In The Absence Of Light (24 page)

Went away. Last night in the grips of that dream Morgan had went away. It seemed too simple of an explanation, but I couldn’t think of a better one.

“He would have gotten more time if I could have testified. But I couldn’t, so they let him plead out.” He took a bite of his eggs. “That’s what happened. Now you don’t have to ask.”

What did I say? Thank you for telling me? It felt like an insult.

The thought of Morgan lying broken for three days did something to me. I don’t even know what, but it was a physical shift as loud and hard as the truck’s transmission.

“Will you do me a favor?” Morgan took a sip of his orange juice.

I nodded because I didn’t trust myself to speak. My mind was still rolling over the things he’d told me. And I’d seen enough beatings in my life to fuel my imagination.

“My order of bottles will be at the post today. I found red ones. Not the brown red or the orange red, but real red, like cherries. I’ve never had glass that color before. I ordered a dozen, so the box will be big. Usually I ask Jenny to pick them up, but I thought if you were going to be in town—”

“Yes.” My voice didn’t even crack.

Morgan nodded again. “You can bring them by whenever.”

“Sure thing.” I forced myself to take a few more bites, but the food had lost its flavor and I’d lost my appetite.

Years ago, when I first got into the business, Eugene told me every man has a limit. No matter how hard you try to be respectable. After twenty years of smuggling, I’d never hit mine. I got out because I didn’t want to discover what it was.

Who would have thought I’d find it in a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere, in the form of a beautiful man with the most incredible eyes? Thanks to Durstrand, that monster I’d tried so hard not to become would finally win.

The scary part was, I had no desire to fight it. If anything, I embraced the cold hate. I could only hope the bastard did not get out. If he did, he and I were going to have a talk.

And only one of us would walk away.

********

After I dropped Morgan off at home, I called Harriet. She was in court so I left a message with her secretary.

It wasn’t until I pulled into the post office parking lot it occurred to me they might not give me Morgan’s package without some sort of slip. I decided to go see before making a trip back to Morgan’s.

There weren’t many people waiting in line, but the tight confines of the squat building forced everyone shoulder to shoulder.  The old man trying to get his mail out of his post office box had to stand sideways. He still managed to clock himself in the head with the door when the lady with the baby on her hip bumped it with her shoulder.

I grabbed the door to keep it from closing again and smashing his fingers. “Thank you,” he said.

“No problem.”

He squeezed his way back through the group of people to the door. I stepped in line behind the lady with the kid.  What looked like strawberry jam made a circle around the infant’s mouth.

Two older ladies worked the front desk. In between transactions, they exchanged updates about their lives with the people as they got to the counter. What should have taken ten minutes tops, five if they hadn’t stopped to bicker in between every other customer, turned into a half hour. The young man wearing overalls said his good-byes and squeezed his way back through the line to the door.

I stepped up to the counter beside the woman with the infant exchanging small talk with the other clerk.

“And how can I help you?” The woman was short, round, and had enough smile lines to suggest she rarely did anything else.

“I’m here to pick up a package for a friend, Morgan Kade.”

The woman raised her eyebrows.  “You’re the fella who bought the old Anderson place?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She exchanged a look with her short friend who hurried into the back. Then she resumed staring. The smile on her face turned into a grin. “So, where you from?”

The casual conversation going on between the other townfolks standing in line stopped and an odd hush filled the room. I glanced over my shoulder. They all stared at me.

“Uh, Chicago.”

“You don’t talk funny.”

“Originally from Alabama. Guess I never lost the accent.”

An elderly lady to my right barked a laugh. “Well that explains it. He’s one of those corn-fed boys.” There was a murmur of agreement.

“How you do you like living in Durstrand?” the post lady said.

The weight of a dozen or more stares continued to beat at my back.  “It’s quiet.” And suddenly somewhat scary.

There was a shuffle from around the corner and the other clerk came back with a box and a tray balanced on top. She put everything on the counter.

“You think you could take these with you too? Morgan won’t pick them up.” She put down the tray.  A pile of certified letters threatened to spill over the side.

“He’ll have to sign for those.” That from the little old lady.  She was so close now her exhale brushed my arm.

“Marge.” The clerk huffed. “I know how to do my job.”

Marge tapped my shin with her cane. “You sure’a sturdy fella.”

