Pandemic

Chapter 1Laurie Parkinson hated his name. It was so…well, effeminate was the least offensive way to put it. His mom had been a huge fan of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, and when she’d been expecting him, she’d been so certain he was going to be a girl she hadn’t even bothered choosing a boy’s name. After Laurie arrived, she’d declared she wasn’t going to let the fact he was a boy interfere with her plans. He’d overheard her tell the story more than once, so he knew. As a result, having a name like that had made Laurie’s life a living hell—none of the kids were aware that Laurie in Little Women was a boy—and he’d been teased and bullied from kindergarten up until he’d graduated from high school, because even after they’d seen the movie—none of those ignoramuses would dream of reading the book—the pattern had been more or less set in stone. Not that Mom seemed to notice the black eyes and cut lips he’d come home with. Her next four kids had been the girls she’d wanted, and she’d named them Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. They were the ones who got all the attention, and he was lucky he was the first born and hadn’t come along later, because otherwise he’d have wound up wearing his sisters’ hand-me-downs. That would have been even worse than being named Laurie, because frankly, he just didn’t have the legs for dresses. On top of that, he liked guys, and…he really didn’t want to. The “jokes” at work hadn’t been funny, and the remarks were downright cruel. And if his family ever found out about it—well, he couldn’t say for certain Mom and Pop would disown him, but that wasn’t something he was willing to take a chance on. Even after he’d moved to an apartment across town, he’d been cautious to the point of paranoia about it. That was one of the reasons why Lync Ryland had broken up with him. Lync had understood when they’d first started seeing each other. He’d meet Laurie in a motel two towns over, but they’d never have dinner or drinks or go dancing. Finally Laurie had agreed to go to Lync’s apartment, but he’d been a wreck the entire evening, expecting Pop or one of his uncles to come banging on the door and demanding to know what the f**k he thought he was doing, as dumb as that was. In the end, Lync had walked away from him. “I’m not staying in the closet for anyone, Laurie, not even you.” It was a shame, because the tall, green-eyed blond had an amazing c**k and f****d him like nobody’s business, but Laurie had seen what happened to all the gay boys in school, and even the boys who weren’t gay but just looked like they might be, and Laurie had no intention of getting bashed as well as teased or bullied. So instead of becoming a hairdresser, like he would have wanted—and okay, he knew it was a stereotype, but he’d been terrific at styling his sisters’ hair and even his mom’s friends had come to him for a cut and perm—he’d become a tin knocker, just like Pop, Grandpop, and his uncles Dave, Mitch, and Nick. They were excellent craftsmen. Laurie not so much. He’d overheard them once, saying he couldn’t carry their tool belts. He accepted that, as much as it hurt. He did a fairly decent job installing sheet metal, but only fairly decent. And he really hated that he wasn’t better than that. * * * * Laurie got home from work late. Adam James, IV was bringing in a new business for the Laurel Hill Mall, and Laurie’s shop had been working on the ductwork for the building. He tossed his clothes in the general direction of the hamper, and got into the shower. It was Wednesday, and that meant dinner with the family. Of course it also meant Pop getting on his case about work and Mom nagging him about finding a nice girl. But that was family. He hurried through his shower, dressed in a pair of skinny chinos and a long-sleeved blue Henley—Mom expected him to dress nicely—and stepped into a pair of loafers. He’d made a Watergate salad the night before, and he was bringing that for dessert. Something else Mom expected: if you came to visit you didn’t show up empty-handed, even if it was just beer for Pop and soda for him and the sibs—he never drank when he came for dinner, because it would be just his luck to get stopped for a DUI. But this week, Mom had asked him to make the sweet salad; it was her favorite, and it was easy, only needing instant pistachio pudding, crushed pineapple, mini marshmallows, and Cool Whip. He liked it a lot himself. Between the traffic and his piece of s**t car taking its sweet time starting, it took about half an hour to do the ten minute drive to his parents’ house. “Hi, Mom. Sorry I’m late. There was a lot of traffic.” Which was as much of the truth as he was going to admit to. If he ever said it was the piece of s**t’s fault, she’d want to know why he’d had to move so far away, or even worse, why he wasn’t saving up for a new car. And if he told her it was because between rent and insurance—he’d never be able to mention the gasoline needed for the drives to meet someone from Grindr for a hookup—he didn’t bring home enough to save squat, she’d want to know why his job wasn’t paying more. It was bad enough Pop never let him forget he wasn’t much of a tin knocker. The last thing he needed was Mom telling him the same thing. He kissed her cheek and handed the fluff salad to Meg, the oldest of his four sisters, who’d been taking down the plates and glasses. “Hi, Meg.” “Hello, big brother.” She put the salad in the fridge. “I’ll set the table, Mom.” Meg was smart. She knew when to get out of Dodge. “I’m surprised there was so much traffic in the middle of the week.” “I know. There was probably an accident on the interstate and everyone was rerouted to 23.” That was the main road that led from his apartment to the house he’d grown up in. It ran parallel to the interstate, and accidents were usually the cause of super-heavy traffic through town. “Probably.” She knew traffic backing up happened more frequently than anyone in their little