The Gardener (Part 3)

[Reeza]

The Gardener
by Reeza

Parts 1 and 2

Part 3

I wasn't very comfortable with my decision to let Sam rent the coach house. It was risky in more ways than one, and risk was something I had always avoided. I agreed to reduce his rent in exchange for shoveling snow and cutting grass, tasks I was happy to be rid of. I also learned that he was earning extra money by shoveling snow for a few other homeowners and businesses in town, so his income was a little higher than I thought. He purchased enough furniture from the previous tenant to make the apartment functional, and he moved in with just a backpack and a large duffel bag. Apparently he had been living in a room at the Harbor View since he started working there. My coach house was his first apartment.

I was uneasy about more than his limited finances. I suppose what bothered me the most was that my decision to accept him as a tenant could have been influenced by his appearance. I reminded myself that I had no choice because he was the only applicant. I had never been a person who let sexual attraction overrule rational thought. Would I jeopardize everything I owned because I let a good-looking guy scramble my brain? Not likely. I would maintain professional boundaries, as always.

The fact that Sam was a hard worker helped me to feel more secure about his tenancy. During the first few months he lived there I was continually impressed by his efficient removal of snow from the pavement around the property. He refused to use my snow blower, saying that he enjoyed the exercise he got from shoveling. The way he threw snow around made it look effortless.

One weekend, late in the Winter, we were hit by a storm that dumped almost a foot of wet snow between Midnight and Noon on Sunday. Before it even stopped falling, Sam was out there with the shovel. I stuck my head out the back door and told him, rather sternly, that he would need to use the snow blower. He just yelled, "Don't worry, I've got it!" and started attacking a long snow drift that was almost his height. His ability to move such massive amounts of heavy snow was nothing short of astounding. As I thought about the strength he was demonstrating, my mind began to form images of the muscular young men who used to lift impossible looking weights at my college's gym years ago. I swept those memories aside as soon as I felt myself getting aroused. I had things to do.

When the weather was snowy I liked to have soup or stew, so I decided to make a pot of chili. As I was putting it together I thought it would be nice to offer some to Sam to thank him for his hard work. I felt a little guilty that he was slaving away outside while I was in the warm house. Plus, I knew he would have to shovel out his other customers after finishing my place. When I saw him stride up the driveway to stow the shovel, I opened the back door and told him there would be chili waiting for him whenever he returned from his other jobs. He looked surprised - after all, I rarely spoke to him - then smiled as if I told him he'd won the lottery. "Oh, wow, Adam! That's really nice of you! I'll get back as soon as I can."

"Well, take your time," I replied. "It won't be done for a while yet and I'm in no hurry. You should slow down with that heavy snow or you'll hurt yourself."

Still smiling, he said, "Don't worry about that - I'm stronger than I look. I'll see you later!" He jogged away.

I regretted that I had been so suspicious of him when we first met. He was really a nice young man. And he was holding up his end of the lease. I couldn't ask for a more polite and quiet tenant. As far as I could tell, he never had visitors. He didn't have a car, so I wasn't always sure when he was coming or going. There were nights when I suspected he was sleeping elsewhere, but that was none of my business. He was a handsome guy, so I was certain he had many opportunities for companionship. I wouldn't know what that was like because I had been so focused on my studies at his age.

Around five-thirty I heard a knock at the back door. Could that be Sam already? I went to the door and there he was, looking fresh and eager, like he was just starting his day. "Are you done?" I said as I gestured for him to enter. "You must be worn out!"

"No, I'm fine. That was great exercise! I feel really good, and that chili smells fantastic." He bent over to remove his wet boots, leaving them on the mat to dry.

"I'm just finishing up, it should be ready for you in a few minutes." I stirred the chili in the stock pot on the stove. I was planning to transfer some of it to another container so I could hand it to him at the door, but I didn't think he would return so soon. When I turned around he had removed his coat and hung it up before stepping into the kitchen. I realized he was expecting to eat with me. His cheeks were pink from the cold. The gray sweatshirt he wore was slightly darker across his chest where his perspiration had soaked through. It made his chest look thicker than I thought it was. His shoulders and arms looked thicker, too. He looked very healthy. The room felt warm and humid. I guess it wouldn't hurt to let him eat here. I offered him something to drink.

