“The older I get, the younger people look,” Aldi said.
“But you see my point,” Rudy said. “Better I do it than one of these fucking Asplundh guys.”
But Aldi was still looking at me, and I could see that his eyes were wet. I found that I wanted to touch him, to pinch his shoulder just a little, feel that fragile bone, but I knew that would embarrass both of us. Still, when Rudy was back up in the tree, I added another log to the fire.
“You got kids?” I asked him.
“One son. Grown,” Aldi said. “He steers clear of me. We don’t get on. When I remember that man as a baby, I wish that baby was still around. I could have stayed near that baby forever. But now, most adults I don’t care for.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “I had an uncle who made me feel like myself, but he died and now it’s just my aunt. We hardly know what to say to each other. I haven’t made it back to visit in years. It’s hard to see the point.”
“That’s it? No man? No kids of your own?” he asked.
“Perley’s about as close to having a kid as I’ll ever get,” I said.
“You miss him?”
“I try not to get too attached to people,” I said. “No point in being disappointed. But Perley, he decided for me. He decided for me that he and I were attached.”
“Some things are impossible to argue with,” Aldi said.
“We’re going to get him back,” I said. “They won’t get away with this.”
“What about you and Rudy?” asked Aldi. “I took it you two were going together.”
“Rudy and me? No way,” I said.
At the end of the day, Rudy rappelled down to us, fumbled in the cold to unclip his harness. He clanked over in his spurs to stand by the fire while I coiled his rope.
“She’s powerful, like a basketball player,” I heard Aldi say.
“Helen?” Rudy said. “Anyone clumsier, I haven’t met them. That’s how come I don’t let her climb.”
“All the same, I like the way she moves,” Aldi said.
“Back off,” Rudy said. “She’s not interested.”
“I’m way too old for her anyway,” Aldi said. “But there’s someone out there she’d be happy with.”
“Helen hates that kind of shit,” Rudy said. “Trust me.” It was true. This kind of thing generally made me want to puke, but somehow I kept listening. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but somehow, I wasn’t sure I wanted Aldi to stop.
I daisy-chained the loose end and came back to the fire. “Don’t worry,” I told Aldi. I put my hand on his shoulder, a gesture that was as awkward as I’d imagined it would be, so I took my hand away. “We won’t take the tree down without giving you a chance to say goodbye.”
Rudy looked from one to the other of us and frowned.
* * *
On the ride home, he said, “Aldi doesn’t like women, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“He likes me,” I said.
“He’s my friend,” he said.
“I know,” I said.
“Me and him go way back,” he said.
“I’ve been wondering how it is between you two,” I said.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’ve never heard you talk to anyone the way you talk to Aldi Birch. No gratuitous swearing. Minimal bragging. You treat him with such care. You treat him like your own dad.”
“My dad can eat shit and die,” Rudy said. “My dad isn’t worth licking the shit off of Aldi Birch’s boots. In fact, probably my dad and Aldi’s dad are together somewhere eating the devil’s shit.”
“So much shit,” I said.
“I don’t treat Aldi Birch like my dad,” he said. “I treat Aldi Birch like Aldi Birch, an old man in pain like someday I will be an old man in pain. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t have too many friends, and so when I get a good one I try to keep it.”
“Self-awareness!” I said.
“Fuck you,” he said.
“You know what he asked me when you were up in the tree?” I said. “He asked if I was a man or a woman.”
“Don’t let it get to you,” Rudy said. “You’re obviously a woman.”
But Rudy didn’t get it. I liked that mismatch. I liked that Aldi Birch liked that mismatch, too.
* * *
I came in the door peeling off layers. Lily was knitting a brick-red tam-o’-shanter, around and around. She set aside her needles to hand me a large square envelope. “Something addressed