Page 10 of Daddy Bear Picnic

“Well, Mr. and Mr. Jackson are on a walk, but they will be back shortly,” he said.

The other guests. A cute gay couple in their sixties. They were almost romance goals to me. I wanted to have the kind of love they had when I was their age, but I wanted it now as well.

“Oh, I thought I was—” Malcolm began. “Of course, I knew I wasn’t the only person staying here.”

They were regulars, they rarely made a fuss or were a bother at all. They were a relief compared to some guests we had stay. “If you stick around, you might meet them.”

I just wanted him around. He helped me take food from the kitchen out into the dining room while asking me questions about how long we’d been operating for, and what my favorite part of the work was. I didn’t have an answer, my favorite part was sometimes cooking, other times it was personal projects like rebuilding a chair when the leg snapped, or creating the hatch window. Everything in here was tailored by my hands and often dictated by my brother who was constantly adding to my never ending list of things.

David and Reynard Jackson waltzed into the house with their usual flair for dramatics, announcing themselves, although often that wasn’t necessary since they both enjoyed a flamboyant rainbow of shirts that I thought I’d seen all of, until they appeared with a new one.

In the dining room, Malcolm had offered up Gladys’s pie for consumption while he walked around, inspecting the art on the walls. I stood close by to give anecdotes and try not to look like I was creeping on him from the shadows.

“Elijah, darling,” Reynard said as if his voice came with a small bell clinking. “Have you been down by the lake? Oh, who is that darling?”

“What a gorgeous spread,” David said, at the food with a plate in hand. “Oh yes, do tell him about the lake, sweetheart. They’re doing watersports.”

“David, they’re not doing that in public,” Reynard laughed. “Actually, that is what they were doing.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. You’re being silly.”

I watched like it was a performance, always a performance with those two. “Have you been by the community center?” I asked. “They might have lost their two lead actors.”

“So, are you going to introduce us?” Reynard asked while David barely looked back to see the boy.

“This is Malcolm, he’ll be staying here for a little bit while he works on his house,” I told them. “And these are Mr. and Mr. Jackson, almost residents of Pineberry Falls.”

“Almost,” David said, snapping the metal tongs in the air like they were a musical instrument. “We’ve been searching for a house here for four years. We’re already retired, we’re just looking for that special place to settle down.”

“How do you have a home here?” Reynard asked, approaching him. “It can’t have been on the market. Or is a rental?” His voice dripped in disdain. “We don’t want a rental. We need our own place.”

“Inherited,” he answered, nodding his head. “It was my grandparents place. I’m doing it up as a place to live. I didn’t realize this place was so in demand.”

“You know there’s a store with an apartment above it on the market,” I told them. It had been on the market for nearly two years. A lot of interest had been shown about the place, but no biters.

David clicked his tongue. “We don’t want to work,” he said in a sing-song voice. “And that includes the community theatre you’re constantly yapping about.”

“Now sweetheart, let’s not get snappy,” Reynard said, approaching his husband’s side. “I think eating is a good idea. We had a busy day walking around the lake. Oh, that place is the sole reason we need to be here.”

“Eventually, I’m sure you will. But you know there are a bunch of other houses in nearby towns that are for sale.”

David scoffed, dropping the metal tongs into the tray. “None of them have a homosexual town mayor, and that is very important to me, darling.”

From the corner of my eye, Malcolm turned with a big grin on his face. This couple were a double act, and I didn’t know why they didn’t appreciate my comments about community theatre, they would be an absolute treat to see on the small stage.

“So, Malcolm,” David said, sitting at the table with a plate of food and a small bowl of soup on the side. “What do you do? Unless you’re also retired.”

“I’m an artist,” he answered. “A painter. Like on canvases and stuff. It’s my passion.”

“Art.” Reynard turned and gasped. “I love art. We’ve travelled a lot through all types of museums and galleries. Do you have any you could show us?”

“They’re not like—like you know, wow, or stuff, it’s mostly abstract emotion pieces,” he said, growing flustered and red in the face. His hand on the teddy attached to his keyring, stroking it in his palm. “But I have pictures on my phone. Maybe I can show you some time, after you’ve eaten and stuff.”

They nodded to each other. “We’re not art critics or anything, but we’d love to see,” David said.

I got the impression he was already nervous from their questions and to put himself in front of them so raw with his truth. I wanted to put an arm around him, but I refrained. I’d only just met him, and yet my heart and soul felt like they’d known him for years.

“I’m actually gonna head up to my room and have a nap, but I would love to hear more about the lake,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I was here, but the lake was in some of my favorite memories. Well, I guess summer is always romanticized when you’re a kid, right.”

---