When Love Takes Over Ch. 07

I never did have great gaydar, so it wasn't a big surprise I hadn't pegged Chance as playing for our team. But I can honestly say I have never been happier to discover another guy is gay. And I did spend a couple of happy moments imaging making out with Chance on a warm summer night in a truck parked in the back of a field (the preferred place for hooking up in the country) that afternoon as I, man bun and poncho back in place, finished burning the remaining trash.

But I knew, even as I enjoyed imagining what he looked like underneath that plaid shirt that it was nothing more than just an enjoyable daydream. Even at my best, he was way out of my league, and my mental state was much worse that than my physical. I definitely wasn't over Reed yet, though I hadn't contacted him since the day after the funeral. And I as a long time practitioner of the wisdom of not shitting where you eat, I couldn't imagine anything worse than trying to hook up with the closest thing I had to a neighbor and having it all blow up in my face..

I did, however, shower, trim my beard, apply cologne and make sure I was wearing something presentable the next day in anticipation of his visit to talk about the equipment purchase. Unfortunately, my preparations were in vain; he texted a little after lunch saying he would have to postpone coming over indefinitely. I have to admit I was somewhat crestfallen; while I liked solitude, I was a bit lonely and any visitor, especially one that easy on the eyes was welcome. In fact, when they guys came to deliver my mattress later that day, I found myself chattering away at them like old people do when someone calls.

I had managed to prime and paint the bedroom, so I was able to go ahead and set the bed up. I had painted the walls a warm white; with the drab, dark paneling painted, the room looked so much brighter and larger. I planned to use the same paint color through most of the rest of the house, including the trim and ceilings, but in here, I painted the ceiling a beautiful soft robin's egg blue. I had actually liked the rusted patina of the iron frame, so I had stabilized the rust so it wouldn't deteriorate further and then sealed it so the rust wouldn't rub off on linens.

I went with crisp all white cotton bedding. It was the first time I had used white sheets and a duvet cover in a long time. Reed didn't like them, feeling they weren't practical and stained easily. Considering that the only contribution he had ever made to any household cleaning was to write the check for a housekeeper (after we were able to afford one), I had always wondered why he cared if they were difficult to care for. It hadn't been a big enough issue for me to make a big deal over it, but I really enjoyed climbing into that pile of sweet smelling white bedding that I had dried in the sun, and I felt that stretching out over the full surface of the queen sized bed was Heaven.

Privacy wasn't an issue, and I actually liked sunlight waking me up in the morning. However, I knew the sun would be much stronger in the warm months and I didn't like the black holes the windows made at night, so I made simple relaxed Roman shades of unlined, unbleached cotton that softly filtered the light. A floor lamp and a wooden straight chair used as a side table made the room functional for now, but with the bed in place, I was anxious to finish it. I did want it to be a retreat as I worked on the rest of the house and the overgrown grounds.

Looking around, I tried to picture the missing pieces. I didn't want to add a lot more furniture. The room wasn't large, and I honestly didn't need much more. All my clothes fit in the closet, and I didn't plan on having a tv in my bedroom. After the increasingly elaborate houses Reed and I had lived in, I felt like embracing minimalism. Still, I wanted a large side table for a better reading lamp and to told the piles of books I tended to accumulate, not to mention my laptop, tablet and other electronics. And the wall across from the bed, the only really large expanse of wall unbroken by doors or windows was crying out for a large piece of art.

I had the two perfect pieces, I realized. One of the few pieces of furniture that had survived the flooding of my apartment was my grandmother's table. Once it dried, it was as good as new except for the rusted castors. I guess it's not surprising it survived since family legend was that my grandfather, with the help of some friends, had fished the solid maple top out of the Mississippi after a flood and had built a new base for it. It was large, but would definitely fit in the space between the bed and the corner. Plus I missed using it.

As for the art, one of my favorite painting I had ever done was a very large, 6 foot by 6 ½ foot diptych, an abstract view of Lake Pontchartrain done in the watery blue/gray/green tones I preferred. I had painted it for Reed's first house, but it had moved from place to place. The problem was, of course, that those pieces were in New Orleans in storage.

