Read Online Last of the Summer Tomatoes by Sherrie Henry - Free Book Online
Authors: Sherrie Henry
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one—the color of his eyes. His dream had vivid blue eyes. Sam’s were definitely green.
“I’m Sam. Mom’s told me about you. Welcome to the farm!” He held out his hand.
Kyle stared at the hand, his brain knowing he should do something, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what to do. He was dumbfounded to say the least.
Sam withdrew his hand. “Okay, um, just, um, welcome. How do you like the place so far?”
Kyle continued to stare.
Glenda put her hand on Kyle’s arm. “It’s been a long day. I’m sure Kyle could use some sleep. Maybe he’ll be a bit more talkative tomorrow.”
Kyle looked at Glenda, realizing they all were staring at him. He cleared his throat. “Um, uh, yeah, hi. I… I’m….”
“No worries. It always takes me a couple of days to settle into a farming routine, and I grew up here. Having an 8 a.m. class seems like sleeping in after being home.”
“I… I’d like to go in now, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Get some rest. We’ll be up before dawn again.”
Kyle nodded, not daring to look back toward Sam again. It was just too weird, his dream coming to life.
He got upstairs and stowed his art supplies, keeping the sketchpad out. He noticed there was a slip of paper on his laptop with a user ID and password for their Wi-Fi. He was tempted to log in and e-mail Billy, but what would he say? That a guy from his dream had come to life? Hell, Billy knew Kyle wasn’t into girls, but he wasn’t really into finding dates with guys either. He figured it had a lot to do with keeping his emotions under wraps; not even love or lust could emerge. He stripped down to his boxers, lay down, and tried to sleep. It was quite warm in his room; he opened the window. A cacophony of sound filtered in. He’d have to ask what all the sounds were in the morning, but for now, they were soothing. He picked up the sketchpad and stared at the picture he’d drawn so long ago.
The dream had woken him during the earliest morning hours in the dead of winter. His body had actually tingled; in his dream, he had been touched so gently, with so much love and tenderness. The loss of that feeling made him want to cry. And since that day, he’d longed for that touch in his dream because he sure as hell wasn’t going to feel that in reality. But his dream lover never returned. All he had was the picture he’d drawn and guarded with his life.
He had never felt that strongly about anyone. He knew he was gay from a young age. It wasn’t that girls would give you cooties; he just didn’t like them at all. Junior high, with all its rampant hormones drove home his sexuality when he began to notice the football players and not the cheerleaders. A couple of wrong glances and black eyes later, he learned to keep his eyes to himself. Billy didn’t care and could actually relate a little; one of his brothers, Lawrence, was gay and had thankfully escaped their homophobic neighborhood before he was beaten or, worse, killed.
Unrequited crushes, never to have that special touch or kiss, he’d been through it all. The music, his art, they were his escape from reality, from the pain, hurt, loneliness. He figured art school would be… no, had to be different. Around people like him, maybe he’d find that special someone. But now, being confronted with his dream come to life, living in a home where people cared about him, it was overwhelming. He fell asleep with Sam staring back at him.
Seven
T HE next morning was more of the same: he awoke to the smell of bacon, ate a plateful of food, then helped Walt out in the barn. Sam was nowhere to be seen, although his truck was still parked in the drive.
“Sam’s sleeping in. He drove straight for six hours last night to get home. Figured he needed the rest.” Walt walked around a cow to look at Kyle’s work.
“Ah. Okay.”
“You okay, son? You were very quiet last night.”
“I… I didn’t mean to be rude but… he’s your son. I’m a
“I’m Sam. Mom’s told me about you. Welcome to the farm!” He held out his hand.
Kyle stared at the hand, his brain knowing he should do something, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what to do. He was dumbfounded to say the least.
Sam withdrew his hand. “Okay, um, just, um, welcome. How do you like the place so far?”
Kyle continued to stare.
Glenda put her hand on Kyle’s arm. “It’s been a long day. I’m sure Kyle could use some sleep. Maybe he’ll be a bit more talkative tomorrow.”
Kyle looked at Glenda, realizing they all were staring at him. He cleared his throat. “Um, uh, yeah, hi. I… I’m….”
“No worries. It always takes me a couple of days to settle into a farming routine, and I grew up here. Having an 8 a.m. class seems like sleeping in after being home.”
“I… I’d like to go in now, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Get some rest. We’ll be up before dawn again.”
Kyle nodded, not daring to look back toward Sam again. It was just too weird, his dream coming to life.
He got upstairs and stowed his art supplies, keeping the sketchpad out. He noticed there was a slip of paper on his laptop with a user ID and password for their Wi-Fi. He was tempted to log in and e-mail Billy, but what would he say? That a guy from his dream had come to life? Hell, Billy knew Kyle wasn’t into girls, but he wasn’t really into finding dates with guys either. He figured it had a lot to do with keeping his emotions under wraps; not even love or lust could emerge. He stripped down to his boxers, lay down, and tried to sleep. It was quite warm in his room; he opened the window. A cacophony of sound filtered in. He’d have to ask what all the sounds were in the morning, but for now, they were soothing. He picked up the sketchpad and stared at the picture he’d drawn so long ago.
The dream had woken him during the earliest morning hours in the dead of winter. His body had actually tingled; in his dream, he had been touched so gently, with so much love and tenderness. The loss of that feeling made him want to cry. And since that day, he’d longed for that touch in his dream because he sure as hell wasn’t going to feel that in reality. But his dream lover never returned. All he had was the picture he’d drawn and guarded with his life.
He had never felt that strongly about anyone. He knew he was gay from a young age. It wasn’t that girls would give you cooties; he just didn’t like them at all. Junior high, with all its rampant hormones drove home his sexuality when he began to notice the football players and not the cheerleaders. A couple of wrong glances and black eyes later, he learned to keep his eyes to himself. Billy didn’t care and could actually relate a little; one of his brothers, Lawrence, was gay and had thankfully escaped their homophobic neighborhood before he was beaten or, worse, killed.
Unrequited crushes, never to have that special touch or kiss, he’d been through it all. The music, his art, they were his escape from reality, from the pain, hurt, loneliness. He figured art school would be… no, had to be different. Around people like him, maybe he’d find that special someone. But now, being confronted with his dream come to life, living in a home where people cared about him, it was overwhelming. He fell asleep with Sam staring back at him.
Seven
T HE next morning was more of the same: he awoke to the smell of bacon, ate a plateful of food, then helped Walt out in the barn. Sam was nowhere to be seen, although his truck was still parked in the drive.
“Sam’s sleeping in. He drove straight for six hours last night to get home. Figured he needed the rest.” Walt walked around a cow to look at Kyle’s work.
“Ah. Okay.”
“You okay, son? You were very quiet last night.”
“I… I didn’t mean to be rude but… he’s your son. I’m a
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