by Pat Henshaw
Con jumped like I’d caught him doing something wrong.
“Good to see you again, Mitch,” Con said and stood abruptly.
They shook hands. Were they pretending I hadn’t just seen them conferring? Who the hell cared? Not me.
“Hey, you’re welcome to join us for lunch, Con. You have to eat, right?” I asked and nodded to the table.
He gave me an odd look but sat down, still holding Mitch’s hand. When I eyed their handshake, it broke apart.
“I thought we were going to talk about the remodel.” Mitch looked puzzled. His gaze searched my face as if I were up to something.
“Oh, we can talk in front of Con. He may be a damn good baker now, but he’s always been a part of the construction business. Right, Con?”
Con blushed and nodded, his eyes never leaving me.
I didn’t know why both of them were being so cagey and watching me like I was the suspicious one. I hadn’t invited someone to come see him in San Francisco. I wasn’t the brother who seemed eager to get out of Stone Acres and tour the big city. I had nothing to hide.
Mitch asked me questions about the remodel until our lunches were served. The three of us ate a few bites in silence. Why were we all so fucking jumpy? What was going on that I’d missed?
My phone signaled a text. After a peek at the message, I got up, half of my lunch still uneaten. I was needed at a job site.
“Look. I’ve got to go. Talk to you guys later.”
I started to walk away, but Mitch called me back to the table.
“Uh, Ben. I’ve gotta go to the city after lunch and won’t be back until late Friday night. Where and what time do I meet you for the rally on Saturday?” Mitch looked concerned, like he was letting me down or something.
I turned. I really did need to go to the latest Behr Construction crisis. I didn’t have time to talk about the rally or Mitch or anything that confused me right now.
“If you’re busy….”
Mitch cut me off with a “No! I want to do the rally!”
I shrugged. I’d given him an out. Wasn’t my fault he hadn’t taken it.
“We start at eight thirty. Why don’t we meet at the construction office?”
“Great! I’ll be there.” The pause was short enough that I hadn’t turned away. “What should I wear?”
Given what I’d seen of his wardrobe, it was a valid question.
“Do you own jeans, a T-shirt, and boots or cross-trainers?”
He nodded happily, then rubbed his hands together. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
More than anything, he acted like an overgrown kid who was being given a treat. Compared to most big guys, he would have looked silly, but Mitch’s delight made me happy.
I hoped the rally didn’t turn into a disorganized mess like some of them did. Or worse, disintegrate into a shouting match at the end with everyone accusing everyone else of cheating. I’d been to too many of those get-togethers where I rode away disgusted instead of feeling exhilarated. I wanted Mitch to experience the heady sense of accomplishment that came from completing a challenge. I’d do what I could to see he got it.
His pure joy at being included told me he wasn’t used to simple fun in his life. If nothing else, I could show him that.
As I walked away, though, I glanced back and saw Mitch and Con leaning in toward each other again. Mitch gave a hearty burst of laughter as he looked up at me.
I shook my head at my overwhelming wish to make him happy. Who was I kidding? Con was much more suited to give him pleasure. I was merely a good-old-boy diversion.
4
SATURDAY DAWNED pure and sunny. Mitch showed up at the office in the newest pair of jeans I’d seen since grade school, when my big brother Abe bought me some so I wouldn’t have only hand-me-downs to wear.
“Okay, Rita’s ready to go.” His glee smacked me in the face.
I wasn’t exactly sober, but I wasn’t hung over either. I’d just had almost one too many at Stonewall Saloon last night when I’d gotten into a debate about whether the Raiders were going to trounce the 49ers on Sunday. I loved to talk football, so it’d been a busy night for me.
“Uh, Rita?” I looked from him to his car. “Where’s she going?”
“The rally. She’s our ride. How else are we going to win?”
I rolled my eyes at his exuberant sincerity. “I did tell you the rally isn’t a speed race, right?”
He stared at me blankly but nodded.
“It’s about precision, not how fast we get to the finish line. You’ve got that, right?”
He nodded. “But, Ben, Rita’s got more electronics. So we’ll be more precise than your, uh, truck.”
“Not necessarily. A rally is more about us and how well we work together than the machinery we’re using. Trust me.”
He looked at me and then sorrowfully at Rita.
“Rita can’t go? We can’t take her?”
Oh, for God’s sake. How could I explain so he understood that my ten-year-old truck and his just-out-of-the-box Rita were the same as far as a rally was concerned?
“Whatever. We’ll take your car, Mitch. I’m sure she’ll do fine.”
He beamed at me.
“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, Ben.”
Right. Why the hell did he look so adorable at getting his way? Or was that adorkable? Then I almost gagged. What? Had I turned into a preteen suddenly? I felt like an idiot.
ON A long, straight stretch of road, he groaned like I was stabbing him.
“You gotta be kidding. Twenty fricking miles per hour? Really?” He looked over at me as I read the directions. I nodded. He flipped on the cruise control. “Okay, so now what do we do? Play cards?”
I turned up the cool jazz he had played every time I’d been in this car.
“Rita prefers jazz?” I asked.
“Yeah. She’s got taste.”
