The Farmer's Son

Chapter 22 Exes Mark the Spot

"Thanks," he said. "For telling me. I get why you didn't want to, but I'm glad you did." He paused. "For the record, I don't think you're like...her."

"No?" Ray said. "Breaking up a marriage and betraying everyone involved for my own selfish love? Sounds like me."

"But she didn't," Alan said. "She didn't break up a marriage: my parents stayed together, and they were happy. And the only one whose trust she betrayed was—" Alan stopped, looking down with a sharp frown.

Ray gave a sympathetic smile, leaning forwards to look at Alan. "Yours?"

Alan's frown deepened, but he shook his head and the topic away. "My point is, Joel knew what he was doing, too. So don't take all the blame on yourself."

Ray smiled, and it turned into a closed mouth chuckle.

"What?" Alan asked.

"I'm just glad," Ray said, "that if anyone had to find out, it was you. I guess, without realizing, I've gotten comfortable here." Lifting his head, he looked out the window, at the tops of the corn giving way to pale blue sky. "On the farm, and even with the good folks in town." Looking back to Alan with a smile of relief, nostalgia and sorrow, he added, "I'd hate to have to leave this place the way I left Montana: in secret, in shame, with no hope of ever going back."

"That's never going to happen," Alan said, turning towards him on the bed. "You can always come back here." He gave a tilted smile. "After all, secrets and shame are what this town are built on."

Blue eyes widened, then closed as Ray laughed. Getting to his feet, he patted Alan on the back. "Go sleep off that hangover," he said. "I'll handle morning chores."

"I think I might," Alan said with a sigh, rubbing his head. He stopped as something important finally occurred to him and looked up with horror and alarm at Ray. "Did Pa—?"

"Relax," Ray said, heading for the door. "He left an hour ago. He saw me coming out your room, but I said I was coming to wake you up. Oh, right, I slept in your bed," he added, pausing in the doorway and looking back. "Thought that was only fair. Confused the hell out of Bear," he added with a laugh. "But don't worry, I changed the sheets afterwards. They're waiting for you in the hamper."

"Thanks," Alan said dryly, making Ray laugh. "Hey," he called. When Ray stopped a second time to look back, he frowned. "You said Tommy, the schoolteacher, left to find Joel, too, right?"

"Yeah," Ray said, one hand on the door jamb. "He left before I did."

"Do you keep in touch?"

"Not really," Ray said. "Tommy kept our secret, but he never really approved. After he found out, Joel said he and I should take a break, keep our distance from each other for a while. We were still technically on a break when everything came out."

Alan frowned in thought, and Ray frowned in question. "What?"

"It's just," Alan said, thinking aloud. "You said Joel might not want you to find him. But if he and Tommy were as close as you say..."

"Are you saying Tommy might have found him?" Ray asked, somewhat incredulously. "If he had, I would have known."

"How?"

Ray's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "If he had found Joel, he would have gone back to Montana, and as far as I know, he never did."

"Hm," Alan said, nodding slowly.

Alan got to his feet and Ray turned and left, going into the kitchen to finish up the dishes as Alan went upstairs. An hour later, morning chores done, which included feeding and watering Bear, Ray went back to his now vacated room. Instead of making the bed, however, he sat on the edge of the rumpled sheets, took his cell phone from the nightstand and hit redial.

"Information," came the female voice over the line. "How may I direct your call?"

"I'd like a number for Jo—" Ray paused.

He had left Montana with no clues about where Joel would go. His only choice had been to call and search for his name city by city, and if there was even one person named Joel—taking into consideration the chance Joel might change his last name—Ray would head there. In the months since he'd been on the farm, he'd compiled a list of new cities for when his tenure was up.

Now his gaze fell to the floor beneath the window, where Alan's boots still lay in shadow.

"I'd like a number for Thomas Trucker," Ray said. "Starting in Montana."

*

Upstairs, Alan passed into his room and pushed the door in behind him. Ray slept with his curtains open, and Alan pulled them closed, blocking out the bright, hurtful sunshine. Stripping off his clothes, he fell onto the bed naked, settling on his back and throwing one arm over his eyes. After a few seconds, he removed the arm and turned his head to look at the bed, made up with fresh sheets, just as Ray had said. Off in the corner behind the door, the hamper lid was just slightly off, the end of a sheet peeking out.

Swinging his bare feet to the floor, Alan went to it and lifted the hemp lid to see his bedclothes from last night stuffed inside. Digging through the sheets, he pulled out a pillowcase. Lifting it to his face he inhaled the scent of pine soap and sweat. Replacing the lid on the hamper, he turned back to the bed, pillowcase in hand.

*

A few days later, Noah made dinner while Ray packed the tan truck with crates of cans and bottles and other recycling to take into town the next day. As Ray stepped through the kitchen door the phone rang, jangling shrilly in the quiet space. Noah hooked an index finger under the receiver and lifted it to his ear.

"Lo?" he fairly grunted. "Well, hello there, Louise," he said. "What's that now? Annabelle? You don't say. I haven't seen her since she left for school. I heard she was with her folks in Florida for the summer."

Ray, who had never heard Noah sound that affectionate before, looked up at him as he picked up a crate from inside the doorway.

Noah paused to listen. "Is she now? For the fourth of July? Well, it'd be a treat to see her again. Yeah, sure, I'll let Alan know. You, too, Louise. Say hi to Andy for me. Have a good evening now."

He hung up the phone and Ray backed out the screen door, carrying the crate of rattling bottles along the porch, in the warm evening breezes filled with the drone of insects and swishing corn. As he turned the corner to the front, he spotted a figure crouched on the floor by two old, wooden chairs. It was Alan.

"Come on, Pa," Alan muttered irritatingly, as he bent over to reach under a chair and pull out two empty bottles of beer.

"Like father, like son," Ray said, coming to a stop behind him. He laughed as Alan turned on his heels to shoot him an unamused glare.

"Who was on the phone?" Alan asked, gesturing with the bottles for Ray.

Stepping closer, Ray held the crate out. "Louise. She called to say someone named Annabelle was coming for the Fourth of July."

As he spoke the second bottle slipped out of Alan's hand. Ray, dropping the crate quickly, caught it with a noisy rattle and clank of glass.

"Sorry," Alan said.

He got to his feet and moved towards the other chair, but as he turned away Ray saw the blond brows contract into a deep, sharp frown, thrown into sharper relief by the overheard light. Ray didn't ask who this Annabelle was as he waited for Alan to fish out more bottles from under the other porch chairs.

He had a feeling he would find out soon enough.