When Love Takes Over - 8. The Morning After

It took me a long time to sleep that night. I’ve never been a great sleeper; don’t get me wrong, I love sleeping, it’s just that I’ve been prone to insomnia since I was a child. In fact, I remember laying in bed waiting to hear my mother wind her old fashioned alarm clock; once I heard that I knew that in a few minutes she and my father, both earlier risers and heavy sleepers would be dozing.

I would then sneak out of bed, put a rolled up towel against the door to keep any light from coming through the crack at the bottom, and I would proceed to stay up late, late into the nights. Sometimes I played quietly, sometimes I read, usually Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew; later I would put on headphones and watch David Letterman. My mother never could understand why I was always so hard to get out of bed in the morning and so sleepy after being in bed since 9pm.

In college, I did discover the joy of napping during the daytime. Sleepless nights were more palatable when paired with a two hour nap in the afternoon. I wish I knew why the naps taken during the hours I should have been in class were so much more incredibly satisfying than the ones taken during the weekend.

I had found sleeping easier here in the peace of the country, but sometimes still found it hard to turn off my brain long enough to sleep. And tonight’s events, especially the kisses, and the realization that Chance had crushed on me in high school had my head spinning. Eventually, I stopped tossing and turning and lay still with my eyes closed, giving in to the wave of memories..

I certainly had a crush on him then, though I hadn’t realized that a romantic crush was what it was, even after that May afternoon. I had just known that something was different about me It wasn’t until later in college that I completely understood and accepted my being gay. Even though I turned out pretty close to a perfect Kinsey Six, I wasn’t one of those gay guys that had known since they were old enough to be self aware that they preferred the same sex..

I had always thought girls were pretty and fun to hang around, and though I was too nerdy to ever achieve any more than the occasional date in high school (usually when the girl was desperate to go to a dance, and I was the last best option), I had dated a couple of girls in college before I gathered enough courage to kiss my first boy. After that momentous occasion, though, I had realized what had been missing from my tepid hetero petting sessions and had never looked back. It was then, and only then, that I realized what my crush on Chance had really been. Much more than my thinking that an older teen was “cool.”

As I lay there, still not sleeping, I remembered my experiences with Chance in high school. Honestly, we hadn’t been around each other very much; his time spent working on the farm and the difference in grades meant I saw very little of him. We did go to the same church, but our Sunday School classes were based on grade, not age, so I didn’t interact much with him then, either. The only period we spent any real time together after childhood was my freshman year.

Years before I started high school, there used to be freshman initiations, like in the movie Dazed and Confused. But technically they weren’t for being a freshman alone, it was to initiate you into two of the main clubs for the high school. Those were Future Farmers of America (FFA) for the guys since almost all guys took Agriculture classes and Future Homemakers of America (FHA) for the girls who took Home Ec. According to older cousins, initiations in the 70s and 80s had been brutal, involving eating raw potatoes, being thrown into a water trough filled with ice water, having a to fish what appeared to be a turd (thankfully, it was really a Baby Ruth candy bar) out of a toilet, etc.

The classes used to be completely segregated by sex, but by the late 80s, they were both co-ed; that fact, along with the growing objections over hazing, meant that by the time I hit freshman year in the early 1990s, the initiation rituals were mainly a thing of the past.

Some traditions did linger; while a few bucked expectations, most guys still took Ag. and participated in FFA. Along with that, at least one portion of the initiation ritual remained in place: the six week slave period. For the first six weeks of the school year, the freshman FFA members were supposed to submit to the will of upperclassmen members during non-class hours. Most of the upperclassmen were cool with it, requiring little more than slaves carrying their books to class for them, or running errands like going to the vending machines. Some did slightly more embarrassing things, like making you “propose” on bended knees to various giggling girls.

It was almost certainly illegal, and definitely not officially sanctioned by the school, but as it was primarily harmless and all in fun, the principal and teachers generally turned a blind eye. Of course, as always, there were a couple of upperclassmen who were true assholes.

I wasn’t bullied much through school, but when I was, it was inevitably at the hands of the Mackintosh twins. Both were big, being the size of full grown men by the time they were freshman, both were dumb, and both were mean. I later realized they themselves were probably abused by their father who always seemed a nasty piece of work from the few glimpses I got of him at church, but that didn’t make being around them then any easier.

