Chapter Eleven

Prescott, Arizona

December 2015

 

Montgomery Clarke and Sam Roswell stand shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk across from the Yavapai County Courthouse, watching the annual Christmas parade. They didn’t make it here last December. The two men pass a thermos full of heavily spiked eggnog back and forth. The crowd all along Cortez Street is thick enough for them to blend in; families and senior couples set up in their foldout chairs, bundled in their winter clothes and snapping photos on their phones. Montgomery, the taller of the two men, leans against a light post in his thick, lined denim jacket and cowboy hat. His boots give him an extra inch he doesn’t need. Sam’s dressed in his civilian clothes, his sheriff’s deputy badge hidden inside his jacket.

“So, they do this every year, huh?” Sam says.

“Every year. I came out my first Christmas in Skull Valley. Haven’t been back until now.”

“I don’t want to think about you ignoring the holidays before I showed up. Holed up in your place, alone. Sulking.”

Sam sips from the thermos and gives it back to Montgomery, who takes it but waits to drink.

“Just another day on the calendar,” Montgomery says.

Sam shoots him a look.

A faint smile touches Montgomery’s lips, and he sucks down more eggnog.

Last week, they spent Thanksgiving together at Sam’s house. They split the cooking, watched the Charlie Brown special on TV for the second year in a row, drank too much beer, and went on a long walk through downtown before the sun set.

“You really want to stay for the whole thing?” Montgomery says to Sam. “Ceremony and all?”

“I definitely want to see the courthouse lighting.”

“It takes all of five seconds at the very end of the evening. Beforehand, there’s a bunch of Bible readings and children caroling.”

Sam arches an eyebrow at Montgomery and takes the thermos from him. “I know that’s your idea of hell, but I don’t think I’ll mind.”

“Not hell,” Montgomery says. “Just annoying.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a smile. “Well, don’t torture yourself on my account. I’ve got to meet Lauren right after the lighting anyway, so I don’t mind watching it alone.”

Montgomery glances at Sam and shifts on his feet, his mood changing in a flash. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there’s a party happening at the Grand Highland, and she wanted a date. The Christmas Social?”

Montgomery hasn’t heard of it, which is no surprise given how reclusive he is. His house in Skull Valley is a thirty-minute drive from Prescott, and before he met Sam, he spent little time here in town.

“You want to go?” Sam says.

“No,” Montgomery replies, eyes fixed on the parade.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would.”

It’s a casual statement, but Montgomery’s sinking heart hurts a little more when he hears it. He’s quiet until Sam looks at him again.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

“Yup.”

Sam offers him the thermos. “Want to finish this off?”

Montgomery takes a few sips and hands the thermos back. “You finish it. I’m going to go find someplace to smoke. I’ll be back.”

He slinks away before Sam can respond, hoping the other man takes the hint he wants to be alone. He rounds the corner of the block and walks up the side street until he reaches the little public library in its old red-and-white building. He sits on the bench right outside the front doors, fishes his pack of Marlboros out of his shirt pocket, and lights up.

He tries to convince himself as he smokes that he doesn’t have any good reason to be upset about Sam taking Lauren out tonight. Those two have been fooling around since before Sam and Montgomery met. He’s never had a problem with that part. He understands Sam, like most men, prefers life with sex in it. Montgomery doesn’t care where Sam goes to fill that need. He doesn’t have a problem with Lauren in particular either. He’s crossed paths with her a handful of times over the last year, and he can see why Sam likes her. He and Sam aren’t a couple, and Montgomery sure as hell doesn’t want to have sex with Sam. But sometimes, Sam going out with Lauren fills Montgomery with painful feelings he can’t name and doesn’t fully understand. He hasn’t mentioned it to Sam or anybody else.

Montgomery puts out his cigarette butt in the ashtray next to the bench, takes a breath, and heads back to Cortez Street. He takes his time, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, pretending not to catch the soft smiles a couple of young women throw at him as they pass each other on the sidewalk.

He sidles up to Sam, who’s right where Montgomery left him, and puts on his cool demeanor again. “Did I miss anything spectacular?”

“A bunch of Scottish terriers in red-checkered vests.”

“I’ll get over it somehow.”

Sam smirks and leans into Montgomery just enough for the taller man to feel it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling the eggnog a little bit.”

“I ain’t surprised. That stuff was mostly booze.”

Sam shuts his eyes, the sun shining on his face. “I could go home and take a nap.”

“And miss the rest of this unforgettable parade?” Montgomery quips.

