Undue Influence Read online

  He turned.

  Freddy was jogging toward him.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Dead.”

  “Oh, crap!” Freddy lived on the other side of town—yes, Adam had investigated. It wasn’t as far a walk as Kellynch, but most people weren’t into freakishly long walks like Adam was. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Freddy made a keep going gesture and fell into step beside Adam. “I have no idea. The thing is so old, I’m not sure it’s worth fixing anymore.” He sighed. “The only thing I’m really pissed about is that I just filled that sucker with gas.”

  “You could siphon it out.”

  “Is that a thing people actually do? Outside of, like, the Great Depression?”

  Adam cracked up. Freddy was so unexpectedly funny. When you looked at a guy like Freddy, you made certain assumptions. Adam was as guilty of it as anyone. Freddy looked like one of the guys from the movie Grease. He’d dropped out of school. But he had such a delightfully quick wit. He kind of reminded Adam of Rusty that way. Or of someone who would be in a drawing room in one of Jane Austen’s novels—the slightly disrespectable guest who got by with a surfeit of charm.

  “Can you get a tow? If so, why don’t you bring it by Anderson Motors on Monday, and I’ll have a look.” He glanced over. By all accounts, Freddy and his family didn’t have a lot of money. He didn’t look poor, though. Well, he did look kind of raggedy—hair too long, jeans too ripped—but that seemed by design more than circumstance. He didn’t want Freddy to think he considered him a charity case, but he added, “On the house. And if it’s not an easy fix, I can at least get the gas out for you.”

  Freddy smiled like Adam had saved his drowning puppy. “That would be great—thanks.” After a few more steps side by side, he asked, “So how come you work at Miller’s if you have a full-time gig at Anderson?”

  “Well, I only do the one shift a week at Miller’s, on Saturday nights, and it’s mostly just to ogle the cars.” Warmth spread through him when Freddy laughed. “I actually have a secret agenda,” he confessed. He hadn’t told anyone about it. His boss at Miller’s would be pissed. Rusty he wasn’t sure about. He might be pissed; he might proclaim Adam a brilliant schemer. But he’d decided not to test it because it would inevitably devolve into an argument about whether Adam should leave town.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, so the owner of Anderson Motors is this guy Rusty Anderson.”

  “I know Rusty. Know of him anyway. He does drag, too, right? Over at Whine?”

  Adam paused. He was almost certain Freddy was into guys but still found himself waiting for an expression of disgust or a hint of homosexual panic. This was a small, conservative town, and the topic of Rusty sometimes inspired unkind reactions. There was none of that with Freddy, though. “Yep. So Rusty is sort of like…a mentor to me.”

  “As it relates to cars,” Freddy said, and Adam heard what he was really asking.

  The weird thing about being out and being Adam Elliot was that the latter sometimes made people forget the former. Yes, he was out, but it was theoretical. He hadn’t so much as kissed a guy. Or a girl, for that matter. Unlike Freddy, whose preferences had been effectively broadcast to the whole town when he’d been caught getting blown by a guy in public, Adam was quiet—almost painfully so. He liked books more than he liked most people. So there just weren’t that many opportunities to tell people, or to remind people, that he was gay. So he had no idea if Freddy knew.

  “Well, we’re not a couple—he’s too old for me. And also just…not the type of guy I’d be into in that way.” There. That would be enough to confirm his orientation. Adam congratulated himself on his casual delivery. “But Rusty is sort of a mentor in every other sense.” Then he chuckled. “Well, not the drag thing. That’s not my scene.”

  “I don’t know.” Freddy cocked his head. “You’re good-looking enough.”

  And…wow. Adam flushed and looked at the ground—the pavement beneath their feet was suddenly extremely interesting.

  The sensation of his cheeks heating was mortifying. His mother was always on him about his freckles or his hair, but honestly, if he could change one thing about himself, it would be the stupid blushing. He could only hope that the darkness—their walk was lit only by the moon and the occasional streetlight—prevented Freddy from seeing how much his compliment had affected Adam.

