by Marie Sexton
Cody looked like he was trying to smile, even if he wasn’t exactly doing a bang-up job of it. “I haven’t eaten there in years.”
“Does that mean yes?”
“Do they still have those little fried crab things? The ones with the cream cheese?”
“I have no idea, but if they do, I’ll get you some.”
This time, Cody’s smile looked a bit more genuine, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay.”
Cody pushed himself to his feet, then held a hand down to Nate and pulled him up too. Nate was a bit disappointed that Cody let his hand go as soon as he was standing.
Cody followed him to the door, lingering in the doorway as Nate stepped onto the porch and zipped up his jacket. Nate sensed his hesitance, and he wasn’t surprised when Cody reached out and grabbed his sleeve.
“You’re coming back, right?” Even now, it was as if he hardly dared to hope.
“With fried rice and crab wontons.” And just to seal the deal, Nate kissed him. Not on the lips, because he wasn’t brave enough for that yet. But he kissed Cody’s forehead, even though Cody went stiff as he did. “Twenty minutes or less, I promise.”
Cody didn’t answer. Didn’t respond at all. Didn’t even move. But Nate found himself smiling all the way to the restaurant.
Cody didn’t have much of an appetite despite not having eaten since breakfast, but Nate had gone to so much trouble that he felt compelled to eat. The food was good, but each bite hurt, as if daring to enjoy anything good about the world was a betrayal to his grief. How could he be excited about crab wontons, knowing Logan and Shelley were lying in a morgue in Casper?
“Nobody’s at the Tomahawk.” It came to him all of a sudden, and he had to set his fork down to fight the knot in his throat again.
Nate froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“We alternate Mondays. It was Logan’s turn.” He felt like he should have remembered. Like he should have gone in to cover Logan’s shift for him, but the thought of standing by that sink again filled him with a horrible sense of despair. How would he ever get through his shift on Wednesday? He felt tears welling up again and hurriedly wiped them away. He was sick of blubbering in front of Nate, but his eyes weren’t cooperating.
“Why don’t you go watch TV or something?” Nate suggested. “I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge for you.”
Cody nodded, but it took a minute for the words to register in his brain. He made it to the couch before realizing the remote was out of his reach. Whatever. He didn’t want to watch TV anyway. The metal rabbit-ears on top of it had been a bit out of whack for a week, barely picking up anything anyway. He laid his head on the arm of the couch, curling halfway into a fetal position, finding some strange comfort in the worn, threadbare upholstery. At some point, Nate put an afghan over him, and Cody drifted in a warm place where he couldn’t quite remember how horrible the day had been.
He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until Nate gently shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes to a completely dark room.
“I’m late for curfew. I didn’t want to wake you, but—”
“What time is it?”
“A little after ten.”
Cody sat up, rubbing his eyes. He had no idea what time it had been when he’d first lain down. Everything about the day felt distorted and surreal.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, okay?”
Cody blinked, confused. It was too dark in the room to see Nate’s expression. “For what?”
“For school.”
“No.” Cody shook his head, trying to clear it. “You don’t want the others to know. If they see us together, they’ll make assumptions.”
“To hell with them.” Nate took Cody’s hand and squeezed his fingers. “There’s nothing wrong with us being friends.”
Cody wanted to argue. He wanted to tell Nate he had no idea what kind of trouble he was flirting with, but he couldn’t do it. Nate’s hand felt so warm and solid and perfect holding his. There was comfort in his voice and in his presence, and Cody found himself relenting. “I can meet you at the gas station.”
He couldn’t see Nate’s smile, but he heard the soft exhale of breath that was almost a laugh. “Jesus, don’t start that shit again. I said I’d pick you up, and I will.”
“Okay.”
Cody stayed on the couch, tracking Nate’s movements around the room more by sound than by sight. When Nate finally had his coat on and keys in hand, he stopped in the doorway. “You’ll be here tomorrow, right? You’re not planning on leaving before I get here or some dumb thing?”
