A Tale of Two Trucks (3 page)

“Yeah. I guess some things… science and medicine just can’t explain.”

“Yeah.”

I tried to gently lead him away from the nursery, changing the subject at the same time.

“Well, that’s it for the upstairs. Down in the basement is the family room, where I made a mock-up of a Wii by taking pictures of one in the store and making color copies. I’m quite proud of it. This way I can have a Wii or PSP or whatever in every house I do, without having to risk putting a
real
one there.”

After a quick look in the basement, we decided to go to the nearest Applebee’s for dinner, where we moved on to other, less gut-wrenching topics—like how much we both liked our trucks and how I’d redecorated my house.

“I just needed a change, since it had been the same for as long as I could remember,” I remarked, munching on my Oriental Grilled Chicken Salad. “I boxed up all of Gramma’s things I wanted to keep and put them in the basement, and made the house look as different as possible so it wouldn’t remind me of her so much.”

“Did it help?” Joe asked seriously, cutting up his House Sirloin.

“I think so, yeah. I mean, it felt a little like a betrayal, y’know, to her memory, but then I realized that Gramma was the same, even if she was dead, and if she could look down at me or communicate at all, she would say she just wanted me to be happy. That’s all she ever wanted—to see me happy.”

My thoughts drifted away to some of my fondest memories of her—cooking in the kitchen, folding laundry while we watched TV, or admiring my paintings—as Joe silently pondered his own thoughts.

“D’you think…” he began, then paused. He had my full attention again. “D’you think, maybe after the Parade opens and stuff… you could take a look at
my
place? I haven’t done anything to it…. I barely even clean it, to be honest, since Cindy left.”

“Oh!” I said, startled. “Cindy’s your… wife?”

“Yeah.” He looked sad, but more resigned than anything else. “When Dana died, we…. Well, I tried to lose myself in work, like you did, and I wasn’t there for her. I mean, it was hard enough for her to go through all that, without me bailing on her, y’know? I don’t blame her at all. She went back to her folks’ place and we’ve hardly talked since then. I have no idea what she’s been up to the last year or two….”

I swallowed hard, finding a lump in my throat, but remembered his original request.

“If you’d like me to take a look, I can at least give you some pointers. Maybe some new colors to try on your walls, things that’ll make it look brighter, more up-to-date,” I said, hoping to keep the tone light and professional. Joe nodded appreciatively.

“Yeah. I wanna move into an apartment eventually, once the housing market picks up. It’s just too big for me, y’know? I only need so much space.”

“Then we can make some adjustments so you won’t have to clean as much in the areas you don’t use,” I suggested. “You’re right, you wanna wait until the market gets back to where you can get what it’s worth, but in the meantime you can start getting it ready. It’s nice that you can do a lot of the work yourself.”

And so I was contracted (unofficially, although I was confident that Joe was a man who was as good as his word) to help remodel his house once I finished my work for the Parade of Homes.

H
IS
house was in sadder shape than I’d anticipated, although I could see where he’d made some attempts at uncluttering it before I showed up Friday night—the day the Parade of Homes opened. His wife had left with only her clothes and some personal items, so a lot of her decorations—including the teddy bear on the mantle, the collection of candles (which had collected dust themselves), and the dried-flower swags over the doors—were still in their original places. Joe had ordered pizza, and as we sat munching it in the living room, I took stock of our surroundings.

“The first thing we need to do,” I declared after a gulp of Dr Pepper, “is to get garbage bags and haul out the trash. I’m going to assume that whatever she didn’t take, she didn’t want, and at any rate they’re so grimy now they aren’t even worth donating. We can save on renting a dumpster by making a few trips out to the city dump ourselves. Then we can start talking new paint, maybe even some new cupboards, and look into tearing down that wall.”

“The wall?” Joe said, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“Yeah, over there.” I pointed. “If you take out the upper half of that wall and connect the kitchen and dining room, it’ll make things a lot brighter. You could still have a wine rack or some shelves if you need the storage, but trust me: buyers like bright, open areas. The counter can be like a bar, with some stools on this side, which would be nice for a family with kids. Mom can be making dinner while they do their homework right there. Plus it’ll be great for parties.”