  He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Rusty gave me a job when I really needed it. Gave me a place to stay, too, for a while, when I needed that. I…I’ve since patched things up enough with my family to move home, but basically I owe everything to Rusty. He’s like…” How to explain Rusty? “He’s a mentor, like I said, but he’s also my best friend.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  Adam nodded. He was. “So anyway, Rusty didn’t really have enough business to hire me when I was in high school, but he did anyway. He let me answer phones and order parts and started teaching me about cars. It kind of gave me a purpose, you know? Got me out of the house, which…wasn’t always the best place to be. Having a job gave me my own money. Then when I graduated last spring, he took me on full-time.” Adam paused, wondering if he should say more. No. There was no need for Freddy to know about the big blowup they’d had over the fact that Adam hadn’t applied to any colleges. That the full-time offer was only for the summer because Rusty still expected Adam to get the hell out of Bishop’s Glen, even without any college admission offers.

  “But he still doesn’t really have enough business to require a second mechanic full-time,” Adam continued. “So what I do is…” He swiveled around. They had made their way out of the town proper and were on a deserted two-lane highway. He considered reminding Freddy that he was going the wrong way. That he should turn around and head back in the direction of his own home. But he didn’t.

  So, with one more glance to make sure no one was around to overhear, he lowered his voice and said, “I put business cards for Anderson Motors in the cars of the rich people who come to the inn.”

  “Ha!” Freddy’s delighted bark of laughter echoed across the cool night, and it must have been contagious because Adam laughed, too. “The way you set that up, I thought you were going to confess something a lot more transgressive.”

  The fact that he’d confessed at all was pretty remarkable. Adam kept his cards close to his chest, usually. Rusty was the only person in the world he really trusted.

  He’d thought.

  “Yeah, so I got this stupid idea that if I could bring in some new business, I could earn my keep, so to speak.”

  “Not stupid,” Freddy said. “Savvy. It bet it’s working.”

  Adam grinned. “We did get a Mercedes in the other day that still had the card in the cup holder.” He’d made sure to grab it before Rusty saw it.

  Freddy raised a fist in triumph. “See?”

  They’d reached the point where Adam turned from the two-lane highway to a smaller road that would take him to the Kellynch driveway. “You should turn back. It’s late.”

  “Eh, that’s okay. I’ve come this far.”

  Adam gestured to his bum leg. “It’s not much father to my place at normal speed, but we’re moving slow.”

  Freddy shrugged. “I like slow. Slow lets you…savor things.” He turned to Adam and winked, and suddenly Adam got the feeling that they were talking about more than just walking.

  Present day

  Adam had barely gotten over seeing Freddy at the bush party when it happened again. A week later, he was at one of Rusty’s shows at Whine when Freddy arrived with the McGuire siblings.

  And did he ever arrive with them—they were practically hanging off him, Lulu laughing uproariously and Henry sharing a knowing look with him like they had an inside joke. And it wasn’t bad enough that Lulu, who generally made no pretense about her designs on rich and powerful men, was all over Freddy. No, he had to have the attention of Henry, too. Henry, who was objectively gorgeous.

  The McGuires had alw
ays been nice to Adam, even back in high school when a lot of people razzed him about his limp. And Mark and Chloe’s martyrdom aside, they were good neighbors to his brother and sister-in-law. Adam liked the McGuires.

  He just didn’t like them all over Freddy.

  But then, he had no claim to Freddy. He’d forfeited that years ago.

  “Hey, Adam. Can we join you?” Henry plopped down at Adam’s table without waiting for an answer. Lulu and Freddy followed, Lulu greeting him enthusiastically, Freddy with a curt nod.

  He still couldn’t believe that Freddy was here. That they could occupy the same space and Adam could…not die. He certainly felt like he was going to. All the clichéd bodily responses you’d expect from the teenager he’d been when he’d sent Freddy away kicked in simultaneously. His heart sped up; his breath grew short; sweat collected at his hairline.

  Freddy frowned at his phone “Can we try to save a chair for Ben?”

  “Of course.” Lulu snagged one from a neighboring table. “Is he going to meet us?”

  “I’d hoped so. It’s not good for him to be cooped up in that house by himself all the time. He agreed to come out, but he’s backpedaling now.”

  Their conversation was cut short by the appearance of Lady Rusty Merlot on the tiny stage at the front of the bar. As was her custom, Lady Merlot did not greet her audience before her set; she merely launched into her first number, which tonight was the Beatles’ “Drive My Car.”

