The Game of Love and Death(50)

There was a light knock on the door. Henry stepped into the backyard as she went to greet the coroner. A break in the clouds revealed a splinter of moon along with a scattering of stars. He tried to read them as if they were notes, to see what sort of song the heavens held, but there were so many possibilities he gave up. He inhaled the night, which smelled clean and hopeful. Despite everything, Henry felt calm, as though he’d done what he was meant to do for Flora.

After the coroner finished, she invited Henry inside again. They sat in the kitchen; the parlor felt too strange. The couch even bore the shape of the old woman’s body, and Henry couldn’t imagine disturbing it. Flora kept apologizing for her tears and Henry wanted to tell her it was all right, that he understood, but he was too unsure of what he was supposed to be doing.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“Exhausted,” she said. “But I’ll never be able to sleep.”

“Should I go? I —”

“Stay,” she said. “Stay until it’s not dark out anymore.”

She put her hand on his. He wanted nothing more than to lean toward her, touch her face, and press his lips to hers. As he thought this, she blushed and looked down, her eyelashes making that fringe that affected him so. The sky flashed white and thunder boomed, and the rain fell once more, like letters tipped out of a liquid book.

He did not kiss her. He wanted to. But resisting was the gift he gave her.

They were too tired to talk, and instead moved their chairs side by side and leaned against each other, quietly sinking into a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke, the rain had stopped. The first pearly light of day was visible through the window. Flora was up already, percolating coffee. A stack of toast sat on a plate in the middle of the table, but he couldn’t stay. He needed to be home before his absence was discovered — and certainly before any neighbors saw and Flora’s reputation was ruined.

“Do you have someone to help you with your car?” he asked, remembering her flat tires.

Flora shrugged and pressed her fingertips against her eyelids. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll have to track down my uncle this morning. And I was scheduled to work at the airstrip this afternoon. That isn’t going to happen.”

“Please call on me if you need anything.” He allowed himself one light touch on her arm. “I’m so sorry about your grandmother.” He wrote his telephone number on a scrap of paper. Then he gulped scorching coffee, not minding the pain.

A few minutes later, as he stood in the doorway, Flora touched his arm the way he’d touched hers. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He braced himself.

“Do you still want to play in the band? We could … we could use you.”

He weighed his answer. She’d hurt his pride, terribly. What’s more, it would be almost impossible to explain to the Thornes, and he didn’t know how he would combine it with his schoolwork. To say yes was to say no to everything else, everything that gave him any sense of security in the world.

But he said it anyway. Yes. Knowing his life would never be the same.





AS Love suspected, Ethan had not been sad to see Henry walk off after Flora.

“He’s like that,” Ethan said. He held a hand over his head, trying to keep the rain from landing. “Always doing the right thing. Does it make us heels, driving off?” He opened his door and looked at Love sheepishly.

“Not at all,” Love said. “Mind if I move to the front?”

Ethan cleared his throat. “Be my guest.”

Ethan’s voice quavered, not enough that a human would have noticed. But Love, who was considerably more sensitive to such things, felt Ethan’s entire body spark. He wanted to lean across the seat, to be close to this spectacular young man, to help him understand that the love he wanted was nothing to fear or dread. If he was not allowed to fill Flora’s heart with courage, perhaps he could do it for Ethan. And if Ethan felt all right about loving another man, he’d surely understand Henry’s love for Flora. Maybe then they might stand together as brothers in this, even if the world around them was hostile.

But he did not reach for Ethan. Not just then. Instead, he turned on the radio, which was playing an advertisement for Bright Spark Batteries. Humans and their fear of the dark.

Welcome to another meeting of the Bright Young Men’s Philosophy Club, sponsored by Bright Spark Batteries! It’s time for our pledge of allegiance to decency and to philosophy!

“By golly, I’d love to have one of these at Hooverville,” he said, tapping the dashboard. “Of course we have no electricity to run such a wireless. Still. So much better than listening to the men singing and playing the washbasin.”

As all you bright philosophers know, every club has its rules for membership, along with secret business meant only for the ears of those who belong. Now take the Bright Young Men’s Philosophy Club, for instance.

“Except for the stupid advertisements. Bright philosophers. Keeping secrets.” He clicked off the radio. The awkwardness between them was palpable, and Love regretted their inevitable parting. It would break Ethan’s heart. But such was the cost of the Game. It was sometimes more than a human could bear.

Love removed his book and Venetian pen. “I was thinking about that article you’re working on,” he said, making full use of James Booth’s charisma. “And I recalled this bit of Greek philosophy.”