Sam opens his eyes again. “We can always come back for the lighting. You really want to stand here and watch the parade for another two or three hours?”

“Can’t say I do.”

They walk to Sam’s truck and make the short drive to his house on Pleasant Street a few minutes away. They’ve spent far more time at Sam’s home this past year, and Montgomery’s comfortable at Sam’s now, in a way he’s hardly comfortable anyplace but his own. When they reach the house, they hang up their jackets on the coatrack, toe off their boots, and climb the stairs to the second floor. They strip down to their T-shirts and underwear and slip into Sam’s bed, Montgomery on his back and Sam draped against Montgomery’s right side. Sam falls asleep in minutes with his arm around Montgomery’s middle and his head on Montgomery’s chest. Montgomery lies there with his arm curled around Sam. He isn’t drunk or tired enough for a nap, but he won’t turn down the opportunity to cuddle with Sam. It soothes his sour feeling about Sam taking Lauren to the party.

A couple hours later, Montgomery wakes up and realizes he fell asleep. His shoulder aches from keeping his arm around Sam all this time, but he doesn’t care. He rubs Sam’s arm where it lies heavy across his own belly and tries to wake him.

“Sam,” he says softly. He checks his watch. A little past four o’clock. “Sam.”

Sam stirs, cracks his eyes open, and peers up at Montgomery before settling his head back down on Montgomery’s chest.

“You better get up and change,” Montgomery says.

Sam doesn’t answer, and they lie there in silence for a minute or two.

“What are you going to do?” says Sam. “While I’m making small talk with married people.”

“I’ll be home” is all Montgomery says.

Sam pets Montgomery’s side and speaks with his eyes closed. “I think I’d rather be here with you. Go to the lighting, come back, have dinner, and watch Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

Montgomery considers asking him to do just that, then sets his own feelings aside. “Lauren’s counting on you.”

Sam sighs. “I know.”

Montgomery watches him get dressed in a suit and tie Sam probably won’t wear again until next year’s holiday season. He follows the other man with his eyes as Sam moves in and out of the master bathroom, feeling his loneliness from earlier creep back over him. He watches as Sam fixes his tie in the full-length mirror before turning to face Montgomery.

“What do you think?” Sam says. “Passable?”

Montgomery nods. “You’ll do.”

They drive back to the courthouse in Montgomery’s truck this time and stand side by side in the crowd, listening to the people around them singing Christmas carols along with the children’s chorus. It’s cold and dark, but nobody cares. Sam and Montgomery lean against each other, daring to do it in the open for once, and when the string lights finally switch on, Sam hooks his arm around Montgomery’s while the rest of the crowd applauds and ignores them.

Montgomery can’t help but smile at the small flame of warmth flaring in his chest. He doesn’t care about the lights. He could be anywhere in the world, doing anything at all, and he would still feel like this—because he has Sam.

He tries to hang on to that feeling as he drives home alone on the dark two-lane highway. But he can’t. The flame sputters out and leaves him sadder than he’s been in a long time.

His truck is the only vehicle on the road, headlights cutting through the night. He keeps the radio on but the volume dialed down so low, he doesn’t notice the music. He’s lost in sadness and self-pity until he blinks and sees a girl running toward him along the highway. At first, she’s a small figure in the distance, her white clothes glaring in the light. They’re closing in on each other fast, and Montgomery slows down before he can even see her face, on gut instinct.

He stops the truck, and the girl runs right past it. Montgomery hops out and starts to follow her without running.

“Hey!” he hollers. “Hey, do you need help?”

She keeps moving but slows down a little bit.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone this late,” Montgomery calls out. “If you want a ride into town, I’ll drive you.”

She’s not running anymore, not even jogging, almost stumbling on her feet in the dirt.

“You can ride in the truck bed if you want,” he tells her as soon as he realizes she has good reason to fear a strange man on a desolate road. “Or you can call somebody to come get you. I have a phone.”

She’s standing still now, her back to him.

Montgomery hopes she turns around and gives him a chance. If he has to leave her here to run the rest of the way to Prescott, he won’t get any sleep tonight.

The girl turns around and looks at him. She’s young, a teenager. All she’s wearing is a pair of thin, worn sneakers and a white dress with short sleeves, the hem above her knees. But she isn’t shivering. Her chest glistens with sweat. She slowly comes closer to Montgomery, then stops again, leaving a couple yards between them. She peers back over her shoulder, weighing her options. They’re far enough away from Prescott the lights aren’t visible.

