The Farmer's Son

Chapter 16 Shave and a Haircut, Two Whiskeys

"Your Pa don't have enough whiskey for that tale," Ray said with a breathy chuckle, lifting the bottle from Alan's grip.

Turning away, Alan pulled his hand back and held it with the other, as if he'd been burned. "You sure you weren't a rodeo clown?" he said, looking down and letting his hair fall forward. "Cause you sure do know how to dodge."

Chuckling, Ray took a sip. Sitting forward, he braced his forearms on his knees. "And you know how to hide," he said. When Alan looked at him with a small frown, he added, "I saw the book under your pillow. The one I got from Judith."

Alan quickly turned away, but Ray leaned forward. "Ah, ah, come on," he said, reaching out and tapping him on the cheek with the back of his fingers. "I know there's history there. Did you two used to be friends?"

Alan tried to twist away from Ray's tapping, but he couldn't without abandoning his seat altogether. As the tapping got harder, he slapped the hand away. "You're going to give me a black eye," he said, shoving Ray.

Ray laughed, almost toppling off the crate and catching himself with one hand on the ground. "Who's dodging now," he said.

Shaking his head Alan looked away, but as he squinted at the wall of corn, he sighed. "Yeah, we were friendly. I used to see her on the library porch when I went into town, and she'd tell me about whatever she was reading. She was nice."

"She's still nice."

Alan glanced at him. "Doesn't change anything," he said, looking back to the ground. Reaching out he took the bottle and drank deeply.

Ray's expression was thoughtful as he watched Alan in profile, scanning the freckled cheek, the upturned nose, the tanned skin, glistening with sweat, the protrusion in his throat moving with every gulp. "I think she still thinks about you," Ray said.

Lowering the bottle, Alan looked at him, his sugar-colored eyes cautious, but curious, and something less definable.

"When she gave me the book, she said—well was trying not to say, that you would like it." Ray paused. "I think she meant it more for you than me."

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Alan looked away and said nothing as he held the bottle out to Ray.

Ray looked at him, but with too much history and complicated feelings for Ray to push the subject, all he could do was take the bottle in silence.

The shadows grew longer between the bins, but the heat and humidity remained. With comfortable silence, sticky skins and warm whiskey, they sat back and listened to the drone of insects, looked up at the pale, cloudless blue sky.

After handing the bottle back and forth a few more times, Alan spoke. "Pa won't be back till dark," he said, fanning his t-shirt against his chest. "What do you want to do for dinner?"

"I think I just drank it," Ray said.

Alan chuckled. "Bear and I will need a little more than this," he said.

"I promised Bear some bacon, didn't I?" Ray said.

"Bacon sounds good," Alan said, getting to his feet. Going into the shed, he brought out another bottle and tossed it to Ray. "For dessert," he said, before locking the doors up once more.

*

After his traumatic bath, Bear Walker lay panting on the kitchen floor under the table. When sizzling bacon reached his ears and nose, he lifted his head to look at the stove, and saw strips of fat-streaked bacon being layered into the frying pan. Getting to his feet, he trotted over to sit beside the jean clad legs, and raised a paw to tap it, making sure the young man didn't forget him.