Page 65 of Our Own Light
“Something like that.”
“Oh, Floyd, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, Ollie. I know you never meant no harm.” After a moment, Floyd squeezed Ollie’s hand and stood. He started toward the hat rack. “I bought something for you.” He took the brand-new navy-blue fedora off the rack and sat back on the couch. “Here.”
Slowly, Ollie reached for the hat.
“You bought this for me?” Ollie asked, his soft voice filled with wonderment.
“Yeah. I wanted to say sorry for everything—for losing my temper and for making you come back to Rock Creek by yourself.”
“Oh my God.” Ollie turned it around and around in his hands, running his fingers over the wool. “It’s perfect.”
Floyd took it and fit it atop Ollie’s head.
“You look real handsome, Ollie,” Floyd said with a smile. “You always do.”
“Thank you.”
Ollie snatched Floyd’s hand and squeezed it. They sat there for a while, playing with each other’s hands. Floyd wanted so badly to kiss him, to kiss this wonderfully sweet man who he cared about so much. And who cared about him so much, too.
But somehow, he still wasn’t ready. Even though he wanted to be.
***
One week later, Floyd was building a little miniature log cabin on the floor with Josephine while he was waiting for Ollie to stop by. Ollie and him had been spending time together every single day after work, sometimes over at Ollie’s house, where they’d hold hands and talk, sometimes over at Floyd’s house, where they’d play checkers with Josephine and Effie. It was nice to see each other so much. Only problem was they hadn’t kissed yet. And it was all Floyd’s fault. Ollie had been real patient, too. Floyd could tell how much Ollie wanted them to kiss. Heck, Ollie probably wanted them to try other things, too.
But every time Floyd considered kissing Ollie, he’d think about Matt and then his stomach would start feeling funny—like the copperhead had come back—and he hadn’t managed to push past the upset to make himself kiss the man he liked so much. Whenever Floyd let himself imagine what Ollie’s lips would feel like on his own, whenever he thought about how nice it would be to pull Ollie onto his lap and be intimate with him, the snake would writhe in his stomach to torture him some more, making him feel sick.
Finally, close to Josephine’s bedtime, Ollie came over. After Floyd put Josephine to bed, he and Ollie and Effie talked for a little while. At one point, Effie and Ollie took to arguing about chess strategies, which was fun to listen to, but when Floyd told them they should play, Effie protested, claiming that Floyd would pick up the rules simply by watching, which he thought was a bunch of hogwash. He’d seen her play a little here and there over the years. He still couldn’t make heads or tails of it without her explaining more about the pieces and how they moved. More likely, Effie knew that chess took a while to play and wanted to make sure Floyd and Ollie had some time to themselves before it got too late. Sure enough, after only a little while longer, Effie excused herself to the bedroom.
And Ollie and Floyd were alone. Ollie tip-toed his fingers across the couch toward Floyd’s waiting hand, and when their fingers laced together, Floyd hummed happily to himself. Ollie hummed back, too, and the sweet sound made Floyd’s breath catch. Golly, Ollie was so sweet and so fun.
After a couple of minutes of them talking ’bout work and smiling big, silly smiles at each other, Ollie asked Floyd if he could have some coffee. While Floyd was busy in the kitchen grinding up some coffee beans Effie had roasted earlier, Ollie called to him from the couch.
“Hey, Floyd, what’s this?”
When Floyd turned to face him, it was like the whole world stopped, and had it not been for the constant ticking of the nearby clock, he would have thought that maybe time itself had ceased to exist, too.
Because Ollie was holding Floyd’s most treasured possession—Matt’s old coin-collecting book. Floyd’s throat tightened.
“Am I not supposed to see this or something?” Ollie asked, a playful edge to his voice. When Floyd only managed to stare wordlessly in response, Ollie’s small smile fell away. “I’m really not supposed to see this, am I? Jeez, I’m sorry.”
Before Floyd could tell Ollie what it even was, Ollie scrambled to set it on the coffee table, and then he folded his hands in his lap. Floyd tried to swallow.
“It was under Dog Race,” Ollie said, pointing accusingly at the board game box.
Seconds ticked by.
Finally, Floyd managed a soft, “It was Matt’s.”
Golly, he hadn’t said Matt’s name in what felt like forever. Not outside the confines of his own head.
“Oh...” Oliver looked back at the book. “Was Matt the man who you, uhm, the man who—”
“Yeah,” Floyd interrupted. “Matt Parsons. He was my... my best friend. He was... my everything.”
Saying Matt’s name had somehow caused the earth to start turning again, so Floyd crossed the room to sit next to Ollie.