It never amounted to much, really. Certainly not the kind of soul crushing abuse that so many gay kids suffer through. While I wasn’t as big as them, I wasn’t small enough to make a really attractive target, and while far from popular, I wasn’t an isolated outcast. I got shouldered by the them in the hall occasionally, maybe tripped, and roughed up during “touch” football games in P.E. but I was never hit. It was more of the name calling variety. But still, I avoided them as best as could, but during the FFA slave initiation period, it was more difficult.

If I had been a braver kid, I would have skipped Ag and FFA, which I had no interest in, and taken Home Ec, in which I was interested. But at that time, I still cared what people thought; besides, it was much easier to just go with the flow and do what the rest of the freshman boys did.

The asshole twins, of course, relished their power over me whenever they managed to snag me as their “slave,” which they often did that first week. The assholes would arrive well before school and wait where the buses parked so they could grab me as soon as I stepped off the vehicle. I didn’t want to make a fuss and be labeled a pussy, so I put up with them with as much patience as I could. Luckily, they liked tormenting other people, too, so I didn’t take up all their attention.

At any rate, Chance noticed them singling me out for extra abuse, and he started making a point of snagging me first thing in the morning as his exclusive “slave” property for the day. Since he was a junior to the Mackintoshs’ sophomore status, he out ranked them.

He never made me do anything even remotely embarrassing; in fact, most of the time, he just made me sit beside him at recess and lunch to be on “errand standby’. He was so nice about it all, he even gave me rides to school for the rest of the six weeks so I didn’t have to run the gauntlet in the bus parking lot. I can still remember how good I thought he smelled; I think his cologne of choice was Happy. Whatever it was, sitting by him certainly made me happy .

I do remember that six weeks as a golden time; I got to hang out with this older teen who I thought was so cool. He was pretty quiet, so we didn’t talk much, but when we did, I learned we had similar taste in music and movies. I thought he was really cute too, but at the time, I remember thinking of it in more of a envious way than a romantic one. My awkward puberty, including horrific acne, was in full swing, and I remember looking at his smooth tawny complexion with intense jealousy; but he was so genuinely nice, that I couldn’t begrudge it to him.

Eventually, though, the six weeks passed, and after the initiation into FFA, things settled into what would be normal for the rest of the time we were in school together. He would always say “Hi” to me in the halls, and chat briefly if we happened to be close to each other during church or a school assembly, but other than that we didn’t hang out. He certainly didn’t seek out my company, and I was way too shy to seek his. He was a junior and an athlete, and I was a lowly freshman nerd, and I was okay with this status quo.

I did get to spend some time with him outside of school hours, though. He was on the Horticulture team for FFA, and I was the alternate. FFA had various competitions at the district, state, and national levels. There was Parliamentary Procedure, animal raising and showing, and various testing categories, like poultry judging and dairy cattle judging. Points were earned by each chapter by competing, and each member was expected to participate in at least one event, and usually expected to do more.

I looked at the options and quickly picked the ones that involved the most amount of air conditioning and the least contact with livestock. Those were Parliamentary Procedure and horticulture. Horticulture was actually really easy. We had to learn facts about various indigenous plants, take a test on them, and be able to identify them by small samples. We only met once or twice a week after school, and since David and Stephen, both seniors and the other two team members, were just as nice to me as Chance was, I really looked forward to practice. Since I wasn’t driving yet and he lived just up the road, Chance would drive me home afterwards.

The Parliamentary Procedure team didn’t make it to district competition, but the horticulture team did. In fact, they placed well enough at district to compete in the state contest in Baton Rouge. Though I was just the alternate and hadn’t been needed at the district competition, the FFA advisor, who was the Ag instructor, let me go as well, since I had made every practice. “You’ve worked just as hard as the other boys,” he said, “and you should go, too.”

I had been to Baton Rouge before several times to visit relatives, but coming from such a small town, I relished every chance to go to the city; actually to go anywhere that wasn’t the country. For me it was an incredibly exciting tip; I was part of a team, we were going to stay in a hotel downtown with a pool, go compete at the LSU campus, and eat at a seafood restaurant. I couldn’t sleep the night before, I was so wound up. I even enjoyed the long bus ride down on one of the school’s buses; Chance, David, and Stephen treated me like their little brother and teased me (in the good way) mercilessly, and best of all, shut down every attempt by the Mackintoshs to antagonize me. In fact, David had shut it down before we even left.

David was by far the biggest of the three upperclassmen, well over six feet and big, the classic big, ol country boy. Tough as nails, he was normally pretty placid, but when Shane, the bigger twin, started with the name calling directed at me as we gathered in the school parking lot that morning, David walked over to him, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer.