town expected. Thanks to the two wealthiest families in town and their plans for it, Laurel Hill was growing faster than the original inhabitants liked. On the other hand, the Dupuises hadn’t done much before the James family decided to step in; Laurel Hill had been going downhill fast, so maybe they shouldn’t complain. “Hello, Vic.” Laurie stooped to ruffle the ears of his sister Jo’s collie. The dog had originally been a birthday gift for him when he’d turned eighteen, but the tri-colored puppy had his own ideas, and before the day was over, Laurie had to concede he was Jo’s. “That dog should not be in here,” Mom said. She’d been saying that for the past seven years, but Vic, short for Invictus, always found a way to be there. He licked Laurie’s hand and plopped down under the table in the breakfast nook. Mom brushed aside the dog’s presence and studied the clothes her only son wore, then nodded in satisfaction. “You look good in that outfit.” He was about to blow out a relieved sigh that he’d escaped an inquisition, when she continued. “When are you bringing home a nice girl?” Yep, just like clockwork. “When I find one, Mom.” “What happened to Michelle? She was—” “I know, such a nice girl.” Actually, Michelle was fictitious. Laurie had pulled the name out of thin air and said he was seeing her when he was actually dating Lync. Mom swatted the back of his head. “Well, that’s how you made her sound. You didn’t answer me. What happened to her?” “It didn’t work out.” He’d told her that when she’d questioned his sad look after Lync had broken up with him. “What did you do to chase her away?” She stood with her hands on her hips, a ladle in her fist. He eyed it cautiously. She’d been known to chase after him and his siblings with it when they were younger. “Nothing. I swear.” “If you don’t get a girlfriend soon, people are going to think you’re gay.” He turned first hot, then cold. If she ever realized he was gay, he had no doubt she’d flat-out disown him. “Mom—” “I was talking with Mrs. Richards.” The woman lived across the street, and she and Mom had been friends for ages. “Uh…yeah?” he said cautiously. This wasn’t going to be good. Whenever Mom got together with Mrs. Richards, things got strange. They’d tried to set up Mrs. Richards’s son Keith with Meg, but she’d been dating someone she worked with, and Jo got stuck with the jock, which had seriously pissed her off. “We think it would be nice if you asked Louise to go dancing Saturday night.” Mom must have gotten the notion that the only way Laurie would wind up with a girlfriend was if she went looking for one for him.” “Mom—” “Don’t whine. She’s expecting you at eight.” Laurie did sigh this time. It didn’t pay to argue with his mother. He wouldn’t win. He supposed he should be grateful she’d found something about him to care about. Fortunately, she appeared to think the subject was settled, so she let it go. “Have you been eating? You look a little thin.” “I’m eating,” he assured her, then changed the subject himself. “Where’s Pop?” “He’s in the den watching the news.” Pop never watched the news. Neither did Laurie, if it came to that. It was just too depressing. They both preferred BBC America. “Is anything happening I should be aware of?” Her lips tightened. “They’re talking about an epidemic of some sort or other. It’s too early for flu season, and the last outbreak of salmonella from that breakfast cereal has been contained, but it’s all over Europe, and people in New York and California are coming down with it.” Pop wouldn’t worry if it was just the West Coast, but New York was only a few hundred miles northeast of here, and that would concern him. “Laurie.” “Yes, Mom?” “Do me a favor? Don’t bring it up if he doesn’t? He hasn’t been feeling well—” “What’s wrong?” Pop never got sick. “It’s probably nothing more than a head cold, but you know how he gets…” Laurie did, and while Mom might be worried about it, he wasn’t too concerned. “…and I don’t want him bothered by it.” “Sure thing.” “Now go tell him dinner is ready. Jo! Where is that girl? It’s her turn to get dinner on the table.” Laurie had no idea where his second sister was, although lately it seemed she’d been missing the Wednesday dinners a lot. He strolled into the den, where Pop sat in his recliner and glared at the television screen, snarling at the commentator. He was watching CNN. “Hi, Pop. How’s The Situation Room?” “Son. This world is going to hell in a handbasket.” “It sure feels that way.” Things had been getting worse and worse these past two years, or maybe it was just him becoming aware of what was going on. “Did your mother send you to tell me dinner is ready?” “Yep.” Laurie studied him surreptitiously. He didn’t know what his mother was talking about. Pop looked fine. Pop turned off the TV, set aside the remote, and hauled himself out of his recliner. “What’s this I hear from Billy Cavey?” Laurie wanted to groan. He knew the rest of the dinner would be spent in Pop nagging him about the job he didn’t want and the boss he didn’t like. “I don’t know, Pop. What’s he been saying?” Pop told him while they washed their hands in the half bath off the front foyer. He told him while they walked into the dining room and took their seats. He told him while they helped themselves to lamb shanks, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. Pop was still telling him about it when Amy, the youngest of the sisters, brought out the Watergate salad for dessert. His sisters had been silent throughout the entire meal—Jo had arrived just before Pop said grace—relieved Pop wasn’t tearing into them for a change, and Laurie couldn’t really begrudge them that relief. Before he’d moved out, he’d seen how their father had gone on and on about their school courses or their boyfriends or their own jobs. However, not once was anything about the epidemic brought up, and Mom sent Laurie a satisfied look. He sighed once again and tried to pretend this had been part of his master plan all along.