Page 121 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

Walt darted closer to the mirror, the way Hollis had when he noticed Walt’s eyes. Touched the surface, smearing it, careless.

You have freckles! They’re everywhere . . .

They’re on my face too, I don’t know why that’s what you’re surprised about.

Hollis leaned back into the darkness and felt Walt’s joy. His curiosity and the rightness of his satisfaction. Walt turned Hollis’s arms so he could study the fronts and backs, gave them goose bumps accidentally when he skimmed the hair on their bicep while checking a scar.

Broke my arm while falling out of a tree. They had to put in a rod.

Jesus.

Walt twisted to look at Hollis’s back, the long curve of his thigh and the rough patch of skin at the back of their ankles.

You’ve already seen that.

It’s different with context.

Walt tilted their head from side to side, angled their shoulders, checked under their arms, touched all their crevices, respectful and exploratory. The museum of him.

Do you like it?

Of course, I like it—

Do you like our house? Hollis clarified.

Hollis reached out and took himself back in all the ways that mattered, settled down on the hardwood floor. Crossed his legs and leaned back on his palms to look Walt in the eye. Immodest and indolent.

Do you like our house? Is there a garden for your roses? Do you want to paint my fences white?

Walt wrinkled their nose.

You talk like no one else I’ve ever met. How did you get like this, Hollis Brown?

Hollis tilted their head to one side and then the other. Licked at their eyeteeth the way Walt had once, when he was in Sam. Careless. The way a human never thinks to.

Walt made a small wistful sound, then palmed the side of their face. Hollis pressed into it with a sigh.

Anise

The weekend before Christmas, everyone always gathered in the neighborhood of abandoned houses at twilight.

It was good to have a place to be noisy and bright until late and know that no one was being disturbed. This year they were lucky and there was no snow. Last year Hollis had almost gotten frostbite from his wet boots. But it was too cold for that, and he was thankful.

They couldn’t afford those heat lamps Hollis had seen in the city. But there were trash can fires with clean slow-burning wood every half block or so, with a responsible person to keep watch over each and free marshmallows for those who wanted to roast them.

It was a good way for people to make some money before the holidays and get in some last-minute Christmas shopping. People sold things they knit or carved. There was a toy maker, a soap maker, a man who somehow managed to keep bees and had honey and wax. Some locals had garage sales and offered barters instead of money.

There was a family who came up from several towns over to sell tallow and lanolin, sheep cheese and jerky. An apple farm that brought juice, cider, butters, and apple pie doughnuts that sold so quick you had to come early just to get one.

The school had games, and some of the teachers did contests, trivia, cornhole, mock gambling. The band usually played a live song or two before the kids scampered off to have fun with the rest of the town. If the old people stepped in, there would be string music and dancing.

It was good. Worth waiting for. There was nothing there that anyone couldn’t afford.

Velvet

Walt managed to bake enough gingerbread brownies to keep Mr. and Mrs. Brown occupied for at least one full day. Hollis’s parents headed out to set up shop a couple of hours before Hollis and Walt were supposed to arrive with Annie and Yulia.

Annie came over early, tapping her acrylics against his screen door until he rolled out of bed to let her in.