Into This River I Drown (18 page)

She sighs as she pulls back. “Yes, there
is
that,” she says. “And if I had a specimen like that man, I wouldn’t be looking for any on the side either.”

I blush furiously. This is not something I talk about openly. Ever. “I’m not… we’re…
he’s
not… I don’t know what you mean.”

She arches an eyebrow at me. “Well, at least one of you is sure. He told me that you belong to him and that he came because you needed him here.”

I groan again, laying my head on my hands. She laughs and runs her hand over the back of my head. “Love is so hard, isn’t it?” she asks.

“We’re
not
—”

“Anyway, I just wanted to stop in and say you have
impeccable
taste, my dear. Who knew you had it in you?” She turns and leaves.

I’ve just about made up my mind to close the store to hunt the bastard down when Mrs. Taylor Clark, of Clark’s, the medium-sized grocery down at the other end of Poplar, comes into the station. It would seem she’s met a certain large individual outside her store, opening and closing the door to the freezer that holds ice out on the sidewalk. When she asked what this gentleman was doing, he pointed out that he was just experiencing the difference between the warm spring air and the sudden burst of cold from the freezer. He pulled her next to him with his rather large arms and made her experience the same blast of air. He laughed, and she couldn’t
not
laugh with him, so she did. It would seem this gentleman was off to buy clothing, as Benji had ordered, but just between him and her, he thought he was just going to
hate
shopping. But, he said, it was what Benji wanted, and he would do
anything
for Benji, so off he went, if she could just point him in the right direction of the pants store?

“I wanted to climb him like a tree,” she tells me, blushing furiously, undoubtedly thinking of
Mr
. Clark, back at the store.

Ten minutes later, Jimmy Lotem from the hardware store stops in, telling me he just helped a peculiar fellow pick out a pair of boots. Apparently this fellow had told Jimmy that he needed a good pair of boots because he was going to work with his friend Benji, and if he needed to help others in town, he would, especially when he was called to. Oh, and how was Jimmy’s mother? the fellow asked. Jimmy, a bit surprised, had asked how this fellow knew about his mother. The fellow was quiet for a moment, then said that Benji had told him. Jimmy, unable to stop himself (and, admittedly, touched like he hadn’t been in a very long time), told him that his mother wasn’t doing so well, that the cancer had returned and his mother was no longer well enough to handle any more rounds of chemo. This peculiar fellow had stood and taken Jimmy’s hand in his own and said, “You will mourn when she passes, but just know that when she does, she will be taken to a place where she will be celebrated and revered for the life she led. And you will be with her again, one day.”

“It was like he
knew
, Benji,” Jimmy says, fighting back tears. “It was like he
knew
how scared I am. He was gone before I could say anything. You’ll thank him for me, won’t you? Or maybe he’ll be around?”

I nod, speechless.

But that’s not the end of it.

More come. Some in pairs, some in small groups. But most individually. The majority of the people who come in are here for curiosity’s sake, wondering where the redheaded man had come from. He had just introduced himself on the street, letting people know he was with me now. Many took that to mean more than it did, and I struggled to clarify our relationship over the way they grinned at me, watching me with knowing eyes that knew not of what they spoke. He was sweet, they said. He was kind. A bit odd, sure. But happy. And bright. Oh, he was so bright.

A few others say he spoke with them longer. He told John Strickland that he was sure his crisis of faith would pass, and that God would be there waiting for him. John tells me that, for the life of him, he can’t remember how the topic came up but he’s glad it did, because the few words Cal has spoken to him make more sense than anything he’s heard in years. “I think I want to pray on it,” he tells me, looking astonished at his own words.

