Page 15 of Our Own Light

“Ah, I thought so.”

The teasing edge in Effie’s voice made Floyd’s ears turn hot.

“Not like that, Effie.”

Floyd might have found Oliver interesting, but that was the extent of it. Acknowledging that a person was funny or attractive or such was a normal thing to do. Even though Oliver had been taking up space in his head and making him feel strange, it wasn’t like that. Not like Effie was implying. Floyd only wanted to be Oliver’s friend, which was unsettling enough without complicating it even more. He had only been thinking about Oliver so much because the man was so unusual. What kind of man has blond hair?

“I wouldn’t fault you,” she said in a sing-song voice, turning back to tend to the beans. “Oliver is a handsome man.”

“He ain’t bad,” Floyd said, knowing that Effie would likely poke him even more if he tried to pretend that he hadn’t noticed Oliver’s looks. “But you know that I try not to think about that sort of thing no more.”

“Whatever you say.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Alright, so, what makes Oliver special, then? Roy and John and plenty of other folks are nice. You like them, too, but you never want to spend time with them outside of work.”

“Oliver is new in town. Seems like he could use a friend, is all.”

“Well, that’s true. And you could use one, too,” she said before turning off the stove. “Supper’s ready. Mind fetching Josephine?”

“I’ll call her in,” Floyd said. He stood up and placed a hand on the small of Effie’s back. “I already have a friend, you know.”

“I’m your wife.”

“We been friends since we were six.”

Effie smirked. “Go call our daughter in for supper, Floyd.”

***

Floyd arrived at the pool hall fifteen minutes early. It was smaller than he’d imagined—with three pool tables lined up in a row in the center, cues stacked up in the corner, and a line of chairs from one end of the room to the other. On the far end, there was a bar, but of course, that hadn’t been in use for years. No one else was there except for a man with a long mustache, probably someone employed by Fred Donohue to watch over the place.

Floyd walked over to the bar counter wringing his hands—both because he had some worriment that the other men might wonder why he had come out for the first time and because the thought of spending time with Oliver was making his heart race. Effie’s comment about Oliver’s handsomeness kept coming back into his head, hovering like some kind of specter.

Watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock, Floyd tried to remind himself that there were plenty of other handsome men around—men he had noticed over the years in a passive sort of way. He had always been strong enough and smart enough to resist the kinds of thoughts that came with noticing such a thing. Oliver’s handsomeness was neither here nor there.

Neither was Oliver’s unique sense of humor or the funny way he peppered in swear words from time to time or the fact that he liked to freeze strawberries before eating them. Neither here nor there.

Finally, at 7:05 p.m., Oliver strolled into the pool hall wearing a fancy plaid suit and a matching gray fedora, looking every bit as stylish as the men in the pictures. For those first few seconds, Floyd could think of nothing else except how doggone nice looking he was. Darn. He really did like Oliver, huh? He stood there, staring wordlessly, imagining Effie rolling her eyes as though to say, “I knew it,” and Floyd had to take a moment to reorient himself.

“Hi,” Oliver said, smiling an uneasy smile as he approached. “I’m overdressed, aren’t I?”

“Just a smidge.”

“I thought... oh, hell, I’m not sure what I thought. I wanted to look nice.”

Oliver took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. Golly, it looked soft. So, so soft. Floyd had to curl his hands into fists to resist the urge to touch it. Gosh-darn-it, Effie!

“Why are you staring like that?” Oliver asked. “Does my hair look funny?”

Unsure how to respond, Floyd snatched Oliver’s hat and placed it on his own head.

“Now I can look nice, too.”

“Oh, well, I’ve never seen you not look nice,” Oliver said. He cleared his throat and shifted his stance. “Not that I’ve known you for very long.”

Time seemed to stop, like projector film suddenly becoming caught in the reel. Floyd’s brain stalled, and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Oliver’s face flushed, too, which made Floyd’s heart pitter-patter a little.

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