A Holiday Tradition Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About the Author

  By Chrissy Munder

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright Page

  A Holiday Tradition

  By Chrissy Munder

  Paul Carpenter has his life all planned out. Or at least his father does. The right school, the right degree, the right job. Paul is on track, until a bus accident has him sitting out a coveted internship, babysitting, or being babysat, by a grandfather he barely remembers during his holiday stay in a Florida RV park. His father’s reasoning? How much temptation can Paul find around a bunch of senior citizens playing bingo? There’ll be nothing to distract him from his studies.

  It’s hard to muster his holiday spirit when Paul is used to snow and cold, not sun, surf, and plastic flamingos in Santa hats. But then Paul meets Kevin Lombardo, who offers to show him some new holiday traditions. Suddenly Paul’s fast track hits a curve.

  For Karen, Aimée, and Lyubov. With appreciation. Thanks for hanging out with me over the years.

  Special thanks to Clare for reminding me I can.

  Chapter 1

  “YOUR FATHER says you sleep with men.”

  His grandfather’s unexpected statement dropped into the silence of the RV like a bomb, and Paul Carpenter jerked upright, knocking his head into the passenger-side window with a loud clunk.

  Oh. My. God. A burning surge of resentment rose in Paul’s throat. What the hell? He’d send his father a furious text if it would do any good. Not only for dumping his sexuality on his grandfather, but also for the idea behind this entire trip!

  He closed his eyes, focusing on the coolness of the glass rather than the scream he had held back for the last few miles of the drive from Michigan to some mobile home and RV park on Florida’s eastern coast. Paul had never heard of the place, but Grandpa Louie swore Decembers were better under the Florida sun.

  Two hours down, a minimum of sixteen more to go. Probably eighteen, with as many rest stops as his grandfather made. Paul took a deep breath and dug his thumbnail into his palm, mentally gearing himself up for the confrontation sure to come. “If you’re asking if I’m gay, yes, Grandpa. I am.”

  Grandpa Louie nodded in reply. He carried his years with comfort, the bulk of muscle honed by hard work not yet whittled away by time, and his hearty appearance overcame his fondness for dressing in bright pastels.

  Paul hoped he would age just as well, but he took after his father’s family. Which translated to him being shorter, thinner, and with hair more dishwater than blond.

  “Thanks for telling me. It sure would have been embarrassing if I tried to set my wingman up with a bird of the wrong feather.” Grandpa Louie cackled at his own joke, his quick glance inviting Paul to join in.

  Paul released his tension with a choked-off huff. “Wingman?”

  “You betcha. Why do you think I spend my winters down south?” His eager grin peeled the bushy mustache away from his lips, making him look ridiculously like Paul’s roommate in the first part of his freshman year.

  Paul shuddered at the memory. The adventures of Dean-o Hamilton, the self-proclaimed “Party Dog” of their floor, were something he preferred to forget. While his father’s intense micromanagement of his college experience sometimes chafed, Paul hadn’t protested when his father insisted he transfer to the designated quiet dorm after paying them a surprise visit.

  “I can give you the answer in one word: widows.” His grandfather whistled through the gap in his front teeth. “Fun in the sun doesn’t always mean pinochle and shuffleboard.”

  Paul rubbed the back of his neck. This was… okay? He didn’t remember much about his mother’s side of the family. This trip would be the longest time he’d ever spent with Grandpa Louie, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. Except maybe not quite so much enthusiasm when it came to hooking up?

  “I’m here to work, Grandpa. Since the accident kept me from completing my internship at the brokerage firm, my entire grade rides on this research paper, and I have to turn it in before the new year.” He tapped his sketchbook against the long leg cast hidden under his sweatpants. “I’m lucky Dad was able to work the deal with the professor, otherwise I’d have an incomplete this semester.”

  “There’ll be another internship.”