Cody smiled, despite how lousy the day had been. “I’ll be here.”
“Good.”
The door creaked open, and Cody spoke quickly to catch him in time. “Nate?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks, man. For . . . well, you know. For dinner and everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cody was apprehensive the next morning when he climbed into Nate’s car, not because of Nate, but because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get through a day at school without bursting into tears like a damn kid. Nate distracted him during the drive by asking seemingly random questions. Where was Cody after first hour? When was he in the senior hallway? Where did he go every day at lunchtime? It wasn’t until the first passing period that he realized Nate had been figuring out his class schedule, making sure he could check in at least a few times throughout the day.
It seemed like a lot of trouble for him to go to, but Cody didn’t mind the extra company.
The “grief frenzy”—dubbed so by Nate, his voice thick with disdain—seemed to be in full swing for the second day in a row, everybody trying to one-up each other in their sadness. Other than talking to Nate, Cody kept his head down and did his best not to hear what was being said. There were sign-up sheets to talk to grief counselors. Nate stopped Cody in front of one and nodded toward it without saying anything, his raised eyebrows turning it into a question.
On some level, Cody knew it made sense, but he couldn’t make himself put his name on that sheet. He didn’t need some stranger asking him how he’d known Logan, or how close they’d been. He just shook his head, and Nate shrugged and moved on.
Cody had shared two classes with Logan, the first one being PE. Although Logan had always been friendly toward him, they were definitely in very different worlds when it came to sports, and so Cody was used to only saying hello in the locker room and not much else. But social studies was different. That was the place he’d counted on Logan the most, and walking into that classroom took more strength than he expected. It helped that Nate was right behind him, but he still froze two steps into the room, causing Nate to bump into him.
“Go ahead,” Nate said quietly, almost in Cody’s ear.
Cody eased into his seat, steeling himself for the grief, feeling almost as if his desk were a trap that might spring on him at any moment. He held very still, trying not to think about how much he still hurt. Nate took the open desk next to him—the desk that should have been Logan’s. It was strange, having him there. Wrong somehow, because Cody desperately wanted to see Logan’s long legs blocking the aisle as he leaned over to chat, and yet having Nate there was still so much better than having the seat be empty.
After class, Nate followed him out of the classroom, practically knocking over a freshman to stay on Cody’s heels.
“I’m okay,” Cody said. “I can go to my locker without falling apart, I promise.”
Nate smiled. “I know, but then you’ll try to sneak past me and walk home rather than letting me give you a ride.”
Cody grudgingly admitted to himself that he might have done exactly that. In the end, Nate drove him home, then spent half an hour fiddling with the foil-wrapped rabbit ears just so they could watch TV. It was like having a babysitter, but Cody appreciated the company.
By Wednesday, the grief frenzy was beginning
to abate. Still, it was with a heavy weight in his stomach that Cody asked Nate to drop him off at work after school, rather than take him home.
The back area of the Tomahawk was the same as always—warm and steamy, the air heavy with the smell of soap and the clatter of noise from the kitchen. Cody made it through half of his shift before he started crying. Standing there up to his elbows in dishwater, he could almost hear Logan’s voice. He could imagine him working right behind him, stretching to put the bowls on the shelves Cody couldn’t reach.
“You okay, sugar?”
Cody jumped, trying to wipe his eyes with hands that were wet and prune-y. It was one of the waitresses. She was in her early thirties and always worked the dinner shift. Cody didn’t know her name, had barely exchanged more than a few hellos with her, but she pulled him into a hug, holding him in a way nobody but Nate had done in a long time. It was surprising and awkward, but it felt genuine.
“It’s a shame,” she said, still hugging him. “We’ll all miss him.”
She patted him on the back and left him with the dishes, somehow feeling a bit less alone than he had before.
By Thursday, the school seemed almost back to normal, and there was no school at all on Friday, because that was the day of the funeral.
