life at school for a bit, which was at least a neutral topic. But the tension at the table never lessened one iota, at least not for Christie. After the longest meal ever, probably in the history of mankind, it was finally time to clear the table. He popped up and took a load of plates to the sink. David came in after him.

“I don’t want you washing a single dish,” David insisted. “You and Amy spent hours in the kitchen today. Joe and I will do the dishes.”

“Okay.” Christie wasn’t about to argue. He rubbed his forehead and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry that was awkward, David. I’m not very good at holding my tongue.”

David looked behind him as if to make sure they were alone and stepped closer. “You were very patient. I’m sorry about Joe. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“It doesn’t matter. Hey, if you guys are going to tackle the dishes, maybe I’ll head out. I wanted to call some friends today, say Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Sure. We’ll box up all the leftovers, and I’ll bring them over.”

“No, you keep them. You’ve got a house full.”

David looked determined. “I’ll bring you over enough for several meals at least. Everyone likes turkey leftovers.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Thank you for today. Really. It was the best Thanksgiving meal I’ve ever had, and I’m sure the kids appreciated it too.”

David’s voice was soft and sincere. Normally it was the sort of tone that would make Christie melt. But he was still raw and hurt inside. He shrugged. “Thank you for inviting me. It would have been depressing sitting at home alone.”

There was an awkward moment standing close there in the kitchen. Christie wanted to touch David—give him a hug or even rest his head on David’s shoulder for a moment of comfort. But they weren’t like that. Why did it feel so strongly that they were? Why did Christie crave it like air?

David gazed at him, his hands clenched at his side.

“Okay, then. I’ll just say good-bye.” Christie slipped past David and stuck his head in the dining room. “Amy, Joe, I’m taking off. It was great to meet you both.”

“Oh? So soon?” Amy stood up. “Well, bye, Christie. That meal was delicious!” She came over and gave him a carefully chaste little one-armed hug. “Thank you for cooking today and for making Dad eat decent food while we’re away at school. It was so nice to meet you too!”

Joe stood up at his chair. “Yes, thank you for the good food. God bless.”

David saw Christie to the door.

“Enjoy your time with your kids. See you Sunday, maybe?”

“We’ll see. They leave Sunday morning. I’ll text you.”

Christie got into his car and drove down the Fisher driveway. He tried hard to dispel the feeling of disaster that loomed over him, the sense it would be the last time he ever visited David Fisher.

AFTER CHRISTIE
left David started scraping dishes, and Joe finished clearing the table.

Amy came bouncing into the kitchen. “I’m going to take River and Tonga for a walk.”

“That’s one way to get out of dishes,” Joe complained, carrying in a load from the dining room.

“Hey, I helped cook! Dad said you guys were on dish patrol.”

“It’s okay, honey,” David said. “Go ahead. The dogs could use a walk.”

Christie had a habit of “dropping” things for them to gobble up. They adored him for it, but they were putting on weight.

Amy stuck out her tongue at Joe teasingly, but he barely responded. “Boy, you’re such a grump this holiday.”

Joe grabbed a dishtowel and swatted Amy’s hip with it, grinning. “Am not. Go on if you’re going. Shirker.”

Appeased, Amy batted her eyelashes at Joe as if she were the bratty little sister instead of the older one. She took off with the dogs. For a few minutes, David scraped and rinsed dishes in peace, stacking them by the side of the sink to wash.

But Joe eventually spoke up. “So. How long has this been going on? This ‘friendship’ with Christie?”

There was a slight edge to his tone, but David ignored it. “I dunno. Since early October, I guess.”

“How do you even know the guy?”

“I told you he’s our neighbor. He’s Ruth’s nephew.”

“The old lady who lived on the other side of the lane? It’s not like we knew her all that well.”

“I rent part of his field, so I had to talk to him about it. What exactly is the problem, Joe? You were rude to him, and there’s no call for that, especially after he made that beautiful meal for us.”

Joe huffed, taking a large pot to dry it. “It’s pretty weird seeing someone like that in our home. And he seemed awfully comfortable here. Getting into the cupboard and fridge without even asking you. Knowing where Mom kept the aluminum foil…. If he’s just cooking for you for pay, why doesn’t he leave the food on the doorstep? Why is he eating at our table?”

Our table.
As if Joe had a right to say what went on there even when he wasn’t home. David’s lips tightened along with the band of anger around his chest. “He lives alone, and I live alone. Why should we both eat alone?”

