"Sorry, my mind was going off."
"Open the window a little to give you some brisk air," said Kyle. "Just for a minute or so, so you don't fall asleep."
Obediently, Clayton did as Kyle suggested and breathed in deeply as the cooler air circulated around the inside of the car. Bits of icy snow kissed his cheek.
"What do you want to make to sell at one of these fairs?" asked Clayton. "Beaded knife sheaths?"
"No," said Kyle, and Clayton could hear him take a breath. "Well, maybe. I do want to do leatherwork. You know, belts and wallets and patterns for cowboy boots."
This was not the answer that Clayton had been expecting, and as he mulled it over, he realized Kyle was waiting for his response.
"That sounds cool," said Clayton.
"Really?" asked Kyle.
"Really," said Clayton. "I've seen some really good leatherwork in my time, you know, being out on the road. Some of those designs are very intricate. And expensive."
At that, Kyle started talking. He told Clayton about his plan to buy a truck and an Airstream trailer with his savings from his software job, and how he'd drive from fair to fair, living on the road like a vagabond, but with a purpose. He'd have his tools and supplies with him, and when he was at a fair, he'd do demos and talk to people about the history of each design.
Clayton told him he could hook Kyle up with Ricky, in Dickinson, who could teach him how to brain-tan deer hides, and Kyle practically moaned.
Kyle hung up to get himself a drink of water, then called right back and kept on talking. He talked Clayton's ear off the whole way to Orchard, and all the while the snow pounded the side of the car and erased the road. Clayton's eyes were so tiredthat he thought he was imagining the lights that started twinkling in the near distance.
As he got closer, he saw they were streetlights lined up on either side of the road. In a flash of brightness, his headlights caught the green sign that indicated he'd entered the small, very small, town of Orchard, population 101, elevation 4,406 feet.
"I'm in Orchard," said Clayton, though he could hardly believe he'd made it. Even if his truck spun totally out, he could walk to Kyle's house from here.
"Keep driving. Do you see the streetlights? Go past the post office, it'll be on your right, and just keep going. I'm the last house before the river, and I'll be on your right, too. You can't miss me, I'm all lit up like a runway."
Clayton thought he might have half blacked out or fallen asleep, his body relaxing at last after all these hours because it knew it was almost there. Suddenly, the town's single row of streetlights was already in his rearview mirror, and in front of him, to the right, was a blazing ball of light that broke out into singular lights as he drove closer. It was Kyle's house, the last one before the road got to the river.
He turned off the main road into the curved driveway, his car slowing down so much that he realized that the snow was deep enough to hit the top of the tires.
He stopped several feet from the actual front door, shut off the engine and the headlights, and sat there, his whole body buzzing, black sparks dancing in front of his eyes.
Someone came and opened the car door and Clayton fell out right into the snow. The same someone caught him and helped him to his feet. Smelling like pine and cinnamon, he let Clayton lean against him as they walked to the front door of the house.
Light and warmth shot out through the open doorway, though Clayton could barely sense the two of them going up the pair of concrete steps that had been carefully shoveled and salted. Then he was inside, blinking and blind, slightly shaking,his hands at his sides curling into fists and then stretching out as he tried to get the blood flow back into them.
"Let me turn off some of these lights," said Kyle, using the same voice he'd used on the phone that Clayton knew meant he was being babysat, though at that moment, Clayton didn't mind a bit. "And take off your boots and coat and holy fuck, no gloves, no hat, no scarf? What were you thinking? What if you'd had an accident and had to walk for help? Oh, never mind, here?—"
Warm, gentle hands guided him to the couch, and he was sat down and his coat was being pulled off him quite carefully. He blinked and rubbed his eyes with his cold, dry hands, and tried to figure out what was sparkling all around him.
As his vision cleared, he realized he was seeing garlands of silver and gold on a real Christmas tree, as well as above and around the brick fireplace and along the wooden mantle. The tree was gently decorated, soft as a hand-drawn Christmas card, with silver tinsel, bubbling candles, blue and red and green balls, the whole of it encircled with tiny little yellow-white lights that quietly blinked on and off in a soothing sequence.
The entire room looked like it had been decorated by someone who loved Christmas. Someone who knew all the touches, the garland, sprigs of real fir tree to make it smell nice, and last but not least was the cheery sparkle of a real fire in a real fireplace. Everything was real, nothing was fake, and Clayton could hardly believe he was here at last.
"Wow," he said, and to make sure his admiration was quite plain, he said it again. "Wow, this is amazing. I thought rooms like this only existed in Hallmark movies."
"Nice, huh?" asked Kyle, handing Clayton a cup of coffee. "That's got some brandy in it, so drink up."
Clayton took the cup, warm in his hands, and sipped at the coffee. It warmed a trail down his throat and into his belly. He let the moment happen, where the warmth blossomed intosomething good and safe, and he took a deep breath, the first one since Sundance.
When he looked up, blinking, he saw Kyle for the first time. He'd wondered what Kyle had looked like, and nothing in his mind had been able to conjure up compared to the reality.
As Clayton had imagined, there was an expression of worry as Kyle looked at him, but this was framed by shaggy russet hair, and there was a slight twist to his mouth that created a smile that was sweet and hopeful at the same time. His face was all angles, and there was a lovely blush on his cheeks, perhaps from the warmth of the room, or the presence of a stranger.
But it was those eyes of his, wide-open eyes that held an innocence, an air of expectation, as though the world was a good place with interesting things to do and see. No sadness, only joy.
