Page 33 of Resilience on Canvas

Henry

Henry’sstomachwasinhis throat while he waited for Robert to show up to his first shift at the store. Gnawing on his fingernails, Henry watched the seconds tick by on the wall clock. Any minute now, Robert would be here. It would be their first time seeing each other since the whole marmalade thing. If Henry closed his eyes, he could still feel Robert’s calloused thumb wiping his cheek. He could still see the heat that had been burning behind Robert’s eyes when he had licked his thumb clean, too. Dear God, what a sight that had been.

The entryway bell rang.

Henry swiveled to face the front of the store. Robert was strolling toward the counter with a tight, thin-lipped smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. Henry’s stomach clenched. He hadneverseen Robert smile such a fake smile before. Robert Davis wore his emotions on his sleeve. Why was he pretending with Henry now? Did he think that Henry was the type of man who would break his promise to help Robert and his family because of the incident with the marmalade? Henry never wanted Robert to feel like he had to be nothing but himself. Gosh, how was he supposed to fix this?

“Mornin’,” Robert said, still smiling that false smile that was making Henry’s stomach roil. “I’m ready to learn from you.”

“H-hey, Robert,” Henry said. “Let’s start with the, uhm, the shipments.”

“Whatever you want.”

Henry started toward the back of the store and motioned for Robert to follow. They passed behind the counter and then through a door into the stockroom. Inside, there were a couple of wooden skids, one with sacks of flour and the other with bags of sugar, both types with a variety of patterns—from tastefully spaced-out ears of corn to a pink-and-white-checkered pattern to rows of little roses—which made the piles look more like they contained a bunch of folded-up pieces of clothing rather than sacks of flour and sugar. Soon enough, many of the sackswouldbecome clothing. It never failed to make Henry smile to see little school children running around wearing last month’s shipment of flour sacks. He had to wonder whether it was the same in the cities or if it was only in places like Guymon where this happened.

When Henry realized he ought to be saying something, he reached up to rub the back of his neck, fumbling to find the words.

“See, these big orders come every few weeks. Sometimes we receive boxes of cereal. Other times, we have to restock the candies. Got a bunch of orders this past week, though. I think the storm must have put the trains behind. I, uhm, I restocked the shelves with the canned stuff already, but I saved the flour and sugar for us to try today.”

Robert hummed thoughtfully.

“Bet you they’re heavy,” he said, eyeing the skid with the flour sacks. “Don’t you tire yerself out carrying ’em out to the front?”

Henry shrugged. It could be tiring for sure, but he liked that.

Robert walked over to the skid. He hoisted up two bags of flour, one for each shoulder. “Alright, tell me where to put ’em.”

Henry cleared his throat. “Yeah, let me . . .”

He picked up two bags himself. While lifting them, he tried not to think back on that shirtless image of Robert he had stored in his brain. But he failed, and the image planted itself right in his mind—Robert’s beautifully tanned skin and sculpted physique. Sucking in a sharp breath, Henry started back toward the front of the store, keeping his eyes low. He knew he shouldn’t risk looking at Robert right now. Not while the man was carrying those flour sacks and looking like some kind of Greek or Roman statue. Still, Henry could hear Robert’s footsteps behind him, and the knowledge that a magnificent man like him was only one or two feet away was enough to make Henry’s heart start to pitter-patter.

Four more hours with Robert Davis. Lord Almighty. How would he ever make it through?

Henry set the sacks atop the pile of flour sacks from the previous shipment. Normally, they’d have run out of flour completely by now, with this current shipment being as late as it was. The fact that there were still ten or so sacks of flour left probably meant that people were running even lower on funds than they had been before. Or maybe some more families had left recently, fleeing to California or Idaho or even the East Coast. Most likely, it was a combination of these. Henry tried to push the thought from his mind.

Both men continued like this for a while, restocking the supply of flour first and then taking care of the sacks of sugar. All the while, Robert kept making the most wonderful noises—colorful-sounding grunts—whenever he had to hoist up a couple more bags. Each time, Henry found himself picturing the most sordid, inappropriate things. Good God, he could hardly cope with how much he wanted this magnificent man.

When they were finally close to finishing the task and Henry moved to pick up the last sack of sugar, Robert clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’d haveneverthought that you’d be strong enough to keep up with me,” he said. “Yer stronger than you look.” He squeezed Henry’s shoulder ever so slightly. “Ain’t you, Hen?”

Henry only barely managed a nod. Robert squeezed once more, and Henry’s knees nearly buckled. Dang, Robert was probably the most confusing man in the whole world.

After they were finished restocking, Henry showed Robert the register, which, thankfully, proved to be much less exciting. Then, Henry took out some books he and his uncle used to keep track of things—inventory and money and other notes they needed to make, like whether someone was paying with somethingotherthan money, which happened from time to time. Truthfully, it was happening more and more lately that folks needed to purchase food with things they owned or even trade some potatoes or peas for things like beans or tobacco. How long would it be before Uncle Bob couldn’t even make enoughrealcash to pay for the rent? Worry trickled up the back of Henry’s neck as he considered this possibility. What would happen to the folks of Guymon, then? What would happen to Uncle Bob? Or Robert?

Robert said, “What’s next?”

And Henry shook his head, shooing the worry away.

“Right. Next.”

Whatwasnext? Uncle Bob took care of everything else. What wasnextwas helping the customers. Ringing them up. Carrying things to their car or wagon sometimes, especially if the customer was elderly or if she was a woman (though Henry had learned that certain women in town balked at Henry’s offers to help; he had nearly had his head bitten off a few times).

Before Henry could say that there wasn’t much left to learn, other than how to actuallyworkthe register, the bell rang. In strolled Mr. Benjamin Miller, one of Henry’s least favorite customers. Mr. Miller had never not commented that the prices were too high or that the cans were becoming smaller (they weren’t; Henry was sure of it) or whatever else. He was one of those folks who loved to complain.

Henry forced a smile as his shoulders tensed.

“Mornin’, Mr. Miller,” he said. “Can I help you find somethin’?”

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