by Sarah Black
David stopped in the road, staring at him.
“You were always there, David. You’re a happy memory of a time when…when I loved someone as a friend. And that memory was always a little possibility, you know? I kept you like a possibility in my mind. But I wasn’t going to come find you. I knew where you were. I was waiting for you to come back here.” Quanah Parker spread his arms wide and gestured around. “I can go hang in Sun Valley and sell socks to the beautiful people, but I come home, here, when I’m done playing in town. I’ve been waiting for you to come home.”
David felt his throat get thick. “You’ve loved me for years and years?”
“So maybe I need to ask why you haven’t been back to find me, David.”
I didn’t think I was good enough. I never thought you’d be waiting for me.
“You can take your time to answer,” Quanah Parker said, slinging an arm around David’s shoulders. “No rush. Think it through. You’re not going anywhere, right? I’m not going to be happy if you just tell me you wandered in here. Like you landed in my bed by accident.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” David agreed.
“That reminds me. You better start your truck every couple of days, or you really won’t be going anywhere.” He looked up at the frosty gray sky. “Winter’s coming.”
* * *
David sat at Mr. Running Bear’s kitchen table, his feet toasty warm in the thickest, softest socks he had ever worn. They were, Quanah Parker had explained, made from the fleece of Crazy Horse, his first rescued alpaca. He and his father were reviewing their schedule for the rest of the week.
“I’ve got wood to take into town,” Mr. Running Bear said. “Then I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in Boise this afternoon.”
“Dad, you want me to drive you?”
He shook his head and dished some more sausage gravy onto David’s plate. “When are you going back to the shop?”
“Tomorrow. David and I are going fishing today; then I need to go into town tomorrow and check on the stores. I’ve got a couple pair of special-order mocs to deliver,” Quanah Parker said. “David, you want to come into Sun Valley with me? I’ll need to stay a couple of days. You can bring your computer and do your classes from the coffee shop.”
“Maybe I will,” David said, tugging on his beard. “I thought twice a week would be okay, but the kids taking this class, they seem very needy. They’ve gotten used to people answering e-mails in an hour or less, and they can’t seem to handle twice a week check-ins by the teacher. I mean, sometimes they sound almost hysterical by the time I actually respond to their questions.”
“What are you teaching?”
“Intro to American Poetry and a poetry-writing workshop.”
Mr. Running Bear raised his eyebrows. “That sounds very exciting!” David and Quanah Parker both looked at him until he laughed and threw up his hands. “Maybe you’ll have a few minutes to help me load that wood into my truck.”
“Of course,” David said, pulling his new gloves out of his pocket. “I got some good work gloves down at the general store.”
“The man in the store, did he look like an old cowboy? Silver-belly Stetson?”
David nodded. “He asked for a copy of Sand Creek.”
“You ought to give him one, David.” Mr. Running Bear pushed the plate away and sighed. “I shouldn’t have eaten this right before I have to go see the doctor about my cholesterol. I always think he can smell sausage on my clothes. That man in the store, he’s a poet too. A cowboy poet. You know they have those cowboy poet roundups around these parts, into Wyoming and Colorado, down into Texas. If he said he wanted to read your book, he might be able to help you get the word out. You want me to take him a copy when I bring the wood?”
“That would be great, Mr. Running Bear. I have some copies down at my cabin. I’ll run back and get one.”
“You can tell me where they are, and I’ll get one. If you don’t mind my going into your cabin.”
“Of course not. They’re in a box by the foot of my bed. Under some clothes.”
Quanah Parker stood up and started picking up the plates. “Take a look under the sink when you’re there, Dad.” He looked over at David. “If I remember right, my dad and your grandpa put the pipes in that cabin—what, fifteen years ago? Twenty?”
“So where are they now?”
Mr. Running Bear looked at him. “What do you mean? You don’t have any pipes?”
David shook his head.
“Your mom had somebody from Boise come up and winterize the cabin about five years ago,” Mr. Running Bear said. “They should have drained the pipes. Maybe they were cracked or something so they just pulled them out.” He exchanged a long look with Quanah Parker.
