Defining Us: The Calvin & Eric Story (69 Bottles) (53 page)

As the plane takes off, my nerves take over. I haven’t stepped foot on Maynard soil since they carted me away in the middle of the night and I vowed to never go back, no matter what the circumstances were. But yet, here I am, on a plane, about to land in Waterloo, Iowa.
 

Eric squeezes my hand as we touch down. I lean over and kiss his shoulder before resting my head on it. He returns my kiss by kissing my forehead. Reminding me that he’s here and he has me.
 

“No matter what,” I tell him. “We are not staying in that house. There’s a small hotel just on the outskirts of town. Lord knows it was a dump ten years ago, I can’t imagine it’s gotten any better, so I’m sorry about that.”
 

“Don’t be. As long as I have you, I don’t need anything else,” he whispers before kissing my forehead and the wheels touch down.
 

I know it’s hard to believe but something in me changed the moment those wheels went skidding across the runway. Everything about me shifted, and I hate to say it, but I feel cold, turned off. Determined to deal with it and get this over with.
 

When we land, the pilots pull our luggage from the plane. We only brought small suitcases for each of us, with no intention of staying longer than the funeral. I’m pretty sure we can make that move pretty quick and be out of here and back in California before the week is out.
 

“Mr. Caldwell?” I stand up from grabbing my suitcase and spin around to see a sweet, older lady standing there.
 

“Yes?” I answer.
 

And she walks over, handing me a set of keys, then points to a nice Volvo parked not too far away from us. “What’s this?” I ask, confused.
 

“A Mrs. Michaels reserved a car for you. It’s all taken care of.” She turns and walks away.
 

Eric and I look at each other and then our phones both chime with a text. I pull mine out.
 

Cami to Eric, Calvin: The car is on me. You can return it to Waterloo when you fly home, or drive it to fly out commercial - I had a feeling you’d go that route. Best of luck, we’re all here if you need us. Sending hugs.

Cami’s text is almost my undoing. Her generosity is unmatched by anyone I’ve ever known.
 

“She’s seriously something special,” I hear Eric murmur.
 

“You can say that again,” I say softly. “I’m not sure how we hooked up with her, or what magic Kyle has up his sleeve, but I cannot imagine a better person to have our backs.”
 

We load up the car and set off on the hour or so drive to Maynard. Eric and I don’t talk much. I think he’s enraptured by the land around us. Literally, this is Midwestern farm country at its finest. It’s late June and the fields are blossoming with their product. “It’s mostly feed corn here.”
 

“What is that?” Eric laughs.
 

“Cow food,” I tell him with my own little smirk. “Some of it is sweet corn, human food.”
 

“I’ve never even been in the country, let alone around corn and cows and…all that junk. It’s weird.” I watch him shudder. “I’ll take my city life any day. And the smell. Ugh!”
 

I laugh as we pass through a rather ripe area and the answer of the source comes when we pass the fields surrounding us and there are no less than two hundred cattle grazing.
 

“Oh look, cows,” Eric says with a laugh and I suddenly feel lighter, less confined. It just takes one little joke to bring me out of my slump and I’m happy about that. It’s making what I’m about to do that much easier.
 

The farm is on the east side of town, but I remember the roads like it was yesterday. “You know, ten years and any other city would change its appearance dramatically. This… this is like walking back in time,” I say as I come to a twenty mile an hour crawl through downtown. Thank god for tinted windows, but there is no shortage of stares glaring at us as we pass by. “This is probably the fanciest car they’ve ever seen,” I tell Eric who’s making a scrunched up face. “I’m sure the whole town knows by now that my father is dead and I am sure there are more than a few of them wondering whether or not the long lost son will return. I can only imagine the bullshit lies my father told when I didn’t return to school.” My voice drops a few octaves and I keep driving, finally clearing the other side of the city (I say finally, but literally that took us less than sixty seconds).
 

“Where we headed first?”
 

“The farm,” I mutter. The closer we get, the more nervous I start to get. I’m not sure I’m truly ready to step foot inside that house again, but I know I have to.
 

Neither one of us says anything for the next ten minutes as we make our way down the gravel road that runs in front of the house and then I see it, off in the distance. “Nothing’s changed,” I mumble as we draw closer to the house.
 

Nothing has changed, not really, except for the five or so cars sitting in the driveway, including the sheriff’s squad car. “What are they doing here?” Eric asks.
 

I shake my head. “I have no clue other than the sheriff and my father were good buddies back in the day. I’d imagine that’s why he’s here. Along with all these other people.
 

I turn into the driveway and pull off to the side, sort of on the front lawn, but out of the way for those here to leave when they want. I put the car in park and I stare blankly at the white farm house. It needs new paint and a couple of the shutters are crooked, but with my father getting up there in age I can imagine there wasn’t much he could do about that kind of stuff without help.
 

The wraparound is the same, with the swing on the left, the wicker rockers on the right.
 

Eric reaches over, pulling my hand off the keys in the ignition and takes my hand in his, giving me comfort.
 

Seeing this house again brings back some of the strangest memories.
 

Playing in the yard, running around with my airplane when I was a kid, it’s almost like a vision I can see in my head.
 

