“When did this place open?” Ben looks around in wonder at the giant warehouse-turned-duckpin-bowling alley.
I shrug. “About a year ago. It’s air conditioned. The bowling is cheap. My sisters and I come here a lot.”
Ben jumps as someone behind us rolls a strike. The tiny wooden pins clatter to the lane before getting yanked up by the string attached to each one. He and I spread our stuff on a table near the bowling lanes, where I figure the serving team won’t notice that we haven’t booked a game or ordered any food.
I glance toward the swinging door to the back room where the brewers work on a schedule I haven’t quite hammered down. “Sometimes I bend the owner’s ear about his procurement. I get the sense he doesn’t take me seriously, though.” Not seeing anyone I know. I grab a few plastic cups from a stack at the end of the table.
Ben cocks a brow. “Perhaps because you drink their water and use their air conditioning without paying?”
I shake my head, laughing. “Touché.” Free ice water from the carafe makes for the perfect punctuation mark on this ad hoc session. “Should we get started?”
Ben nods and points to some of the forms. “The first step is actually pretty easy. You just pick a category, name the plot of land, and file for your lead testing. I took the liberty of pulling the file for the lot next to your house. It’s been vacant for decades.”
I nod. “Sure has. I can’t even find evidence of any more settling where the foundation was. I checked before I planted the hops. Because nobody cares about that land but me.”
He clears his throat. “Until now.”
“Are you here as my friend or Inspector Ben? Hm?”
He grunts and writes some things down on the form. “Is it really a set of paper forms? We don’t fill it out online?”
Ben arches a brow at me. “Have you lived in Pittsburgh long? Of course it’s a paper form.”
We share a laugh and I look over his arm as he fills out the forms. “This doesn’t seem too bad.”
“It really isn’t. At this stage. Here.” He slides the paper across the table but jumps again as a group of bowlers shouts in excitement.
“Are you going to be okay here? We can go someplace else.”
Ben looks a little sweaty, his eyes darting side to side like he’s overwhelmed. A little like he looked outside that pet store he didn’t want to go inside. I nod with understanding. “This is like the blinking lights for you, right? Too much?” I scoop up the papers and jerk my chin toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Ben trots behind me. “But you’re hot, you said. I can be uncomfortable.” Someone kicks the music into high volume and Ben shudders. I roll my eyes at the folly of it all.
“There are plenty of quiet places with air conditioning. Let’s get you out of here.” I place a hand on his shoulder and steer him outside, and as we step onto the sidewalk, I can feel him relax just as quickly as I feel the humid air surge around me. I groan. Ben sighs.
He starts to tug at his hair. “I wish I weren’t like this. I wish I could just go to the stupid bowling alley.”
I don’t like how upset he seems about his reaction to all the noise in there. “I should have checked with you before we went inside. Not everyone likes loud noises.”
Ben kicks at some gravel. “Normal people can sit inside a bowling alley without panicking.”
I didn’t realize it was bad enough that he felt panic. “Hey,” I reach for his arm and steer him around the corner, walking toward a grassy parklet with a bench. “Come on. Normal people don’t keep mental lists of places to mooch air conditioning, either, but you seem to tolerate me okay.” Ben looks at me, like he’s trying to decide if it’s all right to believe me. “What’s with the emphasis on being normal?”
He drags his hands through his hair again and drops into the bench, elbows on his knees, forehead in his hands. “All I ever hear, from everyone, always, is how abnormal I am. How difficult it is to know me because I make everything so hard.”
I sit next to him. “You make everything hard? How so? Are you saying I’m not the first person you’ve gone all ‘rigid inspector’ around?” I nudge him with my shoulder, but I can tell he’s not in the mood for jokes.
He stares at the traffic, and I revel in the slight breeze we get each time a car drives past. He clears his throat and says, “I recently found out I’m autistic.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say beyond that, but I can tell that was a hard thing for him to disclose, so I say, “Want to talk about it?”
“I’m still figuring a lot of things out.” He continues to stare ahead, and I smile, seeing some lightning bugs begin to pulse their yellow glow in the twilight. “But I guess that’s why it’s hard for me to be in the pet store. And the bowling alley. And basically everywhere.”
“Well. Where do you like to be? What’s your favorite place?”
He smiles and his body loses some of the tension. “I like walking my dog in the alley at sunset. We can see the whole city sprawled out. And Maurice likes to pee on all the trash cans.”
“Your favorite place is a trash-filled alley full of dog pee?”
He turns to look at me, his gaze intense. “My favorite place is sitting with you, Eila Storm.” He pauses. “But that’s one of those things I say and then you’ll feel uncomfortable, so I went with the alley.”
My stomach tightens at the raw honesty of his words, at the way he just admits to his strong feelings for me. I decide to be honest right back. “I’m only uncomfortable because I’m not used to anyone being good to me.”
We look at each other, neither of us saying anything more until a lightning bug lands on his leg and I hold out a finger. He watches as the bug crawls onto my hand and then flies away.
Ben sighs. “Can we talk about something else?”
I nod. “Sure. Whatever you want.” I stare at the folder on the bench next to him. “Do we have enough light to finish those? You said you could get things moving with the lead test…”
“Oh. Sure. Yes.” He grabs the folder and opens it. I lean in closer as we go through each of the questions, and the tops of our heads touch as we work on the forms together. I’m surprised to realize I don’t hate the feeling, this closeness. Despite the heat, I’m comfortable here on this metal bench making progress toward my master plan.
We get to the end of the third page and Ben digs a pen from his pocket. “Black ink for the signature, Ms. Storm.”
“Wouldn’t want to break one of the rules about pen color.” I nudge him with my shoulder and sign the paper quickly, staring down at it. “It’s all happening now, huh?”
He grins. “It’s all happening.” I look into his eyes, glittering from the streetlamp overhead. I swallow, realizing that there’s more happening here than just paperwork. I snap up to my feet, feeling vulnerable.
“Well, thanks for the assist. Can I text you if the lead stuff is confusing?”
“Please do. Call me when they drop off the kit, okay?”
I nod, backing down the street toward my house, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.