David stood up and started helping clear the table. “What? What’s wrong?”
Quanah Parker was rinsing plates in the sink.
“David, the thing is, that hand pump in your yard? By January it’ll be frozen solid. Son, you won’t have any water,” Mr. Running Bear said.
Quanah Parker waved them out of the kitchen, and David went around back and helped load split firewood into the back of Mr. Running Bear’s old Silverado. He had an automatic splitter that used hydraulic force to split the rounds of wood, and David studied it with a longing that was almost physical.
“I’m a professional,” Mr. Running Bear explained. “Axes and chainsaws are a young man’s game.”
“You aren’t sick, are you? Your heart’s okay?”
He leaned over the back of the pickup, wearing the same battered plaid jacket he had worn when David was a kid. “I’m fine, David. Nothing for you boys to worry about.”
An hour later, and David was standing in the Salmon River, the rushing water up to his knees, watching Quanah Parker swing a fly rod over his head. David was wearing Mr. Running Bear’s waders, and they were too big for him, but he could maneuver fairly well, and his tootsies were cozy and warm thanks to Crazy Horse’s socks and his new buffalo fishing moccasins. His tootsies were warm, but the rest of him was settling in for a long day of miserable cold, which he was willing to put up with so he could watch Quanah Parker looking so happy.
“What are we fishing for? Salmon? Is this the right time of year?”
Quanah Parker shook his head. “No more salmon in the Salmon River. The wild salmon have been gone for years. All that’s left are the little fishery salmon the Fish and Wildlife people hatch and put back into the waters every year. But we might find a rainbow trout. This may be the last fishing for this year. I’ll be busy between now and Christmas.”
“Can I help?”
At first David thought Quanah Parker hadn’t heard him. Then he turned around and gave David a long look. “Yes, if you want to. But don’t you have your own things you need to do?”
“I can write poetry anytime. In fact, I do write poetry anytime. All the time. You have to work on it, but you can’t push it, either.”
“Poetry? I’m not talking about poetry. Why did you come up here?”
Quanah Parker cast his line again, trying to hit next to a little tangle of rocks and tree roots he had pointed out earlier. David stared at his broad shoulders, the way his strong back disappeared into his waders. “What? I told you already, remember?”
“No, that’s why you left Boise. That’s why you ran. You said you wanted to spend the winter in your grandpa’s cabin. What did you think was going to be different at the end of the winter?”
David scratched his beard. He was really starting to dislike it. It felt itchy and tangled, and he was constantly messing with it, which was driving him crazy. “Everything. I thought I would be different. Stronger. But I’m not really sure I thought it out carefully,” he said. “I thought I would have some time to think about my plans. I’ve been working toward teaching and writing in an academic setting for years now, and I don’t really like it much. I wanted to think if this was really what I wanted to do. But there was something else too. I felt like I wan
ted to test myself. You know, see what I could do on my own.”
“So what do you think so far?”
David felt his shoulders sag. Did Quanah Parker want him to admit he was a screwup, a failure, as likely to freeze to death as burn his cabin down by putting hot coals in the shitter? David fumbled with his borrowed flies, retied one on the end of his line. “I think maybe I overestimated my skills. And underestimated the money I would need to get the cabin prepared for the winter. And I wasn’t expecting you.”
Quanah Parker jerked his line, then cursed under his breath. “What do you mean, you weren’t expecting me? Did you forget I lived here?”
“Of course not. I just… I was afraid to hope you still wanted to be friends. I wasn’t expecting to…” David felt his face turn bright red. “I wasn’t expecting the whole foot deal; that’s for sure.”
Quanah Parker cast his line again, and David thought he could detect some annoyance in the lines of his shoulders. “So are you still determined to go through with this? This testing yourself against the wilderness deal? Or are you ready to come to your senses?”
