Page 54 of The Leaving Kind

“It’s what I did in the army. I was a mechanic.”

“Why don’t you do that now?”

“I prefer digging holes.” He still liked fixing cars, but the smell of engine oil and grease often took him to places he didn’t want to go. To the couple of years before the end, working happily and quietly side by side with the soldier who’d been a brother to him. And then to that day, that awful day when he’d lost another person he had loved.

“Cameron.”

Cam glanced over at Victor’s shadowy silhouette. “Yeah?”

Victor had apparently watched as Cam strolled along memory lane. His expression was now guarded but not unfriendly. All traces of flirtation had been packed away. “Thank you for this evening. It may not have felt like it, but I accomplished a lot. Drawing-wise.”

“Okay.”

“I’d love you to model for me again, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to. The offer is there, nonetheless. I’d also like your help with a gardening project. If you’d be interested.”

“You don’t—”

“I’ve long wanted to cut a path through the trees at the front of my property. Down to the road, following the driveway. With steps.” Victor gestured toward the three short steps Cam had dug into the slope from the front lawn to the mailbox. Cam had framed them out with wood before filling them in and planting around them, giving the impression that the steps had occurred naturally or had always been there.

“Getting down to my mailbox in winter can be treacherous,” Victor continued. “A path would be easier to navigate. More protected from the snow as well.”

Cam turned back to Victor. “There are other people. Real landscapers who—”

Victor touched his hand. Cam controlled the urge to flinch. The following urge to cover Victor’s hand with his.

“I’d enjoy planning the project with you. You’re easy to work with. I’d like ... for us to be friends,” Victor said.

Cam exhaled into the warming atmosphere of the car. With the engine off, the A/C had stopped humming. Friends wasn’t a good idea, but ... “Sure. We can do that.”

Victor smiled.

Cam nearly leaned in to kiss it from his lips. Instead, he moved in the other direction and opened the door. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from beneath Victor’s. Then, not quite understanding what he was doing, he made a soft fist and nudged Victor’s upper arm.

Victor’s wan smile said he understood.

“Call me with the details,” Cam said as he got out of the car.

“I still don’t have your number. Only the tree farm.”

Cam reached into the back seat to encourage Honey onto the sidewalk. He offered Victor a playful smile. “Guess I’ll be the one calling you, then.”

Victor finally found a parking spot off 8th Street, and after reassessing the moody sky, he reached back into the car for his umbrella. The four-block walk to the restaurant where he and Tez met for their regular lunch date passed in a blur of familiarity and memory. He hadn’t grown up in Stroudsburg, but the town had become a second home when Tez had moved down here.

He stepped inside the tiny Italian bistro right as the wind picked up, and closed the door as rain began to patter against the pavement outside. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes quickly squashed the dusty wet scent of the turning weather, but Victor had already tucked it away. He loved that smell and had been trying for years to capture it in a painting.

Tez waved from a table along the wall of the narrow restaurant, and Victor wended his way down the center aisle to join her, stooping to kiss her cheek before claiming his seat.

After greetings were exchanged and drink orders taken, Tez leaned across the table. “How are you, really?”

Victor narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “Just fine. Really.” He waved at the server’s retreating back. “I ordered the lemonade.” Elderflower rose lemonade, to be precise. He ordered it every time he and Tez visited this restaurant.

“You’re not still bulldozing your way through the wine cellar, then?”

“When did we get a wine cellar?” Victor asked.

“You didn’t put one in after I moved out? I naturally assumed that’s what you would do with my bedroom.”

“Your bedroom is not subterranean. And I don’t drink enough wine to warrant a cellar.” Not usually. “Also, as you well know, I have maintained your room as a shrine to the mother of my children.”