“She ever listen to country?”
“Music? No. She’s sophisticated.”
I nodded. Figured. Us unsophisticated barbarians weren’t smooth enough for her.
He started fiddling with the station controls on the steering wheel and suddenly “I Will Always Love You,” a slow country ballad, filtered through the cab. When I began humming along, he glanced over at me.
“You like this song?” he asked.
“Yeah. It’s one of those you can dance to while you hug close to your baby and block out the rest of the world. You know?”
“Oh yeah. I know.”
I wondered from his soft, regretful tone what else this song might remind him of. I also wondered what it would be like to dance with a man. Would you get that same us-in-our-own-world feel? Or would you be fighting to see who got to control the steps and who could dominate the other?
“This song remind you of anybody?” he asked me.
“Not really. I don’t do relationships. Just mostly good times.” I sighed. “Abe says when I meet the right one, everything will change. But I don’t know. Stone Acres is a pretty small place, so the chance of running into the only girl in the world for me seems pretty thin.”
“Also pretty exclusive. Maybe you should expand your options.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
He sat up straighter and looked at the control panel. “How many miles were we supposed to go on this road? Six?”
I scanned the directions, and we were back in rally mode.
Other than the fact that we were on the wrong road and had gone down it too many miles before we turned around, we did pretty well.
WHEN I told Abe and Con about our discussion, they both gave me similar grins.
“Maybe Mitch was hinting that you’re leaving out fifty percent of the possibilities while you’re looking for your perfect match,” Con said.
“Fifty percent? How so?”
Abe huffed out an irritated sigh. “Fifty percent of the population, Ben. That’s what he meant.”
“Fifty—oh, wait! You think he meant I should consid
er men too?”
Connor laughed, and Abe frowned at me like I’d failed the easiest math test in the world. Damn, did I feel stupid.
Men? Should I consider maybe my perfect match was a man?
They had to be kidding. Didn’t they?
AFTER THE first rally, Mitch invited himself to another one, as well as to poker games and other places I went with the guys. He was slowly becoming one of the gang and my new best friend, sort of. We still had this thing between us, this thing that I couldn’t figure out for the life of me. But I liked having him hang around. It sure beat me having to ask him if he wanted to come along. This whole dating versus two guys hanging out business was just too confusing.
Besides, Mitch was in town most of the time anyway to talk to Abe about the demo going on in the roadhouse. Abe was leading the project; I wasn’t involved after signing Mitch up.
As per usual, all three of us had breakfast on the next race day. When we left, Mitch’s over-the-top excitement bounced off the walls and into me.
He grabbed his to-go cup of coffee and gave me a quick bro hug after Abe went back to the office.
“Okay. This is it. I can just feel it. We’re going to win and win big today,” Mitch crowed.
I still hadn’t gotten the concept of “win” across to him. A rally “win” meant we traveled the course in exactly the same amount of time it had taken the rally master to run it. Not one second more or less. Rallying was a little like darts or archery. The closest one won.
“Whatever, Mitch. We’re starting at the feed store today.”
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and got into Rita. I read Mitch the first directions, and we were off.
As we rounded a curve midmorning, some of the rally guys were standing around a dead deer in the road, looking down, talking, and shaking their heads.
“If we stop, we’ll lose the race,” Mitch said in a neutral voice.
“Yup. Why don’t you pull over there next to the Tacoma?”
While he parked next to the truck, Mitch said, “What are we gonna do?”
“Move the deer and clean up the mess.”
I hated stuff like this because I felt bad for the slain animal. But if it was left on the road, it could cause more of a hazard than it already was, especially since it came right after a hairpin turn, which is probably how it got killed in the first place.
Working together, we had the thing off the road and into the trees quickly, using the shovels some guys had in their trucks. Mitch and I put on disposable plastic gloves and scattered dirt over the slick parts in the road just as the next driver in the rally came up.
“You guys always do cleanup like this?” Mitch asked, sweat rolling down his forehead.
“Yeah. When it’s in the road and could hurt someone.” I shrugged. “Why?”
“Isn’t there a highway department you could call to come out and do it?”
“Sure. But why endanger another driver? We clean it up and call it in to the highway patrol, and everyone’s safer. Isn’t that the way it works in the city too?” I’d handed him my bandana and was watching him mop up.
“No. Most people don’t even call it in.” He sounded sad and gave me a puzzled look.
Okay, maybe people in the city and the country weren’t exactly alike, but I would have thought we’d be closer when it came to road safety. I couldn’t imagine just leaving the deer’s body in the road when I could do something about it.
We were silent as I reread the directions and we got back on the road.
Mitch was getting the hang of slow and fast, back and forth, doubling and tripling a route, and following directions. I’d long ago given up winning. For one thing, I didn’t really care if we beat out everyone else. I competed for the personal challenge. To me, a rally was like going on a hunting trip without a kill at the end. I saw it like a way to be outside soaking up nature and enjoying the countryside.
But Mitch seemed focused on winning.
“Why do you care so much about being first and best?” As the second in line after Abe, I’d figured out a long time ago that I’d never be the first to do anything in our family. The important thing was I’d get to experience it too. Who cared if I did it first, second, or last? Not me.
