In Strange Woods - Claire Cray Page 0,14

and broad shoulders, James felt an odd pang of longing. He looked so comfortable there, so calm and steady and sure. It was strangely easy to imagine settling in right next to him, tucked close to his side. Easy to imagine wrapping an arm around his trim waist, clinging to his warmth.

James tipped his bottle back again, discovered that it was empty, and stared at it with the sinking realization that he’d really become a drunk. He set the bottle gingerly beside the sink.

“You smoke?” Hunter asked. “Weed, I mean.”

“Yeah.” James tried to smother his thoughts as he joined Hunter on the couch.

Hunter opened a cabinet beside the sofa and pulled out a small jar of weed, looking up at James as he twisted off the lid. “It’s a local strain. Pretty mellow.”

James propped an elbow on the back of the couch and rested his head on his hand, watching Hunter break the bud apart and pack the small, faintly glittering pieces neatly into the bowl. His nails were short and neat, his fingers long and nimble. There was a light scrape on his first knuckle. When Hunter passed him the pipe and a Bic lighter, James mumbled thanks and raised it to his lips, flicking the flame over the crumbled herb and drawing a light hit of surprisingly cool, grapefruity smoke.

Minutes later the smoke was hanging in the air, barely visible in the warm glow of the recessed lighting. James leaned back on the couch and watched the slow swirls, feeling the high creep in, smoothing out the edges. Then the soft, staticky sound of Robert Johnson’s ‘Rambling on My Mind’ drifted through the trailer.

“I like your music.” James said.

“Yeah?” Hunter was scrolling through music on his phone, the first time James had seen one in his hand. “What do you listen to?”

“Old stuff like this. Rhythm and blues. Kind of grew up on Elvis.” He thought of his mom singing ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight’ and briefly felt like he might sink down through the bottom of the trailer and into the ground. He looked at his own hands in his lap, turning the palms up and slowly knitting his fingers until the moment passed. “What else do you like?”

“I like anything good.” Apparently satisfied with the playlist, Hunter set the phone aside. “Sad old shit and punk rock, mostly. Some metal.”

“Black Sabbath and Roy Orbison?”

Hunter let out a soft, easy laugh. “Sounds good to me.”

“You’ve got taste.” James felt his own smile widen. Either the weed was excellent, or the company was, because he was feeling very okay right now. “What about Nirvana?”

“Man, I fuckin’ love Nirvana.”

James suppressed a grin, because it was the first time he’d spoken so fervently, and because of course he did.

The rain was drumming steadily on the trailer, a rich, immersive sound. They sat on the couch for a long time, talking and not talking. Hunter was easy company. The conversation came naturally, the silences were comfortable, and the weed and music didn’t hurt. When it started getting late, Hunter showed him to the bathroom and unwrapped a spare toothbrush for him. Then he folded the sofa flat and they made up the bed together, cooperating smoothly without a word.

“Well, hope you’re comfortable enough,” Hunter said, straightening up. “Rain should let up by morning, but we’ll get your car out either way.”

“Right.” The car. Somehow James had forgotten that he was only here on accident “Hey, I really appreciate this.”

“Least I can do. Sorry you got stuck out here.”

“Honestly, it…” James didn’t know what he was going to say. “I haven’t been this comfortable in a long time.”

Hunter’s eyes held onto him for a surprised moment, and then he shyly averted his gaze. “That’s good,” he mumbled, running a hand through his soft-looking hair. “Uh, I usually get up around six, but I don’t have to be in town early. So, whenever you wake up is fine. Or if you’re up first, make yourself at home. There’s coffee and…you need to charge your phone or anything?”

“No, thanks.” James noted Hunter’s sudden nervousness with interest. Was that a hint of attraction? No, that was probably a stretch—but the pleasure he felt at the thought was actually kind of reassuring. Maybe he wasn’t completely dead inside, after all.

“Goodnight, then,” Hunter said. He dimmed the lights until they clicked off, leaving only a soft lamp near James. Then he walked down the hall, pulled shut a sliding door, and disappeared.

James lay on his back and stared