by J. P. Oliver
Eli quirked an eyebrow. “Some,” he said. “Good coffee.”
I nodded. “You know anything about a guy named Beck? Young. Little guy.”
He nodded slowly, realizing where I was headed, and willing to play along. “Not much. But I can see where you’re going. You asking for any reason in particular?”
I shook my head. “Met him today. Walked in on him unexpectedly, and he just about jumped out of his skin.”
“Like, you startled him.”
“More than that,” I said. “He was shaking. Could barely talk. Ran—literally ran—out of the room after a few seconds.”
Eli had nodded just after I’d started speaking, and continued for a few seconds after I’d stopped. He took another sip, then finally said, “Yeah. There’s a story there.”
“You know any of it?”
“Not much. Does the name Gavin Joy ring a bell with you?”
“He the owner? Blond guy? Smiles a lot?”
“That’s him,” Eli said. “He’s a good dude, you know? Like, everyone likes him, but he’s not a phony. Sort of Harlan’s unofficial official nice guy.”
I nodded. I’d seen him around, but not to talk to.
“Well, a few months ago, this Beck kid shows up out of the blue, and I ask Gavin where he found him. He tells me the kid just started showing up in the Sit and Sip. Usually cruise in some time after lunch rush, pull a book off the shelf, buy a hot chocolate, and nurse it till they closed up. The kid’s clean, but he wears the same sweater every day, right? Doesn’t bother anyone, but comes in every day, like clockwork, spends his three bucks, and sits till they shoo him out at closing time. Well, it’s called the Sit and Sip, but Gavin’s not running a clubhouse, right? He can ask the kid to scram anytime he wants. But like I said, Gavin’s a good guy, and he’s always had a soft spot for…for waifs, you know?” Eli grinned ruefully. It was a quality we shared, looking out for little guys. I grinned back, and he went on.
“So one day—this has maybe been going on ten days, two weeks, maybe? One day, Gavin says something about whatever book the kid’s reading, and it’s just like you said. The kid gets pale, gets cotton-mouthed. But Gavin, he’s good with people, so he goes slow, I guess. Brings the kid out of his shell a little bit. So he keeps coming in, and Gavin’s chatting him up, maybe for fifteen, twenty minutes a day, nothing serious, and eventually Gavin tells him that he could use a guy like him—someone who loves books as much as he does, you know? And does the kid want a job?”
I nodded, and sipped, and let Eli talk.
“So the kid starts working there, but he’s no good around people, right? Like you saw today. Like we’ve both seen too many times, on too many kids’ faces. You can’t put him behind a register. But Gavin lets him stock and do inventory and whatnot, and he’s got this spare unit upstairs, I guess, a little studio, and he offers it to the kid, basically for free. He says he can’t rent it because it’s so small, so it’s just going unused, but you know that’s bullshit. I mean, it’s in the heart of downtown. He could Airbnb it, if he cared about the money. But no. He just couldn’t stand the thought of the kid going who-knows-where every night, you know?”
Despite Eli’s gruff tone, I could hear the admiration in his voice. I’d have to get to know this Gavin fellow. I took another thoughtful sip of my beer and asked, “Did you get the kid’s—Beck’s—did you get any of Beck’s backstory?”
Eli shrugged. “Nope. He never said much to Gavin about where he came from, and Gavin’s not one to push. When I see the kid, I smile and nod and maybe say ‘Hey,’ but he always looks like he half wants to run, so…” He paused just long enough to make me think he was done talking, then continued. “But we know his backstory, right? Not the details. But that’s not a kid who had a happy childhood.”
“Eso que ni qué.”
Eli grinned. “You and your fucking dichos.”
I laughed back. “That’s not a dicho, it’s an idioma, you ignorant gringo.”
The mood lightened, at least temporarily, we sat in silence for a moment and finished our beers. “Another round?” Eli asked as we set our empty bottles back on the table, more or less at the same time.
I sighed and thought, then shrugged. “Sure.”
“You’re buying.”
