“I reckon you’ve got the prettiest view here in tent number seven,” said Zeke.
I reckon.
That was something old time cowboys said in those black and white movies he and Preston used to watch. In the beginning. Before things got bad.
But that was yesterday. Today was now, and Preston was not there, so Cal looked at the blue water and the blue sky, both of which were rimmed with the dark green pine trees. Zeke, standing close in a comforting way, looked at the view, and both of them did this for a good while before Zeke looked down at Cal and smiled.
“You up for a shower? Do you remember the way?” asked Zeke. When Cal nodded, Zeke added, “Wash up and get into some clean clothes. You’ll find everything you need in those boxes. I’ll meet you at the parking lot in an hour. Will you be able to find it?”
Cal nodded again, silently, and watched Zeke go out of the tent and thought about how he, Cal, must smell pretty awful for Zeke to suggest a shower. Or maybe he was being nice and giving Cal some time alone to collect himself. To get ready for the next phase of his life. Ready for what was next, though whether that would be good or bad, he had no idea.
Zeke hadn’t hit him yet. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
Chapter 7
Cal
If the shower facilities were any indication, then the valley was a five star resort. Prison sowers were slow and tepid, and you only got ten minutes to clean up while surrounded by around nine other convicts who didn’t mind anyone watching while they jerked off beneath the spray.
Cal shuddered as he dried off. Sure, men were amazing. He loved the shape of a man’s body, the touch of a strong hand, the feel of whiskers during a slow kiss. But watching near strangers made the whole thing feel like a turnoff.
He didn’t imagine there’d be much opportunity to hook up in the valley, anyway. Not to mention he only had three weeks to figure out his next move before Preston showed up and yanked Cal the hell out of there.
There was no question he’d demand that Cal come home with him. No question at all.
Cal got dressed, and swiped his face with a quick shave, doing his best not to focus on the way his eyes looked like two burned cigarette holes.
The slight scar beneath his right eye that stood out like someone had clawed at him, rather than it being a slight whiteline that never tanned, a mark left from the time Preston had backhanded him.
Preston had been in a fury over something Cal had no memory of. Just that Preston had been pissed. He had hit Cal while he’d been wearing a signet ring, or maybe it had been his class ring, and the blood had seemed to flow and flow. Preston had pressed several layers of toilet paper over the cut and basically told Cal to stop whining and walk it off.
Cal shook himself free from the memory, laced up his new boots. They were quite sturdy on his feet, and made him feel about half a foot taller as he walked along the path to his tent, dropped off his dirty clothes, and marched back out of the tent again to the gravel parking lot.
Feeling quite accomplished, he was surprised to find that Zeke wasn’t at the parking lot, that there were only two silver trucks parked in the shade. Then he heard movement behind him and whirled to see Zeke standing just about on his heels.
“Sorry,” Zeke said. “Thought you heard me.”
Up close, in that brief flicker, Cal could see that Zeke also had a scar below his right eye, a thin, pale line, as straight as though someone had drawn it there. Zeke, seeing that Cal was looking at it, pointed to it.
“Pencil,” he said. “I tripped and fell. Could have stabbed my eye out, but all I got was this scar.”
Cal could feel Zeke looking at him, at his scar, which was a little bigger than Zeke’s. “Uh,” Cal said. “It’s been so long, I don’t know how I got it.”
That was a lie. Cal remembered quite clearly, but life in prison, hell, life with Preston, had taught him not to reveal too much too quickly.
“Ah,” said Zeke, though it was clear by the stillness of his face that he had a bunch of thoughts and maybe knew that Cal was lying to him. “Well, let’s get moving.”
Cal got into the passenger seat of a very nice Ford F-150, his body sinking into the cool, pillowy seat. He watched as Zeke brought the engine to life, turned off the A/C, and rolled down the windows.
“That okay?” Zeke asked as he wheeled the truck backwards, out of the parking lot, and up the switchbacks.
“Sure,” said Cal. He wasn’t going to argue with a bunch of fresh air in his face, no sir.
It’d been a while since the air he breathed hadn’t been filtered by razor wire or chemicals used to clean the floors and bathrooms. This air smelled like pine and lake water and the dreamy scent of the wind across sun-warmed grasses.
It was when the truck mounted the top of the hill that Cal could take a look around himself and really focus. At the grass, the wide bowl of blue sky and the way the dirt road went past an isolated cabin and then dipped down below trees, leafy green and tossing in the breeze.
“This is nice,” said Cal, venturing that much.
