Carter's Shadow - 3. Chapter 3

He wasn't sure what had inspired him to tell Peter like that; maybe it had been the burning need to get it off his chest. Or him simply wanting to make the poor guy feel okay-man had he ever screwed that one up.

He was mulling this stuff over as he helped his dad repair the tractor the next day. Something was wrong with the fuel line and his dad was hoping it would be a quick fix to save having to take the old John Deere into the service station. Two hours later and it was looking more and more like they were going to have to bite the bullet.

"Pass me the wrench." His dad extended a greasy hand and wiggled his fingers expectantly.

West slapped a wrench into it, as he leaned down to get a better look at what his dad was fiddling with; whatever it was, it was nowhere close to the fuel lines. West suppressed a smirk as he shook his head; his dad wasn't the most mechanically minded of men, but damn was he stubborn.

"Hey Dad," West said, leaning a hand on the large rear wheel and looking at his dad's feet, "I tried to tell someone last night."

"Tell someone what, son?" his dad asked, attacking something immobile with the wrench and cursing when it didn't seem to want to come free.

"About me..." West said, sighing as he looked around the barn they were working in as his father digested what he had just said.

There was a pause in the clanging, and his dad wheeled out from under the tractor, wiping sweat from his brow as he glanced up at his boy, "You sure that was a good idea?"

West shrugged lamely, "I don't think it matters, he didn't believe me."

"Well, I can understand that feeling," his dad said standing up and walking across to the tool bench, setting his wrench down and turning back to West while he picked through his tools. "It took me awhile to believe it after your mom told me."

West nodded, remembering the trouble they had all gone through when he was sixteen. The arguments, the accusations and finally the acceptance. He hadn't wanted to come out to his parents; he hadn't been ready to come out to himself, let alone to them. It had been hard, emotional, and tested all of them.

His dad was watching him. "Sorry to bring that up, son," he said with a concerned look as he walked around the tractor and bent down to examine the other side. "So what makes you think this person didn't believe you?"

"Well, it was his reaction;" West replied, "he thought I was picking on him."

"He gay as well?" his dad asked looking up, and suddenly got a knowing look in his eyes. "Ahhh, I think I see."

"No," West said shaking his head, looking thoughtful, "it's not like that. He's very shy and always gets picked on. He thought I was making fun of him but I was just trying to make him feel comfortable."

"Something I should know?" his dad asked, resting both elbows on the seat of the tractor and studying his son.

"No," West said firmly, "we were in a gay bar..."

"Do I want to know?" his dad asked a little uncomfortably. "I like to think I'm doing a pretty good job of being a progressive dad, but..."

West flashed his dad a lopsided grin, "I didn't know it was a gay bar, I saw Peter..."

"Peter, you mean the McCormick kid?" His dad rolled his eyes, "You just had to pick the antisocial one, didn't you?"

"Dad!" West protested. "It's not like that. I saw him go through a door and I followed him, next thing I know I'm in my first gay bar being hit on by a bartender, trying to tell Peter that I'm...I'm..."

"Yeah," his dad finished for him. "So this Peter, he's gay too?"

"I think so," West nodded, "but he thought I was picking on him, setting him up..."

"I get it now," his dad replied. "It's the damn jackets, people don't see past them to what's underneath. You're getting a bad rap for what other people have done. To be honest, when you told me you were going varsity, I thought that's it, he's gonna get hurt."

"I know you worry about me," West reassured.

"Now that's an understatement, son," his dad replied. "You're at the start of your life, and your mother and I just want you to be happy. I just want you to be safe while you're at it."

"What I don't get," West said, "is if I don't look like I could be, how did you and mom figure it out?"

His father chuckled, "As much as I'd love to take credit for it, that was all your mother, you'd have to ask her that question."

"Ask her what?" West's mother asked as she came out into the barn carrying a couple of sandwiches. She took one circuit of the dismantled tractor and rolled her eyes, "You're taking that in to the mechanic's..."

"I can fix it," his dad stated firmly.

"Just like you fixed my washing machine?" his mom bit back teasingly. "Put your tools away and get on the phone and call a mechanic before you make it worse." She turned back to West, "Ask your mom what?"

"Dad and I were just, well, discussing... you know... how you knew." West shrugged lamely, taking one of the sandwiches and biting into it gratefully.

