The Tin Box (21 page)

W
ILLIAM
had never really understood women. No big surprise there. From what he could gather, this was a common problem among all men, gay or straight. During the brief time he’d dated and then during his marriage, he’d often found himself completely baffled in his interactions with women. He’d wished there was some kind of instruction manual, or at least a translation guide.

He’d assumed that one of the advantages of being gay would be the ability to avoid this communication gap. He understood men; there would be no confusion.

It turned out he was wrong, and over the next couple of weeks, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going on with Colby.

He didn’t hear from him on Thursday. But maybe, he figured, Colby was busy with family things on his day off. On Friday, William had the brilliant idea of buying a couple of dinners at Dos Hermanos and bringing the food to the store to share with Colby. But when he popped in to the store to ask Colby what he wanted, Cammie was slouched behind the counter, reading another magazine.

“Uh, hi,” William said. “Is Colby busy?”

Colby might have been almost constant smiles, but his mother held the patent on expressionless. “He’s not here.”

“Oh. I thought he had Wednesdays and Thursdays off.”

“Boy works hard. Deserves a few days off.”

William agreed. “Is he around town, or….”

“Seeing friends in San Francisco.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Feeling a little like he’d been punched in the gut, William went home and had a sandwich for dinner instead.

He waited a couple more days, but when he still hadn’t heard from Colby, he decided to call. He ended up going straight to voice mail and left a brief message. He was happy to receive a text from Colby on Tuesday, but all it said was, “Ill b back Thur.”

At least William got a lot of work done on his dissertation. In fact, if he kept going at the current rate, he’d be finished with it well before his goal of mid-August. Then he could return to the Bay Area and an assistantship funded by Dr. Ochoa’s grant. The thought of doing so made him feel lost and forlorn.

On Thursday afternoon, William drove into town. He visited the produce stand, where Missy smilingly sold him a pound of dark-red cherries. “It’s a good crop,” she said as she rang up the sale. “Nice and sweet. And fresh. These were picked just this morning.”

He drove the short distance to the store, waited for the people who belonged to the Ford SUV to come outside and drive away, and then went in. Colby was standing in one of the aisles, arranging boxes of pasta on a shelf. He turned to look at William and his automatic, professional smile shifted through a series of rapid changes, ending up not too far from where it began.

“Hi,” Colby said brightly.

“Hi. Did you enjoy your time off?”

“Yeah. I hadn’t had a vacation in, like, forever, and I figured I’d take advantage of Mom being here while I could. I’m glad I did, too. She and her husband made up and she’s heading back to Redding tomorrow.” He returned to arranging noodles.

William walked closer. “I’m glad you got to relax. And that they reconciled. Did you… have fun in the city?”

Colby looked at him sidelong. “Sure. I ate Thai and Afghani and Burmese and I went dancing. Got some new clothes.” He paused in his work to gesture at his outfit: yet another pair of skinny jeans and a turquoise shirt.

“And you got your hair done.”

Colby patted his head. “Yep.” His hair was a little shorter now and instead of being tipped in bleached blond, it was now a uniform reddish-gold, teased into a slight peak in the middle. It looked good on him.

Silence settled between them as William watched Colby move down a shelf. Now he was turning jars of spaghetti sauce so that all the labels faced the front.

“I brought you a present,” William finally said. He raised the paper bag in his hand.

“Really?” Colby looked pleased but slightly wary.

“Sure. I mean, you bought me that shirt, and…. Well, here.” He thrust the bag in Colby’s direction.

Colby took it from him and looked inside. His face lit up when he saw the contents. “Cherries! Oh my God, I love cherries!”

“I know.”

Now, Colby gave him a very long look before ducking his head. “Thanks. This was nice of you.”

William followed him to the counter. Colby opened the bag and used his teeth to pluck a cherry from the stem, then spat the pit into his palm. “Here,” he said, holding out the bag. “They’re really good.”

They were, William decided after he’d had one. He didn’t much care for the slimy pit in his hand, though, or the knowledge that he was staining his hand red. Colby must have seen that in his expression, because he rolled his eyes and grabbed the pit away.

“Ew. That has my spit on it,” said William.

Colby raised his eyebrows.

Okay, he did have a point.

William smiled at him. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight after you close? I can grill again.”

For some reason, Colby looked as if he was in pain. “I can’t. Sorry.”

“Sure. No big deal. Um, is it okay if I borrow a couple of books? I haven’t brought the last ones back, but—”

“I trust you. You’re good for it. Go ahead.”

William spent a long time in the library, aimlessly browsing the shelves. A few customers—not locals, by the sound of them—came and went. Then he heard Mrs. Barrett enter the store and begin a long discussion with Colby about whether the elementary school really needed a new roof. She was of the opinion that it did not. She complained about the design on a package of facial tissue but bought it anyway. Minutes after she left, a man with a booming voice came to pick up a package from the post office. He bought some stamps as well. And then it was quiet for some time, but Colby never came to join him.

Eventually, William settled on a romance novel about a commercial fisherman and a male model. Apparently they met during a nautically themed photo shoot. He also grabbed a John Irving book, mostly because it was really thick.

When William walked back into the store’s main room, Colby was back to arranging the shelves. This time he was stacking boxes of pain relievers. “Find something good?” he asked.

