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“Hey, hey, now,” says Gary, a soft lilt of worry in his voice. “This isn’t the time nor the place for any a’ that. We’re all havin’ a nice dinner here.”
But the table stays silent, as if waiting for Hoyt’s response. Hoyt finally turns his eyes back to his plate, finishes chewing, swallows, then patiently says, “It wasn’t about him being gay.”
“What’s that?” Rust leans forward. “Not about him bein’ gay?”
“Gentlemen …” says Gary once again.
Hoyt clears his throat, but keeps his head down. “There’s no excuse for how I acted. No excuse for how I treated him. I’m sure I’ll be … payin’ for it the rest of my life, no doubt. But I sure as shit never pushed him around for bein’ gay. It was never about that.”
Rust squints at him, suspicious.
Hoyt, still looking down at his plate, lets out a sigh. “I know it’s cliché and all that, but … I wish I could do it all over again. Maybe there’d be a different outcome.”
“Such as what?” barks Rust. “You not being the most useless, waste-of-time helper we ever had?”
Fred, sitting next to Rust, sighs and nudges him. “C’mon, Rust, now Mr. Gary said to stop. We’re tryin’ to have a nice meal.”
“So how’s we supposed to trust your ass around here?” asks Rust anyway, pushing on. “You’ve got the Strong name to uphold ‘round here, y’know. Wasn’t Tanner Strong your coach?”
Hoyt gives one nervous glance down the table at Paul, clears his throat, then says, “I’m not the guy I was back in high school.”
Rust explodes into laughter. “Are you kiddin’ me? ‘I’m not the guy I was back in …’ Boy, high school was what, a damn month ago for you?” His obnoxious guffawing causes two others at the table to start laughing. Emmalea rolls her eyes.
To all of the laughter, Hoyt just shrugs. “I ain’t proud of how I was. I don’t have any excuse for it other than I was an idiot and got lots of growin’ up to do.”
“Sure as shit you do,” barks Rust, still guffawing. “Sorry, Mr. Gary, I know you’re givin’ me eyes right now, but this’ll be the last of it, and once I say it, I’ll be done: I don’t think you belong here, Hoyt. But I love bein’ proven wrong, so go on, do what you do. But when it comes time that you leave, I ain’t gonna say to nobody ‘told ya so’. But told ya so.” He grabs his beer and kicks it back.
After a moment of pinching the bridge of her nose, Emmalea glances over at Paul and Gary. “Sorry ‘bout all this.”
Gary gives her a calm gesture of his hand. “I appreciate that, Lea. Don’t any of you worry about Hoyt.” He eyes him across the table. “I’ve got faith in you, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought you into the team. I’m sure you’re doin’ my nephew proud.”
Rust’s moody, doubtful eyes flick over to Hoyt.
Hoyt visibly gathers his thoughts. “Well, guess I’d … probably do him more proud if I could manage to saddle a horse correctly.” He glances at Rust, then nods at the others. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it right. But you might need to give me a little more time. Coach Strong always said I was a quick learner, but kinda thick in the head.” He taps his forehead with his fork.
Emmalea chuckles. One or two others snort with amusement, but that’s about it. Hoyt scoops another big bite of steak past his lips and says nothing else. I’m not sure anyone knows whether or not his comment was intended as funny. Paul mentions something about Nadine, and then the conversation of the table turns to her upcoming mayoral debut and how that can positively affect the farming community. Meanwhile, I study the side of Hoyt’s face, watching as he continues to eat his meal in silence, his eyes glassy and far away, lost in a cloud of thoughts.
He doesn’t talk again.
I don’t need a window into his brain. I know he’s upset, even if he isn’t showing a bit of it. He might even be furious. Or hurt. Or possibly filled with a mountain of regret, reflecting on his whole senior year at Spruce High.
I hate that I’m even feeling the tiniest pinch of sympathy for him. He deserves to feel ashamed, doesn’t he? If he wants people respecting him around here, he’s going to have to put in the same amount of work any of us have had to do.
Yeah, Gary, I remember how it was for me twelve years ago when I was Hoyt’s age, working my ass off on this farm. Sure, I was a cocky football player, too, having to prove myself. I was rough around the edges, like him. I needed time and plenty of training.
