Chapter 6 #2
He knew Melissa’s second marriage had been a happy one, but Malcolm hadn’t been around to see it.
He’d missed the births of all his nieces and nephews.
He’d missed first steps, first words, and so many birthdays and holidays, because he’d been too hurt by Chance to return.
Not only by the implosion of his relationship with Iggy, but also his home life.
The betrayals of his parents, the physical abuse, the cheating and eventual divorce.
But he loved his sister dearly, and he’d never heard her completely shattered until the phone call about Tomás.
Now she was…not thriving, exactly, but she was happy. Healthy. Her business was successful, her children doing well in school, and all the bills were up to date.
So are you, ding-dong. Melissa’s voice rang in his head, reminding him that he was healthy, doing well as Chance’s go-to handyman, and he didn’t have any outstanding debts to any financial institutions.
He owned his truck, and the camper was on loan from one of Melissa’s long-time hair clients.
Malcolm wasn’t sure he’d say he was thriving, but he was in a good place, financially and physically. Emotionally…he was lonely.
Lonely for a real connection to someone he could fall in love with.
Maybe for the second time.
No, it was too soon to imagine falling back in love with Iggy, after only being in each other’s orbits for two days. One step at a time. One conversation at a time. One meaningful smile at a time.
Around midnight, Melissa was drooping from a combination of alcohol, dancing, and being a working mother of four.
Malcolm closed out their tab—his and Iggy’s fingers brushed when Iggy passed back Liss’s credit card—and led his tipsy sibling outside to his truck.
She was yawning by the time they got home, and she stumbled on the three steps up to the back door, so Malcolm sent her upstairs to bed.
The babysitter was a retired teacher who lived three houses down, and she was willing to stay for another two hours, until Melissa was settled and everyone was asleep.
Liss wasn’t passing-out drunk, and the kids were heavy sleepers, so Malcolm was confident enough to pay the sitter her fee before walking back to Saddle Up.
The walk wasted time, not only for the bar to wind down, but also for Malcolm to talk himself into the merits of this plan. Iggy could turn him down, and he’d just have gotten a lot of extra exercise. Iggy could invite him inside, and…well…
He waved at a few folks departing in their cars or trucks, and the saloon’s parking lot was more than half empty when he strolled along the perimeter.
He paused at the corner of the building, considering going back inside and chilling at the bar until closing, but he didn’t want to distract Iggy.
Surprise felt like a better tactic. So, he followed the gravel path around back, past Laurel’s Bug and Howie’s station wagon, and up the ramp to the porch.
The trailer’s porchlight was on, casting a fan of orange light and shadows across the mismatched outdoor furniture.
Malcolm picked a chair mostly in shadow and settled in to wait.
Sounds from the front parking lot filtered back, mostly belts of laughter.
One horn honked. Engines revved. Noises of the night and of a slowly emptying gathering place.
Malcolm tilted his head up to study the stars he could see through the dim lights from town, until they all disappeared behind his eyelids.
Noise coalesced into a white noise that nothing penetrated until an engine buzzed to life nearby.
He sat up with a start and a crick in his neck, and he scanned the back lot.
Iggy stood by the fender of the wagon and watched Laurel’s Bug circle the building and disappear. Anticipation flooded Malcolm’s insides, leaving his stomach squirrelly and his palms sweaty. Iggy turned and strode toward the ramp, head up, aware, and he noticed Malcolm before he’d set foot on it.
“I wasn’t expecting an early-morning package delivery.” Iggy crossed his arms and waited at the bottom of the ramp.
“I wasn’t sure I should come back.” Malcolm stood but didn’t approach. He wasn’t blocking Iggy’s access to the trailer’s door, and he wouldn’t try and stop Iggy if Iggy said goodnight. He also wasn’t leaving until dismissed by word or actions.
Iggy came halfway up the ramp then stopped again. “Why did you?”
“When I was here yesterday, I noticed the screen door’s hinge was squeaky.”
“So, you wanted to oil it at two-thirty in the morning?”
“I’m up.”
He swore, even in the bad light, that Iggy’s gaze flickered down to Malcolm’s crotch. “Looks like we’re both up. I take it Melissa made it safely home? Wait, where’s your truck?”
“I walked back. Gave me time to change my mind.”
“About oiling a squeaky hinge at zero-dark-thirty?”