Then there’s Margaret Sims, a young slip of a woman who works as a secretary for old Doc Heward. Cal spoke with her as she sat out in the spring sunshine, taking a break. He told her that he sure was happy that he wasn’t alone anymore, that it had been a long time since he’d had anyone to talk to. “But then Benji found me,” he supposedly said, even before he’d told her his name. “Or I found him. I’m not quite sure yet. Maybe we found each other at the same time. I don’t know that it matters.” He sat with her, in the sun, and told her that he didn’t want anyone to be alone again. She confessed to him that she missed her grandmother since she’d passed away last year, and that she felt alone too. “She wouldn’t want you to feel that way, I don’t think,” Cal had told her. “Life is for the living. It’s time for you to live.” He’d then kissed her on the forehead and stood and waved as he walked away.

Life is for the living
.

And others:

Terry Moore, who says she could see kindness in his eyes, but that they looked sad.

Larry Roberts, who says Cal shook his hand and told him about the sunrise he’d seen this morning, and how the colors had been so alive.

Janice Evans, who is at a loss to explain what he’d said to her, just that she’s been able to see through a fog of despair for the first time since her daughter died last year.

Rosie Duncan, of Rosie’s Diner fame, calls to tell me Cal stopped in and asked for a bowl of the green things from Lucky Charms. When she told him she didn’t have any, he smiled at her and told her that was okay. She was so taken by him that she’d sent one of her waiters down to Clark’s to buy a box and then Cal sat at the counter while he picked out the green clovers.

And still more. So many more, in all a total of forty-three people I count over the space of four hours. But it’s the last one that almost causes me to break.

My mother walks into the store.

“Hey,” I say, glancing out the front windows for the tenth time in a minute, trying to see if Cal is on his way back.

“Benji,” she says in greeting. She makes her way back to the cooler and grabs a bottle of water before coming back to stand in front of the counter. She studies me, though I’m not sure what she’s hoping to find. “So,” she says.

“So,” I say, playing her game, hoping it isn’t going to be what I think it is.

“I was in town making a delivery to Rosie’s,” she says. “Also picked up an order for the Jump Into Summer Fest.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.”

“Big order?”

She shrugs. “I guess. The coordinators want pies. Lots of pies. More than last year. Apparently summer means pie.”

“That’s good,” I say, glancing out the window again, craning my neck to see down the street further.

“Looking for something?” she asks. “Or someone?”

I eye her warily. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m pretty sure you do.”

I groan. “Did he get you too?”

She shakes her head. “No, but he’s made quite the splash. It’s all anyone would talk about. And imagine my surprise when everyone started asking
me
questions. Questions I had no idea how to answer. How did Benji and Cal meet? How long is Cal staying? Are they serious?”

“Mom, it’s not like—”

She interrupts me. “Do you care for him?”

“Well… yeah, I guess. He’s my friend.”
My weird, weird friend who fell out of the sky.

“Friend?” There’s too much emphasis on that word. I know what she means.

I blush. “It’s not like that,” I try again.

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Does
he
know that?”

“Cal’s just… really friendly.”

“Friendly isn’t going around telling people that you belong to him,” she points out.

I wince. “He has a tendency to speak like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“And he was out… what? Shopping for clothes that you told him he needed to get?”

I hate small towns. “Mom, it’s not what you think.” Then I stop and think about it for a moment and allow myself to get angry. “And even if it was, what business is it of yours? I’m twenty-one. I live in my own house, under my own roof. My life is my life.”

“I’m not questioning that, Benji,” she sighs. “I know that. Trust me, out of everyone in the world, I know that probably better than anyone. And I’m not trying to…. Benji, I’m just worried.”

“About what?”

She turns and looks out the window, staring down Poplar Street. “Regardless of our standing in this town, regardless of what goodwill your father left us, this is
still
a small town. There’s going to be prejudice here. You have to know that.”

“There will be prejudice wherever I go.”

“That’s not the point,” she snaps without looking at me.

“Mom, no one gives two shits about me. They could—”

fucking faggots why don’t we just kill them now

“—care less what I do.”

“Maybe before, but this? Benji, how well do you even know this guy?”

“We’re not doing anything!” I’m getting pissed off now.

“But you want to,” she says, turning back to me. “Benji, I can see it in your eyes. Even now, there’s something there. Something I haven’t seen in a long time. Not since….” She can’t finish.