Cody wasn’t sure if he wanted to go, but Nate insisted. It was held at the biggest church in town, which still turned out to be too small. Cody sat next to Nate in the back pew as the room filled around them. The two caskets at the front of the room were closed. Cody was almost relieved he wasn’t expected to walk up there and see Logan’s face again. He wasn’t sure he could have handled that.
He started out listening, but it didn’t take him long to realize the funeral had nothing to do with Logan and Shelley. There was a lot of talk about God, and the Kingdom of Heaven, and Cody grew more and more agitated as the speakers droned on. They weren’t talking about Logan at all. Nobody mentioned how friendly he was, or how he stood out at Walter Warren High School simply because he refused to conform to social expectations. Nothing about the funeral captured Logan’s spirit, or his laughter, or his larger-than-life presence.
Cody glanced around, wondering if Shelley’s friends felt as unsatisfied as he did, but found no answers.
Still, he was glad Nate had made him come.
“Do you want to go to the graveside part now?” Nate asked as they made their way back to Nate’s new-to-him Toyota truck.
It was sunny out, but the wind was worse than normal, howling across the plain, bending Warren’s few trees, ripping at their jackets as they walked.
“No. It’ll just be more prayers.” And although he felt the cumbersome weight of unshed tears in his chest and his throat and behind his eyes, he knew standing there watching them lower Logan and Shelley into the ground would only make it worse. “Besides, I told them I’d be at work early.” They’d already told him they didn’t intend to replace Logan at the Tomahawk. Business had been waning since fall. They’d recently let two waitresses and one of the cooks go, and more and more of the work was being done by the Robertson family. Cody’d be able to pick up a few extra hours, but not nearly as many as he would have liked.
It wasn’t until he was climbing into the cab of Nate’s truck that it hit him—he’d seen everybody in the school grieve in one way or another.
Everybody, that was, except for Nate.
He debated his words as Nate started the engine, but he didn’t manage to speak until they were pulling out of the parking lot.
“You’re the only one who isn’t sad.”
Nate frowned. “I wouldn’t say that.”
His tone was guarded, and Cody waited, feeling like there had to be more coming. Several seconds passed in silence, and Cody finally prodded Nate by saying, “And? Is that it?”
“I feel guilty,” Nate confessed at last.
Cody hadn’t expected that. “Why?”
Nate hesitated, braking at a stop sign and spending a long time checking to make sure the coast was clear before moving again. Cody was pretty sure he was just biding his time, trying to decide what exactly to say. Finally, he sighed. “I think I almost hated him.”
Cody couldn’t even comprehend such a sentiment. “You hated Logan? Why? I thought everybody liked him.” Just the thought of somebody disliking Logan made him angry. “What’d he ever do to you?”
“Nothing. He didn’t do anything. It’s just . . .” A slow stain of red was beginning to creep up Nate’s neck. “I was jealous, that’s all.”
“Why? Because he was popular?”
“No.” Nate’s voice was tight but level. “Because of you.”
Cody blinked, stunned. “What? Why?”
“You guys— It just seemed like you were so close, you know?” His cheeks were now bright red. “It feels petty now that he’s dead. I almost feel like I made it happen by wishing he’d disappear.” He glanced hesitantly Cody’s way before turning back to the road. He must have seen the incomprehension on Cody’s face, because he rushed on, trying to explain. “I was jealous because he had the part of you that I wanted most.”
Cody sat back, even more confused than before. He couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around that last statement.
They were silent for the rest of the drive. Nate pulled into the Tomahawk’s lot and parked. He left the engine on, but sat staring at the keys hanging from the ignition. Cody could tell he was working up his courage for something, but after admitting his inexplicable envy of Logan, Cody couldn’t begin to imagine what could be coming next.
“Did you . . .” Nate took a deep breath, as if forcing himself to go on. “Did you love him?”
Cody shook his head, feeling as if he were a mile behind in their conversation. “What?”
