10. Town of Rumours

CHAPTER 10

Town of Rumours

CALEB

" G oddammit, you little shit!" I cursed under my breath as I lunged for the chicken, my fingers just grazing its feathers before it darted away with an indignant squawk. "Get back here, you feathered menace!"

Behind me, I heard my dad chuckle, the sound deep and rumbling like distant thunder. "Language, son. You kiss your mama with that mouth?"

I shot him a grin over my shoulder, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. "Nah, I save that for the cows. They don't judge."

He shook his head, still laughing, and tossed me a pair of worn leather gloves. "Here, put these on before you lose a finger. That rooster's got a mean streak a mile wide."

I caught the gloves and tugged them on, flexing my fingers to get a feel for the supple leather. "Don't worry, Pops. I've got this under control."

Famous last words.

An hour later, I was covered in dirt and feathers and chicken shit, my hair sticking up in sweaty spikes and my clothes stained beyond recognition. But the coop was clean, the eggs were gathered, and the chickens were finally, blessedly quiet.

I leaned against the fence, catching my breath and watching as my dad scattered some feed for the hens. They clucked and pecked at the ground, their beady eyes darting back and forth like they were expecting an ambush.

"Paranoid little bastards," I muttered, shaking my head.

Dad chuckled again, dusting off his hands on his jeans. "Can you blame ‘em? With you chasing ‘em around like a fox in the henhouse, I'd be jumpy too."

I flipped him the bird, but I was grinning too. This was our thing, our ritual. Every morning, rain or shine, we'd come out to the coop and wrangle the chickens, trading barbs and insults like a couple of old coots on a porch.

It was comfortable, familiar. A reminder of simpler times, before the world had gotten so complicated and confusing.

I felt my smile falter a bit at the thought, a familiar ache settling into my chest. It had been a rough few years, watching her battle cancer with every ounce of strength she had. There were times when I thought we were going to lose her, when the chemo and the radiation and the endless rounds of tests and treatments seemed like they would never end.

But she was a fighter, my mom. Stubborn as a mule and twice as tough. She'd kicked cancer's ass and come out the other side, a little worse for wear but still standing.

Still smiling.

"How's she doing today?" I asked, my voice quiet and serious. "She seemed a little tired at breakfast."

Dad sighed, leaning against the fence beside me. He looked older than I remembered, the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper and more pronounced. "She has her good days and bad days, son. The depression… it's still there, still lurking. But she's stronger now, stronger than she was."

I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat. I remembered those first few months after the treatment ended, when the numbness and the relief had given way to a dark, suffocating sadness that seemed to swallow her whole.

She wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't eat or talk or even look at us. It was like the light had gone out of her eyes, like the cancer had taken something vital and irreplaceable.

Dad and I had been at a loss, desperate to help but not knowing how. We'd tried everything - therapy, medication, even some hippy-dippy herbal remedies that Dad's buddy swore by.

But in the end, it was the little things that seemed to make the most difference. The walks in the garden, the quiet moments spent sipping tea and watching the sunset. The laughter and the stories and the memories of a life well-lived.

Slowly, painfully, she started to come back to us. Started to smile again, to laugh again. Started to look at the world with something other than despair and hopelessness.

It wasn't easy, and it wasn't perfect. There were still bad days, still moments when the darkness seemed to close in and the ghosts of the past seemed to loom large.

But we were getting there. One day at a time, one step at a time.

"I'm glad she's doing better," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "I hate seeing her like that, you know? Hate feeling so helpless."

Dad put a hand on my shoulder, his grip strong and reassuring. "I know, son. I know. But we're not helpless, not really. We're here for her, always will be. And that counts for something."

I nodded, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. He was right, I knew he was. But it didn't make it any easier, didn't make the ache in my chest any less sharp.

I cleared my throat, desperate to change the subject before I started bawling like a baby. "So, what's on the agenda for today? More mucking out stalls and chasing chickens?"

