Smoky Mountain Dreams by Leta Blake

sort of evidence of intent?
    Amanda shifted forward, trying to see the screen. “What did
you say?”
    “None of your business.”
    Both of them waited, and Jesse’s knee bounced up and down.
    My mom’s been bugging me to get one.
Not having one when you asked was the last straw. As for intent—you can take it
however you want.
    Jesse grinned.
    “Ask him on a date,” Amanda said.
    Jesse looked up at her, and then down at his phone. Why the
hell not? The guy was totally Jesse’s type, sang in a way that touched Jesse’s
soul, and had a good-looking face and attractive body. Not to mention he was
friendly and fun to be around, loved his grandmother a hell of a lot, and gave amazing head . What was he waiting for?
    Dinner tomorrow?
    The reply was swift.
    Lucky for you, I don’t have a show.
    “What’d he say?” Amanda sat so far forward that she looked
as if she might slide off the chair onto the floor.
    Jesse rolled his eyes and typed a response.
    That’s a yes?
    “Come on, give me something here!” Amanda urged.
    Name the time and place. I’ll be there.
    Jesse typed in the name of the semi-swanky Mexican
restaurant on the parkway. It would be swarming with tourists, but it had the
advantage of an open-air bar on the roof, made tolerable in the chilly autumn
nights by the small gas firepit in the middle of every table. There was also
the added bonus of the mechanical bull in the main restaurant downstairs. If
Christopher drank enough to be convinced to ride it, Jesse definitely wouldn’t
mind watching him try. Seeing his hips buck and slide would be an excellent
prelude to actually getting Christopher to ride him ,
and if all went well, Jesse hoped that would be a likely outcome.
    Great. 7 pm it is. See you tomorrow.
    “I made a date with him. Happy?”
    Amanda smiled like her face might break. “Yes!”
    “Good, because you’ll have to watch the kids.”
    An hour later, Amanda had left to “hamster,” and Jesse
glanced at the clock. It was time.
    As he drove toward Sevierville, his stomach knotted as it
always did. He hated Thursdays. It got easier, but it was never easy. Still,
nothing would ever stop him from going. “In sickness and in health, as long as
we both shall live,” he’d sworn, and despite how close he’d been to breaking
that vow before the accident, he wasn’t about to break it now.
    The nursing home was his least favorite place on earth. It
was full of bad memories and a never-ending sense of hopelessness—a place with
antiseptic in the air, faded paintings of flowers on the walls, and rubber
shoes squeaking on worn linoleum. But he went to check on Marcy’s care and do
the little things that Ronnie, living two hours away with her husband and kids
in Johnson City, had never done, like pick up her dirty laundry and drop off
fresh, soft pajamas. In some ways these tasks were pointless, and in other
ways—personal, intimate ways—so necessary.
    As he passed the nurses’ station, he waved to Natalie and
Jason with the bunch of grocery store flowers he brought every time. He used to
bring more expensive bouquets, but sometime over the last five years he’d
admitted that just bringing flowers at all was a concession to a fantasy that
fueled Ronnie’s fire. He’d stopped bringing the finest quality arrangements
because he understood Marcy couldn’t see them, or smell them, or even know they
were there.
    But he refused to come empty handed, although Marcy was no
longer even at the party. She’d left the party years ago now, but she was still
his wife.
    “Hey there, Mar-mar,” he said, entering Marcy’s room and
putting the flowers on the bedside table.
    Curled on her side, she was awake—or at least her eyes were
open. He sat in the chair next to the bed and found it warm. Someone had been
here with her not too long before. Either Tim or Nova must have been visiting.
God knew it hadn’t been Ronnie, since she only came to see her sister if she
was flanked by news cameras, and