“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Devon. He stood up, patting Stanley’s hand with both of his as he let go. “You know where the bathroom is if you need to use it. I’ll start a new pot of coffee and get some breakfast going.”
Stanley shoved the duvet back and stumbled to the bathroom, which was a great deal easier than peeling back a half-frozen wool blanket thatsmelled of horse shit. Devon’s bathroom, as well, was a veritable palace of white tile, and was clean and warm, making it easy to use. It was much better than using a latrine that was really a shallow ditch that left your ass hanging out in the air and offered no privacy whatsoever.
As Stanley washed his hands, using the sweet smelling soap and endless supply of warm water, which stayed the exact same temperature the entire time he had the tap open, he didn’t want to look at himself, but he did. His eyes were like two burned spots of brown, with the usual dark circles beneath, and his cheeks looked as hollow as a flu victim on the verge of death.
His expression was the one Isaac used to tease him about, the one he always said made Stanley look like he’d been carved in marble, and which could only come unstuck with vast applications of hot coffee. Stanley had always tried to resist a response, to make the moment last, to make the tease more effective that way. Alas, he’d always broken into a smile, his whole face feeling buoyed up by laughter, which, when Isaac had been near and laughing in response, had warmed his entire body, his soul. Every time, he’d drawn away after the initial flirting. Both of them had.
Now Stanley felt like a bit of a traitor because the coffee that Devon was making—and Stanley could smell the half bitter, half velvet smell of it even now as the warmth of it seeped below the bottom of the bathroom door—would taste better than anything the canteen had ever served, better than anything he’d shared in a tin mug with Isaac.
Stanley looked away from the mirror and dried his hands; at least he wasn’t leaving black streaks, on account of the shower he’d taken the night before. He looked at the tub and knew that it would be too decadent to take another shower quite so soon. Besides, all of this was probably some wild fantasy his mind had dreamed up to take him away from the horror of the trenches.
Even he knew that time travel wasn’t real. Maybe he was a ghost. Or maybe he was dead and dreaming as he floated his way up to heaven. Except that from behind the doorway, Devon was calling, and Stanley could smell bacon.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Breakfast consisted of perfectly fried eggs on a bed of buttery spinach, accompanied by as much crisp bacon as Stanley could shove in his mouth. There was toast, too, with soft butter and sweet raspberry jam, and Stanley ate all of what was on the plate.
Not once did Devon look at him askance. Neither did he suggest that it might be polite not to take so much, as there were other soldiers in line behind him, waiting for their share, because there weren’t any soldiers waiting for their portion of food. Instead, there was an entire loaf of bread, wrapped in clear plastic, waiting on the counter in case Stanley wanted more.
It seemed, actually, that in addition to Devon studying Stanley’s every move as though taking mental notes in his head about the hungry bellies of young men and how that related to his thesis, he was studying Stanley for reasons of his own. As to what those reasons were, Stanley couldn’t guess, but Devon’s eyes were bright green and he was looking at Stanley as though watching something he enjoyed. And maybe there was a fondness in those eyes, as well.
Devon cheerfully made more toast, getting up to do this, wearing the same blue jeans that a farmer would wear. He padded around thekitchen in his bare feet like it wasn’t a freezing November day outside, and he didn’t have to worry about being warm.
“Here you go,” said Devon as he put the plate of toast in front of Stanley. “You like the bread, huh? Don’t worry about it. The first week I was in France, I ate a shit-ton of any kind of bread I could get my hands on. There’s something about it that makes it taste amazing, not like the bread in the States.”
Somewhat assured, Stanley ate three more slices of toast with butter and jam. Devon had one slice, and they sat at the table and crunched through their toast and drank their coffee. Though Stanley’s belly almost hurt from being so full, his heartbeat slowed down and his throat wasn’t so dry.
His eyes kept going to Devon’s as they sat together. It was so simple, what they were doing. So many would find breakfast together too dull or stupid to call happiness, but Stanley did. He wanted to do it with Devon, being just like this, forever.
“What were you working on?” asked Stanley as he swept the crumbs from the wooden table and tipped them onto his now-empty plate. “I heard you typing on your laptop.”
“That was my second laptop, if you can believe it,” said Devon. “I dropped the first one on my second day here and had to get another one. Lucky for me I’m obsessed about backing up.” Devon smiled at Stanley as though to get him to join in the joke.
“Backing up what?” Confused, Stanley shook his head. He could only picture an image where Devon was putting a large black typewriter with white keys up on a shelf, though why he would want to put something so heavy so high when he’d only have to take it down again was beyond him.
“Backing up to the cloud, for one, and my jump drive, for another, and—” Devon stopped talking and his eyes brightened up in the way that they did when he discovered a fact that he felt was wonderful.
“1917, right?” Devon asked. “You didn’t have computers, you had typewriters, those great, enormous things with long spindly arms for each letter and white circles for keys.”
“You mean an Underwood?” asked Stanley, for it was thetypewriter his Pa had, and the kind they used at the enlistment office. “Everybody’s got one of those, I think.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Devon. “I don’t think anybody does, unless they’re into retro.”
As to what retro was, Stanley had no idea, but Devon cheerfully got up and brought back his large piece of folded metal, his laptop. It was now bent in half and looked thin enough to break if you tried to unfold it. Unfold it Devon did, then he pushed back the empty plates and coffee cups.
Now that Stanley wasn’t so tired, he could pay more attention to the keyboard. It didn’t look like anybody could type on it very easily, as it was so flat it was almost smooth, with little square keys that were barely tall enough to break through the surface of metal. The top part of the metal that came away looked like a flat white window. When Devon touched a key on the keyboard, the whole thing lit up, showing a white space with black letters marching across it, row by row.
“I showed you this before,” said Devon. He pushed the laptop a little closer to Stanley. “But there’s more to it than cute kitties. You can type on it like a typewriter, and then you can keep writing or rewriting, as I often do.” Devon smiled and seemed to be laughing at himself, welcoming Stanley to join in the fun.
“How does it work?” asked Stanley.
“The whole thing is portable,” said Devon. He typed something on the keyboard and, across the screen, small black letters appeared. “Think of a document that’s permanently available. When you’re done working on it, you can put it in a safe place and take it out and revise it any time you want.”
Stanley shook his head, though when he touched the sleek edge of the thing, his mind flared with a sudden desire to play with it, like it was a toy, which it wasn’t. Besides, he was distracted by Devon’s tanned forearms, his half-buttoned shirt, and the way he smelled up close.
Devon gestured with his hand that Stanley should give it a try, so he did. Except when his fingers touched the broad, flat area near the edge, the black line on the window jumped down on the white page.Stanley pulled his fingers away, eyes wide and on Devon, worried that he’d broken something. He was always fiddling with things and breaking them.
“You didn’t hurt anything,” said Devon. “Look, see? I press this key, the Delete, and the cursor goes back to where it was.”