I was beginning to see in my mind’s eye how the place could be turned around, and although it must have felt brutal to Joe, he went along with it for now. I was sure he would get more into it as we made progress. We started by getting rid of the dusty swags and knick-knacks, as well as his old newspapers and magazines, and threw out the candles en masse.

“I might need them if the power goes out,” Joe tried to protest, and I gave him The Talk.

“Do you have a flashlight?”

“Well, yeah….”

“And do you keep spare batteries? Fresh ones?”

“Yeah, sure….”

“And in all the time that you’ve lived here, how many times have you actually
lit
a candle?”

“Uh… zero,” he confessed with a wry grin and hands upraised in surrender.

And so it went, with the piles of garbage bags in our truck beds growing steadily higher, until we came to the front closet. His old leather jacket from high school went into a box for Goodwill, since he would never fit into it again, as did the Christmas lights he never bothered to put up. There was a garment bag hanging at the far end, though, which he didn’t immediately recognize. I pulled it out and unzipped it to take a look and stood there, stunned, for an entire minute.

“She left her
wedding dress
?” I finally managed to say.

A
FTER
sleeping on it, Joe decided he should try to get in touch with Cindy and at least see if she were interested in having the wedding dress back. I was in agony as I drove out to the dump while he called her, worried that this might be the catalyst for them getting back together; but then I had to remind myself that they were, technically, still married, and at any rate there was no chance for
me
to get involved with Joe, no matter how desperately fond of him I might become. And I had, of course—he was so nice and easygoing and kind…. It was hard not to like him, and I had taken it one step further, like the gullible sucker I was.

On the way back from the dump, I stopped to pick up some groceries so I could make a healthy lunch for us rather than get fast food again. It was a store I hadn’t been in before, since there was one closer to me that had fresh, local meat, but as I went through the checkout lane, I found another reason why I would never shop at this establishment again. A few rows over, with his back to me, was Brandon, also checking out with, I assumed, his new boyfriend—and it wasn’t even the guy with whom he’d cheated on me! This kid looked like he was barely legal, his sandy-blond hair down to his shoulders like one of the Hanson brothers.

I walked out quickly, hoping they hadn’t seen me, but just as I was pulling out of the lane they came out of the store. Brandon glanced up at my truck, then did a double take, his eyes locking onto mine. I gunned the engine and sped away, furiously wishing my heart would stop thumping like a bongo drum, although I tried to blame it on adrenaline. But the pain in my chest had nothing to do with my physical condition. As much as I hated to admit it, it
still
hurt to see Brandon with someone else.

Chapter 5

W
HEN
I got back to Joe’s house, I was shocked to find him sitting on the couch, his face buried in his hands. All thoughts of Brandon and my unfortunate encounter with him were blown away as I dropped the bags of groceries and rushed to Joe’s side.

“What is it? What happened?” I asked breathlessly, fearing the worst.

“I… I just talked to… Cindy’s mom,” Joe answered with great difficulty. “She… she moved out of their house last year to… to go live with… her new… boyfriend….”

His voice cracked on the last word, and without thinking I wrapped my arms around him, something I could only do because he was sitting down where I could reach him. As I cradled him like a child (a giant child, to be sure, but all my maternal instincts were kicking in), my heart broke to see his heart shattered. Of course, I understood completely now. He still wore the ring, hoping against hope that she would come back. He’d put off contacting her because he’d been afraid of the outcome. And now, because I’d found that damned wedding dress in the closet, he’d been forced to call her and face the truth: she was never coming back.

“Oh, Joe! Oh, I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I felt his hulk shaking in my arms with each sob. To some extent I felt responsible, as though somehow I’d known it would end like this and had pressured him into it. “I’m so sorry,” was all I could find to say, and soon I was crying with him. Having just seen Brandon at the store, my old feelings for him had been brought up to the surface and I was reliving my own loss all over again. Mine had been an abrupt awakening, while Joe’s had been a long time in the making. Who’s to say which was the more excruciating?