His mother blinked and smiled, "I haven't always been a farm girl, you know. I did grow up in Toronto-a few blocks from Church Street. And back then the gay clubs never checked ID. In fact I met your father in one."

West choked on his sandwich, and his dad glanced up from where he was kneeling in surprise. "You did not!" he stated flatly.

"I did," she replied. "Well, not in one, I was outside waiting for a cab when your dad came up and offered to share one with me. Anyway, it goes to show that moms always know."

"Mom has gaydar," West said shaking his head; he was learning more than he ever needed to know about his parents.

"So why the sudden interest?" she asked, glancing disapprovingly at her husband as he tentatively reached out for a ratchet when he thought she was distracted. He stopped, looking sheepish, and went back to his sandwich.

"He likes a boy," his dad said simply.

"It's not like that," West protested.

His mother's eyes lit up with delight, "Oh, what's his name? Do I know him?"

"It's little Peter McCormick." His dad rolled his eyes.

His mother digested that one thoughtfully, as she tried to place the name, "Wait, isn't that the young man that has a twin brother, plays on the basketball team or something?"

"No," his dad said, "his brother, the one with the..."

"Oh!" his mother said, cluing in. "You mean the one always down working on the gardens on Compata Way. The quiet one." She nodded approvingly to West, "He's nice, I heard him in church singing, and he has a beautiful voice."

"Yes, but..." West tried to convince them yet again that, no, in fact, that wasn't what it looked like.

"So have you asked him out? Was that where you were last night? How long have you two..." West flinched at the bombardment of questions from his mother, shaking his head to each one.

"No, he hasn't asked him out," his dad said with a sly smile. "It seems our little all-star jock struck out his first time up to bat."

"I didn't strike out..." West knew he was losing this round to his parents and threw his arms up into the air. "What is it with you two? I thought the seventies were over."

"Yes, but drugs were cheaper in the eighties," his mother smiled warmly. "And if I ever find out you know the prices of marijuana, you'll be grounded."

West rolled his eyes. "I already know it;" he shot back, "and no, I never tried it, before we switch topics onto that again." He folded his arms, knowing full well to avoid the hour-long lecture that always followed either of his parents bringing up the subject of drugs.

"Good," his father said, setting his tools away after he finished his lunch. "Now I need you to run into town to pick me up a few things."

His mother checked her watch, and smiled, "I need you to go to Canadian Tire for me as well, I need mason jars."

West shrugged, "Okay."

* * *

It was a beautiful late spring day, a great day to be out and about. He cruised in the Bronco, windows rolled down, wind stirring his hair as he rode into the parking lot of the Canadian Tire. Finding a spot, he hopped down, leaving the dark sunglasses on as he walked across the lot to the sliding doors to the great Canadian institution.

It was one of those stores that had a bit of everything, from DIY furniture, through to power tools, lumber to garden supplies, and bathroom suites down to pickle jars. It smelled like sawdust from the moment he walked through the doors and grabbed a shopping cart. He wandered through as he wound his way to look for the items on the shopping list he had been provided with.

It was good to escape from the merciless cross-examination of his parents, who were entirely too thrilled by his potential love life. Not that there was a love life, he'd not really had time for much of one. And being a gay teenager, it wasn't exactly easy to find dates. He had accepted that not being out of the closet at school-or at all beyond his parents-meant he probably wouldn't get a chance to date until he went to college, if then.

Not that he minded; as liberal as his parents were (hippies two decades too late), he knew they were generally the exception and not the rule. Most of his friends at school wouldn't understand, and so he didn't advertise, some things were best kept private.

He came round a corner and collided with another cart, piled high with bags of peat.

"I'm sorry," West said apologetically as he tried to disengage his cart that had become stuck on a an L bracket his father had asked him to pick up.

"It's okay, it was my..." Peter blinked as he came around the cart, stopping and staring in surprise at West, who was kneeling fiddling with the stubborn bracket.

West glanced up, and swallowed. "Oh..." he said in surprise.

Peter's eyes narrowed, as he looked about, expecting trouble.

"It's stuck," West said lamely, trying to lift the cart and pry them apart.

Peter stood, his countenance darkening, before he tried to wrench the carts apart using brute force.

"Hey!" West protested. "Be careful, I need that bracket."

Peter looked angrily at him, as if blaming him for their current situation, as if he had deliberately gotten stuck. He wiggled the cart again, and West had to snap back his fingers to avoid them getting crushed.