“Yep.” I pushed back my stool and rose.
“How long you in town for?” Eli asked, just as I started to cross to the bar.
“Few days. Till Sunday.”
He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes locked on mine, figuring out what question he was willing to ask me. Then, “What’s a city boy like you gonna do in a little flyspeck like Harlan for most of a week?”
“Tip cows? Play checkers? Talk about the weather? What do you good country folk do to pass the time?”
He chuffed a little laugh, but didn’t answer. His eyes stayed drilled into me, though. He knew our line of work well enough, and knew we had enough in common, that I wasn’t going to let this Beck thing go.
I went to the bar for our beers.
3
Beck
I have bad dreams a lot.
Not every night. But more than once a week.
I wake up sweating, sometimes. Crying sometimes. Heart racing.
I hadn’t had one in a while. I was overdue.
It’s not like they come regularly. It’s not something I can schedule. But this morning I realized that it had been a few days since I’d woken up in a panic. I should have been relieved, but I’m so used to them that I was more confused than anything else. And I worried they were building up, like a rain-swollen lake pressing against a dam. When the next one came, it might be pretty bad.
I had dreamed, though. I couldn’t remember the details, but it had something to do with Jay’s friend. Officer Flores. The man who’d scared the crap out of me, then picked up my books.
Thinking about him made me nervous, even now. He hadn’t come into the bookstore since that first day, though I’d seen him yesterday. He was going into the Vista diner across the street from the Sit and Sip, wearing a dark green button-down that was almost too tight against his enormous chest and arms.
I wanted him to come back in.
I wasn’t sure why. Thinking about him, the way he looked at me with those hooded eyes, the way he towered over me like a redwood, made my breath catch in my chest.
But Jay liked him. Jay said he was nice. Jay said he was good.
I thought about the time he’d shaken my hand, and how that had felt. How completely his tanned skin had swallowed up my ghost-white fingers. How I’d known exactly how strong he was, even though he wasn’t even trying to show me.
Alone in the cool stockroom, I sat down on a box and closed my eyes and breathed for a few minutes.
I tried to empty my mind, but Officer Flores kept appearing. Not smiling, but somehow seeming safe. Seeming safe, but not quite making me feel safe.
I hate being confused.
Here’s what I knew: there was a stranger in town, a man who looked…a man who reminded me…a man who could hurt me if he wanted to.
But one of the only people in the world I mostly trusted.
And he’d picked up my books when I’d dropped them.
And I’d had a dream about him, and I think it was a good dream.
And he scared me.
And I wanted to see him again.
I spent a few more moments breathing, then opened my eyes and reached up, brushing my hair off my forehead, and stood.
I could still hear a bit of a ruckus coming from the café, but it was quieter than it had been. Pretty soon, I could go back out on the floor and tidy up the messes.
We’d gotten a coffee shipment in that morning. Big cardboard boxes, full of rough five-pound sacks of Sumatra and Yirgacheffe and Peaberry and Haitian Blue. Bags that sounded like poems and smelled like heaven. Sorting those and stacking those would take just long enough that I could venture back out when I was done.
I hefted each bag out of its box and
set them on the right shelves. Jay had left a little note on a clipboard letting me know that we were low on Guatemalan Huehuetenango—I whispered the words to myself, smiling at how they felt in my mouth. Once the shelves looked exactly like I wanted them to, I took a sack of it in my arms and walked out toward the café.
Jay leaned against the back wall, and one of our regulars sat in the corner flipping through a magazine, but otherwise the place was dead. I walked behind the counter and set the bag near the grinder.
“Thanks, Beck,” said Jay, a tiny smile teasing his lips.
I smiled back.
“Mind doing me another favor?”
I shook my head.
“Can you see if we have more wooden stirrers in the back? I looked a couple of hours ago and didn’t see any, but you know that stockroom better than anyone.”
I nodded, and went to the back. The stirrers were right where they were supposed to be, between the little brown packets of raw sugar and the napkins. I smiled, pleased that I could help, and took a box and went back out on the floor.