“Why would I not go through with it?” David’s cast caught on the edge of Quanah Parker’s waders, and Quanah Parker reached down and pulled the hook free, then flung it into the water with an irritable flick of his wrist.
“You don’t have water or an adequate source of heat come winter. It’s still autumn, David. What are you going to do when it’s fifty below and the snow covers the windows and that little woodstove can’t keep up? Those woodstoves pull air in to burn, and when it drops much below zero, they can’t keep up. You don’t have plumbing. You don’t have a shower. Are you going to shovel a path to the outhouse? You’ve had time to look around now. It’s not doable. You can’t…”
“I can’t what?”
Quanah Parker turned around and stared at him. “You aren’t a mountain man. You’re a poet. It’s fun to go camping, David, but you can’t live the winter in your grandpa’s cabin without killing yourself.”
His tone of voice suggested that the subject was closed. David felt his eyes fill with tears, but he didn’t know if he was more hurt or mad. He wasn’t expecting to be perfect at everything, but he was getting better. He could chop wood. He could cook biscuits on top of the stove. And why was Quanah Parker yelling at him? What was the point of forcing him to admit he was a failure?
Well, he wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to give up and run back to Boise. Or anywhere. He wasn’t going anywhere. He had made a commitment, and he was going to stick to it. He waded back to shore, climbed up on the bank, and started working his way out of the waders.
Quanah Parker looked at him. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“David, you don’t understand—”
“Yes, I do. You were speaking English. I understood you perfectly.”
“I was trying to tell you that you could come live with me. That I know who you are. You don’t have to keep beating your head against this wall, trying to prove something to me.”
“I was trying to prove something to myself, not to you.”
“Oh, right. This is about you, not me. You didn’t know I was here. You weren’t expecting the whole foot thing.”
David felt the wet riverbank soaking through his jeans. Laundry. That was another thing he hadn’t figured out. “Quanah Parker…”
“What?”
“Speaking of you and me, can you tell me even one reason that someone like you would want to live with someone like me?”
“No. Figure it out for yourself.”
David was sure that once again he had failed to pick up his cue. He had missed something, the conversation had gone awry, and he had spoiled Quanah Parker’s fishing. “I’m sorry I ruined your day fishing,” he said.
There was no response from the stiff back standing in the middle of the river. David remembered a time when he and Quanah Parker had stood back to back, waiting for the soldiers to come. Now he was sitting in the freezing mud, and Quanah Parker was standing alone in the river, his back unprotected.
David could see three big rocks jutting out of the river. They were a perfect path from him to Quanah Parker. But what did they mean? What did they symbolize in the bigger picture? David wondered if they were like three challenges he would have to face before he would be worthy to live with Quanah Parker and be his love. He was obviously not up to that challenge right now. Because he was an idiot with no pipes and an outhouse full of frozen shit. Okay, the first rock was coming here, giving up everything and coming here. Because he’d known Quanah Parker was here. Of course he’d known. But he had been secretly hoping for a miracle, a savior to come tie him to a tree, and that wasn’t fair. That was not the way a man should behave. Okay, so he had two more challenges. David suspected this was number two. Which way to go? He needed to think. He stood up, maneuvered to the first rock, then stepped gingerly to rock number two. “Are you still talking to me? Please don’t be mad.”
Quanah Parker turned around, alarm in his face, threw down his rod, and reached out to David with both arms. “David, what are you doing? It’s wet. Those moccasins are too slippery—”
And it was like a self-fulfilling prophesy, David thought, feeling himself start a cartwheeling slip and slide. He wasn’t ready for rock number two, and rock number two was about to toss his ass into the river. He crashed over backward, and a nasty little hidden rock was waiting just about where his head landed.
Chapter Eight
“Don’t yell at me, Quanah Parker.”
His head was pounding, and he was lying on his back in the river.
Quanah Parker brushed the curls from his forehead, ran his hands over David’s skull. “You’ve got a goose egg,” he said, pressing the tender spot on the back of David’s head. “Was I yelling at you?”
“It felt like it.”