“Look, you little asswipe,” he said, bending down and putting his face right in Shane’s, which was draining rapidly of color, “I don’t know what your problem is, but he…” David pointed to me with his free hand, “...is on our team. And if you make problems with him, you’re making it with us.” He gestured to Chance and Stephen who had moved in front of me. “Understand, asshole?” David asked. “I’m not asking you again. Do you understand me?” Shane nodded as well as he could.

“Good,” said David, dropping Shane’s collar and walking back toward us. “Come on, little buddy,” he said, dropping a heavy arm over my shoulders, “Let’s go to Baton Rouge and kick some butt.” I noticed Shane and Sean, his brother, giving me the occasional evil eye, but they avoided all four of us for the rest of the trip.

Since there were four of us on the team, we stayed together in one room with two queen beds. Stephen and David, who had been together on the team the longest, decided to bunk together, leaving the other bed for Chance and me.

When packing, I had agonized over what to wear to bed; at home I slept in just a pair of briefs, but I, among other reasons, wasn’t comfortable walking around these fully developed upperclassman displaying the shortcomings of what I considered my underwhelming physique. Even as nerdy as I was, however, I knew that wearing a full set of pajamas would result in endless teasing, even by these three easy going nice guys.

Finally, I decided on a pair of LSU boxers, a gift from an older cousin, and a t-shirt. I had stitched the fly closed (luckily my grandmother had taught me to sew as a child) and put on a pair of briefs underneath the boxers. I didn’t want even the chance of a dick slip or boner incident of any kind.

The older teens slept in their underwear, no shirts, and I quickly decided that the best course of action was to go ahead and crawl into bed, close my eyes, and feign sleeping. Honestly, even with my eyes closed, I enjoyed hearing their laughter and teasing, and I turned to the wall to hide the smile on my face.

It had been a long day, though, and soon after I turned in, the rest followed. I felt Chance raise the bedding and slip underneath. I know, even though we never touched, that I could feel his warmth next to me. Very soon his soft breathing deepened, and he was asleep. I never did manage to actually sleep; I was too aware of Chance next to me. I had sleepovers in my youth and had never had an issue sleeping with another boy, but somehow tonight was different. Luckily, David needed the background noise of the radio on to sleep, so I spent the night listening to love songs and trying to figure out why Chance’s presence affected me so much.

After the night before, the rest of the trip was anti-climatic. Since I, as alternate, wasn’t needed, I wandered the LSU campus during the test taking portion of the contest, regretting that the official FFA uniform of purple corduroy jacket, white shirt and black tie meant I couldn’t pretend to be student, but I enjoyed walking around nonetheless. The team placed, but not in the top three; none of the other teams had done particularly well either. By 3 o’clock we were headed back home on a much more subdued bus ride than the one heading over.

With the competition season over, I went back to not interacting much with Chance. I ran into him once or twice in our small downtown (I use the term downtown very loosely) during the summer after the school year ended. However, since I didn’t take Ag the next year, choosing to take an elective that I thought would be more useful in college, I didn’t get to participate in FFA and the Horticulture team, missing the opportunity to see more of him. We still said “Hi” in the halls and spoke in passing, and in retrospect, I know I sent longing looks at him during school assemblies and church services. He was unfailingly nice to me when we did run into each other, but I was still surprised when he hunted me down the day yearbooks were passed out.

I had already gotten my few friends to sign mine, signing theirs as well, so I was spending this recess reading a novel. I had my yearbook beside me, just in case, but since it was the last free period before the end of the day, I really didn’t expect to get anymore signatures. I tend to get lost when I read, so I’m not sure how long Chance was standing over me before I finally realized someone was there.

“Oh, hey,” I said startled, looking up at him.

“I was starting to think you were never going to get your nose out of that book,” he said, a smile popping up. He had spent the spring outside training for and then playing baseball, and the resulting tan made his straight white teeth even brighter. His aqua eyes were startlingly bright in his dark face. “I want you to sign my yearbook,” he held it out to me with a pen, already opened to my class picture, another gem in a series of horrific yearbook portraits; I had actually painted out the one in my own book with White-Out.

“Okay,” I said startled. I don’t remember what I wrote. I think just “Good Luck!” or some other piece of BS. “Uh….” I said, fumbling for my own. “Sign mine?”