Officer Flores was walking toward the café counter.
He slowed a bit when he saw me, then nodded, but continued walking.
“Hola, Jay.”
Jay turned, grinning with recognition even before he saw the man. “Hola yourself, Flores. You here to arrest me?”
Flores smirked. “I’m sure you’re up to something, compañero. Unfortunately, we’re outside of my jurisdiction.”
“Pity,” said Jay. Not like he was flirting, but almost like he was pretending to flirt. Jay was dating that blond doctor with the freckles, but he was clearly comfortable with Officer Flores. Playful. It was weird how he could do that. I would have died. I glanced at Flores. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes looked happy. I swallowed. “What can I do for you, then?”
“Is Gavin around?”
Jay shook his head. “Knocked off a little early today. The Chamber of Commerce had some sort of lunch thing with local business owners.”
Flores shrugged. “Not an emergency. In that case, can you do a café de olla?”
Jay rolled his eyes and snorted. “I don’t have piloncillo or a saucepan, but I can get you closer than anywhere else in Harlan. Have a seat.”
Flores sat and Jay got to work, spooning brown sugar and cinnamon into a coffee pot. Flores looked at me. We were quiet for a moment, then he said, “Afternoon, Beck.”
My face flushed. I realized I’d just been standing there, holding the stupid box of stirrers, watching the men talk.
“Hi.”
“What’s in the box?” He nodded toward the small brown package in my arms.
“Um. Stirrers.” I swallowed. “Coffee stirrers.”
Jay turned over his shoulder, grinning at me. “Would you stock ‘em for me, Beck? We offer two dozen fancy coffee drinks, but this big ox wants to order off the menu.”
I nodded and walked over to the station where we keep the cream and sugar and stuff. When I walked past Flores’s back, I could feel him in a weird way. Heat or energy or something. Presence. It didn’t feel bad, but I noticed it.
I watched Flores out of the corner of my eye while I put the stirrers in their little porcelain canister. He sat at the counter, flipping through some old Trivial Pursuit cards that Gavin left there. Sometimes customers—patrons—quizzed each other with them while they ate. He read each card slowly, like he was taking in all six questions, and then he’d flip the card over. I tried to guess from his expression how many he was getting right, but his face was stone passive.
He went through about three cards that way, then maybe realizing that it shouldn’t take an eon to put little wooden sticks in a jar, let his eyes slide over to me. I was staring dead at him, and he caught me. I froze, feeling pinned. He smiled, just a little bit. He had a dimple, I noticed. It was… It was cute. I think I smiled, but I’m not sure.
Just then, Jay poured something steaming into a cup and set it on the counter. Whatever café de olla was, it smelled sweet and spicy and good. My stomach growled, and I flushed hotter.
“Tell me how close I came,” Jay said as Flores lifted the cup to his lips.
I turned back to the station, pretending to make the little pink and blue and yellow packets of sweetener stand perfectly erect, but really I watched and listened.
“Mi abuela does it better,” Flores said, licking a bit of wetness off his lip. “But it’s pretty good for a blanquito with no saucepan.”
Jay actually blushed a little, too, and bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment. “Had lunch?”
“Not yet. I woke up late.”
“Want something? I was just going to throw together a grilled cheese for myself.”
Flores shook his head. “I don’t think so, thanks. I’m not in a sandwich kind of mood, and I’ve been having good luck at that little place across the street.”
Jay nodded. “They do good eggs.”
“And places that serve all-day breakfast are proof of a just and loving God.” Flores smiled a little. From this angle, I could still see the dimple. It did a lot to make him look less like the man I was afraid he might be.
Jay laughed, and I felt my chest relax a little. “Enjoy your coffee,” he said. “On the house, despite what a pain in the ass it was to make.”
“Gracias. You are a gentleman.”
“Should I tell Gavin you stopped by?”
“No need. I’ll see him some other day, maybe.”
