Page 62 of Fool Me

NINETEEN

ATLAS

On Monday, when I walk over to Denver’s with a case of nonalcoholic beer in hand, still feeling a little off from the heavy workday over the weekend, I find him waiting for me on his wraparound porch. He’s wearing the same shit-eating grin I remember from when we were kids, and there’s something oddly comforting about it, like with everything that has changed since, nothing has changed between us.

“Did you plan to tell me you were my neighbor, or were you just waiting to see how long it would take me to figure it out?” I holler at him from the lawn.

“I figured you’d work it out when I told you where we were meeting for a beer tonight.”

I hold up the case of nonalcoholic beer. “Got a place I can put this?”

I didn’t want to skip out, but I know alcohol will make me spiral right back into the darkness Harlowe pulled me out of yesterday. They only had one option for nonalcoholic beer at the General Store, but Gerty was kind enough to reassure me he’d look into carrying more when I brought it up at check out. I’ve learned to expect the brush off when I ask if a store would carry more choices, even in Houston. But I was pleasantly surprisedwhen he just jotted down the name of my favorites without question.

Denver scoffs at my dumb ass. “Do I . . . it’s been a while, but it hasn’t been that long. Garage fridge, barn fridge, or house fridge. Pick your poison.”

I chuckle and ask, “Are the horseshoe pits still in the same place?” Denver’s uncle hosted his graduation party and all us newly-minted adults “played horseshoe” because we knew the barn fridge was stocked with beer we could sneak.

“Sure are.”

“Barn fridge it is.” He takes the steps two at a time, greeting me with an arm around my shoulder as he turns us in that direction. As kids, Denver was the class clown, always quick with a joke and a hug. If anyone was going to welcome me into the fold like I never left, it was going to be him. And now that I’m here, it seems silly that I was worried about it.

Denver pushes the sliding barn door open and sweeps his arm out. “Just as dusty as when you left.” He leads the way across the barn to the same mint fridge I remember sneaking into after bonfires and football games.

“Did Uncle Deacon ever figure out that we were stealing his beer out from under him?”

His laugh is as loud and booming as I remember it being. “Why do you think it was always stocked?”

I chuckle. We thought we were so sly, taking it from here instead of our own houses. Turns out we were just as naïve as you’d expect high school kids to be.

Denver pulls on the handle, and I duck inside to store my cans. “Want me to grab you one?”

“Sure. Any kind is fine.” I grab a local IPA for him along with one of mine and then pause. “Um . . . Why is there a random glove in here?”

He shrugs when I straighten and toss him his can. “No one knows, but until someone claims it, it lives there.”

“Is this some sort of farm superstition that I’m not aware of?”

His smile widens. “Nah, it just gets under Briar’s skin and I like her a little feisty.”

“Still?” I ask with a laugh.

“Forever and always, my man.”

The two of us walk back outside and start setting up the horseshoe pits, catching up as we do. There’s an apology right on the tip of my tongue when Denver’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Yeah. It’s good to be here. But . . . um . . . I’m sorry I disappeared the way I did. Without staying in touch, I mean.”

“Nah, after what your brother did to you, I can’t blame you.”

“You know.”

He gives me a look that tells me how stupid that question was.

“Of course, you know. Small town bullshit.”

“Small town bullshit,” he agrees. “Do you two talk now?”

“Only when forced.”

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