Page 34 of Big Britches
Barb smiled. “Yes. There are similarities. I hadn’t really considered it. But let me dispel your worries. It is a beautiful old house in the country, but nowhere near as big as Manderley. And Titus is a widower like Maxim, but he didn’t kill Violet.”
“Wait. Maxim killed Rebecca?!”
“Shit!” She winced, covering her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry. I just totally blew the ending for you.”
“It’s OK. I had my suspicions.”
“No. It’s unforgivable. I hereby proclaim you president of our reading group from now on. I’m not worthy.”
“So, if Titus is Maxim, does that make Roz Mrs. Danvers?”
“Hardly. Titus is the closeted one, not Roz. Roz is devoted, though—but more to Titus than Violet. She stayed by his side through it all–diagnosis, illness, childbirth, and death. It’s been close to five years now, and she’s still with him.”
“Not much longer, though, from what he told me. He seemed pretty upset about it.”
“I imagine so.” Barb’s eyes drifted momentarily in thought, then she smiled. “No wonder he’s latched on to you so quickly.”
“Uh, oh. I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Stop.” She reached for his hand again. “Quit comparing things to the work of a long-dead, repressed, and potentially trans author.”
“Trans?” Pedro’s eyes grew large. “Really?”
“More on that Sunday. After you finish reading.”
“You’re just dropping all kinds of bombs.”
“Sorry. Back to the subject. Titus is a good guy. The best. He’s just been through a helluva lot for someone our age.”
“Do you think Roz is in love with him?”
Barb froze, mouth open, stunned again. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Now that I had never thought of. But if she harbors those kinds of feelings, it’s forever unrequited. She’s straight and married, and Titus is neither–no longer, anyway. I had a crush on Roz myself, once upon a time. She shot that down pretty quick.”
“Yet Titus was married to a woman and had a child. That is some weird-ass Kinsey shit, if you ask me.”
“That’s some old-school southern baggage, I’ll tell you. Titus was doing nothing more than what was expected of him. He’s the epitome of a dutiful son. On a Kinsey scale, he’s a hard six now. That, I guarantee.”
Again, Pedro recalled Titus’s kind eyes, his sweet smile, and the firm grip with which he’d held hands. Barb was right. The man was definitely not questioning his sexuality.
“So,” he said. “Despite any similarities, Violet is not Rebecca, Titus is not Maxim, and Roz is not Mrs. Danvers.”
“And there’s also Tucker, and Roz’s girl, Shelly. They’re adorable, but I don’t recall any kids running around Manderley.”
Pedro chuckled. “No. No room for children in a Gothic romance.”
“Because this is not a Gothic romance. It’s a modern romance.”
“Contemporary, I believe, is the accurate term.”
“Yes,” Barb said, relieved at the turn the conversation was taking. “And you love kids. You’ve told me so. You want your own.”
“I do. I just don’t see any of that happening until further down the road. I need to establish permanent residency… become a citizen, and get my mother here.”
“Life’s what happens while you’re busy making other plans.”
“Is that John Rechy?”
“John Lennon. Paraphrased.”