“I hope so. I took a couple.”

“Well, enjoy them.”

Feeling summarily dismissed, William mumbled goodbye and then left.

He returned to the store three times over the following week to buy groceries. Each time, Colby was polite but nothing more. It was as if they’d never been friends, let alone lovers. William would have thought that Colby was through with him—maybe regretting their night together. But every time William entered the store, for the briefest moment when Colby first saw him, he looked happy and relieved. Then the shutters came down over his eyes and he was only a friendly shopkeeper.

When William wasn’t writing his dissertation, he brooded over Colby. He knew there were plenty of people in the world who wanted nothing but one-night stands, but Colby had said many times that he was yearning for more, and William believed him. It occurred to him more than once that maybe the sex had been terrible for Colby—it definitely hadn’t been for William. And Colby had certainly seemed to enjoy it at the time. Maybe he’d just decided that William wasn’t his type, that he could find someone younger, cuter, hipper, and less awkward. But even if that were true, wouldn’t Colby still want him as a friend? They were having fun together before the sex.

William just couldn’t make sense of the situation. Had he accidentally offended Colby somehow? Disgusted him? Had Colby’s goal all along been to pop William’s gay cherry and then move on? That didn’t feel right. Colby wasn’t the sort to want to rack up conquests.

Nearly three weeks after William and Colby had gone to Fresno, William was no closer to answers. On Sunday evening, cramped after a day of typing and editing, he went for a jog outside. It had been an unusually cool May day, perhaps making up for the unusually hot ones earlier in the spring, and the night air was downright chilly. He didn’t mind. It encouraged him to run faster. The cows were especially vocal tonight, either enjoying or complaining about the weather.

It felt good to exercise. He liked the rush of air through his lungs and the stretch of his leg muscles. But then he stumbled over a rock he hadn’t seen in the dark, and he decided it would be best to return indoors before he hurt himself.

He walked through the grungy hallway. The place was beginning to feel like home. When he entered his apartment, his gaze immediately went to the tin box, which he’d returned to the highest shelf. He’d been trying to ignore the box since he read the last letter. But he’d find himself wondering what had happened to Bill’s pen, or whether anyone else had discovered the box in the past fifty years and then returned it to the wall, or if Johnny had ended up fighting in the war. And of course William couldn’t help thinking about Bill—abandoned, mutilated, crying out across half a century.

William turned around and went to the records room. He didn’t realize that was where he was headed until he got there. But once he arrived he knew what he intended to do: Dig through the records. Find Bill’s paperwork. Learn what had happened to him.

Only a few minutes of opening file drawers and rifling through the contents convinced him of the magnitude of the task. There were many thousands of files, and their order seemed haphazard at best. Yes, patients’ names were written on the folder tabs, but much of the writing was nearly illegible through bad penmanship or fading. William didn’t even know Bill’s last name. He sank to the dusty floor, holding his head in defeat. He was failing Bill, just as he’d failed his family and his wife. He’d somehow failed with Colby too—and he found that failure the most painful of all.

God
damn
it! He’d promised himself! He’d vowed he wouldn’t get close to anyone again, and look what he’d done. He’d fallen for the first man who looked at him twice. And he’d become emotionally invested in a man who’d probably died decades ago.

The floor in the records room was truly filthy. He was going to have to shower and wash his clothes. But he didn’t make any effort to get up, because an idea was slowly sparking in his brain. He could almost feel the neurons blinking on, one by one, until the mental light bulb was fully lit. Yes. Maybe he could solve both his problems at once.

C
OLBY
looked up from mopping the floor, beamed, and then visibly dampened his enthusiasm. “Hey, Will.”

William stood near the door, not wanting to track dust onto the newly cleaned floor. “How are you doing, Colby?”

“I’m okay. Hey, have you called that hunk from the Stockyard yet?”

“No.” William shook his head. “And I’m not going to.”

“Is he not your type?”

“No. He’s not.”

Colby leaned on the mop handle and grinned. “Sounds like you finally figured out what your type is. Did the romance novels help? Or the porn?”

“In a manner of speaking.” His type, of course, was Colby Anderson. But William didn’t say so. “Do you have tomorrow off?”

Colby blinked slightly at the conversation’s change in direction. “Yeah. But I have a lot of stuff—”

“I need your help.”

That brought Colby’s objections up short, just as William had hoped. Colby frowned with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Kind of. I have… a project. It’s too big to do by myself.”

“Will, if you’re asking for help on a construction project, I gotta tell you, I’m hopeless. I suck at anything involving tools. But my cousin Robby—”

“It’s not construction.” William quirked his lips. “I suck at that too. Look, it’s kind of a long story. Meet me for lunch at Dos Hermanos tomorrow and I’ll explain. And if you agree to come back to the hospital and help, I have a bribe.” He waved the bag he was holding in his hand. “Your cousin’s cherry pie. She told me it’s the best in the county.”

“It is. She wins ribbons at the fair.”

“Well then. It’d be a shame if I had to eat an entire pie by myself. With the ice cream I bought in Mariposa yesterday.”

Colby licked his lips. “You got the premium stuff, didn’t you? Not the cheapy crap Grandpa stocks.”