Page 66 of Our Own Light

“He collected coins,” Floyd said, picking up the book. “Before...” He paused, the words catching in his throat. Even though Ollie knew the truth now, Floyd still couldn’t manage to say it himself.

“Before he passed,” Ollie finished for him, his voice filled with empathy. “Gosh, Floyd, I’m sorry for bringing him up.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Floyd said, forcing himself to flip open the book and face the rows of silver and bronze. “He was real proud of these.”

Ollie looked on, his hands twisting in his lap.

“I can see why. Not that I know anything about coin collecting. But, you know, coins are supposed to be valuable. I think. Sorry. I’m nervous.”

Floyd tried to smile. “Don’t be.”

“I think I’ve seen that one before,” Ollie said, pointing, but clearly taking care not to get too close. “Is it an Indian Head penny?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Which one was Matt’s favorite?”

Ollie’s words rang in Floyd’s ears. Which one was Matt’s favorite? Tears sprang to his eyes, clouding his vision. He couldn’t yet tell whether it made him happy or sad to hear Ollie ask about Matt so openly. He thought maybe it was both. Regaining composure, Floyd tapped the Flying Eagle penny.

“He liked this one a lot.”

“Do you know much about it?”

“Not really. I think someone in Bramwell sold it to him. Some wealthy fella.”

“He must have paid a bundle for it.”

“Well, he might have traded something instead. Matt collected other things, too—stamps and pocket watches.”

Ollie’s tentative smile broadened. “It sounds like he was an interesting person.”

Floyd inhaled deeply, breathing in Ollie’s words. He let them expand in his chest, their warmth comforting him and calming him and settling that nervousness in his stomach.

“He was. He was a real interesting person,” Floyd said, smiling back. “Like you, Ollie. You’re real interesting, too.”

“Well, that’s... Floyd, that’s probably the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.” Ollie scooted closer and looked back at the book. “Which one is your favorite?”

Floyd had never thought about that before. He turned this over in his head for a bit before pointing to one that was so old, so faded, there was no sort of picture left anymore, only what looked to be the number 1754, but even that was sort of unclear.

“Probably that one.”

Ollie’s warm laughter clutched at his heart. “Why?”

“It’s sort of mysterious.”

“Mysterious? Floyd, it looks like trash,” Ollie said, still laughing, but even more than before.

And that laughter bubbled up right inside Floyd’s body, making him laugh, too.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Oh God, it’s a near-perfect metaphor for us, isn’t it? You think I’m this mysterious and interesting person, but really, I’m trash.”

Floyd snorted and shoved Ollie with his elbow. “Stop.”

But that only prompted Ollie to keep poking at himself. If only Floyd could make himself stop laughing, he’d have told Ollie not to talk about himself like that.

“I’m an obscure, silver-colored, unreadable coin,” Ollie continued. “I came into town looking exactly like that coin there. Don’t tell me that thing belongs in the coin book. I mean, there are real fucking coins in there, coins worth money. But, you, Floyd Bennett, took one look at me and thought, ‘Gee, there’s something wrong with that fellow. He’s clearly running away from some kind of cushy life, behaving like a pompous windbag and clamoring about the proper housing for a man of his stature, a stature which was... let me see... an unmarried, childless man, so, yes, clearly someone who deserves the best of the best, and oh Jesus, he has so many hats! Oh well. Guess I’ll keep him.’”

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