Chapter 8

Eight

The Hawthorne House was a landmark in Spoon—Greek Revival in architectural style, majestic in size and grandeur. Atticus Hawthorne built it in 1820. He was the great-great-grandfather of Lila Hawthorne, who inherited the historical home in the early 20th century. When Lila died, she bequeathed the now enormous financial burden of the house's maintenance to her sole heir, Barbara Hawthorne in 1990. The home's current interior design was from a remodel Lila had commissioned twenty-four years prior, in 1971, which had filled the house with a color scheme of bright oranges, yellows, browns, greens, and generous helping of ugly wallpaper and shag carpet.

There was no question the house needed updating, and Barb's vision for the place was comparable in size. Unfortunately, her purse was much smaller. One day, she hoped to completely overhaul the interior design and bring things up to her standard of a modern bed-and-breakfast. For now, though, she carried out much of the maintenance and grunt work herself.

When Pedro entered, he heard clanging from the rear of the house in the kitchen, along with a muffled curse from his landlord.

"Dammit!"

"Barb? Are you OK back there?"

"Is that you, Pedro?" He heard scuffling, then the familiar creaking of floorboards.

"Yeah. I got off work a little early today."

Barb emerged from the kitchen wearing jeans and a smudged t-shirt. She was holding a monkey wrench and her hair was pulled back with a navy bandanna. "I don't suppose you know anything about plumbing, do you?"

"A little. What's going on?"

She gestured, and he followed her into the kitchen. "There's a slow leak under the sink. I've been catching it with a bucket, while waiting for the plumbing book I ordered—which came in the mail today. I bought the parts needed, and a new gasket and silicone. But something's not right. I've got the damned thing apart and I can't get it back together."

"Let me take a look." Pedro set his shopping bag on the kitchen table, got down on his knees, and stuck his head in the cabinet beneath the sink. Barb had dismantled the p-trap there and, as Pedro had expected, she was meticulously organized. All the necessary tools, parts, and a flashlight were within reach. He switched the light on, rotated to his back, and shimmied deeper into the cabinet.

"If you can make some magic happen," she said, "I'll knock ten percent off your rent this month."

"You'll do no such thing. You need to make money too, Barb. It's the least I can do to help a friend. Hand me that wrench, please."

She did, and Pedro rapped lightly on the pipe to help crack, crumble, and remove any ancient sealant that had solidified into the grooves of the joint.

"I'm impressed," Barb said. "You're banging down there sounds much more focused than my own."

"I don't want to risk damaging the threads, though. Have you got a stiff wire brush, like for a grill, or maybe some steel wool?"

"Both. Be right back."

When she returned, Pedro had cleared much of the loosened dried gunk with his fingernails. He used the brush to remove the remaining residue before lubing it back up and attaching the new trap. "I'm surprised you could find the right parts. All this stuff is so old and outdated."

"Tell me about it." She sat down at the table while he worked. "I had to order those too… from Stanley's. That prick. Don't get me started."

"Smells like mildew in here."

"Yeah. I tried to tell myself I was imagining it. Another thing to add to my never-ending punch list."

After a few minutes of clanks and occasional grunts, there came a triumphant sigh. "All done," Pedro said, emerging from the cabinet, face and chest covered in dust and detritus.

"Bravo! You're a godsend. Let me make you a cup of coffee."

"Just water, please. When you were at Stanley's, did you think to get some plumber's putty?"

"No. I had no idea there was such a thing."

"He didn't tell you? It's a freaking hardware store. Don't they want to make money?" Pedro turned, brushing himself off into the sink. "The drain is loose from all the jostling. Easy fix. I'll pick some up tomorrow. You don't see metal pipes much anymore. Almost everything is PVC these days."

"Thank you. And thank you for going back to Stanley's for me. If I have to deal with his patronizing one more time–"

"He's trying to sell you a service, isn't he? Stanley thinks women can't do the job. He's wrong. You were doing things just fine under there. If I hadn't shown up, you would've figured it all out."

"He's worse than a used car salesman." Barb stood, reaching for a dish towel and wiping the remaining dust from Pedro's cheeks. "He was trying to push a contractor on me. Sixty-five dollars an hour … and if that wasn't bad enough–"

"He was flirting with you."

"You're very intuitive."

"So I'm told. Doesn't he know your taste lies with the fairer sex?"

"Oh, he knows. He sees it as a challenge." Barb reached into the cabinet for a clean glass. "Stanley thinks he's got a magic wand. All he has to do is wave it and I will fall madly in love with him."

"Lust is more like it—on his part, anyway. That's quite the image you painted there, though. Magic wand ? I'm gonna have a hard time shaking it when I see him tomorrow."

"Honestly–" Barb handed Pedro the glass of water and turned to the coffeemaker. "Why can't things be easier? Why should I be subject to the notions of Neanderthals? Why can't I just pick up my phone and request instructions for do-it-yourself plumbing? Maybe order the parts that way, too. I had to wait three weeks for that book to come from QPBC."

"There's always the library."

