In The Absence Of Light

by Adrienne Wilder

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

  She left without taking Jeff’s glass.

  He frowned. “What the hell is with her?”

  “Must be something in the air.” I pulled my plate back over. “Your burger’s getting cold.”

  Jeff propped his elbow on the table and held his chin. His frown peeked at me from between his fingers. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, Grant, but it isn’t good.”

  “What do you mean? I feel great. Nice town, friendly people.” I leaned across the table. “Best sex I’ve had in my entire life. I mean Morgan does this thing with his tongue…”

  “Jesus.” Jeff jerked back. I wanted to be pissed for the look of disgust he gave me. But six weeks ago, I probably would have reacted the same way. Of course six weeks ago, I still had visions of pristine beaches and living the highlife.

  Every passing second, oceanfront scenery seemed less and less appealing.

  “I appreciate everything you’ve done.” I said. “Keeping up with Ulrich and letting me know where he is. It’s a relief to know it isn’t here. As for why he’s in Cali?" I shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to tell you, and even if I did—”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Yup.”

  Morgan came out from the back with a box tucked under his arm.

  Jeff’s angry expression turned to pity. “And I hope you at least come to your senses.”

  He stood. Morgan held out the box. “Take it.”

  Jeff did. “Why are you giving me a box of toothpicks?”

  “Well, I know you don’t think I’m smart.”

  “That’s not what I…”

  “No, it’s okay. I just wanted to show you what I can do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I can count toothpicks.” Morgan waved at the box. “Go on. Open it.”

  The woman behind Jeff was back to peering over the booth, the people beside us turned in their chairs. Pretty soon the entire restaurant watched.

  “That’s okay you don’t have to.” He tried to hand the box back.

  “No, no. Please. I’d love to show you.”

  Jeff cast an uneasy look at the room full of people. He opened the box.

  “Take out a handful,” Morgan said. “Count 'em. Then dump the rest on the floor. I’ll tell you exactly how many are left.”

  I coughed to cover up a laugh.

  “There are fifteen hundred toothpicks in this box.”

  Morgan gasped. “Really? Is that what all those zeros mean?” He tipped his head and looked at the box. “Wow. That’s a lot. But that’s okay. Go ahead. I can do it.”

  Jeff took out a few toothpicks.

  “Now don’t let me see them.” Morgan covered his eyes. “Make sure you count 'em right. I don’t want you to think I got the number wrong.”

  Jeff looked at me.

  “He did it for me,” I said. “And let me tell you, it’s pretty damn impressive.”

  Jeff counted the toothpicks.

  “When you’re done, dump the rest out.”

  Jeff hesitated. I gave him a thumbs-up. He dumped the box of toothpicks, and they covered the floor beside the booth.

  “Okay, they’re dumped.”

  “All of them?” Morgan parted his fingers.

  “Yeah.” Jeff shook the box.

  Morgan dropped his hands.

  Jeff watched. I watched. Everyone in the restaurant watched.

  “You sure…”

  “Shhh—” Morgan held up a hand at Jeff. “I’m counting.”

  Someone slurped their drink with their straw. It was the only sound other than dozens of people breathing.

  “Look,” Jeff said.

  “Give me a minute.”

  He did. Then another. And another.

  “Okay, I’m done.”

  The tension drained from Jeff. He even managed a smile. “All right, how many are there?”

  Then Morgan gave him the look. That stone cold, sharp as a razor, predatorial, cunning, flash leaving you with no doubt you’d just been played. And not just played, but rolled in shit and stuck out in the sun to dry, played.

  “Fuck if I know, asshole, but you got yourself a mess to clean up.” Morgan tugged me out of the booth.

  The guy in overalls at the table beside us pointed at Jeff with his tuna sandwich. “I gotta nice stretch of beachfront property in Arkansas I’m looking to sell. You interested?”

  Our waitress squeezed past Morgan and me. She held a broom and dustpan out to Jeff. “Here ya go, hon. That ought’a help.”

  The look Jeff gave me almost made me feel sorry for him.

  Almost.

  Morgan towed me through the kitchen and into the back office. He shut the door. Locked it.

  “What are we—”

  He met my gaze, and the heat in his eyes practically set my boxers on fire.

  “Morgan?”

  He shoved me into the wall.

  “I don’t know what you think—”

  “Shut up, Grant.”

  “He was asking questions about—”

  “Grant.” Morgan grabbed the front of my shirt. “I said shut up.” He attacked my mouth. I barked out in surprise, but it quickly turned into an agonizing groan. I slid my hands inside Morgan’s jeans and cupped his ass.

  He pulled away and bit my earlobe. “Fuck. Morgan… Whatever you think was going on—” He covered my mouth.

  “I don’t think you were trying to cheat. I don’t even think you like him all that much. But I want to make sure you know there’s nothing he can give you I can’t.”

  I held Morgan back. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He quit moving. “You can never give me what he can.” With a hand on each cheek, he could not look away. “And you can’t because he has nothing I want. Do you understand? Nothing.”

