No River Wide Enough

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

At the Frontier’s back door, I counted bills, while Jay, our main supplier, waited to get paid. It was a scorching hot day and I was in a hurry to go back to stocking the cool fridge. “All right, thanks.” I handed him a pile of twenties. “Everything looks great.”

Jay, a skinny man in his fifties, had been delivering our main supplies from his own grocery store out in Forked River Creek for two years. “Did you guys turn a good profit at the fair Saturday?” he asked, lighting up a cigarette. “Heard everybody showed up.”

I thought of Hank again and tried not to be disappointed. The city employees, those three guys who’d been with Hank at the Fair two days ago—Steven, Mark, and Antoine—had shown up this morning for breakfast, but Hank hadn’t been with them. Maybe it was better that way. His presence would have surely tortured me. “Yeah, we sold everything out,” I said, leaning against the doorway. “How’s business going for you this summer?”

Jay blew out a curl of smoke into the hot air, flipped his cap around on his head, and stepped back to his van. “Forked River Creek ain’t what it used to be, you know? Now that they’re building that whole new shopping center and everything…all us small shops are gonna take a hit most of us can’t afford.”

“I hear you.” Things were changing, moving fast. I only hoped they wouldn’t open a Dunkin Donuts on Main Street as they’d talked about doing last year, or I’d be selling pastries on the side of the road and living in my car next summer. “Hang in there, Jay. Maybe one day people will understand that encouraging all these mega complexes is killing the soul of our little towns.”

“You know, Chris, for a guy who’s only been living here for a couple of years, you really get it.” He climbed into the front seat of his beat-up van and leaned over the window sill. “See ya next week.”

“Yeah. See you.” I waved Jay off and went back inside. It was true, I really did feel a strong sense of belonging here. It was difficult and sometimes unbearable to be gay and single in St-Clovis, but the friendships I’d built were worth the romantic solitude.

I checked my watch. It was almost four. It would be quiet for an hour or two and then later, the local teenagers would show up for frozen yogurt and milkshakes. I liked having the young people around. While they were here, they weren’t out there thinking of reckless things to try. Last summer, a few town kids had stolen a tractor and driven straight into a ravine. Thank goodness no one had been seriously hurt.

I remembered growing up in a place where the only exciting thing that ever happened were football games or Valentine’s Day dances. So I tried to give the local kids a safe place where they could play some music and hang out.

I was going to go back inside the fridge and organize the fruit section, but then decided I’d bug Drika instead. I walked through the kitchen and pushed on the door, stepping into the front.

In the dining room, Hank was standing by the front window, engaged in conversation with Drika.

Had to be cool. Had to act better than I had last Saturday. This was my chance.

But before I could say hello, Hank glanced my way. He immediately seemed flustered, clearly losing track of what Drika had been saying.

I was glad.

“Oh, hey, Chris,” Drika said. “Do you need any help back there, hon?”

“Uh, no thank you.” I stepped out of my comfort zone, leaving the front counter and entering the sunlit dining room. There was a golden light filtering through the glass, and in it, Hank’s face was even more stunning than I remembered. “Decided to take a break,” I said, stopping close to where they stood. I looked at him and smiled. “Hi…how are you?”

Hank frowned a little and smiled too, a dimple forming in his right cheek. “The guys were raving about your corn bread,” he said, his American accent making me weak in the knees. “Sorry I missed out on that. I had a meeting.”

“There’s plenty left.” I was transfixed, my eyes locked to his. “Want some?”

“I wouldn’t mind a piece, thanks.”

“Sit down,” Drika said, pulling up a chair for him. “You too, Chris. You deserve a break. I’ll bring some food out.” She turned away and stepped into the kitchen.

I watched the kitchen door shut behind her.

“You have a beautiful place here,” Hank said, sticking his thumbs into the front pocket of his jeans, leaning back on his heels. He was wearing brown cowboy boots.