"Just water, thanks. I worked up quite a thirst."

I handed him an empty glass and pointed towards the faucet. "Help yourself, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. And thanks again for inviting me." He filled the glass with water and drank it down without stopping. He filled it again. "I don't get many home cooked meals anymore. I eat most of my meals at the restaurant when I'm working." He drank the second glass of water a little more slowly, then refilled the glass and held it in his hand. "I'm still learning how to cook for myself."

I took two large bowls from the cupboard and started cutting some French bread into thick pieces. "I have to say, Sam, you work a lot harder than most people your age. I'm impressed."

"Thanks," he said. "I grew up on a farm - hard work just seems normal to me. I've been doing it since I was kid. Besides, I need money to support myself, so I do whatever I can." He paused. "You work pretty long hours yourself, I noticed. What do you do?"

I wasn't expecting to answer questions about myself, but I guess that's what happens when you start a conversation. "I'm an accountant." I put the bread and some utensils on the table. "Have a seat."

"You have to be pretty sharp to do that." He sat at the kitchen table. "Do you like it?"

"Um . . . it pays the bills. Like you said, I need to support myself." I thought about his compliment, wondering whether I was 'sharp' or not. I wasn't used to thinking about myself in that way. I ladled chili into the two bowls and set them on the table. "Dig in. But be careful, it's pretty hot." I sat down across from him.

"Thanks. This looks great." He leaned in, pursed his lips and blew steam away from his bowl. For a moment he looked boyish, but then he sat up straight and the square width of his shoulders reminded me that he was a man. He smiled at me briefly, then looked down and started eating. "It's not too hot to eat - it's just right."

"That's not what I meant. I meant that it's spicy hot." I hoped he liked spicy food.

He was swallowing another big spoonful of the chili when the meaning of my warning began to dawn on him. His face flushed and his eyes grew wider. "Oh!" He grabbed his glass of water and gulped half of it, then paused to see if it would ease the burning inside of him. He drank again.

"Oops," I said with a grimace. I didn't think it was that spicy, but I was the only one who had ever eaten my chili. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he squeaked as he got up to refill his glass. "I just need to get used to it." I suspected he was being polite, but he sat down, wiped a couple of tears from his eyes and started eating again. "I like it."

I smiled at him and jokingly said, "Good - there's plenty more, so eat your fill!" His politeness was endearing. I relaxed a little and decided to continue the conversation. I asked him about his family and where he was from, and he asked me about the house and how long I had been there. I surprised myself by talking about my parents' death, something I rarely did, but it felt okay. It explained how I could afford to live in such a large house by myself.

He was an only child as well. His parents' farm was in Sorek County in the northern part of the state. They were very religious people who were caring but strict. They frequently told Samson, as they called him, that he was meant to be a "warrior" and wanted him to enlist in the military. He didn't approve of the war and refused. As Sam put it, "They didn't agree with my choices, so I had to leave."

While he was telling his story I offered him more chili, thinking he would decline, but he quickly accepted. I pretended to add more to my own dish so he wouldn't feel uncomfortable about it, but his appetite was prodigious. After several large bowls full and a half a loaf of bread, I started to wonder how much Sam could eat. His large appetite struck me as a very masculine quality. I encouraged him to have more and he never turned me down. I scraped the bottom of the large stock pot to give him the last of the chili. I normally ate seven or eight meals from that recipe.

As was his nature, he apologized. "I'm sorry, I'm eating like a horse! I didn't mean to clean you out, but it's so good." Apparently he adjusted to the peppers and spices. "That's another thing my parents didn't approve of - my appetite. I never seem to get full. They complained about it all the time."

When Sam finished his chili, he leaned back, expanding his chest, and he patted his stomach with one of his big hands. He said, "That feels good. Thank you so much." He stretched his long arms towards the ceiling, then knit his fingers together and brought his hands behind his head for a moment before resting his elbows on the table. I found myself wanting to see what was under his shirt. The moment I became aware of this I was uncomfortable. I stood up and started to clear the table.

