7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Mosby

I got dressed in my own clothes and grabbed the keys to my truck and the cabin. I couldn't tell if I was pissed that Tyler had only been nice to me out of fear of being sued or if I was sad to leave the sweetest guy I'd ever met behind. Maybe a little of both?

I grabbed the cooler he'd thoughtfully put together, and then I went down the stairs. I'd planned to stop by Shear Bliss to say goodbye to Tyler's mother but decided the waiver was enough. It gave the Rockwells the closure they needed, and I could drive the extra ten miles to Miller's Point or even to Hartsville for groceries. I never had to go to Foggy Basin again.

Luckily, my truck was untouched in the parking lot, so I hopped in. It was warm inside because we were having an unseasonably warm spring, but there was nothing in the boxes I'd picked up the previous day that would have spoiled. The groceries I'd left behind, however, would have been a different story.

I drove out of the parking lot and made the left down Main Street to head back to the cabin. I could go to Miller's Point in the morning to get produce and canning jars if I was feeling ambitious.

Once home, I parked in the garage and took the supplies to my studio. I scanned the half-painted landscapes tilted against the walls. They'd helped me through some really rough times, but they were all amateurish, more paint-by-numbers than actual paintings. They'd suited their purpose of taking my mind off things that were painful at the time, but those canvases were meant for better things.

I collected them and took them out into the front yard, using sticks to prop them up to make my job easier. I went out to the shed where I stored larger supplies and rooted around until I found the primer and a four-inch sponge paintbrush. I stopped by the workbench, grabbed a block of sandpaper, and prepared to go to work.

Barbara Bushy hopped up on the porch railing, staring at me. "I told you I'd come back." I poured some of the gesso into an aluminum pan. I glanced down at my old jeans and laughed. Poor Tyler had tried to get the paint out of them, but some of the stains were a year old. I couldn't remember ever washing them.

I glanced toward the porch railing, seeing Bushy still there watching me. "You know what I miss? You'll never guess. Turpentine. I miss the smell of turpentine."

Bushy jumped off the railing onto the porch floor, scampering over to the stairs. I picked up the sandpaper and walked to the first canvas, running my hand over it to see how rough it was, and started sanding.

"You know, I ordered new canvas material to recover these frames, but I think I might send it back. I mean, I can afford to keep it, but why? I think, even though these paintings are fucking ugly, the canvas itself isn't ruined. I'll put a coat of primer over it, and it's…" I chuckled at my own joke, "a blank canvas." I roared so loudly with laughter that I scared Bushy away.

I sanded until they were smooth to the touch, wet a rag with the hose, and I wiped off the canvases to remove the dust. I took off my T-shirt and held the hose over my head to rinse the dust and sweat from my hair, face, and arms before I made a mess inside. I pulled my hair back up and went into the cabin, heading to the bedroom before I froze my ass off.

I changed out of the wet jeans and sneakers into a pair of gray sweats and a black sweatshirt. The sun was lower in the sky and the air was chilling fast.

I went to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Inside were a few remnants from my former life—my credit cards with my real name on them, my driver's license that I never carried, the vintage 30 MM Cartier Ruby Pocket Watch that had been a birthday gift from Alistaire when I turned thirty, and the notebook that had added insult to injury—Alistaire's handwritten diary.

I picked up the diary and carried it to the kitchen, where I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer to take outside with me. The canvases needed to dry before I began priming them, and I needed to purge the pain more than I needed to breathe.

Taking a seat on the top step of the front porch, I stared down the mountain at the small valley town of Foggy Basin. Bushy jumped back up on the porch about three feet away. "As I was saying before you so rudely took off, I miss the smell of turpentine. I used to clean up with it when I was painting, and Alistaire would bitch about it endlessly, which I relished. He did enough shit to piss me off, and it was my passive-aggressive way of getting back at him."

I sipped my beer and put it on the porch next to me. "There came a time in our relationship when we seemed to do everything that we could to piss each other off. I really didn't know why until after Alistaire killed himself and I found this in his things." I held up the diary.