“Sure.” He wrote for a bit, much longer than me, and with a smile took off after handing it back. Under his picture he had written: To a good friend and teammate. I’ll miss you, little buddy. I know you’ll do great things. Chance.” (And no, and as special as that moment was, my memory isn’t that good. Before going to bed, I had hunted up my old yearbook to re-read the inscription.) Wow. Even my closest friend hadn’t written anything more meaningful than FF 4 EVER.

I looked up in the direction he had gone. It’s like he sensed I was looking; he turned back around and gave me another smile, this one a little sad, and then he was gone.

So, really looking back, I realized that it was much more than that May afternoon that had made me realize I liked Chance Bruce more than as a high school idol or as a friend. I had harbored a crush on him for years before then, I know knew. Talk about wishing you knew then what you know now.

I could only lay in bed and picture what could have been. But because I hadn’t know, after that final meeting on May 13, Chance had passed out of my life until now. I only spoke to him once or twice after that, congratulating him at graduation, saying goodbye at the last church service he attended before he left for military training.

I had never thought of him as my first love or anything. That distinction belonged to someone else, but I had always thought fondly of him. I would occasionally think of him during the years, and whenever I saw Miss Pauline during one of my visits home, I would ask about him. I remember getting a bit of a thrill when I saw his friend request on Facebook and had planned to get in touch, but life had intervened, and I hadn’t.

Eventually, my tour down memory lane wound down, and I managed to get a couple of hours of sleep before I woke up again. It was still early, though, not yet six. But I didn’t really think I could go back to sleep, and I knew volunteers would be arriving by 8 or so to take down the rest of the decorations and pick up the hay bales and picnic tables. So I decided to go ahead and get up. I showered, dressed with more care than the occasion called for with the consciousness that I would see Chance that morning, and put on some coffee.

In a lot of ways, last night had been about remembering the past, but as I sipped my first cup of coffee and waited to the sun, I wondered about the future. Before Chance kissed me, I hadn’t really even considered him in a romantic way. It wasn’t about him, I wasn’t even sure I was ready for romance from anyone. Period.

But was that really the truth? I thought about the time we had been spending together, the quiet night watching tv and having dinner that felt so natural. The time spent hard at work in the sun, but with some much laughter, the golden sunlight gleaming on his tawny muscles and setting his blue green eyes alight. I couldn’t deny that there was just something about him. I now realized I had a crush on Chance, the boy; what did I feel about the man he had become?

Obviously he was gorgeous. Maybe it’s shallow to start with his looks, though. I had consciously made myself try to forget he was so very attractive. Thinking too much about a friend’s hotness is never a good idea.

However, sometimes acknowledging Chance’s hotness was unavoidable, like when I first saw him in his Navy whites last night at the door. I found it hard to believe someone that beautiful seemed to be interested in someone as average as me.

But beyond his looks, he was a kind man. I only had to seem him interact with his mother; hell, the way he had interacted with the high school kids over the prom had given me a glimpse into his sweet side. And I was more comfortable just being around him than anyone else I had ever met, including Reed. Always with Reed, even after years together, I had felt a need to impress him, to show him my best face. I didn’t feel that with Chance. Considering the poncho, man bun, and paunch I was sporting when I met him, I had figured he had already seen my at my worst, and so over the last couple of months, I had let it all hang out. And he seemed to like it all just fine.

And I loved how he got passionate for things and causes. Like for organic farming and the local food movement and for simple, perfectly cooked food. He was so excited about transforming his farm, and I admired the way he had thrown himself into working on that project. And could that man cook. Thank god he had convinced me to start working out, or I would be the size of a barn. So far, I thought to myself, you have a guy who seems to like you, even though he already knows your faults, who is smart, sweet, hot, and can cook like a mutherfucker. But…isn’t there always a but?

But, even with all the time we had spent. I didn’t feel that I really knew him. He wasn’t shy, and he liked to joke but he wasn’t open. For all his honesty and goodness, he kept himself aloof. It was hard to know what he was thinking and feeling. He rarely spoke of his military service, barely answering direct questions and even then using the briefest of replies. He kept his feelings and emotions so closely guarded, that I was surprised that he had expressed as much last night as he did. I could only guess that he had gotten caught up in the excitement of the event.

As the dawn broke, and I sipped more coffee, I tried to imagine the last few months without Chance in my life. They had, all in all, been happy months, much happier than I could imagine, and his presence was a huge portion of the reason why. But, aside from any reservations about his character, I had to acknowledge that to have any relationship with him would mean staying here at the farm.