“Dad.” Joe looked at David with worried brown eyes, hands on his hips. “You shouldn’t be friends with that guy.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s worldly. Liberal. I doubt he’s even a Christian.” Joe’s tone was bitter.

“He was nothing but nice to you, Joe.”

“Lord help me, Dad, you’re so naive!” Joe was getting increasingly frustrated. He wrenched the damp dishcloth in his hands. “Fine! I’ll just say it. It’s as clear as day that Christie Landon is a
homosexual
, and that he’s got the hots for you!”

“What?” David’s pulse was thudding, and it wasn’t because of the hot dishwater his hands were in. “That’s not true. Why would you say something like that?”

Joe shook his head in disgust. “You haven’t been out in the world much, so you don’t know these things. But believe me, that guy is gay! Absolutely. Why do you think he’s spending so much time over here? He wants to… to…. Geez, Dad. Wake up!”

“You don’t know that he’s… gay. But even if he is, that doesn’t mean…. Two men can be friends without it having to be… that.”

“Sure! But my male friends don’t come over to my house and act like they know what’s in every cupboard. They don’t cook for me and set the table all fancy for me like a wife. What do you think Pastor Mitchell would say about you associating with a homosexual in your own home like that? What, every week? How often is he over here?”

David wasn’t about to admit Christie was there pretty much every day. “We share the cost of meals! And he’s an artist. He likes doing things up fancy like that. It’s not—”

“Then why doesn’t he just drop the meal off if you’re ‘sharing costs’? Why does he spend time working on the farm when he has his own job? Why does he
look
at you like that, Dad?” Joe practically spat with disgust.

David shook his head. He scrubbed hard at a crusted fork. His stomach physically hurt, and he felt light-headed. He worried he might lose his Thanksgiving dinner. “That’s enough! This discussion is over, Joe.”

Joe kept talking, but he softened his tone, sounded sympathetic. “I understand you desire company. Of course you do! So why not go to the men’s fellowship at church? Or why not ask Mrs. Robeson over for dinner? Jessie told me she thinks the Lord wants you two to be married. We both think it’s a good idea too. Mrs. Robeson would be a good wife for you.”

David gawked at his son in disbelief. “You and Jessie Robeson discussed us? What is this, a Disney movie? How many times do I have to say it? I’m not interested in Evelyn Robeson!” David slammed his palm on the edge of the sink, hard.

Joe’s eyes widened but a mean glint shone in them. “But you
are
interested in a good-looking gay man? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Why do you keep saying he’s gay? You don’t know anything about Christie!”

“Geez, have you ever even met a gay man before? Holy cow! No wonder people can take advantage of you. Seriously, Dad, he’s
gay
. Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me. He’s a sinner, not someone you should be breaking bread with. Paul warned the Corinthians about associating with those who commit sexual sin. ‘Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?’”

David felt his blood pressure rise to dangerous levels. His stomach lurched and he tasted acid. He knew Joe wouldn’t easily take to Christie. They were as different as night and day. But never in his wildest dreams did he anticipate this level of venom or Joe’s assessment of the situation.

“Joseph Fisher, you had better stop talking,” David said, his voice low and warning.

“I’m just trying to help you see what’s going on.”

“You don’t
know
what’s going on. You don’t—” His voice cracked.

He wanted to say, “Christie Landon is my friend.” He wanted to say, “You don’t have any right to come home once in a blue moon and tell me what to do.” He wanted to say, “You sure stuffed your face at lunch for someone who has so much against my sharing meals with Christie.” He wanted to say a lot of things. But he was too choked up to summon words. His throat swelled shut with rage and with something else, something like shame that burned and bit and made him clammy and light-headed.

If he stayed in this room, he was going to do something he’d regret. He’d never wanted to hit Joe as much as he wanted to hit him right then.
The way my father beat me.
David promised himself he would never hit his kids. So he left the dishes halfway done, grabbed his coat, and stormed out of the house.

Chapter 11

“OH MY
God, Kyle, it was a disaster!” Unshed tears thickened Christie’s voice, but he ruthlessly swallowed them down. He promised himself years ago he’d never shed one more tear over a homophobic asshole or bully. He wasn’t about to break that vow over Joe Fisher.

“Oh no! Baby, what happened?”

Christie flopped back on his bed, the phone pressed to his ear. “Well, the meal was
amazing
.” It was important to acknowledge that. “But his son hated me on sight.”

“Oh, honey!”

“His name’s Joe, and he’s going to be a minister. You should have heard his prayer at the table. It was all about how their mother was watching and how David should be friends with other
Christians
instead of with me.”