I look down at my hands, scraping my thumbnail against a chip on the countertop. “And you’re questioning it?” I ask bitterly. “You see me happy and you want to stop it? How fucking fair is that?”

“Benji—”

“And since when did you give a rat’s ass about me being gay? It’s never been an issue before. Or at least it wasn’t for Dad.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, looking hurt. “I am just as much on your side as your father was.”

I feel like a bastard, but she was trying to push me into a corner. “You’ve got a weird way of showing it sometimes.”

“But—”

I wave my hand at her. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing’s going to happen. You don’t have anything to worry about. We’re too different.”
Understatement
.

She hesitates, looking unsure. But then she reaches out and covers my hand with her own. “I just want you to be safe,” she says, her voice cracking. She shakes her head angrily when I look up, obviously pissed at herself for breaking down in front of me. “You’re all I have left.”

“You have the Trio,” I say, trying to stop myself from pulling my hand away.

“You’re all I have left of
him
,” she says, and I understand.

“Mom,” I sigh, not wanting to think about it anymore. “Cal’s a good… guy. Just give him a chance, okay?”

She nods, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Everyone seems to like him,” she says with a soft chuckle. “I just worry about you.”

“Yeah. You are my mom, after all. It’s kind of in the job description.”

“And you better not forget it,” she says, bending over and kissing my hand on the counter. I look away before my own eyes start to water.

She grabs her bottle of water and turns and heads for the door. “I’ll expect you both for dinner soon,” she calls over her shoulder, our rare display of emotion held like a secret between us. “If he’s going to stick around and cause you to gaze out the window with that look in your eyes, I need to get to know him.” She pushes out the door before I can respond.

“I’m not
gazing
out the window!” I shout, even though I totally was. She waves her hand like she hasn’t heard me.

I scowl after her.

And I’m still scowling when he walks into the store thirty minutes later, numerous bags in his hands. “Benji,” he says with a grin.

“You,” I growl at him, “are in so much fucking trouble.”

He cocks his head at me, not looking particularly intimidated. “Why is that? Hey, I didn’t hate shopping like I thought I would. It was actually pretty okay. I got some pants from the pants store and there were these boots that almost didn’t fit my feet and I almost didn’t buy them because why would you need to wear boots when you can just walk bare—”

“I am pretty sure I don’t need a rundown of your entire day, since
everyone you spoke to has already told me all about it
.”

He has the decency to look somewhat guilty. “Ah. About that. See, I didn’t want to be rude and people were looking at me like they didn’t know me, so….”

“It’s because they
don’t
know you,” I remind him through gritted teeth.

“Well, yeah. And I felt bad, because I know
them
, so I thought it would be rude if I didn’t introduce myself. And then we got to talking about stuff, and before I knew it, I had talked to a lot of people. I still went shopping, though, like you asked,” he says, showing me the bags in his hand. “Even though I didn’t want to.”

I am incredulous. “Are you trying to guilt-trip me?”

“Is it working?”

“No!”

“Oh.”

“Cal!”

“Benji.” He smiles, and it causes my heart to stutter. He puts the bags on the floor and takes a step toward the counter. “You’re looking at me differently,” he says with great interest.

I take a step back. “I am
not
,” I snap at him. “I was just worried is all. You can’t go around being like you are!”

He frowns. “How else am I supposed to be? If there’s one thing I’ve learned about human nature, is that it is imperative to be who you are.”

“You’re not human,” I say, instantly regretting my words as his face falls.

“I know,” he says, looking down at his hands.

“That’s not what I—”

“It’s okay, you know. You’re right. I’m not human. I shouldn’t be expected to act like one.” He shakes his head. “But of all people in this world, Benji, I thought it would be you who’d understand what it’s like to be different.”

Shit. I’ve hurt him. I think. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

He looks up at me again. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He tries to reassure me, the small smile returning, as if he hopes what he’ll say next will please me. “You know what I found today?”