Chapter 3 #3
“No. I dated a guy who, as it turned out, was a functioning alcoholic, and he was in rehab at least three times in two years. Mostly so he didn’t lose shared custody of his kids.” Malcolm saw the questions coming and waved a hand in the air. “It was complicated.”
“I can empathize with complicated relationships. Someone once told me I have more walls up than an eight-sided prison.”
Malcolm tried to work that one out. “A what?”
Iggy waved a hand in the air. “He was going for a metaphor and it didn’t land. Yes, lunch. I’m not sure how aware Uncle Howie will be, or if he’ll even want me to stay and visit, so I’ll call you. Unless you’ve got a job today, and you’ll be busy at a certain time?”
“Mrs. Strickland has a leaking bathtub faucet that I put off until this morning, but I doubt that will take more than an hour or two. I’ve got a buddy in Livermore I’ve farmed out extra work to before, and he’s helped with covering some jobs.
Thankfully, it’s mostly remodeling stuff out at one of the ranches that I can do on an as-needed basis. ”
“Sounds like the people of Chance keep you busy.”
“They do. It’s funny how differently you see a town as an adult, as opposed to when you’re a kid.”
Iggy nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He took another step sideways and angled his body, giving Malcolm a clear path to the door. Not subtle.
“So, we’ll talk later.” Malcolm wasn’t asking.
“Yes, I’ll call you. I promise.” Something in the flicker in Iggy’s eyes seemed to say I’m not ghosting you, not like you ghosted me.
The tiny ball of shame and regret that had resided deep inside of Malcolm’s gut for years churned, and he forced a casual smile as he left the trailer.
It was only seven-thirty, too early to go over to Mrs. Strickland’s, and he didn’t want to go home just to sit in his camper and stew.
So, he left his car where it was, and he wandered past the trailer toward Snow Creek.
Over the years, Malcolm had seen all different parts of Snow Creek, from higher up in the mountains, to even farther south than where it wound through Chance.
The leg that ran behind the saloon was one of the calmer parts, a little deeper and less rocky, good for teaching a clueless, teenage Iggy how to cast a fly rod.
It wasn’t a great fishing spot, but it was good for casting lessons with a novice who had been afraid of rushing water.
He wandered over stony ground and past short bushes toward the familiar rumble of the creek, and did his best to ignore the houses marring the beauty on its farther shore.
He and Iggy had swum here a few times in the summer, but they’d preferred more secluded spots for obvious reasons.
Hidden banks and shores where they could shed their clothes, dip into the icy water, and just exist.
Have sex on a blanket under the wide, blue sky.
Love each other openly under heaven’s eyes, even if under no one else’s.
Make plans for a future neither of them could truly imagine as anything tangible. Only dreams of dreamers who dared to wish upon the stones they skipped across the water’s surface.
Part of Malcolm wanted to call Jake and dump this load onto his friend, to see if Jake had any good advice.
But he’d never told Jake about Iggy, and ringing him this early in the morning would just make the guy worry for no reason.
Instead, he paced the shore of the creek, tossing stones as far as he could and watching the ripples, until he was sure the kids would be on the bus.
Then he called Melissa.
“Hey, bro, how’d the pickup go?” she asked, barely giving it time to ring. Must have been holding the phone, scrolling some social or another. Taking a minute to breathe before her first hair client.
“I kissed him, Liss.”
She made a sputtering noise, and he hoped it hadn’t been coffee. “At the airport?”
“No!” His voice echoed across the creek, and he flinched. “No, later, at Howie’s place. We were talking, and I apologized for everything, and then we were kissing. A lot. But we didn’t—I mean, that’s it. No more.”
“But you wanted more?”
“Of course, I did. Fuck, it was like we were seventeen again, and we had to work in a quickie before one of our guardians came home, but it was also different.”
“No kidding, it was different. You’re both different people now, ding-dong.”
“I know that, and we both acknowledged it.” He picked up a smooth, gray stone the size of his thumb and shaped like a tiny football.
Tossed and caught it twice, before sending it sailing across the water.
It skipped once then disappeared. “But I’ll be damned if we aren’t both still attracted to each other.
People say you never forget your first love, but damn. This is brutal.”
“I bet. Where are you, anyway?”
“By the creek. Too loud?”
“No, just making sure the noise I heard wasn’t you driving and talking.”
Malcolm grinned at a nearby tree. His sister picked on him sometimes for not having a truck new enough for Bluetooth, but he had a little holder for his phone on the dash now, so he could talk hands-free if he had to. “Nah, just needed to talk to my big sis for a minute.”
“Well, you finally saw him again, and you kissed. What’s the next step?”
“Lunch. More talking. The fact that he’s amenable to more talking, and he isn’t shutting me out, is everything, Liss. Maybe I don’t deserve to ever hear him say he forgives me—”
“Yes, you do, if you tell him the truth.”
“Maybe. I just really want the chance to tell him the truth. The rest after? Up to him.”
“Good. I’ve told you that for years, and so did one of your therapists.”
“I thought you didn’t like Dr. Aldridge?”
“I didn’t. Don’t. But that was good advice. Otherwise, dude was a quack.”
“You aren’t wrong.” When Malcolm had finally realized he couldn’t figure his shit out alone and accepted he needed therapy, he’d gone through several different docs with varying degrees and outlooks until he’d found one he liked.
He still had once-monthly telecalls with Dr. Wilcox, unable to terminate the relationship yet and find someone local.
“Look, Monte, I know you want to bare your soul to Iggy and get his forgiveness,” Melissa said, “but please, don’t undermine your own happiness to do it. Don’t take more blame than is yours. You were a victim, too.”
Malcolm kicked a stone that skittered a few feet away before clinking against a larger one. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”
“Good. Text me how lunch goes.”
“Will do. Have fun playing with hair.”
She blew a raspberry into the phone. “Brat. Later.”
He pocketed his phone then tilted his face toward the morning sunshine, which still cast long shadows on its slow creep higher into the sky.
Today had been a start toward something positive.
Maybe not total forgiveness; God knew, he needed to earn that with more than just words.
But it was a start, nonetheless. A start down his own metaphorical yellow brick road, toward a rough and uncertain Emerald City.
“We’re off to see the wizard,” he said to the gently flowing current of Snow Creek.
The creek rippled and churned and traveled onward, on its own endless journey.