  Freddy smiled to himself. He must have felt Adam watching him, because he looked over and met Adam’s eyes. “Lady Merlot’s still at it.”

  “She is,” Adam agreed. “Some things never change.”

  “But some things do.”

  His tone was neutral, but it didn’t need to be otherwise for Adam to feel the rebuke. Thankful for the dim light of the bar, he looked at the floor as his cheeks heated.

  They watched the rest of the set without talking except to order a round of drinks when a server came by. When it was over, Lulu and Henry hooted and whistled. Freddy and Adam clapped less extravagantly.

  “Well,” Adam said, once the applause had died down, “I think I’ll head—”

  “Frederick Wentworth.”

  Damn. He’d been hoping to make an escape before Lady Merlot, who usually joined Adam for a drink between sets, appeared.

  “Rusty,” Freddy said, his tone completely blank, communicating nothing.

  “That’s Lady Merlot to you.” She winked, but there was an edge to her voice as she issued the correction. “What kind of homosexual are you that you don’t know that you should be using my drag name and feminine pronouns when I’m inhabiting this glorious persona?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Henry said.

  “That’s because you’re not a real homosexual, dear.” Lady Merlot waved dismissively and didn’t look at Henry as she spoke. She must have sensed that Henry was about to object, though, because then she turned and added, “You’re one of those new-fangled things. Everything-sexual. Extra-sexual. Whatever.”

  Henry huffed a little. “Pansexual. I’d expect you to be more enlightened on the topic.”

  “Why? Because I’m gay? Remember, I’m also old as dirt. The most action I’ve gotten in the last year has been over Facebook messenger.”

  Adam didn’t blame Henry for being a bit annoyed with Rusty. Rusty could be a giant jerk when he wanted to. And he often wanted to.

  “The thing about Lady Merlot and her alter ego,” Adam said, trying to smooth things over, “is that despite appearances, they’re both actually pretty conservative—in the philosophical sense, I mean.”

  Lulu furrowed her brow. “In the what sense?”

  “Like, not politically, of course, but in the sense of being resistant to change, or—”

  “So what brings you back to our sleepy little hamlet, Frederick?” Lady Merlot, as was her custom when she didn’t like the direction a conversation was taking, simply spoke over everyone else.

  “I’m keeping Ben Captain company. He’s pretty broken up about his wife.”

  “Ahh. Yes.” Lady Merlot placed a hand to her chest. “So tragic. I always liked that Ben.”

  “No you didn’t,” Freddy said.

  Lady Merlot’s eyebrows shot up. She didn’t like being so openly contradicted, but Freddy was correct. Rusty had always lumped both Ben and Freddy in a category he used to call “the go nowheres.” He’d been more concerned about Freddy than Ben, though. Ben had never posed a threat to Rusty’s mission to catapult Adam out of town.

  “Is Ben going to join us?” Lulu asked.

  Freddy scowled at his phone. “I don’t think so.”

  Lulu turned to Lady Merlot. “Freddy’s trying to get Ben to come out of his shell a little. He’s been holed up at home for so long.”

  “The man could do with some human connection—besides me,” Freddy said. “I can’t talk him into it, though.”

  Lady Merlot shook her head and tsked. “Perhaps a drag show at a crowded bar isn’t the place to start.”

  Freddy chuckled. It looked strange on him, both objectively and because his exchange with Lady Merlot had been, to that point, so frosty. “Point taken. But where do I start? A bush party probably isn’t a great idea, either.”

  “Maybe you could invite a few friendly faces over to his place,” Adam offered. “That might feel less overwhelming.”

  “Oh, that’s a great idea!” Lulu said excitedly, clearly imagining herself as one of the “friendly faces” in attendance. If the town was obsessed with Freddy Wentworth as its most famous resident, his friend Ben Captain was a close second. They co-owned the Manhattan restaurant Captain’s and had appeared on Food Fanatics together. Freddy had been the bigger personality on the show, but Ben was still famous, at least by Bishop’s Glen standards. Adam knew the McGuires were dying to see Ben’s house. He had a big place perched on the edge of the lake, and word was he and his wife had done major renovations when they’d bought it a few years back.

