The Evening Hour Read Online Free PDF

High cheekbones like an Indian, pale blue eyes. He was thirty-six, but could pass for twenty-six.
    The cat had nosed open a box of old pizza and ate quickly, tugging on the cold, rubbery cheese. A kitchen timer beeped, and Reese opened his eyes. “Time for Ruthie’s medicine.”
    â€œHow is she?”
    â€œStill dying.”
    Ruthie Roberts, a childless widow, had taken in Reese after his parents and little brother were killed in a car crash. Rumor had it that eight-year-old Reese had crawled out of the burning hunk of metal without a scratch, and that Ruthie was the only one in Dove Creek who wanted him. But it wasn’t anything that Reese talked about.
    â€œWhat are you going to do with her?”
    â€œSame thing I’ve been doing. I ain’t sticking her in no hospital, and I’m sure as hell not putting her in that dump where you work.” Reese hitched up his jeans. “If any riffraff shows up, don’t let their asses in.”
    He sauntered across the room to the shared door that led to Ruthie’s side. By now Cole was used to Reese’s queeny walk, but the first time he saw it, he’d been shocked, his face hot with shame, or maybe fear. He’d never seen a man move like that before. Cole still didn’t care for Reese’s homo ways, but usually now, whenever he saw him swing his hips or flick a wrist, he looked the other way, his mouth no longer filling with disgust. Still, it was difficult to understand, a fairy living in Dove Creek. How he did not get himself killed.
    He’d been hearing about Reese Campbell for a long time, but didn’t meet him until a couple of years ago at a party. Cole knew it was him by the web of tattoos that wound over his arms and hands—it was well known that Reese had been locked up several times and that with each release, he’d come out with more ink and more meanness. Later in the night, while Cole was fishing a beer out of a tub of ice, Reese had come up behind him.
    â€œHey handsome.”
    Cole had quickly turned, clutching the beer to his chest like a bouquet. Reese grinned. “You’re a nervous Nelly.”
    He told Cole he was looking to get high. At the time, Cole had been dabbling in pot, selling to a few high school students, a couple of old hippies. When Cole named his price, Reese said, “I’ll give you half that.”
    â€œFor an ounce?” Cole had scoffed. “No way.”
    Reese had stared at him, still grinning, but as he stepped toward Cole, the grin vanished. Cole had backed up and stumbled against the tub, melted ice sloshing all over his shoes.
    â€œAll right, all right,” he’d said, the stutter rising like a fever.
    Then Reese had suddenly laughed, startling Cole.
    â€œI was just fucking with you, son.”
    Since that night, Cole had watched Reese pull the same act with others, tough country boys moving out of the way for his sashaying sissy hips. Sometimes it backfired, especially when he was high. He’d get too brave, too mouthy. Flirting or spilling secrets about which rednecks had followed him out to the bushes, wanting what their wives wouldn’t give them. On more than one occasion, Cole had shown up to find Reese bloodied and busted up. Though Reese had friends all over Dove Creek—roughnecks who hated queers but partied with him—they would never call Reese one of their own.
    Now he tossed Cole a prescription bottle. “I got a couple of ’scripts filled. One for Ruthie, one for you.”
    Cole read the label. “Hundred and sixty milligrams.”
    â€œTerminal cancer. You’re getting the cream of the crop, son.”
    Cole handed over the envelope of cash. He had started dealing as a way to help pay his grandparents’ medical bills, but now he felt like he could not stop. It was the same with the stealing. He’d palmed a couple of wedding rings, a little cash, from the old people for no reason at all, other