Then I remember the storming out of the house when my father was on a drinking binge, angry and frustrated that he’d continue to drink like a fish.
 

Smoking between the trees, around the side of the house.
 

The front door opens and someone in a police uniform comes out, stands on the porch with his hands on his hips. Well, one hand is on his gun.
 

“Told you this car stood out,” I mumble.
 

I look at the man standing on the porch, obviously he’s the sheriff, but he’s not the old one I remember. What was his name?
 

“You ready?” Eric asks.
 

“No. But if we don’t get out, we’re gonna have more trouble than either one of us wants,” I tell him.
 

“I’ll get our stuff. Take your time.”
 

I keep looking at the man, the one standing on the porch. There is something very familiar about him. “Oh hell to the fuck no,” I growl, dislodging myself from the car.
 

“Calvin?” Eric asks from inside the car as I go charging up the front yard, right toward the man on the porch.

“Can I help you, son?” the man says and it all rings crystal clear. He jaunts down the steps toward me. Good, I don’t have to go as far.
 

“Yeah, son, I’m sure you can help me just fine.” Without even a second thought, I reach back and cold cock the motherfucker standing in front of me, knocking him down on the ground. “That, Billy fucking Winstrum, is for being a goddamn fucking pussy.”
 

“Jesus, Calvin.” I hear Eric as he comes skidding to a stop next to me. “What the hell was that for?”
 

“Eric, meet Billy.”
 

“Billy?” He looks down at the man on the ground. “Oh…oh.”
 

I hear a bunch of people coming out of the house and I look up. Fuck ‘em. I crouch down next to Billy. “Feel better?” he grumbles.
 

“Yeah, maybe a little bit.” I offer him my hand and he hesitates, then takes it and I help him up.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks once he rights himself.
 

“That depends, where did old Ray say I was?”
 

Billy snorts, “That you ran off.”
 

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Really? That’s all he could come up with?”
 

“Well, that was how it started, but then it turned into some bullshit about you getting locked up or something like that.”
 

“That wasn’t bullshit, though he was the reason I got locked up.”
 

“You shittin’ me?” Billy asks.
 

I shake my head. “Drop it, it’s not worth it. Who the fuck are all these people?” I say with a gesture toward the porch and Billy turns around looking at the people watching over us.
 

“Uh, half the town.”
 

I roll my eyes and look at Eric who still looks shell shocked that I cold cocked Billy. I shoulder check him. “Welcome to small town hell,” I whisper and Eric just nods.
 

“Billy, Eric, Eric, Billy,” I say introducing them. Billy holds out his hand and Eric takes it, despite the fact that I’m pretty sure he’d like to knock Billy out too. “What crazy son of a bitch gave you the sheriff’s job?” I ask him.
 

“Uh, Amos passed away a couple years ago, I was one of his deputies and well, yeah, I guess they just passed the torch to me.”
 

Amos, that was his name, but they called him something else.
 

“Well, let’s get this over with,” I mutter and I desperately want to take Eric’s hand in mine, to have the strength and comfort, but I’d rather not start the rumors flying just yet.

I was introduced to everyone in the house, including Billy’s wife. Calvin gave me a sideways glance at that one.
 

We were then finally introduced to Mary-Beth Pickens, Ray’s wife. They’d married about eight years ago and she’d moved in with him.
 

It became evident very quickly that she knew Calvin was gone, but not where or why he’d never returned home.
 

“We should probably head over to the funeral home,” Calvin finally says. I could tell being around all these people was starting to get to him.
 

“Sure.”
 

“Will you come back, when you’re done?” Mary-Beth asks Calvin.
 

“Depends on how long it takes. We’ve been up since early this morning,” he says.
 

“Oh sure, I…I’d just like a chance to talk, before things really get out of hand,” she tells Calvin in a whisper.
 

“I, uh, sure,” he says hesitantly, but I get the feeling he’ll want to come back when we’re done.
 

We say our goodbyes and then get back in the car. “Why in the hell did you punch Billy?” I ask him once we’re finally alone.

“You mean to tell me you didn’t want to when you found out who he was?”
 

I laugh. “Yeah, I did, but dang.”
 

“I had a few years pent up in that swing. I doubt he fully understands why I knocked him out. He was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, too many hits to the head.”
 

“I can see that. So obviously he’s no longer into men.” I cringe, realizing that I may have crossed a line.
 

“He’s always been a closet case. It’s no wonder he married her. She was the head cheerleader after all.”
 

I cringe. “Why am I not surprised?”
 

“Small town living for you,” he says. Seems to be his answer for everything. Though I can see the truth behind his words. Everyone knows everyone.
 

We head back out on the road.
 

“Your father had a directive which Mrs. Pickens sent over to us. All that really needs to be done is for the casket to be picked out and the times scheduled,” the funeral director tells us after some conversation about the facility and whatnot. “We’ve made arrangements with St. Paul for the service. We can do visitation here Monday evening and then viewing and services at St. Paul Wednesday morning, concluding at the cemetery up in Sumner. You’re father has asked to be buried next to his parents there.”