Someone in the back laughed. Before I could look, the woman with infant said, “You single?” She pushed back a lock of mangled hair. It slid back into place and her kid resumed chewing the knotted ends.

“He’s gay, Beth,” said the short clerk in the matter-of-fact tone of someone pointing out the obvious.

“So?” Beth continued to watch me with doe eyes.

“That means he don’t like the ladyfolk.”

The old lady tapped the back of my knee with her cane. “Definitely sturdy.”

“Here.” The clerk gave me a pen. “Just sign these right quick.”

Quick? There had to be twenty or more. I started to inch down to the end of the counter so the guy behind me could get his stuff.

The clerk patted my hand. “You’re fine right here, honey.”

“I don’t want to hold any one up.”

“I ain’t got nowhere to be.” That from the guy behind me. “You just take your time there, son.”

“Besides, there ain’t no room down there anyhow.” The old lady beside me nudged the boy behind her, and he moved into the few inches of space and propped his elbow on the counter. “See?”

No one had pitchforks or matches out, so that was a good sign. Thing was, I didn’t get a single aggressive vibe from any of them.

I set to work signing the cards. All the while the crowd of people grew one by one. A ripple of whispers traveled to the back of the line, cutting off any questions the new arrivals asked.

Until one guy. “Like I give a shit. Tell him to get out of the way, I’ve got better things to do than stand around watching some faggot pick up another faggot’s mail.” Everyone turned to look at him.

Pretty sad when that kind of reaction unnerved me far less than the silence.

“Chad Grizzle,” the old lady with the cane said. “You watch your mouth.”

“Guess what, Mrs. White, I ain’t in the third grade anymore so you can just shut your flap.”

I would probably regret it, but I did it anyhow. I turned around. I was one of the taller men there so I had no problem spotting the greasy headed blond. “Hey, you don’t talk to a lady that way.”

“Lady?” He laughed. “That bitch ain’t been a lady since the Stone Age.”

I handed the clerk her pen. “Hold that for me for a moment.” I maneuvered my way to the back.

The cocky grin on Chad’s face wilted with every step closer I got.

He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, but was going on fifty. Between his dirty clothes and unkempt hair, he looked like something scraped out of a Chicago alley.

Smelled about as fresh too.

I nodded at the door. “You mind if we step outside for a moment.”

“What for?”

“Because I think you and I have a few things to discuss.”

“News flash, faggot, I ain’t got shit to say to you, or that old—”

I snatched him by the arm, spun him around, and cranked his elbow back. Chad screamed like a little girl. In my experience, most bullies did.

The black man standing next to the door held it open. “Thank you.” I shoved Chad out front.

“You mother fucker, I’m gonna kill you. You goddamned—”

I pinned Chad against the brick wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him. The whites showed around his blue eyes.

“Now, look.” I leaned in close to his ear. “If you gotta problem with me, fine, but leave other people out of it.”

“Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?”

I cranked his arm higher between his shoulders. Pain stripped the anger out of his features.

“You may think you’re tough, you may even think your scary, but I promise you, you are nothing but a skid mark compared to the men I’ve killed.”

I held his gaze and watched the doubt in his eyes evaporate.

Chad swallowed several time. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I don’t think you understand, Chad. I won’t hurt you. I will kill you. There is a distinct difference. Do you understand what that difference is, or do I need to give you a demonstration?”

He tried to shake his head and only succeeded in scraping his cheek on the brick.

“Good.” I eased off the pressure on his arm. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to walk in there and apologize to everyone.”

A nasty retort formed on his lips. Before he could spit it out, I shoved him back against the wall.

“I’m sorry, were you about to say something?”

His breath shuddered out. “No.”

“No, what?” I twisted his thumb. Tears sprang up in his eyes.

“No, sir.”

“That’s better.” I eased off again. “Now, as I was saying. You’re going to go back in there and apologize for being rude, then you’re going to go home and reflect on your behavior.”

He wanted to challenge me. It was right there in his expression. A dark cloud wavering underneath the fear. But he believed me. Or at least he believed me enough.

“Okay.” Again he tried to nod. “Okay, okay. I will.”

I turned him around. The black man opened the door again. Nothing but silence greeted us as we stepped into the stuffy room.