  “It actually is a good idea.” Freddy darted a glance at Adam.

  The meager bit of praise warmed Adam’s insides. Which was kind of pathetic. And enough to inspire him to push back from the table. Letting himself bask in Freddy’s good opinion—even if it was only a momentary good opinion—was not wise. “I’m going to head home.”

  “Stay for the last set,” Lady Merlot ordered.

  “Sorry. I’m beat.”

  Lady Merlot’s eyebrows rose. She was not accustomed to being openly disobeyed by Adam. As with his family, Adam usually took the path of least resistance with Rusty/Lady Merlot. Stay for another set. Do the Toyota before the Chevy.

  Dump Freddy Wentworth.

  “Did you drive?” Henry asked.

  “Nope.” One thing Adam did appreciate about living in town instead of at Kellynch was that he could walk more places in less time.

  Although the long walk from Kellynch to town hadn’t stopped them—he sneaked a glance at Freddy—back in the day.

  “If you stay, we can drive you home,” Henry said.

  “Thanks, but I could use the fresh air.” Adam tried for polite but insistent. It was a balance he was pretty good at striking, having had a lot of practice with his family.

  Everyone made their goodbyes, Freddy’s version of which was merely another cool nod.

  Which is why it startled the hell out of Adam when, half a block later, he heard footsteps and turned to see Freddy approaching. He let loose a breath. This wasn’t the best part of town. It was too far off the beaten path for tourists, who stuck to the wineries and to the small, postcard-ified section of Main Street. So he had been prepared to defend himself if need be.

  Which he would still have to do, just not in the manner he’d been thinking.

  God, Freddy was still so gorgeous. As he stepped into the light cast by a streetlamp, he might as well have been an angel stepping into a sunbeam. You look like an angel, Adam always used to say, and Freddy would laugh and say, You’re th
e only one who thinks so.

  Freddy had looked like an angel, and he still did. His hair was the same messy mop of dirty blond. Adam remembered what that hair felt like, tangled up in his fingers. And those eyes, bluer than the lake on its bluest day. There were fine lines around those eyes now, but they managed to make him look even better. They conferred a gravitas that went with the brash, confident persona Adam had seen on TV. His nose, which he’d broken as a teenager, still had the telltale bump on it, but it seemed less stark on his face than it had eight years ago. Adam had always loved that bump. Somehow, the single flaw lodged in the middle of all that perfection had always made his face even more dear to Adam.

  “I thought I’d head out, too.”

  Adam had to stifle a happy smile. He didn’t flatter himself that the timing of Freddy’s departure had anything to do with him, but the knowledge that Freddy wouldn’t be leaving with Lulu or Henry was buoying.

  “You can’t be walking all the way to Ben’s.” The town curved around the bottom of the lake—“the Bishop’s Glen Smile!” the tourism brochures proclaimed. Ben lived on the lake on other corner of the smile from where they were now.

  Freddy shrugged. “We used to walk that far and farther.”

  It was true.

  “But, no,” Freddy said. He cleared his throat. His discomfort was palpable. “I, uh, thought I’d walk for a bit and then take a cab the rest of the way.”

  Unsure of what to say, Adam nodded. Freddy fell into step beside him, and they walked. Just liked they used to do. The slow-moving courtship of their young adulthood had started with walks—every Saturday night, after they got off their jobs at Miller’s.

  Those walks had been the start of everything. The best summer of Adam’s life. His sexual awakening. But more than all that. It had been the start of love.

  The end of it, too, it turned out.

  There was more distance between them tonight—both literally and figuratively—than there used to be, but otherwise it was the same. Freddy had never seemed to mind that he had to moderate his pace to stay in step with Adam. A childhood bone infection and subsequent surgery to remove a chunk of his femur had left Adam with a permanent limp—and a fair amount of pain. As much as he liked walking, he didn’t like doing it with other people. He always felt like he was slowing them down. But Freddy never commented on it. With Freddy, it had always felt like they were going the speed they were supposed to go. More than that, even—like their leisurely pace allowed them to notice things, to discover things, about the world and about each other. Their long, slow walks had been the mechanisms they used to reveal themselves to each other, before they discovered the vocabulary—or the guts—to speak directly about what was in their hearts.