I knew he wouldn’t leave his mother; and even without Miss Pauline, I know it was here that he wanted to make his life. He had traveled the world before he retired, but he was clear that he had been ready to come home. I wasn’t quite ready to commit to staying a country boy for the next 40 years. But when I remembered the feel of his lips on mine, I had to admit, it had felt like coming home.

But I was probably making a mountain out of a molehill. What had we shared, really? A kiss. A kiss might mean something, of course, but usually it meant nothing. It’s like that Nat King Cole song: Too many moonlight kisses seem to cool in the warmth of the sun. After all, one of the reasons last night had so surprised me was that Chance had never given me any indications before then, that I could remember, that he thought of us as anything more than buddies.

And of course, I thought, as I ran my fingers over the crystal face of my watch, there was Reed. I raised my left arm and looked at the Rolex. After wearing it non stop over the past few months since I had put it back on my wrist, it already was starting to have a battered appearance, it’s stainless steel scratched. I didn’t need to remove it and look on the back to remember the inscription, I still love you. Reed.

After the months up here, the thought of him was started to become distant. A part of the past. We talked and texted regularly; he sent flowers occasionally--the boutonniere was only one of his offerings--and I thought about our dinner at Tommy’s more than once. And yet...Part of that of course was that calls and texts can never substitute for real human interaction, and since the funeral, he had never come back here.

When I had asked him then for space, it wasn’t a ploy, a chance to play hard to get; I had wanted some time alone. But after his proclamations of love, I had expected him to ask for an invitation for a weekend or to swing by on some trumped up business or something. I’m not even sure I really wanted him to come visit, but I had expected it. But nothing. I wasn’t sure if he was giving me the space I had asked for, whether he was waiting patiently for me to come to my senses and return, or whether he had lost interest. And more importantly, did I really care? The answer was “yes,” but how much?

I was still pondering the enigmatic mess that my love life had become when the phone rang. It was only seven, but people in the country expect early rising from others, so I assumed it was someone calling with a question about prom clean up. I was really surprised when I saw Reed’s name on the caller idea; he was not one for early morning phone calls. I already knew it wasn’t good news before I hit the accept button.

“Hello, I said.

“Hey, sorry to call so early, but it’s important.”

“Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Reed assured me, “It’s…..well, the problem is with the Dauphine St. Cottages project. Remember when I showed you the initial designs and you weren’t exactly enthusiastic about them?”

“Ummm…..I…..” I stammered, not really knowing what to say.

“Let’s just say the buyers were even less enthusiastic about the final designs,” he interrupted. “They are threatening to pull out. And if they do, it could be a disaster.”

Disaster. That word cleared my mental fog. “What do you mean “a disaster?””

Reed sighed. “Look, this was a dream project for me, and I’ve sunk most of the business’s assets in it; but I miscalculated the market potential. Most of the buyers in this price range are looking for mansions…..usually with some out buildings, but they aren’t looking for a compound like this. I’ve had some other nibbles….a Hollywood actress, the hotel next door, but this couple has been the only serious offer. If we end this project without a buyer in place, and the sale takes months, we could lose a fortune.”

It’s funny how you can deceive yourself. After getting Reed’s partnership offer, I had prided myself on not counting any chickens before they hatched. I had sternly told myself that the potential $1.5 million from the buyout was just something that could maybe happen. Now, threatened with the loss of my potential nest egg and the source of my options for a new life, I realized that I had, despite what I had tried to tell myself, had been counting on that money and in a big way. I had to force myself to breathe.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked, surprising myself with the calmness of my voice.

“Yes,” he said. “The potential buyers are an older gay couple; rich, very rich. Now that they’re retired, their “hobby” business is to buy boutique hotel properties in the cities they visit frequently. Very small, very exclusive. They always keep a unit for their personal use, and they frequently host groups of friends and family, but they will rent them for a fortune when not in use.”

“Nice to know, but what has that got to do with me?” I interrupted his spiel.

“Plenty. The deal is they think of these places as second homes first, income second. I didn’t realize that one of the reasons they were interested in the property in the first place is because they liked your interiors so much, and that the interiors mattered so much since they will be living there part-time. They didn’t realize you weren’t still active in the business and weren’t doing the design. They still love the property...they just hate the design. I suggested they hire their own designer and I would work with them, but they don’t want the bother. They prefer this to be turnkey. I know you wanted to be an inactive partner, but I think if you come meet with them and salvage what part of the design plan you can, we can still pull it off.”

“Of course I’ll meet with them! Jesus, I want this sale to go through,too. When?”