“Did you love him?” The question seemed to come easier the second time.
Cody wasn’t sure exactly what Nate meant. There were lots of kinds of love, and it seemed ridiculous that Nate would be asking.
“We were friends.” It was the only thing he could think to say.
“Yeah, but you were more too, right?”
Cody blinked at him again. “What?” It felt like he’d asked that a hundred times in the short drive over.
“I saw you with him at the dance.”
“At the dance,” Cody admitted. “But not, like, with him at the dance.”
“I saw him kiss you.”
Cody’s head bumped the passenger window as he reeled backward. “What?”
“I saw him—”
“Are we even talking about the same guy?” He held his hand up, over his head. “Like, six foot two. Quarterback of the fucking football team? The guy who had half the girls in school trailing behind him, no matter where he went?”
“Yeah, I know, but—”
“What, you think I was doing some kind of favors for him? Like the only way he’d be friends with me is if I was blowing him on the side?”
“No! Jesus, I never said that!” Nate’s cheeks were redder than ever. “But I know what I saw.”
Cody shook his head again. “I’m pretty damn sure Logan never kissed me. I mean, Christ, I think I’d remember if he had!”
Nate wrapped his hands around the steering wheel as if grounding himself. Another gust of wind hit them, rocking the truck a bit. Sunlight flashed off the light-blue stone in the senior ring Nate still wore, even though it was for the wrong school. “You were in the hallway, right before you left. He had his arm over your shoulder, and Jimmy and Larry were walking by, and he pulled you close and he . . . he kissed your hair.”
Cody remembered the moment. He remembered the way Logan’s face had bumped into his head. He hadn’t even realized it had been intentional. And now here was Nate, freaking out over that?
“On the head?” Cody asked, pointing to the very spot where Logan’s lips must have touched, fighting hard not to laugh, because laughter seemed so wrong. “You thought something was going on because he kissed me on the head?”
Nat
e sighed. “I guess.”
Laughter rose up in Cody’s chest before he could stop it, and the next thing he knew, he was doubled over in the passenger seat, laughing in a way that felt close to hysteria. His chest ached. Tears streamed from his eyes. Some part of his brain told him to get his shit together, that he was acting like a nut job, but it felt too good to let go. To just let the sheer idiocy of the entire incident take over.
“Oh God,” he finally gasped, clutching his stomach. “I wish he was alive to hear that. He’d have gotten a real kick out of it.”
Saying it out loud made it real—he could see the expression on Logan’s face and hear the exact tenor of his laugh—and then Cody wasn’t sure if he was laughing or crying. It felt like some strange mixture of both. After all the time Logan had spent telling Cody that Nate missed him, and their jokes about whether or not Cody would put out after homecoming, and then to have Nate misinterpret something so simple as a friendly kiss, if it had even been that—Cody still wasn’t convinced it had been anything more than a clumsy head bump—was more than he could stand. When he finally got control of himself again, he realized Nate was sitting stone-still in the driver’s seat, his cheeks still red, his jaw tight, obviously hurt by Cody’s laughter.
Cody wiped his eyes as his laughter subsided, watching the way the sunlight shone through Nate’s carefully moussed blond hair. He didn’t know how he could feel so many things at once. Logan’s death still hurt more than he could bear, and he dreaded another shift without him at the Tomahawk, but his laughter had made him realize that it wouldn’t be that way forever. The conversation with Nate, as ridiculous as it may have been, made him see that remembering could bring joy as well as grief.
And Nate had given him that, whether he’d meant to or not.
Cody leaned across the seat and grabbed him, pulling Nate by the front of his jacket until they were face-to-face. He felt like he’d said “thank you” so many times since Monday, but it wasn’t enough this time. He wanted to hug Nate, except there was no space to do it properly. He wanted to kiss him, but he was afraid of making that mistake again. He found himself staring into Nate’s eyes, trying to gauge the length and breadth of what he saw there.
