When he came back to the mess tent, Blaze was on the phone, and Tom was seated at one of the tables. Gabe went over to him.
“I thought you were going to make a phone call,” he said to Tom.
“I’m going to be on the phone for at least an hour.” Tom waved in the direction of the landline, where Blaze, seated on the metal folding chair, was hunched over the phone. “So I thought I’d let him go first. He said it’d be short, anyway.”
“Nicely done,” said Gabe.
He touched Tom on the shoulder in a friendly way to show how much he approved of this small sacrifice, then stepped closer to Blaze, standing behind him a little way as if he, too, wanted his turn on the phone, even though he had his own cellphone. It was when he heard Blaze’s voice that he realized he was standing too close and was hearing too much that simply wasn’t his place to hear.
“But I’d like it if you came,” said Blaze, his voice soft, pleading. “It’s only a few hours’ drive to get here, and—”
Suddenly, Blaze held the phone’s handset away from his ear, his whole body wincing. A tinny sounding voice, raised and loud, squawked through the receiver, and when Blaze put the handset back to his ear, his body went still.
He seemed to realize someone was behind him, for he turned, his face grave and still, a hard and bitter light in his eyes as he hung up.
“You’re next, Tom,” Blaze said, and then he saw it was Gabe and started in his chair.
“They’ll come around,” said Gabe. “Like I said, it can take time to adjust.”
Blaze stood up, shoving his hands—his fists, really—in his pockets, in a way that Gabe himself sometimes did when he didn’t know what to do with his hands and, sometimes, his emotions.
“Blaze—”
“Fuck off,” said Blaze, startling Gabe into silence.
Blaze looked like he hurt all over, like he’d been pounded hard, and, as Blaze stalked off along the path toward his tent, Gabe went over the whole day in his mind, every interaction he’d had with Blaze.
Sure, Blaze had been rattled by getting shoved into the wood chipper like that, but anyone would be. But he’d almost been serene during dinner.
It had been when Gabe had asked each man on his team who might be visiting him on Sunday. That was when Blaze’s behavior had changed. He, Gabe, had pushed Blaze into a phone call that Blaze had not, in retrospect, wanted to make. Then he’d been rejected by his family, which made Gabe’s blood simmer beneath the surface of his skin.
Every man on his team deserved their second chance, which they were going to get by being in the program. They also deserved support from family and friends.
Blaze had trusted Gabe enough to make that call, so it was up to Gabe to step up and find out what was really going on and then do his best to help Blaze. At the very least, he could lend a listening ear.
Gabe looked over his shoulder. Tom was yammering away to Joanna, his whole face a smile, hands animated, pure love shining through him. This was the woman Tom had gone to jail for in an attempt to provide baby supplies, and Gabe looked forward to meeting the woman who inspired such devotion. And maybe Wayne’s relatives might eventually make the flight from Sleepy Eye, who knew.
As for now, he needed to see how he could help Blaze, so he walked along the path through the woods, thinking about the flagstones that were soon to arrive and would need to be installed, and stopped when he stood in front of tent #4.
It was important, as his training had instructed him, to give each man his space, the right to own his own territory. Equally important was to let each man know he was there to support them in their efforts.
“Knock, knock,” he said as he rapped the tent pole lightly with his knuckles. “Can I come in?”
“It’s fine,” said Blaze’s voice, thick and hard.
Gabe stepped into the shadows of the tent. The far end had the canvas rolled back, the screen zipped tight, and there was a nice breeze, the sun warm on the wooden platform.
“I didn’t mean it was fine, you could come in,” said Blaze with a snap. “I meant I’m fine, don’t bother me.”
Gabe’s eyes adjusted to the slightly dim interior. Blaze was sitting on the left-side cot, fists on his thighs, hair lank in his face. One green eye staring hard at the wooden planks of the floor as if there’d be something to see there.
“If you want to talk—” Gabe began, but was shushed by Blaze’s hand jerking up to stop him. “It’s okay to be angry,” he said, trying again.
“Please. Just stop with the counseling mumbo jumbo.” Blaze looked up at him. “If that’s okay to say to the boss man.”
Blaze’s whole body shifted on the cot, as if he were preparing himself for a blow or, at the very least, a sternly worded lecture.
Gabe wondered, quite suddenly, as if he’d never considered it before, or if he had, it had only been fleetingly, how prison could change a man. How someone as confident and outspoken as Blaze seemed to be could be turned into someone whose body reflected the feelings in the room, violent or not, mean or not, like a human barometer. Pulsing away when things got dark, but moving forward at the slightest chance that it would not get bad.
