It would have to be done, there was no two ways about it. In prison, if you admitted you were afraid of the dark, you would get hell for it. And it wasn’t that Cal was afraid of the dark, but this wasn’t city dark, or the still brittle-bright prison dark. It wascountrydark. And that was worthy of some extra protection.
Cal tipped the flashlight on its end, and turned it on, and let the beam make a wide circle on the ceiling of the green canvas tent. Then, holding his breath, he turned off the overhead bulb.
With the flashlight on, the tent was still pretty bright, so Cal made himself crawl into bed and pull the covers up to his chin. For a moment, he listened to the night settle around him, the moths bumping into the edge of the flashlight, and took slow, deep breaths.
He’d managed to adjust to prison. He could manage to adjust to this.
He went to sleep with this comforting mantra in his head. But he had a bad night because when he woke in the morning, he was stiff all over, as though he’d been holding himself tightly to ward off the danger that was sure to be lurking.
The flashlight was still on, his hand still curled around it, so he sat up and flicked it off, and realized how bright it was, with the light glowing through the green canvas, warming the air.
Just what time was it? He scrubbed at his hair and blinked and yawned. Then stiffened as he heard heavy footsteps clonking up the wooden steps to the tent’s platform.
“Cal?” asked a voice.
It was Zeke.
“Yeah?” asked Cal, almost croaking the word.
“You missed breakfast, so I brought you some,” said Zeke. “Can I come in?”
In prison, the guards never asked permission. In the apartment, Preston, while he might have started off being a charming host, had, in recent years, barged in on Cal regardless of where he was.
“Sure.”
The sound of the tent flap being unzipped drew all of Cal’s attention to it. He was mesmerized at the sight of Zeke carrying a small, cardboard drink tray with two paper cups with lids, and a small white paper bag, the top folded over, a small circle of grease near the bottom.
He carried the tray in one hand, and zipped the tent screen closed behind him with the other, all without spilling a drop or dumping the bag. Sunlight streamed through the screen, along with fresh morning air, and the sound of birdsong.
He strode in, freshly shaved, looking bright and chipper and utterly capable and just so amazing, that Cal’s jaw just about dropped open.
Then Zeke stopped, and Cal had a glimpse of his eyes widening and then narrowing, as if he didn’t much like what he saw.
“What happened to you?” Zeke asked.
“What?” asked Cal. Then he looked down.
He’d slept in his briefs, like he always did, and with the sheet shyly winding around one knee, he was pretty much on display. As were the bruises from his last encounter with Preston, only a day ago. Which Cal had forgotten about. Shit.
Finger marks on the inside of his elbow looked almost black in the sunlight. There was a curve of a bruise on his left hip, where Preston had grabbed him. There was probably a circle ofmarks around his neck, also from where Preston had grabbed him hard and kissed him.
There was no hiding any of this, but Cal didn’t know what to say.
“Um.”
Preston hated it when he didn’t speak clearly or hesitated. Preston had berated Cal for every little thing; it was a wonder why he wanted Cal around at all.
Zeke was looking at him as though trying to translate Cal’s response into something more meaningful and intelligent.
“Did someone at Wyoming Correctional do this to you?” asked Zeke, his voice stern, nostrils flaring.
“It’s a long story,” said Cal, finding some words at least. “It wasn’t anyone at the prison. I’m okay. I bruise easy.”
With a quick shake of his head, Zeke came closer and placed one of the coffees and the paper bag on top of the little white shelf, then sat down on the other unmade cot with the other coffee curled in his hand.
Cal was not fooled. The subject would come up again. For now, Zeke was giving Cal space, time and, it seemed, breakfast.
“There’s an egg sandwich in that bag,” said Zeke. “I had the cooks make you something.”
