"Christina...?" Oliver asked, unsure.
"Aguilera, hon." Lauren squeezed his shoulder and took her seat. Bryce laughed at Oliver's obtuseness.
I went on. "On my other show, I get to discuss newsworthy things. Religion, politics and current events," I sliced into my pork. Looking at it made me nauseous. "But when I do, I don't report on it so much as provide social commentary." I pushed the meat around my plate, dreading having to put it in my mouth, so I kept talking. "I'm surprised you haven't seen the show. It's pretty popular."
Bryce shrugged, "I'm sorry," he said with indifference. "I don't watch a lot of television. I get bored. I prefer to stay active rather than sitting at home, watching other people be active."
I smiled. "You sound like my father. He used to say that television was entertainment for lazy people."
"He still says that," said Lauren. "You just haven't heard it in a while."
I looked at her. There it was again. Simple words said with a dark undertone. "I don't enjoy television as much as I used to. I suppose it's a side effect of working in the industry."
Bryce smiled at me. "It's not as magical once you've seen behind the curtain?"
His Oz reference impressed me. "Exactly. That, and who wants to take their work home with them? When your job is to follow television and movies, everything you watch feels work-related. It takes the fun out of it a little."
Bryce took a swallow of beer to wash down his food before saying, "I can't relate. If you love your job, it shouldn't bother you if work and play overlap. And if you don't love it, why do it?"
I had no response. I did love my job -- most of the time. I relished having a platform to express my thoughts and opinions. I enjoyed meeting new people. It didn't matter to me if they were celebrities or brilliant minds. Above all else, I loved that I had accomplished my goals. Against all the odds, I had made something of myself. But if I was honest, there were times when my work felt shallow. I wasn't enlightening the world or curing disease. I was discussing the latest Hollywood gossip. Divorce, current beauty trends or the newest "outed" athlete. There were moments I felt like a villain — a ghoul who thrived off the success and misfortune of others. I was not about to reveal that truth to anyone. Instead, I flipped the conversation around, "What is it that you do, Bryce?"
"I'm a rancher."
Big surprise. "Produce or cattle?" I inquired, pretending I knew anything about farming. Our small high school had offered a farming and agriculture class. Most students felt obliged to take it, but I had not been as motivated to do so.
"Bryce took over our folks’ stud farm a few years ago. They retired back home." Oliver rejoined the conversation while Lauren gathered the finished plates from the table. Mine was not yet one of them, and she noticed with a questioning eyebrow. I choked down another small piece of meat. "He's got the best stock of thoroughbreds in the county."
Oliver and his family had moved to River Bluff when Lauren was in junior high. That had been three years after I had left. It had been quite a relief to me when my sister chose to marry a man who hadn't known me as the town reject. Over the years, I had learned very little about my sister's husband. I hadn't even known he had a brother. "Where is home?"
"Prince George," Oliver replied. "I was thirteen when we left."
"River Bluff must have seemed pretty boring. Especially after living in a larger community like that, surrounded by mountains."
"British Columbia is beautiful," Bryce nodded. "But I was too young when we left to miss it. I don't know --" his gaze flicked over to Oliver and then back to my face. He smiled. He was quite handsome, especially when he smiled. "River Bluff has been my home since I was nine years old. This place and the people here have helped shape who I am. You know what I mean?"
Boy, did I ever.
"So, are you married, Bryce?" I cringed. It was impossible to ask that question without it sounding like a proposition.
"Nope," his tone was cheery. "I almost was once, but I dodged that bullet. Marriage isn't for everyone," he looked to Oliver and then to Lauren. "Sometimes they work out well, I guess. It's a crapshoot."
"I suppose that's true," Oliver agreed as he rested his hand over Lauren's. They did seem right together.
I smiled. By this time, all the plates were cleared, including mine. Lauren had seemed chagrinned by the amount of pork that was left on it, but I couldn't bring myself to eat anymore. Bryce turned the marriage question back on me. Lauren seemed momentarily panicked at my potential response. River Bluff was a conservative community. So I wasn't surprised that she, or our parents, didn't speak openly about my sexuality. Although anyone who watched Locker Talk would know. I wasn't closeted and often spoke my opinions directly from a queer perspective. When the United States Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage, I had practically set fireworks off on set. Out of respect, I decided to be discreet
"It usually helps to be dating someone first," I said. "I'm always working or travelling. It doesn't leave much time for anything serious."
I glanced in Lauren's direction and in her eyes, I saw gratitude, which saddened me to some degree. She had always seemed so accepting when she had visited or when we spoke on the phone. But obviously, she was still embarrassed, not by me, but by the potential reactions of others. I wish I could have said that she had little reason for concern. Sadly, rural communities were usually slow to progress. So, for her, I was content to be evasive. I promised myself I would not lie if asked. Yet, there was no need to volunteer information that might make my stay uncomfortable. It was already bound to be painful enough.
The rest of the evening went by smoothly. After dinner, we moved the conversation to the living room. Lauren regaled me with stories of some of the many things I had not seen or heard in my years away. When she spoke of our mother, I ached. Immediately, I knew it was a pain that would not be easily remedied. Guilt tended to linger.
I often reflect on that first night. I sift for signals or signs, anything that could have foreshadowed the events that hid on the horizon. If there had been warnings, things could have turned out differently. But I was about to discover that my future, much like my past, was out of my control.
TWO
The next morning was Sunday, and it was raining. I knew this due to the large, wet drops that splashed against my face, waking me from my slumber. Evidently, it had been raining for a while, as the left side of my mattress was damp and cold. I was grateful that it was rainwater and not the sewage I had feared. Still, the water was not clean. It had to seep through layers of shingles and stucco before falling in icky brown tears — what a terrific start to the morning. I cursed and rose from the bed. Most people would have immediately stormed down to the front desk, demanding a new room and compensation for the inconvenience. I knew better than to even try. The River Bluff Motel was not a high-class establishment. The people who stayed overnight typically fell into two categories. Either they had drunk too much the night before and could not drive back to their farms and acreages, or they were using the rooms to engage in activities they preferred to keep private.