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“I’m real sorry, Millie. I’m such a klutz, I know. I’ll pay you back. I promise.” New tears were gathering at the corners of Matty’s blue eyes which mirrored his regret and concern.
“Don’t you worry about those old things. Between you and me, hon, I always hated those ghastly bowls. A wedding present from Will’s Aunt Mable. Awful taste, that horrible woman.” Millie winked at him before she leaned against his left ear, whispering secretively. “The way I see it, you did me a favor, sweetheart.” Then she patted him fondly on his still damp cheek before throwing out the used cotton pad.
Stunned, he looked at the older woman as she went to stir the pot of chopped up rhubarbs spinning on the stove. Humming in front of him, she was the picture of everything which was good and homely. So far from what he’d grown up with. If he’d spilled something or, God forbid, broken something back home, Matty would’ve felt the burning welts from his father’s leather belt on the back of his thighs by now. He was still stunned by the absence of the anticipated, domestic catastrophe when he heard heavy thumps on the basement stairs.
Retreating into the corner next to the humming fridge, Matty braced himself for what he knew was coming. What he’d known was coming all along. What was surely coming now after Will had inspected the damage he’d caused in the basement. The figure of the large fisherman appeared in the door frame, clutching something to his chest with his right hand and some piece of navy fabric draped over his left arm. Gray eyes beaming and a broad smile plastered across his rough face, Will turned to his wife.
“Dessert’s saved, Millie.” Victoriously he held out three intact dessert bowls in front of his wife, who in return mumbled an ambiguouswonderfulwhile winking at Matty conspiratorially as she accepted the bowls from her husband. The scene played out in front of Matty in something close to slow-motion. His brain was working overtime to accept the fact that he wasn’t going to get punished in some way or another. It was hard for his nearly sixteen-year-old mind to wrap around the fact that in the Hart household, A led to a different kind of B than in his father’s house.
Turning to Matty, still sporting a disarming smile, Will held out the piece of clothing towards him, excitement written between the wrinkles of his aged face.
“It’s my old canvas coveralls. Thought maybe you could use them down at the docks. They’re a bit worn but I think they’re only a size or two too big for ya, son.” Patting at his bulky stomach, Will winked at his wife as he held out the coveralls in front of Matty. “It was before I met Millie and was subjected to her cruel culinary skills. You won’t believe me when I say that I used to be quite fit before this wicked master of cookery hooked her evil claws in me.”
“Oh, will you cut it out, you old fool,” his wife retorted with a good-natured scowl. “Make yourself useful instead, will ya, and set the table. Matty and I have things to discuss that’re not for your ears.”
A sting of concern made its way through Matty’s chest, and he looked hastily at Millie who continued to stir the pot. Then, speaking over her shoulder, she continued.
“Last time I checkedsomeonein this household had a birthday coming up.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ethan – Now
“MEMPHIS, BABY!” ETHANbeamed at Avery sitting next to him in his old Honda Civic as he pointed to the sign. Ethan had just pulled off at Exit 51 towards Brooks Rd and Graceland andBurning Loveblasted from his old car stereo. Ethan’s unfiltered excitement transferred to Avery who laughed in return while shaking his head adorably, golden locks flying all over the place in the wind coming through the cracked side window.
Graceland had been at the top of Ethan’s list of places to go when he and Matty had started the map. Now, sitting here next to Avery, it seemed like another life entirely. So much had happened since he and Matty had hung out in his tree house, planning their future. Ethan had always imagined that he’d experience Graceland with Matty, who wasn’t really an Elvis fan, but went along with the idea because he knew Ethan worshipped the King. Ethan felt a sting in his chest, and he briefly rubbed his right hand across his left pec muscle.It should’ve been you and me, Matty. It should’ve been.
He looked at Avery, who was tapping his hand on his jean clad thigh along with the building climax of the music coming from the radio. Ethan’s gaze zeroed in on the faded black stain on Avery’s index finger. You could still make it out.
“Why are your fingers stained?” he asked, nodding at Avery’s hand.
“Huh?” Avery looked up at him, a puzzled look in his brilliant blue eyes.
“Your fingers?” Ethan repeated. “I’ve been wondering since we met. Why are they stained with black? Is it paint?”
“Oh,” Avery smiled, enthusiasm coating his deep, velvety voice, eyes lighting up with exhilaration. “I draw.”
“You draw? What kinda stuff do you draw?” Of course, Avery drew. He had that artsy vibe going on with his longish hair and delicate mannerisms.
“Different things but at Big Bend I replicated some Native rock paintings we found. Comanche.” Avery paused briefly before he continued, a faraway look in his eyes. “I’ll show you later if you like. They’re beautiful. The originals are thousands of years old.” A worried frown materialized between his brows. “A lot of the Indigenous artwork has been vandalized so part of the project is to replicate the drawings and have them exhibited in Boston at the MFA.”
“The MFA?” Ethan repeated, unsure what Avery was referring to.
“Yes. The Museum of Fine Arts. They have an entire gallery dedicated to Indigenous art. It’s quite spectacular, really. I’ll show you some time.”
I’ll show you some time.There he went again, this enigmatic being, throwing words at Ethan that implied that this wasn’t just a random encounter or a fleeting collection of moments, which would soon be no more than a faded pile of memories.
Ethan nodded, considering for a moment if he should share this particular part of himself with Avery. Then something told him that Avery would listen. And appreciate the vulnerability that Ethan was showing by sharing this part of himself with someone who had been a mere stranger a few days ago.
“Matty used to draw. He was real good at it too, you know. He wasn’t allowed to draw at home because his dad was an asshole.‘Drawing is only for pussies and faggots,’” Ethan mimicked the derogatory voice of Chief Craig while he stared out the windshield, green eyes locked on the road in front of him.
Avery nodded but didn’t say anything, his blue eyes suddenly a shade darker than before as if they were mirroring the pain in Ethan’s voice. There was a sensitivity to Avery. The way he seemed to get Ethan and embrace his emotions entirely.
“You know those kinds of people? Who look at you and all they ever see is something flawed? Something they can use against you. To make you feel small and worthless?” Ethan paused, turning to Avery, who swallowed deeply, his protruding Adam’s apple visible behind the translucent skin of his lean neck. “Yeah, Mr. Craig, well,Police ChiefCraig, Matty’s dad, was like that. He’d get this mean look in his eyes whenever he looked at Matty. Chill you right to the bone.” Ethan shuddered before continuing. “You ever had people look at you like that? It’s almost as if they steal a small part of you. Something that’s lost forever, you know. I always used to wonder why he hated my best friend so much.”
A lump settled in Ethan’s abdomen as he recalled the numerous times that Matty had sat down next to him in the school bus, a slump to his narrow shoulders and too often a new bruise on his upper arm, just peeking out below the hem of his t-shirt.
“Some people just hate for the sake of hating,” Avery nodded. “Mostly it’s just the image of themselves they see when they throw slurs at others or put a fist to someone’s face.” He looked distraught, fumbling with the hem of his threadbare, blue t-shirt.