“Whatever gets me in the door.” Off Iggy’s raised eyebrows, Malcolm added, “To talk. I really enjoyed hanging out today at the hospital. As much as anyone can enjoy hanging out in a hospital, I guess, but you know what I mean. And tonight, at the bar, it was fun. Even when we didn’t talk, it was fun. ”
Iggy took a few more steps forward, maybe three solid strides from the porch now.
His arms fell loose by his sides, all defensiveness disappearing behind fatigue.
“I liked having a friendly face nearby. I mean, the staff has been friendly enough, but I’m not Howie, and I don’t think the cook likes me very much. ”
“He doesn’t like anyone very much. Why do you think he stays in the kitchen?”
“Still.” Iggy closed those three steps, but five feet of porch still separated them. “I’m thirty-four-years-old, but sometimes being back in Chance…makes me feel like an awkward teenager again. All spit and fire and more courage than brains.”
“I felt like that a lot when I first came back. It goes away.”
Until your first love comes crashing back into your life and reminds you of your absolute worst sin.
Iggy nibbled on the edge of his thumbnail, then seemed to notice the nervous tick Malcolm hadn’t seen in forever, and he shoved his hands into his back jeans pockets. “Do you, uh, want to come inside? I found a bottle of Evan Williams in a cabinet, if you want a nightcap.”
“Straight whiskey? Doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“It’s not. I’ll probably drown mine in cola, but it’s all I’ve got until I can get to the store for some proper groceries and libations.”
“Dude, you work in a bar.”
Iggy tsked with his tongue as he unlocked the trailer’s storm door. “I’m volunteering at a bar, which is probably slightly illegal, but once Howie is home, we can figure out paperwork and all that shit. Anyway, I’m not stealing booze from my uncle’s bar.”
“Too old for the thrill of it?” Malcolm followed him inside. The trailer had a fresher scent he couldn’t put his finger on. “Or is it more fun when you’re sixteen and trying to get drunk for the first time with your secret boyfriend?”
“Definitely more fun when you’re sixteen.” Iggy pulled the bottle of whiskey from a top cabinet in the small kitchenette. “Although you weren’t my boyfriend yet when you goaded me into stealing that vodka. We were just really horny for each other.”
“If you recall, I was horny for you long before booze got involved.” Malcolm approached the small table where Iggy had placed the whiskey and two glasses.
“I wanted to spend time with you. With this confident guy who called me on my bullshit, and who saw me. Who saw what was going on and cared enough to track me down so he could ask if I was okay.”
“And you weren’t.”
Old hurts washed over Malcolm like boiling water, and he closed his eyes…
…Malcolm discovered this bend in Snow Creek two years ago, when things really started going bad with his parents, and it’s his favorite spot to sit and not think.
The creek narrows here, which should make it optimal for wading to the other side, only Mother Nature left a small gravel pit worth of rocks in the water, creating the kind of rapids a white-water rafter might covet.
If only the creek rates that sort of activity and it doesn’t.
It’s much better suited to fly fishing and canoeing.
It’s the sound of the rapids that soothes him, the white noise of water constantly rushing over stones, gravel, and the riverbed below.
He saw a cartoon once, and a girl sang about never stepping in the same river twice.
He likes the idea of water always changing, washing away the old and carrying forward the new.
The freezing late autumn water is too cold to dip his toes, so he closes his eyes and pretends he’s swimming. It’s easier than thinking about the fight this morning, or that he’s missing play practice again and actively avoiding places Iggy might look for him.
He hid the Epsom salts under his bed so his dad didn’t find them and accuse him of being a chicken-shit for not being able to handle a few punches.
His lower back twinges and he shifts on the grassy spot he chose near a smooth, flat rock the size of a small car.
It would be a nice picnic spot, a place to spread out the contents of a basket for someone he’s interested in.
But that kind of romantic crap is for romantic people, and that’s not Malcolm.
He’s seen romance in movies, and he sees it sometimes in couples at school.
Picnics with roses and strawberries is for girls.
Not whatever these weird feelings he’s been having for—
“Hey, Monte!”
His entire body jerks, which sends a bolt of fire down his back, and he releases an undignified noise he’ll never admit is a yelp. He scrambles to stand and glares against the setting sun as Iggy strides toward him, wrapped up in his red winter coat and yellow scarf.
“There you are,” Iggy snaps. “I saw you in school today, so what gives with ditching play practice, dude? They actually need us to move the house during the tornado.”
“That house is light enough and it’s on wheels. You can move it by yourself.”