"Ha!" Barb said. "And you think that plumbing is outdated."

He reached for the open box on the table. It was from the Quality Paperback Book Club. "Did the Capote books come?"

"They did." She joined him at the table as the soft purring of the drip coffee maker began. "Have you finished Rebecca yet?"

"Not quite. Almost."

"Me too. Are you dreaming of Manderley? Being tormented by that old lesbian Mrs. Danvers?"

Pedro gave an emphatic half-whistle, half-sigh. "Both… and I suspect the latter is the subject of many term papers."

Barb and Pedro's passion for literature had led them to create their own little reading group–little, meaning the two of them only. With QPBC, they had discovered Triangle Classics –an imprint specific to queer-centric works of the past. Now, via mail order, the two of them were furthering their literary indulgences together, gathering loose threads of educational pursuits both had abandoned.

"How deep do you think her obsession goes? Never mind. I'll shut up. We'll have plenty to talk about for Sunday breakfast."

"For sure." Pedro lifted one of two copies of Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote, from the open box on the table. "I'm really looking forward to this one."

"Me too. Check out that picture of him on the back. He was so young , so–"

"Sexy," Pedro finished. "Never thought I'd say that, especially after seeing what booze and drugs did to him."

"Brilliant too. I've read his short stories, but that was his first novel. What's this?" Barb reached for Pedro's shopping bag. "The Squire Shop? Fancy."

"I went to Walmart first, but everything they had was over-sized and baggy."

Barb held up a square-cut swimsuit, beige, black, and white plaid with a thin mock belt attached, also white. "It's cute. Very fashionable. I'm sure Mildred Perkins charged you a pretty penny for it."

"More than I wanted to pay."

Barb was holding the suit up, her face blocked from Pedro's view by it. She lowered it, eyebrows raised. "You're home early with an expensive swimsuit. What are you not telling me?"

Pedro knew the questions would come—was, in fact, anticipating them. Even though he and Barb's relationship had begun as tenant and landlord, over the past two years their mutual interests and proximity had evolved into a cherished friendship. He would have a hard time keeping anything from her. They shared coffee, meals, a love for books, and even solitude together. But unlike himself, Barb was from Spoon. She'd lived her whole life here. She knew its people well, including one Titus Shepard.

Titus had said they were practically siblings.

He had been wrestling all afternoon with how he was going to break his news to her and settled for, "I think I have a date."

He told her everything. Well, almost everything. He left out the part about Titus's transparent trunks and his own Jennifer Beals-esque burlesque show.

Pedro explained how Silas had reassigned him to the Shepherd account. He told her of their awkward initial encounter, and the inexplicable, yet undeniable chemistry that had sparked between them. By the time he finished up with their hand-holding lunch, Pedro felt winded. What was mere minutes had felt like hours and, though he was relieved to get everything off of his chest, he also felt horrible pangs of guilt for having betrayed Titus's trust.

Through it all, Barb had said nothing, only offering conversational gestures–acknowledging nods, head tilts, and the occasional pursed lip. When he finished, she said nothing. Instead, she rose, crossing back to the coffeemaker and pouring herself a cup.

"Dios mio," Pedro said with a heavy sigh. "I've said too much. I shouldn't have told you."

"No." She turned back to him, holding the cup high, blowing on it lightly. "I'm glad you did. I'm just… taking it all in."

"I'm an idiot. I'm not going. I shouldn't have wasted money on that stupid swimsuit."

Barb returned to her seat at the table. She set the cup down and reached for his hand. "Just breathe. It's not what you're thinking."

"Exactly. That's what I mean. I'm imagining things. There's no way a man like Titus Shepherd would be interested in me."

"Why not?"

"Are you kidding? He's blue blood. I'm blue collar. He's rich, his father's mayor. I'm just a landscaper. I'm nowhere near the caliber of man he would want."

"I disagree, and I know him better than you."

"Yeah? Well, that stunned reaction you just gave me is not very convincing."

"I'm sorry. You're right. I was stunned. But that's what you're misinterpreting. I'm angry at myself for not having introduced you to him sooner."

"Really? You're not yanking my chain, are you?"

Barb chuckled. "You and your idioms. I'm not a particular fan of that one–for obvious reasons–but no, I'm serious. I've nagged Titus for quite a while about getting out and meeting someone and, now that you've brought all this up, I can't think of anyone I approve of more than you. You may not have a lot in common—he didn't do well at all in school—but it sounds like he's definitely taken a fancy to you. How do you feel about him?"

"I—" Pedro recalled his lunch with Titus, the man's sweet disposition and playfulness with the children. He was such a contradiction—a gentle giant, both strong and sensitive, with an irresistible smile and amber eyes so warm Pedro had felt lost in them. Words wouldn't come. He broke eye contact with Barb, blushing.

"Never mind."

"I told him I lived here in Hawthorne House."

"And he told you that he and I go way back, I presume."

Pedro nodded.

