Page 19 of Resilience on Canvas

“Right, yeah,” Henry said, his voice shaking a bit. “Certainly not.”

Robert winced, embarrassment over his remark warming his cheeks.

“Look, we need some rest,” Robert huffed. “Get in yer Goddamn bed before I make you sleep on the porch.”

Not that he’d really ever make Henry sleep outside in these conditions. The poor man’s lungs would probably wind up looking like bags of sand.

Henry kicked off his brown leather boots and scurried toward the bed like a wounded puppy. Lord, here Robert was comparing his friend to a puppy for the second time that evening. It was probably because Henry was kind of cute. He was cute like a puppy was cute.

Robert swatted a hand back and forth in front of his face to rid himself of the thought. Christ Almighty, this newfound fondness for Henry was like a fly he couldn’t seem to be rid of, one that kept on buzzing in his head, irritating him.

“Night, Robert,” Henry said.

“Night,” Robert replied.

After putting out the lamp’s flame, Robert climbed into bed and rolled onto his back. Immediately, he found himself thinking of Henry. Son-of-a-bitch, break-off-a-marriage Henry. Who had ahuge heart. And a handsome smile. And a nice, prominent nose. And full, kissable lips.

Dammit.

He shouldnotbe thinking those kinds of thoughts. Ever. But especially not now. Not with Henry right there in the room.

Rolling onto his side, Robert tried to think of something else. But the only thing that managed to keep his thoughts from returning to Henry was recalling that huge, rolling cloud that had enveloped the whole town earlier that day. Robert could only imagine how frightened his family had been without him. With thoughts of the storm in Robert’s head, self-loathing returned in earnest, making his stomach roil. He couldn’t believe such a huge storm had rolled through and he hadn’t even been there to protect the ones he loved. What kind of sorry excuse for a provider was he?

Robert squeezed his eyes shut, but for the next hour, feelings of self-reproach continued to swirl in his head, pummeling his brain like clumps of topsoil and keeping him from falling asleep.

***

Hours later, Robert bolted upright, beads of sweat coating near every inch of his skin. Even though the particulars of the nightmare that had woken him had mostly vanished the moment he’d startled awake, the fear he had been feeling lingered, sharp as ever, its blade still cutting through him like a knife. Flashes of horrible things flickered in his mind—his family’s pitiful garden eaten by Hoover hogs, the children’s faces flushed from coughing, Clara thinnerand meeker and smaller than ever, his whole family withering like crops in the unrelenting summer sun—and Robert’s breath shook as he tried to make them stop. Trembling, he hopped out of bed and began to search for his tin of cigarettes in one of the old pairs of pants that lay strewn across the floor, taking care not to make too much noise while he tried to locate it.

After Robert found the tin, he fumbled for the lamp, lit it, and left for the porch. Luckily, the porch’s roof provided some protection from the lingering filth hovering in the sky. Dust or not, he needed some privacy. Even if it meant clogging up his lungs in every which way.

And,God, that first inhale of the cigarette, it burned so good.

Robert sat for a while puffing on it. He was lost in thought when he heard the door open behind him and quiet footsteps approach.

“Robert?”

It was Henry. Robert balanced the cigarette between his lips and scooted over, motioning for Henry to sit next to him. After a pause, Henry sat. Robert held out the tin.

“Want one?” he asked, his lit cigarette still perched on the edge of his mouth.

“No, thanks,” Henry said.

Henry Sherwood, cute little puppy that he was, hadn’t probably never even touched tobacco. Sweet, innocent bastard.

Robert’s chest clenched as that Goddamn fondness he was feeling returned with force. Grimacing, he took one more inhale of his cigarette to try to burn the feeling away. When Robert blew out the breath, he watched the smoke mix with the little brown snowflakes still hanging in the air as it left the confines of the porch.

He laughed a bitter laugh.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even try,” he said. “It feels like...like the end of times.”

He half expected Henry to blurt out some sort of platitude, but Henry only sat there silently. Robert took a couple more pulls of his cigarette, wishing he could somehow expel some of the hopelessness and lingering worry with each exhale. But the only thing that left him was smoke.

Groaning, Robert shut his eyes and hit the back of his head on the house a couple of times, relishing the way the knocking hurt, the pain providing him with something else to focus on.

Henry scooted closer. And Robert’s stomach tumbled some more.

Why, oh why, was he starting to like the puppy-man who had rejected his sister?

---