Page 75 of Sweet T

Tucker came out from behind the bar to see what all the commotion was about and saw Evan standing there, grinning. In his clutched fist held high was an orange backpack.

“I don’t understand. Where was it?” Shelly asked.

Sebastian answered. “Just on the other side of the door. He saw it when we pulled into the parking lot.”

Evan took the bag to the nearest table.

“Wait a minute,” said Tucker, stopping Evan’s hand on the zipper. “We don’t know what’s in it. What if it’s a bomb?”

“I know you love this place, T,” Shelly said from behind them, “but I don’t think anyone is looking to blow it up.”

Evan unzipped the bag and rummaged inside.

“We don’t know what kind of person we’re dealing with here,” Tucker said.

“Well, we know one thing,” Evan said, holding up a handful of cash. “He’s not a thief.”

* * *

None of Evan’s belongings were missing from the backpack. They couldn’t consider reasons for its mysterious return for long, though, because of an influx of unexpected early evening traffic. Soon the tavern was filled with a sizable birthday celebration and the Historical Society’s after-meeting social, in addition to their regular Tuesday customers.

Sebastian was uncharacteristically quiet. Evan assured him that the show would indeed go on, and that he had no intentions of abandoning him just because he got his money back.

Tucker was quiet, too. At first, he used being busy as an excuse. But as the evening wound down, it became more obvious how preoccupied he was. Several times, Shelly gave him a sympathetic glance, sensing his unease.

* * *

On the way home, Tucker’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and speculations, none of which brought him any peace. His infatuation with Evan grew every day. So far, these burgeoning feelings had been manageable. Evan’s dependence had given Tucker a false sense of security, that he had plenty of time for things to play out naturally and, perhaps, Evan would come to feel the same way. But the return of the backpack was a massive monkey wrench thrown into his plan, bringing Evan’s inevitable departure closer. Tucker gripped the steering wheel tightly, doing his best to focus on the road, shooing these troubling thoughts to the periphery where they flitted about like worrisome gnats.

“Are you mad at me?” Evan asked.

They pulled up to the same traffic light as the night before. Tucker looked at him in the same red glow. “No. Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve felt wonderful all day. You fixed me breakfast. I had a productive rehearsal with Sebastian at the Black Sheep, and tonight I got my bag, my phone, and my money back. Everything should be great, yet I feel like you’re not happy with me.”

Tucker heaved a deep sigh. “I have a lot of things going through my head right now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tucker looked at Evan, trying his best to concentrate. But words wouldn’t come.

“I promise I’m not gonna run off without paying you back,” Evan said. “I would never do that. I also wouldn’t–”

The light changed to green.

“Hold that thought,” Tucker said. “I can’t do this and drive.”

He made a left at the light instead of going straight toward home. They drove for a couple of miles outside of city limits before he made another turn onto Fletcher Mill, a dirt road. There was no other traffic, only corn fields surrounding them. Tucker stuck to the center of the road, avoiding the sloped gulleys on either side. They rode at a crawl, truck purring through two intersections, before Tucker stopped, put the truck into park, and killed the engine.

Evan looked around, a tad apprehensive. “This is not where you murder and bury me for my three thousand dollars, is it?”

Tucker smiled. His first in a while. “Do they not have dirt roads in Waynesboro?”

“If they do, I somehow avoided them. I guess being a theatre queen and tattoo whore kept me closer to the paved sections of town.”

“Dirt roads don’t discriminate. Neither do I.”

The moon was bright, but with the dashboard lights dark, their faces were mostly in shadow.

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