“Thanks,” said Kell, sounding a bit breathy.
“I kept a cool head too, boss,” said Jonah, coming up from behind Marston.
“Yes, yes, Jonah, you kept a cool head,” said Marston. “Everybody did, for sure. Now, let’s finish up, go wash up, and get some dinner.”
What surprised Marston was when Duane came up to him as they stood in line for the buffet for dinner with rain brewing outside the tent flaps, and a cool wind moving briskly among the legs of the tables.
Up close, Duane had the same hard edges all of the ex-cons seemed to, with very few exceptions. He was staring at Marston, a scowl accompanying the glitter in his eyes.
“Yes, Duane. How can I help you?” asked Marston.
“You gonna tell Royce?” asked Duane, almost biting the words off. “Or Gabe?”
“Yes, I’m going to tell them,” said Marston. If Duane thought his tough guy attitude was scaring Marston in the least bit, he had another think coming. “Not even sure if I’ll wait till the team lead meeting on Saturday. But it depends.”
“On what?” asked Duane, and the expression in his eyes told Marston right away that Duane suspected that they might make some kind of deal, the kind cons might make with each other in the prison yard with the hopes of staying out of trouble. But Marston wasn’t an ex-con, and this wasn’t a prison yard.
“On whether you want to back up two inches and talk to me man to man, rather than what you’re doing, which is trying on this—” Marston paused to make a gesture meant to encapsulate the whole of Duane’s on-the-verge-of-being-a-threat attitude and how much he, Marston, was unaffected by it. “Like you’ve got a shiv in your pocket and you think I’m supposed to be afraid of it. I’m not, you know.”
“You’re not?” Duane looked like he was pretending not to be shocked, but it must have been like a bucket of water over his head.
“If you were going to do something, you would have.” Marston shook his head, as if at Duane’s foolishness and the fact that the discussion was just about a waste of his time. “Now. D’you want to get some dinner or what?”
The line had not moved, and the mess tent was utterly quiet. It had been easy to forget that there were others in the line for the buffet when dealing with Duane, but now, as he looked up, he could see that everybody was staring, mouths open, eyes wide and watching, everybody waiting to see if the short, hot discussion was going to require body bags at the end of it.
On the other side of Duane, Kell was white faced, his upper lip beaded with sweat, and had Duane so much as taken a step back and stepped on Kell’s toes, Marston would have ended him.Endedhim.
The valley wasn’t supposed to be a scary place, and yet Duane seemed to need to throw his weight around as if he wanted to pretend he was still in prison. In another minute, if Duane didn’t back down, he was going to find himself face down across a table, squirming to get free, and frankly, Marston was up for it.
But Duane did back down, stepping sideways, taking himself out of the line like he meant to go out of the tent to get a little air. But then Royce ambled in, with Gabe at his heels, and, taking in the general silence of the mess tent, asked, “What’s going on here? Jonah, are you causing trouble again?”
“Who, me?” Jonah asked, overly loud, slapping his own chest with his palm. “Never me, boss,” he said. “And never any of these fellows either, right guys?”
“Right,” they all said in unison, Duane included, though Marston suspected Duane only mouthed the words just to get by. Or maybe he was grateful to Royce and Jonah for diffusing the situation, because Marston had been on the verge of exploding it.
Duane had it good in the valley, all of the ex-cons did, and it was pissing Marston off that they weren’t making the most of it. Free food, comfortable beds, job training? They could pretend they were kids at summer campanddo their parole at the same time, and they were being idiots about it.
He turned on his heel because maybe he was the one who needed some fresh air, and then maybe he and Duane could get into it in the parking lot—
“Marston.”
He looked down to see where the tug on his sleeve was coming from. It was Kell, his face a little flushed, his eyes looking up at Marston with utter sincerity.
“You okay?” he asked. “I know you’re not afraid of him, but you look really mad still—”
“I’m good,” he said, a cool wash of care and concern racing over him. He winked at Kell to put weight behind his words, saying again, “I’m good. Let’s eat.”
Dinner was spaghetti with veggies thrown in, mixed with garlic and butter, and it was amazing. What was even more amazing was that the near-fight between him and Duane had rather taken the edge off of everyone’s behavior and the ex-cons were talking and laughing, as if trying to outdo each other being amiable, Duane especially.
As for Kell, he was close at Marston’s side, like he wanted to get even closer, but couldn’t, on account of the chair he was sitting in was already scraping up against Marston’s. Their elbows kept bumping. Their thighs were aligned, warmth soaking through the thickness of their blue jeans. Booted ankles just about tangled.
“What’s for dessert?” asked Marston as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. He’d been so focused on Kell, he’d not checked to see.
“Chocolate cake,” said Kell. “Here, have mine. I’ll get another one.”
Before Marston could protest, Kell was on his feet, racing to the buffet to grab a slice of chocolate cake, on its side on a white china plate, the dark frosting scattered on the white. Nobody was looking as Kell came back and handed the plate to Marston before sitting down.
Nobody saw Kell’s soft smile. Nobody knew how Marston’s breath left his body, a thrill coursing through him for no reason at all, but which left a swath behind, a ribbon of joy, a sparkle of pleasure. And surely nobody knew how his body, all on its own, leaned into Kell’s body, shoulder to shoulder, as he waited for Kell to take his first bite of cake. Nobody knew for sure, yet when he looked up, Royce was looking at him, eyebrows raised, as if Marston had spoken and told him what was going on inside of him.