We stayed in that position, Joe clasped in my embrace, for what seemed a long time, until our tears had run dry and our sobs had subsided. I found myself stroking and patting him like Gramma used to do for me whenever I’d skinned a knee or been picked on by the school bully. And, to my belated surprise, Joe hadn’t flinched away. If anything, he seemed to be growing calmer under my touch. I felt myself growing uneasy, though, with the premonition that this could turn awkward rather quickly, so with a final sniff and one last pat on his back, I stood up and retrieved the bags of groceries from the floor.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m
starving
!” I announced with a watery smile, which Joe answered mutely with a nod. I busied myself in his kitchen (having to search for the utensils I needed) while he washed up in the bathroom, and I had the chicken breasts frying, the garlic herb potatoes roasting, and the corn and bean salad thrown together by the time he peeked in, nose twitching.

“Something smells good!” he declared, inhaling deeply.

“Butter,” was my easy reply. “I may have a family history of high cholesterol, but I’d rather
die
than give up butter!”

He chuckled and brought out some plates, and I sensed he was working up the nerve to say something.

“Hey, Mike,” he finally began, “um… thanks. I… I really mean it. It’s been a long time since… well, since I’ve been able to talk about… pretty much anything, I guess—anything
important
, you know, and… I dunno, but I feel like you really understand, y’know? And it’s just… nice, for a change, to have someone
care
. I mean, the guys at work care too, but I just can’t bring myself to open up to them like… like I can with you. And I really appreciate it.”

I came close to crying again, even though I’d long since finished slicing the onions.

“You’re welcome,” I managed to say. “And I
do
understand what it’s like to… to have someone leave you, when you’re still in love with them.”

“Oh!” he said, startled. “I… I didn’t know….”

I rearranged the chicken and confessed, not daring to meet his eyes, “I just ran into my ex at the store. He… he was with another guy, looking all happy and stuff, and I just…. It just hit me again, how much I loved him—how much I
had
loved him, and how much it had hurt when I’d found him cheating on me…. It was just the worst feeling in the world.”

“Yeah. Like a ton of bricks hit ya, right in the gut.”

“Exactly!”

“So, you… you’re
gay
?” Joe blurted out.

I looked up at him and blinked.

“Well,
yeah
! Of course I’m gay. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well, I… I didn’t know…. All the guys said you were, but I… I didn’t wanna peg you as gay, just because you were… y’know…
small
.”

I stared at him for another moment before I burst out laughing. In fact, I laughed so hard and for so long that I nearly let the potatoes get scorched, but I recovered in time to pull them out, wiping my tears on a dishcloth. Poor Joe looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh along or be mortified at having made some flagrant
faux pas
, so I patted his arm reassuringly.

“It certainly
would
be wrong to peg someone as gay just because they’re
small
,” I soothed with an irrepressible grin, “but regardless of my size, I am
definitely
gay! Notice the gay man’s impeccable attire,” I declared, in my best David Attenborough impression, stepping back to let him take in my clothes. “See the perfectly creased trousers, pressed even on the weekend! See his fashionable deck shoes, coordinated to match the exact color of his belt! Notice, too, that the brand-name polo shirt is ever so slightly tighter than what the average American male would wear, for the purpose of flaunting his body in the gay man’s intricate mating rituals—a fascinating subject, about which very little is still known!”

Joe was beginning to smile again, somewhat self-deprecatingly but amused by my prattle. I moved over to the stove to check that the chicken was done and began loading everything onto the plates.

“Really, Joe, if you know what signs to look for, I practically scream ‘gay’ in neon lights. But thank you for not jumping to conclusions!” I told him, handing him his lunch.

“You’re welcome, I guess,” he said with a grin. “And thanks for cooking!”

A
NY
fears I had of things getting awkward between us, now that Joe knew
for sure
that I was gay, were soon dismissed by how naturally he mentioned that his mother-in-law had requested him not to contact Cindy about the dress, since she was worried about dredging up unpleasant memories for her daughter. Her suggestion was to donate it to Goodwill, which apparently had a separate store for women who needed work outfits or nicer clothes for special occasions. Joe also asked me to help him go through his closets and get rid of some clothes that “aren’t up to snuff, since you’re good with that sort of thing.” I beamed at the compliment and promised to take him clothes shopping sometime to update his wardrobe too.