Clay looked at Austin and nodded, moving only a fraction. Austin nodded back and smiled at Quint.
“Sure, where shall we meet?”
“At the service shed,” said Quint. “I’ll take whoever up there in my truck.”
Quint and Brody went off, and Clay shuddered, putting his fork down.
“We were fixing the fence along the service road behind that shed when we came across that snake.” He shut his mouth as if trying to keep from saying anymore that might mark him for life as being afraid.
“We don’t have to go,” said Austin.
He leaned forward, fingers reaching out across the table. Clay reached out his fingers in return.
“Better get it over with, going out there,” said Clay. “Well, anyway, we’ll be making too much noise, and it’ll get cool that time of night so—”
Being brave, Austin curled his fingers around the edge of Clay’s palm so they were almost holding hands.
“Will you protect me?” asked Clay as he let Austin’s hand cover his.
“You don’t have to joke.”
“It’s what everybody expects of me,” said Clay. “To make a joke of things. Ha ha ha, Clay’s afraid of snakes. Funny, no?”
“No.”
He wished he could kiss Clay then and there, right in front of everybody. But he couldn’t, he wasn’t brave enough, and maybe it would upset the guests. And maybe Leland would see, and the anti-fraternization rule would be paraded with some force in front of them. So he left it, with his feelings suspended in mid-air, and Clay’s self-recrimination rising from him in waves.
They went their separate ways after dinner, as Clay seemed to want to be alone, and as much as Austin wanted to go with him, he knew what it was like to feel the way Clay was feeling. Like everything you believed about yourself was wrong, and you couldn’t bear for the world to see your mistake.
He took the time to freshen up in his room, to dab on cologne, to change his shirt three times. What was he thinking, that this was a kind of a date? Would they ride in the back of the truck again and, in the darkness, would they chance a kiss?
He met Clay after he got the textFront porch,and hurried down the stairs to meet him.
Clay, he discovered, had shaved, and changed into a clean white-t-shirt, so not dressed for a date. Except he was, maybe. The t-shirt was tight, clinging to every muscle, the line of Clay’s ribs, the bulk of his shoulders.
He’d combed his hair, like a little kid getting ready for a class picture, only his hair had a mind of its own and stuck up in blond waves. As well, his blue jeans looked old and snug, like they’d been washed to the point of softness.
Clay looked better than he had at dinner and when he saw Austin coming out the door into the shadow of the porch at dusk, his eyes widened, and his smile grew.
“Hey,” said Clay, opening his arms like he wanted Austin to walk into them. “You clean up good, I’d say.”
“So do you,” said Austin. “More than good.”
“So, is this a date?” asked Clay as they walked up the service road to where Quint’s truck was parked.
“I think it is, at least it feels like one.” Austin focused his attention on where they were headed, keeping his eye out for snakes, which was hard as the dusk grew darker. “But then, being with you always feels—” He whooshed out a breath. “I’m not good at this. Mona was my first. She picked me out of a herd of local boys in high school, and it’s only been her ever since, so I don’t really have any idea—”
“There’s no idea.” Clay shook his head and walked close at Austin’s side as if there was no place he’d rather be. “No idea atall. Just you as you are. It’s fine. I like it.”
There wasn’t a chance to respond to this as they arrived at Quint’s truck, an older Ford, white with a blue hood. Only Brody was waiting for them, so Brody got into the truck’s cab with Quint, which left the truck bed for him and Clay.
Kindly, Quint had provided a pile of blankets, so the ride in the near dark up to the ridge where they could see the meteor shower was more comfortable than the ride to tend to the mountain lion had been. This time, the two of them sat close on the pile of blankets, bracing themselves by holding onto each side of the truck bed, and smiled each time the bumpy road jostled them together.
“It’s like a private outing,” said Austin, raising his voice above the noise from the truck’s engine as it growled its way up a hill.
“It is.” Clay nodded. “Quint likes to do weird stuff like this. Sometimes he invites people and sometimes he doesn’t. Mostly he doesn’t, so we lucked out. I mean, we could have come on our own, right? But Quint knows the best spots.”
“You do too,” said Austin. “For painting, which I hope we can do again.”