I had told Reed that I didn't care what happened to the things I had left behind, but I suppose even then I knew that wasn't really true. I didn't want a lot, but as I left the master bedroom and wandered the house making notes of the furniture I needed, I realized that I did miss some of my things. In addition to the table and painting, I wanted the two leather chairs that I bought for my first apartment after Katrina; they had been the first real adult pieces of furniture I had ever purchased, and even with my employee discount had been hideously expensive.

The were made in the U.S., with hand tied springs and down cushions. They weren't huge, and had sleek lines. But the distressed brown leather recalled the classic club chairs of the 1930s and 1940s, and the down cushions insured that sitting in them was extra comfortable. At the same time I bought the chairs, I had also purchased a platform bed from the same company, dark wood with an upholstered headboard. With the chairs, it had also moved from my French Quarter apartment to Reed's first house and then the subsequent others. And there were some other things, books, favorite cookware, etc. that I missed. When I got a bit further along, a trip to New Orleans to the storage unit to retrieve at least some of my possessions seemed inevitable.

Even without the final bedroom touches, I had a comfortable bed and a serene space to head to at the end of the day. Now, I was ready to tackle some more ambitious projects, like, the kitchen.

I had no intention of doing anything too major. The cabinets, solid wood stained to match the paneling, were still solid, and I even liked the retro look of the Early American style hammered hardware. I hated the dreary stain, though, and painted them to match the Walls, but in a glossier finish. The stove, dishwasher, and refrigerator were relatively new, and since they were white, fit well into the new scheme.

I did remove the row of cabinets that hung from the ceiling over the kitchen peninsula. Even as a kid, I had felt they looked heavy and they blocked the open feel of the room. Removing them wasn't that difficult, but I did have to be careful not to damage the cabinets they joined, and the ceiling required patching. Electrical work, except for the most basic kind, intimidated me, so I called my old decorator boss in Russville for the name of an electrician and got him to install simple glass pendants over the bar. While Blake, the electrician, was there, I got him to replace the dark, dated fans with sleeker models. Since the new fans didn't have light kits, I got Blake to install some simple recessed lights. With the new white paint, those small changes had a huge impact in making the room look much more modern.

The peninsula had originally been designed with an overhang for seating, but my stepmother had requested my dad add more cabinets in that space with doors that opened into what was the den. I tore those ought as well, restoring the peninsula to being a breakfast bar. After removing those, I was ready for the challenging part of the project: creating a concrete countertop. It was something I had never attempted, but I had always been interested in trying. Dad had every tool known to man in his large shop, and it didn't take me long to assemble the things I needed for the wooden form for the concrete. Before I started, I called the artisan in New Orleans who had made some for me on various projects; he gave me detailed instructions and tips, and then I read and watched every tutorial about it on the web.

It wasn't easy, and I especially struggled with getting the new stainless sink set right, but in the end, I was thrilled with how they turned out. They weren't perfect, but after being sealed and polished, the natural gray glowed softly against the white cabinets.

With the living room being opened into the former den and kitchen, an awkward situation had been created by now having redundant doorways from the hall into both the kitchen and the former living room. I removed the one from the kitchen, luckily finding some sheets of paneling that matched the existing well enough, especially after painting. Instead of having an eating area beside the kitchen, I had placed a large, rustic cabinet on that wall. It was covered in several layers of peeling paint that looked good next to the crisp white walls. Dad and Ruby had used it for storage on the covered patio outside the house, and it had taken a lot of effort to get it inside by myself, but I am very stubborn.

I removed the door to the hall, preferring just to having an opening. I also increased the size of the opening as much as I could to bring the light from the living area into the dark hall. Other changes including having the long table I purchased at the consignment store delivered, and I ordered some industrial style wood and metal bar stools from World Market. The long harvest table was placed in what had been the den. Even after the furniture was added, the great room was a bit empty, but looking very much better than it had just a few short weeks ago.

