“Yes, I do love the books,” Austin said, though that’s not what his mind was focusing on at all. It was focusing on the curl of moisture that dampened a bit of Clay’s hair to dark gold and stuck it to his forehead like the wayward lock of hair of a naughty child. But Clay was not a child. He was a man fully grown, and had thoughts and ideas so new, so sweet and bright, that Austin hardly knew what to do with them.
What if there was a world where people never, well hardly ever, aimed disparaging and critical remarks at one another? What if the world, the one full of Mona and bespoke suits and Cherry Creek haircuts and salons where one could have one’s anus bleached, what if that world was behind him? And what if this world, full of midwestern beer that while ordinary and maybe a bit pedestrian, did its job of accompanying the taste of a cheeseburger and greasy fries, was the real one?
What if he’d stepped through a doorway into a world full of lemon yellow trucks that broke down in the rain, full of this ranch hand, this cowboy, who cared a great deal that he did the job his boss would give him the thumbs up for? A world where he, Austin Marsh, lately divorced and having survived a ten-year marriage full of sharp barbs, critical reviews and amply aimed words full of slings and arrows, had nothing more expected of him right now than to lie in a narrow motel version of a queen sized bed while watching the History Channel’s version of the nine hundredth retelling of the mysteries of the Egyptian pyramids?
What if this world was the real one, and the one before, the one he walked away from, was the fake world?
Buoyed up by Mona’s absence, the only thing dragging him underwater was Bea’s absence. Would having Bea be worth having to live with Mona? Or would losing Bea be worth everything else?
“Hey,” said Clay, rolling toward Austin with the bedclothes scrunched under his chin like he had a secret to tell that he didn’t want anybody else to know about. “Are you okay?”
Startled, for when was the last time anybody asked him that, Austin looked at Clay, his mouth a little way open as his brain churned to figure out how to answer.
“I mean, you’ve been through a lot, and here you are—” Clay waved at the shape of both their bodies beneath the bedclothes. “Here you are sharing a bed with a stranger. A perfect gay stranger.”
“I’m honestly not thinking about it like that,” said Austin. “I am thinking about how this journey is taking me away from a life I knew but that didn’t make me happy into a life that I don’t know but that might make me happy.” He smiled, thinking that maybe he shouldn’t be sharing any of this. “Which is probably too much to be hoping for.”
“Oh, you’ll love the ranch,” said Clay, wiggling like a puppy, moving closer without probably even realizing it. “I had one ranch job before this and because I was the low man on the totem pole, all I did was rake horse shit. I shoveled it, forked it, wheelbarrowed it, all day for days and days. They acted like it was a rite of passage, and while I’m fine with that because that’s how it works, I figured it’d be fair that I got to do fun stuff, too.”
“What’s the fun stuff?” asked Austin, only mildly interested in what was happening on the TV screen where, evidently, a robot with a camera taped to it was trundling along one of the largest pyramid’s many mysterious shafts.
“All the good stuff is with guests,” said Clay. “Riding lessons, the trail rides, the dances. All that stuff. I’m good with guests, Leland says, so it’s really killing me right now—”
Clay broke off as though talking about his own woes was some kind of bad manners.
“Anyway, after a month of shoveling horse shit at that first job, I answered an online ad at the ranch job website. I had an interview with Leland and Bill almost right away—”
“Who’s Bill?” Austin stopped. “You mean Bill Wainwright, who owns the place, right?”
“Yeah,” said Clay. “He’s old, older than Leland, even, but he’s always working, always around, and he tells the best stories around the campfire.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” said Austin, though what he really wanted, what made him feel an odd eagerness, was to hear more about what Clay did all day and what he found more fun than slinging horse shit.
“You will,” said Clay. “He’s always around, but he’s not always where you expect him to be, you know? He has an office next to Maddy’s, but he’s hardly ever in it.”
“Maddy is the ranch’s admin, right?”
“Right. You’ll meet her, too.” Clay yawned, his mouth wide, red against white teeth. “Oh, look,” he said, pointing to the screen. “This is the part where they mention ancient aliens only to debunk them. What do you think, Austin? Do they exist?”
“Ancient aliens?” asked Austin. He’d heard about them, of course, but never had given it much thought. “I don’t know, but have you ever heard of the Drake Equation?”
When Clay shook his head, Austin explained how the percent of possibility showed there was nearly a one hundred percent chance aliens existed somewhere in the galaxy.
“And I’m not talking microbes either,” said Austin with a yawn of his own. “I’m talking fully realized alien life.”
“Cool,” said Clay with an echoing yawn and a sweet, sleepy smile as he slunk low on the pillow, his eyes already half closing. As if sleeping with another man, one he did not intend to have sex with, was a simple everyday occurrence. And maybe it was. This was a new world, after all, where saying goodnight was not also accompanied by bitten back words of rage or, usually, not so bitten back ones.
Austin had held his tongue for a good many years, thinking that what he was experiencing was how married life was. It was only when he’d unearthed the fact that the neighbor had spent the night with Bea in the house that he realized it had all been a sham.
In fact, it had been Bea who had told him, innocent, unwittingly spilling the beans about Mom’s new friend who’d had a sleepover with Mom. Mona’s fury over Bea’s telling tales had alerted Austin to so much more than the sleepover, which might have happened more than once, though he didn’t care to ask as once was enough.
He also saw at that moment, and with some clarity as though he was viewing everything their marriage had been through objective eyes, how she’d cornered him in his own life. How she’d made him into an image suitable to stand at her side, but not suitable to stand on his own. For in a beige suit and tasseled loafers and a Cherry Creek haircut, he was no better than a Ken doll who was constantly being threatened with being locked out of Barbie’s Dream House.
And now here he found himself in a motel in the middle of nowhere, reaching for the light switch on the lamp on the nightstand, flicking the room into darkness while he turned down the sound on the TV to let it drone on a bit before turning it off as well.
The next morning it wasn’t quite raining, though with the skies scudding low, soapy grey clouds, it certainly was thinking about raining. And, as they waited in the small lobby of the garage, Austin could look through the small window to where Ladybelle, yellow and bright in the low gloom of the repair bay, shone like a sunbeam that refused to fail.
“Fan belt replacement and new spark plugs,” said Clay. “I’m going to have to call Leland and get his credit card number.” The sad pull along his eyes told Austin how Clay felt about this.