"I'm afraid I've not been a good friend to Titus lately. These past two years I've been obsessed with trying to turn this albatross–" She raised her hands, gesturing to their surroundings. "–into a swan. Titus is not without blame, though. Ever since Violet died, he withdrew from everything and everyone. He did manage to keep Roz in his life, but I guess I drifted."

"The more I think about it, the more it sounds like Rebecca ," Pedro said. "It's a little unnerving."

Barb smiled. "Yes. There are similarities. I hadn't really considered it. But let me dispel your worries. It is a beautiful old house in the country, but nowhere near as big as Manderley. And Titus is a widower like Maxim, but he didn't kill Violet."

"Wait. Maxim killed Rebecca?!"

"Shit!" She winced, covering her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry. I just totally blew the ending for you."

"It's OK. I had my suspicions."

"No. It's unforgivable. I hereby proclaim you president of our reading group from now on. I'm not worthy."

"So, if Titus is Maxim, does that make Roz Mrs. Danvers?"

"Hardly. Titus is the closeted one, not Roz. Roz is devoted, though—but more to Titus than Violet. She stayed by his side through it all–diagnosis, illness, childbirth, and death. It's been close to five years now, and she's still with him."

"Not much longer, though, from what he told me. He seemed pretty upset about it."

"I imagine so." Barb's eyes drifted momentarily in thought, then she smiled. "No wonder he's latched on to you so quickly."

"Uh, oh. I knew this was a bad idea."

"Stop." She reached for his hand again. "Quit comparing things to the work of a long-dead, repressed, and potentially trans author."

"Trans?" Pedro's eyes grew large. "Really?"

"More on that Sunday. After you finish reading."

"You're just dropping all kinds of bombs."

"Sorry. Back to the subject. Titus is a good guy. The best. He's just been through a helluva lot for someone our age."

"Do you think Roz is in love with him?"

Barb froze, mouth open, stunned again. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Now that I had never thought of. But if she harbors those kinds of feelings, it's forever unrequited. She's straight and married, and Titus is neither–no longer, anyway. I had a crush on Roz myself, once upon a time. She shot that down pretty quick."

"Yet Titus was married to a woman and had a child. That is some weird-ass Kinsey shit, if you ask me."

"That's some old-school southern baggage, I'll tell you. Titus was doing nothing more than what was expected of him. He's the epitome of a dutiful son. On a Kinsey scale, he's a hard six now. That, I guarantee."

Again, Pedro recalled Titus's kind eyes, his sweet smile, and the firm grip with which he'd held hands. Barb was right. The man was definitely not questioning his sexuality.

"So," he said. "Despite any similarities, Violet is not Rebecca, Titus is not Maxim, and Roz is not Mrs. Danvers."

"And there's also Tucker, and Roz's girl, Shelly. They're adorable, but I don't recall any kids running around Manderley."

Pedro chuckled. "No. No room for children in a Gothic romance."

"Because this is not a Gothic romance. It's a modern romance."

"Contemporary, I believe, is the accurate term."

"Yes," Barb said, relieved at the turn the conversation was taking. "And you love kids. You've told me so. You want your own."

"I do. I just don't see any of that happening until further down the road. I need to establish permanent residency… become a citizen, and get my mother here."

"Life's what happens while you're busy making other plans."

"Is that John Rechy?"

"John Lennon. Paraphrased."

Pedro nodded. He was quiet for a while, and Barb felt forced to break the silence. "Don't overthink it. Just go. Enjoy yourself. When was the last time you were on a date?"

"Never."

"Never?"

"I used to hook up with gay tourists on Holbox Island."

"Escandaloso!"

"It was decent money."

"Even more scandalous. You little hooker, you."

"Not anymore. I was desperate to get out of Mexico. It was just an easy side hustle."

"You may have the advantage there. I'm fairly certain Titus has never… well, you know. Not with a guy."

"I see. But as far as dating, I'm the virgin."

"Then you're both flying blind in different ways," Barb said.

"It's just—I worry what would happen if word got out."

"How? You've seen how isolated that house is. And Titus is closeted, remember? He'll want to lie low too, for a while, at least. Roz is a vault. She won't say anything, and you know I won't."

"Yeah. But if Silas somehow got word… I don't know. I have a feeling things would end badly."

"Valid. Silas and Titus have a history, too, you know?"

"What kind of history?"

"Relax. It's nothing you need to worry about. Youthful squabbles, unbridled testosterone—typical teenage bullshit. I'm sure he'll tell you all about it."

"Has it got anything to do with why people call him Big Britches?"

"No." Barb reconsidered. "Well, maybe. I don't know. That's also something for you two to discuss. I feel bad enough talking behind his back as it is. Better for you to get your answers from the horse's mouth. This town thrives on gossip if you haven't noticed. A lot of things get misconstrued. We all have baggage, you know? That's why I take my personal life to Macon. I don't need people all up in my business."

Pedro raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

"I don't mean you should do the same," she said, recovering. "Titus is a great guy. You'll see. Once you get to know him, you'll thank me."

Pedro stared at her for a moment, contemplating, then reached for the swimsuit. "OK, then. Guess I'm going on a date."