Kyland

"Yeah," I breathed, staring straight ahead. After a minute I turned to him. "I just can't go through what I went through after he broke my heart," I said. "And I don't know if I trust him not to pull away from me again. Things are," I frowned and bit my lip, "I don't even know exactly. I feel like he's not telling me something." There had been a shadow over his expression, a shortness to his answers when I'd questioned him about the mine . . . I snapped back to the present, to what I'd been saying. "And if that's the case, how can I start anything with him again?"

"Yeah, but if you don't try, you'll never know."

"Maybe that's for the best."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "You're the only one who can make that call."

"I was kinda hoping you'd just tell me what to do."

Jamie chuckled. "I'm the last one you should ask for advice. Unless it involves how to cope with parents who believe you were born with an embarrassing, inoperable 'condition.' Then I'm a font of wisdom."

My heart hurt for him. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Is your mama still giving you the silent treatment?"

"Yeah." He looked crushed. "I expected it from my dad. We never saw eye to eye on anything—never had much of a relationship. It's not like I ever had his approval. I certainly didn't expect him to embrace this. But my mama, we always stuck together. I just thought maybe . . . I hoped . . ." His words died.

"I know, Jamie. I'm sorry."

"My dad is such a fucking asshole, in so many ways, you only have some idea." He looked over at me quickly and then away, his lips becoming a thin line. "The way he treated your mama, that's how he treats his workers, his family, everyone—a means to an end."

"I never thought about that before I knew you," I said. "I guess I kind of always thought he treated us like trash because that's what he thought of us—that we were in some separate category for him."

He shook his head. "No. I was worried about how he acted when he came to give you that scholarship. I was worried about how you must have felt to have him in your home . . . again." His eyes darted to me and away, finally resting on the wall in front of him. He felt the shame his father never had. Jamie.

"It's okay. He didn't come to me personally. The whole school was there."

He looked confused for a second. "Oh. He usually went in person to the recipient’s home and gave it to him or her before making the announcement in school." He looked thoughtful for a second. "Maybe he actually does have a tiny smidge of decorum, deciding not to come to your trailer in person."

"Huh. Maybe. Anyway, that's all ancient history." I tilted my head. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, of course."

I chewed on my bottom lip for a second. "Have you seen Kyland at the mine? I mean, does he seem okay, like he's okay going below ground? He was so evasive about it."

"I don't spend too much time with the underground miners to be honest. But I've heard word around the company that he's pretty impressive. Apparently, he's been successful in putting some new safety measures in place, not that he'd ever get the credit. But the guys talk. He's well liked among the other miners."

"Have you been down there before?"

"God, no." He shivered. "I couldn't do it."

I nodded, still frowning. How do you do it, Kyland? How do you go down there into your own personal hell, day after day after day?

I do, every day. For you.

For me . . .

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of trucks arriving outside.

"Well," Jamie said, standing up. "I'm off. Give me a call later, or come by and see me."

"Corner of Gutter and Skinsores?"

"Right." He winked.

I laughed. "Thanks for stopping by."

After Jamie left, I took another minute to look around the small space, closing my eyes and breathing in the dusty smell for the final time. When I was ready, I walked outside, closing that door behind me.

**********

I sat down at the bar next to Marlo and she looked forlornly over at me. "Whoa. What's up with you?"

"Sam, that's what's up with me."

"What'd he do?"

"Asked me to marry him—again."

"Wow, what a bastard."

"What'll it be, girlie?" Al asked, shouting over to me from the end of the mostly empty bar.

"Diet Coke with lime," I said loudly. Marlo had called me an hour before and asked me to meet her at Al's to "drown her sorrows" after her day shift. I hadn't known exactly what that meant at the time, but now I did.

"So, Sam, the evil bastard, has asked you to commit to letting him shower you with love for a lifetime. How quickly do you think we can gather a posse with pitchforks to hunt him down?"

She heaved out a breath and sat down next to me. "Har har. Make fun. But I told him I was never going to marry him. I told him, and he won't give it up. He's making my life a living hell."

Go to hell. I do. Every day. For you.

I turned toward her on the stool. "You're not in love with him, Mar?"

She sat there just looking straight ahead. "I mean, I guess I love him. A little."

"Wow. The romance is overwhelming." I rolled my eyes. "Don't bowl me over with too much of that love-talk, Shakespeare."