Dad grinned, the gleam of mischief back in his eyes. "Nah, I thought we'd mix it up a bit. Maybe go cow tipping, or start a tractor pull. You know, really live on the edge."

I snorted, shoving him playfully. "You're a riot, old man. A regular comedian. "

He chuckled, shoving me back. "Watch it, kid. This old man can still whoop your ass."

We laughed, the tension of the moment breaking like a fever. This was how we coped, how we kept the darkness at bay. With humor and hard work and the knowledge that no matter what life threw at us, we had each other.

Family. It was everything.

We spent the rest of the morning working on the ranch, fixing fences and hauling feed and doing all the little chores that kept the place running. It was hard work, backbreaking and exhausting, but there was a satisfaction in it too.

As the day wore on and the sun began to dip towards the horizon, Dad and I made our way back to the house. Mom was waiting for us on the porch, a pitcher of lemonade in her hand and a smile on her face.

"There's my boys," she said, her voice warm and fond. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost out there."

I bounded up the steps, wrapping her in a hug that lifted her off her feet. She laughed, swatting at my arm until I put her down.

"Lost? Nah, we were just taking the scenic route. You know how Dad loves to stop and smell the manure."

Mom wrinkled her nose, but she was still smiling. "Charming, as always. You sure do have a way with words, Caleb."

I grinned, snagging a glass of lemonade and taking a long, cold sip. "What can I say? It's a gift."

We settled into the porch chairs, the three of us, watching as the sky turned from blue to gold to a deep, velvety purple. The crickets were starting to chirp in the long grass, and the air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and fresh-cut hay.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky and the shadows began to lengthen, Dad and I finished up with the chickens. I wiped the sweat from my brow, feeling the satisfying ache of a hard day's work in my muscles.

"Hey, Pops," I said, tossing the last of the feed into the coop. "We still got enough grub for the rest of the animals? "

Dad frowned, his brow furrowing as he mentally tallied up our supplies. "Now that you mention it, we're running a bit low. Gonna need to make a run to Jay's Feed Store soon, stock up before the winter hits."

I nodded, already reaching for my keys. "I'll go. I could use a drive, clear my head a bit."

Dad gave me a long, searching look, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You sure about that, son? You know how folks around here can be, especially when it comes to… well, you know."

I did know. Knew all too well the whispers and the sideways glances, the cold shoulders and the not-so-subtle jabs. Being gay in a small town like Oakwood Grove wasn't exactly a cakewalk, even in this day and age.

But I wasn't about to let a bunch of narrow-minded bigots keep me from living my life, from doing what needed to be done.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I said, my jaw tightening with determination. "We need the feed, and I'm not gonna let a few ignorant assholes stop me from getting it."

Dad sighed, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes, a hint of approval in the set of his mouth. "Alright then. Just be careful out there, okay? And if anyone gives you any trouble, you just remember what I always tell you…"

"Don't start anything, but sure as hell finish it," I finished, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Dad chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder. "Damn straight. Now get going, before it gets too late."

I nodded, giving Dad a mock salute before heading over to my truck. The old beater groaned to life, a familiar rattle accompanying me as I drove into town. Oakwood Grove stretched out before me, its streets lined with memories both sweet and bitter.

As I pulled into Jay's Feed Store, the gravel crunching under my tires, I steeled myself for the inevitable small-town scrutiny. To my surprise, the store was mostly empty, just a couple of old-timers browsing the shelves.

I made my way to the feed section, hefting a couple of heavy sacks onto my shoulder. The weight was grounding, a reminder of the simple, honest work that had always been my anchor.

At the checkout counter, I overheard a snippet of conversation that made my stomach clench.

"Did you hear? The old Denison place got bought," one of the old-timers said, his voice low.

Jay, the store owner, leaned in. "Yeah, I heard. Probably some out-of-towners, thinking they can change everything."

The other man nodded sourly. "Ain't right, if you ask me. This town's got a certain way of doing things."

