4
Art headed into the library,which was as busy as it typically was in the morning. He tucked a few books, including the copy ofThe Fugitivehe’d been rereading, into the return slot by the reception desk before smiling and waving at the librarian’sassistant.
As he made his way through the aisles, on a mission, he greeted acquaintances and friends he passed on his way to the familiar general-fiction section, where he searched for the final installment ofIn Search of LostTime.
When he discovered the copy, just where it had been the last time he’d been in the library, disappointment coursed through him. Certainly, he wouldn’t have been ecstatic to discover it was missing, interrupting his own reading pleasure, yet like throughout his career as a teacher, Art found that too often the classics were never checked out as much as they should have been. Too often they collected dust on library shelves with only those like himself dusting them off and giving them the reading theydeserved.
Nevertheless, he grabbed the library-bound paperback and continued through the aisles, searching for another read to occupy what spare time he had during the week. He headed into the mysteries to see if there were any gems he could find—maybe a familiar title he’d yet to read or a Raymond Chandler novel he felt he’d forgotten just enough to take it up again. Although, Koontz and Connelly sounded nice too, particularly after Wes had mentioned them the otherweek.
As he rounded the corner into the next aisle, he spotted none other than Wes Brenner, who held a paperback of a John Grishamnovel.
Wes had replied to his message when they were exchanging numbers, but outside of that, neither had messaged again. Art figured Wes could use a moment to get settled in and adjust in his newplace.
He approached Wes and said, “Hey, housie.” He couldn’t help but smile at what was usually meant as an insult in their community…and sometimes one worthy of violent scuffles—at least, as much as one can scuffle with words and cutting lines at the breakfastbuffet.
Wes looked up from his book and turned to him, a wide grin stretching across hisface.
Art’s heart rate spedup.
“Art, good to see you again,” Wes said, his voice crisp and clear. There was an added depth and resonance it’d acquired over theyears.
“You settled in?” Art asked, whispering to keep from disrupting the other librarypatrons.
“Yes,” Wes said. “My grandson just returned home thismorning.”
As Wes spoke, he didn’t do anything to moderate his tone. He didn’t seem to have caught on how Art had deliberately adjusted his own, as though he might have struggled with his hearing, and as Art searched around, he caught a few patrons glancing their way, clearly acknowledging thedisruption.
“What? Am I being too loud?” Wesasked.
Art couldn’t stifle the smile that played across his lips as he said, “Always so direct and to the point, Mr. Brenner. It’sfine.”
“Probably have to adjust my hearing aid,” Wes said, moderating his voice with asmile.
“So you’re a Grisham fan as well?” Art asked, and Wes tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as though he couldn’t understand what Art had said. “The book,” Art added, indicating the copy Wesheld.
Wes inspected the novel in his hands and laughed. “Oh, yes, Grisham. More of a Dan Brown guy myself, but he doesn’t publish enough, so I have to make do. I’m guessing you finished the book you were reading when I saw you the otherweek.”
“Technically still on the same book, but I picked up the finalvolume.”
“Good God. How long isit?”
“Seven.”
“Oh, likeHarryPotter?”
“Yes, likeHarry Potter,” Art said, amused, as he fought back what could have very well been a lecture on Proust that would have likely taken up far too much of Wes’s time if he wanted to get through it all. And hardly even his Advanced Placement students had wanted to hear thatmuch.
“It is nice to see you after all the years,” Wes said, “if a little unusualtoo.”
And the way Wes looked at him, Art couldn’t quite read his expression. It reminded him of that day in the park when he’d felt similarly troubled by trying to figure out what Wes was thinking…or why he was even speaking to him, for thatmatter.
“Nice and unusual, for sure,” Artagreed.
Silence stretched between them. Art wasn’t sure where to begin, really. They didn’t know one another well enough to easily catch up on various aspects of their lives without having a lengthy conversation. At the same time, they did know each other, if only through their mutual connections in Winebourne, enough that they certainly knew bits and pieces that offered them a place tostart.
And then there was the obvious. They were the only out gay men at Heathrow Estates, which pitted them against the likes of their more homophobic peers, many of them carrying the religious and social baggage Wes and Art grew up around. Of course it was another subject that seemed too lengthy to chat about in the community library, so Art said, “Would you like to get some lunchtoday?”
It seemed fitting that they should chat. He wanted to hear from Wes’s own lips what he’d been up to all those years, beyond the rumors and gossip that swept through Winebourne like kudzu across an untendedfield.
