Page 9 of Something Like Summer
Tim was silent for amoment. “So it’s true?”
Ben let a slow smile playover his face. He loved this part. It always felt like revealing toa disbeliever that he had magical powers or something.“Yup.”
“Hmmm.”
That took Ben off guard,since it wasn’t the usual response. Normally, one of two thingswould happen. The guy would either play it off like he wasn’tsurprised and name some random gay uncle or somebody else he barelyknew to show that he was both worldly and accepting of such things,or he would slide straight into being offensive. Tim had doneneither and opted for a musing “hmmm.” Whatever thatmeant.
“You have some sort of carname, right?”
Ben chuckled. “Yeah.Bentley, but I don’t know anything about Bentleyseither.”
“So, Benjamin Bentley, doyou know my name as well as where I live?”
“It’s Ben, not Benjamin,”he replied, avoiding the question.
“Benjamin it is,” Timteased. “Hey! Easy on the curves! Jesus!”
“Sorry. So where are youfrom? I mean, I haven’t seen you in school before thisyear.”
“Kansas.” Tim settled backinto his seat, but was now watching the road with preparedalertness. “We moved down here so Dad could straighten out thesouthern division of his company. So he says. I think it’s onlybecause Mom never stopped bitching about the winters upthere.”
“You miss it?”
Tim sighed and looked outthe passenger side window. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Ben wished he knew how itfelt to leave everything behind. He had lived in The Woodlands hisentire life and often fantasized about moving somewhere new.Anywhere would do, even Kansas. He just wanted to see somethingunfamiliar.
“Fuck!” Timyelled.
Ben snapped out of hisdaydream in time to avoid hitting the car ahead of them that hadslowed at a stop sign. He swung into the empty oncoming trafficlane and barreled through the intersection to the angry honking ofan old pickup truck. He hit the gas again to make it through beforethey collided with anyone and veered back into the proper lane onthe other side.
“Pull over!” Tim growled.“I’m driving.”
“We’re almost there.”Ben’s nerves were steady as steel. Something like this happenedevery time he drove.
Ben pulled up and stoppedthe car at the hospital’s emergency entrance where wheelchairs werescattered around aimlessly like shopping carts at a supermarket.Once he had Tim settled into one of these, Ben got back into thecar and parked it, having to brake suddenly at one point to avoidhitting an old lady.
“It’s no wonder you ran meover,” Tim said as Ben pushed him toward reception. “They shouldn’tlet you near anything with wheels.”
Clipboards and paperworkoccupied the next half hour, followed by a heated debate with thereceptionist as to why Tim didn’t know what sort of insurancecoverage he had. Eventually, everything was handed in and they wereleft to wait with a number of other patients with minorinjuries.
Tim became withdrawn againas they waited, his head leaned back and his gray eyes focused onthe ceiling. His jaw clenched occasionally. Ben watched, countingthe seconds between each clench, like he did with thunder tomeasure the closeness of a storm. There was the slightest hint ofstubble on the line of his jaw. Ben wanted to reach out and tracehis finger along his skin to see what it felt like.
“I hate doctors,” Timmurmured.
“Do you want me to holdyour hand?” Ben asked with a straight face before he and Tim bothburst into laughter.
“I really do,” Timinsisted. “Hate doctors I mean. You have no idea!”
“Oh, I might,” Ben saidwith a smile. “One of the few times I was in the hospital as a kidwas for a couple of fillings.”
“Like for your teeth?” Timsat up and looked at Ben.
“Yeah. I screamed and bitmy way through so many dentists that it was the only option left. Iwas terrified. Once they got me there, I ran away before theprocedure began, hospital gown and all.”
“How old wereyou?”
“This was lastweek.”