“As soon as you can. They’re in town through next Monday. They’ve already agreed to go with me to a fundraiser luncheon on Wednesday for the LGBT business coalition, you can meet with them then, and I could schedule a presentation for the following weekend. Can you pull something together before then? They know it will only be informal, but it will buy us some time.”

I didn’t even have to stop and think. I knew there was nothing I couldn’t cancel in the following week, and dammit, I wanted that buyout money. If I could make it happen only by moving Heaven and Earth, I was willing to try. “I can pull something together. I have to wrap up some stuff today, but I’ll leave first thing in the morning and can be there by lunch.”

“Great,” he said, and I could hear the relief in his voice. “I do have to warn you; there are a couple of conventions in town and getting a hotel room is going to be a problem. You can stay with me if you would like.” He sounded a bit hesitant but hopeful, and for a minute I was tempted.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’m sure I can stay with Ben and Don. If it’s a problem, I’ll let you know.”

After a few more exchanges, we hung up. I was shaken, but exhilarated at the same time. I knew I could lose so much, but it had been so long since I had tackled a major project and never with such high stakes and I was excited by that. I had always worked best under the gun. I thought this must be what an athlete coming out of retirement must feel like. And I was also hopeful that spending time working with Reed again would help me decide how I felt about him once and for all. I immediately began remembering what I could of the cottages and the initial design, already starting to put my own spin on its design as I mechanically began picking up my breakfast things and cleaning the kitchen.

I was debating the benefits of patinated vs.polished copper outdoor lighting for the cottages when I heard a knock on the back door. I was in the kitchen, and before I could snap out of my revery and move toward it, the door opened.

Chance stuck his head around with a smile, saying, “Hey.”

Still, lost in my thoughts, I looked at him blankly. For a brief moment, with my mind full of Reed’s news and thoughts of the cottage project, I had forgotten why he was here, and a long silence occurred before I came to my senses enough to offer my own lukewarm “Oh, hey.”

But, it seemed my greeting was too long in coming. By the time I spoke, his smile had vanished, and he was looking at me with concern.

“Is something wrong? Is this about last night?” he said.

“Last night?” I repeated stupidly.

“Remember last night,” he said with a hurt look. “You know...we danced, we kissed.”

Reed’s news had completely taken over my mind, driving out my musing about Chance and me. I was so deeply caught up in the potential loss of my nest egg and the challenging project ahead, that thoughts of potential romance had taken a sudden back seat.

“Oh, that.” I said, and added before I could stop my stupid tongue, “I wasn’t thinking about last night at all.” As the words left my mouth, I instantly realized how dismissive they sounded, but before I could qualify myself, we heard the crunch of gravel underneath truck tires as the first of the volunteers showed up. With another hurt look at me, he swiftly turned to go outside.

“Chance, “ I said, reaching out to grab his arm. “Wait, let me explain.”

Silently, he shook off my arm and headed outside. Fuck, I thought.

Even with the crowd of volunteers, it took hours to dismantle all the strings of white lights, to take down and dismantle the paper lanterns, and to pack up the hay bales, etc. Before the workers left and took away the borrowed picnic tables, we had a lunch of the prom leftovers augmented with cold cuts and soda.

Throughout the morning, Chance had steadfastly ignored me while I kicked myself for being so obtuse this morning. I wasn’t the best at picking up on signals, but he had obviously been excited to see me this morning, and I understood how easy it was for him to misinterpret my distraction as coldness. I just hoped that after the place was cleaned up, he wouldn’t leave before I could explain.

I guess his mood had improved, because he did wait around until after everyone else had left. I offered him some coffee or a beer, but he declined, saying he had things to do.

“Chance…. about this morning,” I started, “I was distracted...I….”

“No worries,” he said, and if he didn’t exactly smile, at least the tightness around his mouth relaxed. “Tomorrow for Sunday lunch, what do you want for dessert? Cobbler or pecan pie?”

“Ummm….I actually won’t be there, tomorrow.”

The tightness returned to his mouth. He said nothing, but looked at me expectantly.

“I’m going to New Orleans. I’ll be gone a while, at least a week or so. Reed called me this morning..”

“Oh, I see,” he said, interrupting me. “Drive safe,” Chance said before turning and walking toward his truck.

“Wait,” I said, going after him. “You don’t understand, it’s not like that.”

He stopped beside the truck and turned to look at me. “I understand completely. Out of the blue, Reed calls and you immediately go running back to New Orleans. It’s where you belong. Maybe you should stay there.” Without another word he climbed in his cab and drove away.