Flipping through it, I found the page that had ruined me. I'd read it so many times I couldn't count. The ink was faded and smeared where my tears had fallen onto it as the words he'd written had cut into my soul.

"After Alistaire drowned himself rather than coming home to me, I had to call his parents to tell them he had died in Chicago. Dumb-ass stole a boat and took it out into a terrible snow and windstorm. Anyway, his parents played the blame game, just as I expected they would. Never liked me, but I'm sure you already guessed that.

"I was boxing up his things because the Scotts had insisted I send them everything that was Alistaire's. They threatened to sue me if I didn't. I fought them until I found this." I stared down at that blurry page that was the first entry before reading it out loud to Bushy.

December 16, 202 2

Today is a day I'll never forget. Today, I met the love of my life. This boy is meant to be mine. I'll always remember the big smile on his beautiful face when Dierdre introduced us. "Tariq Jackson, this is Alistaire Scott. He's going to consult on the screen adaptation of his book, Lovers to Enemies. It's the one Del told you about. Alistaire, this is Tariq Jackson. He's just started filming Rubber to the Road."

My Tariq nodded. "I've been wanting to meet you, Mr. Scott. The book is phenomenal. The way you wove their love affair into the mystery they needed to solve that ultimately breaks them apart is masterful. Hell, I'd love to sit down and discuss it with you."

I thought I'd faint right there. He's so beautiful and funny and has the potential to be the perfect boy! I can't wait to see him again.

I glanced at Bushy. "Alistaire was a Daddy. He thought I'd be his perfect boy, but we were too much alike. Twice, I agreed to go with him to a club and share a boy when he wanted to play out a fantasy, but I didn't like sharing Alistaire. Apparently, I was an idiot to think I could continue to make him happy after those experiences."

The squirrel made a muk-muk sound. "You're a smart woman? Man? Anyway, yes. Tariq Jackson was happy to be the boy who stole Alistaire's heart right before Christmas of 2021."

I flipped a few more pages, skipping everything Alistaire thought Tariq was perfect at doing. Alistaire was thrilled to have Tariq as his boy, and he couldn't wait to get away from me, but he wasn't sure how to do it. The next faded page reminded me of the mistake we'd made that I would always regret. I was never one to share.

January 16, 2023

Tariq has agreed to be my boy. He asked me to leave Mosby and move in together. He wants us to make a life, and I can't deny him. I've fallen so deeply in love with him that I don't know where I end and he begins. I care for Mosby and always will. We've been together for ten years, and we've had a lot of good times, through thick and thin, as poets say. I've come to realize I love him, but I'm not in love with him. Not the way I am with my boy, Tariq.

It feels wrong to stay with Mosby out of obligation, but how do we unwind us? How much will Mosby hate me if I leave?

"A hell of a lot." I couldn't keep the anger inside any longer. I wasn't a boy, but I didn't hate the idea of having a boy. I simply couldn't see myself ever sharing a significant other in my life. I wasn't built that way.

Bushy scampered into the yard toward the bird feeder, scurrying up the pole and sitting on the perch. "Don't eat the millet. I'll get something better for you."

I put down the diary and went inside, coming back with a paper plate filled with dried fruit and nuts. I put the plate on the porch floor, along with a small bowl of water, and then I sat back down.

"So, Barbara Bushy, dinner and a monologue? Sure, why not." I took another sip of my beer before putting down the bottle and picking up the diary.

I glanced at Bushy, who really had become domesticated since I'd moved into the cabin. "You know, everybody isn't like me. Some folks might shoot and eat you."

Bushy kuk-kuked her disapproval at me, which made me laugh. I stood and walked over to the canvases, touching them to feel if they were dry.

While my squirrel friend ate her food, I painted a coat of gesso on the canvases and then walked around the back of the house to grab the copper pot I'd used to have a fire in the fall and winter when the cabin felt as though it was closing in on me.

