Rob placed his hands on his knees and continued to stare at Stanley. His mom's poem had been about all that? All he'd heard was that his mother was afraid of being put in a bag and that she was "one red hot momma." Neither of which a son wanted to contemplate.
Grace smiled as she took her seat, and Rob suffered through three more poetry readings before the "social" part of the evening began. He excused himself from Stanley and Kate and sought out his mother, who stood next to the refreshment table. He and Stanley were the only males in the grange, and there was no way he was going to stick around and socialize, which in Gospel meant stand around and gossip.
"What did you think of my poem?" his mother asked as she handed him a cookie with some sort of jelly in the middle.
"I thought it was even better than the squirrel poem you read me last week," he answered and bit into the cookie. He washed it down with the champagne punch she handed him. The fruity liquid burned a path to his stomach. "What's in this?"
"A little whiskey, a splash of brandy, and some champagne. If you drink too much, we have designated drivers."
He didn't plan to be around long enough to need a driver.
"You didn't think the line about Mount Fujiyama was too weird?" Yes. "No. Stanley Caldwell liked your poem. He said it was wonderful. It spoke to him."
The corners of her mouth turned up. "Really?"
"Yep." If his mother thought shoving cookies and punch at him would make him stay longer, she was mistaken. Just as soon as he could get the dry cookie down, he was gone. "He thinks it was the best out of all the other poems."
"He's a nice man," she said through her smile. The crow's-feet in the corners of her eyes fanned across her temples and touched the roots of her graying hair. "And he's been so lonely since Melba passed on. Maybe I'll invite him over for supper one of these nights."
Rob glanced at Stanley, who stood several feet behind him, surrounded by gray-haired single women. The light shone off his bald head like he'd buffed his scalp with Pledge, and his gaze darted about the grange looking for rescue. It landed on Kate, standing further down the refreshment table, downing the spiked punch like a drunk who'd fallen headfirst off the wagon.
"Are you interested in Stanley Caldwell?" he asked, then shoved the last of his cookie into his mouth.
"Just as a friend. He's only six years older than I am." She took a drink of her own punch and added, "We have a lot in common."
Rob drained his cup and set it on the table. "Gotta go," he said as he shrugged into his coat, but before he could take even one step toward the door, Regina blocked his escape.
"Has your mother had a chance to talk to you about Tiffer?" she asked him.
"Yes," Grace answered in a lowered voice. "I talked to him."
Rob frowned and glanced behind him to see if anyone had heard Regina. "I'm not gay."
For several long moments she stared at him through those thick glasses that magnified her blue eyes. "Are you sure?"
He folded his arms across his chest. Was he sure? "Yeah," he answered. "I'm real sure."
Regina's shoulders sagged under the weight of her disappointment. "I'm sorry to hear that. You would have been a good match for Tiffer."
A good match for a drag queen? This was getting out of hand, and it was beginning to annoy him now.
"Regina, do you know who started this horrible rumor?" Grace asked.
"I'm not sure. Iona told me, but I don't know where she heard it." She turned to the knot of people standing a few feet behind them. "Iona," she called out, "where'd you hear the rumor about Grace's boy being gay?"
As one, the cluster of people surrounding Stanley turned and looked at Rob. He felt like there was a spotlight on him, and for the first time since hearing the gossip, his temper flared. At this point, he didn't particularly care who'd started the rumor. He just wanted it to stop before it got out of hand. Before he got jumped by a bunch of rednecks out to prove something—not that he couldn't take care of himself.
"I heard it the day when I was getting my hair done at the Curl Up and Dye. Ada told me. I don't know where she heard it, though."
Ada put a bony finger to her thin lips, and after a few moments of thought, she announced, "Stanley's granddaughter said you was gay."
All eyes turned to Kate. She didn't seem to notice until she set down her empty punch cup and glanced up. "What?"
"It was you."
Kate licked the punch from her lips and looked at everyone looking at her. They were staring as if she'd done something evil. Yeah, she'd had a few glasses of punch. So what? She needed it after suffering though a night of bad poetry and Rob Sutter. He'd tricked her into smiling at him, and he was so big and took up so much room that she'd had to hunch her shoulders to keep from rubbing against him. Now her neck hurt. That was worth a glass or two of punch.
"What?" she asked again as everyone continued to stare at her. What was everyone's problem? She'd left some punch in the bowl. "What did I do?"
"You're the one who first said Grace's son was gay."
"Me?" She sucked in a breath. "I did not!"
"Yes you did. You were ringing up my cling peaches and you said he doesn't like women."
Kate thought back and barely remembered a conversation she'd had with Ada about the owner of the sporting goods store across the parking lot from the M&S. "Wait a minute here." She held up one hand. "I didn't know who you were talking about. I'd never met Mr. Sutter."
The lift of his brow called her a liar.
"I swear," she swore. "I didn't know she was talking about you." The look in his green eyes told her that he didn't believe her.
"That's not right starting a rumor about someone you don't know," Iona admonished, as if Kate had broken some gossiping rule. Which was just insane. Everyone knew there was only one rule to gossiping, and that was if you weren't in the room, you were fair game.
"Katie," her grandfather said while he shook his head, "you shouldn't start rumors."
"I didn't!" She knew she hadn't started anything, but by the look on everyone's face, no one believed her. "Fine. Think what you want," she said as she stuck her arms into her coat. She was innocent. If anything, she thought Rob was impotent, not gay.
This was crazy. She was being chastised for being a gossipmonger in a town that thrived on gossip. She didn't understand these people.
Her gaze moved from Rob, who looked as if he'd like to strangle her, to the rest of those in the grange. They might look somewhat normal, but they weren't. If she wasn't careful, she might become one of them.
Just another cashew in a town of mixed nuts.
Six
Kate looked around the living room, then leaned her head back on the sofa. The gentle swoosh of her grandfather's rocking recliner and the sound of a span Golden Girls rerun filled the small house. It was Saint Patrick's Day, and she was spending it watching television with her grandfather. She was half Irish. Usually this time of year, she and her friends were out drinking and singing "Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ra" off key.
Her grandfather also had some Irish blood, and he should have been out living it up. Maybe she should suggest that he call a few of his buddies and at least invite them over for green beer, although the last time she'd pushed him into doing something, he'd forced her into going with him to the poetry reading. That night had turned into a disaster.
Growing up, she'd always known Gospel was a little odd, but after that night, she was convinced it was more than odd. She now knew that she was living in an alternate dimension, one that looked fairly normal on the surface but was freaky as hell underneath. Four nights ago, she'd glimpsed the craziness that hid behind normal faces, and it was scary. The only person who hadn't acted like a nut had been Rob Sutter. He'd looked more angry than insane.