“I’m sorry, David. I’ll have to remember you’re a tender boy.” Quanah Parker’s face was very close, and he reached down and kissed him, mouth warm against David’s freezing skin. “You ready to get up?”
“I guess so.” He reached a hand up, and Quanah Parker grabbed his wrist and pulled. He rocked a little on his feet and clutched Quanah Parker’s shirt. “Okay, I’m not right. I need to sit down.”
“It’s too cold to stay in the river.” Quanah Parker picked him up and waded out of the river, then set him down gently on the riverbank and stared into his face. “You’re looking a little shocky. Let me get you to my place and warmed up, okay? Then we’ll see if we need to go in to the clinic.”
Quanah Parker carried him home and put him into the hot shower, climbed in with him, and held him against his chest. David rested back against him, then turned in his arms and put his head down, hiding his face. “I’m so stupid. I mean, I never get it right. I always screw it up and make people mad, and I don’t know what I do or what I don’t do, but it’s something.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Men. I just don’t get this whole relationship thing. So I’m not blaming you. It’s me, not you. I wouldn’t be surprised…”
“Settle down. Nobody’s leaving. You just got here. You think I’m going to let you leave?” His mouth was warm against David’s ear. “I’ll tie you to a tree if you try to leave.”
* * *
They had a quiet, warm afternoon in the workshop. David was wearing Quanah Parker’s thick old bathrobe while his clothes went through the washer and dryer. Quanah Parker put Neil Young on the CD player, and he made socks while David learned to use the spinning wheel. Every hour or so he pulled David’s face around and let the afternoon light fall into his eyes to check him for concussion.
“You don’t understand about the foot thing, David.”
“I’m okay with it, though. I’m having a good time thinking up erotic toe haiku.”
There was a long silence. “Well. Good. I’m glad. But what I wanted to explain to you is, I have a loyalty to inappropriate longi
ngs. They fill my life with surprise. It’s not an obsession. It’s a choice.”
David thought about this. “Do you mind if I borrow that sentence? The one about loyalty and inappropriate longings. It’s so wild and unexpected.”
“Sure.” His voice sounded a little tart. “Maybe you can even think about what this means and if it has anything to do with you.” Quanah Parker had switched yarn to a brilliant Christmas red. Socks were rolling out the bottom on his Legare. “Don’t forget we’re going to Sun Valley tomorrow. You have any…other clothes? I just saw flannel shirts and sweats.”
“Not really,” David said, fingering the beard. “I’m thinking about shaving,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I’ve got rug burn on my chin.”
“If I shave, will I be presentable for Sun Valley?”
“How about this?” Quanah Parker parried. “You shave, and I’ll buy you a nice shirt to go with your jeans. And I’ll flip you for a haircut. I have a rep to maintain.”
“What kind of rep?”
“I’m a difficult man full of inappropriate longings. Don’t you want to make all my old boyfriends jealous?”
David stared up at the ceiling. Did he? He wasn’t sure. Most likely he would just start feeling inadequate if he came face-to-face with Quanah Parker’s old boyfriends. He didn’t think he could make anyone jealous, not even with a shave and a haircut and a new shirt. Unless, he thought with some small satisfaction, they were half-assed poets. In which case he would be happy to shove a couple of rhymed couplets up their inadequate—
Quanah Parker sighed. “David, don’t think much.”
* * *
Toe Haiku #2
pink as a berry
blushing hot against my tongue
Quanah Parker’s toe
David was beginning to understand Quanah Parker’s fascination with inappropriate longings. Quanah Parker had draped himself down the length of his bed, and David had sat on the end, cross-legged, and pulled Quanah Parker’s feet into his lap. Quanah Parker’s toes were lovely studied up close, soft and curvy and brown, and David thought they tasted like some rare wood. Anyone, he decided, would embrace inappropriate longings if they were attached to the elegant feet and long legs and huge chest of Quanah Parker. He lifted Quanah Parker’s foot, pressed a kiss to the arch, moved up, and took the big toe between his teeth.