I let Chad go. He glanced back at me, rubbing his arm.

“Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry.”

I thumped him on the ear. “Not me, everyone else.” And I’m pretty sure he would have rather eaten his boot. “Now.”

Chad stared at the floor. “I’m sorry.” He started to turn.

“Not so fast.” I motioned him back around with a finger. “What do you say to Mrs. White?”

“I’m sorry.”

“And what else?”

He gave me a confused look.

“And you promise this will never happen again.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. Chad slumped. “I’m sorry, Mrs. White, and it will never happen again.”

“Good boy.”  I stepped out of his way, and he dove for the door. Chad ran across the parking lot without a look back.

I waded through the clump of people to the desk.  Mrs. White patted me on the arm as the clerked handed me back the pen.

“You’re such a good man.”

I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to pop her bubble. I finished signing the slips.

The short clerk pushed the box over. Morgan was right, it was heavy. I stacked the mail on top, but the envelopes kept sliding to the edge.

“Here,” she put the mail back into the tray. “You take it with you, and bring it back next time you come in.”

“Thank you. I will.” I nodded at the guy crowding my back. “Pardon me.” He stepped aside. Or at least stepped as far as he could.

“Can I ask you one thing before you go?” the clerk said. Her short friend watched me over the edge of her glasses.

“Sure.”

“Are you and Morgan going to the movies again anytime soon?”

I swear every person in that room leaned closer.

“Uh…”

“Mr. Newman is gonna be showing the cows The Sound of Music next Friday,” Marge said. Then I’ll be damned if she didn’t grin.

What the hell did I say? Because they sure were waiting for me to say something. “We’ll see.”

Marge patted me on the arm. “Well, you just let us know.”

I faced some scary people in my life, had guns shoved in my face, seen the results of a disgruntled colleague's handiwork, and never ran. Apparently a room full of Durstrand locals could do what bullets had failed at.

I set the box of bottles on the floor on the passenger side of the truck and cranked it up. Everyone in the post office watched me out the window. Even the two mail clerks had squeezed up front. About half of them waved.

With my face on fire, I fled the parking lot.

*********

A trip into town was the last thing on my list, but I was out of plumber’s glue, finishing nails, joist hangers, and just about anything required to hold something together.

I tried sitting around, which led to thoughts of Morgan, which reminded me I was almost out of lubricant. I figured I should probably give my hand a rest and put my ass to work, which meant going back into the shark-infested waters.

If only it was sharks.

There were a few cars in the parking lot, but the inside of the hardware store was a ghost town.

Thank God.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Then Berry gave me the look. The same one everyone in the post office had. Come to think of it, so did Miranda, and those people at Fran’s.

Shit. Was there anyone who didn’t know?

I pointed at him. “Don’t start.”

He glanced around. “Why, Grant, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His attempt to keep a serious face was overrun by his smile.

“Jesus, there wasn’t that many people at the drive-in.”

Berry laughed. “Don’t need to be, son. Word travels fast. Especially now in the age of cell phones.”

Aw fuck. It hadn’t even dawned on me.

Did I really need supplies this bad? I mean, I had a working sink in the bathroom, and the toilet was good to go. The shower too. And surely those sagging floor joists would hold another six months. Maybe even a year.

But I knew from experience small town memories rarely faded and unless I planned on driving to a whole new place, I needed to buck up.

I took a breath and walked to the counter.

“Here.” I took out my list and slid it across the counter. Berry picked it up. I said, “How bad is it?”

The gleam in Berry’s eyes went blinding. “You check out YouTube lately?”

Goddamn it, why couldn’t I just have gotten shot or something?

“Don’t worry, it was too dark to see, and the movie was too loud to hear,” he snorted, “…much.”

I was not even about to ask just how much could be heard or worse, seen. “Something tells me it’s going to be a long time before I can show my face in town.”

“Aw, Grant. It ain’t that bad. If people can get over Reverend Paul Harley running across the football field wearing nothing but a diaper, they can get over the escapades of young love.”

I laughed. “A diaper?”

“Yeah, apparently someone spiked his bottle.”

I blinked several times. “Excuse me?”

Berry held up a hand. “You don’t want to know.” He scanned my list. “C’mon, let’s get your stuff.”

I followed him to the back.