Mitch laughed at my question. “It’s not about being first or best, Ben. It’s about precision, remember? I pride myself on being able to decide on a goal and meet it. But this rally thing’s killing me. See those directions? What we need to do is all there. Simple. So why can’t we?”
“The directions don’t account for accidents or problems.”
“Right. So that’s where we come in. We should be able to solve the problems and work around the accidents and still adjust our schedule so we come in on time or within seconds. But so far we haven’t been able to do that. It’s just—I don’t know—frustrating.”
“So can’t we just go out there and have fun, Mitch?”
His face was all mashed up with overthinking. I was surprised. He usually took everything with a grin.
“One more shot at perfection and then we just go out for the hell of it?” he pleaded.
I shrugged. “Sure. Whatever. Rally season’s just about over anyway.”
We were doing good—real good, actually. We’d compensated adequately for the deer in the road and were trucking right along when we came up to a crucial intersection.
“We go left, right?” Mitch asked.
“Right.”
Fuck if he didn’t turn right.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. I was kinda chuckling since this seemed typical of our rally record.
“What? You said go right.”
“No, you asked if you should turn left, right.”
“Left, right? I did not.”
“Yeah, you did. You said, ‘We go left, right?’ I said, ‘Right.’ I was agreeing with you.”
“I said ‘left, right’? And you said ‘right’?” Then Mitch broke up laughing. Tears were running down his face. He tried to wipe up and swerved.
We were both howling so hard that I didn’t hardly have the breath to tell him to pull off the road. After he stopped the car, we sat crying and laughing. We’d stop, then start all over again.
“Yeah, okay. Right, right? Yeah,” he said at one point as he panted to a shaky stop.
I was breathing heavy next to him. Suddenly, without warning, he all but jumped the console, grabbed me by the cheeks, and kissed me.
Fuck. Oh fuck. I was screwed. After the gut-punching surprise and a surge of fear, I realized it was the best damn kiss I’d ever had in my life. And it was over quicker than a dragonfly flits away.
“Oh God! We gotta get ourselves some new words if we’re ever going to win this thing.” Mitch was panting again, like me. Only this time mine didn’t have anything to do with laughter.
On the way back, we didn’t talk. I was so confused, my head felt like jackalope stew—a mishmash of thoughts, feelings, and fears I’d never experienced before. I had to get my country ass together and figure out what was going on with me.
Mitch was totally outta my league, but he intrigued me. Okay, yeah, sure, I was fucking attracted. But was I attracted by a bright, shiny new object or by something deeper?
How was I supposed to figure this out? Maybe Abe or Connor would know, but damn, I didn’t want to talk about how I was feeling and how conflicted I was. They’d never let me hear the end of it.
As I was going round and round about this, Mitch had started drumming on the steering wheel, not in time with the country song blaring from the radio. I glanced over at him and saw a grim businessman. My laughing, kissing companion was long gone, which was a relief of sorts.
Now this guy I understood and could get along with. In fact, I’d been wondering about his other life.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about your nightclubs in the city. What are they like?”
Something had been bothering him. I watched his face as his thoughts changed track
.
“The clubs? They’re good. Nothing too spectacular, except maybe a couple of them. Just nice clubs where people can go, relax, listen to some music.” He gave me a slow smile that was quickly turning into Mitch-level excitement. “Hey, here’s an idea.”
I groaned at how goddamn perky he sounded. I’d just been making conversation, not trying to rev him up.
He gave me a quick side glance. “No, really. Here’s a great idea. You’ll like it, Ben.”
“Okay, lay it on me. What’s the idea?”
“How about I take you around the city this weekend, and you take me on a camping trip next week?”
He looked like a damned bright-eyed squirrel, and I felt like Boris Badenov when my immediate answer was a silent “No way!”
He was sucking me in, and I didn’t think I liked to be sucked. I didn’t think. At least, no one I’d ever known had tried it with me. Where I come from, everyone’s pretty much clear as glass. You know what you’re dealing with when you see them for the first time. Mitch was a pile of kaleidoscopic bits and pieces, mostly bright and fascinating with a few dull stones thrown in for variety’s sake. Fuck me if I didn’t want to pick up each little piece and study it, trying to learn what its job was in the life of the whole man.
Shit, and now I was becoming some sort of sorry cowboy poet. Dammit. Better to get back to the practical.
“You want to go camping? Why?” I liked to spend the night in the woods, especially this time of the year when it’s not too hot and the insects are at a minimum.
“Hey, I grew up in San Francisco, Ben. I’m what some people call a city rat. I never belonged to a Scout troop or anything like it, so all I saw was concrete most of the time, unless I trekked to the park or the shore.”
He was talking about Golden Gate Park, which was a long, wide swath of green cutting through mostly townhouses and apartments both fancy and plain. The park housed a bunch of my favorite buildings and walks.
What most people didn’t know about me was that I don’t mind going into the city. Sure, like any country boy, I couldn’t imagine living in it, but I loved seeing all the new and different things there. I could imagine me enjoying a weekend in the city more than I could imagine Mitch enjoying a few days camping.