"Would you just relax?" he snapped, putting a hand out to steady the other cart, glancing up at the determined young man.

"Look, just get it free," Peter snarled.

West had never seen this side of Peter; the guy was so quiet at school, and shy with everyone. To have him snapping at him was such a change that it took West by surprise, had he really up set Peter that much?

"Look, I'm sorry," West said standing up. "I didn't mean to; it was an accident."

"Yeah, whatever," Peter said, pushing back the silly visor hat he always wore, and leaning down to fiddle with the bracket himself.

"Look," West said bending down and lifting the other end of the bracket, "I'm sorry if I upset you last night. I didn't mean to."

Peter's shoulders sagged a bit as he looked at West in frustration, "This may take you by surprise, but I couldn't care less about you and your issues. The whole world doesn't revolve around you, you know."

West blinked. "Where'd that come from?" he asked, reaching out to guide Peter's hand to the other end of the bracket. Peter flinched, until West gave up, batted it and pointed to what he meant.

"Look, how about we just forget it okay?" Peter said, pushing with both hands while West pulled. The bracket snapped free, and the two young men stood up, holding opposite ends of the broken piece of metal.

"Damn," West said looking at his end, and looking at the broken piece in Peter's hands.

"I'm not paying for this," Peter said, tossing the piece into West's cart.

West looked down at it and over at Peter. "Gee thanks," he replied sarcastically. He sighed, deciding to try one last time to cool Peter down, "Look, I meant what I told you last night..."

Peter rolled his eyes exasperatedly, "This again. When are you going to get it into your head, West, that I'm not falling for it? You caught me. I was in a gay bar; you don't need to play these dumb games. You just tell your friends, spread it around school, and you get me, ok? You don't need to trap me."

"I'm not trying to trap you," West insisted. "God, why is this so difficult?" He glanced up at an overhead light.

Peter shook his head. "You're an asshole," he said, as he grabbed his cart, turned it roughly so that the wheels skipped and protested, and stalked away.

West rolled his eyes at his light fixture. "You just love making this difficult, don't you?" he said, turning his cart to follow Peter, stopping off to replace the bracket, and finally catching Peter at the checkout line.

The young artist had his cart piled high with seeds and peat, and West frowned. It looked like Peter was preparing to do some landscaping. Peter glared at him again, and West shook his head, paying for his purchases and moving through to wait for Peter as he came through his checkout.

"What now?" Peter demanded as West fell into step beside him, the two walking for the doors.

"Nothing," West replied civilly, "I'm just walking you out. Hoping maybe you see I'm not such an asshole after all."

Peter sighed as he fished through his pockets, adjusting the garish Hawaiian shirt as he pulled out a set of keys, the two of them crossing the parking lot to a battered black Jeep that looked like it had seen better days.

"You don't have to," Peter said as he unlocked the rear of the Jeep.

"That's right, I don't have to," West said, reaching out to begin loading bags of peat into the back of the Jeep.

Peter chewed his lip, eyeing West with suspicion as the jock unloaded his cart.

"So why do you need all this stuff anyway?" West asked, trying to change the subject.

"I do landscaping," Peter replied cautiously.

"Down on Compata?" West asked, remembering what his mother had said.

"Yeah," Peter replied, "I do Mister Carter's garden."

"Mister Carter?" West struggled to remember why the name was so familiar. "The English, English teacher?"

"In grade seven," Peter nodded, "the one that taught us Shakespeare."

West nodded, "I remember, he was a good teacher. You do his garden?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, "his and most of that neighbourhood."

"Your own business, that's kinda cool," West said as he finished loading, and pulled the cart back a bit to let Peter close the Jeep's rear door. "Look, I'm sorry I upset you."

Peter rolled his eyes and walked around to the front of the Jeep, "Yeah, whatever."

* * *

"You set me up!" West accused as he came into the kitchen.

His mom looked up from her recipe book, glancing at him over the rims of her glasses as he set the mason jars down on the table. "Whatever do you mean, dear?" she asked sweetly.

"You knew full well he'd be there when you sent me to get these jars," West stated, hanging up his jacket.

"I needed them," his mother replied absently as she reached up to the spice rack and added a teaspoon of turmeric to the pot.

West looked levelly at her as he flipped open a cupboard door, on the neat rows of empty mason jars.

His mother simply smiled and tasted her sauce and looked over at him, "You can never have too many jars."