Jay snorted. "Especially not their kind. You mark my words, they'll be nothing but trouble."

I felt my temper flare, hot and sudden. I set the bags down on the counter, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. "You got a problem with people who are different, Jay?"

The store went silent, tension thick in the air. Jay's face flushed, his eyes widening.

"Now listen here, Caleb," he started, his voice low and threatening. "This ain't none of your business. We're just having a private conversation."

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage bubbling inside me. "It becomes my business when you're spreading hate in public, Jay. People have a right to live where they want, love who they want. Even in Oakwood Grove."

Jay's face darkened. "You defending them? What, you one of them too?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. For a moment, I considered backing down, letting it slide like I had so many times before. But something in me had snapped.

"Yeah, Jay. I am," I said, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "I'm gay. And I'm not ashamed of it. If you or anyone else has a problem with that, well, that's your issue to work through."

The silence that followed was deafening. I could feel the eyes of the other customers on me, could hear the shocked whispers. Jay's face went through a range of emotions - shock, disgust, and finally, a sort of resigned anger.

"Well," he said, his voice cold. "I suppose you'd best take your business elsewhere from now on. We don't serve your kind here."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, but I stood my ground. "That's discrimination, Jay. It's illegal, and you know it."

He shrugged, a mean smile on his face. "Prove it. Now get out of my store."

For a moment, I considered arguing further, maybe even throwing a punch. But I knew that wouldn't solve anything. Instead, I took out my phone and started recording.

"I want everyone here to witness that Jay is refusing to serve me because of my sexual orientation," I said clearly. "I'll be reporting this to the proper authorities."

Jay's face paled slightly, but he didn't back down. "Get out!" he yelled.

I left the feed on the counter and walked out, my hands shaking but my head held high. As I drove home, a mix of pride and anxiety swirled in my chest. I'd finally said it out loud, in public. There was no going back now.

Pulling up to the ranch, I took a moment to breathe, to center myself. The confrontation with Jay had shaken me more than I wanted to admit, but it had also awakened something in me. A determination to stop hiding, to start living authentically.

When I walked into the house, I found my parents in the living room, watching an old movie. They looked up, smiling, but their expressions quickly shifted to concern.

"Something happened at the store," I said, my voice rough.

I told them about the conversation I'd overheard, about my response, and about Jay kicking me out. As I spoke, I watched their faces, searching for any sign of disappointment or rejection.

Instead, Dad's face set in a determined line. "We'll fight this, Caleb. What Jay did wasn't just wrong, it was illegal. We'll make sure he's held accountable."

Mom nodded, tears in her eyes but a fierce look on her face. "We're with you, honey. All the way. You did the right thing, standing up for yourself and others."

Their unwavering support washed over me like a warm wave, easing some of the tension I'd been carrying for years. We talked late into the night, about the challenges ahead, about the changes this might bring to our lives in Oakwood Grove.

"You know," Dad said thoughtfully, "maybe it's time we looked at expanding our business. We've been talking about opening up the ranch for tourism, maybe even hosting events. Could be a good way to bring some new perspectives into town."

I nodded, feeling a spark of excitement at the idea. "Yeah, that could be really cool. We could even host LGBTQ+ friendly events. Show people that Oakwood Grove can be a welcoming place for everyone."

As I headed to bed, exhausted but lighter than I'd felt in years, I paused by the window. The ranch stretched out before me, bathed in moonlight. It was my past, my present, and now, I realized, very much my future too.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new conversations. But for the first time in a long time, I felt ready to face them head-on. Ready to not just live my life, but to make a difference, to help shape Oakwood Grove into a place where everyone could feel welcome.

And as I drifted off to sleep, I found myself humming a tune I hadn't thought about in years. Maybe it was time to dust off that old guitar after all. There were new songs waiting to be written, new stories to tell. My story, in all its complicated, messy glory.

The future was uncertain, but for once, that uncertainty felt more like possibility than fear. And that, I realized, was a pretty good place to start.