“Fair enough. He’s not a hard man to find.” Jay turned to me. “What about you, Beck? You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
I shook my head.
“Grilled cheese? I was thinking gouda on sourdough, but I’m open to suggestions.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Flores cut me off. “Do you get a real lunch break, Beck? Or do they chain you to a chair and make you eat here?”
I hadn’t expected him to address me. He was still smiling, dimple and all.
“I— I get a break. But Jay usually makes me something.”
“A grilled cheese sandwich, crafted by a man of Jay’s talents, is worth considering. But if you’d like to get out of here for a few minutes, I wouldn’t mind a little company. My treat, of course.”
I didn’t know my face could get as hot as it got just then. I wanted to go with him. I really wanted to go. But at the same time, the idea of being alone with Flores and his hugeness and his dimple and his low, calm voice— I opened my mouth, but I had no spit, and apparently no words. A little wrinkle creased the skin between Flores’s brows, like he was worried he’d said something bad, and my face got even warmer because I was being an idiot.
“Get out of here, Beck.” Jay’s voice saved me. My eyes flicked to him desperately. He was smiling like nothing weird was happening, but I could read something in his eyes that made me feel a little less stupid. Like he knew what I was feeling, and it was okay. I swallowed.
“No pressure,” Flores said. “Just…” He shrugged one massive shoulder. “I like meeting new people, and any friend of Jay’s…” He trailed off, leaving only the wisp of a smile on his lips, the shadow of the dimple. Over Flores’s shoulder, Jay nodded twice, slowly, reassuringly. Jay wouldn’t act like it was okay if it wasn’t.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” Flores said, then finished his coffee and slid the cup back toward Jay. “What do you get? Half hour? Hour?”
I opened my mouth, and realized I didn’t know the answer. I always just ate here, and then got back to work. I looked at Jay. He grinned.
“Just have him back before we close, Flores. Gavin’s at his little shindig, and when the cat’s away—”
Flores laughed, just a little, and looked at his watch. “We’ll be less than an hour, 3:30 at the latest.” He slid his stool back and stood. I noticed, for the first time, that he only stood a couple of inches taller than Jay, but something about him made him seem immense. He turned to me, looking down at me. “Do you need to do anything before we
go? Need to grab anything?”
I shook my head.
“Bueno. Let’s go get us some lunch.”
4
Jamie
I hadn’t expected that to work.
I really had gone in hoping to see Gavin. But I’d wanted to see Gavin about the kid, and getting the kid himself was a good trade-off.
It hadn’t been my charm that coaxed him out of the familiarity of the bookstore. Beck’s eyes had flicked continuously over my shoulder as we talked, silently conversing with Jay. I’d have to thank him for the assist.
Even so, no matter what Jay had communicated, Beck looked ready to bolt like a rabbit as we walked down the wide center aisle toward the front door. When I dodged in front of him to open it, he flinched. Literally flinched. Fury prickled my skin at whoever had fucked him up this bad. Every impulse told me to rub his shoulder or squeeze his arm, letting him know that anything bad would have to fight its way through me. But uninvited touch could be disastrous, send him haring down the street, his cheap sneakers splashing through the gray afternoon puddles.
So I pushed the door wide, squeezing my body against the glass, giving him plenty of room to walk past me. He did, but as soon as he reached the sidewalk, I saw the unmistakable hitch of tensing shoulders.
In a town the size of Harlan, jaywalking is a low-risk venture. I glanced right, then left, and then stepped into the street. Beck hung back, just a half-step behind me, so I shortened my gait to match him.
“It feels nice. Brisk, you know? But not cold. Spring is coming.”
Beck swallowed, and he looked at me, blue eyes so light they almost looked gray. He smiled. I had to look close to see it, but he smiled.
“When it’s cold, I get lazy. I want to stay in bed all day. Weather like this, though—” I breathed in, letting the spiky air fill my nostrils and lungs, then exhaled just as ostentatiously.
Beck smiled a little wider, but almost immediately looked away, down at his feet. And then we were across the street.