I put it in the driveway and gathered some firewood to fill it. I went to the shed and grabbed the lighter fluid, returning to soak the wood for an easier light later. It was still warm enough that I didn't need a fire right now, but once the sun set, it would be nice.

After a second coat to the canvases, I went inside and took a shower, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt before shoving my feet into a pair of athletic slides. I grabbed a bag of chips that Tyler had put into the cooler, another beer, and headed outside. I had a couple of plastic chairs on the front porch, so I picked one up and carried it to the yard.

Bushy was still hanging out in a nearby tree, so I lit a match and tossed it onto the fuel-soaked wood.

The fire caught without trouble, and I sat in the plastic chair, turning my eyes to Bushy. "This will be the last time I read this diary, Bushy. I've been hiding and nursing a broken heart for a year. I'm really not sure why it broke. Alistaire and I had lost the love we once had for each other, and he'd moved on. He just hadn't moved out."

February 12, 2023

Mosby is insisting that he's going to meet me in New York for Valentine's Day. I'll be able to spend the next week with Tariq after he leaves, but I plan to tell Mosby it's over between us when we're in Manhattan.

I'll give him everything. I've got a new book started that I haven't told Mosby about. It's an insta-love gay romance about an actor and a writer who meet by chance and fall madly in love. Yes, it's a bit of a biography, so shoot me! It's set at Christmastime, so I'll finish it over the summer and push for its release at Thanksgiving. In the dedication, I'm planning to ask Tariq to marry me.

I exhaled. "You hear that, Bushy? The man who never wanted to get married wanted to get married. How's that for a slap in the face?"

I stood from the chair and carried my beer and the diary over to the blaze. I looked down the hill to the valley below and wondered if life gave us second chances. Wouldn't it be ironic if my only chance at love killed himself because he loved another man?

I glanced at the diary again. "Alistaire, I hope you and Tariq are together…in hell." I tossed the book into the fire and watched it burn. I never wanted to read those words again. The time for wallowing was done.

Thursday morning, I got up with the sun and went for a run…which I hadn't done for a year at least. When I got back, quite breathless, Bushy was sitting in the plastic chair I'd left in the yard. I had to smile. "Breakfast, milady?"

Wednesday night, I researched how to become a barber, which was an odd thing for me to care about, but it was interesting. Tyler Rockwell was heavy on my mind. I'd had a dream about him and woken up with an aching cock he'd been showing a lot of love to in my dream. It was hard to get back to sleep until I took myself in hand, and even after, I dreamed Tyler was resting his head on my chest as I rubbed the soft skin of his back.

"Okay, Bushy. I'm going to Hartsville to pick up some produce, new paint brushes, and maybe some shingles to fix the roof. I'll be back this afternoon." I put the paper plate on the porch floor and went to shower. An hour later, I was dressed in jeans with no paint—yes, I had a pair—and climbing into the truck to make the thirty-mile trek.

I turned on my phone to use the GPS to get to the fresh produce market in town. There was also a farm supply store where I could get some shingles to patch a persistent leak in the shed roof. How I'd fix it was another mystery to be solved.

I'd pulled my hair into a bun after my shower and trimmed my beard to keep from being mistaken for a vagrant, and I'd thought about the little barber in the valley. The temptation was strong to ask him to cut my hair and shape my beard, but I had an alert set for any time my name was in the news, and with the one-year anniversary of Alistaire's suicide having just happened, I'd been mentioned a few times.

I wasn't ready to jump back into the backstabbing world of art. I was enjoying my freedom and didn't want to return to the grind yet.

When I arrived at the produce market, I retrieved the cloth grocery bags from the passenger seat. As I walked through the entrance, the beautiful array of colorful vegetables had my mouth watering.

I was loading some peppers into my grocery sack when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a vaguely familiar, beautiful Latina standing behind me with a stunning smile. "You're Leslie, right?"

I was surprised. "Uh, yeah. You're…"

The woman grinned. "I'm Camila Ortiz. I work at Shear Bliss with Tyler."

