Page 42 of Resilience on Canvas

Henry, who was next to him on the left, moved a cracker with marmalade into Robert’s line of sight, setting the plate next to Robert’s bowl.

“Don’t you want to taste the fruits of our labor?” he asked.

Robert shrugged. Henry inched it closer.

Reluctantly, Robert picked up the cracker and shoved it in his mouth, but even the sweetness of the marmalade couldn’t counter his bitter mood. Because everything was a Goddamn mess.

Just as Robert finally moved to take an actual bite of stew rather than just stirring the contents around in the bowl, Henry’s father stood, announcing that he would go find somerealmarmalade. Mr. Sherwood disappeared into the kitchen, and Robert placed his spoon back in the bowl. His stomach had started churning too violently for him to eat.

By the time Mr. Sherwood returned, declaring, “Alright,nowit’s a proper meal!,” Robert’s sickening shame was swiftly turning to rage.

Why on God’s no-longer-green earth were some people struggling—reallystruggling—like Robert and his family, while other families—folks like the Sherwoods—were only facing minor inconveniences from time to time? Son of a bitch, it wasn’tfair.

Teeth clenched, Robert reached for the box of crackers. He hoped no one else would notice that his hand was trembling, fury rumbling beneath the surface of his skin.

Despite Robert’s efforts, Henry must have noticed. He stood up and fetched the box of crackers, setting it between them, and then took out two of the little beige rectangles, one for himself and one for Robert. When he handed one to Robert, their fingers brushed together, and his touch lingered asmidgetoo long.

And if Robert wasn’t mistaken, it had been intentional. Henry was trying to comfort him.

Wantflickered to life inside Robert’s chest, its heat mixing with the lingering warmth of his fury and making Robert’s entire body burn. With his free hand, Robert took hold of his own shirt collar to fan himself a couple of times, not yet certain which flame was burning brighter, the fire of desire that he felt toward Henry Sherwood or the fire of upset he felt over his failure to thrive in the Goddamn wasteland that was western Oklahoma.

Henry said to the table, “I, uhm, I think we might need to keep the cracker box over here. Ain’t nothing wrong with the stew, but Robert likes sweet stuff.”

“Me, too, Robert,” Henry’s father said, holding up the orange marmalade, which he then held out for Henry to take.

Robert clenched one hand into a fist.

Henry said, “Ah, no, I’m fine with the carrot one, thanks. I, uhm, I like it better than the orange stuff. It’s more interesting.” He bumped Robert’s foot with his own. “And I like things that are interesting.”

Robert relaxed his hand, Henry’s sweet sentiment washing over him like cool, nourishing rain. When Henry knocked his foot once more, Robert’s heart fluttered, and he had to purse his lips to keep himself from smiling, the fire ofwantwithin him now blazing hotter than the sun.

“Well, to each their own,” Mr. Sherwood said. After setting the marmalade back on the table, he took a bite of stew. “So,” he began before pausing to swallow, “how are you liking the store, Robert?”

“I like it fine,” he said slowly, still trying to contend with the fluttery, happy feelings in his chest. Henry really had saved him from his own upset, keeping him from saying something he’d have likely soon regretted. Hopefully he could pay Henry back somehow. Maybe first by letting Henry’s parents know what aGoddamn treasure their son was. “Henry’s a fine teacher. Thorough. Smart as a whip, too. He even taught me a math trick that I can use when ringin’ up the customers. Saved my rear end.” He spread his legs a little beneath the table, touching his knee to Henry’s leg for a moment. “I have to say, I was real impressed by him.” He nudged Henry’s leg once more, intentionally keeping contact this time. “Iamreal impressed by him.”

Henry stilled, his face turning crimson. Robert could feel the heat rising to his own cheeks, too. Never before had he flirted so brazenly. But never before had he liked a man this intensely, either. God help them both if even one other person in the room noticed.

Mr. Sherwood smacked the table half-heartedly, while Mrs. Sherwood clasped her hands together in front of her chest, smiling from ear to ear.

“Now there’s something every parent wants to hear,” Mr. Sherwood said. Smiling, he threw Henry a nod. “Good work, son.”

Henry tucked his head into his shoulders a little. “Thanks.”

Robert smiled proudly, and his stomach stopped churning.

Somehow, he made it through the rest of the meal without issue.

After everyone was finished eating, Clara helped Mrs. Sherwood clean up in the kitchen while Henry, Henry’s father, and the children left for the front room. Robert stayed in his chair, wondering how the hell he was supposed to handle his friendship with Henry. He wanted nothing more than for the two of them to be together.Togethertogether. He wanted it more than even surviving this never-ending hell storm of topsoil that had ravaged their land. But it wasn’t only whathewanted that mattered. Robert had his whole family to consider.

And he hadn’t the slightest clue what the hell he ought to do.

After a few minutes, Henry came back into the dining room.

“I, uhm, I thought I could take y’all home myself,” he said, rubbing his bicep with his opposite hand. “Unless you would rather walk?”

Robert’s eyebrows shot up, hopeful excitement bursting to life in his chest.

“No, Hen, of course you can take us home.” Holy hell, more time with Henry. Robert could barely believe it. It was as though God had taken pity on him for once. Whether him and Henry stayed friends or whether they became something more, Robert couldn’t help but want the two of them to spend as much time together as they could. “Would you wanna stay, too? I mean, once Thomas and Peter and May are in bed, we could—”

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