Page 95 of Our Own Light

“You’re safe,” Floyd said, tipping their foreheads together. “Dog-gone-it, Ollie, I nearly lost myself to worriment on the way over here.”

“Yes, I’m safe. I’m fine,” Ollie said. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Floyd’s hands fell to Ollie’s shoulders, and Ollie let out a sound in between a scream and a cry, causing Floyd to recoil.

“Sorry,” Ollie eked out. “Shoulder.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I’m not sure if you know this, but it’s very hard to stop a one-hundred-ton coal car once it starts careening out of control. If you’ve ever considered trying to somehow catch it with your body, I really cannot stress enough how horrible of an idea that is.”

Floyd’s hands flew to cover his mouth, stifling a cry, and his entire body started to shake, images of the mine collapse in McDowell flitting through his mind.

Over the next few seconds, Floyd’s body continued to tremble, his muscles eventually vibrating with so much intensity it seemed like a right miracle that he was still standing.

“I’m safe,” Ollie said, reaching up to touch Floyd’s forearms. “I’m hurt, but I’m safe.” But Floyd could tell that Ollie was fighting back a wince. “Floyd, sit,” Ollie said, his voice soft. “I’m safe.”

While Ollie kept repeating those two wonderful words, Floyd moved past him into the kitchen area, now barely even hanging on to the present. More and more images of his past flashed in his mind, making him feel lightheaded. But Floyd forced himself to push through it. Because Ollie needed him now.

“You ought to be resting,” Floyd said, whirling back around to face him. Only then did he notice the cuts on Ollie’s hands. “Gosh, Ollie, what happened to your hands? Were you sorting coal?”

Ollie hooked his hands behind his back like he wanted to hide them. “Yeah, I was. Before I became the world’s sorriest excuse for a spragger, that is.”

All of a sudden, Floyd’s teeth started to chatter, too, shaking right along with the rest of him.

“W-we need some g-goose grease,” he said.

Ollie started toward him. “I have some, actually, but, uhm, I couldn’t open it. You know, my shoulder...”

“I c-can open it for you.”

“Sweetheart—”

Ollie reached out to stop him, but Floyd side-stepped his outstretched hand. Somehow, he managed to make it to the counter to fetch the jar, though his legs still felt so wobbly.

“Let me try one more—” Ollie’s words were interrupted by the pop of the lid. “Don’t worry about taking care of me. You’re the one who should be resting. Look at you. You’re shaking.”

Once Floyd had the ointment ready, he pointed to the couch, wordlessly instructing Ollie to take a seat.

“Nah, I’m f-fine. I’m not the one hurt. N-not like you,” Floyd said, coming to meet Ollie on the couch. “Gosh, your p-poor hands.”

But the moment Floyd plopped himself onto the cushion, his trembling became worse. Ollie wrapped him up in a hug, hissing once, probably from the pain in his shoulder.

“S-sorry,” Floyd said. “I was so worried on the way over. I think my b-body must be reacting funny to the fright I was feeling before. I k-kept picturing such horrible things. I k-keep picturing them now, too.”

Ollie stroked Floyd’s back and hushed him.

“I know, I know,” he said.

“I’m so sorry, Ollie. I n-never ought to have treated you like that—screaming at you and telling you to leave.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you either, sweetheart,” Ollie murmured next to Floyd’s ear before pulling back and looking him in the eye. “I had it in my head that you were pushing me away. And, well, maybe you were, but I’m sure it wasn’t intentional. I probably overreacted. I’m really sorry.”

“I was pushing you away. Sort of on p-purpose, too.”

“Oh,” Ollie said, his voice sad and far away.

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