  His grandfather’s airy tone didn’t do justice to the heavy weight of disappointment leveled against Paul when the doctor told his father the bus accident and expected lengthy recovery left Paul unable to return to the coveted opportunity.

  “I don’t understand your father’s thinking, though, setting you up with his buddy at that brokerage. I wouldn’t trust that guy to trim my toenails, much less handle my money.” The speed of the RV dropped a few miles per hour when Grandpa Louie took his foot off the gas pedal and waggled it at Paul, heavy snow boots and all.

  “The firm is very well known,” Paul countered. He squinted into the side-view mirror, wincing at the reaction of the cars behind them as the huge beast of a vehicle broke the flow of traffic.

  “Ah,” his grandfather scoffed. “The guy is so slippery he’d win first place in a greased pig contest at the county fair.”

  Paul privately agreed. But his father had been all smiles when he announced how Paul would take off the winter term and holiday break for “some practical real-world experience” and a favorable line on his future resume.

  “I bet your father wasn’t happy.”

  “About me missing out on the internship?” Paul pushed his scarf off his neck and adjusted his position in the big captain’s chair. The cast made getting comfortable almost impossible. So did the itch down by his ankle and, if he were honest, the weird funky smell.

  “I mean about you liking men.” Grandpa Louie waggled his eyebrows in Paul’s direction, the RV lurching into the next lane with a double spray of slush, one from the unit itself, the other from the SUV towed behind.

  “Oh.” Paul rubbed his pencil eraser against his sketchbook, brushing off the crumbs when that painful conversation flashed across his mind. Yeah, he wasn’t going there. The issue was still unresolved between him and his dad, at least on his dad’s end. “I can’t believe he told you.”

  “I think it was mentioned somewhere in the long list of things you should and shouldn’t be doing.” Grandpa Louie grabbed his can of Mountain Dew from the drink holder in the console and threw back a swallow. “I may have flushed that piece of paper at the last rest area.”

  Paul laughed despite his burning embarrassment at his father’s overcontrolling impulses. He tapped his cast again. “I doubt I’ll be hitting the bars with this.”

  “You never know.” Grandpa Louie waved his soda can in Paul’s direction. “Seymour Franklin has a great time in my square dance group, and he uses a walker.”

  Now there was a mental image. Paul shrugged. “I’m sure Nowhere, Florida is a hotbed of excitement for the over-seventy crowd, but probably not full of eligible gay men.”

  “Shows what you know.” Grandpa Louie snorted. “Maybe we’ll find you a sugar daddy while we’re out here. Then you can leave all this finance stuff behind and do something with your art like your mother wanted.” He glanced at the sketchbook in Paul’s lap. “I’m glad you’re still drawing.”

  “It’s just a hobby.” Paul gave his standard disclaimer and shoved the art supplies under his thigh, unable to help the pang of sadness from the mention of his mother. His father hadn’t talked about her in years, choosing to
channel his grief into his business dealings, and he certainly didn’t encourage Paul’s teenage dreams of becoming an artist. Sometimes he felt he’d lost both his parents, unable to recognize the smiling husband and father in old family photos as the somber businessman who managed both their lives with determined focus.

  He stared out the window as they passed miles of snow-covered fields until his grandfather cleared his throat.

  “We weren’t gossiping.”

  The sheepish note in his voice caught Paul’s attention. “What?”

  “Your father. We were arguing, not gossiping.” Grandpa Louie heaved a sigh. “He blames our side of the family.”

  “For what?” Paul replayed the last few minutes of conversation in his head without his grandfather making sense.

  “You being gay. He said it’s our fault.”

  “Why?” Paul gave a weak laugh. This was a weird joke, right? He certainly never expected this conversation when he climbed into the RV this morning.

  “Because of your grandmother. Heaven rest her.” Grandpa Louie tilted his head up, as if he could see straight into the clouds. “He was always a bit uncomfortable with Callie, her being so openly bisexual. I guess he figures we tainted the gene pool.”