I knew I was blushing, turning beet red. Had to say something coherent. “Thanks…”

“And the pictures?” Obviously shy too, Hank started walking around, looking at the paintings and photographs on the walls. “I love these small towns,” he said, almost for himself, it seemed. “You decorated the place, too, huh?”

I nodded and took a few steps to where he stood looking at the picture of the 1947 newspaper front page. “There was a fire. It was a tragedy. The theater doors only opened from the inside and all the people were pressed up against them, so everybody died.”

Ever since that day, everyone went to the drive-in.

Hank looked over at me, his blue eyes lingering on my lips for a second. “That’s terrible,” he whispered.

How depressing was I?

“So, you’re, um, an engineer?”

“That’s right.” Hank kept his distance. “More precisely, a water plant engineer. Level one.”

“What does that mean?”

“I specialize in small town water plants. I don’t do those big urban facilities. That’s why I’m in Forked River Creek.” He paused and his stare roamed over my face as though he was taking in every detail of my features. There was satisfaction in his eyes. “They’ve got me set up in a little old house out on Dunver’s Road,” he said, rubbing his thumb across his lips. “Right across that bridge.”

“Right. Hawk’s Bridge. Oh, yeah, okay. I know the street.”

“You live nearby there?” Hank’s face flushed darker and he looked away, stepping back. “I mean, you know the place? Well, I’m sure you do. You lived here all your life, I bet.”

“Actually, no, I haven’t.” His uneasiness made me bold. “I’m from Weston, a small town in Vermont. I lived in Boston for a few years though. Now, I’m here.”

“What brought you to this place?”

I laughed, feeling more comfortable. “Long story.”

“Okay…I see.” Hank laughed too and our eyes locked again, but this time, he wouldn’t look away. “You, uh, live alone?”

He was definitely letting me know he was interested, but maybe I was too nervous to read his signals right. “Yeah,” I said, staring into his warm blue eyes, “I live alone.”

“You’re—you’re not married?”

I was done with being subtle. I stepped closer. I wouldn’t play around. The chances of a man like Hank blowing into town again were non-existent. I wasn’t going to ruin this opportunity at making a connection. I was so hungry for a touch, a kiss, a wild night—anything at all. “I live on Watercress Street,” I said, my voice wavering. “Second to last house on the left. Blue panels, 227 Watercress.”

Hank’s features tensed and he glanced at the kitchen door. “Oh, okay.” He stepped back, then turned around, walking to the door. “s**t, my pager just went off. It’s my boss.”

Had I read his signals wrong? If I had, then I was screwed. “I—I,” I babbled, trying to fix my blunder. “If you need anything or want to know what’s happening in town.”

At the front door, he looked over his shoulder. “So sorry I have to leave so fast. Please thank Drika for the coffee.” He pulled on the door and bolted out. I watched him get into a black Mazda and drive away. He never looked up.

Ashamed, I slumped down into a boot seat. What had I done?

“Hey, where did Hank go?” Drika asked, somewhere behind me.

“To tell the whole town I made a pass at him,” I grumbled inside my hands.

“Oh, shush boy. That man ain’t straight.” Drika squeezed my shoulder. “His eyes were eating you up like you were a golden French pastry.”

“You think so? But I came on too strong. I freakin’ gave him my home address. Am I that desperate?”

She sat in the chair facing mine and pushed a cup of coffee my way. “Maybe you’re a little out of practice, is all.”

“Well, it’s not like I can practice much around here.” I tore a piece of corn bread off and stuffed it into my mouth. Then I realized how vulnerable Hank must have felt, if he was indeed gay. Maybe he’d been flirting with me after all, but then had panicked and fled. I sat up straight in my chair. “You won’t tell anyone about him, right? I mean—if he is gay, he’s definitely not out and must have good reasons not to be.”

Drika patted my hand over the table. “My lips are sealed. Now, eat up.”

I stared at the front glass.

Would I see Hank again or had I scared him off for good?