The Trouble With Valentine's Day

Rob placed his forearms on his knees and gazed down at his boots. His mother had obviously given her rhyming dictionary a workout.

'People half your age
earn a better wage
think they're twice as smart
but there's much to take heart
I happen to like this stage.'

The poem went on for several more minutes. Grace hit the high points of getting older and ended with,

'Your life is calm and void of drama
almost as extinct as Mount Fujiyama
but unlike that mountain peak
I'm not dead or even weak
I'm alive and one red hot momma!'

'Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus,' Rob groaned and stared at the toes of his boots.

He could feel Kate's leg still, and out of the utter silence Stanley Caldwell said just above a whisper, 'That was wonderful.'

Rob turned his head to look at Stanley. The older gentleman appeared to be serious.

'The best so far,' he said.

Kate looked at her grandfather as if he'd lost his mind. 'Better than the Britney poem?'

'Oh yes. Didn't you think so?'

She pushed one side of her hair behind one ear and rather than lie said, 'Not all poetry has to rhyme.'

Stanley frowned, and the ends of his mustache dipped. 'Well, all I know is Grace's poem was about life and what it's like getting older. It's about wisdom and finding peace with yourself. It spoke to me.'

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.'