  Paul’s memories of his grandmother on his mother’s side were few, more flashes of scent and sound: cookies and perfume, and an off-key voice belting out rock songs over the sound of the radio. “Grandma Callie was bisexual?” He tugged off his scarf, letting the knitted length drop behind his seat.

  “Yep. Made me happier than a corn dog in winter when she accepted my proposal.” Grandpa Louie gave Paul a wink before turning his gaze back to the road ahead of them. “She’d dated mainly women before me. Matter a’ fact, she once told me that I could do things—”

  “Whoa.” Paul raised his hands in the universal time-out position. “Way too much information.”

  “You kids,” Grandpa Louie scoffed. “You always act like no one had sex before the year two thousand. How in the world do you think you got here?”

  “Seriously,” Paul said. “Some things I don’t need to imagine.”

  Grandpa Louie frowned, the drooping ends of his mustache giving him the appearance of a sad walrus. “You might be more like your father than I thought.”

  Paul ignored the dig. He tilted his head to the side and considered his grandfather’s words. His father always refused to discuss the matter with Paul. “I guess it’s better he blames genetics and doesn’t think I’m acting out to spite him.”

  Grandpa Louie cleared his throat again. “Don’t know if he’s right or not, but if he is, I want to apologize.”

  “For my sexuality-determining genes?” It was Paul’s turn to scoff.

  “For making things harder with him than they need to be.”

  Paul turned his attention to the passing road signs. He wasn’t ready to get into a discussion of all the ways he’d disappointed his father.

  Silence sat between them, an uncomfortable third in the already crowded cab of the RV. Paul picked up the old-fashioned road atlas and traced his finger down the highlighted route. The pages were worn from years of getting folded back, and Paul couldn’t think of the last time he’d seen a paper map. It was curious to view their trip all laid out from start to finish, unlike the GPS on his phone.

  If he were on his own he’d take his time exploring the side roads just to see what was there, losing track of time and focus while he meandered around. No wonder his father tried to give him some predictability and a path he could follow. All Paul had to do was resist his tendency to stray off course.

  “Well, are you seeing anyone?” Grandpa Louie’s voice brought him back to the present.

  “I was.” Paul bit his lower lip and focused on their route again. “It’s complicated.”

  “We’ve got nothing but time,” Grandpa Louie prodded. “Might as well get to know each other better than we do.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Paul put the atlas aside and fiddled with the zipper on his winter coat. He knew his mother’s parents had been around when he was younger, but after her death, his father moved them through a series of jobs and cities, and they never spent much time together. “Why are we here, again?”

  Grandpa Louie snorted. The gray tufts of his mustache fluttered over his lip. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and I had a little health scare this year. The doctor said I shouldn’t be driving on my own. Seemed like good timing when your father called and told me he was worried about you being alone during your recovery.” He cleared his throat. “I guess he couldn’t cancel his business trip and stay home for the holiday?”

  Paul crossed his arms and slumped into his seat with a scowl. It’s not like he and his father spent the holidays together anymore. Their old family traditions had died along with his mother.

  He usually spent his breaks on campus with the foreign exchange students and anyone else unwilling or unable to head home, occasionally meeting up with friends who lived locally. He didn’t need babysitting, no matter what his father said. Even though it was too late to sign up for a room in the dorm, Paul would have been perfectly fine staying at his father’s house on his own.

  In fact, with the internship no longer a possibility, Paul had considered rekindling his on-again, off-again relationship with his sorta boyfriend, Michael, over the break. Who could resist the romance of a traditional snowy Christmas?

  Except his father decided his trip out of the country would be a perfect time to have some extensive remodeling done on their already well-appointed home. A small, petty part of Paul’s brain insisted his father came up with the idea only after he found Michael in Paul’s hospital room.

  The joke was on Paul, because Michael only came to tell him he was spending the holiday in Aruba with some friends and wasn’t going to be available to “play nurse.”