"Oh, uh, yes. That's where I saw you. How's everything? I hope he conveyed to his mother that I had no plans to sue her." Just my damn luck to run into someone close to the guy I was trying to forget .

"Yes. He explained everything to Marlena, and she was relieved. They're both very special people, and I know they were worried. Maybe send Ty a note that you're fine. Do you have a phone? I can give you Tyler's number."

I reached into my pocket and handed her my cell because she didn't look like someone who would take no for an answer. Camila quickly pecked in something and handed it back to me.

"Ty is a sweet guy. He's had a difficult past. He needs someone who will see what a wonderful man he is and not try to change him. Think about it."

An older woman stepped up and touched Camila's arm, saying something in Spanish, which wasn't my forte. Camila turned and smiled, responding to the woman before taking her basket filled with many different peppers and chilis.

"Can you freeze those and use them later?" I pointed to the basket.

Camila gave me an odd look, but she grinned and repeated my question, I was guessing, in Spanish. The older woman nodded and went into a long explanation. Finally, Camila nodded and turned to me.

"Yes."

I chuckled. "All of those words mean yes? "

Camila giggled. "She went into detail about blanching them for three to five minutes before you cut them, and…just look it up. Abuela does it all the time. Anyway, call Ty."

The two of them chattered lively as they walked away. I went about picking out vegetables and putting them into my cloth bags. I looked up easy recipes on my phone that I could try using the vegetables I'd collected, and I decided it was worth giving it a shot.

After I checked out at the fresh produce market, I got into the truck and rolled down the window. My phone was in the pocket of my jeans, so I fished it out to send a text to Tyler. I didn't want to be on the wrong side of Camila.

I started the truck and drove to the art supply shop near the lumber yard. After parking in the lot the two stores shared, my phone buzzed. I reached for it on the bench seat next to me and hopped out, seeing a quick response from Tyler.

Hi! I didn't know you had a phone, or I'd have asked to share numbers. Are you doing okay?

Was I ever going to tell him the truth about not being a vagrant? His surprise at the fact I had a phone was a sure sign he still believed I didn't have a pot to piss in.

I went into the art supply store with a silly smile on my face. Something inside me was quite happy Tyler had responded and admired how he hadn't asked prying questions like whether I had enough to eat. I planned to return the Rockwells' kindnesses when I figured out the best way to do so.

I'm fine, really. I made it home okay. Barbara Bushy missed me, I think.

Barbara Bushy? Is she married to George H. W. Bushy?

I chuckled. The joke was obvious, but it was cute coming from him. I could almost picture his bright smile.

Barbara Bushy is my pet squirrel. It's a long story, but she—I think it's a she—keeps me company.

That's so cute. I'd like to hear the story sometime. I mean, if you ever come back to Foggy Basin. Was your home okay when you returned ?

Okay, maybe he believed I had a home. That was nice. He definitely had a kind streak I hadn't been exposed to in quite a while. God knew not many people in SoCal had it.

Everything was fine. I'm planning to explore my canning options. Camila's grandmother sparked my interest again as she explained about blanching peppers—or so Camila explained because I don't speak Spanish. Anyway, Camila's very fond of you.

She is protective, I guess you could say. Did she threaten you? I'll talk to her if she did. You don't deserve that.

As I knew, he was a kind and lovely soul. The more we chatted, the more the pull was for me to return to Foggy Basin.

I don't suppose you know anything about patching a roof?

What do you think? LOL! But I might know someone who can offer advice. Do you want me to have him call you?

Of course, he was nice enough to offer to have someone help me fix the roof. How could I say no?

If you think he knows what he's doing, then please. I'll pay him. I'm not a craftsman with those types of jobs.

I'll check with them and get back to you. Can we keep chatting? Where do you live?

I shoved my phone in my pocket and went to finish my shopping. I couldn't decide if it was smart to continue to chat with him or better to leave things alone?

Something inside me said to keep going but not to give up where I lived yet. I wasn't sure why, but I knew I wasn't ready for anything more with the beautiful man. I needed more time to figure myself out.