Kell had no idea what that meant, either the words or the way Marston looked at him so steadily. The faint pink below his eyes made Marston look sweet, as if he’d said something nice and couldn’t quite believe he had.
“At any rate,” said Marston, scratching the back of his neck, then clasping it with his fingers. “I’ll be back around 4:30 to get ready myself, and then we’ll go. Sound good?”
Wordlessly, Kell nodded, and when Marston left the pavilion, Kell’s eyes trailed after him, as if merely by looking he could solve the nameless puzzle in his heart. The twists and turns his mind took as his eyes drew a line down Marston’s straight back, the denseness of his thighs, his strong stride. The way he paused along the trail, just where it entered the thickness of the woods, a tender curve to his neck as his chin came to his shoulder as if he meant to say something over it or even turn around completely.
Kell’s belly fluttered with the idea of it. What if Marston said,Come with me now,inviting Kell along on whatever mysterious errand he had planned? What would they say to each other along the way? And was this heightened sense of connection all in Kell’s head?
Once Marston had vanished into the woods, Kell forced himself to continue with the work, stacking the cut pieces, sanding the edges, sweeping up the sawdust, wiping the saw table down, oiling the blade. Then he secured the tent and ambled to his own tent to gather his things for a shower and a shave. Everybody was elsewhere, and he was quite alone, so the shower felt safe as he bathed beneath the warm water.
While shaving, he saw his reflection in the mirror, and didn’t know what to make of it. It was as if he was changing each time he looked in the mirror, even day to day.
His face and shoulders were filling out a bit, but there wasn’t a return to round cheeks, and soft muscles, to a time before he’d left home. Nor was it his prison face, gaunt and gray. Now, while he looked older, there was an openness to his eyes, bright from fresh air, good food, and a comfortable place to sleep. His life had changed once again, but still everything felt enormous and out of control a lot of the time, like he was on the verge of being flung into a great, gasping void with nothing to hold on to.
Ducking his head, he finished at the sink and went back to his tent, looking at the unlaced boots on his feet, the roots lacing the path, the sprinkle of pine needles turning to a gentle brown. There, he dressed, almost sweating as he pulled on his cleanest blue jeans, and the cowboy boots with the inlay of green, the ones that matched Marston’s boots.
He only had a few shirts, so he picked the pale blue one, snapping the buttons, rolling up the sleeves, and then down again, leaving wrinkles and a smear of dirt he’d picked up even after his shower. Finally, he reached for his cowboy hat and sat it on his head, where it settled like a feather. He was ready, too nervous to be calm about it as he strode to the parking lot.
There was nobody around because it was too early to stop work, even for a Saturday, and the wind in the treetops was a faint whisper amongst the silent stillness, the sun streaming in yellow arrows through the trees. As he looked up at the chunks of blue sky against the pale cream straw of his hat, he thought he heard a faint rumble. A truck engine. Marston coming down the hill. That must be what it was. Taking the switchbacks slowly, like the sensible guy he was.
When the silver truck glittered out of the trees, Kell was ready. Marston pulled up and casually leaned over to open the door from the inside, like he did this every day, a courtesy, one cowboy to another. Kell clambered in, bumping his hat on the rim of the open door, smiling as if to prove he wasn’t nervous.
“Hungry?” asked Marston, as if that was the main focus of the outing.
“Yeah.” Kell was always hungry, and he knew Marston knew what that felt like. Which made him feel a little less worked up as he settled into his seat and fastened his seat belt.
Some parolees were just showing up at the mess tent as Marston pulled out of the gravel parking lot and headed through the trees, up the switchbacks, over the hill, and into town. There were half-hearted waves from the men, but most were focused on getting inside the mess tent, getting in line for their evening meal.
The way Marston drove was soothing. However, the way he’d look over at Kell from time to time, his strong wrist draped over the wheel, was not soothing, and jumbled Kell’s insides all over again.
By the time they’d pulled into town, and Marston had parked in front of the tavern, Kell was glad they’d soon be focused on the menu, on food, on anything but the two of them in the truck together. Which they’d done before, so why was it a problem now?
It wasn’t. At least Marston acted like it wasn’t, leading the way into the tavern, into the cool interior that brightened as Kell’s eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside.
The place was decorated like a Hollywood exec’s idea of how the frontier might have looked back in the old days, with bright cheery red-and-white checked tablecloths, large wooden wagon wheels on the walls, rusted bars of iron that could have been a plow or a scythe, he had no idea. But in pockets, here and there, were scattered items in glass boxes that, even with a quick glance, Kell figured had belonged to somebody and were important enough to put on display. A cut-glass bowl. A brass pocket watch. A deck of playing cards spread out to show a full house.
By the time the hostess showed them their table, a wooden booth with thick red cushions, Kell was ready to sit, ready to let the evening un-spool before him without him having to do much. Except he hadn’t bargained for sitting across from Marston in such a cozy space, the overhead light hanging from a cord, the red glass lamp shade creating a warmth to the space.
“They serve good burgers here,” said Marston. “And onion rings.”
“The beer’s pretty good too, hon,” said the waitress as she pulled out a pad to take their orders. “Can I get you fellows a couple of beers while you look at the menu?”
“None for me,” said Marston with a shake of his head. “I’ll just have an iced tea. Sweet, if you have it.”
“Sure thing,” she said. “How about you, kiddo?”
Kell wasn’t a kiddo, not by a long shot. At least he didn’t feel like one. Except, at the same time, he’d never been of legal age to have a beer. Sure, he’d stolen a six-pack or two or three in his time, and drunk it warm, behind the bar while waiting for the next train to hop. But not like this.
“You go ahead,” said Marston. “Last time I drank, I got myself in a spot of trouble. Maybe I’ll have a sip of yours, though—” Marston stopped, his mouth snapping shut so hard, Kell could almost hear it. “Or not.”
“That’d be okay.” Kell flicked his eyes down to scan the menu. He honestly had no idea what to order, though it was easier to try to focus on that than the thought of Marston’s lips on the rim of a glass that Kell would soon drink out of “Uh. Whatever’s on tap?” he asked. “Something local?”
“You got it,” she said, scribbling on her pad. “I’ll be right back with those drinks.”
“She didn’t check my ID,” said Kell as she sashayed away. He was pretty sure they were supposed to.
“You’re with me,” said Marston, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smile. “This table was reserved for us. We’re in the program.”
It was still a little odd to fit into a slot the world had opened up for him, but it was comfortable, just the same. Plus, it was nice to sit and discuss the menu with Marston beneath the soft red glow of the overhead light, leaning forward over the table to look at the same menu at the same time, as if the second menu, now folded shut, wouldn’t have the exact same information.
