Page 12 of Missile Tow
Truth was, Evan also wanted to control the purse strings. He fancied himself a financial guru and a business savant. He had grandiose ideas of what we should appear to be with the trappings of the good life.
Fancy cars. The right address in Seattle’s priciest neighborhood. Nice meals out at the latest ‘itspot’ for dining. Art collecting. Expensive clothes. Vacations to only gay spots like Palm Springs so we could be seen at the right parties, muscled out, and possibly available.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, glancing in the rearview mirror filled with Louis Vuitton luggage behind me. “Youarejust like him.”
Iwasjust like him. The keyword beingwas. But I had nearly a year apart from Evan under my belt now. True, I still drove a BMW. Still lived at a nice address, even though I rented. Some things hadn’t changed all that much. But I was frugal. Far more thrifty than Evan had ever been. And I desired real change. I wanted a healthy mindset and a loving relationship.
What I no longer desired were the trappings of assumed wealth. I didn’t care who I kept up with these days. I had a different type of affluence. I overflowed with love and wanted to share that part of me with someone. I needed romance like a bee needs pollen. I wanted an equal partner in bed and on the streets.
A new beginning would have to start with me, not with Evan’s accusations of my deficiencies. If I wanted to realize positive change and the opportunity for growth and equality in my relationships, things would have to start with me.
All the best comebacks and snide comments holstered in the imaginary revenge gun I wanted to aim at Evan were not going into a response. Why bother? Evan could sort his own issues out. I’d been replaced by him because I wasn’t enough, andhe’d proven my opinion didn’t matter anymore. This was of his making.
But I knew deep down, with hard work and a lot of care, I would be enough for someone. The brief anger I’d felt at his texts slid off me like dried honey on a Teflon-coated pan. I had a Christmas miracle journey awaiting me, and this was daynumero unoof that trip.
I reread Evan’s text about John threatening to return to Missile, Montana. What was it about this town called Missile? Why did John leave in the first place? Why would he go back?
“Maybe I’ll see you again, John,” I whispered, putting the X5 in gear and glancing at the heart on the concrete wall one more time. “What if loveisn’tan illusion?”
CHAPTER SEVEN: Chip
Large, fluffy snowflakes fell gently over the parking lot. The muffled quiet due to the insulating snow created a calm across town. The blanket of snow reminded me of a holiday scene from a favorite movie. As much as I hated to admit it, I felt a familiar tingle over the upcoming Christmas season. Perhaps dread could be replaced by promise.
In less than two weeks, I’d face another birthday, the second Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day alone. Once again, an awful reminder of the night John told me he was leaving. Despite the anniversary of that terrible memory, I began feeling hopeful.
Glancing across the street, I noticed Mr. Jenkins on a ladder in front of the liquor store. It appeared he was attempting to hang Christmas lights from the tattered and stained vinyl awning over the store’s entrance.
Jogging across the street, balancing myself on slick ice, as I tugged a Carhartt jacket on, I arrived just in time to steady the ladder. “How about some help, Mr. J?” I asked, a lightness in my voice I hadn’t heard lately.
Mr. Jenkins stepped down two rungs to the icy ground and leaned on the ladder for support. “Maybe I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”
“Maybe the heavy snow makes it harder than you think,” I said, trying to make him feel better about his attempt. “How about I do the hanging while you hold the ladder?”
Mr. J. looked across the street at the mercantile. “And then we go over and get started on your place, kiddo?”
I followed his eyes toward my business. The old-west style building with the charm of a different era needed Christmas lights badly. It felt odd when folks referred to the mercantile asmyplace. I’d spent my entire life being part of something that belonged to my grandparents and then my parents, so now, others accepting me as the owner felt wrong somehow.
“I’m not sure about lights this year,” I stated, turning away from the store.
“You didn’t do them last year either, son,” he said. “I sorta understood about that after John left town, but that’s been a year on now.”
I was too stunned to respond to his statement. Mr. Jenkins, an eighty-ish curmudgeon, had noticed John’s absence and how it had affected my holiday spirit? I sometimes forgot I grew up in Missile and had known these people my entire life. Of course, they knew who John was and what he’d meant to me. We’d been joined at the hip since birth.
“I forgot last year,” I mumbled. “Too busy with cabin remodels and stuff.”
“Hmmm,” he began, grabbing his chin and seeming to be deep in thought. “I remember you and John doing the remodel after your grampa Calvin died. And what’s that been? Four or five years back?”
We locked eyes. He was calling bullshit on me. “I wasn’t in the mood,” I confessed.
“You? Mr. Christmas himself. Not in the mood for a few holiday lights?”
“My folks did the decorating,” I bluffed. “I only helped.”
“Bullshit, kiddo,” he stated, actually and literally calling bullshit on me.
“Jesus!” I gruffed. “I only came over to keep you from falling.”
“Why do you think I dragged the ladder outside?” he asked. “I saw ya looking out the window at the snow and willed you to come over here.”