He said, "Let me help," and brought the glassware over to the sink, standing beside me. His hip and thigh accidentally made contact with the side of my body. I pulled away immediately. He quickly took a step in the other direction. He was quiet. Not surprising, since I had behaved as though I was irritated.

"I can clean up," I said. "You must be tired."

"Not really." A pause hung in the air long enough to get pregnant.

My heart was working harder than usual. I glanced up at him. He had a sheepish, adorable look on his painfully handsome face. I didn't know what to say. I felt awkward, so I wanted him to go. A long-ignored voice inside of me wanted something else, but it wasn't loud enough yet. I searched for something to say that would break the tension, virtually guaranteeing that I would say the wrong thing: "So, do you have a girlfriend, Sam?"

He didn't respond right away. Maybe I was getting too personal, especially considering the palpable discomfort that had developed. He replied quietly. "Uhh, no. I don't have a girlfriend. Do you?"

I obviously hadn't realized that my question would lead towards the subject I least wanted to discuss - my own sexuality. There was only one possible answer. "No, I don't have a girlfriend." I felt my face turn red.

"Why not?" he said softly. "You're good looking, you have a good job, and this great house. You'd be quite a catch, I think."

"Oahf! Och-uh-na." Incomprehensible syllables came out of my mouth, meant to dismiss his compliments. I hated compliments, especially from someone like him. I stared into the sink, trying to find a sensible response. I retrieved something I had rehearsed in the past. "I'm not cut out for relationships. I like being alone."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I like being alone, too. But sometimes I get lonely. Don't you?"

I found it hard to believe he would ever be lonely. A bitter, resentful thought formed in my head - He could have any woman in town! I never considered my own options. Do I get lonely? I pulled out another stock phrase that I said to myself frequently. "At my age, there's not much point in thinking about it."

"At your age?" He was surprised. "You sound like an old man. How old are you, if I may ask?"

I continued washing the dishes. "I'm thirty-two."

"I would have guessed thirty, but you're still young. Why do you talk like you're old?" His questions were getting bolder, more familiar. He was leaning against the counter, looking at me curiously.

I didn't know what to say. My rational mind knew that I wasn't old, but I chose to think of myself that way for some reason. His questions were making me uncomfortable, making me think about why I lived the way I did. If I keep thinking about this I might . . . it isn't safe. I have to stop this! I said, "Listen, I'm getting tired and I have to get up for work tomorrow. Would you mind . . .?" I didn't want to come right out and ask him to leave, but it was a pretty strong hint.

"You want me to go? Okay. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." He moved towards the door.

I dried my hands on the dish towel. "It's alright, you didn't make me uncomfortable." A blatant lie.

Sam gave me a look that said, "Are you kidding me?!" but he didn't say it. He was too nice for that. He thanked me again for the meal while he put on his boots. Then he stood up and looked at me as if he was going to say something serious. "Adam . . . I want to tell you that I'm gay. I hope that doesn't bother you."

It bothered me very much. My intestines did a somersault. It had not registered on my fucked-up radar that he was gay! All I thought about was how gay I felt in his presence. And now he was coming out to me! I had read about such things, but never actually witnessed it, except in movies.

He continued. "That was the main reason I had to leave my parents' farm, because they couldn't accept it. But I made up my mind that wherever I went I would be honest about it. So I wanted to tell you." He turned and took his coat from the hook and put it on. He wasn't looking at me.

I stammered. "Uh, it's fine, Sam. Not a problem. I'm, uh, glad you told me. It must be difficult to . . ."

He made eye contact. "Yes it is." He reached for the doorknob and stepped outside.

I went after him. I wanted to say something else, but it wouldn't come out. I had to say something else! I did the best I could. "Sam! I'm glad you're here! I mean, I'm glad you're my tenant. You're good . . . you're a good person." My voice cracked.

He heard me. "Thanks, Adam. That means a lot to me. Good night." He walked across the driveway to the coach house. It was snowing again.

