Chapter 6 #3
He takes a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs facing the river and gestures for me to sit in the other one.
“I thought you’d have an office,” I say.
“I do.” He waves around us. “Here it is.” He looks me over for a moment. “That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there.”
I reach up to touch it. It doesn’t hurt too bad anymore but still hasn’t faded much. “Yeah. I’m sure you heard.”
Jack nods and looks out over the river. “I don’t need to tell you that we cannot solve problems with our fists.”
I pull up a long strand of grass, twisting it in my fingers. “Listen, don’t expect much from me, okay? I’m not here to talk about anything. Share my thoughts and feelings or whatever.”
Jack continues to gaze at the water. “All right.”
I glance at him.
“We can sit here in quiet contemplation if you prefer.” He looks over at me and smiles.
That won’t be any better. “I don’t know what you want me to talk about anyway.” I tie knots in the grass. “I’m not talking about my family or anything.”
“You don’t have to.” Jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette case and lighter.
He takes out a clove cigarette and offers me one, and I decline.
“We can talk about the weather.” He taps it on the silver case, lights it, and takes a drag.
“Your favorite foods. Anything you want. You’re the captain of this ship. You can steer it anywhere you like.”
I watch him smoke leisurely, gazing out over the river. I’d pictured some stuffy old man with a notebook and pen, in a Harvard-library-looking office.
I twist the grass between my fingers. “It’s really humid here.”
He chuckles, glancing over at me. “It sure is. I’m still not used to it. I’m from Phoenix.”
I drop the blades of grass and stare out over the river.
It’s a muddy blue and woods are on the other side.
It’s nice scenery, I guess. Jack and I sit in silence while he smokes.
The scent brings back memories. Not pleasant ones.
When he’s done, he taps it out and puts the butt in a little metal box.
A nice breeze stirs the surface of the water.
He seems perfectly at ease with the silence.
I start to wonder if he even remembers I’m here.
“How long is this?” I ask him. “An hour?”
“However long you need.” He gives me an easy smile.
“That seems like a bad idea. What if somebody yammers on for five hours?”
He laughs. “I’ve never had anyone ‘yammer’ for that long. I just don’t believe in boxing people into time frames, all neat and orderly in a calendar. Thoughts and emotions aren’t neat and orderly.” He turns to me. “So, there’s no pressure, you see?”
“There’s a lot of guys here, and you talk with all of us, don’t you? There would have to be some kind of order.”
“You’d think.” He gazes out at the water again. “But it’s worked fine so far. And I can’t help anyone who doesn’t want to help themselves, you understand. There are a lot of men out there like you.” He glances at me. “Closed off but curious.”
“You don’t know anything about me yet.” I don’t mean for it to come across as rude as it sounded. “Sorry, I just really don’t want to be here.”
“You’re all right. And you’re not the only one.”
“This place is for addicts. I’m not an addict.”
Jack is quiet again, staring at the water.
I almost start talking about Pete and Tamar, but that’s exactly what I don’t want to talk about, so I stay silent. Another long period of silence passes, and then I stand up.
“I think I’m done for today.”
He turns to me with another easy smile. “All right, Harvey. We’ll meet again.”
I walk over to the dirt path leading to the picnic area. Austin is probably already there. He needs a shrink more than I do. He looked fucking crazy the day we fought. I’ve decided that it’s either withdrawal or lack of sex. It might even be both.
When I approach, he’s standing in front of the metal shed, hands on his hips, looking at the mess inside. We’ve made little progress, and Timber’s hauled some stuff away. But it’s still a huge fucking mess.
Austin turns around as I get closer. “I think we should get the lawnmowers out, so we can get into the back where all that wood is. Timber said he wanted us to build a shelf.”
“I’m not building shit,” I say, stepping inside to see what we’ve got going on.
One mower is an old-timey riding mower, sitting lopsided with a large back wheel missing. The other looks like a highway mower, laying on its side.
I go to the riding mower. “Let’s get this thing out of here.”
We’re not in sync at first, because he pushes when I push, and then we argue on how to maneuver it through the doors.
In the end, we have to lift and push together to get the thing outside, and we’re both sweating and breathless by the time we get it over in the grass.
I grab a gallon jug of water Timber brought and take a long drink.
I glance at Austin, trying to figure out how to move the other mower.
He’s wearing a tank today, leaving his arms bare. I bet he even has freckles on his ass.
He glances at me. “Get over here and help me.”
“You don’t have to boss me around,” I snap at him, making my way over.
“Just shut up and get this side.”
I stay wary of any blades, grab the mower, and we lift it much easier than the last one. After only a few feet, Austin drops his side.
“Shit!” He looks down at his arm.
“Got a cramp, Hollywood?”
“I think I just got bit by a spider.”
I move over to him. “Let me see.”
“No.” He tugs his arm away.
“Jesus Christ, just give it here.” I grab his hand to check the underside of his arm.
I search for anything that isn’t a freckle—he’s so damn pale—but I don’t see any bite marks.
The leather band around his wrist has slipped partway, though, and pale pink scars peek out: three lines, two vertical and one diagonal, and all unmistakable.
I glance at him, and he yanks his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”
His cheeks are like strawberries. His jaw is working as he looks at the band, fixing it. Once it’s situated, he glances at me and it’s clear. It’s written all over his face.
“I didn’t see anything,” I say quietly. “You’re good.”
He blinks at me for a moment, then he elbows me out of his way. “Let’s get back to work.”