“I have another envelope for Sus—Sue and Nance,” he says, catching himself. “But I don’t know where they live. What were you saying yesterday?”
“The bank didn’t give you a deed?” Kavya asks.
“I’ve tried to read it. None of it makes any damn sense. There are a million strange clauses.”
“That’s right,” Kavya says. “Sue explained the clauses to me one time.” She winces. “Yikes.”
Clay looks mildly alarmed as Kavya goes back to arranging, her expression blank again.
“Sue and Nance live in the back,” I tell him and point, starting at the top. “That large house. Because of city regulations, Randy wasn’t able to split the property, so it’s arranged kind of like a condo. You own the lot, but they own the house on the lot.” I shrug. “Anyway, you should talk to them.”
Clay looks confused, possibly exhausted. I wonder what the life is like that he’s rushing back to. Does he have a girlfriend, maybe even a wife and kids? It’s not unreasonable for him to want this to be easy.
Resigning himself, he nods. “Okay. Thanks,” he says as the bell rings and customers walk in. “One other question. When is a good time to come and inspect the building? Upstairs needs some repairs, I found, and most of the utilities must be on this floor or in the basement.” After a moment, he adds, “I’m a carpenter. A journeyman.”
I think of him working a power tool and get a bodily reaction, an inconvenient shiver of want that tickles my gut.
“I can already tell you there’s a list a mile long of repairs that Randy meant to get to. But it was always important to him to keep the original fixtures. We’re not trying to remodel.”
“I’m not an asshole. You couldn’t pay me to rip out those door trims.”
Grateful to hear that, I decide to lean in and trust my instincts. If he cares about the fixtures, seems like he would resist tearing the entire building down.
“I’ve got an idea,” I tell him. “You can come with me on my deliveries, and I can share some of what I know.”
“Oh, wow,” Kavya says. “Jumping in the deep end?”
I shrug as I begin to place the bouquets in the last basket. “Best way to get to know a place.” I look to Clay, who clearly doesn’t know what’s going on. “Sounds good? You’ll help me carry flower baskets up the street. It’s pretty easy.”
After a long moment, he sighs. “Sure,” he says, as though he’s giving up. “Okay.”
“Good.” I take two full baskets and hand them off to him. “It will be fun!”
I grab a couple baskets of my own and head out into the day as Kavya greets the next customers. Fragrant bouquets weigh down the load, heavy in my arms, and Clay follows.
“These six blocks are the main strip of the gayborhood,” I explain as the familiar bustle comes alive around us. “Allentown. It’s like a village in the middle of a big city. Blossom supplies a lot of the local businesses with flowers. The café has a couple stems on each table, the bookstore sells little bouquets by the counter, even the gym and the sex store and the bear bar get an arrangement or two.”
“Oh. Okay.” The crowd is busy around us, even this early, and Clay holds his baskets carefully to avoid bumping into anyone. “Did you say gayborhood?”
I laugh. “Yes. That’s what we call the gay district.”
“Right,” Clay says, voice rumbly and unreadable.
“Didn’t know Buffalo had a gay district?” I try.
“No. I figured it out yesterday, but honestly, I thought only San Francisco and New York had that kind of thing.”
“And San Diego and Seattle and Detroit and Atlanta and, and, and,” I say with a warm laugh.
We come to a stop in front of the café, guitar music filtering through the open windows.
Clay nods seriously. “I don’t have a problem with that,” he says. “I’m just processing, you know?”
“I guess you didn’t know that Randy was gay?”
Clay’s eyes widen.
“Oh. You really didn’t know that Randy was gay.”