  The bombshell left Paul too hurt, too tired, and in too much physical discomfort to care about anything. Still, he was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that when his father presented him with the research paper deal and the news he would be his grandfather’s travel buddy, he hadn’t fought for any other options.

  He hated feeling passive. He’d worked too hard to find a direction in his life to stop now. So he decided to use this opportunity to really focus on his assignment and prove himself to his father.

  “I appreciate you coming along,” Grandpa Louie said after they passed another few mile markers. “Even if I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “You make this trip every year?” Paul asked, touched despite himself at the way Grandpa Louie made it sound like Paul was the one doing him a favor. He uncrossed his arms and wiggled himself back to a more upright position.

  There was no reason for him to take things out on his grandfather. Besides, he needed something to concentrate on other than the jarring bumps in the freeway.

  His grandfather seemed as eager to change the subject as Paul. “Most of the time.” He beamed. “Me and a couple of college buddies. We used to spend our Decembers in Vegas, but we’re old now and mostly widowers.”

  “Great,” Paul muttered under his breath, his mind filling with images of The Golden Girls, only in plaid golf pants and with mustaches.

  “Looks like there’s a gas station up ahead.” His grandfather hit the turn signal. “I gotta take a leak.”

  “We just stopped,” Paul protested, cringing at the thought of the production it took to get him in and out of the RV.

  “Wait till you’re my age.” His grandfather patted Paul’s thigh. “You’ll understand.”

  Paul shuddered as he faced another sixteen hours of bathroom jokes.

  His grandfather and Dean-o Hamilton had way too much in common.

  Chapter 2

  “WE’RE HERE,” Grandpa Louie crowed as he steered the large RV in between two palm trees framing the park’s main drive.

  Paul ran his hand across his face. He grabbed a water bottle and swished the sour taste out of his mouth. He’d
fallen into an uneasy doze after their last stop, not helped by the bumpy road under the RV’s tires and the dull ache from his leg. He needed to elevate his foot and get rid of the faint throb in his toes.

  A freshly painted sign proudly proclaimed they had reached Holiday Meadows. Paul stared blankly at the sea of campers and RVs parked in tidy rows behind a gated fence, with a larger ring of single and double-wide mobile homes beyond them. Serious old folks central.

  Paul swallowed his dismay. His dad wasn’t kidding; he’d have minimal distractions to keep him from writing his paper. He was used to being on his own, and honestly, there wouldn’t be much difference spending his Christmas holiday here, surrounded by strangers, and what he was used to. His father used the holiday for business travel, but Paul still took comfort in the colder weather traditions he grew up with.

  The double-wide mobile home on this side of the gated area must be the office. Grandpa Louie confirmed his speculation when he pulled into the lot.

  “Stay here, and I’ll sign us in.” Grandpa Louie shut off the engine and engaged the emergency brake. “Now where’s my paperwork?” he muttered. He fished around in the pile of papers, empty Mountain Dew cans, and protein bar wrappers littering the console.

  Paul shook his head. For all the stops they’d made, Grandpa Louie didn’t bother throwing anything out. He simply piled more on top of the mess, declaring the size of the stack told him how far they’d come.

  “I need to stretch.” Paul unlatched his seat belt and opened the door, the rush of cooler air sending Grandpa Louie’s papers swirling. He twisted awkwardly in his seat, trying not to knock his leg into anything. He had discarded his winter coat a few states back, and he shoved it aside to reach his crutches.

  Paul used them to steady himself as he slid out of the RV and landed on his good leg. He groaned, arching his back and letting his spine straighten after the hours of travel.

  Despite his ability to hit every rest area on the I-75 corridor between the northern and southern US, Grandpa Louie didn’t believe in stopping overnight. The way he mainlined Mountain Dew was probably responsible. Paul poked one crutch at the landscaping rocks, which turned out to be crushed shell rather than stone.