“So, I guess things are pretty serious between you and Morgan.”

Were they? I had my island picked out, my plans of a nice little place with a perfect oceanfront view and sunsets over clear blue water. A future Morgan wasn’t a part of.

Berry held open the door to the outside lumberyard.

“I suppose.” How did two words feel so incomplete?

“You suppose?”

“Morgan’s young. I’m sure he’ll get tired of me.”

Berry stopped so fast I almost ran over him. “Morgan will get tired of you?”

No, he wouldn’t. I don’t know why that was so easy to believe. It had to be the way he looked at me. Or how I thought he looked at me. I counted the two by fours stacked on the shelf to my right.

“We’ve only known each other for a few weeks.” Because I’d done my damnedest to avoid him.

I counted the two by sixes, all the while Berry stared.

“Ah hell, Berry, I don’t know.” There. I said it.

He shook his head at me and continued down the aisle to the back wall where plastic bins were stacked with every kind of joist bracket known to man.

“You need two by sixes or two by eights? You didn’t specify on your list.”

I picked up one of the brackets. “What if it’s a mistake?”

“Does it feel like one?”

“No. But I’ve been wrong before.” And it almost got me killed and still might put me in prison.

“Did what you had before feel anything like what you have now?”

I thought a moment. “No.”

“Then I’d say maybe this time you got it right.”

“There’s no way for me to know that, yet.”

“‘Cause you’ve only known each other for a few weeks?”

“Yeah.”

Berry smirked. “You like chitlins?”

“What does—”

“Just answer the question.”

“Not really.”

“How many times did you have to eat’em before you figure out you didn’t like 'em?”

“Once.”

“You like pancakes?”

“I appreciate the analogy—”

“Answer the question, Grant.”

“Yeah, they can be pretty good.”

“And how many times did you have to eat those before you figured it out?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s food. You can’t compare loving someone to what you like to eat.”

“Don’t know.” He scratched his chin. “Sounds about the same to me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Then explain to me how eating even comes close.”

Berry leaned against the bins. “Well, last time I checked, if you don’t eat, you starve to death. Same thing happens when you don’t love, only you starve to death on the inside instead of the outside. Either way you die. So seems to me eat’n and love’n have a lot more in common than you think.”

And Morgan satisfied a hunger I’d never been aware of. Three years was more than enough time to decide whether or not we were right for each other.  Thing is, I didn’t need three years. I don’t even think I needed three more days.

Could any Seychelles sunset be nearly as beautiful as him?

“Two by eights.” I dropped the bracket I held back in the bin. “Better double the count. I’ll probably be ready to replace the back porch by spring.”

“Gonna have a sale on decking sometime in January.” He took a paper bag off the shelf on the wall and shook it out. “Mark it on your calendar.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And Grant?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever it is holding you back won’t love you half as much as Morgan. Later on if you decide I’m wrong, I’m sure, whatever it is you think you’ll miss, will still be there waiting on you.”

********

I paid for my supplies and carried them to the truck. It was still early enough for the lunch crowd to linger around Toolies. Old cars, new cars, but mostly family cars cluttered the parking lot about a block down. A stark contrast to after dark when it was mostly trucks: pickups in the lot, semis across the street at the rest stop, a few beat-up Buicks and shiny sedans belonging to those passing through.

Would showing up seem clingy? I didn’t know. But I was suddenly thirsty and seeing Morgan was the only thing that would quench it.

“That shack you’re working on is starting to resemble a house.” Jeff took off his sunglasses and tucked them inside his jacket.

How the hell did I miss him walking up behind me? I was losing my touch. Or getting too comfortable. Either of which could get me killed. “What the hell do you want?”

“Was driving by, saw your truck, thought I’d stop and say hello.”

Don’t ask me what possessed me to do it, but I stuck my finger in the air.

Jeff made a face. “What are you doing?”

“Hush, I’m checking the weather.”

“The weather?”

“Yeah, pretty neat trick, maybe you should try it.”

He laughed. “And how the hell does sticking your finger in the air tell you what the weather is going to be?”

I shrugged. “Hell if I know. It just works. Go ahead, try it.”

“No, thanks.”

“C’mon, Jeff, humor me here. It’s a neat trick. If nothing else, you’ll have something to take back home and show the office folk.”