  I didn’t have to worry about Morgan believing me. He’d see the truth. He’d peer right into my soul and know I meant every word I said.

  He caressed my jaw, my cheeks, my ears. He dragged his touch to my neck. His fingertips were cold, but the skin to skin contact burned. Morgan hooked a leg around my hip and pulled himself up my body until he looked down at me.

  Like the fragments of light he chased, he mapped my features with his touch.

  “There will never be anyone like you, Morgan.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Never, not in a million years or a million lifetimes, will there be anyone else who has what I want.”

  He kissed me again. Slower. Deeper. Stroking the inside of my mouth with his tongue and drinking my sigh.

  The distinct sound of muffled voices came from the other side of the door. Morgan gave me a questioning look. I lowered him to the ground.

  Shuffling and someone whispered something.

  I pointed at the door. Morgan nodded.

  The lock was one of those push button kinds so I only needed to turn the handle to disengage it. I opened the door.

  The waitresses, the kitchen staff, and fucking hell, I’m willing to bet half the customers had squeezed into the tiny space between the rack of pots and pans and office door.

  We stared at each other until a lady with snow white hair held out her handkerchief and said, “Can I have your autograph?”

  ********

  I had exactly two minutes to spare when I pulled into Morgan’s driveway. He was already on the porch and had on a bike helmet.

  I barely had the truck stopped when he skipped down the steps and opened the door.

  “See, I’m not late.”

  Morgan flicked thoughts. “Only because you’re early.” He waved me over. “If you’re gonna teach me how to drive, you’re gonna have to move.”

  “At least let me get stopped first.” I put it in park and scooted to the passenger side. “Where do you want me to put this?” I picked up the box from the floorboard.

  “Just set it by the gate.” I left the letters and box beside the footpath leading to his house, then got back in the truck.


  “Okay, I’m ready.” Morgan bounced in the seat.

  “What’s with the…” I tapped the helmet.

  “Safety first.”

  “But this is a truck.”

  “Yeah, Grant, it’s pretty obvious this is a truck.”

  “You don’t wear a helmet when you ride your bike.”

  “Why should I? I know how to ride a bike, and besides, do you have any idea of the statistical difference between my chances of wrecking my bike verses crashing a car? Or in this case, truck?”

  “Not really.”

  “Astronomical. A good five hundred to one. You have a greater chance of being hit by lightning while being eaten by a shark.”

  I attempted to do the math. Made sense. Sort of. How many bike wrecks did I see on the road? Excluding motorcycles? None.

  I glanced at Morgan, and his mouth twitched.

  I propped my elbow on the door. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Had you going, didn’t I?”

  “Nah.”

  He held up a finger.

  “Okay, fine maybe a little.”

  “Good to know what they say isn’t true.”

  I’d never learn. “And what’s that?”

  “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

  I gave him my best go-to-hell look, and he laughed.

  He gazed through the windshield up at the trees before dragging his attention back to me. “Okay, what’s first?”

  “You’re still wearing the helmet.”

  “Very observant of you, Grant.”

  “Why are you still wearing it?”

  “In case we wreck.”

  “Wait, I thought…” I scrubbed my hand over my mouth. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare, would you?”

  “Nope. Gonna have to get your own.”

  I huffed. “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “Wasn’t supposed to be.” He patted the steering wheel. “Ready when you are.”

  “You sure you want to learn to drive?”

  He flopped back in the seat. “Do you really have to insult me by asking me?”

  “Point taken.” I gestured at the dash. “Let’s start there. P means park, which is where you are now. D, drive, and R is reverse.”

  “What about the D2 and D3.”

  “Ignore those for right now.”

  “But what if I need them?”

  “Hopefully, I’ll be driving.” I pointed to the pedals on the floorboard. “Right is the gas. The one to the left of it is the brake.”

  “I can’t tell right from left.”

  I’d forgotten. “Okay then. The skinny rectangle is the brake. The square one is the gas.”

  Morgan shook his head. “Technically they’re both rectangles.”

  “What?”

  “The pedals. Two sides one length, the other two a different length. Squares are even all four sides.”

  “Are you messing with me again?”

  “You should have learned this in kindergarten. Or didn’t they have kindergarten when dinosaurs roamed the earth?”

  I glared.

  “Maybe you should have studied those cave paintings harder.”

  “You know it’s gonna be real hard for you to learn how to drive if you don’t have a truck to borrow.”

  He flicked one hand and held up his free one in defense.

  “Okay, back to the rectangles.” I pointed. “The right… never mind. Take off a flip-flop.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask questions. Just take one off.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Morgan did. “Now what?”

  I checked to see which one he’d taken off. “Okay, your bare foot is responsible for that pedal.” I pointed to the gas. “Your flip-flop is responsible for the other one.”

  Morgan grinned. “You’re getting good at this, Grant. I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t push your luck.” I tapped his right knee. “Bare foot makes the truck move. Flip-flop makes it stop. Just make sure you don’t push the pedals at the same time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  I made a face. “You ask too many questions.”