I closed the door with my back and slid down to the floor. Tears started gushing from my eyes. I cried uncontrollably, like I hadn't cried in years. I felt like I was having a breakdown. I didn't know why I was crying, but I couldn't stop. I rarely showed emotion, even when I was alone, but the floodgates were opened that night. I must have sat there on the floor for twenty minutes before it subsided. I didn't like losing control like that.

I pulled myself together, but my mind was still swirling with replays of my conversation with Sam. I regretted many things I said and a few things I hadn't said. I finished cleaning up the kitchen and headed up the stairs to my bedroom. I was exhausted, but kept thinking about things Sam had said and done since I met him. Some things seemed to have a different meaning now.

As I undressed I remembered that he said I was "good looking." The memory of it made me blush. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I always thought of myself as average in every way. Brownish hair, bluish eyes. Five foot nine, runner's build, but maybe ten pounds over my preferred weight since I hadn't been running as often. No deformities. Nothing missing. My face . . . I don't know - it was my face. It was hard to be objective. It just seemed ordinary to me. Am I good-looking? I took one last look at myself as a whole and I answered, Well, you're not repulsive.

It was the nicest thing I had ever said to myself.

I turned off my lights and went to the window to pull the curtains closed. There was a light on in the coach house. I sent positive thoughts to my tenant, closed the curtains and jumped into bed.

*****

Continued in: Part 4

Author's note: I know that was a bit of a downer, but please don't be discouraged. As I said before, this story will build slowly - perhaps as slowly as a real relationship, in contrast to a one night stand.

[arpeejay]

http://www.facebook.com/arpeejay

[convolution]

That was great.
Cracks are developing in Adam's armor/isolation. It will be interesting to see what spring brings

[nnnrg]

Adam hasn't let himself feel anything for too long, his humanity was beginning to slip, and his heart has been locked away in a vault. And now Samson is pulling the walls to the vault down.

[weaknobody]

A downer??? Really???
I wonder what it will be like when you think it's un "upper". =)
That was really, REALLY good.

[TJDasen1]

A downer? No sir. It was beautiful and quite moving.

Thank you.

Tim
Saint Louis, MO

[rairf]

I love the direction you're taking Reeza! Hmmm...Adam has a huge capacity for spice and doesn't even realize it? I LOVED that tease. Thanks for another great chapter

[Mdlftr]

Wow. You have a real talent for revealing a character's inner most thoughts and feelings by describing what they do and say. The revelations are in what they DON'T say.

Very insightful writing. A huge step above the typical "wham/bam/thank you A-dam!"

Mdlftr

Who can't wait to see what Adam will do once he gets up off the kitchen floor and starts thinking about WHY he was crying-- all those missed opportunities to be honest with himself, perhaps?

[chocomus]

damn, Sam looks like a dream come true to me, as I REALLY identify myself with Adam. Great story!!!!!

If he can eat like that and more, I wonder what could that mean heheeee

[xmrr20a]

I love the hint: 'I'm stronger than I look'. Can't wait for more.

[rocketdog]

This is one of the best stories i've read on here, at least for me. So much to relate to and such engaging writing. Not everything has to instantly turn me on to stimulate my mind. Thank you. Excellent stuff!

[revolution2233]

(I already posted in the other thread, so I guess why not?)

I searched for something to say that would break the tension, virtually guaranteeing that I would say the wrong thing: "So, do you have a girlfriend, Sam?"

This foreshadowing and what follows is making me nervous for their relationship-to-be.

[mutador]

I love this story, I feel just like Adam sometimes! I would like a Sam to come to my life

[JP71]

I'm so moved by this chapter. Again flawless writing.

[anpuZA]

I don't know what a coach house is, but I could literally see him (through the window, clearly breaking the cold bleakness into which he has been banished, from the warmth of the house, which ironically is exactly the opposite of the situation as the warmth is Sam as opposed to our hesitant home owner who is actually out in the cold bleak lonely world)walking towards it and turning up his jacket to break the wind on his neck, trying hard not to look back. (Okay it might not be as described, but goddammit artistic license, I am the one directing this movie... in my head.)