It had been about two weeks worth of absorbing work, and I had been so involved with the project that I had completely forgotten about Chance. So I was very surprised when I answered a knock on the door from the carport to find him standing there. I was in the middle of priming the hallway and hadn't been expecting anyone. In fact, since Blake's visit last week, I hadn't seen anyone expect the clerk at the library and the checkout girl at Piggly Wiggly.

It was good to see him, and if anything, he looked even better than I remembered. We were having a bit of a warm spell, so he was wearing a t-shirt instead of a flannel button down. And let me just say, he was doing that t-shirt a favor by wearing it. I had luckily taken a shower that morning and was wearing neither a poncho or a man bun, but that was about as far as I could compliment myself since I was wearing a dingy t-shirt, paint splattered overalls, and a bandanna as a headband.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry to stop by unannounced. I tried calling and texting, but didn't get an answer. I saw the truck was here, though, and figured you were around. Hope it isn't a bad time."

"Shit," I said. He gave me a strange look. "I just realized my phone is dead and I forgot to charge it. In fact I'm not sure the last time I used it."

"Going all hermit n me? Not planning to become next Unibomber I hope," he said with a grin. God, he looked sexy when he grinned.

"Nope. At least not yet. Come on in, " I said, opening the door wider and stepping inside. "I just made some fresh coffee." I turned and headed to the hall to drop the paint roller I was still holding into the roller pan.

"Wow," he said looking around as I poured his coffee. "This looks amazing. I can't believe you did this in what...two weeks"?"

"Thanks," I said,i pleased with the praise. But except for the countertop, it wasn't that big a deal, mainly paint. And I had an electrician do all the lights for me."

"Did you do this?" he asked, running his hands along the concrete counter.

"Yes."

"Impressive. I didn't know you were this handy."

I shrugged. "I haven't been hands on in a while, but I did a lot of the work myself in the first couple I houses Reed and I had. I'm no master builder, but I can do a lot of the basic DIY stuff."

He sat silently for a minute, lost in thought. "I hate to do this," he finally said. "But, I have a favor to ask. Mom's going to be released in a few weeks, but she'll be in a wheelchair still for at least a couple of months. I need to do some things to make the house more wheelchair accessible for her. I've been trying to find a handyman to help, but no luck. If you could help me out, I'd really appreciate it."

He looked so good, so earnest with aqua eyes pleading as he asked for help for his invalid mother. I would have agreed to do anything to help him right then, including removing my kidney myself and handing it to him.

"Sure. What do we need to do?"

"Tomorrow's Sunday. Why don't you come to lunch, and we can talk about what needs to be done and get a plan together."

"Sure. What time?"

"Church gets out at noon, so by the time I get home and put the finishing touches on about 12:30 or so."

"You're going to church?" I don't know why I was so surprised.

"Of course. Momma may be in the hospital 90 miles away, but she would tan my hide if she found out I skipped church. And you know she has one of those old biddies keeping tabs," he laughed. "Besides, it nice. You should come."

I opened my mouth to refuse, but thought better of it. Why not? I had grown up going to the small local Baptist Church, and I had actually liked it. The music, the fellowship. It hadn't, at least then, been a hateful bigoted place. I had gone a few times in recent years during visits and had been pleasantly surprised by the current preacher, a young man who was more interested in preaching love thy neighbor than hellfire and damnation.

"Sure."

"Cool. I'll pick you up about a quarter to eleven. Do you want to go look at the equipment now?"

It didn't take long to identify the pieces he wanted, and within 30 minutes he was gone, refusing another cup of coffee. He did insist upon writing a check right then, and I was surprised to find out what the equipment was worth. I realized that after I finished painting the house, I needed to focus on selling the rest of the equipment and tools I didn't want. If it could fetch decent money, I would go ahead and do some of the more extensive renovations I wanted, like re-tiling the master bath.

The next day, Chance was prompt, just as expected from a military man. Though it had been a long time since I had attended church services regularly on Sunday, it somehow felt nice. It also felt nice contemplating the way Chance filled out a pair of khakis; I'm not sure if his ass looked better in jeans or in slacks. This was a subject, I felt, that needed much more intensive research.