“It’s cold,” Montgomery says. “It’s late. You do not want to walk the rest of the way alone.”

The girl considers him. She doesn’t get any closer, but she doesn’t back away either.

“Hold on,” he tells her, then goes back to the truck and retrieves his gun from the glove box. The pistol’s too big for somebody her size, but he returns to her and offers the gun, holding it by the barrel.

She glances at the weapon, and then her dark eyes meet his.

“Take it,” he says. “It’s the only one I got on me. If I try anything, just point and shoot.”

She looks at the gun again.

“Go on,” Montgomery prompts.

She waits one more moment, then steps up and wraps her right hand around the pistol grip. Her wrist is darkly bruised.

Montgomery lets go of the barrel.

She stands there in the road with the gun in her hand and doesn’t look any less vulnerable.

“All right,” he says. “Let’s go.”

He turns around and heads to the truck, checking for her behind him.

She hesitates, then follows on the passenger side and gets into the truck.

Montgomery turns it around and starts driving back, eastbound on the highway.

“Where am I going?” he asks. “Where am I dropping you off?”

She gives him an address that he can’t place.

“You’ll have to give me directions once we reach town,” says Montgomery.

She doesn’t reply. She focuses straight ahead, holding the gun in her lap.

“I’m Montgomery Clarke,” he says after a minute of silence. “What’s your name?”

“Shannon.”

“Somebody waiting for you at home?”

She doesn’t answer.

Fair enough, he thinks.

“I live in Skull Valley,” Montgomery tells her. “Spent the day with my friend in town. My—my best friend. You got a best friend?”

She’s quiet at first, then says, “Yeah.”

“Girl or boy?”

“Girl.”

“How long you known each other?”

Shannon pauses, then says, “Since freshman year. We were in a couple classes together.”

“You a senior?”

“Yeah.”

He takes a moment to debate whether to keep talking to her or not. “My best friend in high school was this guy named Jeremy Rhinehart. We met each other in the seventh grade. I was having lunch alone one day, and he showed up, sat down, and that was that. We were buddies until we graduated.”

“What happened after?”

“Ah, you know. Life. He got a job, knocked up some girl, married her. I decided I wanted to work ranches, found a job hours away from my hometown, and took it.”

They lapse into silence again for a few minutes, still moving through the dark desert with no civilization in sight.

“Why don’t you have a coat?” Montgomery asks.

“I left it behind,” Shannon says, still sounding numb.

“Where you were running from?”

“Yes.”

“That where your phone is? In the coat?”

“I don’t have a cell phone.”

“I didn’t have one either when I was your age. They weren’t a thing yet. I wish I didn’t have one now.”

Shannon stays quiet, and he steals a glance at her.

“You want to call home?”

“No.”

Prescott finally appears ahead of them, and Montgomery’s surprised by his own relief. Once they enter the town, the tension in the cab lifts with the darkness. The situation feels less dire as they drive past the twinkling string lights in the courthouse plaza. A handful of people are still there, and others are across the street at the still-busy bars and restaurants.

“All right,” Montgomery says. “Tell me how to get you home.”

Shannon gives him directions, and he realizes she doesn’t live far from downtown. He doesn’t know Prescott well enough to know exactly what neighborhood she’s in, but he recognizes most of the streets she named.

He pulls up to a shabby, old house in a row of homes just like it. There’s one vehicle parked in the carport and one dim light outside the front door. He parks along the curb and keeps the truck running, expecting her to hop right out.

Instead, she sits still, holding the gun in her lap. She stares straight ahead through the windshield, like she did the whole drive. Montgomery looks at her, waiting for her to speak or open her door or shoot him. When she doesn’t do any of those things, he finally asks in case she wants him to:

“What happened out there?”

“Nothing.”

He watches her, remembering what it was like to be that young. He knows she isn’t going to tell her family what happened to her. Montgomery’s got a pretty good idea what did—and God knows how much he wants to go back and find the man who gave her the bruise.

He pats himself down for a pen and the notepad he usually keeps in his jacket, finds the pen but not the pad, and then pulls out a business card he doesn’t remember putting in his pocket. He turns it over on the steering wheel and writes his name and phone number on the back.

“Here.” He hands her the card. “You decide you want to do something about it or tell somebody—call me.”

She finally rests her gaze on him, looking as young as she is. He’s seen those eyes before. Every warm-blooded thing in creation gets the same look after cheating whatever nasty fate nature has in store for it.

She takes the card and says, “Thanks for the ride.”

She gets out of the truck and leaves the gun on her seat.