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. You can’t go with the brake on; it just revs the engine and wastes gas. Satisfied?”

  “Yup.”

  “Now put your flip-flop foot on its pedal and push down.”

  He did.

  “Move the gear shift until the red line moves from the P to the R.”

  “And R is reverse, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Morgan shifted the truck into reverse.

  “Now ease off the brake, I mean flip-flop.”

  The truck crawled backward.

  “Now, when you’re far enough back, step on the brake again.” The edge of the woods came closer. “Good. Just a little more.” We went another few feet. “Okay, stop.” The truck kept going. “Brake Morgan.”

  “Which one’s the brake?”

  “Left, I mean, flip-flop.” The truck jerked to a stop. I slammed my hand against the dash to keep from getting thrown around.

  “You’re not a very good copilot, Grant.”

  “You’re not a very good pilot.”

  “That’s because I don’t know how to drive.” Morgan flexed his hand on the steering wheel.

  I counted to ten before saying anything. “Now you need to put the truck in drive and make a right… I mean bare foot.” The truck shot forward. “Stop, Morgan. Stop. Flip-flop.” It jerked to a stop hard enough to dump me into the floorboard and crack my head on the dash.

  “Fuck.” I struggled to get back into the seat.

  “Should have brought a helmet.”

  “If I’d known you were going to try to kill me, I would have.”

  “You’re the one who said bare foot.”

  “I meant direction.”

  “We didn’t discuss direction, just flip-flops and bare feet.”

  I touched the side of my head. It wasn’t bleeding. Considering how bad it hurt it should have. “Okay, direction.” I pointed at the passenger window. “Right will be passenger side.” I pointed to the other way. “Left will be driver’s side. Clear enough?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, let’s back up again.”

  He did and managed to stop right on cue.

  “Good. Now, passenger side.”

  Morgan turned the steering wheel.

  “Ease off the flip-flop.”

  The truck crawled down the driveway.

  “When do I get to use barefoot?”

  “Let’s wait till we're actually on the road.”

  “At this rate, it will only take a week.”

  “It will not.”

  “A day at least.”

  “Morgan.”

  “Oh look, we were just outmaneuvered by a leaf.”

  “Okay fine, but just a—”

  Gravel shot up into the wheel well and the truck slid sideways. Then before I could blink, we were heading across the pasture in front of Morgan’s house.

  “Brake.” The frontend dipped into a rut and the force tossed me close to the ceiling. “For God’s sake, flip-flop, flip-flop.”

  The pickup cut ruts in the wet ground, spun halfway around on the grass before coming to a halt.

  Somehow I’d wound up with my ass on the floorboard again and my legs on the seat. I glared at Morgan. The flush in his cheeks glowed against his pale skin.

  He swallowed several times. “Well, at least it went better than last time.”

  “Jesus, how could that have been better? You almost killed us.”

  “I didn’t catch the truck on fire.” He fluttered his hand next to his temple. “Or drive into the pond.”

  “Where the hell is a pond?”

  He pointed. “Through
the fence and down the hill.”

  “Fucking hell, Morgan.”

  “Told you I couldn’t drive.”

  I struggled back into the seat and put the truck in park before he could take us on another go-round.

  “Guess I should cross driving off my list, huh?” He laid his forehead on the steering wheel.

  “Depends on how long you want to live.”

  He laughed, then scrubbed his face. A tic in his shoulder knocked his hand against the bike helmet. “I suppose you want to call it quits.”

  The defeat in Morgan’s expression broke something inside me. Here was a man who defied all odds, lived by himself, worked, created beautiful art. A complex mind stumped by some of the simplest tasks.

  If he could, he would keep trying until there was only absolute failure or success.

  How many people could say that?

  I took a breath. “Go ahead and flip-flop.”

  Morgan jerked his head up.

  I nodded. “C’mon, flip-flop, then reverse. Turn to the passenger side and head for the road.”

  Morgan did as instructed, easing into reverse, then turning the truck around.

  “Easy on the bare foot.”

  “Kinda hard to judge.” He changed gears.

  “Feather light.”

  The truck ambled across the field toward the road. Then the pickup made the slow climb up the gully to the shoulder.

  “Cut it tight, passenger window.”

  He did.

  “Now straighten it out.” The bumpy ride over rough ground turned into the smooth glide of asphalt.

  “I can’t believe this.” Morgan rocked in his seat. “I’m driving.”

  “You are, but let’s keep it below fifteen miles per hour.”

  “I’m driving, Grant.” He laughed. “Holy shit, I’m driving. I could hug you.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’d have to let go of the wheel.”

  “Okay, later then.”

  His dopy smile was contagious. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  ********

  I had no idea teaching someone to drive could work up such an appetite. 'Course, it could have been the near death experience had made my body desperate for one more taste of food before it lost the chance.

  “I think I’ll take your advice.”

  “What advice?” Morgan picked up the box of bottles and tray full of mail.

  “Get some seat belts put in the truck.”

  He laughed. “So when’s my next lesson?”