In some ways the service was surreal. The church was exactly the same in many ways that it had been in my youth. And many of the faces in the congregation, though noticeably older, were also the same. But even as it all felt familiar, I was aware of all the things that had changed in the world, as well as in my own life. I even enjoyed the sermon, which focused on Ecclesiastes, the only book of the Bible I liked without reservation, and I loved singing the familiar hymns. I loved to sing and had always visited the same piano bar every Sunday before I met Reed and before our Sundays began revolving around our shared interests.

Chance obviously loved singing, too, and his bass voice was deep and powerful. Unfortunately it was also very obviously off-key, a fact that didn't dampen his enthusiasm. I found it kind of endearing, actually. After the service, we had to run the gauntlet of old women who wanted to wish us well, and Chance also had to endure the enthusiastic greetings of the few single women in the congregation. Obviously his preferences were not common knowledge, and I found his discomfort amusing.

We had almost made it back to his truck when we were stopped by Miss Lenora. Miss Lenora was as old as the hills and had taught us Sunday school, as she had countless other children. She was wearing the same dark brown pageboy wig she had worn as long as I could remember.

"Brandon, Chance. How nice to see you."

"Hi, Miss Lenora," we spoke in unison.

"I'm so glad to see you're still here, Chance," she said. "How long till you go back to New Orleans?"

"Not for a bit," I said. "I'm actually planning to stay through the summer."

"How nice. Do you still play the piano? I remembered that you used to play so beautifully."

"I don't practice as much as I should, but I still play."

"Wonderful," she said. "You're an answer to a pray! Denise can't play next week because she's going to a wedding out of town, and our usual substitute will still be on vacation. I'll let the music director know you will play!"

I shot Chance a pleading look. He shrugged, indicating that this was out of his hands. I opened my mouth to come up with an excuse; nothing happened.

"Remember, choir practice is on Wednesday night at 6. What is your number?" she said, opening her purse and pulling out a small notebook and pen. "I'll have the music director call with next week's hymns so you can start practicing right away."

"This is your fault!" I mock glared at Chance after she walked away.

"I had nothing to do with it," he protested. "It was clearly God's will. "You are..." at this point he began snickering like a 12 year old, "'an answer to a prayer'."

"Asshole."

He pretended to be shocked. "Such language! And at a house of God. For shame."

I shot him the bird. He snickered again, but then his eyes shifted left, and a look of horror overcame his features. I followed his eyes, and realized that one of the true "old biddies" of the church was witnessing my flipping him off. I blushed, knowing that she would be burning up the phone lines telling everyone about that "heathen" Watson boy and his behavior at church. I dropped my hand and turned back to Chance who was doubled up with laughter at this point. "Fuck," I said and walked to the truck.

Even if I had actually been angry with Chance, the moment I smelled his cooking when he opened the door to his house, I would have forgiven him.

"Oh my God, that smells amazing," I said. "Ham?"

"Yep. I put it in a low oven this morning at five. We're having that and potato casserole, yeast rolls and roasted brussel sprouts."

"You can make Miss Pauline's yeast rolls? Marry me, " I said.

Lunch was just as amazing as it smelled, and I scraped my plate. He complemented it with a crisp Sauvignon Blanc. For desert, he had made shortcake, topped with strawberries in brown sugar, a balsamic vinegar glaze, and fresh whipped cream.

After we ate, we went around the house making notes. We definitely needed to move out some furniture, including Miss Pauline's bed to make room for a hospital bed Chance planned to rent. We also needed to roll up some rugs, remove the carpet in the den and her bedroom, build a ramp for the step up into the house, and to demo the bathtub/shower in her bathroom; Chance had made arrangements to have one of those pre-formed bathtub/shower combos with a built-in seat and a door installed, but we needed to make room first. The real problem was that we had no where to store the removed furniture. The closest storage rental was 40 miles away, and Chance didn't think his mother would want her things stored off site.

The best option was a nearby storage shed, but it needed work to be weatherproof. We would have to replace the shingles and do a raised floor to keep the furniture safe. Chance made a list of needed supplies, he planned to be at the Russville Lowe's as soon as they opened, and I would meet him at 8:30 to start.